Page 53 of Friendzone Hockey
He lets go of Dash, and I seize the fucking day, gripping his wrist, snapping him to my body. It’s natural, the way his arms fall around me as I lean against the counter and run my fingers through his hair. He wants comfort today, and he won’t be deprived of it just because of some misplaced feelings I have.
If Dirk’s his friend and he can do this, then so can I, right?
Chapter
Ten
THEN
Off-Season One - August
Stacey
It’s rare that I get the house to myself, but today I have it and man do I need to release some of this fucking unresolved sexual tension. Who do I really want? Fucking Dash. But I can’t have Dash. I can’t even honestly look for someone. It’s just been me and my hand since he came along. But masturbation isn’t doing it. If I don’t do something, I might do the unthinkable.
I’m only bringing a man to the house because I’m desperate. The whole “one-and-done” thing feels so irresponsible to me. Like a dirty secret. I don’t want anyone to know I opted for a quick fuck in the middle of the afternoon. I’m going to fuck him, and then I’m going to kick him out. That’s what Benduovr is for. It’s not where you find true love.
The front door opens. I’ve got my lips on another man’s lips, him straddling my thighs. I toss him off me so damn fast like a cheating husband.
“Dash, you’re home. I thought you were working?”
He’s staring, blinking at me, speechless. He licks his lips. “It was beyond slow. Dad told me I could take the rest of the afternoon off.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Um, don’t let me interrupt. I’m just gonna go to my room.”
Yeah, so, he pretty much runs there.
The man on top of me attempts to start in again, but my dick’s lost its mojo. “Sorry, man. You gotta go.”
He raises his brows. “Boyfriend?”
“No,” I say perhaps a little too forcefully. If I could take out an ad in a newspaper to let everyone know that Dash and I aren’t dating, I would. I have the bizarre need to prove that we aren’t boyfriends to every person we’re in contact with. Most especially because a lot of people assume we are dating.
“Then … why?”
“We have roommate rules,” I say, inventing the lie on the spot. “I thought I had the house to myself, but I don’t. You gotta go.”
He climbs off me, smirking. Don’t think he believes me. “When will I see?—”
“You won’t.”
The man rolls his eyes, but he slides into his flip-flops. He can’t be gone soon enough. Once he is, I head to Dash’s room.
“Dashie, can I come in?”
“Kinda busy.”
Kinda pissed at me more like it.
“He’s gone,” I try.
There’s shuffling, then nothing, then more shuffling, and finally footsteps. The door swings open. Dash’s face is red, and I detect the faint smell of restaurant on him—he hasn’t showered yet.
“You didn’t have to get rid of him, Stace.”
“It made you uncomfortable. Did something remind you of Robin?”
