Page 308 of Playing the Pucking Game
“It’s a surprise, remember?” he tells me. His warm breath tickles down my neck, making me shudder.
My head is still full of images of that storage container full of my things. He promised me that we can go back whenever we want, and that anything I’d like to add to the apartment is okay with him.
Honestly, I’m struggling to take it all in.
I knew some of it could be salvaged, but he’s managed to recover so much.
Even those diaries.
I smile as he leads me forward. I can’t believe I showed him those. He is definitely going to want to read all of them. My cheeks heat, knowing some of the things less-than-innocent teenage me wrote about him. But all of it is true. And now it’s not just a fantasy. It’s my reality.
I wrap my hands around his forearms, needing to touch him.
“We’re nearly there,” he assures me.
We’re in the living room—I’ve figured that much out, at least. And there is food. The scent of something delicious is floating around, making my mouth water, although I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“Yep.”
Excitement flutters wildly in my stomach that he’s planned all of this for me. In my head, I’m picturing a romantically laid table with flowers and candles. So when he drops his hands and I get to see everything before me, I’m shocked.
“What the?—”
The couches have been pushed together to make a kind of nest. There are pillows and blankets everywhere.
On a tray in the middle of the nest is takeout waiting for us, and there is a bottle of wine in a chiller. All the main lights are off, leaving only side lamps and flickering candles to illuminate the room. And on the television is a movie waiting to start.
The Kissing Booth.
I stand there with tears in my eyes and my hand over my mouth in shock. It is the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.
“Do you…do you like it?”
“Linc,” I breathe, barely able to find any words to express how I’m feeling right now. “It’s…it’s perfect. I can’t believe you did all this.”
“Well,” he says, nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “I may have had a little help.”
I shake my head in disbelief.
“I have also taken the liberty of selecting our outfits,” he explains as he walks over to the couch and grabs a couple of items of clothing I didn’t notice before.
“For you,” he says, holding out one of his jerseys.
“Of course,” I mutter, rolling my eyes, but my smile never falters.
“And for me.” A laugh tumbles from my lips as he holds up a pair of gray sweatpants. “And there is a no-underwear rule.”
“Thank God,” I muse, already knowing how hot he’s going to look the second he pulls them on. Would it be weird to demand he also wear a backward cap while we watch a movie? That really would be all my teenage fantasies rolled into one.
“Go and get ready. We’re starting in ten minutes.”
Instead of grabbing his jersey and rushing away, which is what I think he’s expecting me to do, I reach up on my toes and take his stubbly cheeks in my hands.
“You are incredible,” I tell him. “I’m sorry I ever made out like I thought otherwise.”
He shakes his head gently. “It’s okay. I never believed that.”
