Chapter 54 Lincoln
LINCOLN
Ihate to do it, but I don’t have a choice. I have to get back to my room before Kodie wakes up and discovers I slipped out.
Leaving Parker fucking kills me, though.
She’s so warm and soft. She smells so sweet.
I drop a chaste kiss to her shoulder before forcing myself to release her and roll away.
Silently, I locate my sweats that I abandoned beside the bed and pull them up.
I can barely see her, it’s so dark in here, but that doesn’t mean I don’t keep my eyes on her.
I need more. So much fucking more.
Shoving my hand into my boxers, I attempt to adjust my boner, but it does very little.
I’m painfully fucking hard again. It’s as if last night never happened.
God, I want more.
“See you soon, pretty girl,” I whisper before backing away and, hopefully, silently slipping from the room.
I glance each way before darting to the right in the direction of my room. The sun might not be up yet, but that doesn’t mean some of my teammates won’t be awake. Like me, many of them are up before dawn, their bodies conditioned from years of early workouts and skates.
My heart is racing as I tap my key card against the panel and push the door open, thankfully unnoticed. Or at least, I assume unnoticed.
As slowly and carefully as I can, I close our door and then tiptoe into the room.
When I find Kodie still in bed, I breathe a sigh of relief before stripping my sweats off again and slipping into bed.
I’m about to lie down when a voice hits my ears, scaring the ever-loving shit out of me.
“Nice try, Casanova.”
“Fucking hell,” I gasp as I collapse on the mattress, my heart pounding a million miles a minute. “Was that fucking necessary?”
Kodie chuckles.
“I could ask you the same thing. You know I don’t care.”
“Maybe I couldn’t sleep and went to the gym,” I counter.
“Your sneakers are beside your bed,” he points out with more smugness in his voice than necessary.
“Fine, I went for some fresh air.”
“We have a balcony,” he counters.
“Motherfucker,” I breathe, rolling onto my back and throwing one arm over my eyes.
“Admit it. You’re gone for her.”
I bite down on the inside of my cheeks to save me from replying.
“Scary, isn’t it?” he muses when I remain quiet.
“We haven’t slept together,” I blurt.
“Wow.” He laughs. “It really is serious.”
My lips part, but no words appear.
“Your secret is safe with me, Storm.”
I mumble some kind of response, but it’s unintelligible at best. Thanking him properly means something is going on, that I do really feel that strongly about her, and I’m not ready to admit that to anyone yet.
Kodie and I make our way down to the hotel ten minutes before our call time. It was his idea; apparently, I was getting on his last nerve with my pacing back and forth.
I couldn’t help it.
I’m on edge.
Restless.
I need to see her.
I need to know that I didn’t fuck everything up last night.
If I have…fuck, I don’t know how I’ll cope.
If she walks away now like she did before, it’s going to fucking wreck me.
“I am so ready for this game,” Killer says as he joins us. “We’re gonna fucking kill it. This man right here is going to have another shutout game,” he says, backhanding Handsy across the chest. “And we’re gonna continue our reign as division leaders.”
“Amen to that,” Fletch says with a wide smile, although it falters when his eyes find me and the lack of excitement on my face. “Everything okay, Storm?”
Beside me, Kodie chuckles knowingly. “He’s frustrated and ready to burn off some energy.”
Fletch quirks a brow.
“We’re going out after our next game,” Killer announces, as if they didn’t do something after our meal last night.
“Aren’t you tired?” Fletch asks, but before Killer can respond, someone stalks toward us who does look tired. “Oh, for the love of god.”
“Who let the rookie get wasted?” I ask, taking in his pale face and red eyes.
“I’m not—” Monroe says, holding his hand up as he sucks in a deep breath. “I think I ate something I shouldn’t have.”
“Wonderful,” Fletch muses. “You gonna be okay joining us?”
“Hopefully it’ll subside.”
“Coaches are here,” Brit points out, and we all begin heading outside.
I turn back as I follow the guys toward the exit.
Where is she?
I look around at all the faces waiting to head to the arena.
Everyone else is here.
I drag my hand down my face before turning back to look at the elevator.
Should I go and get her?
But as I consider making my way up to find her, the doors open, revealing the woman I’m waiting for looking even more beautiful than ever.
Her red hair is pulled back into a sleek, high ponytail. Her large, golden eyes twinkle in the bright overhead lights, and her lips are glossy and full.
Shit. The way I want to worship this woman.
I spin around fully to face her, and her eyes land on mine.
Her breath catches, and I swear her cheeks brighten.
Is she thinking about last night?
It takes her a moment to move, and I revel in the thought that I rendered her useless.
“Come on, Donnelly,” someone calls from behind me, snapping her out of her trance.
She rushes from the elevator and attempts to march straight past me to join the rest of the medical staff waiting to exit the building.
“Whoa, slow the fuck down,” I hiss, reaching for her wrist as she attempts to race past me.
“What are you doing?” she snaps, turning to glare at me.
“Not ignoring you, which is what you seem to be attempting to do to me.”
“Life isn’t all about you, know you. I’ve got to go.”
She tugs her wrist from my fingers and spins away, her ponytail swishing behind her.
Fuck.
She rolls her shoulders as she approaches the medical staff, and as she turns slightly, I catch the wide smile she gives them. The complete opposite of the reaction I got.
My heart aches as I study her, but that quickly changes when I watch Mitchell study her for a few seconds before lifting his gaze and immediately finding me.
Double fuck.
She’s just protecting herself and her position, Storm.
She’s right. This isn’t about you.
It’s about her.
Exactly as it should be.
“Come on, man. Now isn’t the time. We’ve got a game to win,” Kodie says as he practically drags me out of the hotel.
The second I’m seated on the bus, I pull my cell from my pocket.
Linc: I’m sorry, that was selfish of me. I hope you have a good day.
Linc: I missed you this morning.
I stare at my screen for a few minutes in the hope she’ll read my words. I’m not expecting a reply; I’m not that fucking delusional. But knowing she’s seen my apology would be nice.
But when nothing happens, I pull my AirPods out, pull up my game day playlist, and attempt to focus on what today will bring.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Fletch calls after me when I immediately turn in the opposite direction to everyone else as we get off the bus.
“I’ll be ten minutes, tops,” I call over my shoulder as I take off running.
The whole way here, all I could think about was my reaction to Parker’s attempt at professionalism this morning. I’m not going to be able to focus until I’ve put things right. I’m not an idiot; a message isn’t going to cut it.
Actions.
Actions speak so much louder than words. And luckily for Parker, I can do actions.
Thankfully, there’s a coffee shop right around the corner. My foot taps on the floor as I wait for the two customers in line to place their orders.
I keep my head down and just pray no one notices me. I didn’t plan for this. I don’t have a cap or even any sunglasses to hide behind.
Everything is fine until I look up at the barista waiting for my order.
The second our eyes connect, she squeals.
Literally fucking squeals.
“Oh my god, it’s Lincoln Storm. Fuck. The actual Lincoln Storm.”
Fuck. Maybe this was a mistake.
I should have just ordered it.
“Can you sign something for me?” she asks in a rush. “And can we have a photo?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure,” I mutter as she searches for something for me to write on.
Unable to find much, she settles on a branded cup sleeve.
“This?” she asks as if it’s the weirdest thing I’ve signed.
It isn’t.
I take it, glad she didn’t decide to ask me to sign a body part instead.
It wouldn’t be the first time a girl has pulled their top up or down and asked me to sign their tits.
The first time was fun, the second too, but the buzz has more than worn off now. Especially as there is only one pair I’m interested in looking at and touching.
And it hasn’t escaped my attention that I didn’t even get a glimpse of them last night.
“It’s Matilda,” she says as I hover the pen over the card.
“Will you be coming to the game tonight?” I ask as I sign.
“Absolutely. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll be wearing your jersey as well.”
“There you go,” I say, happily ignoring that last comment. There is only one woman I want wearing my jersey, but I can’t see that happening anytime soon, seeing as she works all our games.
“Will you all be going out after the game?” she asks, her eyes hopeful.
“Ah, I’m not sure yet,” I lie.
We’re travelling straight after leaving the arena, ready for another game tomorrow, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“I’ll keep an eye on socials, see if my friends and I can catch you anywhere.”
“Sounds good, Matilda,” I say, making her cheeks blaze.
Christ. Bunnies are so easy.
Once upon a time, I used to get off on their eagerness.
Now, though…now, the only thing that gets me going is the game that Parker and I are playing.
She wants me; I know she does. And hell knows I want her too. She’s just…trying to do the right thing.
It’s admirable.
But she can only hold out for so long.
I place my order, Matilda scrawls my name on the cup, and then I move to the other end of the counter where a guy is making the orders.
I get a few glances from others in the coffee shop, but thankfully, no one else asks me for anything.
The barista in particular looks completely unfazed when he hands me Parker’s iced coffee.
With that, and a pastry in a bag, I make my way back to the arena before Fletch and Coach have a coronary that I’m missing.
Despite needing to be in the visitors’ dressing room, getting ready for our time on the ice, I divert toward the training room.
The door is open, and voices filter down to me.
I come to a stop just shy of being seen as Parker’s voice hits my ears.
I listen as she passionately talks about players and what injuries they’re battling. She discusses their need to keep a particular eye on Monroe’s defense partner due to a hip flexor injury during our previous home game. She explains how she’s advised Jarad to put him on the IR for tonight.
“I assessed him yesterday. He’ll be fine,” Mitchell dismisses.
“That may be so, but is it a risk we’re willing to take at this point in the season?”
“Typical woman, worrying too much about nothing.”
Anger shoots through my veins. How dare he firstly dismiss her professional opinion like that, and secondly, it’s her literal job to worry about players’ health.
It is not nothing. It is everything.
Surging forward, I march into the room without knocking.
“Excuse me,” I bark, interrupting the tense conversation. “Mitchell, don’t you have some athletic tape to organize?” I snap as I move closer to Parker.
He mutters something under his breath, but thankfully, he shuffles away.
“What the fuck was that?” I hiss, aware that he’s probably still in earshot.
“Nothing,” Parker snaps. “Shouldn’t you be getting dressed?”
“Yes, I should. Coach will probably rip me a new one for being late, but I had to do something first.”
“What’s more important than—” Her words falter as I lift the iced coffee in my hand.