Page 142 of Playing the Pucking Game
She chuckles, and it does nothing for my jealousy.
“Yeah. It’s a nice ass. Solid. Could bounce plenty of quarters off it,” she deadpans.
“The fuck, Donnelly?”
She barks out a laugh.
“It’s just an ass, Linc. Calm down.”
“But you think it’s hot.”
“I never said that.”
I huff out an irritated breath.
“I don’t look at any of you like that when I’m working. You’re a body, a machine. Muscles, tendons, joints, and bones.”
“I know that, Parker. You’re nothing but professional. I’m sorry. I just—shit, I’m an asshole.”
She shakes her head and glances out at the illuminated buildings passing us by.
“You’ve got a good ass,” she finally says.
“Best on the team?” I ask, my ego needing a little boost, even if she is bullshitting me.
She laughs. “Yep, best on the team.”
“I’m going to ignore the sarcasm in your tone and take that.”
“Whatever you need. So what’s the plan? Are you dropping me off and heading out to celebrate with the guys?”
“What?” I ask, glancing over at her.
She rolls her eyes. “Are you going out to hook up?”
37
LINCOLN
Yeah, I think to myself,that is exactly what I used to do after a win.
With post-game adrenaline surging through my body, I would go out and find a woman who was willing to spend just one night with me to lose myself in.
But I’ve lost the need to distract myself with an unknown, willing woman.
I glance back at Parker sitting in my passenger seat.
Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun; the makeup she put on before we left the hotel for the arena earlier has mostly rubbed off, and she’s got black circles under her eyes from her exhaustion. She’s beautiful. Always has been and always will be. And as I look away and focus back on the road, it’s even more obvious than before that the only woman I want to spend the night with is her. Even if we are just lounging on the couch watching TV. That’s what I want.
Okay, so deep down, I may want a little more, but right now, I’ll take whatever she’ll give me.
Aware that she’s waiting for an answer, I swallow down my unease and be as honest with her as I can be.
“No, not tonight.”
“Why? Isn’t that your MO after a game? Go and lose yourself in a willing woman for an hour or so and then wait to see if she’s sold the story the next morning?”
I groan. Why does it sound so sleezy coming from her lips?
