Breakneck Hockey (Heartbreak Hockey #3)

7. Addicted to the Devil

Chapter 7

Addicted to the Devil

Casey

M y 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, two wedges 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.

God, I’m pathetic. I sound like I’m pining after my first high-school crush. But I need to save my pride somehow, and having a leg up on him feels like the move. Because if he’s into me for real, I can twist that to my advantage. I’ll fuck with him even more on the ice.

I could ask him.

Yeah, no. Worst idea ever. Then he’ll have the leg up on me, and that’s never happening. Sutter can have a leg up on me when I’m cold in the ground.

Or in his bed, I guess.

“Change shirts with me in the kitchen.”

Not rolling his eyes at me is a feat only he could pull off but, because he’s a fucking awesome brother, he follows me into the kitchen.

“Parent Trapping someone?” Dirk says from behind the hot-side pass bar. He’s acting kitchen manager while Travis is away.

“Yeah, fucking Sutter,” I tell him.

“Ah, your boyfriend.”

“Not my boyfriend, asswipe.” I pull my shirt over my head as Stacey does the same. We’re both wearing black slacks per uniform requirements, but he’s wearing the black button-up shirt bartenders wear, and I’ve got the Wicklow’s server’s t-shirt.

“You kind of wish he was, though,” Stacey says.

“How dare you?” I put a hand on my bare chest. “My own flesh and blood.”

Once we’re changed up, Stacey fixes my collar. He can’t help himself. He’s only five minutes older, but he’s forever the older brother. “Mom would be so proud.” He smirks, slapping my face.

“Fuck off.”

It’s not hard to put my Stacey on. The people who know us well can tell us apart easily. But an idiot like Sutter will never tell the difference. I take my place behind the bar and Stacey heads off to their table with the tray of drinks.

I’ve spent many a night behind this bar myself—we switch between bar and server shifts—so I get to work, taking a look at the screen for my next round of orders. All the while, I keep my eyes and ears open without being obvious.

My brother plays me up. He can do a good me. Maybe too good.

He gives off my “go fuck yourself” vibe nicely, and Sutter falls for it. He’s flirting with my damn brother. My hands clench tightly around the high-ball glass in my grip. I know it’s technically me he’s flirting with, but it’s not me, and I don’t fucking like it.

Can I still rip his balls off?

Stace saunters toward the bar with a smirk on his face, enjoying my glare as he punches their food order into the computer because, shit, forgot to give him my iPad. With his back turned from Sutter, he laughs. The new drink order pops up on my bar screen.

Four shots tequila, pitcher of Canadian, another dainty drink for Sutter. This time I’ll be making it for him … should I get him wasted? Not that they need my help, doin’ shooters at one in the afternoon. Jesus, Sutter. They must be planning to do some partyin’. After last season with Coach Meyer, I’m still afraid to look at a party.

I slip an extra shot of vodka into his double vodka, breaking BC liquor laws.

Leaning against the bar, crossing my arms over my chest, I watch, extreme itch building under my skin. I guess I should be happy he’s leering at “me” so much. It does things to me, even from all the way over here. And fuck does that grind my gears. Why does Sutter have to be the lay of my life? Also, why am I obsessing over something my dick chose? There’s no other reason to like Sutter other than his massive dick and skill for using it.

Like, literally no other reason.

Fuck, I can’t watch this anymore. I need some damn nicotine. I’m not proud of my vaping habit. I usually kick it by the time the season starts, with only a few cheats here and there, but working in the restaurant industry requires it and copious amounts of alcohol.

I head out to the back, behind the restaurant, and inhale a puff into my lungs. The air fills with cotton candy scent, and I rest against the building. Ahhhh. Sweet relief. I take another two hits from my vape pen, enjoying the head rush, and pocket it. That’s all I need. I should start weaning myself off again, anyway.

“Alderchuck.” My insides cringe. Did the bastard follow me out here?

“What do you want … Mitch?” I ask, his name weird on my tongue. But I’m pretty sure Stacey doesn’t call him by his last name off ice like I do. Or maybe he does. I don’t actually know. I should have paid more attention before I began this farce.

“Saw you across the bar. I thought to myself, why have one Alderchuck when I can have two?”

What the fuck? He’s hitting on my brother? No, no. He’s got to be fucking with me. Does he know it’s me? He can’t. Outsiders don’t know. They never know. But just in case, I’m fucking with him back.

“You couldn’t handle me,” I say.

He slaps a hand against the wall by my head. Sutter’s got big eyes and his hair falls into them, making him all sultry and shit.

“Just a kiss.”

One thick finger nudges my jaw. I break like thin ice. His lips crush mine, and my back hits the wall. Sutter’s breath lights me on fire and I can’t breathe. I paw at his solid torso. I want him now, want him to take me right against this building.

This is good. It works out. If he fucks my brother that’s an unforgivable. I’ll be forced to give up my addiction and the bane thrust into my life will be gone. Fuck my friends, I’ll give myself the intervention.

I go for his belt.

“How about a fuck? You got condoms?”

He reaches into the pocket of his leather jacket. “I was a boy scout. I always come prepared.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ve already been treated to several of his preparedness lectures because I’m never prepared. Being paranoid is Sutter’s full-time hobby.

I almost make a quip about it, but I’m “Stacey” and I don’t know about his annoying insanity.

“Perfect.” I move to tackle his belt buckle, but I’m turned around instead.

“Don’t think so, Alderchuck. I’m in charge.”

Stacey would never let anyone take charge of anything. My brother comes across as mild-mannered, but try and tell him you’re going to do something he doesn’t want you to do. Sutter doesn’t know that. “You’d better fuck me hard, Sutter.”

He’s already unzipping my pants, yanking them down. Those coarse fingers of his scrape against my skin, igniting intense need. Fuck, his fingers alone have the power to turn me into an aching livewire of arousal.

“You’ll have so much trouble sitting, your shithead twin’ll feel it.”

As Stacey, I’d tell him off for that, but I’m also my brother fucking my, uh, brother’s repeat hook up so maybe my brother needs to come off as kind of a dick. Fuck, this is getting complicated. I’m too aroused to worry about insults right now.

“Just get your dick in me, asshole.”

There’s little prep. Just two of his oh-so-good fingers up my ass to grease the way with some lube.

“Yeah. Yeaaaaah, ” I groan. It’s been days. Days too long. I’ve had to work and Sutter’s off doing whatever he does.

“You like that, huh? Just like your brother.”

“Don’t talk about my brother while we’re fucking.”

“Not fucking you yet.” My next insult is lost as a jumble of moans while his fingers torture me from the inside. I stick my ass out more, enjoying the in-and-out slide. There’s a jangle and the fingers leave.

“Sutter!”

“Gimme a fuckin’ second,” his gravel-rough voice says. “I need both hands to put the rubber on.”

“People walk by this alley. You need to hurry it up.”

He mutters something I can’t make out, but at least I feel his condom-sheathed cockhead at my entrance. I push back more, greedy for it. So hungry for his dick. It can’t be healthy to like one man’s dick so much.

Sutter teases, dipping the head in, greasing his dick along my crease. Then, shove , and in. Ahhh. Yeah, that’s the stuff. This cock is what dreams are made of. He grips my hips, slowly sliding in and out, not rushing like he should be.

It’s in the back of my mind that anybody could come out here. Anyone could park back here. Pretty sure the wine delivery’s coming today, to be honest. But fuck. I need this. Who knows when we’ll meet up again, or if we will? In a week, I’m going on the Meyer family camping trip. Not long after that, training camp starts. These fuck sessions over the summer have been scattered and tumultuous, every fuck volatile enough to be the last.

I’ve chased him out of my house with a butcher knife. He’s shoved me out of his apartment in nothing but boxers, clothes tossed at my head out the door. I never know if he’ll call me again, and I sure as fuck ain’t calling him. It’s against my constitution.

It’s also the last weeks of nobody knowing who we are. Not really. Sure, the odd die-hard hockey fan might be really into the AHL and notice us, but unlikely in Vancouver. This’ll be over for real then.

Playing in the AHL, our little fuck fests weren’t as big a deal. Hell, he fucked me in the Boston locker room. We won’t be doing that for his new teammates. The Vancouver Orcas and the Boston Copperheads are rival teams in the NHL. Even being seen together could end in riots.

“You’re the better player, y’know,” he says. “If he hadn’t shown up in that club in Boston, I’d have pursued you. I’d rather fuck excellence.”

“Okay, we’re done, Sutter. Get off me now.”

He stops. “Too far?”

“I can’t believe you’d fuck my brother, asshole.” I’m the one who told him to get off me, but I’m kind of praying he doesn’t listen.

“Oh, I get it.” He leans over me so that his breath’s hot in my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “Kitten, I know it’s you.”

I swear to fuck my heart stops beating. He knew? I glare, not quite knowing how to form a question. If he did know, that’s a big fucking deal. He couldn’t know, unless … “Did you see us leave for the kitchen?”

He heaves a sigh, spinning me around. My hard dick swings at him like a weapon.

“Missed that part—I went to piss—and for a hot second I was confused as he walked up to the table, but then I figured it out.”

I frown. “What do you mean by that?”

His crooked nose—the one I’ve broken multiple times—wrinkles. “I knew it wasn’t you. Let’s leave it at that.”

“We’re not leaving it at that, Sutter.”

“We are.”

“Did you figure out the height difference thing?” I ask, because what a mind fuck. Something had to have given it away. There’s no way he just knew .

His brows pierce together. “Identical twins can have a height difference?”

They can. I’m almost six feet, but Stacey is almost six feet and three inches. We’re about two and a half inches apart. It’s something that, if you study us closely enough, you can figure out. Most don’t.

Is Sutter fucking with me? Don’t think so this time. That’s genuine confusion on his criminally gorgeous mug. My jaw works, trying to say more words, but nothing comes out.

A car swings around the corner, and we jump. Sutter spins us, hiding me from view, caging me between the building and his strong body. The car drives by without noticing us.

He uses a knuckle to tilt my chin up. “I came out here to fuck you, brat. Can we get back to that? This talking shit blows.”

“No, we can’t.” My dick is starting to hate me.

He noses his way up my neck. I harden myself to his ways as much as I can, but it’s not enough. My knees buckle. I close my eyes and enjoy the press of his lips on my skin. Searing. Melting. Burning my flesh from bone.

“You taste so fucking good, Alderchuck. You’re my favorite addiction.”

That’s all I am, though. He might not have thought I was my brother—which I still want to know more about—but I’m a weird-ass fetish of his. He chuckles into my skin.

“What?”

“I thought maybe you were doin’ some weird brother role-play thing. I had a whole bunch of brother-related shit planned. Kinda glad I didn’t have to go through with it.”

“That’s fucked up, Sutter.”

“After all the weird shit we’ve done? Nothing surprises me. I ate KD out of your?—”

“Whoa, okay. Yeah, I guess we don’t have much on our no-go list.”

He shrugs. “Meh. Most of the stuff we’ve done is low on a long list of weird shit I’ve done. I’m fucked up in ways you can’t imagine.”

It’s not the first time he’s said something like that. I didn’t believe him the first few times, but the way he said that … Is there something to it? I mean, there’s gotta be. Mitch Sutter can’t be normal, but he comes from normal. His parents are loaded. They live in a normal, upper westside Vancouver neighborhood. Everything about him is normal. Boring even.

Except for Sutter himself.

Paranoid. Has shady friends. Preps for the apocalypse. Also, he doesn’t act like a rich preppy kid.

I know one. Rhett. Rhett’s the rich preppy kid stereotype. Rhett’s also one of his best friends, which makes things more deceiving, so I thought they were alike at first glance. I’ve had the misfortune of getting to know both better over the summer, and I’ve picked up on the differences. There are similarities, sure, but they’re not the same.

Not at all.

Sutter’s more like the kid who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks.

His hand wraps around my cock and it does a good job of convincing me to let it go. Do I really need to know what confused him? Do I really need to know how he knew Stacey wasn’t me? Know what? Fuck it.

“Yeah, okay. Keep doing … wait a minute. That means you were flirting with my brother and you knew that you were.”

He smirks, keeping the pace, stroking my dick. “Serves you right.”

A sharp right hook connects with his jaw—his perfect jaw. It’s gonna bruise, but it doesn’t faze him. We’ve been hit too many times for a little shot to the face to do much. He gives it a little rub with his free hand, moving it back and forth.

“You’re gonna fucking pay for that, Alderchuck.”

My body spins, my hair whips, and my palms slap the wall. Sutter smacks my ass, submerging his dick inside me in one go, and there’s no more talking. My loud moan’s cut off by his large hand.

“You’re gonna have to scream into my hand, brat. Those moans are for me.”

And scream I do. Sutter rams into me with a force reserved for a hurricane and my hand moves down to stroke my cock to help things along. We should be careful, but this is the sort of reckless thing we’re known for.

“That’s it, take it. Squeeze that ass around my dick, Alderchuck. God, you’re so fucking tight.” He picks up the pace, breathing hard in my ear, hammering my prostate.

I jack myself faster, finally exploding. I sink my teeth into his hand.

“Fucking, ow, asshole,” Sutter says in the middle of his orgasm. That doesn’t stop him from collapsing his head against my neck as I rest my forehead on the side of the building. We need a minute after that one.

He sheds the condom, tossing it into the large outdoor garbage bin, and I pull up my pants, which means there’s gonna be cum soaking my underwear. Wish it was his. This might be exhibitionism, but it’s tame for us. He’s cum all over my chest and made me wear it under my clothes. Guess I could have washed it off at any time, but I didn’t want to because I’m kinky like that.

I liked being … good for him.

I watch him carefully as he inspects the bite I left on his hand. Was this our last time? I should end things now while the ending’s semi-good.

“Should I consider that a goodbye fuck?” I pull my vape pen from my pocket and take a hit.

“Why? Gimme some of that.” He takes the pen from me and seals his lips around where mine just were.

“We can’t keep doin’ this during the season for obvious reasons, and I leave for that camping trip I told you about in a week.”

“I’ll find ways to get in your ass, Alderchuck. Don’t worry.”

But I am. I figured something out today—I’m in this too deep. I can’t and won’t date Sutter. He’s not boyfriend material. Unless, well, would he want to date me? Fuck, I dunno. I’m a walking contradiction when it comes to him. He’s the last person I want to date, and the only person I want to date. He’d be the worst boyfriend, but he’d be my terrible boyfriend.

I have issues.

I take my pen back and grab some more nicotine for this. Like, I haven’t had a boyfriend in forever. I don’t bother with them as a hockey player because going off for hockey is almost like going off to war. You never see your person. I think Rhett and Logan are crazy to even try. Jack and Merc might be crazier still, dealing with two hockey schedules and a baby.

I shake my head.

“No. I’m gonna take this year seriously. No distractions.”

He rubs a hand over his face. “Is this some test? Some kind of playing hard to get thing? I don’t speak that language, kitten. You’re gonna have to spell out what you want with me.”

There he goes again. Acting mildly like a boyfriend. Just enough to make me think we could be.

He knew it was me. He knew I wasn’t Stacey.

I’m stuck on that. It’s doing weird shit to me. Before we collected our found family, only Mom could tell us apart. Does it mean something that he can? A surge of wild energy has abducted my common sense because I want to ask Sutter to be … to be what?

He knew it was me. He knew it was me. He knew it was me.

Fuck, am I seeing something there isn’t because I want a little security? It tracks. That’s something I would do. But it’s also a big deal that he knows it’s me. Like a cheat code. It says he’s paid attention to the little things, beyond what’s on the outside. It’s true that he’s spent a fair amount of time destroying my insides, but you can’t detect someone with your dick alone—I know that much.

Plot twist, Sutter’s taken the time to get to know me and my head’s spinning.

There’s also something else choking me up, letting my brain wander into this dangerous sort of “what if” territory.

We—Stacey and I—tried so fucking hard to trick Mom when we were kids. Our height difference didn’t happen till after puberty, and it’s impossible to detect unless we’re standing back-to-back or side by side. We tried to mimic the other, and we rehearsed. We’d send one twin in first, leave, and switch out. Nothing we did fooled her.

I asked Mom what it was. How were we giving ourselves away?

“You’re not giving yourself away,” Mom said. “You two do an excellent each other, but I’ll always be able to feel what you feel like. You have a unique spark that I’d know in the darkness.”

She was our mom, though. She was next level with that kinda shit. I’ve never asked our friends, but pretty sure they learned to pick out the differences in our mannerisms.

Sutter hasn’t seen me with Stacey enough to figure that shit out.

Does he feel me like Mom did? I miss the special way Mom knew my face.

“How about we, y’know, make it official?” Those words are hard evidence I’ve taken too many hits to the head. Why the fuck did I say that? It’s so not the move for us. But I’m a fucking sap who believes in breadcrumbs and him knowing it was me felt like one.

His face screws up and not in the way you want it to when you ask something like that. My stomach does the bad kind of somersault. I want to throw up. What a fucking, impulsive, Casey Alderchuck thing to do. My emotions got the best of me.

“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?”

“I dunno. Something like that. Yes? No. I dunno.” I wish I could take it back, but it’s out there now. I just gave Sutter the power to crush me.

“I’m not boyfriend material,” he says. At least we agree on that. “No way. We’ve got a good thing going. Let’s not ruin it, kitten.”

He advances as if I’m letting him touch me now. “I don’t think so, Sutter. We’re done.”

“What the fuck? So it’s an ultimatum? I sign with you exclusively or else?”

“Yeah,” I say. I might as well own it now. I couldn’t even handle him flirting with Stacey as fake me, I think I might kill the next person who touches him when I feel like I’ve got a claim to him. Thinking like that’s got to stop and the only way to do that is to finally spit out the over-chewed gum that is our fuckuationship.

He cages me against the wall. “I don’t do ultimatums.”

I wouldn’t if I were him either, but fuck him. I harden my stance.

“Why are you bein’ a little bitch?”

“You’re the bitch, Sutter. What’s wrong with you? Afraid you can’t handle me?”

He digs his fingers into my tender ass cheeks. “I’ve handled you just fine. Look, I’ll even give you that this one’s on me. How about we forget this, and I’ll see you later. After your shift?”

“Is that your version of the it’s not you it’s me speech?”

“Well, it’s true.”

I know what that speech means. I’ve given that speech. I’m good enough to fuck, but not good enough to date. The realization of what we really are pelts against me as sharp as Vancouver rain in the winter. For one fucking second, I thought I was something to him. I imagined a connection as special as I had with Mom.

That bout of idiocy is on me. Sutter’s been clear. He’s never promised me more than his dick. Hell, it’s that way in the first place because I was clear, too. I wanted to stay fuck buddies.

Does that mean I’m not murderously pissed at Sutter? No. He shouldn’t do things like know me. He shouldn’t give the impression that I mean more so that I make a fucking fool out of myself.

I push him—a real push this time—and turn. Sutter’s hand catches the hem of my shirt, sending me tumbling backward into his arms. He traps me there.

“Let me go.”

“Wait, kitten.”

“Not your kitten.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Just your fuck kitten.” I twist and writhe and pull.

“God dammit, Alderchuck.”

I rip free, slipping from his grasp, whipping around to face him. “Go fuck yourself. This is over.”

“It’s not over. We’re not over, Alderchuck.”

He doesn’t want me, but no one else can have me? Yeah, no. We’re not doing that. “I hope you get run over by a Zamboni, Sutter.”

I storm into the restaurant, tearing my brother’s shirt off as I go, slamming it against his chest. “My shift’s over. I’ll be at Jack’s.”