Page 93 of Friendzone Hockey
That spells major trouble. I’m gonna have to keep my eye on them.
“Yeah,” Jack sighs. “Maybe.”
The front door swings open. A disheveled Dash and Dirk storm through the door, fresh from the end of the lunch rush. Everyone’s been working overtime, taking some of Jack’s shifts so he can mope. We make sure someone’s with him at all times so “the sad” doesn’t have time to kick in. His words.
“I’m telling you, people who want one menu item split more than two ways on a bill deserve a special place in hell,” Dash says. “Their bill got so fucked up because of it. Didn’t help that they moved around from seat to seat like fucking toddlers in a daycare, playing musical chairs.”
“Agree, bro,” Dirk says with an arm around him. “We brought burgers and beer, Jack.”
“I love burgers and beer,” Jack says. “I also love Rhett.” Tears spill down his face for the third time in two hours. “Rhett hated burgers and beers.”
“Ah, man. I’m sorry.”
“I got him,” Casey says. “But, uh, maybe pass over those beers. A few of those and he’ll be right as rain.”
“Okay, but I’ll leave ‘em on the counter. I was working in the kitchen again. I need a shower before I get near other humans. You comin’ with, Dash? Save water?”
We’ve showered in a locker room together eighty thousand times and we keep it up at home because, y’know, we totally love the environment. Or maybe because we’re horny young men. Something like that. But I’m fucking proud to say I’ve showered with Dash, not popped wood, and was able to wash his hair for him all without turning into a sexual predator.
“Sounds good. We’ll cuddle you when we’re clean, Jacky,” Dash promises.
Dash slides behind me from where I’m working in the kitchen. His fingers crawl across my torso, leaving a wake of tingles. “Hmmm, cooking shirtless again, eh?”
It’s been my thing since, well, maybe Gator? I can’t remember. He didn’t hang around long once he was traded.
“Mhm.”
“Checking in, Captain Alderchuck. Today was fucking brutal.”
That gets my attention. We’ve done this for a while, check-ins instead of major conversations—unless he wants to have one. It took a few therapists for him to find the one he’s been seeing for the past year. But his current therapist, Billy, is fucking phenomenal. She’s a holistic psychologist and a bit edgy, all things Dash vibes with. I turn off the stove, spinning around to pull him into my body properly.
“I can finish this for dinner since you two brought food home. You need to talk?”
He shakes his head, wrapping his arms around me, sinking into my skin, sighing. “No. I needed … this.”
My heart beats a steady rhythm. I run my fingers through his hair and kiss his crown. “You smell like a deep fryer.”
“Mhm,” he hums against my naked chest. “I had to jump onto the expo line while Terry dealt with a sliced hand.”
“Nolan! Let’s go!” Dirk calls from down the hallway.
“I swear, he sounds more like his brother every year.” Dash lets me go. I want to punch Dirk in the face. Dash needed a hug.
“I folded the house laundry earlier. Left yours on your bed.”
“Thanks, Alderchuck,” he says. He ambles his tired self toward the shower. Two sets of eyes watch me.
My brows lift. “What?”
Jack’s eyes are red, but he’s not crying anymore. Casey’s got a smirk as wide as Lynn Valley Canyon across his face.
“Puh-lease, Stace,” Jack says.
I scowl.
“He doesn’t like talking about that,” Casey warns.
“We should,” Jack mutters as if the topic of me and Dash is communal.
