Page 162 of Playing the Pucking Game
I pause in the toiletries aisle to grab a couple of feminine products—not because I need them, just because there is no surer way to make a man more uncomfortable.
I grab a few things before continuing forward.
An idea hits me, and I glance over my shoulder to ensure no one is going to overhear when I say, “We need to get some more lube, seeing as you struggle to get me wet.”
Linc freezes, his grip on the cart he’s pushing tightens, and an accomplished smirk pulls at my lips.
But the second he spins around and stares down at me, I realize my mistake.
Abandoning the cart, he prowls toward me, but despite needing to get away, my feet are rooted to the floor.
“Let’s just get one thing straight, little P. You give me the chance, and you will never, ever struggle to get wet.”
I stare up at him, my breathing labored, heat surging south, proving his words true.
I’m standing in the middle of a grocery store, and he’s got me more revved up from a look and a wicked promise than any other guy I’ve ever been with.
“I doubt it,” I mutter, forcing myself to look away. If I don’t, there’s a chance he’ll be able to read the lie in my eyes.
He chuckles to himself as if he knows something I don’t before grabbing a packet of condoms, extra-large, of course, and throwing them in the cart as I pass.
He follows me toward the cashiers, but his voice stops me before I can get in line. “Shit, we need to get something for tonight.”
“What’s tonight?” I ask, feeling like I’m missing something.
“Team night at Fletch’s. It’s a bring-a-plate situation.”
“Okay, well, grab whatever you want.”
“What do you want?” he challenges.
“Linc,” I warn, guessing where this is going.
“You know you’re coming. You may as well take something you want to eat.”
“I’m not going,” I argue.
“Casey is expecting you.” He smirks like he’s just won.
“You’re an asshole,” I seethe.
“I know. Now, what do you want to take tonight?”
Five hourslater and I’m walking into Fletch and Reese’s house with a huge bowl of salad in my hands. Just ahead of me, Linc holds their front door open with a homemade lasagne balanced in one hand, a bag full of drinks hanging from the other.
Noise echoes down the hall to us, and I grimace as I think about the attention that’s going to be turned on me the second I step inside.
The guys are all great, but I’m not one of them. This is their evening, their time to bond. Like Linc said, no other staff members are invited unless they're involved with players. And I am not. I might be living with Linc, but that’s where it ends.
“Come on, the guys are going to be stoked that you’re here,” Linc says, watching me hesitate.
“I’m not so sure about that. I’m the one who makes them hurt and forces them into ice baths.”
“It’s for our own good.”
As I follow him down the hallway, the noise gets louder and louder. And just as I predicted, the second we appear in the doorway to Reese and Fletch’s huge, open-plan living area, all eyes turn my way.
I swallow nervously. But I soon realize there’s no need to be nervous. Despite a few lingering stares and glances between Linc and me as if they’re expecting some kind of announcement, they accept me into the fold, just like they have at the arena.
