Page 163 of Playing the Pucking Game
42
LINCOLN
“The doc looks banging tonight,” Monroe says as I join him and the guys in Fletch’s kitchen.
“Shut the fuck up, man,” Kodie barks on my behalf when I give our rookie a death stare.
“Seriously, though,” Killer starts.
“Don’t,” I warn, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.
“What? I’m just saying, you two looked cozy as hell, walking in here together.”
“You wouldn’t know cozy if it bit you on the ass,” I counter. “There is nothing going on,” I assure them, although, even as the words pass my lips, I question their truth.
Sure, nothing has actually happened. But there have been moments…
Fucking hell.
I drag my hand down my face, wondering when the fuck I started caring about innocent moments more than I did hooking up with a different woman every night.
Those moments, though…the memories…
Fuck. They’re all-consuming.
“Yeah, but it would be cool if there were,” Killer adds. “We all know you guys have history.” I look up so fast I don’t know how I don’t strain my neck.
“What?”
“You grew up together. You, Rett, Parker, and Casey. Your connection was built long before she started working with the team.”
My mouth opens and closes. I want to argue and insist that we don’t have a connection, but then they really would know that we were lying.
In the end, I settle on a pathetic, “yeah,” and pray the conversation moves on to safer ground.
Thankfully, it does, and before long, Reese pulls something from the oven that smells incredible. After double-checking everything, she calls Casey, Sutton, and Parker in to grab some food first.
The second Parker walks in with a wide smile on her face and Sutton holding her hand, gazing up at her like she just hung the moon, I swear I stop breathing.
Having her here, in a place that feels like a second home to me, with my boys...fuck.
I lift my hand to my chest and rub the spot above my heart. Is the air thick in here, or is it just me?
“Everything okay, Storm?” Parker asks when she notices me watching her.
“O-of course. Just starving, so if you could hurry up about grabbing food, that would be awesome.”
“Typical man. Always thinking with his stomach,” she says, making Sutton laugh.
“Daddy is the same,” Sutton confirms.
We stand back patiently while they fill plates and disappear with Reese behind them before we all descend on the food everyone brought.
“God, I miss homemade food,” Killer complains around a mouthful of the moussaka Reese made.
“Dude, can’t you even wait until you sit down?” Brit complains.
“It’s just so good.”
