Page 99 of Friendzone Hockey
Dash loves the idea. “Can we stop at 49thParallel for the expensive coffee, too?”
I’m kinda in charge of money at our place. I can’t say exactly when it happened, but it wasn’t something I decided, nor was there a vote. Between living in Kits, and renting a condo in Kelowna together every season, shit got expensive and a little haywire. There were a few times we were left too close to the bottom of the money tin. Pretty sure Casey was the one to suggest we toss our tip money in a jar, and that it was Dirk who said someone should make a Google Sheets document of expenses. Organically, those jobs were pushed in my direction, and it worked for us. I’d tell everyone what kind of money we had for what and they went along with it with only a few minor complaints when I said we had to cut back on our beer spending. Dash came up with the idea for a party fund for days like today when beer is a must. We each get an allowance, but Hibachi Day’s a special day—great use of the party fund. In other words, I can use some of it to buy Dash the fancy coffee he wants. I’ll have to have one too—he’s not gonna want to drink one alone—but I’m not turning him down.
“We can swing it, sweetheart.”
Dash stands at the till, having a tough time making a decision. We don’t buy coffee from here as often as the rest of Vancouver does. We usually make it at home or, once in a while, we’ll stop by The Coffee Shop, which is close to The Wicklow and a helluva lot cheaper. This place has a wide selection of fancy-ass Frappuccinos and house-made donuts. Just the scent of this place spikes my insulin.
“Ugh, there might be too many choices,” he says.
“I’m getting chocolate and caramel for sure,” I tell him.
“Well, that I know.” He rubs my arm. Tingles erupt. It’s a small gesture that’s never lost my full attention or its significance—Dash is touching me. All of Dash’s touches are amazing. “Maybe I’ll go white chocolate raspberry.”
“You sure?” Dash thinks he likes to try new things, but he usually regrets it.
“Yeah. You only live once, right?”
With the cold drinks in hand, we trek back to Jack’s truck, and I pull out my phone to order the sushi ahead of time before I pull out of the parking spot.
“So, how’s the coffee?” If it can still be called coffee with how much sugar they add to these things.
“It’s…” He takes another sip. “Um, it’s okay.”
“Underwhelming?”
“No. It really is good but guess I’m not vibing raspberry as much as I thought I would.”
“Try mine,” I suggest.
“But you hate?—”
I pick up my drink and nudge it toward him. “Try it.”
“Yeah, okay.”
I shouldn’t watch him suck that straw into his mouth. Fucking hell. But I want to see his expression when he gets a taste. His whole world brightens.
“More your vibe today?” I ask, raising a brow.
“Fine, yeah. But these were ten bucks each, I can’t waste it.”
“So, we trade. I’ll take yours.”
“You sure? You don’t like?—”
I take a sip of his drink. Yeah, this is not my thing. But I’d rather drink pureed broccoli through a straw than see him disappointed. “Delicious.”
“You do not think it’s delicious. That look on your face is giving five out of ten at best.”
“I need the vitamin C from the raspberries,” I claim, taking another long pull. “Mmmm.”
He laughs. “The only thing you’re getting from the raspberry-like flavoring in that drink is a sugar high, but thanks, Stace.”
Dash leans against my shoulder. My body responds instantly, lighting up with a familiar happy buzz. Maybe this won’t be so hard.
Sushi is a similar event. We decided what we’d get last night online, but Dash ends up liking my picks better—things I knew he’d like better than what he chose for himself—so I use my chopsticks to feed him spicy tuna rolls, spider rolls, and sweet mango rolls dipped in wasabi-laden soy sauce and topped with slices of ginger. I eat the other rolls, which are good, but not as exciting. I don’t say a word about it.
“We’re not gonna save any for the others?” he asks when I pull out the second sweet mango roll I got just in case he was still hungry.
