“What about Trav?” I say.
“You’re gonna play hockey, Dad?” Dash says.
“I’m gonna chase that orange ball and make a fool out of myself, is what I’m gonna do, while you guys play hockey.”
It wasn’t totally my idea. It started in the “brat chat” text convo Dash initiated. I still say I’m not brat enough to be in a conversation like that, but I maintain that someone needs to keep an eye on them. Jack and Casey started it, seeing what lengths their men would go for them. It was a silly little game until they pulled me, Dash, and Logan into it.
I kept ignoring their taunts, but when Casey was able to get Sutter to do a grocery store run in the middle of the night, and then have the guy make him bacon, mac ‘n’ cheese waffles, I got kind of curious.
So I tried a simple, mid-shift coffee request.
“Trav, I know we’re busy, but we got this, and I’d give my right arm for a Morino’s coffee right now.” I don’t serve tables as often as I used to, but I was that day, so I couldn’t leave, but Trav could. I didn’t even need to pull out the eyes.
“I’d hate for you to lose an arm, pretty boy. I’ll be right back.” And off he fucking went. Couldn’t believe my eyes. It got kind of … addictive. And the group chat devolved from there into a series of bets—each of us coming up with something we think someone’s gotta say no to. So far, our men are just too fucking devoted. I bet Jack he couldn’t get Mercy to let them get a goldfish, but apparently, Mercy has a rubber arm for Jack. There’s not much that Stacey won’t do for Dash. It was hard to come up with something, especially when Stacey’s in sync with Dash’s needs on a premeditative level.
“Get Stacey to let Hunter repair the garage door.” I was gonna get Hunt to do it anyway, but it was more entertaining tohave Dash arrange it. Somehow, he got Stacey to allow it, but he was a growly, jealous animal. I know that had to end in hot sex, so I was basically doing him a favor.
Then Dash—the fucker—bet me I couldn’t get his dad to play street hockey. His shock is real, though. I didn’t tell them he’d said yes. Hell, I’m still getting over the shock myself. I thought he’d say no for sure.
“This is probably a once-off, Trav, but I’m curious. Are you in the camp that thinks they should play on the same hockey team, or opposite team as their spouse?” Casey asks.
“There are pros and cons to both,” he says. “I’d say I’m same-team leaning, but not for the lovey-dovey reasons my son has—no offense, Dashie.”
“None taken,” Dash says.
“I might regret this, but what are your reasons?” Jack asks.
“I don’t share. He’s mine, so he’s with me. Period.”
A dark shiver runs through my body. That’s like foreplay. “And?” I breathe.
“And I’m not letting these fuckers touch you. If they wanna play rough, they can go through me.”
Casey groans. “Ugh, now you’re making me agree with Sutter. You guys are all pigeons. You’re supposed to protect the net, not Dirk. I vote they’re on different teams. I actually wanna play hockey.”
Jack laughs his ass off, and everyone else, including Mercy and Stacey, do a bad job of hiding amused grins.
Sutter shakes his head. “Nah, that’ll be worse. Instead of ‘protect the Dirk’, he’ll play ‘chase the Dirk’. They’re yours, Alderchuck.”
“Looks like I’m with you,” Maverick says, slapping me on the back and deciding for himself while Sutter and Casey bicker about house rules.
I raise a brow. It always feels like he’s up to something, even when he hasn’t done anything.
“Don’t look so suspicious, Boulder.” He leans in, voice dropping. “Remember, I kept your secret.”
What the hell’s that supposed to mean? Is he calling in a favor? Did his friendship app promote me to bestie?
Fucking Elkingtons. But he’s gone before I can land on a question.
Teams decided, we disperse, but not before Trav pulls me in for a kiss. “He was right,” Trav murmurs in my ear, voice raspy. “You’d have been doing a lot of running, because if I caught you, you’d be done for.”
He grabs me by the neck and plants a kiss on my lips.
Our hockey game is as high-stakes as if we’re playing a final round Stanley Cup playoff game. Bryce and Logan have to step in as refs, which results in more penalty minutes than usual, because Logan doesn’t know what all the penalties are and makes them up as he goes. He doesn’t give a shit when we tell him there’s no such thing as a kissing penalty.
But the amount of affection going around this game has me admiring us. We’ve all paired up, maybe even grown up a little. We’ve come a long way from a gang of hockey guys who moved in together during some of the hardest times in our lives.
“Fuck,” Mercy says, taking a radical tumble after Sutter trips him accidentally on purpose. He rolls, skin scraping against the pavement as the crowd of Meyers gasps. Bea covers Stanley’s eyes.
