Page 65 of Friendzone Hockey
What the …?
Some of Stacey’s hair’s held back in a pony, while the rest of his wavy curls tumble over his angular face. They sway with his movements as he flings bottles in the air in time with my dad. He’s wearing an unbuttoned pink Hawaiian shirt, not the standard issue Wicklow uniform, which means they were goaded into this ridiculous show of testosterone.
It’s an old Swinging Blue Jeans song, the whole act’s timed with the music. Dad showed Stace the movie Cocktail, and Stacey had to learn it all. They flip the shaker cups behind their backs in sync, catching them, draining a long pull of vodka into the metal cup.
Stacey’s so damn beautiful, and his sleeve cuffs stop right at the crest of his powerful biceps. Those biceps do something to my insides every time they squeeze. He wore the jeans with the tears up the legs, his sun-kissed skin pokes through.
My hand clutches and twists my T-shirt as I watch, mesmerized. Heat burns across my skin. Fuck, what’s wrong with me? I’m engaged. I can’t have an attraction to my best friend. I should never have had it in the first place. Who am I kidding? I wouldn’t be in this mess if attraction were all it was. There’s something fucking possessive lurking in my veins. I branded Stacey as mine forever ago and there he is, out there being not mine.
I take a calming breath and exhale whatever arousal tried to bloom. My gaze falls on two bright blond heads seated at the bar, clapping their hands like over-excited schoolboys. My heart freezes in my chest, and if I were made of ice, I’d crack and break apart. The sight of them makes everything ache. They’re perfect. They’re happy-go-lucky. Things I’m not and never will be. I’ll always have a sliver of darkness tainting me.
It doesn’t take an expert lip reader to be able to decipher what they’re saying.
“Good job, Hockey Daddy.”
Yuck.C’mon, Stace. You can do better than them.
There’s a breeze, relieving some of the stuffiness of the packed pub, and arms encircle me from behind.
“Better watch who’s sneakin’ in behind you, bud,” a familiar voice says in my ear.
I spin. “Casey? You’re back!”
Sutter and Casey have been away. Sutter played for Boston last season, and they had a big Stanley Cup win, which unfortunately means Casey, who plays for Vancouver, had a big Stanley Cup loss. None of that stood in the way of true love.
They took a vacation. First, they stayed with Sutter’s shady-ass friends in Langley for a few days. Then it was summer camp as counsellors, which I’m gonna need to see someday to believe is real. After that, not sure what they got up to. They left around the same time Stacey returned, but we haven’t heard from them in a couple of days. Knowing them, Sutter was balls deep in Casey and this is the first time they’ve come up for air.
Stacey and Casey might look the same, but they’re very different people to me. It’s like looking at another version of Stacey, free of the problems we have. Sutter’s a growling minotaur coming in behind him.
“The fuck, Alderchuck,” Sutter says. “I’ll be taking that back.” He rips Casey away from me, and instead of being mad, my friend’s beaming, loving the possessive attention.
He sinks into Sutter and holds up his left hand. “We have news.”
Gleaming on his ring finger is a simple white gold band with two diamonds tucked neatly on each side.
“You couldn’t wait five fucking seconds, Alderchuck?” Sutter says, nibbling on Casey’s ear.
“Nope. Only reason I haven’t told Jack yet is because you confiscated my phone.”
“Yeah, because like I told you, I figured you want to tell your brother first, and I knew you wouldn’t wait.”
“And like I told you, Stacey’s the last person I’m telling. He’s gonna lecture me. Not looking forward to that. Oh, sweet! They’re doin’ Cocktail. C’mon, babe, you gotta see this. It’s so cool.”
Casey drags Sutter, his new fiancé, through the crowd. Okay, that’s fucking weird. I barely got used to them together, and they return from their summer camp gig engaged? It checks out, though. Those two are all or fucking nothing. The most impulsive motherfuckers to exist. I don’t know if Stacey’s gonna lecture him. Old Stacey would have. This new version? Who the fuck knows?
All I know is that if I have to watch the sex-doll twins bat their eyes at Stacey for another second, I’m gonna rip them apart. Sutterchuck is a great distraction for me. I should follow that distraction. Newsflash: I don’t. I push my way to the front of the bar—it’s practically my bar top since I know Dad’s leaving this place to me—and squish myself onto an empty stool. They’re the only yahoos who are seated, the rest of the crowd’s standing.
Stacey almost misses his perfectly timed catch as I sit, fumbling the metal shaker cup, but, thanks to his athletic reflexes, he gets a firm grip on it.
The hair on my neck prickles. Eyes. The twins’ eyes on me. What’s their fucking game? Are they set on keeping my Alderchuck? Yeah, no. I’d sooner see them tossed in a truck and dropped off in the middle of nowhere. We’re friends with Sutter now. He seems like the kind of guy who could make that happen. If he won’t, Rhett definitely could.
Stacey finishes his drink-mixing dance by pouring the contents into the two martini glasses in front of Trent and Alex.Espresso martinis with a foamy top layer. They cheers and down the drinks, opening their throats like I’m sure they have for his dick. Their tongues dart out in sync to swipe the creamy white left on their top lips. The obvious innuendo isn’t lost upon me.
Dad pours his drink for a customer and someone lowers the way-too-loud music. The crowd disperses, returning to their seats, except for Casey and Sutter. They join us at the bar top.
“Wat’cha doin’ here, Dashie?” Stacey says.
“I’d like a drink,” I snap.
