Page 76 of Friendzone Hockey
“Hey, bud,” he says, shaking my hand. I wish he wasn’t so damn nice. I should be grateful Dash picked such a nice guy. He could have picked some of the assholes my brother dates, and then I might be on the run from the law.
“Hey, man. Good job in practice today,” I say.
“It, uh, it cool that I’m here with Dash?”
“He’s not my dad, Gator,” Dash says. “You don’t have to ask him if you can date me. Or anything else.”
Gator runs a hand through his mess of dark hockey hair, knocking the toque off his head, scrunching it into one hand. “Yeah, I know. But you’re best friends … or something. I just felt like I should?—”
“C’mon.” Dash grabs his hand, dragging him toward the bedroom. With Gator facing the other way, Dash turns a glare on me.Stay away, it says. He thinks I’m being an overprotective best friend. No idea I’m jealous as fuck.
But seriously, Dash, the bedroom? Already? I don’t have a playbook for this. Exhaling hard enough to blow the hair out of my face, I storm over to the kitchen and pull out the ingredients to make Mom’s peanut butter cookies. People like cookies after sex, right? I’m supportive. I support my friend Dash in finding love and moving on with his life. That’s what a good friend does. If I bake cookies with my shirt off that’s nobody’s business but mine.
I leave my shirt hanging over a chair, tie my hair back, and get to work. I’m pulling the second batch out of the oven when the door to the condo opens. Casey and Dirk clamber through, eyes droopy and beer-hazed.
“Alright, cookies,” Casey says.
Unlike my brother who’s easily distracted by food, Dirk looks between shirtless me and the closed bedroom door. I pop an earbud out. I’ve got music on low—loud enough to drown out whatever’s happening in the bedroom, low enough to catch enough of my attention in case anyone needed me.
Dirk grabs a cookie from the pile of cooled ones. Casey’s already got one in each hand. He chews slowly, the quiet sinking in.
“What?” Casey says. “Did I miss something?”
“Dash has someone in the spare room,” Dirk surmises out loud.
“Ugh, can you two not?” Casey says, plopping onto the seat beside Dirk.
“Not what?” I ask.
“It always gets weird around here when you two decide to see people,” he says.
“It doesn’t.” He means me and Dash. But it’s fine. Dash and I have an understanding.
“You’re baking cookies shirtless on a Saturday, bro.”
I’m about to use my line about people being hungry after sex, and as a good friend, this is how I show my support. But the bedroom door clicks, creaking open, and I’m saved from that embarrassment.
Dash’s hair’s a mess. So is Gator’s. They’re both sporting goofy, satiated smiles, so I force one of my own.
“Whoa, you made cookies? Sweet,” Dash says. He drags Gator with him, snagging a couple. “Here, you gotta try these. Stace makes the best cookies.”
“He does, eh?” Gator says. “Does he always bake half-naked too?” he murmurs under his breath.
“Nope, only when—ow!”
Dirk elbows Casey in the ribs.
Gator ends up sticking around. He stays over at the condo when we’re in town for home games. Meanwhile, I’ve spent my entire month’s “extras” budget on butter and filled the condo with sugary confections that I don’t even eat. In the mornings, I make everyone breakfast after practice, which includes Gator now.
“More coffee, bud?” I ask him, putting my hosting etiquette to the test.
“Sure, bud.” He holds his mug out. I pour for him. He kisses Dash on the forehead.
I slam the coffee pot into the holder.
“Oops, sorry. Here, lemme get you some more bacon,” I say, rushing back to the safety of my stove.
“Fucking weird,” Casey says low enough that I’m the only one who can hear him. “Like I said.”
