Page 20 of Forbidden Hockey
“Yeah, I know.”
“And you still have your key to the house.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“You don’t have to ask to come home, you just come home if you want to.”
“Yeah, I will.”
I know all of that, but something else wrecks me, makes me feel like I’m losing everything when I know that’s not remotely true. Hunter’s the only home I’ve ever known, my safety net, my only solid footing in life. Can I really do this without his rules? Without him watching over me twenty-four-seven?
“Look at me, kid,” he says, forcing my gaze to his. “You’re gonna have a whole life without me, but that’ll never change your life with me. We’re the Boulder Brothers. We’ve been through hell and back. We’re gonna make new memories. You’re obligated to a dinner with me at least once a week when you’re in town and phone calls when you’re on the road for hockey, got it?”
I shake my head. “I’m not ready for this. Why did you let me do this? This was a mistake, Hunter.”
“It wasn’t. Do you trust me?”
“With my life.”
“Then trust me when I say it’s time.”
“That’s not fucking fair, Hunter.”
He raises a curt brow, one that clearly says,excuse me?
Because I swore.
I’m a grown-up, I’m moving out, he’s telling me it’s time for me to be independent of him, but also that he’s still my guardian above all. That little thing, that little piece of respect—strange as it might seem—is kinda what’s holding me together right now.
Which means, fuck, he was right about that, and it likely means he’s right about this too.
“Sorry.”
“I think I can let it go this once.” He ruffles my hair like I’m five. I scowl. “I’m goin’ now, knucklehead. Enjoy your first night as an adult with your new roomies.”
Hunter takes an envelope out of his jacket pocket, leaving it on my desk. Money. “So that you can spring for the pizza andthe beer tonight,” he says. “And maybe a little something extra to help you out.”
My fucking heart clenches, and I want to rip it out of my chest. Hunter, still doing so much for me. He needs to go before I beg him to take me with him.
Ineed to be stopped. What was supposed to be a recon mission, to find out whether Trav was into me—is even into dudes at all—and maybe a little light teasing slash flirting, has become an addiction. And a tiny, very innocent bit of flirting’s not enough anymore. To get the same high I used to, I need to go further. Take a risk.
Huh. It’s early. Trav’s in the kitchen, and the prep cooks are just beyond that wall where they can hear some things, but it’s hard to see. I get an idea. I bring my kitchen jacket with me to the main part of the kitchen where Trav’s making something—probably his breakfast—at the grill.
“Hey, Trav.”
His head turns. I give him enough time to see what I’m wearing—I had to wear the “Daddy’s Boy” one again, because god does he hate it—and for the now expected scowl to set in. Then I remove the shirt slowly. I stretch enough to elongate my torso and show off my chiseled hockey body.
Trav can’t move. Can’t speak. But he does lick his lips. I toss the shirt at him, and it lands over his shoulder. Then I take my time putting on my kitchen jacket.
“What’cha makin’?” I ask like I didn’t just do a mini strip tease. “Looks good, and I’m hungry.”
My gaze drags down and lingers long enough that he knows I don’t mean food. I’m hungry for him.
There are several long heartbeats, pounding my insides into oblivion, where I actually convince myself that Trav’s a hair away from backing me into a wall and sucking a mark onto my neck. Yeah, like … like a brand. Because apparently I don’t fantasize about being railed like normal people, my wicked urges include being marked and subdued.
“Whoops,” he says, coming back to life. He drops my shirt accidentally-on-purpose into the deep fryer. I know accidentally-on-purpose when I see it—do it all the time on the ice. “Sorry.”
He’s not sorry, but damn if it isn’t funny. Okay, I gotta give him that one.
