Page 156 of Playing the Pucking Game
She’s overslept.
“Parker,” I whisper.
Nothing.
“Parker,” I say a little louder.
Still nothing.
Pushing the door wider, I poke my head around and smile when I find her curled up under the sheets.
A few years have passed since I got to watch her curled up in my bed, and this might technically only be my guest bed, but the sight of her still affects me in the same way.
“Parker.” My voice cuts through the room, and she finally stirs. Although she doesn’t wake up.
Walking toward the bed, I focus on the mass of red hair that covers the stark white pillow.
“Parker.”
She groans and tugs the sheets up higher, making me chuckle.
She’s never really been a morning person. Rett and I would regularly get up early to skate before school started. She used to say that she’d join us, but if she did, she was still half asleep.
A laugh bursts out of me as I think about the pillow crease that used to be on her cheeks, her bleary eyes and her messy hair. She was unashamedly Parker on those mornings, and I loved it. She was also grumpy as hell, which I found cute as fuck. I could never tell Rett that when he was moaning about her making us late.
“Don’t laugh at me,” she mutters.
“Sorry. You’re just too cute,” I confess, feeling lighter having said the words all these years on.
“I am not. I’m sleeping.”
“Not for much longer. You’re late.”
“For what?” she asks, stretching out her legs under the sheets.
“Pilates.”
She freezes. “I’m not going.”
“But I’m ready.”
Finally, she cracks an eye open and looks at me.
“You’re…you’re going to Pilates?”
“Yeah. You invited me, remember?”
She blinks, her head fogged with sleep.
“Okay. Let me know how you get on.”
She attempts to turn her back on me so she can go back to sleep, but like hell is that happening.
“Lincoln, what the fuck are you doing?” she shrieks when I flip the covers back.
I smirk, but the second my eyes land on her body, it falls.
Holy fuck, I forgot about her outfit.
