Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
Dirk
We have a big bar night at the end of the summer. Trav did not want me to go, and it was fucking adorable.
“The idea of you being in a nightclub with a whole bunch of men staring at you turns my stomach. You should only be going to nightclubs with me.”
I felt the same—I wouldn’t want him going to a nightclub without me either—but Casey’s pissed at Sutter for something, which means he’s with Sutter less and around the house more. It would look suspicious as hell if I didn’t go.
“I won’t dance with strangers,” I promised him, and it was the wrong thing to say.
“Well, that should fucking go without saying.”
“What I mean is, I’ll have to dance with my friends. I’ll mostly dance with Dash, okay?” Trav knows I still keep a protective vigil for him.
“Not in love with that either.” Huh. Well, that’s fucking changed. “Doesn’t he have Stacey for that? What about that Syd guy?”
“It’s a family bar night. No boyfriends allowed unless they’re also family.” It was supposed to be, anyway. Rhett ended up inviting Sutter because they’re besties, and I guess Sutter counts as Rhett’s family. They’re not related by blood, but they’re close.
I resorted to begging Trav because I just didn’t think it was gonna be believable that I caught a sudden stomach bug.
He finally agreed, but he was a grouchy asshole for two days after, and it prompted a much-needed conversation.
We haven’t done a lot of talking about anything.
It’s been quick hands on each other, stolen kisses, and swift blow jobs because we’re horny motherfuckers.
I’ve stopped judging Sutterchuck, but I reserve the right to complain about them forever after walking in on Sutter licking ketchup out of Casey’s asshole. I can never unsee that shit. They’re a walking trigger warning.
Still kinda judging Stace and Dash, though. I’m knocking their heads together if they don’t get their shit together soon.
Trav pulls me into his office. It’s the middle of the day, and it’s been three days since that bar night.
“Talking to me again?”
“I never wasn’t talking to you.”
“Bossing me around the fucking restaurant isn’t talking to me, Trav.”
“Shut the door,” he grunts.
I shut it, but I stay on my side of the office, leaning against the wall with my arms crossed. We’re like a match and a bomb. If we touch, we’ll explode, and there’s noooooo way we can do that right now.
“I’ve been acting like a child. I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s no excuse, but the reason is I’ve never felt this way about anyone, and I feel real uncertain about us. It’d be so much easier for you to find someone else.”
Well, now I feel bad, and I want to be over there with him. I shouldn’t, really fucking shouldn’t, but I cross the invisible line. He’s up from his chair, gathering me in his arms, laying kisses on my face. I inhale him.
“You’re wrong about it being easy for me to find someone else. There’s no one else for me but you, Trav. No one will ever be what you are to me.”
He holds me in a vice grip. “I know what you guys get up to during the season, and the one club night got me thinking about all that. I’m sorry, but you can’t.
I’m not okay with it. Going to the club says you’re available, and you’re not a-fucking-vailable, Dirk.
You’re gonna have to find a way to decline. ”
“Didn’t Dash tell you about Coach Meyer? He’s a hard ass. He doesn’t let us have fun. I mean, there are a few socials a season and some of them are bar nights, but I’ll skip.” It’ll be easier to do it during the season when I can play the “I’m dead from practice” card. “Better?”
“Much.”
“Look at us. We talked.”
“Yeah. This is downright chatty for us,” he agrees.
On the one hand, us being so taciturn’s probably gonna run us into trouble, but on the other hand, at least we’re both that way. We get each other, and it’s become an inside joke over the years.
“Maybe we don’t need as many words because we’re meant to be doing this…”
My mouth’s at the right height to suck on his neck. He moans, his hips thrust into me, seeking me, brushing our cocks together. I need out of these jeans, dammit.
We inhale in sync, our touches fanning the fire between us. It’s always on a low crackle, just waiting to burn us alive. All it takes is the smallest of things—a look, a brush of knuckles—and then it’s game over. The need bursts out of control, mutually claiming us so that we’re possessed by it.
“Please,” I whine. “I want you in me, so fucking bad.”
“Believe me, one day I’m taking your ass over that desk, pretty boy. But not today.”
I know he’s got grand ideas of chivalry.
He thinks that if we’re in a bed for our first time together, it’s going to have more significance.
I don’t give a fuck. I just wanna be owned inside and out by this man.
I don’t care if he does it over his desk, in the washrooms beside the bar, or in the alley behind the restaurant.
I want to be his to take, whenever and wherever.
Besides, sex is sex. We’ve done that as far as I’m concerned, the moment he put his mouth on my dick. Is this because he’s forty-something? Some … older person thing?
But I guess right now isn’t the best time anyway, with so many people in the restaurant.
As if to verify that paranoia, there’s a sound outside the door. We pull away, freezing. False alarm.
God fucking dammit. I wanna punch something.
“That’s your cue to go,” he says, but he’s smiling as his brutish hand comes down hard on the side of my ass.
“Mother—ow!” Maybe I’ll punch him. But then my eyes land on his neck and panic seizes me. “Shit, Trav. Uh, I went a little hard. Sorry.”
On the side of his neck sits a pinkish mark that’s definitely from my mouth.
Honestly, though? It’s hard to feel too sorry about it.
My fingers brush over it, enthralled. I want to lay down about a million more of these, mark him up real good.
A bright red warning for everyone to keep their hands off him.
It’s also about the only place I can put a mark like this and have it show up.
Most of Trav’s body’s covered in tattoos, but his neck is tattoo-free on the left side.
He grips my hand, pulling the knuckles to his lips. “S’okay. That’s where my long hair comes in handy. Speaking of long hair, what are the chances you’d grow this out for me, pretty boy?”
I swear to fuck, my heart flutters. My cheeks heat, too, almost as if I’m getting shy, but I don’t get shy. Dear God. What’s happening to me? Trav turns my insides to mush.
“You know I always grow it out for the season.”
Trav shakes his head. “Let me make myself a little clearer.” His voice is low, just a deep rumble.
He slides his fingers into what’s left of my hockey mullet after my end-of-season barbershop massacre until pain prickles the roots.
“People can think you’re growing it out for the season, but that won’t be the real reason; it’ll be because your man wants something to hold while he fucks your mouth. ”
Holy shit. The shiver straight through to my cock. How does he think I’m gonna walk outta here normally after that? My cock is about to die due to blood overload. Or something. Is that a thing? Feels like a thing.
A delicious sensation curls into my belly. “Yes. Yeah. Uh-huh,” I say, barely able to form words.
“Good. Glad we got that figured out.” He presses a quick kiss to my lips.
And I do my best to leave his office and not let on that I have the world’s worst fucking case of blue balls.
“Hey, Dirky. Did, uh, Dad say anything interesting to you?” Dash asks later when we’re at the house.
A lightning jolt of panic sets my heart off in a gallop. I do my best not to let it show on my face by keeping an even stonier countenance than I usually do.
“’Bout what?”
“That fucking hickey on his neck. The one his hair was hiding. Didn’t even notice it till the end of the day.”
Shit. I knew that was gonna bite us in the ass, but sounds like he thinks he only missed it earlier and not that it appeared mid shift.
“It’s kinda weird that you’re so involved with your dad’s love life.
” I hate that I have to throw him off the scent in any fucking way possible.
Is it because I feel bad? Actually, no. I know Dash inside and out.
After he gets over the weirdness, he’ll be happy for us.
I hate throwing him off, because I’m dying to tell him.
He’s such a terrible secret keeper, though. All I need is for him to accidentally out me to Hunter like he has with countless other shit.
Dash pushes me. “Um, yeah. Whoever he ends up with will be my stepmom or stepdad.”
When I say I’m biting my lip in half to keep from laughing my ass off…
Shit. Of all the things, that didn’t occur to me. If—in some wild stroke of luck—all this works out for Trav and me, I’d be my best friend’s stepdad. That’s fucking hiiilarious.
I need to get my shit together and deflect him somehow, though, because he’s looking at me funny. He doesn’t already suspect me, does he? No, he’d be flipping out a lot harder if he did. Because, yeah, he’d be okay with it, but he’d still have a bird.
“It’s also fucking weird that you think he’d talk about his love life with me.”
“But you’re good friends. Honestly? I’m jealous of how close you are with him sometimes. You’re supposed to be my friend, but you hang out with him more.”
Um, hmmm. Maybe it’s a wonder we haven’t been discovered yet. We check all the boxes. Unfortunately, I think it’s more a testament to how unlikely we are, and that’s shitty.
“That’s because you’re always with Stacey.
” He frowns, and I know why, but it’s true.
When Dash and I were little, we were inseparable.
He’s still my best friend forever, but when Stacey entered his life, his focus shifted.
I’m not mad about it because I know they’re gonna end up together one day—as soon as they get their heads out of their asses—and that’s the way it should be with the love of your life.
But it’s still a fucking fact. I hung out more with Trav because I hung out less with Dash.
And, yeah, I could have shifted my focus to my other friends, but Trav’s my person. I know he is. It was natural for us to gravitate toward each other eventually, irrevocably pulled together by a force bigger than us.
Ugh. I wanna tell Dash so fucking bad.
Dash shrugs off the frown, and I’m certain that whatever’s about to come out of his mouth is gonna be snarky as fuck.
“You could have hung with Jack or Case, but you picked my dad. Maybe you’re the one who left the hickey on his neck.”
A cold sheen spreads over my body. Fuck. Fuck! If I can’t even throw Dash off the scent, how am I gonna throw my brother off? I should’ve made up a story about some random date he had, but even the thought of him dating someone else—yeah, that I made up—twists my gut.
Dash cackles. “You should see your face. You deserve it for saying what you said. As if I don’t want Stacey with my whole being. And now we’re gonna be apart for a whole season—I think I’m gonna be sick.”
He crawls into my lap, and I’m so fucking relieved that the heat’s off Trav and me that I do what I always do, encircle my arms around him to comfort him.
And I feel for him, I do. I’m constantly commenting on how they should get their shit together, and I get that their situation is complicated.
But the top question on my mind is: Would Trav have a fit if he saw me on the couch like this with his son?
Yeah, he would. He’d get so fucking jealous. He’d probably—finally—toss me over any available surface and claim my ass. It would be so damn hot. I need more ways to make him jealous without him stabbing someone.
Also, I cannot think about Trav’s dick right now. Focus, Boulder.
I put my attention where it should be, on Dash. Sometimes I wanna punch Stacey in the face.