Page 122 of Friendzone Hockey
What does he look like?
“Me”
He’s got a jawline like Kevin Bieksa. I was nibbling on it.
That’s when it happens. There. Right there. And it’s before I ever look at Dash’s next message.Alarm. The kind of arm-hair spiking alarm you might experience right before you’re attacked by a cougar. It’s a shot of adrenaline through my veins. It’s because I know—deep down—the shit I’m going to be in for something like that.
Dash and I have our playful Kevin Bieksa thing, but saying I’m nibbling on a man who’s just like Bieksa isn’t a game we ever play.
Fuck. I look to the ceiling before I check the next message that I know is gonna be bad.
Dash
That’s fine. Enjoy. Are we done here?
Yep, I’m in shit. But damn, Casey’s right. He’s jealous. It might not seem like much to anyone else, but that’s Dash for jealous as fuck.
Dash
Not seeing you type anything, Alderchuck. We’re definitely talking about this when you’re sober, but right now, I want nothing to do with you.
Yes, he does. I can tell what he’s doing there. “I” haven’t answered him as soon as he’d like—as soon as I usually do when we’re chatting—so he’s prodding. It’s the same as when he does things like dump out my suitcase or steal my car keys so I can’t leave.
Dash
I’m so mad at you. I don’t have a right to be, but I am.
Know what? I’ve decided on the tattoo.
That’s one way to stop all thoughts firing. I’ve been waiting for his tattoo choice since the beginning of the season. He hasn’t told me. Syd—rich-ass Syd—was there for him, flying to meet up with him wherever Dash was playing, taking my place. I was left to assume my gesture was no longer warranted.
Dash
Fucking Ask Dash on an angle, down the V of your pelvis.
I can hear the way he’d say those words. Every drip of venom, every lick of flames. They light my body on fire.
It’s not that I’ve never noticed the possessiveness. But that felt different. I’ve always interpreted Dash’s need to keep me to himself as his way of keeping himself safe.
The tattoo he wants isn’t just a tattoo. It’s a fucking brand. It says I belong to him and no one else. It’s a way to ensure it, too. Anyone I’d hook up with from here on out would see it. They’d ask about it. I’d be ruined for anyone else. Who wants to get serious with someone who’s got that kind of commitment with someone else?
It’s a literal instruction, and it’s fucking scary and hilarious at the same time. Maybe adorable too, but I’m sure I’m the only one that’s gonna find something like that adorable.
The next thing from “me” is the image Casey sent. At least he didn’t answer that tattoo request—demand—on my behalf.
My brother’s crop job is well thought out. It doesn’t show anything that might give away that it’s Sutter’s hand, curving over my brother’s ass, and the angle is such that Casey’s poutine tattoo can’t be seen.
But.
He missed something. I see it right away, and so does Dash.
Dash
Did you lose a mole, Alderchuck?
I have three moles, dotting my torso in an arc toward the bottom of my ribcage. Casey only has two.
Dash
