Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
Dirk
My best friend’s dad sucked my soul through my dick. I can’t stop that thought from repeating like a broken record as I sit with said bestie at the kitchen island at the house. I’m kinda digging the forbidden-ness vibes.
“What are you smiling at, fucker?” Dash says.
“Your face. What’s that face about?” Best way to get attention off yourself? Use what you know is going on in your friends’ lives.
He lifts one shoulder, a half-shrug. “Something Stace said.” He shovels more cereal into his mouth.
Speak of the devil, Stacey strides in, his eyes land on Dashie, taking stock of him, but also gazing with pure adoration. He encircles him from behind and kisses his crown.
“Cereal, Dash?” he shrills. “Lemme make you something more substantial.”
He carries on to the coffee machine. Stacey Alderchuck can’t function without his first coffee.
“What about me, sweet ‘ums?” I ask. “Maybe I’m fucking hungry. Rude.”
Dash glares at me for calling Stacey sweet ‘ums, even though he knows I’m ripping on him.
“I’ll make breakfast for everyone. Anyone seen or heard from Casey in the past twenty-four hours?”
“Sutter’s apartment,” Dash says.
“Didn’t know they were having sleepovers,” Stacey says.
“They’re not. It’s called, they fuck through dawn, straight on till morning,” I inform him. “Y’know, kinda like he’s taking a ride on a giant, grown-up, very adult Peter Pan.”
“Ew. That’s my brother.”
“You asked. Anyway, I’m good for food. I’ve gotta be at the restaurant.”
Stacey raises a brow. “What are you talking about? Your shift doesn’t start till four.”
Okay, Mr. Knows Everyone’s Fucking Schedule. But I should have known he’d pay extra attention with all the shift changes. Stacey’s like a dorm mom. My bad.
“Trav asked me to be there to help him with the meat shipment this morning.” The lie falls off my tongue easily. Thank fuck I know when most of our shipments arrive because Stacey will too.
“Wow, I’m proud of you. You’ve really taken the initiative around the restaurant this summer. Makes me feel better about quitting,” Stacey says with a downturn in his voice. “I feel so fucking guilty.”
This is Stacey and Casey’s last summer working at The Wicklow. They’ve been pulled up to play for the Orcas in the NHL.
“It’s the end of an era,” Dash says, but there’s a lot more to his words that only I know about. Dash is trying to put on a brave face so he doesn’t worry Stacey, but he’s dreading being away from him for a whole hockey season.
“I don’t even wanna go, Dirk,” he told me in the kind of trembling fucking voice that made me want to punch Alderchuck in the face.
Maybe I should.
Dash hops off the stool, carrying his empty bowl over to the sink. Stace has the coffee going, he’s leaned against the counter, and Dash naturally molds against his body, his back to Stacey’s chest, with Stacey adjusting to fit him.
Do they know they do that? Fit together like perfect dance partners? Dash laces his hand with one of Stacey’s, as if maybe he can make Stacey stick to him.
My lips fight to break into my own smile. I get to do that with Trav in T minus ten minutes. I keep my poker face, though, plucking my hat from the counter.
Stacey clears his throat. “Um, that’s Dashie’s hat.”
I take another look. Shit. It is. But so what? Why’s everyone suddenly getting so territorial over hats?
“I saw yours by the door,” Dash says.
“Right. I’m gonna leave you two to it.” But I make a show of taking his hat anyway. Fuck them. This is something we all do. It was Casey who started it. I get being possessive and jealous and all that, but we’re a damn family, and this is what our family does.
They’re in their own world half the fucking time, I swear. But what’s important is that they don’t suspect shit. See? I can be good at subterfuge, and I can’t wait to tell Trav.
As if the universe begs to differ, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out as I head toward the door.
Hunter. Fuck.
It’s been three days since that wonderful little dinner. It’s shocking he hasn’t drugged me and carried me out of here in the middle of the night, mercenary style.
Hunt
Don’t think you’re leaving town without a severe fucking chat, kid. Get your ass to my place as soon as your work schedule allows.
A wave of scary tingles moves through my body. Fucking Christ he’s the devil sometimes. I bet some people would ignore their older brothers, but those people don’t have Hunter for an older brother. I text him immediately so that he doesn’t show up on my damn doorstep.
Me
Tomorrow work for you?
I add the saluting emoji just to be smartass. He needs to lighten the fuck up. Maybe if he does, he’ll go easier on me. Maybe if he lightens up, he’ll finally find a partner of his own.
Hunt
Stop by for breakfast.
That right there. That’s what makes my heart squeeze so much about my overbearing brother. Things like breakfast and dinner. He has to feed me, still making sure I’m nurtured, even when I know I’ll be read the Riot Act.
Me
Hunt
Don’t be a smartass. See you tomorrow.
Yeah, he’s totally laughing at me, though. I know it. Mission accomplished.
Istride into the kitchen where Trav’s unloading the meat order like I knew he would be. Unloading the meat is the job of the guy who delivers it, but Trav always helps him.
“Gets it done faster and helps me keep in shape,” he’s said. But I know the real reason is that his itch to help is too damn prevalent to ignore.
We set eyes on each other, and my stomach does the special swoop it does for him, only it’s ten times fucking stronger today.
The sun’s shining for once, and it’s blasting through the windows as if to illuminate the moment.
I saw him yesterday, but yesterday might as well have been an eternity ago.
Christ. Is this what falling in love feels like?
If so, I’ve been abducted by it. I’m a different person than I was.
Even if this whole thing goes tits up, I’m forever changed to this Dirk, “the one consumed by the way my man is looking at me right now”.
He gives a quick glance to the open back door—no delivery guy coming through yet—and he shoves his thick fingers into the waistband of my jeans, pulling me toward him.
I stumble, off-balance in the best way, landing against him, my arms naturally reaching up to encircle his neck as our lips press together.
Coffee and mint—that’s what he tastes like. He must have brushed his teeth and then had coffee.
“Hey,” I say once I get my breath back. But when I see his face, my brows press together. “Did I do something wrong?”
“That’s not your hat,” he says.
“So?”
“So, it’s my son’s hat.”
Ooooh, I get it. He must feel wrong kissing me while I’m wearing his son’s hat. “Sorry, I’ll steal one of the Alderchucks’ hats next time.” It’s harder to claim Jack’s these days, but I could probably manage Stacey’s or Casey’s.
“Or you could just wear your own.”
Huh? It’s not because it’s his son’s? Is he…? “Are you jealous, Trav?”
“There’s no denying they’re a better age for you to date.”
“Not this again. It’s too fucking early in the morning for this.” And I had to deal with said son and Stacey’s weird shit already.
He doesn’t get to respond. Footsteps clomp their way in, and we jump apart like we’re on fire. If the delivery guy, Turner, saw anything, he doesn’t say. More likely, he doesn’t give a shit about the drama of others, which is a motto I should adopt.
“Last box,” Turner says, stacking it with the others. I’ll help Trav sort them in the fridge. “Oh, hey, Dirk. Trav’s son, right?”
Fuck me. Just fuck me straight to hell. Why does today suck so bad?
It was supposed to be amazing, and maybe we’d fuck.
But not only did I have to watch two of my best friends be idiots in love, even though they’re not dating, I was forced to make an appointment to get chewed out by my brother, mildly told off by my man for wearing someone else’s hat, and now fucking Turner’s comment, making sure it’ll be a whole ice age before Travis ever puts his hands on me again.
Can I punch Turner? He’s got to be a meaningless side character in this mess. No one will care if I punch Turner, will they? I mean, clearly, he has the memory of a gnat. How many times have I accepted orders from him? Has he thought that I was Trav’s son this whole time?
But it’s a good dose of reality. If we tell people we’re together, we’re gonna get that. A lot. I think sometimes people mistake Mercy—Jack’s boyfriend, and my hockey coach—as Jack’s older brother, even though they look nothing alike.
How’s Trav gonna handle it?
“Not my son, Turner.”
“No? Sweet. That mean I can get your number, Dirk? I didn’t ask outta respect, but if he’s not—”
Some people might call Turner unprofessional, but it’s the best thing that’s happened this morning. The only way to fix the universal level fuck up that took place is to make Trav even more jealous than he already was.
“Dirk’s not available,” Trav says. “Get the fuck out. We’ll take it from here.”
“Um … did I do something?”
“Out!”
Turner does get the fuck out, and Trav glares at his back, probably contemplating murder, as Turner hightails it out the back where he came. Trav moves into the space Turner just left, as if he has to erase every trace of him.
“Fucking dude math,” he mutters.
Now that he’s gone, I can laugh freely at Turner’s expense. But Trav’s not laughing, he’s eyeing the stack of knives.
Um, okay. I should do something about that.
“Trav?” I reach for him; the graze of my hand sets him off. Slam! I’m pinned to the wall, his large form crowding over me, my heart thudding in my chest.
“Take the hat off, pretty boy,” he says slow and dangerous. “Your ass belongs to me, understand?”
Oh god, tingles. Explosions. Body on fire.
He’s terrifying, and it’s hot as fuck. I nod, unable to speak.
He knocks it off my head for me and then proceeds to consume me with his lips.
I go pliant beneath his rock-solid body.
Maybe there’s something wrong with me because I love the years of experience I can feel in his touches.
I’ve been with guys my age, and even some a little older, but they’re all missing the kind of dominance that comes with years of practice.
Travis is wild like younger guys are, but it’s the difference between being just another male lion and the head of the pride.
A possessive hand scratches its way up my shirt and over my abdominal wall.
My abs clench with the delicious pleasure of that touch and the way it completely owns me.
Even though I expected him to go the other way—keep his distance—this makes more sense.
Trav is an all-or-nothing kind of guy. You’re his or you’re not, there’s no in-between.
I am so fucking here for being his.
My hips buck against his crotch, grazing over the hardness there. He wants me. He wants me so damn badly. Will he do it? Rip down my jeans and take my ass right here? I don’t want to ask or beg. I just want him to do it. I want him to be so feral for me that he can’t hold back.
He doesn’t.
After a kiss that leaves me wondering what planet I’m on, he pulls away. “Glad we cleared that up.” He smacks my ass. “Now help me organize these.”
“What? Oh, c’mon. Tell me you don’t wanna sink your dick in me, Trav, and I’ll call you a damn liar. Why are you making me wait?”
He laughs, knowing that he holds all the cards on that one. He does. I’ll wait till he decides it’s time because it’s how I’m wired and who I am. Doesn’t mean I won’t do my best to fucking tempt him.
There’s no more hair to brush off my face after my haircut, but Trav mimics doing it as if he misses it there, his callused fingers—fingers that have probably broken bones—touching me with tenderness that feels like worship. “I have patience. It’s something you develop at my age.”
Smug fucker.
“Yeah, well, you can develop blue balls at any age, just sayin’.” But I resign myself to the fact that I’m not getting what I want. I kind of like that. It feels strict in some way. Is that my kink? I dunno, but I like the subtle control. “I have to see Hunt tomorrow. He’s gonna tell me off. FYI.”
“F … Y … I?”
“For your infor—fuck off. You know what that means.”
He laughs. “Yeah, just fucking with you. I’m not that old, and I spend too much time in this restaurant.”
The restaurant industry is dominated by mostly twenty and thirty-somethings. It’s typical to become a manager in your early twenties. Trav tries to keep up with us. The hostees are even younger, and I have a hard time with some of their new lingo. Honestly, I bet Trav knows more of it than I do.
“Wait,” I say before he pulls off me. I bring him back, luxuriating in the solid feel of him. Do we look as natural as Stace and Dash do? “I thought after the ‘your son’ comment, you’d be hands off.”
“I internally cringed, but that’s our future if we keep this up.
If I’m not going to find a way to get used to it, I have no business doing this with you.
And you know? All I had to do was take one look at you and imagine you with anyone else.
It made swallowing a comment like that easy.
It’s only the beginning, but I already know I don’t want you with anyone but me. ”
Fuck. Cue my insides melting. “You were looking at the knives. I know you wouldn’t stab anyone, but you really looked like you might stab him.”
He laughs his whiskey-chuckle laugh. “It’s cute you think I wouldn’t stab anyone, because I would, especially on your account, pretty boy.”
I swallow. “Um, how about coffee before stabbing?”
“Good idea. Go make me some. I’ll be in the walk-in fridge getting bluer balls.” He winks and pulls away.
Okay, I …
Well, fuck I’m …
My brain can’t compute what just happened. Even though I didn’t get the sex I wanted, the way he is turns out to be everything I didn’t know I wanted. I’ve always felt Trav was the one for me, but now I’m coming to learn why.
He’s protective, kinda terrifying, demanding, and domineering. He knows how to steal my breath, literally and figuratively.
He’ll also stab someone if they ask for your number.
Ugh, I should not find that hot, but I do. Right. My man is an ex-biker gang member. It’s easy to forget that with the fatherly exterior he’s cultivated for Dash, wrapped around him so tightly.
Trav’s off to the walk-in fridges, leaving me on coffee duty, but that’s not all he left me. Dash’s hat’s on the counter.
Take the hat off, pretty boy. Your ass belongs to me, understand?
Maybe I should take some cues from my friends. I’m starting to get it now, because picturing Trav wearing anything of anyone else’s makes me want to throw up.