Page 87 of Friendzone Hockey
“Just had a feeling you might need that. Ready to look at wedding shit?”
Unbelievably, I’m laughing. “What’s wrong with wedding shit?”
He holds my hand but makes sure he’s the one opening the door for me. “Nothing, I guess.”
And I swear I hear him mutter, “But it’s for the wrong groom,” under his breath.
“I’m Judy. You two must be the future Nolan-Smiths. What a handsome couple you are.”
Okay, wow. Awkward. But only for a heartbeat. Stacey chose violence today.
“Oh, no. I’m the best man. If I were marrying him, we wouldn’t be the Nolan-Smiths, that’s for fucking sure,” he says.
I remember what he said to Sutter and Casey about making his man an Alderchuck. My heart picks up again. I take a breath and exhale his name.
“Stace.” I whack his chest. “Sorry about him. He’s a hockey player—they don’t know how to act in public.”
And, yes, I’m a hockey player too, but she doesn’t know that, nor does she need to. I’m usually worse, but guess I’mthe responsible one today—even Nostradamus couldn’t have predicted that one.
Judy looks between us. I think she thinks we’re fucking with her because, okay fine, yeah, there’s a lot of energy between us. We pass as a couple and truth be told, it’s not the first time we’ve been mistaken as one. If only she knew that I told him how badly I want to sit on his cock only minutes ago.
Her eyes brighten when she thinks we’ve figured it out. “I see what’s going on. My partner and I fought over the last name thing too. Eventually, we went with hers and I’m glad we did.”
“You got us,” Stacey says in the smooth voice everyone falls in love with. “It’s been a bit of a tiff between us, but we actually sorted it out on the way over here.” He extends his hand. “We’ll be the Alderchucks. Nice to meet you.”
I am actually going to kill him.
“Oh, I don’t see Alderchuck anywhere here,” she says.
“That’s because it was my mother’s last name. I wanted to go with it for sentimental reasons,” he lies, smoothly.
“Wait, Alderchuck. Are you one oftheAlderchucks that plays for Vancouver?”
Fucking Christ. A hockey fan. Thank god I’m not as recognizable. Stacey is, but usually only by his unusual last name. It’s harder to recognize a hockey player out of gear than you’d think. It depends on the die-hardness of the fan as to whether they can. She’s mid, but she knows an NHL player’s wedding means a hefty paycheck for her.
But fucking Stacey. What the hell is wrong with him? There’s no way I can choose this place now. What will they say when I turn up with a different groom?
Two can play, though, and I’m not letting him off easy. He wants to be my fiancé for a day? Fine. Let’s fucking go. We’ll see who folds first. I take his hand.
“Hope you remembered to bring your wallet, baby. I want to leave the deposit with Judy today.”
Stacey pulls a sharp breath—because I called him baby—but takes his wallet out and flashes a gold card, calling my bluff. Dammit. NHL money. This is a flash in the pan for him. Still not used to that. “Judy, dear, I’m fucking loaded. Lead the way.”
It’s unlike Stacey to say something like that. It’s also unlike me to find it hot as fuck. And yet, those two things have just happened. But I know why. It’s the intent behind it. It’s almost like he’s competing with an invisible Syd. Firing up Stacey’s possessive instincts is wrong, wrong, wrong. But I don’t give a fuck. I love it. I want it. How can I get more?
“This way, gentlemen,” she says, dollar signs in her eyes.
“You heard the woman, sweetheart.” Stacey smacks my ass. “Get moving.”
I turn just so I can hit him with a glare that says,since when do friends smack each other’s asses like that?I mean, I guess we’ve all done that kind of thing in the locker room at one time or another, and that extends outside our group.
But we’re not in a fucking locker room. We’re not like Dirk and me. We’re sure as fuck not like the rest of the guys and me either.
“For the next two hours, you’re mine, Mr. Alderchuck,” he murmurs for my ears only.
Hotness. So much hotness breathing down my neck.
I should tell him to go fuck himself, but I plain don’t want to. Instead, I relish in the handprint-shaped sting radiating across my ass and let him drag me where Judy leads us.
