Page 12 of Friendzone Hockey
“Landscaping services?”
He laughs. Not sure if I’ve heard him laugh since he’s been here. “Mowing lawns and weeding gardens.”
“I’m not into sweets so much myself,” I tell him. “I’m more of a potato chip kind of guy, but I’ll make an exception for anything with chocolate and caramel.”
“That tracks.”
“Why? You sayin’ I’m not sweet?”
“No,” he breathes. “You’re kinda strait-laced, though.”
“I am not. I can be fun.”
“Name one fun thing you’ve done in two weeks,” he says.
“I’ve…” He’s got me. I don’t have shit. But I can’t be the fun twin. Casey’s the fun twin. We can’t both be the fun twin. “Alright, so I’m not the fucking circus, but I can have a good time.”
“Not the same thing. Maybe you should unclench your asshole once in a while,” he suggests. It’s not said with mean spirit, but there’s a needling quality to it.
My cheeks heat—is he flirting? Fucking hell. Wecannotflirt.
I narrow my eyes. “I didn’t realize you were a brat, Dash Nolan.” I can’t say I’m not happy to see it. It’s the first sparkI’ve seen from him. Now that I’ve seen the spark, I know that it’s what’s been missing all along.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t shown signs of whatever happened to him, it was that I didn’t know what to look for. But his dad knew. I hate that I didn’t. I always want to know what to look for.
Dash ducks his head. He runs a thumb over the glass in front of him. I catch the ghost of a smile.
My screen pings; more drinks up. After I’ve made those, I lean against the counter, observing him. His demeanor’s changed. His happy-go-lucky smile’s wiped from existence, blank eyes staring into his drink. He clears his throat before I can ask him another question about something—anything—that’s personal, but also surface-level.
“There’s trouble between me and Dad for a few reasons. One,” he lists off, “Dad made sure he got guardianship, but it’s more like a conservatorship. He’s afraid I’ll…” Dash makes a throat-cutting gesture across his neck.
I figured that was the worry from the way Travis and Dirk have been shadowing him like ninjas.
“And? Is there any weight to their fear?”
“No, god no.”
“Honesty, Dash, remember?”
“I remember, and I mean it. Even at my darkest, I didn’t want that. I know why he thinks it, though. I kinda sorta said I didn’t want to be here, but I meant here as in the apartment. I wish I could move out of his apartment and have my own space. He took it to mean the other thing.”
“Yeah, not the best thing to say to your worried dad and, um, overprotective bestie?”
“Very overprotective,” he agrees. “And, yeah, not my brightest moment, but I have a lot of trouble articulating what I mean. I know what I feel, but it takes a few tries to come out right.”
Casey’s a bit like that only he’s a lot more confident about just saying whatever. Unlike Dash, we—Mom and I—gave Casey a safe environment. He’s not afraid to get it wrong a few times before he gets it right.
“And the other stuff?”
“This is where … this is …” He claws at his shirt where his heart’s supposed to be. He huffs. “Everyone told me Travis was a bad guy.”
“Travis?”
“I hate what I thought about Dad. Hate it. It’s easier for me to call him Travis when I talk about what an asshole I was.” He frowns and lays his head on the bar top. Sunlight bounces off the copper highlight in his dark hair, making all the tresses bleached by the sun dance and sparkle.
But I don’t miss the movement over by the booths along the far wall—Travis off in a corner, pretending to clean something as if his intuition’s tingling. Yeah, makes sense. He’s keeping an eye on his cub, ready to swoop in if needed. The conversation’s taken a turn, but I’ve got it. I don’t even know why I’ve got it. It’s not like I’m an expert. It’s not like I’m that much older than Dash with a whole bunch of wisdom he wouldn’t have.
“Why are you an asshole?” I can tell him he’s not an asshole until I’m blue in the face, but that’s not gonna get him to stop believing it.
