Page 26 of Friendzone Hockey
“I wanna see that he’ll be okay. Him living with you is best case scenario.”
I’m best-case scenario to Trav? Wow. That’s a fucking honor I don’t take lightly. Now it’s my chest lifting.
“So? What do you say? Will you let him live with you, and take care of him like I would?”
“Of course.” My muscles tighten and little knots tie up my stomach. I didn’t mean for it to go here, to a place where I feel more like I’m making a sacred vow instead of doing a small favor.Fuck.But in hindsight, how could I not have seen this coming? I’m royally screwed. The only way out of this is to double down on my already strict “I will not fall for Dash” rules. If Travis thinks I’ve manipulated him so that I could lure his son into my clutches, he might actually kill me. Hell, I’d present myself for execution.
“Thank you, Stacey. I know I’m asking a lot. I won’t forget it.”
The door to the kitchen busts open loudly. Travis bolts upright, and I snap to my full height, which is six feet and almost three inches if anyone’s counting.
Dirk appears like a wraith from the kitchen, glaring at us. Who pissed in that guy’s Cornflakes? Seriously. “Trav, you comin’ or what? I’ve been waiting for you for thirty fucking minutes.”
Travis raises a “did you really just cuss me out” eyebrow. At least Dirk ducks his head. “I’ll deal with him,” Travis says. “Thanks, kid. I appreciate you doin’ this for me.”
I shake my head as they leave. Dirk’s way too … something with Travis. Comfortable, maybe? I hope Travis rips a strip off him for talking like that.
Fuck. I’m no better, though. I speak respectfully when I speak to Travis, but it doesn’t change what I’ve done. Someday, I’ll go to hell for it.
Chapter
Four
NOW
Next Morning
Dash
One of them’s pushing a chair toward the cupboards, the other one’s on the counter. At least they’re wearing pants, I guess, but I’m not sure the fitful sleep I had last night is enough to give me the patience to deal with them. They’re so pretty and small. Is this what Stacey’s always wanted? As petite as they are, they’re overgrown children, climbing the damn cupboards. The one on the chair opens the cupboard, passing a bottle of honey to his counterpart.
Where the hell is Stacey? Can they be trusted on their own? And, ugh, Stacey. I know him, which means I know he’s going to make me talk to him, and I don’t want to. I want to pretend I didn’t say shit last night. That I’m totally unbothered by him moving on with his life.
That’s right. I know what he’s doing. I’m getting married, so he’s moving on with his life. Taking the first steps toward distancing himself from what we’ve always known is a prettycodependent friendship. One neither of us could let go of no matter how far down the rabbit hole we dug. What’s my problem with that? Everything. Our friendship’s only so fucked up in the first place because it shouldn’t be a friendship. Stacey should be fucking mine. I consider him mine. That’s what makes me crazy when I see him with anyone else. It’s gotten worse over the years, not better. But no matter what I’ve done over seven fucking years, he won’t budge on his personal brand of sanctimony. It’s infuriating. But yeah. It led me to where I am now. I can’t live like this anymore. We both need to move the fuck on.
Someone please tell me how to do that.
“What are you two doing?” I snap.
“Making peanut butter and honey toast for Daddy,” the one on the counter says.
“Stacey hates—” I don’t finish that sentence. Stacey hates honey on peanut butter. He doesn’t like too many sweet things, actually, besides his obsession with all things chocolate and caramel. This’ll be fun.
“What does he hate?”
“He hates it when you don’t use enough honey. Make sure it’s dripping.”
“Oh, it’ll be dripping,” he says, obviously making some kind of innuendo that I pretend not to get.
“Put it in his coffee too,” I add. “He loves that.”
I don’t know why I’m being so mean. He didn’t do anything to me—except not talk to me for two weeks.
Okay, that might be why.
By the time Stacey saunters out from the shower, the summer twins have a small breakfast of peanut butter and honey toast, coffee, and a stack of pancakes waiting. It’s enough simple carbohydrates to put him in a post-breakfast, sugar-induced coma.
“Look what we made you, Hockey Daddy. Come eat.”
