Page 14 of Playing the Pucking Game
In fact, other than my mom and sister, no woman has ever been here.
I don’t even think Reese has been inside.
Something flutters wildly in my stomach as the elevator dings and the doors open to my private hallway a few seconds later.
Without glancing at her, I know what she’s thinking.
That I’m a flashy, arrogant motherfucker.
Hell, she’s said it to me so many times that I can hear it as clearly as if she were saying the words to me right now.
She’s right, of course.
I don’t need this huge penthouse. It’s too big for me.
But…I fell in love with it when my realtor showed it to me, and I couldn’t help myself.
We spend so much of our year on the road, sleeping in hotels and waking up not knowing where the fuck we are, that I wanted something special for when I’m at home.
This place is my haven. And, of course, a place where I can hang out with my teammates, my brothers, and we can kick back and forget about the pressure constantly weighing on our shoulders.
Dropping my arm, I press my hand to the small of her back and lead her into my apartment.
The bare skin of her back burns my palm, and I can’t help but brush my thumb against her soft skin.
I ensure she’s a step ahead of me so I can watch her reaction.
But to my surprise, she doesn’t give one.
She looks around, sure. But I can’t tell if she’s impressed, disgusted, or something else entirely. She’s…indifferent.
It’s something I really don’t like.
Parker is always quick to let me know how she feels.
We step into the huge, open-plan living, kitchen and dining room, and I send a silent prayer up that it isn’t as messy as it could have been.
“The guest bedroom is down here,” I say, pointing farther down the hallway.
She nods and keeps walking.
Opening the door for her, I allow her to step in first before following her inside.
I close the blinds, put the bedside lamp on for her, and place her clutch on the dresser.
She stares at it with a frown on her face.
“You dropped it when you jumped from the car,” I explain.
She just continues to stare.
“The bathroom is through here. It’s all yours.”
She watches me step toward the attached bathroom, but she doesn’t make a move to check it out. It’s a shame because I think she might like the size of the tub hiding in there, but whatever.
If it weren’t so late, I’d offer to run it for her.
“Do you want a drink? Are you hungry?”
