Page 156 of Friendzone Hockey
Could I take a sip and lie to him, tell him it’s good no matter what? Yeah. I wouldn’t even be a terrible lie by most standards, but if he ever found out—and he has a way of finding everythingout about me—it would crush him. If it isn’t right and I tell him, it’s going to crush him.
I bring the cup to my lips. Please be fucking right. There’s nothing and then that hard punch of bitter I crave as I swallow it down.
“This is honestly fucking perfect, Dashie.”
He beams, fluttering his lashes as he smiles. “Thank fuck. I’ve gotta bring something to the table.”
Okay, there it is. I grip his wrist. His eyes widen. “Excuse us for just a moment,” I say.
I drag Dash to our bedroom. Don’t know if this will get loud. I set my perfect coffee on the bedside table and pull my husband—who can’t seem to look me in the eyes—to me.
Let’s change that. I slip gentle fingers under his jawline and tilt until I meet those deep brown pools of resistance. He doesn’t want to have this conversation.
“Wanna tell me what that was all about?”
“You’re not my mentor anymore, Stace.”
“Exactly. I’m your husband.” I let that hang in the air. “If I were only your mentor, I’d let it go. As your husband there’s no fucking way I can let that go.”
He fights the smile tugging at his lips. I said the right thing.Alderchuck scores.“I know what you’ll say, and I don’t want to hear it.”
Fuck, he’s stubborn. It makes me want to nibble on him. Is that a normal reaction? I don’t know, but I’m going with my instincts. I tilt his head some more, giving me access to the underside of his jaw. This might be my favorite place to nibble.
Dash shivers, he clings to me.
This might be his favorite place for me to nibble.
“S-Stace, this isn’t fair.”
“Should I stop?” I pause.
“N-No. Please don’t stop.”
“Good. I’m waiting for a response, by the way, and FYI, I can do this all day.” I suck and kiss and blow hot breath across the trails of wetness I leave behind.
“Is this your strategy? Arouse me into talking?”
“Well, would a mentor do that?”
“No.”
“Then I think it’s a good strategy for us, so you know the difference between your husband and a mentor.”
He groans, but it’s an amused sort of groan. A groan that turns into a soft pleasure-filled moan.
“Why is that so fucking sexy?” he complains. He exhales slowly. “And I kinda hate that you’re naturally good at being my husband—not just any husband, but my husband—and I have so little to offer you, other than making your coffee right.”
My heart jolts, and I pause again, though I try to cover all that up with more kisses.
“I know you’ll just tell me I have lots to offer, but it wouldn’t be true. I need you more than you need me. Fuck, I don’t even have money to bring to the table.”
He’s right about one thing. I do want to tell him he’s got lots to offer. “Is this about the house? If anything, that was for me.”
“It’s not about the house. Not exactly. It’s … hard to explain. I actually love that you take care of me, maybe too much, I just wish I had something to offer in return.”
“You severely underestimate how much ‘just you’ is a bargaining chip.” I move down his neck, sucking longer this time. Maybe a pretty purple hickey will ward everyone away from him. When I’m done, I unlatch my mouth and lean back to admire my work. “Philip helped me understand something about myself.”
He raises a brow.
