Page 294 of Playing the Pucking Game
“No,” she mutters. It’s cute as hell because she’s lying through her teeth.
“Good. You have no reason to be. I’m over every single other woman on the planet, bunny or not. You’re the only one I see, and you’re the only one who’s going to benefit from my magical dick.”
“I never said it was magical.”
“It’s been six years; you’ve probably forgotten.” She laughs. “But don’t worry, babe. I have every intention of reminding you very, very soon.”
“How soon?” she asks quickly.
“Oh, babe. Are you feeling a little desperate?” I tease, releasing her hand and sliding my palm up her thigh. My pinkie finger grazes over the fabric covering her pussy.
“No,” she states. “Just wanted to know for planning purposes.”
“Sure you do,” I muse as I pull into our underground parking garage. The second I kill the engine, I turn to her. “I love taking this slow with you, Parker. I love learning all the things I didn’t know about you. But don’t mistake my speed for lack of wanting.” Tugging her hand over the center console, I press it against my hard dick. “You’re all I can think about.”
She gasps, her fingers curling around my length.
“I want everything to be perfect. I want to be worthy of you and give you everything you deserve.”
“It is, you are, and you already do,” she says, her eyes glassy with tears.
“Do you trust me?”
She nods, and I swear my chest expands to double its previous size.
“Good, now are you going to help me nap before our game tonight?”
“Nap?” she asks in surprise. “That isn’t where I thought that was leading.”
“We only have a couple of hours. When the time comes, we’re going to need so much more than that.”
“Whoa, that’s a big promise.”
“You know I’m good for it,” I say as I kill the engine and climb out. “Come on, babe. We’ve got a game to prepare for.”
“I’m scared,” Parker admits as we walk into the elevator.
“I know. I’m worried about him too. But he will figure this out. I have faith.”
“As much as you had in us when I first moved in?”
“Almost,” I agree, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “This is still Rett Donnelly we’re talking about. He’s a wild card.”
“And what am I?” she counters, gazing up at me with her large, golden eyes.
“Mine. All fucking mine.”
73
PARKER
“What the fuck,” I scream, making Jarad, who’s standing beside me, jump as we all watch Rett slam Linc into the boards.
Multiple times today, I’ve opened my conversation with my brother and typed out a message. I haven’t sent a single one, though.
In the hours before a game, hockey is Rett’s only focus.
He’s probably already pissed that Linc and I fucked up his morning.
