Page 4 of Playing the Pucking Game
I remember that very first time my big brother brought him home for a playdate.
I was only eight. But even then, I felt this weird pull toward Linc.
He was a sweet kid. Arrogant as fuck. Nothing has really changed there. But for the first few years of their friendship, he was nice to me. He'd allow me to play with them and chastise Rett when he tried to shove me aside.
I got it. I was a little girl who lived and breathed ice hockey just like they did. But I wasn’t one of them. I was never going to be.
Discovering that fact as a young girl with big dreams of playing hockey for a living was a bitter pill to swallow.
The truth is, it doesn’t matter how well we play, how good we are at our jobs. Hockey has always been a male-dominated sport. Sure, things have slowly been getting better over the years. The PWHL is growing in popularity, and I really hope it continues.
Casey and I didn’t manage to live out our childhood dreams.
But there’s a chance that in ten years’ time, Sutton will.
Linc suddenly takes a step toward me, ripping me from my thoughts and back to reality.
He’s no longer that sweet little kid. He’s a huge, brutal hockey player with a smile that makes panties drop left and right.
He acts like the world of women owes him something. And I, for one, am not giving him a single fucking thing.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” I seethe, taking a big step back.
My lips are still tingling from that kiss.
That unwanted kiss…
Thoughtlessly, my hand lifts, my fingers brushing over my bottom lip.
His signature smirk appears as he takes another step.
“You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?” he drawls, making my hand sink like a rock.
My eyes narrow, irritation flaring to the surface once more.
“You need to back the fuck up before I do something I’ll regret.”
“Aw, babe, I think we both know you’d never regret anything when it comes to me.”
“Don’t call me babe,” I snap. “I’m your colleague now; it’s about time you learned some respect.”
Amusement glitters in his eyes.
“Babe, you were my friend long before you were my colleague,” he taunts.
My top lip peels back.
“We’ve never been friends.”
His smile widens. “Sure, you keep lying to yourself, Donnelly. We both know it’s only a matter of time before you end up in my bed.”
Fury erupts, and this time I’m the one who surges forward. He might be a six-foot-four giant who could squash me like an annoying fly, but I’ve had enough alcohol tonight to delude myself into thinking I’ll have any kind of impact on him.
“You’re a fu?—”
“Let’s dance,” my best friend suggests loudly, wrapping her hand around my upper arm and dragging me away from the irritant who seems to want to press every one of my buttons tonight.
“What are you doing?” I cry as she drags me all the way to the middle of the dance floor. “I was just about to tell him what I think?—”
