Page 34 of Breakneck Hockey

“Same. This is going to ruin my reputation. Do you know how many Ted Talks I’ve given about what an ass you are?”

“Sounds like you’ve devoted a lot of your time to talking about me.”

Fuck. That does make it sound like it’s all I do. My mind scrambles for the clever comeback that should be sitting in myarsenal, waiting for me to pluck it, but it’s not there. Sutter’s fault. He’s fucked me into submission.

“Nothing?” he says.

“I’m feeling generous. You deserve a little charity after a fuck like that. It was good, Sutter.”

I still win. He’s stunned to silence by the compliment.

Awkwardness sets in quickly. Beyond fucking, there’s nothing for us, and all the shit he does that I hate returns to the forefront, mad that Sutter’s in my bed at all. It’s time for him to go.

I’m about to tell him to get the fuck out and relish in it. But he swings his legs over the bed, sitting up, and whatever brought him here in a nasty mood’s gripped him again. He rubs hands over his face.

I fight instinct, keeping my mouth shut. If I don’t, I’ll ask him what’s wrong and we don’t do that. His shit is his shit; mine is mine. But it’s easy to see that he’s going through some shit. Ugh. Fuck me. My mom raised me to have too much empathy, even when it’s the world’s biggest asswipe going through something.

“Wanna watch a movie?”

“A movie?”

“Yeah. You promised me an assgasm, but I need food and a break before that can happen. No way am I holding a conversation with your ass until then. A movie’s a great way to ignore the fuck out of each other until then.”

His body lets go, releasing all the air pressurizing his insides.

“I swear to fuck, your stomach’s the third person in this situationship. Yeah, let’s do that. No way I’m talking to you either.”

I have a few oversized sweatshirts and jogging pants that just fit him. I toss on a t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants. He follows me into the kitchen, taking a seat at the island. The rest of the guys are still up, also in lounging clothes, a moviealready playing. Dash is drowning in one of Stacy’s oversized sweatshirts. Stacey’s foot’s resting on his thigh, and he’s leaned against the arm with his eyes closed. It’s a long couch, but three of us on it’s a bit much. We usually squish ourselves onto it. Dirk’s on the other side, his foot rested on Dash’s other thigh. He’s the only one watching the movie, though. Dash is on his phone.

Dash and Dirk sneak a peek. I don’t know why it matters that they see me with him when they already know. It feels just as weird as I thought it would, and an odd sting of embarrassment burns my skin. Am I ashamed of my addiction to him? Yep. Am I willing to give it up, yet? No fucking way.

I take out four boxes of Kraft Dinner or as we Canadians affectionately call it, KD. Otherwise known as best mac ‘n’ cheese in the known universe.

“Oh, shit. Where are my manners? You want some, Sutter?”

He wrinkles his nose. “No way. Some of us care about our bodies.”

I shrug. “Suit yourself. Anyone else?”

“No!” sings the chorus.

Guess it’s just the four boxes then. I ignore Sutter from then on out, giving all my focus to making the perfect mac ‘n’ cheese. It’s an art form and if you do it wrong it tastes like shit.

“Didn’t know you were the Gordon Ramsey of KD, Alderchuck,” Sutter says.

I continue to ignore him, but he doesn’t like that, getting up to put his arms around me from behind. Sucking on my neck. I turn on him with my wooden spoon. “Sit your ass in that chair, or I’m kicking you the fuck out.”

He holds his hands up, biting his lip to keep from laughing. A few chuckles rise from the couch. They were probably waiting for me to go feral on Sutter. When I’m cooking, it’s do not fucking disturb.

I use the largest bowl we have to serve it up and pull a bottle of ketchup from the fridge. Sutter watches me, fascinated.

“Okay, fine. Gimme a bite, Alderchuck. You’re making it look good.”

I sit beside him at the kitchen island, placing my bowl down. “Forget it. You had your chance. We share dicks, not food.”

My brother groans from his sleep. “Please don’t talk about your dick when you’re three feet from me.”

“You were supposed to be asleep.”

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