Chapter 50 Lincoln
LINCOLN
She was wearing my T-shirt.
She snuck into my room, stole my T-shirt, and then proceeded to wear it to bed.
Those thoughts have been on constant circulation in my head since I woke up the other morning with enough light spilling in around the side of the curtains for me to see her.
She was wearing my T-shirt and the smallest, sexiest pair of panties.
Fuck, I’m getting hard now just thinking about it.
It’s been three days since I made this discovery. Three freaking days, and I can’t get it out of my head.
It’s driving me insane.
No. She is driving me insane.
We’ve barely seen each other since, unless I’ve been in the trainers’ room with her. Every morning I’ve been up before her, and every night I’ve been out later.
I hate it.
I’m not sure when everything started changing, but it has. I no longer want to be at VIP events, being photographed for someone else’s gain. I don’t want to be out in clubs or doing meet and greets—okay, okay, I do want to do those because I fucking love our fans, but that’s not the point.
I want to be at home.
With her.
Every single night this week, once I’ve gotten in, I’ve showered and abandoned my bedroom, my bed, in favor of hers.
Does that mean she wants me there? I’m not entirely sure. But she isn’t doing anything to stop me, so I’m taking that as an invitation.
Each time I crawl into her bed, I’m hard. It doesn’t matter that I’ve jerked off in the shower to try to combat it. The thought of discovering what she’s chosen to wear and pulling her hot body into mine is enough to have me ready and raring to go.
I’m pretty sure she’s feeling equally as horny, the way she rubs her ass against my dick.
Lifting my hand, I bite down on my knuckles to stop me from groaning out loud.
She’s taunting me.
Tempting me.
Making me lose my goddamn mind.
It’s fucking working.
“Everything okay?” Fletch asks from across the table, his eyes dancing with amusement as he watches me fight my internal battle with my libido.
My hand drops like a rock into my lap.
“Yep, I’m good,” I say, a little too enthusiastically. “Excited for the game tomorrow.”
His brow quirks in question before Killer drags him into conversation about something he read online.
We’re at a restaurant of Handsy’s choosing. It’s turned into a thing whenever we’re on the road. He wants decent food that he hasn’t attempted to cook himself, and we’re all more than happy to tag along for the ride.
He’s sitting at the head of the table with his hands on his stomach, looking very pleased with himself, while Monroe chats away about something Handsy is clearly not interested in.
Beside me, Kodie sits quietly, watching everything happening around him.
Meanwhile, somewhere else in the city, Parker is out with Brooke and Leah. My teeth grind at the thought of other guys having their eyes on her.
What if she’s dancing with some asshole who has his hands all over her right now?
Jealousy and anger shoot through me; how I manage to stay seated is beyond me.
“You’re on edge,” Kodie observes.
A laugh tumbles free. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“Anything to do with someone I know?” he asks quietly so the others can’t hear.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” I mutter.
He shakes his head, but there’s a smirk playing on his lips. “Fun, isn’t it?”
Handsy refuses to let us leave the restaurant until we’ve ordered one of every dessert on the menu for him to try. We oblige because…well, he’s our goalie, and we owe him everything.
By the time we leave, we’re all full, and everyone but me seems to be in high spirits.
“We should hit a bar,” Monroe calls from the back of our group.
“Are you even old enough for that?” Kodie deadpans.
“My ID is legit, fuck you very much,” Monroe quips back, making us all laugh.
“I’m in,” Killer states. “Hands? Linc?”
I consider his question for two seconds tops. “Nah, I’m not feeling it tonight. I’m gonna just head back.”
“We’ve got a game tomorrow,” Fletch points out.
“I know, Cap. I’m not suggesting we stay out late. One drink and a little dance.”
“Yeah, I’m out,” Fletch muses. “And if I hear that any of you came crawling back in sometime before dawn, you’re gonna fucking regret it.”
“Yes, Cap,” Killer, Handsy, Brit, and Monroe sing as they salute him.
After a few minutes, they double back, heading to a club that Killer knows of, while Kodie, Fletch, and I head back to the hotel.
Fletch tells us about Reese’s work on the upcoming Valentine’s gala, while Kodie talks about Sutton’s game that he’s missing this weekend, but he’s confident they’ll get the W based on the other team’s record this season.
Listening to them both talk about their families and their lives outside of hockey hits differently than it used to.
I never used to understand it. Hockey was my life.
Now, though, now I can see the appeal of having someone to go home to at night.
Someone who understands and accepts you for exactly who you are.
Before long, we’re walking through the entrance to the hotel. We stop to sign some things for fans before excusing ourselves to the elevators and riding up to our floors.
Fletch is one above us, so we leave him behind as we head to our room.
“At least I don’t need to worry about making myself scarce so you can have phone sex with your girl. Not when she’s right down the hall.”
“We’re not hooking up,” I argue as the hotel room door falls closed behind me.
“Okay,” he says, although his tone tells me that he doesn’t believe it for a second.
“Are you calling Casey?” I ask, aware that’ll mean I need to either lock myself in the bathroom for a bit or disappear back downstairs.
He chuckles. “You’re safe tonight. If we win tomorrow, though…”
“I know, I know. I really need to speak to Coach about getting my own room.”
“You’d miss me,” Kodie deadpans as he toes his sneakers off and drags his shirt over his head.
“Yeah,” I muse.
“But there’s no point getting your own room when there is a perfectly good one down the hall with an empty side of the bed.”
“Will you stop?”
“Oh, because you did when I was sneaking around with Casey?” he points out.
“That was different,” I argue.
“Was it?” he asks, staring me dead in the eyes. “She’s someone you think you can’t have. You’re freaking out about what you’re feeling. You don’t think you’re good enough for her.”
“Hey, any woman would be lucky to have me. I’m a catch.”
He smirks, not needing to point out that I completely ignored the rest of his comments.
So what? He might just have a point, but still, Parker and me, and Casey and him are not the same.
Being with Kodie was never going to affect Casey’s job. Sure, they had the added complication of her being Coach’s daughter.
Kodie mutters something under his breath as he disappears into the bathroom.
Flopping onto my bed, I open Instagram and immediately find her account for clues about where she might be.
There’s nothing. She hasn’t posted in weeks. But that doesn’t mean it’s the end of the road because she’s with Brooke, and Brooke posts every second of her life on social media.
I don’t need to type her name in; she’s right there beneath Parker’s in my search history.
It may not be the first time I’ve done this…
I groan as my eyes land on the first image of the three of them from earlier this evening. Brooke and Leah blur into the background. The only woman I see is Parker.
She’s wearing a navy fitted, short dress. Her hair is up, and her makeup is heavier than usual. She looks fucking hot. And she’s out in public right now.
My grip on the screen tightens until I’m sure it’s about to crack as I scroll through the images Brooke posted an hour ago.
Each one hits me harder. But it’s one of Parker laughing with a drink in her hand that really catches me. She looks so happy and carefree. The opposite of how she’s been recently.
I want to give that to her, but when we’re back in LA, it’s like the entire world is pressing down on her shoulders.
“Don’t tell me you’re stalking Parker,” Kodie states as he emerges and falls into bed.
“Okay, I won’t tell you.”
“Is she back yet?”
I glance at the time. It’s not late, but then we’ve all got to be at the arena early tomorrow, so there’s every chance she will be.
“I don’t know.”
“Are you going to find out?”
“I-I—” I want to.
“Just go, Linc. She might need help getting out of her dress.”
Kodie flips over, giving me his back and focusing on his own cell. I don’t need to look to know he’s chatting with Casey.
I ignore his comment and continue scrolling. Most of my feed is full of hockey news, both factual and fake, and I read it all with a grain of salt.
We’re almost at the halfway point. All-Star games are next week, giving the rest of us some much-needed time off before we hit the rest of the season hard.
The playoffs are almost in touching distance. We’re going to do it this year. Will we go all the way? That’s yet to be seen, but we’re in a better position than we have been in years.
Much more than I can say about Rett and his team, I discover, when the score from his game tonight flashes up on my screen.
Closing the app, I find my message thread with him, ignoring the guilt that threatens. It’s nothing new; I’ve been battling it for years. Six, to be precise.
Linc: Unlucky tonight, man.
Donnelly: Did you see the highlights? We fucking sucked.
Linc: I already knew that. When are you gonna get a trade to a real team?
Donnelly: Fuck you. At least I spent less time in the box tonight than you did in your last game.
Linc: It was worth it. Hendrikson was asking for it. Did you see the way he was going after our rookie?
Donnelly: Never said I didn’t agree.
Our messages continue for the next thirty minutes, all focused on hockey. At no point does he ask me about Parker, so I can only assume he still doesn’t know where she’s living. Fine by me. The last thing I need is the protective big brother speech.
As Kodie’s snores begin to fill the room, I lower my cell and tip my face toward the ceiling.
I’m exhausted. What I really need to do is sink down into the sheets and sleep. But something tells me that I’m not going to be able to. Not alone.
Lifting my cell back up, I open Brooke’s profile again, and my eyes widen at the most recent post.
It’s a bubble bath in her hotel room, with what I assume are her heels from tonight abandoned beside it.
If she’s back, that means…