Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
Dirk
I’ve changed my mind. This is so much more fun.
I don’t have to watch Trav leave for a date, or have pretty, big-breasted women sitting on his lap in the bar anymore.
I used to wonder about that. They always had giant tits—something I don’t have, obviously—was that something he actually liked?
Or was it so opposite to me, he was forcing it on himself?
Doesn’t matter now. That’s over. Don’t even know what I’m hoping to get out of this, but him off limits to everyone is a damn good start.
I finish my bar cleanup. It’s Friday, four days since my nice little chat with Trav, and I’ve got dinner with Hunter. I love my brother to death, but he still manages to set my nerves into panic mode. I glance at myself in the bar well’s mirror. I should have cut my fucking hair.
Trav stops by. I think it’s to wish me a good night—maybe with a kiss?—but the frown on his face says otherwise. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Um, my brother’s?”
“Isn’t that tomorrow?”
“You know damn well that it’s in an hour. If I’m late, I’ll be lectured for the entire fucking night. You know that, too, so say whatever shit you need to, and then I’m leaving.”
“You didn’t check your schedule.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“Check my…” What the fuck game is he playing here? “You already gave me the time off.”
He takes a glance around the restaurant. It’s empty except for the one lone hostee, wiping off menus at the front, in between the text conversation I know she’s having with her boyfriend. Trav steps closer.
“That was before we ‘got married’,” he says in a low voice with air quotes—I wish I hadn’t taught him about air quotes—around the words got married. That fucking tone goes straight to my cock for reasons unknown to me. “You’re responsible for half the restaurant now, dearest.”
The blood drains from my body. That’s not a real thing.
It can’t be. No, it’s definitely not, but he would punish me with something like that for manipulating him.
He knows me well enough to know how responsible I’ll feel, that I won’t leave him or the restaurant high and dry just because he’s an asshole.
I whip out my phone to check and, sure enough, I’ve got a lot more shifts than I’ve ever had before. The bastard smirks.
“I have to go to Hunter’s tonight. You know what he’s like.” My voice croaks, veins racing with adrenaline.
“You knoooow, I’m available tonight. I could work for you—”
“So do it, asshole.”
“Hmmm. That’s not very nice.”
“Gah. Trav!”
Somehow, he gets closer without touching me, but definitely invades the airspace around my body.
“Ask me to take the shift for you. Nicely,” he warns.
Why is this hot? Why am I into it?
I’ve got it. Because he’s taking back the control I stole four days ago. He was the one all over me, but it’s because I pushed him, dangling the idea of me with someone else, shattering the fragile illusion of control he thinks he has.
I love when he’s dominant like this, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t fight him on it.
“You can’t change my schedule without letting me know. I’m not doing shit.”
He checks on the host again. She’s deep into her phone this time. Trav grips my collar and drags me around the corner. Holy shit. His hands are on me. Again. They burn, burn so fucking good. He slams me against the wall between the public washroom and the bar. I exhale a sharp oof!
“You gave up fair when you did what you did the other day.”
“Nothing about this is fair,” I hiss.
“I’m not giving you permission to leave unless you ask. If you leave anyway, you do it without my permission.” He shrugs.
The man might know me too well. Dangerously too well. He’s so damn beautiful right now, his long hair falling over his eyes. I don’t know why that matters, but it does, somehow also working to manipulate me.
I take a breath. “Can I—”
“May I,” he corrects.
That’s how the staff gets each other’s attention in the restaurant. Everyone’s always in the middle of twenty things, sometimes you need the ability to say, “Not fucking now.”
“May I have dinner with my brother instead of working tonight?” I say as air deserts my lungs.
Fucking dammit, that’s humiliating and hot.
So. Fucking. Hot. And now I know there’s a second reason he did this, other than bringing the ball back to his court.
His dick must be suffering. He wants my dick to suffer as much as his is.
“Good boy,” he says.
My cheeks heat. Jesus. Total kryptonite when he says it, too. “Well?”
He smiles. “Yeah, you may go. I guess I’ll work for you. Make sure you observe the new schedule, husband dear.”
Yeah, there’s way too much sass on the word husband. I might skin Trav alive before the summer’s through, but I’m the one who started this war. What’s that saying about making your bed? But if I have to lie in it, shouldn’t I at least get fucked in it, too?
Crack! Handprint-shaped pain blossoms on my ass. “Ow,” I whisper-yell.
“Till ten pm should give you enough time.”
“You’re giving me a curfew?” I can’t hide the audacity.
“Not a curfew. Need you back here for close.”
I glare—potato, patawtoe. “Why?”
He shrugs, which means he doesn’t have a reason. Not a good one anyway. “You’re the one who wants to be my husband, this is what it would be like for you.”
“I see. You think this’ll get rid of me, do you?”
“Worth a shot.”
“I’ll see you at ten, asshole.”
“Can’t wait, pretty boy.”
The fuck did he just call me? I’m choosing to ignore that. And for maybe the first time in history, I’m cool as a fucking cucumber, heading out to a family dinner.
Hunter made all of my favorites—chicken parmesan, cranberry-walnut summer salad, and butternut squash ravioli from scratch.
I brought along an expensive bottle of wine I stole from the restaurant.
My fucking fake asshole husband can pay for it.
I smile at the thought of how pissed he’ll be when he finds the three-hundred-dollar bottle is gone forever.
What’s mine is yours, baby.
Fuck him and his schedule-changing bullshit.
My brother wore his good jeans and his nicer plaid shirt, but we’re sitting in the middle of a construction zone.
He bought this place last year, and he’s remodeling it himself.
It was supposed to be for him and his last partner, but the guy got tired of my brother’s obsessive work schedule.
The work he’s doing is fucking amazing. He’s building a mantled archway out of mahogany over the entryway to the dining room.
That he paused his project to have me over speaks volumes about his love for me.
“So, your sixth season’s coming up, eh?” he says around a sip of wine. It’s so Hunter to already be onto the next thing when we haven’t even celebrated last season. We won a damn Calder Cup. That’s fucking huge! I don’t bother getting into it.
“Yeah.”
“You still love it?”
“Yep, still love hockey,” I clarify.
“And you don’t have any interest in school? At all?”
“Hunter,” I complain.
He sighs. “Yeah, I know, but I have to try. I’m your only parent.”
Technically, he’s not, but Mom doesn’t give two fucks about us. He’s the only one who gives a shit, is what he means. But the problem is, I can read the disappointment in his tone without him saying what he’s holding on his tongue.
“I’m a single guy who works as much as his workaholic older brother.
I’ll be okay, Hunter.” Living with the guys has been good for my pocketbook.
I contribute to the finances of the house, and we all get a cut, which has led to me saving quite a bit over the years.
We make decent money at the restaurant as well.
I’m certainly not gonna have the kind of money Case and Stace’ll have when they move on to the NHL next season, but I’ve got everything I need.
I don’t like the way he’s looking at me.
“What?”
“Aren’t your friends gonna move on at some point? They’re gonna wanna move out, and then what? You won’t be able to afford to live in the city on your own.”
My gut sinks. Wasn’t thinking about that, but now I fucking am.
I know he’s just being his worry-wart self, doing the job of making me plan for the future—as a good guardian should—but I so don’t want to think about all that shit tonight.
The money I have saved won’t buy me a house in Vancouver.
I guess a small bachelor condo is a possibility, but I’m still a few years off in savings.
I might have to move back in with Hunter, which would be a nightmare. He’d be on my ass day and night.
“My friends won’t leave me high and dry, Hunt.”
And even if they do, my fucking husband’ll house me. I’ll make him. I almost laugh. Us being husbands is yet another inside joke—that’s not really a joke—I have with Trav. Too bad he’s not here to enjoy it.
“I’m a real grown-up. I promise. I’ve got everything under control.” Well, not everything. The Trav and me thing is kinda turning disastrous, but no way am I breathing a word about this to Hunter until we figure our shit out. Hell, I might not even tell him then.
“I know it’s the last thing you’d want to do, but you always have a home with me—you know that, right?”
“I’ve never forgotten it, and I appreciate it,” I add. I should crash for the night in the room I have here after dinner and forget about the impromptu shift I have on my night off.
He sighs. “Okay, I’ll lay off for now. How’s the love life?”
I almost spit out my wine. “Hunter. How’s that laying off?”
Next thing I know, he’ll be marrying me off to the neighbor’s son or daughter.
“You haven’t dated anyone in years.”
“Hasn’t been anyone worthy of my time,” I begin, until I see the look on his face. I can’t bear another sigh of disappointment from him. “Until now. I recently started seeing someone interesting.”