Chapter 4
LINCOLN
Parker doesn’t say anything else as we rise through the building.
I’m aware that she’s never been up here before, and all I can think about is the state I left it in before heading out earlier.
I shouldn’t care what she thinks, not that she’s in any kind of state to notice, but I do.
Parker already has enough opinions about me and the way I live my life. I don’t need her adding more reasons to be irritated by me.
Unease prickles at me as I think about what I’m doing here.
I have never had anyone else stay with me before besides Rett or my little sister, every now and then, when she needs a break from her life.
I certainly have never had a woman stay here.
In fact, other than my mom and sister, no woman has ever been here.
I don’t even think Reese has been inside.
Something flutters wildly in my stomach as the elevator dings and the doors open to my private hallway a few seconds later.
Without glancing at her, I know what she’s thinking.
That I’m a flashy, arrogant motherfucker.
Hell, she’s said it to me so many times that I can hear it as clearly as if she were saying the words to me right now.
She’s right, of course.
I don’t need this huge penthouse. It’s too big for me.
But…I fell in love with it when my realtor showed it to me, and I couldn’t help myself.
We spend so much of our year on the road, sleeping in hotels and waking up not knowing where the fuck we are, that I wanted something special for when I’m at home.
This place is my haven. And, of course, a place where I can hang out with my teammates, my brothers, and we can kick back and forget about the pressure constantly weighing on our shoulders.
Dropping my arm, I press my hand to the small of her back and lead her into my apartment.
The bare skin of her back burns my palm, and I can’t help but brush my thumb against her soft skin.
I ensure she’s a step ahead of me so I can watch her reaction.
But to my surprise, she doesn’t give one.
She looks around, sure. But I can’t tell if she’s impressed, disgusted, or something else entirely. She’s…indifferent.
It’s something I really don’t like.
Parker is always quick to let me know how she feels.
We step into the huge, open-plan living, kitchen and dining room, and I send a silent prayer up that it isn’t as messy as it could have been.
“The guest bedroom is down here,” I say, pointing farther down the hallway.
She nods and keeps walking.
Opening the door for her, I allow her to step in first before following her inside.
I close the blinds, put the bedside lamp on for her, and place her clutch on the dresser.
She stares at it with a frown on her face.
“You dropped it when you jumped from the car,” I explain.
She just continues to stare.
“The bathroom is through here. It’s all yours.”
She watches me step toward the attached bathroom, but she doesn’t make a move to check it out. It’s a shame because I think she might like the size of the tub hiding in there, but whatever.
If it weren’t so late, I’d offer to run it for her.
“Do you want a drink? Are you hungry?”
She shakes her head, her arms locked around her middle.
She looks utterly defeated.
I want to help, to do something…anything. But there isn’t anything I can do or say to make this situation any less dire.
I stand there, feeling useless.
My cell burns a hole in my pocket.
I should ring Nova. My sister would know exactly what to do.
Casey would as well, but I don’t want to disturb them. If Parker wanted to go there, she’d have directed me there.
I run my eyes down the length of Parker's body, and it suddenly hits me that she has nothing.
Only the clothes on her back and the clutch I placed on the dresser.
“The bathroom is fully stocked. I know it’s not your usual, so just send me a list and I’ll get whatever you need.”
“No, you don’t need—”
“I’ll go and grab you something to wear for tonight.”
Before she can say anything, I dart out of the room and straight into the one next door.
After a quick rummage through my closet, I grab one of my old Vipers T-shirts and a brand-new pair of boxers. I swing by the kitchen for a bottle of water and some crackers, just in case, and make my way back to her.
I knock, because every now and then I can be a gentleman, but when I don’t get a response, I let myself in anyway.
I half expect to find her curled up in bed already, but instead, I discover a pile of discarded clothes on the floor and the bathroom door ajar. The sound of the shower running fills the air, my grip on the clothes in my hand tightens.
There is a naked woman in my apartment.
And not just any woman. Parker fucking Donnelly.
I knock on the bathroom door before continuing to the bed and lowering my T-shirt and boxers to it.
“There are some clothes on the bed,” I call through to her.
I don’t know if she hears me or not; I don’t hang around to find out. I don’t need any more temptation to crack the door a little wider to see if I can catch her reflection in the mirror.
I shake my head as I walk away.
It’s the Parker Donnelly effect.
No other woman on the planet drives me wild the way she does.
And what have I done?
Invited her into my home.
Twenty minutes later, I’m showered and in bed naked, staring up at the ceiling and questioning my life choices.
Parker Donnelly is in my home with nothing more than the clothes on her back.
Well, no, that’s not true.
Right this moment, she is probably wearing a Vipers T-shirt that has my name across the back.
My teeth grind at the thought.
In all the years I’ve known her, I have never, ever seen her wear my jersey. She was there the day I played my first Vipers game. Even then, my name didn’t grace her shoulders.
There’s this determined part of me that wants to figure out a way to make it happen. I want to see what she looks like with Storm written across her back like I own her. But there’s also this other part of me that refuses to think about it.
I can’t. It…it’s too much.
So instead, I force those kinds of thoughts from my head and focus on more rational things like what Parker is going to need to do tomorrow, and what I can do to make all this easier.
She might be adamant that we’ve never been friends, but I have a very different opinion.
She’s been a part of my life for almost as long as I can remember.
I might be closer to her brother, or at least I was growing up.
Hell, the two of us were inseparable, both on and off the ice.
We were until the day we got drafted. Sure, we’re not worlds apart with him up in Seattle and me living out my childhood dream of playing for the LA Vipers, but we’re not as close as we once were.
Parker is still here, though. She’s still a part of my life in a way Rett isn’t. And with her new job, she’s about to become an even bigger part of it.
My skin prickles as I consider how I’m going to cope with her running her hands all over me on the daily.
She’s a professional, I have no doubt about that. She’s worked too damn hard to secure this role, beating out all the men who applied. There isn’t a single chance in hell of her doing anything to put that at risk.
Me though…I’m an entirely different story. I live for the adrenaline rush, and having Parker rub me down is undoubtedly going be to a high of the very best kind.
I continue lying there for the longest time, creating a mental list of all the things that need to happen next.
Hours pass, and I’m still wide awake. I tell myself that it’s because I’d been prepared to be out partying all night.
But I know that’s bullshit. I can’t sleep because I’m on high alert.
Parker is right on the other side of the wall, and our headboards are almost touching.
Every single noise has me hyper-focused in case something is wrong, in case she needs me—which will never happen, but a guy can hope.
Right now, as far as I know, I’m the only one aware of what’s happened tonight, and I want to be there for her.
My legs twitch with my need to go and check on her.
Is she sleeping? Or is she pacing the room, trying to get her head around what’s happened? And if it’s the latter, does she need someone to talk it out with? Does she need my shoulder to cry on again? Because I’ll loan that motherfucker out time and time again for her to make use of.
Eventually, the not knowing gets too much, and I roll out of bed, pull on some boxers, and silently pad toward her door.
Everything is silent, leading me to believe that she’s sleeping. Just like the bathroom door earlier, I find it ajar, and when I poke my head around the door, I quickly find that I’m right. She’s curled up on her side, facing away from me with the covers bunched at her waist.
But my eyes only focus on one thing.
My name.
My heart rate increases and my fists curl at my sides.
Finally, after all these years, Parker Donnelly is wearing my name and number.
Lifting my hand, I rub my chest, right above my racing heart.
Fuck, that is a sight to behold.
I stand there for a good minute before I realize that I’m acting like a total creep and back out of her room.
I’d be lying if I said that my boxers weren’t a little tighter on the return journey.
The image of her wearing my name and number is ingrained in my brain, and I’m pretty sure it’s going to live there rent-free for the foreseeable future.
I’m equally sure my wild imagination will also get a hold of it.
I groan, sinking my hand into my boxers and squeezing my length.
It’s wrong. She’s just experienced probably the worst night of her life, and here I am getting hard over the fact she’s in my space and wearing my clothes.
I’m hardly surprised, though.
It’s Parker.
She’s been under my skin since I was eleven, and after all these years, I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’m never going to get her out.
I grab my cell the second I’m safely back in my room, flop back on my bed, and set about knocking off a few things on that to-do list I created.
I don’t doubt that Parker will be annoyed with me for it, but that’s always been our love language, so why change that now?