Page 112 of Friendzone Hockey
“They haven’t. We start breakfast—we always start breakfast these days. We should, though.”
“Okay, wait.” I spin us, crowding him against wet wall andgod,I want to kiss him so bad. Keeping my lips off his is the worst kind of agony. But setting eyes on him after not looking at him for a whole minute, it’s as if my brain forgot just how fucking beautiful he is. What was I gonna say again?
“Whaaa…oh.” He smiles. “Love you, too, Stace.”
Chapter
Twenty
NOW
Same Day
Dash
Fucking Stacey Alderchuck. Fuck him straight to hell. I don’t think I’ve ever been madder at him, and this includes the time he threw me under the bus with Dad after I told him I was in love with him.
I only know why I’m mad, though. Couldn’t tell you why I was justified.
He left. Again. He gave up again. He was gonna say something big. Something even more life-changing than what he told me two and a half weeks ago. But he didn’t. It feels like he left me with Syd, even though I know that’s not true. He thinks I want to be with Syd, that being with Syd’s what makes me happy.
Most people would tell me Stacey leaving is what’s supposed to happen.
I’d tell them that Stace and I are different.
Or so I thought.
I thought Stacey was the kind to take what he wants. I thought he was the kind to go after the puck no matter how many hockey goons stood in the way.
He’s said a lot of shit, ranging from he wants to marry me to he wants to fuck me. Was it a passing fancy? Did I do something to remind him that I’ll never be a whole person?
I’ve obsessively analyzed my last twenty-four hours’ worth of behavior, every word, every touch, every slight inflection of tone as I watch the City of Vancouver pass me by out the window of Syd’s Lexus, holding onto my bouquet of roses like I won a beauty pageant. I roll down the window before the scent gags me. I’d throw them into traffic if I didn’t think it would hurt Syd’s feelings.
Without looking at him, I can tell he’s concerned. He hasn’t said a word, and I can’t help the nagging feeling that he wants to get me to his condo as quickly as possible, before I demand that he takes me back to Stacey. Almost like I’m being abducted.
That suspicion, combined with the scent of roses, has my internal alarm system on full alert.
Syd’s not Robin. He’s not.
A phantom rose petal ghosts over my skin, a creepy-crawly sensation like a fresh hatch of spiders, migrates across my limbs.Look at me, Dash. Look at me when I’m trying to show you how much I love you. You don’t want to go another day without food, do you?
Fucking flowers. Triggering me more than I thought they would. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that fucking Robin’s about to be out on parole.
“Dash.”
I jump at the sound of my name and throw off the hand that tried to cup itself over mine.
“Dash, you’re hurting yourself,” Robin says.
No. Fuck.NotRobin.
Syd. I’m in Syd’s car. Syd said that.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
A distant pain throbs in my pointer finger. There’s blood. I shove it into my mouth, the metallic flavor hits my tastebuds. “Sorry,” I mumble.
“Sorry? Dash.” Syd sighs. I don’t know what that sigh means—fed up, concerned, frustrated?
