Page 32 of Playing the Pucking Game
Unfortunately, nothing healthy or well-balanced does, and I quickly find myself looking at a menu for a Thai place, my mouth watering at the prospect of the flavors it would deliver.
I figure that if we were to share it, it wouldn’t be so bad. I push to my feet and pad toward my occupied guest room.
I hesitate when I’m standing in front of the door. Just like before, it isn’t fully closed. It feels like an invitation, but I know that it’s not. Parker is just used to living alone, I guess.
She doesn’t want to speak to me. That’s why she’s hidden herself in here.
But I’ve never been one to second-guess my actions, and I don’t intend to start now.
Lifting my hand, I knock.
Silence.
“Parker?” I call.
There’s movement inside the room, but she doesn’t say anything.
“Parker?”
“What?” she huffs.
Well, okay then.
“I was thinking about ordering Thai and wondered if you wanted to join me.”
Silence again.
“Can I come in?” I ask. I’m pushing my luck, I know I am, but I can’t help it.
She sighs. There’s some rustling, and then she finally responds.
“Yes.”
A silly rush of excitement goes through me as I push the door open wider and step inside.
I find Parker sitting in the middle of the bed with the covers up to her waist, her cell resting on her lap. But none of that steals my attention. She’s wearing the T-shirt again with my name and number on.
Fans—bunnies—wear my jersey every single game, and I barely pay any attention. But Parker pulls on a T-shirt, not even a jersey, and I’m on the verge of losing my shit.
I’ve always understood the concept of a girl wearing your jersey; I just never really thought it mattered. Seeing her right now, though...it matters.
She isn’t even mine, and it matters.
“Did you actually want to talk to me about dinner, or did you just come to gawp?”
“Thai,” I blurt. “Did you want any?”
“I could be convinced. Do I get to choose dishes?”
“Yeah,” I say, pulling my cell from my pocket and moving closer so I can hand it to her. “Select whatever you like.”
I stand awkwardly beside the bed as she scrolls through the menu.
This room has barely changed since she moved into it last night, but it feels different. It smells different. It smells like girl, and somehow, it’s more welcoming.
“There,” she says, dragging my attention back to her as she holds my cell out for me.
I’m about to take it when what’s lit up on her screen catches my eye.
