Chapter 5 #2
Holy shit. Trav’s knuckles right across Arthur’s pretty cheekbone. Travis is a gruesome sight, swinging his fists like that, trying to be my dark knight on a motorbike. His muscles ripple, hair swaying with his sharp movements.
“That’s your only warning. Put your hands on him ever again, and you’ll stop breathing forever.”
I shudder. I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s a snarling, feral beast.
Arthur’s a dick, but he’s not stupid. He hightails it back to the main roads, leaving me with the wolverine that took over Trav’s body. He’s next to press me against the tree, his barrel chest inhaling and exhaling in time with my lungs. “Did he hurt you?”
“Not to take away from the hero thing you’ve got going on—because it’s super fucking hot—but I was fine. I was about to tune his clock myself.”
“And hurt these all-star fists? No way. If you’re gonna break ‘em, they get broken on the ice.”
That’s real fucking sweet, but everything’s still ruined, and I’m gonna have to tell Hunter—kinda.
He’s not getting the full truth, but at least I’ve got sweet-ass Trav in place of the one that was avoiding me for weeks.
The one being a dick at the restaurant earlier.
Not that I’m letting him off the hook for that, but I can’t stand when we’re at odds.
“What’re you doing here? Did you follow me?”
“Clearly.” Guess he’s not even gonna hide it.
“And you’ve got a damn criminal record. What if he presses charges?”
Trav shrugs. “I’ll be fine.”
“You don’t know that. Fuck.” I’m in his arms, though. It’s hard to be too mad when I’m in his arms.
But all his swagger says he does know it. That somehow he won’t be in trouble. “C’mon.”
“Where are we going?”
“Your brother’s.”
Severe panic flushes my senses. “What? But your bike, we can’t leave it here.” It’s a lame excuse. I’m stalling. But we cannot go to Hunter’s together.
“I’m not bringing you to your brother’s on my bike. It’ll be fine here.”
“Bu-but he can’t—”
“We’re not telling him about us. We’re just gonna have dinner. Do you have a better idea?”
I don’t. If I show up with no one, Hunt will think I’m avoiding bringing my new beau by. If Trav’s a witness to what happened, that’ll help put this to bed.
But, dammit, it’s Hunter and Hunter’s scary as fuck sometimes. I don’t wanna be under his scrutiny at all.
Iknock, but it’s only a formality. I use my key to enter while making a stink about the fact that I knock on doors and Dash doesn’t.
“Yeah, I got it. My son needs to learn some manners.”
“Actually, no. Just around you,” I’m saying as Hunter arrives in the entryway. Had he heard our old married couple style bickering? He looks between us.
“What happened to your date?” Hunter asks, looking around Trav because Trav couldn’t possibly be my date.
Trav holds up his bruised fist. “A fist to the face.”
What the actual fuck, Trav?
“You had to fight Dirk’s date off him?”
Trav nods. “They met outside the restaurant, I saw what was happening and lent my assistance. I insisted that I escort him after what happened.”
Hunter’s glare isn’t for Travis. “Thank you, Trav. Why don’t you come in and eat with us?”
I do a double-take. Did my brother invite Trav to a family dinner? He’s never invited anyone other than Dash, and that was when we were younger.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Trav says to my shock and horror.
I might die tonight. I don’t know how we’re gonna pull this off. The only reason my friends haven’t noticed is because they’re too self-involved.
Hunter made Boulder stew and homemade bread.
When we were younger, he was not the chef he is now, but he learned because of me.
He wanted me to have better than fast food and shit from a box, which is why he pulled me aside the first time he saw what we had in the cupboards at the Alderchuck house.
It was laden with Casey’s storeroom of Kraft Dinner.
He said I was learning how to cook if it killed me, despite my protests that Stacey cooked most of the meals in our house, aside from some meal prep when it was my turn.
“Wow, what a spread,” Trav comments.
“Can Dirk get you a beer, sir?”
I have to pinch my cheeks to keep from laughing—Trav’s just been titled the elder in the room.
“I think I’ll opt for some of that wine I see on the table. You mind if I pour?” Trav’s all about his fancy wine serving skills he made us learn at the restaurant. “And sir was my father—call me Trav, even the kids do.”
I know he’s throwing Hunter off our scent, but I still cringe at being thrown in with the “kids”. I guess I have to let that one go, though. It would be weird if he singled me out.
We get settled with the hearty meal. Trav’s such a personable guy and a great guest. He has Hunter roaring with laughter. His compliments are genuine, and it’s not long before Hunter’s offering up his secret bread recipe.
“The trick is making a good sourdough starter, but it’s kind of a bitch. I’ll give you some of mine.”
“How come you don’t make this?” Trav says to me around a bite of hot bread and butter, and fuck, I see bread-making in my future. If Trav wants it, I’ll do it.
“He killed the last batch of starter I gave him,” Hunter says.
“I’m a hockey player; we don’t specialize in artisanal goods.” It’s not lost upon me that construction guys like my brother aren’t who you’d typically see wearing aprons and baking bread either.
“I want some,” Trav declares.
“Then I’d better try again, Hunt. Us kids take care of this old man around the restaurant. Wouldn’t want him developing a gluten intolerance from the kind of bread you get at the store.” Don’t know if that’s an actual thing, but it’s funny as hell to needle him.
“I’ve got more bread in the oven,” he says. “Be right back.”
Hunter gets up, Trav turns to shoot me a beaming smile, catching my pinky with his. It’s a small gesture, but it feels as big as the First of July fireworks on Canada Day. He’s quick to release my pinky once Hunter’s on his way back. He loads Trav up with enough bread to give him a food baby.
Somehow, we make it through the night. Hunter spoons gooey bread starter into a jar, and stuffs so many preserves in a cloth bag for me to take home that I’m gonna nickname him Holly Homemaker.
Or Hunter Homemaker, I guess.
“You know, Hunt, this is looking suspicious. You have all this time to make preserves and home-baked bread, and yet no time for a boyfriend or girlfriend,” I say while I wait for Trav to be done in the washroom.
Hunter reaches an arm up along the doorframe, tapping his fingers as if he’s waiting for an answer to come. “How about we agree not to comment on things that look suspicious for now?”
My stomach plunges into ice-cold nothingness. Does he know? No. He doesn’t know, but he’s suspicious. It’s Travis, though, so I guess I’m getting the benefit of the doubt.
For now.
Trav returns, thankfully, and Hunter stares at him for too long as if he’s trying to see inside his brain.
“Thanks again for looking out for this one,” Hunter says. “If I chanced upon someone taking advantage of my little brother, I’d be in jail right now.”
Hunter’s meaning is clear.
In true Travis fashion, he’s unfazed. “No one’s taking advantage of him on my watch.”
Halfway down the street, Trav chuckles his face off. “That was cute.”
I punch him in the arm. “That was fucking terrible. He suspects something.”
“He more than suspects something.”
“This is your fault,” I accuse. “You shouldn’t have stayed for dinner. What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking you weren’t gonna ogle me like a fucking schoolboy.”
“I was not.”
“Was too. I, on the other hand, put on the perfect show.”
“Asshole.” He was better than me, I’ll admit that, but he was the one locking pinkies with me under the table. Guess this is dead in the water. We can’t even get through dinner with my brother, because yeah, my adoration for Trav is all over my face. Hard to be mad about that, though.
We make it to Trav’s bike. He hands me a helmet while he packs away the bag of stuff Hunter gave us.
“You just happened to have two helmets with you?”
“Nope. That one was always for you. Even if your date wasn’t assaulting you, I was bringing you with me.”
“First of all, wasn’t a real date. Second, hot. Third, all this has done is make me want to make you more jealous.”
“I doubt you’ll feel the same way after the punishment I have planned for you.”
“Punishment?”
He hasn’t put his helmet on yet, too busy scorching me with that raw, carved-out face.
Every feral line, every shadow cut sharp under the streetlights.
The word punishment on its own coils in my gut, but paired with that look?
It sets me off in ways that don’t feel very punishment-like.
Does he want to spank my dick? He can. I heartily consent.
“That’s what happens to misbehaved husbands under my roof,” he growls in a voice that says whatever he has in mind isn’t up for debate.
He’s the predator, and prey doesn’t get choices. Fuck that’s hot. That’s sooooo fucking hot.
I shake my head, fondly. “I’m not under your roof, Trav.”
“Close enough.” Trav removes his leather jacket and stuffs my arms into it.
It’s the only leather jacket between the two of us. “What are you gonna wear?”
“We’re not going far.”
“That’s not an answer to my question, Travis.” I seldom use his full name.
“I’ll travel slowly.”
That answers nothing. His head’ll be protected, but not his skin from becoming hamburger meat if we crash out.
He grips my chin. “I’m not gonna crash tonight. I’m carrying precious cargo.” He rubs a thumb over my bottom lip.
It shouldn’t win me over, but it does. I pop the helmet on. Once he’s on the bike, I get to secure my arms around him and lean against his back. He revs the engine.
“Hold on tight, pretty boy.”