Page 159 of Playing the Pucking Game
“The fuck?”
“I’m not lying,” I tell her, staring down into her golden eyes. They’re even brighter than usual with the sun reflecting in them. “I have no interest in her. And I didn’t notice if shewas hot or not.” Reaching out, I tuck a stray lock of hair behind Parker’s ear. “I only saw one woman in that room, and she was mesmerizing.”
“Storm,” Parker warns, taking a step back.
“Just being honest,” I muse before taking my place at her side, ready to head to the parking lot. “Are you hungry?” I ask as we begin walking.
“Uh…”
“I know a great sandwich place a couple of blocks over, if you fancy it.”
I glance over and find a conflicted expression on her face. She wants to say yes, but she’s desperate to put some space between us.
I both love and hate that she feels that way.
“Come on, it’s a sandwich, not a marriage proposal,” I tease, playfully elbowing her.
“Fine,” she sighs. “But you’re buying.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
41
PARKER
“We’re going grocery shopping,” Linc states after we’ve returned to his car, stomach full of arguably the best sandwich I’ve ever consumed.
Damn him for being right.
I didn’t intend on spending my day off with Linc, but that seems to be what’s happening.
“I’m sorry, we’re what?”
“Going grocery shopping,” he says slowly.
I stare at him as he waits for a reaction with his hands on the wheel.
There’s a dimple in his right cheek, and my hand twitches in my lap to reach out and poke it.
It only appears when he’s really trying to hold in a laugh. I can only hope that means he’s joking.
Hell, when my alarm went off earlier this morning so I wouldn’t be late for Pilates, I turned it off, intending to stay in bed all day.
I’m exhausted, but…I’m glad I allowed him to drag me out.
Pilates always makes me feel good. But watching him struggle beside me made it all the more entertaining.
He’s an incredibly fit athlete, but even those at the top of their game struggle when things are different. And today was different. I have no doubt that I’m going to have him on my table tomorrow, complaining. A smirk twitches at my lips as I debate whether to go easy on him or not.
Of course I won’t. Where would be the fun in that?
But I wasn’t expecting a lunch date—it wasn’t a date—and then a domesticated trip to the store.
“Can’t we just order it? You’ll be recognized and it’ll be awful.”
“We could. But there’s no fun in that. I like choosing, experiencing things.”
“Really?” I deadpan, not believing him for a second.
