Page 47 of Playing the Pucking Game

Linc’s home.

The temptation to drive around for a bit to waste time is strong, but I’m exhausted and my bed is calling.

I park in the garage and get into the elevator in record time. Silently, I count the floors as I climb through the building, trying to distract myself from wondering if Linc will be there. If he’ll be entertaining.

I’m not sure what’s worse: the thought of having the entire team up there or him being with a woman.

Shoving the unwanted feeling that thought threatens to drag up, I hitch my purse up higher on my shoulder and step toward the doors.

The second they open into his private hallway, the most incredible scent hits me.

I’m full, but still, my mouth waters.

Making my way toward the kitchen, I try to figure out what it is.

There’s tomato, garlic—lots of garlic—and cheese. It smells delicious and drags up an image of Linc standing in his kitchen, wearing an apron and cooking. It’s at complete odds with everything I know about my brother’s best friend.

All of those thoughts immediately leave my head though as I step around the corner and see him sitting at the dining table with an empty plate in front of him and another full one opposite him. There’s a bottle of unopened wine in the middle of the table, and a huge, beautiful bouquet of flowers.

Holy shit, he’s on a date. And from the hard, irritated expression on his face, he’s not happy about being interrupted.

I’m about to excuse myself when he speaks.

“Where have you been?”

13

LINCOLN

Istare at Parker, my entire body tense, my fingers gripping the base of my chair to stop me from getting up and marching toward her and…I don’t want to think about what could follow that.

“Where have I been?” she echoes in confusion.

“Yes. Parker. Where have you been?”

“Out with Casey. We went for Mexican. Why? What’s—shit, didn’t your date turn up?” She balks. As if that’s an issue I ever have. And no, not for the reason you’re thinking. Women always turn up; I don’t date. Ever.

A self-deprecating laugh falls from my lips as I push my chair back and stand.

“Yeah,” I muse. “Something like that.”

She watches me like a hawk as I round the table and move closer to her, reality still not hitting her.

I feel like a fucking fool.

I did this. I did all of this for her. To celebrate the first day of her new job, to say thank you for noticing what I’ve managed to hide from all the others and force me to deal with it. But she didn’t come.

I have never, ever gone to this much effort for anyone else before, and she didn’t fucking turn up until the food was cold and the evening was over.

Maybe you should have invited her properly, a little voice shouts, but I ignore it.

I did mention it, and really, do I need to invite my roommate to dinner in our own place?

Apparently, I do.

“Linc, what’s—” She cuts herself off as I step into her space.

Emotions riot within me as I stare down into her eyes. The worst is the embarrassment. I should let her think I got stood up; it would be better than confessing that I did all of this for her.