Page 7 of Playing the Pucking Game
I wait in the shadows for the elevator doors to open, allowing her to spill out.
The second they do, and she stumbles forward in her skinny jeans, sequined tank, and heels, a smirk curls at my lips.
Parker Donnelly is hot. And while she might know she’s attractive, I don’t think she understands the half of it.
She has every single man in her orbit under her spell, and she has no idea.
The excitement that rolled through the dressing room when news got out that she’s going to be our assistant athletic trainer was something I’ll never forget.
And what happened next probably taught a number of my teammates a lesson they’ll never forget, too.
I crack my knuckles, remembering how it felt to slam my fist into Marcus Sutherland’s jaw when he made a comment he instantly regretted about our new colleague.
I’m pretty sure everyone thought it was because Parker is my best friend’s little sister, and of course, that’s a part of why I’m protective of her. But I’d have done the same for any woman in our world. Hell, in any fucking world. I can only imagine how fucking hard it’s going to be for Parker to walk into the arena, and the training room, in a few days. She’s the only woman on staff. The last thing she needs is our fourth-line winger shooting his mouth about her abilities to help us relax after a game.
As far as the team should be concerned, she’s no different to Jarad or Dillion, our other trainers.
Funnily enough, I haven’t heard a single word said about her from Sutherland since. Maybe he isn’t such a stupid motherfucker after all.
I’m not naive though. His opinion will only be the first of many.
I fucking hate how hard Parker is going to have to work to prove herself just because she’s a woman.
It’s fucking wrong, and I’ll stand up for her and any woman who is following their dream and trying to break into a male-dominated career.
The second she steps onto the sidewalk, her arms lift in a pathetic attempt to cover herself from the rain.
She looks up and down the street as if she’s looking for her Uber, sighing in defeat when she doesn’t see it.
Pushing my hand into my pocket, I pull my keys free and march forward, ready to make my presence known.
I’m aware that this could be an even worse idea than kissing her at midnight, but apparently, I’m a glutton for punishment.
“Come on,” I say, stepping up behind her, the raindrops hitting my face. She tenses at the sound of my voice. “I’ll drop you home.”
“I’m waiting for my lift,” she almost shouts so she can be heard over the rain.
“And I’m right here, and my car is right…there,” I say as I press the unlock button, watching as the light illuminates the street a few cars down.
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
“Parker.” I sigh. “It’s raining, and you’re wasted. Let me just get you home safe.”
“Who says I’m going home?” she taunts, finally turning to look at me. “Maybe I’m going to my boyfriend’s house.”
The word hits me harder than it should.
Parker has dated a few guys over the last couple of years, but none of them have lasted. There are only two that I know of who’ve hung around long enough to earn the term “boyfriend,” but both of them fucked up and lost what was undoubtedly the best thing in their life.
Refusing to take the bait she’s dangling, I step a little closer.
“Then I’ll drop you there. Just give me an address.”
Pressing my hand to the small of her back, I find the fabric already damp as I gently push her forward, more than ready to get out of the downpour.
My shirt is already soaked through and stuck to my body. Now that I’ve decided to leave, I’m ready to get home.
Fuck. I’m getting old.
