Page 103 of Playing the Pucking Game
“You might get some decent home-cooked food there,” Brit mocks, earning himself a scowl from our goalie.
It’s no secret that Cole Hansley can’t cook for shit. The last time he tried, he ended up with the fire department at his place due to the amount of smoke. But his biggest issue is that he can’t keep a personal chef on his payroll to save his life. His most recent one threw the towel in a little before Christmas, leaving Handsy at risk of setting his entire building on fire in his attempt to roast a chicken.
“I think cooking lessons might be more useful than a vacation,” I chip in.
“I will fucking end you if you put me in the middle of a class and expect me to wear an apron and sauté anything.”
“I’m just impressed you know the word sauté.”
“Bet he doesn’t know what it means,” Killer deadpans.
The friendly chirping continues as the time ticks by, but no matter what’s said or what game we play, thoughts of what Parker could be doing never leave me.
At some point, clouds roll in and rain begins pelting against the windows that usually give me a great view of the city.
“Is everything alright?” Marilyn asks when the game comes to an end. Handsy has disappeared to the bathroom and Killer is in the kitchen, grabbing more drinks.
I glance over at our rookie, hating that he already knows me well enough to read my mood.
“Yeah, of course.”
“What’s with the flowers, Storm?” Killer asks.
My eyes shoot to the dining table, where the colorful bouquet I bought for Parker still sits.
“Umm…”
“Something you need to tell us?” Handsy asks as he rejoins us.
“Yeah, but I need you guys to keep this between us.” I knew that I’d need to confess if I want them to keep coming around and hanging out here. But I also don’t want the whole franchise to know. It became even more important to keep it quiet after what Parker confessed to earlier about the way certain members of staff see her. The last thing she needs is for everyone to know she’s living with me. I don’t want anyone thinking she got her job because of anything I did.
All of them lean a little closer, as if I’m about to tell them my biggest, darkest secret.
“I’ve got a roommate.”
Killer barks a laugh. “Who the fuck wants to live with you?”
As if on cue, there’s movement on the other side of the apartment, and when I look up, I find Parker standing there. She’s utterly soaked. Rainwater drips off her, leaving her standing in her own little puddle.
“I can assure you, it wasn’t by choice,” she states.
Her expression is blank as she says the words. There is none of her usual joy when we spar together. There’s…nothing.
I launch from my seat on the coach.
“Parker, what—ow, fuck,” I bark as pain shoots up my leg.
Parker instantly drops her purse, a tote bag she didn’t have earlier, and her shoes that are once again in her hand, and surges forward.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
I stand a little taller and stretch out my leg.
“It’s fine. Just a bit of cramp.”
“Lincoln,” she warns.
“Honestly, it’s fine. Overreaction.” I force a smile on my face, but from the way her eyes narrow, she’s aware that I’m lying.
