Page 138 of Playing the Pucking Game

“Are you trying to say I smell?” he asks, attempting to sound offended.

“You have your moments,” I giggle. “That equipment you have in the hallway closet needs burning.”

“Can’t argue with that,” he muses as the doors finally open and people begin spilling out.

“Where next?” I ask once we’re on the street.

We’ve already done all the main sights, but this is New York—there is always more.

“We’re heading to the most important place in this city. And if you’re lucky, I might just buy you a donut on the way.

“I can get on board with that.”

Without releasing my hand, we take off, Linc seeming to know exactly where he’s going. While he might not have said a location, I can guess from his vague comment.

After stopping at a Dunkin’ and ordering more donuts than the two of us could eat in a week, we approach Madison Square Garden.

“When I was a kid, it was always my ultimate dream to play here,” Linc confesses. “The first matchup we had here was the moment I knew I’d made it. The atmosphere is always insane. It doesn’t matter that most of the crowd are booing us. It’s electric.”

“I can’t wait to experience it,” I muse, looking up at the iconic arena. It’s lit up with multicolored lights and LED screens showing their beloved teams and players.

“I always knew you’d do it. You’re one hell of a player.”

He tugs me toward a bench on the opposite side of the street, and we sit side by side.

“Donut?” he asks, opening the box he’s been carrying for the last ten minutes.

“Thought you’d never ask,” I tease. I quickly make my selection and pull it from the box.

I take a bite before Linc has chosen his flavor.

“Oh my god. So good.”

He looks over, his eyes dropping to my mouth as my tongue sneaks out to lick the icing from my lips.

“Try some?” I ask, lifting it between us.

He looks between me and the donut for a few seconds before he wraps his hand around my wrist, brings the donut to his mouth, and takes a huge bite.

“Hey,” I complain as he chews.

Goddamn, how does he even look good doing that?

“That is good,” he admits once he’s swallowed and licked his lips, which I absolutely did not watch while squeezing my thighs together. “Can think of something I’d rather eat, though.”

36

LINCOLN

There’s only one thing on my mind as Parker and I ride the elevator to her floor just after midnight.

We’ve had the best night, and every time she’s smiled because of something I’ve done, it’s made my heart beat a little faster. And what I’ve done has been so small and insignificant really. I’ve taken her on a whistle-stop tour of New York. It’s nothing in the grand scheme of things, but she’s acted as if I’ve shown her the world, not just a little bit of a busy city that never sleeps.

My fingers itch to reach out for hers again just so I can have some contact with her. But I hold back.

When she was upset earlier, it was easy to forget all the reasons why I shouldn’t have done it. She needed…fuck, I really want to say that she needed me, but that’s far from the truth. She just needed comfort and I was lucky enough to be there at that moment.

Watching her break down hurt. All I wanted to do was fix it, but I didn’t even know what was wrong. I still don’t, really, but fuck if I don’t want to do whatever I can to stop it from happening again.