Chapter 9 Lincoln
LINCOLN
It’s been hours since Parker disappeared into my guest room. She told me that she was going to get out of my way, and she’s certainly done that.
I should be relieved she’s allowing me to continue my life as if she’s not here, but I’m not.
When Killer messaged in our group chat earlier, asking if we were doing anything tonight, I put them off. Usually, I’d be the first to invite everyone here to hang out and play Xbox. But tonight, it felt wrong.
Parker is suffering, and the last thing she needs is an apartment full of hockey players.
So instead, I hit my home gym for the second time today before falling onto the couch to watch game tape.
Everything is moving in the right direction, but we’ve still got a long way to go if we’re going to keep our place in the league and secure our playoff position.
Hours pass, but eventually, my stomach begins growling, demanding food.
I glance toward my kitchen. Usually, I cook. I’m not the best at it, but I try my best. What I really need is a chef like some of the other guys have, but that means having someone I don’t really know here a lot of the time, and to be honest, I’d rather just manage myself.
But tonight, the prospect of cooking is even more unappealing than usual.
Pulling up a delivery app, I scroll through, searching for something that catches my eye.
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.
“Are you watching me play?” I ask, a teasing lilt to my voice.
“Oh yeah, I just can’t get enough. I’m obsessed with you, Lincoln Storm, and I watch every move you make.”
“Alright,” I mock. “There’s no need for that.”
“I’m watching game tape.”
I frown. “Why?”
She barks a laugh.
“Fucking hell. Is this what I should expect in the coming days and weeks? Everyone underestimating me because I’ve got a fucking vagina?”
“You’re working,” I mutter, feeling like the world’s biggest moron for not putting it together sooner.
“Yeah, asshole. I’m working. And do you know what I’ve learned?”
Her narrowed, angry eyes hold mine. She’s desperate to tell me whatever it is.
“Go on,” I encourage.
“You’re struggling on the ice. That groin injury you picked up after Thanksgiving hasn’t healed properly, has it?”
My chin drops. The need to lie to her surges through me. But what’s the point? She knows. She’s seen it with her own eyes.
“You’re favoring your left side when your right is usually dominant.”
“Parker,” I warn.
“What was your treatment plan?”
“Do we have to do this right now?”
She tilts her head to the side, her gaze turning a little patronizing. “Do you want to retire early?”
“Wow,” I say with a laugh. “Say it like it really is.” Absently, my hand lifts to the back of my neck, kneading the tight muscles there.
“What? Would you prefer I fob you off with a half-assed treatment plan that sees you underperforming in games and risking your career?”
“No, of course not.”
“Who did your treatment plan, and what was it?” she demands again.
When I still don’t say anything, she makes a very accurate guess.
“You didn’t tell anyone how bad it was, did you?”
“We’d won five games in a row. We were on the best winning streak in years. I couldn’t risk being the reason it ended.”
“Lincoln.”
“I did what I had to do to ensure I wasn’t benched.”
“You should have been,” Parker states flatly.
There’s no point arguing. She’s right. Of course she’s fucking right. But she needs to learn the stubbornness of the men she’s about to start working with.
We have one focus and one focus only: lifting that cup.
We play injured more often than not. We lie about how much it hurts, do our best to cover the evidence, and we grit our teeth and get on with our fucking jobs.
Parker and the rest of the medical team just have to get used to the fact we’re going to butt heads on the daily.
“It is what it is,” I say with a shrug as I finally lift my cell and place our order. “It’ll be here in twenty. Are you going to come out and eat with me?”
“Will you continue to be a pig-headed asshole?”
“Is the sky blue?”
“Fucking hell. I’ve worked so hard to get this job, and sometimes I can’t help but wonder why. You’re all going to make my life a million times harder, aren’t you?”
“If dealing with us is the worst of it, then I think you’ll cope.”
“What do you mean?”
I shake my head. “I will make sure that every player on our roster respects the fuck out of you, Parker. But there are so many other men in our world that will have opinions you’re not going to like.”
“Do you really think I’m not aware of this?” she says, putting her cell to sleep and throwing the covers off.
Unlike last night, my boxers don’t show beneath the T-shirt. Instead, I’m greeted with nothing but long, bare legs.
My mouth runs dry, and I make the stupid mistake of trying to swallow.
I cough, choking on nothing but air as she throws her legs off the side of the bed and pushes to stand.
She’s only wearing a pair of the panties I chose for her, and I’ll be fucked if I don’t want to know which color she picked. But before I get a chance to find out, the fabric of my T-shirt falls around her thighs.
Combing her long, red hair back with her fingers, she twists it up into a knot on the top of her head with one of the hairbands I got for her earlier.
I want to say those were my ideas, but honestly, Sutton really came into her own during that shopping trip. Between Casey’s list and Sutton’s help, I walked out of Sephora feeling successful. I haven’t been told otherwise, so I’m taking it as a win.
Dragging my eyes from her legs, I pause when I get to her chest.
Holy shit, she’s not wearing a bra.
My teeth grind, and I swear to God, her nipples harden even more under my attention.
“Linc.”
They’ll be so pretty.
“Lincoln?”
Rosy pink against her milky skin.
“Storm?”
My eyes jump to hers. “Huh?”
She shakes her head before shoving past me. “The sooner I get out of here the better,” she mutters as she stalks out of the room, leaving me standing there with nothing but her sweet scent surrounding me.
By the time I join her in the kitchen, she’s got her head in the fridge, searching for something.
“Do you have anything to drink?” she asks without looking back.
“There’s soda and juice in there. Water too.”
“I meant, a real drink.”
“Uh…no. I don’t drink at home.”
“Of course you don’t,” she mutters under her breath, her grip on the side of the fridge tightening until her knuckles turn white.
“I try to follow a strict nutrition plan,” I explain as she grabs a can of soda and spins around.
“Is that why you ordered Thai?” Cracking the top, she lifts the can to her lips and takes a sip.
I watch her neck ripple as she swallows, and no sooner does she pull it away from her mouth does her tongue sneak out and lick across her top lip.
Goddamn.
“A treat. I think you deserve it, don’t you?”
“I think you’ve already done enough. I’m going to start thinking you want some kind of payment for all of this.”
“I don’t.” Although I’d be lying if I said her words don’t inspire some thoughts I really shouldn’t be having.
“Good to hear because you won’t be getting anything other than my appreciation. Now, tell me about your injury.”
“Are we still doing this?”
She nods before taking another sip.
“It’s my job to ensure you’re in a fit playing state, and right now, I don’t believe you are.” My mouth opens to argue, but she quickly shuts me down. “Lie to me, Storm. I fucking dare you.” Her eyes narrow on mine, and my heart rate picks up speed at the same time my dick jerks in my sweats.
Fuck, Parker’s fire always gets me going.
“Your employment doesn’t start for another day. Right now, my health is none of your concern.”
“Fine,” she states, crossing her arms under her tits and pushing them up in the most tempting way.
She’d be so fucking sweet.
“Eyes up here, Storm,” she warns firmly.
Doing as I’m told, I hold her intense glare.
“Have it your way, but rest assured, you are going to be the first person on my bed in the training room.”
A smirk kicks up the corners of my lips.
“If you want to get me into bed and have your hands on me, Donnelly, all you have to do is ask.”
It’s a good thing she’s nowhere near my knives because, if she were, I’m pretty sure one would have been flying toward me the second those words left my mouth.
“That is never, ever going to happen.”