Friendzone Hockey (Heartbreak Hockey #4)

Epilogue

ONE WEEK LATER

Dash

I ’m not surprised that Stacey’s a dutiful husband, but I’m still in awe, watching it. He sits at the end of the bar top like a sentinel while I work. I doubt he’ll be able to sit still for long—Stacey’s not good at doing nothing—but he’s here and that’s enough. Though, I’m sure he’ll end up on the schedule before the week is through. When I told him what I wanted, us attached at the hip for the rest of the off-season, even when I go to work, I thought I’d get some kind of negotiation or push back. I thought he’d tell me he’d have to check his schedule. All the while, the oppressive claws of anxiety tore into me, making me hate myself for asking and unable to stop myself from asking at the same time.

Instead, all he said was, “Of course, sweetheart.”

I said, “You can’t really be that blasé about being chained to me.”

He held out his wrists. “Lock me up, Mr. Alderchuck.”

And he didn’t wait on me giving him my schedule, oh no. He was proactive, logging into the app we use for scheduling at The Wicklow—he knows all my passwords—and going so far as to get me up and ready for work rather than the other way around.

It’s the attentiveness for me. All the little things. Stacey intuitively knows how to make me feel safe enough to be myself.

I get lost in his eyes, staring at him when I’m not busy making drinks or helping customers. I can now. He’s mine, I get to stare at him all I want. When we catch each other’s gazes, the starburst sensation in my chest is still there, but it’s so much more now that we’re officially us. I work through a busy lunch rush, he does some work on his laptop—something about Rhett teaching him about investing.

When it slows down, I meander over with a fresh beer for him. I ordered him some food that should come out any minute, so he’d have something to eat while I do the midday bar prep, then we can get the fuck outta here. It’s so slow now that he’s the only one at the bar top.

As I approach, Stacey looks around. “Buying me a drink? Are you making a pass at me, bartender?”

I laugh. “And if I am?” I lean across the bar.

“I have to decline.” He holds up the ring. “I’m already taken, and he’s the most beautiful man in the world.”

Somehow, Stacey makes me feel like I actually am the most beautiful man in the world.

“Good answer, Alderchuck, but be my husband again so I can kiss you?”

He leans across the bar. Our lips don’t make it. There’s a loud fucking thump on the other side of the bar well. Several of the bottles jump, and a two-six of vodka crashes against the floor.

“What the fuck?” Stacey says. He’s up, heading toward the sound, and I’m right behind him.

He swings the door to the supply closet open. It takes a full minute for my brain to make sense of what’s happening.

Maxwell Elkington, Rhett’s dad, sweat-slicked, dark hair feathered over his face, one hand against the wall for support and the other threaded through another head of dark hair.

Holy shit. Eddie Arovini is choking on his fucking hog of a cock. He makes an attempt to pull off of it.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop.” He slaps him across the face. “Just for that, no orgasm for you. Make it up to me, and maybe I’ll let you come next time.”

Eddie moans around Maxwell’s cock, head bobbing as if being denied has turned him on more.

“That’s a good boy.” His steely eyes snap to us. “Can I help you?”

This fucking guy. As if we’ve interrupted a board meeting. As if this isn’t the scandal of the century, sexing it up in my broom closet. He was still the Mayor of Vancouver last time I checked, and Eddie’s still the owner of the Vancouver Orcas and a member of one of the richest families in the province.

“Maybe you and your lot have another problem for me to solve, hmm? The answer’s no. One fucking favor a season. Now if you don’t mind, get the fuck out.”

Guess he’s all tapped out after the Sutter and Casey situation just after the season ended. I thought it was Eddie who’d done the leg work there, but Maxwell’s taking credit as Elkingtons do.

He leans over to grab the door handle and pulls it shut with a hard slam in our faces.

“Do you think anyone saw that?” I whisper.

Stacey shakes his head. There are only a few tables still eating and they’re on the other side of the restaurant.

“Please, please tell me that your dick’s as fucking hard as mine is or I’m gonna have to die of embarrassment somewhere.”

He puts my hand over his cock. Hard as steel.

Eddie kept sucking Maxwell’s dick in front of us because Maxwell told him to. He was hungry for it.

“Your dad’s office empty?” Stacey suggests.

“Only one way to find out.”

We trip over ourselves, racing through the kitchen and to the back. Stacey’s hand’s reaching for the door. A harsh voice stills his arm. Was that … Dirk?

Stacey and I freeze, turning our ears toward the door.

Is Dirk fighting with someone in there? I mouth.

“I think so, ” he says, barely above a whisper.

“Don’t do this,” Dirk says in a voice I’ve never heard before. It’s pleading, it’s raw, it’s maybe the most vulnerable that’s ever come out of him.

There’s quiet. Then somebody might be talking, but it’s hard to make out the voice. Suddenly, the door’s flung open. Stacey swings us around the opposite corner, pressing us against a cold wall. I hold my breath. Heavy footsteps storm away, but new ones plod a tired rhythm toward the door. Knuckles crunch wood, and Dad’s curse echoes down the hallway.

Holy fucking shit—Dad and Dirk? I had my suspicions, but without proof, I could convince myself I was seeing things.

The door clicks so quietly as it closes, you’d think the door was tired too.

For several long seconds, we can’t move or speak. Then Stacey nods his head, and we do our best impressions of ghosts, so no one knows we were ever here.

M y pants are yanked down far enough to give him access. No one’s home, and we were feeling nostalgic because we closed on the house today, and that means we’re moving before the hockey season starts. We’ve still got time. Rhett’s got a crew in there, remodeling the basement, but our time is limited.

This is where we became a family. This is where our best and worst times happened. Soon it’ll be the last time we snuggle on that couch with the light hitting us in just the same way it always had.

We decided we needed to fuck in every crevice of the house before we leave it.

“Keep your hands on the fucking counter, Dashie.”

Stacey smacks my ass, I yelp. We’ve been tested, he’s clear to fuck me bare now, and oh god how good he feels.

I can’t help wanting to touch him, but I’m willing to sacrifice that for how bossy he gets when we’re fucking. I was the one fucking him last night, but there was no question as to who was in charge. He gave my dick a fucking workout, wouldn’t let me come until I’d earned it.

God was it hot.

“An order like that shouldn’t be followed by something cute like ‘Dashie’, just sayin’.”

“Bitch?”

Unfortunately, I’ve heard Sutter say that way too many times through the thin walls—our new place better have thicker walls.

“No.”

“Slut? Whore? Are you my needy whore, baby?”

“Fuck. Yeah … Yes, I am.”

My balls clench on every thrust, building, getting closer. He wraps a meaty palm around them, squeezing, preventing any hope of orgasm.

This is when my phone rings, lighting up with a name I haven’t seen in a while—one that turns my blood to ice. It’s an ex-boyfriend of mine. Fuck, did I really never delete Gator’s number from my phone?

Stacey hasn’t forgotten Gator either. His hips pause, but his cock remains firmly in my ass.

“What’s he doing calling you?” he snarls.

“No fucking clue. I?—”

He seizes the ringing phone. What do I do? Stop him? I should, but I’m not gonna. I’d rather remain tethered to his dick and if he’s gonna answer my phone, he could at least keep fucking me.

“Don’t you dare cum, yet, understand?”

“Yes,” I pant. I’m pretty close, and he’s so fucking hot when he turns into a jealous lunatic.

He puts the phone to his ear, starting a new—slower—rhythm. “Dash can’t come to the phone right now. He’s too busy moaning like a whore for me.”

Yeah, that checks out. I’m also whimpering and writhing on his cock. It’s so big. The biggest I’ve ever had. I’ve been missing out.

“Yeah, no,” he continues. “He won’t be calling you when he’s done, and you’re never gonna call him again.”

All the while, Stacey fucks me, hitting that special place inside me, bringing me closer to the edge. I’m so close to going over. I clench my straining nuts, not wanting to find out what happens if I come before he’s done.

I mean, it’s Stacey, so it’ll probably be a hot spanking, but I’d rather earn myself a “good boy” this time.

Because there will be so many other times.

He hangs up, tossing the phone into the open bedside drawer.

“Th-that was h-hot,” I pant out. Poor Gator, but he’ll live. I should maybe check my phone to make sure all my other exes are gone.

“The whore part was for you, the go fuck him was for me. I hated when you were with him.”

I make a helpless noise as he starts in on my ass again. He bends over to suck my neck as he hitches my knee onto the counter, which involves a second or two of him unlooping my jeans and boxers from my foot. My body presses into the counter, elbows bending to keep my hands flat to the surface; I’m spread open for him.

My cock leaks against the cabinet. I’m so turned on right now. It’s never been like this with anyone else, and I can’t help comparing. I knew all along, knew Stacey was the one for me. He was worth the wait. Not just because of the mind-melting sex, but also because of the mind-melting sex.

He drives his cock into me like a reckless animal, equally as ravenous for me, unable to control himself. Fuck. I hope it’s always, always like this. His fingers dig into my thigh, giving him leverage to fuck me in the savage way I pictured him on nights when this was only a wish.

“God, your ass, Dashie. Drives me fucking wild. It’s perfect, y’know? The most perfect ass in existence.” He spanks it for good measure and the moan falls out of me, I swear. “It’s all mine, too. I can’t believe I ever let you go near another man. What was I thinking?”

I laugh. “Yeah, not your brightest moment, Alderchuck,” I agree. “But I’m all yours now.”

“Fuck, when you say that … I’m gonna … can you?”

“I’m dying here. What part of my begging did you miss?” We’ve been at this for fifteen minutes, and he’s made me ride the edge for at least that long.

“Come. Come, sweetheart,” he says. A sharp pain blooms at the juncture where neck meets shoulder. Teeth. Stacey’s teeth sinking into me.

The pain times pleasure equation explodes, and I lose it. Shuddery shivers wrack my body, I cry loud enough the whole fucking neighborhood has to have heard me, cum shoots from my cock in torturous spurts that make their aftershocks known.

Behind me, Stacey’s pumping me full, moaning in sync with me. He pulls off of me just enough that I’m sure he’s getting a lewd view of my ass from behind with my knee on the counter like it is. Using his thumbs, he pries my hole open, sharp thrusting his way through what sounds like one helluva an orgasm.

Kinda wish I could see, too. See the way his cock disappears inside me and reappears only long enough to stuff me full again.

Stace yanks me up, still inside, cum crying tears down the creases of my inner thighs. I feel all dirty, and used, and totally his.

“Was that just like you wanted?” he whispers in my ear.

“Better.” My heart might explode.

We clean ourselves up—mostly. Stacey wanted his cum inside of me, knowing some would leak out.

“You can smell like me, too, sweetheart,” he’d said, and it was one of those times “sweetheart” sounded dark with a stamp of Alderchuck brand ownership.

For now, we’re taking a small break from our fuck-a-thon. He’s chopping veggies for a salad, while I work on a marinade for the steaks. We’re hosting one of many summer barbeques. Casey and Sutter went to stock up on booze, Dirk’s at work, and the rest will be over later tonight.

“What would you say to one more tattoo?” I ask.

“For you? Anything.” He gazes up briefly with a smile, never pausing his chopping. “What were you thinking?”

How do I explain this one to him?

“So, um, remember that day you met me?”

“The one where I walked into the wall like a moron? Yep. Still one of the best days of my life.”

“Yeah, well, I kinda followed you around before that.”

He pauses. “You’ve never told me that.”

“Because I sound like a stalker … but it wasn’t like that. You’ve always affected me. I was looking for my dad, but you were there and … oh god, none of this is coming out right. It makes sense in my head.”

He pats the counter with the same sexy-ass hand he’s used to spank me and hold me in place while he fucks me. Goddamn it. I’m horny again. But I follow its directive, hopping my ass onto the counter where I’m near him, where he can still chop away and make it out like he’s distracted. We know better, though. There’s no such thing as Stacey’s divided attention when it includes me. I’m the sole focus of his attention.

I love that a bit too much.

“Proceed,” he says.

It takes a breath and some rearranging of words inside my head before I can speak again. He doesn’t rush me, he gives me time.

“You just … you were there like an angel dropped on earth. But you’re not just any angel, you’re a mercenary angel. Sometimes I think you were sent specially to protect me.”

He smiles. “Are there mercenary angels in your and Logan’s soap opera?”

“Not a soap opera, Stace, and no. But there should be.”

“But I’m yours?” He rests a hand on my thigh.

“You are. I’d love to see something cool right here.” I sweep my fingers over his forearm. “Some kind of skull angel dude with a sword or something.”

“Done. I’ll do it.”

Sweet foam bubbles in my chest. I love him so much.

“And I kinda want something on you, too.”

“Oh?”

“Stacey’s Sweetheart. Right across your back where everyone can see it.”

I laugh. “Yeah. Checks out. And I’ll do it. I’ll brand myself with you any day, Mr. Alderchuck.”

“And I won’t just tattoo it on my arm, I’ll live up to the title, be your mercenary angel forever.”

“Oh, Stace. You already do.”