Page 121 of Playing the Pucking Game
We spend over an hour catching each other up on our lives and laughing until our stomachs hurt.
When Casey announces that she needs to get back, we all call cars and head outside.
The sun has begun to descend, and it casts a beautiful golden light over the city I love so much.
As much as I want to travel and experience a bit of the world, I have no doubt that I’ll always end up back here. LA is where my heart lies, and it always will.
With a nice buzz from the cocktails, I confirm Linc’s address with my Uber driver and sit back and relax.
I’m feeling lighter after my afternoon. I love the guys, but there is nothing like setting the world to rights with my girls.
I make a note to try to organize a night out with Brooke and Leah, too, when we have a few days at home, and then climb out of the car once we get to Linc’s building.
The car disappears the second I close the door, leaving me standing on the sidewalk and gazing up at the impressive building.
I’ve barely seen him this week; he’s been keeping his distance as much as I have. He probably won’t even be up there, instead using his night off to enjoy a bunny or two.
Something bitter bubbles up within me. But as fast as I try to shove it down, images of what he might be doing with someone else continue to pop up.
There might not have been any evidence of him hooking up with a woman since I moved in, but I know Linc better than that. He’ll have just been doing it discreetly. I should be grateful that he’s being considerate and not banging his headboard against the wall we share every night. But I’m not sure I am. Maybe evidence of him putting that night behind him is what I need to be able to do the same.
My cell pings as I wait for the elevator, and when I pull it free, I find another Tinder match.
The guy is more my type than the previous one, which immediately makes me uninterested. My type of men might be hot, but previous experience has taught me that they’re only goal in life is to fuck and break hearts.
No, thank you very much.
I swipe right as I step into the elevator and close the app down as fast.
Any hopes I’d had of Linc being out and me having a quiet evening to myself are squashed long before the elevator doors open, because I can hear them already.
And when I step out, the shouting and laughing only get louder.
As I walk toward the living room to see what’s going on, my eyes almost bug out of my head.
“What on Earth…”
32
LINCOLN
“You have got to be joking,” I balk when Monroe upends the bag he carried into my apartment.
“What? It’ll be fun. Or are you too much of a pussy to give it a go?”
A fire burns through me. I have never once in my life turned down a challenge, and tonight is no different.
The elevator dings behind us, announcing the arrival of a few more victims to Monroe’s torture evening.
“What the fuck is—” Fletch starts, but he quickly gets interrupted by Handsy, who barks, “There is no way in hell I’m doing that.”
“Aw, come on. It’s great for balance and coordination.”
“I think we can all agree that I’m fine with both of those. Any of you fuckers counting how many shutouts I’ve had this season?”
“You’re killing it, man,” Fletch says, clapping our goalie on the shoulder.
But despite his praise, Handsy marches past us, grabs a bottle of water from my fridge, and flops onto my couch.
