Page 145 of Playing the Pucking Game
She stands to her full height, but I still tower over her small frame.
“You really are an asshole, you know that?” she taunts.
“I don’t give a fuck. The only thing I give a shit about right now is getting some other guy’s clothing away from your body.”
“You’re fucking deranged. I’m not yours, Linc. You have no say over what I do or what I wear.”
I know that. I do fucking know that. But fuck…
Dragging in a ragged breath, I try to soften my expression and relax my muscles.
“Please, Parker. Please, will you replace that hoodie with one of mine?”
Her eyes crinkle with amusement, and her lips twitch, once, twice, before her beautiful smile breaks free.
“Sure. You only had to ask nicely,” she says, her voice sickly sweet as she reaches for the bottom of the hoodie that hangs down on her thighs.
Please be naked underneath, please be?—
My words die on my tongue as she reveals what really is beneath that hoodie.
“Oh fuck,” I grunt, taking a step back so I can take it in properly.
She’s wearing a sexy green lace bralette paired with matching silk sleep shorts. The lace of the top is just sheer enough to allow me to see the rosy pink of her nipples, and it’s cropped at her ribs, showing off the dip of her waist before the satin covers her rounded hips, short enough to show off her muscular thighs.
I’ve just died and gone to heaven.
“P-Parker,” I stutter.
I don’t?—
I can’t?—
“Did you want me to wear your hoodie or not, Storm?” she snaps, holding her hand out for the fabric I’m still clutching.
“I…umm…if this is the other option, then I think you should stay like—hey,” I complain when she reaches out and snatches the hoodie from me before tugging it over her head and covering herself up.
Without a word, she drops back onto the couch, grabs her cell, opens up Instagram, and begins scrolling as if I’m not standing right here.
It’s long, agonizing seconds before she finally speaks.
“Just so you know, that hoodie didn’t belong to either of them,” she states, her voice void of emotion.
“E-either of them?” I question, my brain still clouded with lust.
“Yeah, Seth and?—”
“Don’t,” I warn darkly. “Don’t say their fucking names.”
Her eyes jump to mine. “What the fuck has gotten into you tonight?” she asks as if she has no idea about the way I feel about her.
“They hurt you,” I say as if she’s forgotten.
“Right. And they’re in my past. Forgotten.”
“Are they?” I ask, unable to let this go the way I probably should.
I hold her eyes captive as my chest heaves, my heart racing beneath.
