Page 155 of Friendzone Hockey
I recognize Bethany and Lorelei Meyer, but not the dark-haired little girl in the ballerina dress. She’s got familiar sharp and dangerous edges to her features.
“Here you go, baby sis. Scrambled as you like them,” Sutter says, setting a plate in front of her.
Feeling as if I stumbled out of a dream—one where I was buried deep in my husband’s delicious ass—into the Twilight Zone, I wander to the other side of the kitchen where said husband’s fiddling with the coffee machine. Casey’s at the fridge, fishing out the carton of milk, carrying it over to where he’s got three small plastic cups waiting for him. Where did we get those?
Maybe I should be used to some new kind of fuckery sprouting up, but I’m not. I slide my arms around Dash from behind. “You left me.”
He spins, laughing. “I came out here to make you coffee. I wanted to do something husband-y for you.”
“Making coffee is husband-y?”
Dash shrugs. “It seemed husband-y.”
I lean close to his ear, keeping my voice low. “It’s also husband-y to sit on my cock because my husband’s the only person who gets to do that.” I’ve fucked him in every square inch of this house. I’ve fucked him in my Hummer. I’ve even gotten him off against a tree on a hiking trail. I haven’t had enough yet.
“Later. I’m making your coffee.”
I groan as he pulls away, left with the hard-on from hell. That’s fine. I’ll get my revenge.
“What’s going on with all this?” I ask, gesturing to the Sutterchuck daycare that’s materialized in our kitchen.
“They say they arranged a playdate so Isla could hang with Beth and Lorelei, I say they’re practicing for when they’re girl dads,” Dash explains.
“We’re taking them to the Vancouver Aquarium,” Casey says.
I think that was supposed to be in defense of their actions, but taking them on an official outing? Sounds like some serious girl-dad shit to me.
“Theo loves the Aquarium,” Dash points out.
“Theo’s a traitor. Said he already had plans with Rhett.”
“Charles and Stevie would have loved to join,” I say.
“Charles and Stevie are meeting Charles’s dad today, hence why we have Isla with us.”
“Are you Isla?” I ask.
She nods, refusing to look up from her coloring.
“Isla gets shy around hockey players because she likes them,” Lorelei helpfully provides.
Isla’s jaw drops. “I do not.”
“Isla’s marrying a girl, she told me,” Sutter says. “Men are dogs.”
“You sayin’ you’re a dog, babe?” Casey says, planting a kiss on his cheek.
“You know I am, baby. Not you, though, you’re a kitten.”
Ceramic scrapes across the marble and a steaming mug is pressed against my hand. “For you, Mr. Alderchuck,” Dash says. He plants a kiss on my lips.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
“Take a sip. Did I get it right?”
Why does it feel like all his hopes and dreams hinge on him getting my coffee right? Probably because they do. Fuck. I don’t have a playbook for this. The last thing I want to do is drop into what he calls “mentor mode”, but my gut’s telling me there’s something deeper here we need to talk about.
Yeah, all that from coffee. Who knew?
