Page 186 of Playing the Pucking Game

Yes, something has happened, but I’ll be fucked if I’m sharing the details with anyone.

Dragging my attention from Kodie, I scan the rink.

She should be here. But she’s not?—

My thoughts vanish as I spot her walking toward the ice with her iPad tucked under her arm.

She looks beautiful with her hair pulled back into a high ponytail, her makeup so light she might as well not be wearing any, and her sinful leggings and Vipers-issued vest to keep her warm while we train.

The sight of her has my pulse racing and my muscles aching with the need to rush over there and pull her into my arms.

Does she remember?

Not a second later, her eyes meet mine, and I get my answer.

Her smile is shy, totally un-Parker-like, and her eyes dance with secrets that only the two of us know.

48

PARKER

Nerves rattle through me as our eye contact holds across the ice.

When I first woke up this morning, I thought it was all a dream. But then I rolled onto the other side of the bed, and there he was. Not in person, of course; he’d already slipped away. But his scent was there.

I kept my eyes closed and just breathed him in.

It was ridiculous, and I felt so pathetic, but I couldn’t stop myself.

Since the moment we drove around that corner and saw my building burning, Linc has been incredible. He’s had no obligation to do any of the things he’s done for me in the last few weeks, and last night was just another example.

He was there for me, his support unwavering as he did exactly what he said he would and gave me everything I needed.

That kiss.

My hand twitches at my side with the need to touch my lips. They tingle with the memory alone.

I focus on Linc as he shoots around the back of the goal, puck gliding across the ice in front of him. He’s a vision to watch. It’s easy to forget about the more brutal side of the game when he’slike this. It’s like watching a dancer. He moves so effortlessly, so fluidly. It’s intoxicating.

The way he moves his hips…

“Donnelly.”

I gasp loudly as something—or someone—taps me on the shoulder.

“Earth to Donnelly,” Mitchell mutters. “Christ, don’t you have a job to do instead of standing here checking out the players.”

I blink, staring at Mitchell without really seeing him as the image I just had in my head of Linc melds with embarrassment and anger.

Heat races through my body, and I pray that he can’t see the flush that is no doubt spreading across my cheeks and down my neck.

“I’m focused on my job,” I seethe.

“Is that why you didn’t hear me calling your name a million times?” He quirks a brow, and my fist curls with the need to punch it off his face.

I hate this guy.

Suddenly, there’s a loud bang in front of me, and I shriek as I take a step back. But when I look up, I find Linc glaring at Mitchell beside me.