Page 216 of Playing the Pucking Game
“Typical woman, worrying too much about nothing.”
Anger shoots through my veins. How dare he firstly dismiss her professional opinion like that, and secondly, it’s her literal job to worry about players’ health.
It is not nothing. It is everything.
Surging forward, I march into the room without knocking.
“Excuse me,” I bark, interrupting the tense conversation. “Mitchell, don’t you have some athletic tape to organize?” I snap as I move closer to Parker.
He mutters something under his breath, but thankfully, he shuffles away.
“What the fuck was that?” I hiss, aware that he’s probably still in earshot.
“Nothing,” Parker snaps. “Shouldn’t you be getting dressed?”
“Yes, I should. Coach will probably rip me a new one for being late, but I had to do something first.”
“What’s more important than—” Her words falter as I lift the iced coffee in my hand.
55
PARKER
He brought me coffee.
No, not only a coffee. He brought me what looks like my favorite iced coffee with salted caramel foam and a drizzle of caramel sauce. It’s my ultimate guilty pleasure.
He should be getting dressed for morning skate right now, but instead, he went out and got me coffee.
How does he even know my favorite?
The frustration I was feeling earlier begins to wash away.
It wasn’t his fault that I missed my alarm and woke up late.
It wasn’t his fault that I was running around like a headless chicken, thinking I was going to miss our call time and end up getting an Uber to the arena and facing the scrutiny of Mitchell—not that being on time or good at my job prevents that from happening anyway.
I was short with him. I was feeling vulnerable, even more so the second I looked into his eyes and remembered everything that happened last night.
In the harsh light of day, do I regret it?
Honestly, no, I don’t think I do.
Am I worried about what happens next and the repercussions? Abso-fucking-lutely.
Mitchell has already shown me this morning that he doesn’t respect my professional opinion. It’ll only get worse if what’s developing with Linc gets out.
What am I saying, if?
It’ll be when, and the second it’s out, my professionalism and ability to do my job are going to be under the spotlight.
“I also got you this,” he says, holding up a bag, hopefully with something sweet in it.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
His smile starts small and almost shy, but it quickly spreads to one I’m much more used to.
“Anytime, pretty girl,” he says quietly so that I’m the only one who can hear.
