Page 165 of Playing the Pucking Game

Those who already know we’re currently living together turn our way with smug looks on their faces. Those who are still here who don’t mostly look shocked.

I’m aware that I probably shouldn’t have done that. That I promised I’d keep Parker’s living arrangements under wraps so it doesn’t undermine her role. But fuck…she isn’t going home with anyone else, even if it is Casey.

“You’re unbelievable,” she mutters once we’re out of the house.

“What?”

“Just because I was ready to leave, it doesn’t mean you have to.”

“It doesn’t matter to me. We’ve got an early skate in the morning; it’s better that I head to bed.”

“Sure,” she mutters as she drops into the passenger seat of my car. “And thanks for basically announcing that we live together. Real smooth.”

“The guys don’t care,” I counter.

“It’s not the guys I’m worried about,” she mutters under her breath.

“Oh?” My hand falls from where it was about to press the start button, and I turn to her instead.

“It’s nothing,” she says, staring out the window as if she hasn’t got a care in the world.

“You’re lying.”

She tenses, her shoulders bunching up around her ears.

“What’s wrong? Is someone giving you grief about living with me?”

“No, because the idea was that no one knew about it.”

“It was never going to stay a secret all that long. Not when you’re hanging out with the guys at my place.”

“They’re your closest friends,” she argues, and I know she’s right.

“Who are you worried about, Parker?” I ask, my voice firmer than before.

“It’s nothing. Can we just go home, please?”

I continue to stare at her profile, irritation bubbling up within me that she’s hiding something.

“Fine,” I concede, finally starting the engine. “But just know, all you need to do is give me a name, and I can sort it.”

“That’s exactly why I won’t. My battles aren’t yours to face, Linc. They’re mine.”

I fucking hate that she’s right.

With my fingers tightly wrapped around the wheel, I pull away from Fletch and Reese’s house, silently fuming. Whoever is giving her shit, I’ll find out.

“Did you want to watch TV, or…” I ask as we walk into my apartment and she makes a beeline for her room.

“I’m having an early night,” she announces over her shoulder.

“Oh, okay.” Disappointment sits heavily in my gut. I’m not sure at what point I started enjoying having a roommate, or at what point I forgot how to hang out alone, but both seem to have happened.

“I’ll see you at the arena tomorrow,” she says before disappearing and pushing the door behind her.

That inch of gap between the door and the frame is the ultimate tease.

With my teeth clenched, I march into the kitchen, annoyed with myself. I grab a bottle of water and fall onto the couch with a groan.