Page 133 of Forbidden Hockey
It’s not in the apartment, and if they move shit around and don’t put it back, I’m gonna pound on them—is what I wanna say. But that would be weird. That says I feel too much ownership over the place, which I do.
Stacey’s brown eyes rake over me. “You sure you’re fine?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, call me if you need me.”
“I won’t,” I mutter under my breath. I toss a couple of turkey patties on the grill, trying not to let it bother me that they’re up there riffling around. I haven’t left anything up there that’s gonna out us, have I? I don’t get to wonder about that for long. Sutter wanders in to steal more fries for Casey, but I’m ready for him. “That bowl.” I point with my spatula.
He takes the bowl and’s gone again.
It’s then that Dash and Jack decide to barrel through here, empty-handed. “Do you know where Dad put the karaoke machine, Dirky? We can’t find it.”
I shouldn’t tell them. Telling them means listening to them sing all night. Man, can they ever handle a hockey stick, but sing? Hell no.
Dash gives me the fucking puppy eyes. “Please, Dirk. I know you know where it is. It’s my wedding day.”
I’ve always had a hard time turning Dash down. “It’s in the bar storage.” They’re gonna get drunk, and they’re gonna be singing Piano Man until Trav takes the mic away.
“What’s it doing there?” Dash says to Jack as if he’d ever know the answer to something like that. Jack doesn’t know where stuff is. He loses his hat on a regular basis.
Jack shrugs. “I dunno, race you to it. First one there chooses the other person’s first song!” He takes off, Dash hot on his heels.
“No running in the fucking kitchen!” I shout, but they’re gone. God. Children. I get back to work, flipping burgers, prepping buns. The next time I look up is to plate food. Indigo eyes have been watching me from just beyond the pass bar, and a body-wide shiver paralyzes me. Trav uncrosses his arms and strides over, stopping where the expo is doing his job, plating the restaurant’s food to lean against the counter.
He’s here.
My skin prickles, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as his gaze grazes over every inch of me. Watching. Pinning me where I stand. My lungs forget to work for a beat. His stare prowls and stalks, climbing my body until heat blooms all over, and I buzz with adrenaline. I don’t know how the man does it, claims me with a fucking look, but he has, amidst the laughter and kitchen chaos. Are they oblivious? Or can everyone feel it? For me, the room is charged with us. Almost overwhelming. Almost too much.
At the same time as I’m being incinerated, something settles in my chest. We belong together, don’t we? His stare lingers, sinking into my bones. We’re linked by an invisible bond we hold onto together. We can’t have rings or courthouse vows, but we have other things like co-hosting sudden-death wedding receptions for his son.
Trav asks a few of the servers to help take the food out to our table. “You told them where I hid the karaoke machine?” he says as we collect the last plates, mildly betrayed. “They weren’t supposed to find it ever again. That’s a punishable offense.”
“What can I say? I’m a sucker for the Nolan eyes,” I murmur as we head out the kitchen door together.
Chapter
Twenty-Six
Trav
“Great burger, Boulder,” Rhett says to my man. “And thanks for making sure there’s no mayo—he won’t even kiss me if he can smell it on my breath.”
Logan shrugs, unapologetic. “It’s true.”
Rhett smiles as if that’s just another thing he adores about his husband. Love has abducted the man, and it’s done the same to me. I can’t take my eyes off Dirk as he moves around, settling everyone with food, a kitchen rag slung over his shoulder, his firm biceps on display.
He’s still in the suit he wore for the wedding, but he’s ditched the blazer and has rolled up the sleeves of his long-sleeved button-down. Dirk’s so fucking beautiful. I wish I could put my hands all over him, pull him into my lap the way Sutter’s trapped Casey.
Instead, I keep my distance, allowing my gaze to meet his now and then, so I can enjoy his pretty blush. He tries, but he can’t hide it from me. For everyone else, his emotions are a closed book. For me? He can’t keep the cover closed.
My staff serves us drinks, and when nine o’clock hits, Dash, Jack, and Casey break out the karaoke they’d set up earlier. Jack cons everyone—even Mercy, who’s apparently not as immune to his man as he might have you think—onto the floor for a group performance of Summer Nights. Everyone except Dirk, who won’t fucking sit down.
He’s been up and down, cleaning up after everyone, making sure Dash’s pint glass never hits empty. The only time I saw him relax for five seconds was when he was talking to Stacey earlier—it looked serious. It was enough to set me on edge. But then he was up again, looking after everyone.
His shirt has more buttons open than I want other people seeing of my man, skin glistening with sweat. I wanna take him upstairs. When he tries to get up again, intent on refreshing more drinks, I pull him back to the bench seat by the back of his waistband.
“Take a break, killer.”
