Page 116 of Forbidden Hockey
The restaurant will be open soon. The prep cooks are getting ready to leave, and the morning staff will start trickling in. I’ve made myself a breakfast sandwich stuffed full of greasy bacon, eggs, tomato, and cheese, and have gotten comfortable at one of the booths in the main part of the restaurant. My mug of coffee’s just been refreshed, and sunlight’s filtering in from the large window on the other side.
I love this place. The way the copper bar top always gleams, the smell of hashbrowns in the morning, and burgers in the afternoon. Even the nights we’re so busy I wanna die, unable to handle one more table, but we do it anyway.
My lonely sleepovers aren’t just sex-inspired. I’ve been sinking my attention into the restaurant to keep my missing-Trav levels as low as fucking possible. And I, well, there’s no place I’d rather be. Would Hunt be okay with me being, I dunno, a restaurant guy? I’ve become a Jack of all trades here—I can do every position with speed and efficiency. I know Trav’s leaving the place to Dash someday, and it’ll be his restaurant. I don’t know for sure, but my guess is that he’ll sell it. Until then, I could run the place with Trav, or we could start a new place together. Though, I’d prefer the former. This place means a lot to me.
There’s a loud creak, and then the two-way kitchen door swings. Penny, curly red-headed Penny, steps out. I raise my hand and wave to her.
“Have a nice day, Pen,” I call.
She flinches, then relaxes into a smile that seems to hold some kind of secret. What’s that about? Don’t know, but once she’s gone, that leaves me by myself. I take a massive bite of my sandwich, wipe my oily fingers with a paper napkin, and shoot a message off to Trav, which I know he’ll like.
Me
Rolled around like a horny bitch in your bed last night. You coming home soon?
Trav
Pictures or it didn’t happen.
Knew he’d say that, and I do happen to have a picture—several, actually, and a video. I have fun trickling pictures to him, teasing the ever-loving hell out of him.
The restaurant door opens—shit, did I forget to lock that?—but I sigh in relief when I see Stacey’s face, that is, until I see who he’s brought with him. It’s the two dudes in their twenties he brought home from his trip, Trent and Alex.
They bounce around him like two over-eager puppies, pawing at Stacey. To his benefit, he attempts to guide their hands away and scolds them saying, “What did I say about touching Hockey Daddy like that?”
“Not to,” one of them says, “but you’re so touchable.”
If Dash sees them touching Stacey like that, they’re gonna lose fingers. Hell, it fucking irks me. I let my silence speak for itself.
“Hey, Dirk,” Stacey says.
“Mhm.”
“Oh, c’mon. Not this again,” he complains. “It’s too early in the fucking morning.”
Stace and I had beef in the beginning because of Dash. We worked through it, but after another season of listening to Dash pine for him, wanting to tear my fucking hair out because he was being too much of a numbskull to do anything about it, I’m on strike. No friendliness until he stops being such a fucking pigeon.
“Whatever, can you just watch them for me? I’m gonna whip up some breakfast for us.”
I want to be a dick and ask him why he’s not making them breakfast at the house. I know why, but I want him to have to sayit out loud—he’s keeping Trent and Alex out of Dash’s sight, so Dash doesn’t murder either one of them.
Huh. Come to think of it, the apple doesn’t fall too far from the Nolan tree. Dash is more like his dad than he knows. The Nolans have a different kind of temper than the Boulders, one that simmers until it boils over, but it’s there, and it’s dangerous.
Stacey’s gone before I can stir chaos, kitchen door swinging behind him.They’re grown adults, though. Why do they need supervision?Thinking it’s just some kinda kink game they’re playing, I bite into my sandwich. When I look up, one of them’s catapulting over the bar top to join the other one who’s holding an expensive fucking bottle of vodka in his grubby hands.
“Hey! Don’t touch that shit.”
He startles, the bottle slips from his fingers, crashing to the floor. Fuck me. Trav’s gonna be pissed.
Stacey rushes out of the kitchen. “I thought I told you to watch them,” he says as if I’d agreed to be their babysitter, which I didn’t.
Ugh. Something in Stacey’s expression tugs on my empathy strings. He’s so … so earnest. He means well, he really fucking does, but in the meaning well, he fucks shit up. I get out of my chair.
“Move, I’ll do that. You won’t do it right,” I say, even though he obviously will. I don’t want to admit I’m being nice to him. He deserves my ire, goddammit.
“Thanks, man,” he says, heading back into the kitchen.
The chaos twins animate from their frozen positions. One of them reaches for another bottle from the well.You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.I use quick hands to snatch his wrist outta thin air, divesting him of the bottle, narrowly avoiding another accident.
