Page 18 of Forbidden Hockey
“Will have to wait. Or I’m happy to tell him to come back another time.” Trav sneers. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was jealous.
Is he? No. He can’t be. He’s maybe miffed about work protocol and worried about me getting sliced open by a psychopath, that’s all. Gotta be. And I appreciate it, but I don’t need him lying about expo stock to keep me here. Just talk to me about whatever’s eating at him. What an asshole. As soon as I’m alone with him, he’s getting six pieces of my mind.
“Nah. I’ll text him.”
“Mhm,” he hums, walking off. I can’t take my eyes away; pure disbelief roots me to the floor for several heartbeats until I can move again. I text my date that I’ll be thirty more minutes, because I’m not doing a full fucking stock, planning to get this shit over with fast.
It’s all so wild, though, that I’m questioning what I saw earlier. Maybe it wasn’t fully stocked? Nope. As soon as I enter the walk-in fridge, I spy the backup expo cart. Full. So full it’s overflowing to the point of mockery.
Is Trav losing his damn mind? Or didn’t he see this? Him missing this giant cart when he came in here is more believable than whatever the fuck might be going on.
After changing into my street clothes, I knock on his office door. “Come in.”
“Uh, Trav? I’m sorry if there was some kind of misunderstanding about protocol at work. I won’t do it again,” I say, even though I probably will, because he’s just acting weird. “But fucking say something to me if you have a problem next time.”
“What are you wearing?” he says instead of answering any of that.
Did I get something on my shirt? I look down, taking in the crisp white crop top. It shows off a little skin, but not too much, cutting just above my belly button. My low-slung jeans are shredded in the right places. Okay, maybe the phrase “lookin’cute” on the crop top is a bit out of my wheelhouse, but I wanted to give a certain vibe for the man that’s about to ruin me.
Trav’s eyes flick to the bare skin of my navel for too long, jaw clenched. I’m not imagining it. How do I know? Because lightning tingles zip through my body. Holy fucking shit.
My inner demon wakes up.
Tilting my head, I smirk, recalling all the times Lana had her hands on him the other day. This might be my only chance, and I want revenge for every fucking touch. “Don’t like my shirt? Or don’t like who I’m wearing it for?”
“No. Nothing like that,” he says, a little too strained for me to believe him. “Just surprised with how strict you keep telling me your brother is. Have fun, Dirk.”
He glues his eyes to his laptop, the tension in the room about to snap. I feel like I’ve won something, but I don’t know what.
My date’s out there waiting for me. He’s big enough to throw me around and has some major Daddy vibes going on. One thing I’m looking forward to about moving out of Hunter’s house is being able to invite hookups over without it feeling weird. Hunt was more like a big brother than a parent when it came to that topic, and so long as I used safe-sex practices, he understood the need to hook up without attachment once I reached eighteen. But I still avoided it, especially with my general taste in men, because Hunt would have flipped about that part.
Older.
More typically, they’re eight to ten years older than I am. Trav would be …
Sigh.It’s not gonna be Trav.
“You wanna grab a bite here first?” I say, sliding into the booth on the other side of my “date”.
“Wow, you’re hotter than your picture. Nah. Only bothered comin’ here so you could see I’m not a serial killer. Come back to mine, I’ll order pizza after.”
And they say romance is dead.
Trav walks out from the kitchen and sits at the bar next to Dash. I can’t hear him ordering, but I know he’s asking Stacey to mix him a dirty scotch—that’s scotch and olive juice—with two olives. I smile to myself when I see I’m right.
My date’s eyes flick to Travis and back to me, a hesitant expression on his face. What’s that all about?
“I don’t know that you’re not a serial killer, yet, for the record. But see that man over there?” I point to Trav. I’m not scared of Trav, but most people are. “He’ll hunt you down and skin you alive if I don’t show up for work tomorrow.”
Buddy laughs. “If he’s so territorial, why aren’t you going to his bed instead of mine?”
My adrenaline spikes. I expected some quip about “not getting on my dad’s bad side”, not that.
“He’s just a friend. A protective friend—not a territorial one.” But now I wanna know why he said that. Will it confirm his suspicions if I ask?
“When he came over here to threaten me life and limb earlier, I’ll admit that I thought he was your dad. But no one looks at someone the way he looked at you without feeling some kind of … ownership.”
Did Trav look at me? I didn’t catch it. Even if he did, it wouldn’t be with ownership. That’s fucking impossible. And what a fucking word choice.
