Page 127 of Friendzone Hockey
“Trent,” the larger man scolds. He extends his hand. “I’m Philip. They’ve been pretty excited to get here all day and their exuberance got away from them. Can we buy you lunch to make up for the intrusion?”
“Not necessary. Trust me when I say I can take a hit much harder than this guy gives it,” I say, handing them their toy.
“Then how about, have lunch with us because we think you’re sexy as fuck?” Philip says.
I swallow. I don’t get propositioned often. I’m usually the one doing the propositioning. The immediate no is on my lips. I’m in no fucking state, let me tell you. Not for conversation, not for lunch with strangers, definitely not for sex with anyone.
But it’s obvious there’s a dynamic going on here. He takes care of them. They’re grown men with a unicorn inflatable. Maybe I’m stereotyping because I once bought a unicorn nightlight for a grown man in an effort to look after him, but it’s like the secret universal bat signal of caretaking or something.
It says we know you. It says comfort.
Fuck do I need some comfort. Anything to alleviate this hollow ache, even if it’s just for lunch. It’s the kind of distraction I was looking for without knowing exactly what it was I was looking for.
“Sure, I’d love to get some lunch.”
Lunch turns into dinner, which turns into, “Spend our vacation with us, Mr. Alderchuck.” Maybe it’s weird to cling to three people you just met, but that’s what I do, and I’m not sorry or ashamed. It’s easy to forget about my problems, my aching heart, when I can get so into them.
Philip is Daddy Philip. They’re American. Members of the kink community in Seattle. It’s easy to see what links me to them in such an immediate way. I may not be a kinkster, but I’m a caretaker, though Philip insists that it could be a bit of a fetish of mine.
“Fetish sounds so bad,” I say.
“Does it make you hard?”
Whoa.His voice. No wonder Trent and Alex constantly drape all over him—in his lap, over his shoulder, around his neck.
“S-Sometimes,” I admit. “Not always.”
He shrugs. “That’s all a fetish is—something that makes you hard. Some schools of thought believe we’re born with them, and some believe they come about because of a life event. Either way, you don’t have a whole lot of control over what makes you hard and what doesn’t.”
Don’t I know it?
But it’s fascinating to watch them, learn about them. I’m a week into my escape when it dawns on me, I’ve barely thought about Dash at all.
I’m not fooled into thinking I’ve recovered, or that I’m over Dash. Philip, Trent, and Alex have become the equivalent of a drug I’m using to escape him.
“I have to come clean,” I tell Philip. It’s early evening and we’re at the condo they rented on the beach. Philip and I are beside each other. Trent snoozes with his head on Philip’s lap, and I’ve got Alex’s blond head resting on mine while I gently run fingers through his hair.
I couldn’t resist their advances any longer, and I don’t mean the sexual ones. Sex is the furthest thing from my mind. I was cravingthiskind of interaction—the one where someone needs comfort, and I give it.
Maybe it wasn’t Dash who had the addiction, maybe it was me all along.
Or could it have been both of you?
Addictions are bad.
Then it’s a good thing all of that nonsense is over.
“Oh? Is this where you tell me you’re not a sexy hockey player from Vancouver? Too late, I’ve already looked you up. We’ve already ordered posters for our room.”
“Har, har.”
“You think I’m joking—that’s the funny part.”
“Am I supposed to ask permission to get my confession out?” I tease. I told them not to pause their dynamic on account of me. I’ve been given a rare window into how they are twenty-four-seven. Watching them heals something inside me. Makes me feel normal.
“Alright, let’s hear your confession.”
I pour my heart out about Dash, telling him as much as I can without disclosing Dash’s private information. I tell him how it ended.
