Page 4 of Friendzone Hockey
He winks. “Don’t worry, I gotchu. I told ‘em you were Travis’s kid and that shut them the hell up fast. I was just letting you know for next time.”
“Oh, thanks, man.”
“Jack. Can I get you something?”
I order juice and a burger. I’m gonna stay no matter what. Even with the buzz all around. Even with Dad nowhere in sight. To be honest, it’s the second thing more so than the first thing that’s the real issue. Quiet is better for my nervous system, but it’s not the noise that sets me off. It’s thinking Robin could be here. Lurking. Waiting to lead me away.
After Jack leaves, I sink my head against the puffy bench seat, surveying the place, breathing. I let the noises sink in, let my brain get used to them. There are so many people, too many people. This was a fucking mistake. I should go back up the stairs before Dad sees me. Before Dirk storms out here and yanks my ass outta here. Kinda surprised he hasn’t yet.
I let my thumb run a loving rhythm over the haunted one, soothing it—a poor attempt to massage away the ache along with the ghosts who live there.
My paranoid eyes catch something at the bar. A spin of brown hair, a touch of golden weaved in with the brown when the light hits just right. He’s large, with the widest shoulders I’ve ever seen. But then he smiles, and I know I’m seeing an angel slinging vodka and pouring pints.
Wait a sec. He looks a lot like?—
“Orange juice,” a voice says. It’s jerkface from the door. I look between him and the guy at the door to make sure I’m not seeing double.
He laughs. “That’s my twin over there. I’m Casey. Sorry about earlier, I thought you were one of the other staff. Almost lost my stack.”
“You guys always talk that way to each other?”
“When it’s busy and people don’t shout corner, yeah. It’s dangerous and heart attack inducing.”
True. I did almost have a heart attack, even though I was the cause of that almost-collision.
“Sorry. I’ll remember for next time.”
“And I’ll try to be less of a dick next time—no promises,” he says, but there’s a bit of teasing in his voice.
“What’s his name—your brother’s?”
“It’s Stacey,” he says. “Why? You think he’s cute? If you do, you must think I’m cute, too.”
There’s no denying that Casey’s attractive, but identical as they may be, there’s something different about Stacey.
“No, but I expect you to say nothing. Don’t tell him I asked you that and I won’t have my dad fire your ass.”
“Trav isn’t gonna fire me for … fuck. You little shit. But I respect a little conniving. Yeah, fine.” He waggles his brows with a sly smile. “I gotta go. Enjoy the view.”
He’s still a jerkface.
I try not to be a creeper about it, but yeah, I’m looking. Sex is the furthest thing from my mind, but if I’m being completely honest, he’s totally my type.
Since I can’t find Dad, every time panic tries to build, I find Stacey instead. I imagine what a beefy guy like him could do to a dweeb like Robin. Those biceps alone—bet he could crack Robin’s head like a watermelon between the crook of his elbow. It’s a weird thought to have about someone who’s got literal angel energy pouring off him in streams. Maybe he’s, like, a mercenary angel. That’s fucking hot.
As if to prove my point, there’s a ruckus at the bar. Stacey’s eyes narrow, his bulky biceps flex.
“Alright, Corey. You’re out.” One hand plants on the bar top and his legs act as springs, catapulting him over. He lands, slapping one of those big hands of his to the back of Corey’s neck. “Let’s go.”
The big man is escorted effectively—but kindly—toward the exit. Kicked out with love.
Whoa. Fucking whoa. That’s one of the best things I’ve ever seen.
The sound of ceramic sliding across wood catches my attention. Dirk’s there with a withering glare for me. He sits on the other side of the table.
“Well? Eat.”
Guess he’s staying. Guess he’s totally fed-up with me.
