Page 95 of Friendzone Hockey
Dirk’s eyes sparkle. “Wat’cha doin’ in Stacey’s jersey, Dashie?”
Fucker. My cheeks heat, but I’d kinda like to know too. I want to get him out of it, pin him to my bed, ram my cock so far up inside of—fuck. All that time spent getting over him was a waste. Ruined by simple polyester and varsity font.
“Huh? Oh, dunno. It was on my bed with the laundry,” he says, rooting around for an ice pack.
I facepalm. The laundry. I did a shit ton for the house today. Some of it was from the season. We’ve been that busy, too busy to get to it. I must have accidentally put my jersey with his stuff. He thinks I wanted him to have it.
Jack and Casey put it all together. They might literally die of laughter if they don’t take a breath soon. Dirk’s not laughing like they are, but his evil fucking smile says a lot.
“It’s too small for me,” I say, and it’s true. I was gonna get rid of it anyway, I can’t think of a better home for it than on Dash’s body.
I’ll just have to get over these new feelings. The predatory ones that make me want to leave more marks on him, declaring him mine. I’ve done it before, I can do it again.
The only immediate problem is the giant boner filling my sweats. “I’m … I’ll be right back. Will you finish this for me, Dirk?” I say, shoving the oven mitts at him.
Ducking into the bathroom is my only escape. I don’t know how I’m gonna go back out there, him wearing my idea of a stamp of ownership, me unable to do anything about it.
Unless.
I reach for my dick. There’s a knock on the door, so I abandon that idea fast. “It’s me, Stacey. Open up.” It’s Casey.
“Go the fuck away,” I warn him.
He bangs on the door. “Let me in.”
I close my eyes, gathering all the calm I can, but it’s in short supply today. I open my eyes and then the door, yanking my brother inside, slamming the door shut. “What?” I snap.
His brows pinch together. “Oh my god, bro, were you trying to?—”
The back of my head bangs against the tiles. “What did you think I ran in here to do?”
“Take care of your massive forehead bruise?”
Shit. From what I see in the mirror, it is a sizable bruise, and it needs ice, fast. I exhale hard enough to flutter the longer strands of my hair always falling in my face. I brace myself with hands gripping either side of the small bathroom countertop. I can’t go back out there, but at least my hard-on is subsiding.
“Oh my god, you’re still in love with him,” Casey says.
“What did you think it was?”
“An old crush? Lust? Dude, if it’s love, you gotta go for it.”
“I’ve already told you?—”
“Yeah, yeah. We all get it, believe me. We don’t need to hear you say it anymore. Years ago, I saw your points. Not just because you said ‘em, but because I could see ‘em in Dash. They’re not there anymore.”
“He just came to me for comfort because he had a bad day.”
“And Jack’s been crying on our couch for the past week.”
I recall that conversation I had with Travis once that’s burned its way into my soul. “Those two things aren’t the same.”
“Maybe not before, but they are now. Dash wanted to heal, and he did. Is he perfect? No. Nobody is, though. It would be fucking awful if he went through what he did, did the work, and then was never considered all stitched up.”
Oh.
Okay, ouch.
He knocks on my skull, which is squeezing from all the swelling. A pressurized ache beats across it.
