Page 22 of Playing the Pucking Game
“Thank you,” I murmur before walking away and heading straight for the guest room.
Leaving the door ajar, I march straight into the bathroom and push that door to as well.
I hesitate. Linc is going to come in here with fresh clothes. I should shut and lock the door, but unease races down my spine at the thought.
Deciding it’s safer to leave it open slightly, I strip out of his clothes and turn the shower on.
I had one not so long ago, but I can’t help craving its solace.
Stepping under the powerful spray, I wince as the too-hot water burns my scalp and shoulders, but I don’t turn it down. Instead, I welcome the burn.
Making use of the products he has in here, I wash my hair, finger brushing while the conditioner is in, in the hope it leaves it somewhat smooth when it dries.
I don’t hear anything from the bedroom, but I can only assume Linc has done as he said and brought me some replacement clothes.
Once I’m done, I step out and wrap one towel around my body, tucking it under my arms, and another around my head. Without any face care products, or even any deodorant, I slowly pull the bathroom door open and step out. Part of me expects to find him waiting for me, so I’m surprised to find my bedroom empty, although that relief soon turns to confusion when my eyes land on the bags sitting on my bed.
“What the?—”
Rushing over, I pull the first one open, peering inside.
Women’s clothes.
“What? How?” I breathe as I pull out three pairs of leggings and three matching sports bras, all in the right size.
The next bag has a brand-new pair of sneakers and sports socks inside, also the right size. The third bag has two hoodies in it, but it’s the final bag hiding at the back that really gives me pause.
La Perla.
I shake my head.
Lincoln Fucking Storm brought me lingerie. I don’t know whether I’m impressed or utterly creeped out.
Reaching into the bag, I pull out a tissue-wrapped parcel and lay it on the bed.
My hands tremble as I begin to open it, wondering what he’ll have chosen for me.
Will it be something I’ll be able to wear, or some slutty little thing that his hookups usually turn up in, in the hope of being the one to tie him down?
My stomach knots at the thought. Needing to know, I continue ripping into the paper.
“Oh my god,” I gasp when I finally discover what’s hiding inside.
I lay each set out on the bed, both in love and in awe that he chose such beautiful and wearable items for me. And not only that…they’re the right size.
“How?” I ask again. How on earth does my brother’s best friend know my bra size?
A lot impressed and equally as curious, I drop my towel and pull on a soft pink lace thong before stepping into the navy leggings—my favorite brand—and then wrestling the sports bra over my head.
It’s warm enough in here to forgo the hoodies, and after finger-combing my hair again, I double-check my appearance in the mirror and head out feeling a little more prepared to deal with this shitshow head-on.
I’m hit with déjà vu when I step into the kitchen and find Linc sitting exactly where he was earlier, still only in his shorts, with a coffee beside him. Only now he’s dry and has his cell in his hand.
He lowers his hand as I approach and looks over. His eyes widen before running down the length of me as one side of his mouth curls up in a half-smirk.
“You look better,” he surmises.
“Wearing clothes that fit will do that for you,” I point out, making him roll his eyes. “I don’t know how you did it so fast, but thank you, Linc. I really appreciate it.”
