Page 12 of Playing the Pucking Game
Coldness washes through me the second we’re separated. I hate it, but I’m powerless to stop it.
It only lasts five seconds because then he’s back, dropping into the driver’s seat and starting the engine.
He spins the car around, putting the devastation behind us.
Relief rushes through me, but it’s quickly followed by guilt.
All of my neighbors are back there in the thick of it, and I’m being driven away unharmed.
I have no concept of time, but as we drive in silence, a thought hits me. I sit upright.
“Where are we going?” I bark, my heart racing.
“My place,” Linc says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“No, Linc. I can’t. Just…” I rack my brain for a place I could go.
Casey would always be my first port of call. But she’s just moved in with Kodie, and it’s New Year’s. It wouldn’t be fair to insert myself into their life. Casey would tell me it’s okay, and Kodie probably would too, but that doesn’t mean it’s right.
“Take me to a hotel. I’ll get a r-room a-and…” My voice breaks. I hate it.
“Fuck that, Parker. I’m not leaving you alone with nothing.”
“I won’t let Rett kick your ass,” I muse, trying to ignore the way my chest swells at his words.
“Even if he could kick my ass, I’m not worried about him.”
“I can’t stay with you,” I argue. “I’m about to be your trainer. That’s?—”
“Parker,” he sighs, lifting his hand from the wheel to comb his damp hair back from his face. “Like I said earlier, we’ve been friends far longer than anything else. And plus, loads of the guys have roommates. It’s not a big deal.”
“I’m not being your roommate,” I state as he takes the final turn toward his building.
I might know where he lives, but I’ve never been inside. Honestly, I dread to think what I’ll find. It’s probably the epitome of a bachelor pad. Fucking hell, there are probably women’s panties and bras everywhere. Beer cans. Dirty dishes.
I shudder at the thought.
I’m not a neat freak. But I do like my home to be at a certain level of clean and tidy—something that I can’t imagine Linc sharing.
I’ve heard stories about the team hanging out at his place.
I bet it’s all giant couches, huge TV screens, and more game consoles than one man should possess.
I’m going to hate it.
“Okay, so where are you going to go?” he asks, an amused lilt to his voice that pisses me the fuck off.
“A hotel, like I said.”
“It’s New Year’s, Parker. Everywhere decent will have been booked up months ago.”
“Okay, so take me somewhere that's not decent. I’m not a flashy hockey player who expects the finer things in life. I don’t give a shit if I have to live out of a shitty motel for a few weeks.”
“Absolutely not,” he states before turning toward his underground garage.
I suck in a deep breath as the roller door rises for his fancy Porsche. I want to keep fighting, but as he pulls into one of his many parking spaces—benefits of owning the penthouse—my body is shutting down faster than I can control.
My eyes are locked on the white wall of the garage as he kills the engine.
