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I flip the penny. Tails. Tail. Alderchuck’s ass. Fuck. Alderchuck ruins everything. But it’s starting to feel like a message. It’s the only woo-woo crap I remotely believe in.
“He’s just bubblegum, Dad,” I explain to no one. No one answers.
No one believes me.
Chapter 7
Addicted to the Devil
Casey
My name is Casey Alderchuck, and I’m addicted to the devil. That’s how I’m gonna start my memoir someday, I just know it. And there he sits, at a booth with his dumbass friends that I’m going to have to wait on. I told the hostess not to sit them in my section, but they fucking did because they like to fuck with me.
“You take ‘em, Dashie.”
“Nah. I wanna see this.”
Fucker. Never should have let him in on my secret. Kinda hard not to when he walked in on Sutter railing me over the kitchen counter at the house. In my defense, no one was supposed to be home for hours.
What began as a series of filthy late-night booty calls at the beginning of the summer, has turned into, “Yeah, come over and we’ll squeak one out before I head to work,” now that we’ve been fucking with each other clear into late August. I wasn’t vocal about him coming to the house, but I didn’t hide it either. Maybe I wanted everyone to find out so someone would stop me.
Nobody has. Even Jack—who doesn’t live with Stacey, Dirk, Dash, and I, but has had to listen to me complain the most—hasn’t banned me from sitting on Sutter’s dick. That’s how I got here, because my “so-called” friends and family support my addiction. What I need is an intervention.
I need to walk into my living room, my nearest and dearest gathered in a semi-circle, reading me letters, telling me why me fucking Sutter is ruining my life and theirs. But do I get that? No. Just them telling me I’m adult enough to make my own decisions.
Clearly, that’s not true. Even I know Sutter’s the worst decision I could make, but I don’t possess the willpower to stay away from him.
I let Sutter and his merry band of idiots sit there, pretending I don’t see them, but I know better than to let them wait for too long. They’ll start causing a ruckus, and because they’re customers, I’ll be the one in shit from Travis. Huffing, I make my way over, Sutter leering like the dog he is.
“There he is, guys. Like I told you, he’ll bring us whatever we want,” Sutter says before I have the chance to greet them. “Bar wench, get the fuck over here.”
I can have him thrown out for that. I should have him thrown out for that. Will I? No. I’m my own worst enemy because I like the abuse.
“This is a pub, not a brothel, dickface. Consider yourselves lucky if I don’t spit in your drinks.”
Sutter laughs. “Feisty, kitten.”
Fuck my job, I’m gonna kill Sutter. I have a contract with the Vancouver Orcas. I’m only working here because Travis begged me. He lost a lot of senior staff and was banking on Stacey and me to help train the newbies over the summer.
Besides, Travis is cool and will understand. Killing Sutter is a service to humanity.
My gaze pans to Dash, pleading with him one more time to save me from these assholes. He snickers. Fuck him, too.
“Other than harassing the fuck out of me, what do you want?”
“Pint of lager,” Lane, one of Sutter’s idiot friends says. The rest give me normal, pub-esque drink orders, but Sutter makes me wait until last to take his drink order. I don’t know why that sends prickly arousal through me, but it does.
“You already know what I like, kitten,” he says, winking.
I scowl, but yeah, I do. Double vodka soda, splash of cranberry in a short glass,twowedges of lime. When he’s with these friends, he doesn’t hide his blatant attraction to me, but he should. That’s not to say I’m looked at as anything more than a casual fuck. His AHL hockey buddies know that he railed me in their locker room, but he told them it was a revenge fuck. Or something. I dunno. He mentioned it while his dick was in my ass, and I turn stupid when that happens, not paying attention to anything but my testosterone-fueled arousal.
I punch their orders into my iPad, so by the time I hit the bar, their drinks are up, courtesy of my brother, the head bartender. He raises a brow.
“Don’t start.” I glare at my tray, adding each drink with a hefty dose of spite.
“I think he likes you,” my brother says.
I’m about to tell him to fuck off, but then I get an idea, abandoning my tray on the bar top. What’s the point of having an identical twin if you can’t pull the ol’ Parent Trap switcheroo now and then? The benefits will be two-fold. I can fuck with Sutter and maybe find out if he likes me at all. I’m curious. Very simple curiosity that doesn’t mean anything.
