Page 289 of Playing the Pucking Game
But he’s Lincoln Storm.
The only guy I’ve ever truly wanted.
If I had to make a choice…if I could only keep one…
Fuck.
I can’t even think about it.
The second he pulls his car to a stop in his space beneath the arena, he kills the engine and turns to me.
“Do you want me to come with you?” he offers.
“No, you need to go and get dressed for practice,” I say, holding my head high.
“Coach won’t mind,” Linc argues.
“I think we both know him well enough to know that he will. It’s a game day, Linc. A big one, too. You need to be focused.”
“I won’t be while you’re up there worrying.”
“I’m fine. Everything is going to be fine.”
He sighs. “Okay.”
“I’ll be rink side before you know it. And please, please try not to injure yourself any more than you already are,” I beg.
“I’ll see what I can do. Come here,” he says, wrapping his hand around the back of my neck and dragging me over the center console to meet his lips.
He kisses me until I’m breathless and my concerns over how today is going to play out have lessened.
“I meant what I said earlier. I love you, Parker. And I have every confidence that all of this will work out.”
I want to believe him, but until I hear the right words from the powers that be, I’m not sure I will.
Together, we climb out of the car, and side by side we walk into the arena. But instead of heading to the trainers’ room, I continue to the elevators that’ll take me to the front office.
By the time I walk into the HR office, I’m a wreck.
The young woman sitting behind the reception desk smiles at me, but it falters when she takes in my expression.
“Uh...hi…I was wondering if Esme was free?”
“Let me just see,” she says before tapping on her computer.
Behind me, a set of heels click-clack down the hallway, and before the receptionist can respond, the woman I’m dreading to see appears beside me.
“Good morning, Parker. Is everything okay?”
“I…uh…I was wondering if you have a few moments?”
“Yes, of course. Come on in and take a seat.”
“Ma’am, you have a meeting in ten minutes,” the receptionist calls.
“I’m aware, thank you,” Esme sings before closing the door behind us. “So, Parker, what can I do for you?”
I stare across the desk at Esme. She’s perfectly put together, her brown hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, her makeup flawless, and a soft, friendly smile playing on her lips.
