Page 45 of Practice Makes Perfect (Pine Barren University #2)

twenty-seven

LINC

I wake to the sound of someone trying to break down my bedroom door. At least, that’s what it feels like to my sleep-addled brain. I crack one eye open, squinting at the sunlight filtering through my blinds, and my first coherent thought is: Em .

She’s curled against me, still naked, her dark hair fanned across my pillow, breathing softly. One of her legs is thrown over mine, and her arm rests on my chest. The sight of her makes everything inside me go warm and liquid.

Last night races through my mind in vivid snapshots: Em’s body rising above mine, the way her lips parted on a gasp when I moved inside her, the soft confessions we whispered to each other in the dark.

The thought is interrupted as the pounding starts again. “Yo, Linc!” Mike’s voice penetrates the wood. “I’m hitting PB Bagels. You want your usual?”

Em’s eyes flutter open, confusion momentarily clouding them before recognition dawns. “Is that?—”

“Mike,” I confirm, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “The human alarm clock I never asked for.”

A smile touches her lips. “What time is it?”

I glance at my phone. “Eight thirty.”

“Linc!” Mike pounds again. “I know you’re awake, man. I can hear you whispering sweet nothings in there. Bagels, yes or no?”

I groan, letting my head fall back against the pillow. “I should’ve moved in with Maine. He’s usually hungover until at least nine.”

Em laughs, the sound quiet and intimate in the morning stillness. She props herself up on one elbow, her hair falling in a curtain around her face. The sheet slips down, revealing the curve of her breast, and my mouth goes dry.

“You should answer him,” she says, but makes no move to let me up.

I cup the back of her neck and pull her down for a deep kiss instead. Her lips are soft and warm, and she makes a small, pleased sound that vibrates through me.

“GARCIA!” Mike bellows. “Last call for bagel service!”

I break away with a sigh. “If I kill him, will you visit me in prison?”

“Depends. Do they allow conjugal visits?”

I laugh. “Everything bagel with lox spread!” I call out, then look at Em. “You?”

She blinks, looking almost shy. “Cinnamon raisin with cream cheese.”

I relay her order to Mike, adding, “And coffee.”

“Sure thing, Captain!” Mike’s voice has a teasing lilt to it. “Good morning, Em!”

Em’s cheeks flush a delightful pink. “Oh God. We’re making a habit of this.”

“Well, we may as well get the payoff from your embarrassment…”

She smirks. “He’ll be back soon!”

“Don’t worry,” I assure her, running my fingers through her hair. “He’ll be gone for at least forty minutes. The line at PB Bagels is legendary.”

She peeks up at me. “Forty minutes, huh? What could we possibly do with all that time?”

The flush in her cheeks combined with the suggestive tone in her voice sends heat pooling low in my belly. I trail my hand down her bare back, savoring the softness of her skin.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” I murmur, leaning in to nip at her earlobe. “Mostly involving kissing every inch of your body…”

But instead of melting into me as I expect, Em pulls back, her expression turning serious. “Before we... there’s something I need to tell you,” she says.

A flutter of anxiety tightens my chest. Those words—“I need to tell you something”—rarely precede good news. Did she regret last night? Was this a one-time thing for her?

Em must sense my tension because she immediately curves her hand against my cheek. “It’s nothing bad,” she assures me. “At least, I hope not.”

I cover her hand with mine, relaxing slightly. “Then what?”

She takes a deep breath, her eyes never leaving mine. “I’ve been feeling this way for a while now, and I need to say it. I... I love you, Linc.”

The words hang in the air between us, fragile and momentous. For a second, I’m too stunned to respond. Not because it’s unexpected—if I’m honest with myself, I’ve been falling for her since that first disastrous hookup attempt—but because hearing her say it makes everything inside me light up.

“I love you too,” I say without hesitation, the words flowing naturally.

And they’re true—truer than anything I’ve said in a long time. I do love her, this funny, brave, brilliant woman who somehow saw past the hockey player reputation to the person underneath. Relief and joy wash over her face. She leans in, pressing her lips to mine.

“Come here,” I say, pulling her closer, then rolling us so she’s beneath me, her hair spread across my pillow.

“I thought hockey players weren’t supposed to have sex on game days,” she murmurs as I trail kisses down her neck. “Something about conserving energy?”

“It’s only practice today.” I laugh against her collarbone, before moving lower to kiss her nipple. “And some things are worth breaking the rules for,” I say.

She gasps, arching into my touch. “So this won’t affect your negatively impact your performance then?”

I glance up at her with a wicked grin. “Well, it’ll definitely affect my performance right now.”

Her laugh transforms into a moan as I continue my southward journey, pressing kisses to the soft skin of her stomach and then settle between her thighs.

Her retort dissolves into a soft cry as I taste her, savoring the way she trembles beneath my touch. I take my time, still learning what makes her breath hitch and her fingers tighten in my hair.

My exploration of Em has only just begun when the apartment door slams shut.

“Fuck,” I mutter against her inner thigh. “That was not forty minutes.”

Em freezes beneath me. “Is that?—”

“Mike. Back early.” I lift my head, listening to the rustling in the kitchen.

“What do we do?” Em whispers.

A surge of frustration mixes with desire as I look at her—flushed, breathless, and nowhere near satisfied. An idea forms, sending heat straight through me, and a wicked grin to my face.

“A quickie?” I ask, my voice dropping lower.

Her eyes widen. “A what?”

“A quickie,” I repeat, already moving up her body, positioning myself between her thighs. “Fast, intense, and if we’re quiet?—”

“You can’t be serious,” she hisses, but I notice how her pupils dilate, the way her breath quickens. “He’s right out there.”

I press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “We’ve got maybe five minutes before he knocks again. But if you don’t want to?—”

Em answers by pulling me down into a fierce kiss. “Show me,” she breathes against my lips.

Challenge accepted.

After taking less than five seconds to put on a condom, I’m in her. She’s still wet, and I slide in with minimal resistance. She gasps into my mouth, her body arching beneath mine.

“Shh,” I warn, though the sound of her pleasure sends electricity down my spine. “Gotta be quiet.”

I start moving, setting a fast, relentless pace. This isn’t about finesse or exploration—it’s raw need, urgent and desperate. Em’s nails dig into my shoulders as I thrust into her, hard and deep.

“Oh God,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “Linc?—”

The pressure builds quickly. I slip a hand between us, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at her center. Her body tightens around me when I circle my thumb there, matching the rhythm of my thrusts.

“That’s it,” I encourage, my voice a rough whisper. “Come with me.”

Outside, I hear Mike moving around in the kitchen, the clink of plates, the rustle of paper bags. The knowledge that he could knock at any moment adds a forbidden thrill, making everything more intense.

Em’s eyes lock with mine, her expression a mix of pleasure and disbelief as we move together. I can feel her getting close— her inner muscles fluttering around me, her breathing shallow and quick.

“I can’t—” she starts, but I cut her off with a kiss.

“You can,” I murmur against her lips. “Let go.”

The tension in my own body builds to a breaking point. I’m right on the edge, hovering at that exquisite moment before release. Em’s thighs tighten around my waist, her body trembling beneath mine.

“Now,” I command, driving deeper inside her.

She shatters around me, her mouth opening in a silent cry. The sight and feel of her orgasm triggers my own, and I bury my face in her neck to muffle my groan, our bodies pulsing in unison.

For a moment, we lie there, shaking and breathless. Then a sharp knock on the door makes us both jump. Em claps a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. I press my forehead against hers, grinning.

“Food’s getting cold!” Mike calls out.

“Coming!” I call back, then whisper to Em, “Again, apparently.”

She smacks my shoulder, but her eyes dance with mischief and satisfaction.

The puck shoots wide again—about five feet to the left of where it should land. I shake my head, skating over to retrieve it from the boards. It bounces off my stick with a hollow clack as I scoop it up.

“Kellerman!” I call out to the freshman second-line defenseman who made the sorry-ass pass. “Who were you aiming for there, the hot dog vendor?”

Kellerman flushes, the pink visible even beneath his practice helmet. “Sorry, Captain.”

I reset the drill, gathering the guys at center-ice, hoping like hell they snap out of…

whatever this is before the Brown game tomorrow.

We’ve been at this for forty-five minutes already, and I’m starting to wonder if I’m trying to help build the skills of the freshman on a college hockey team or herding cats.

“Listen up,” I say, tapping my stick against the ice to get everyone’s attention.

“We’re running a simple breakout drill. The defenseman passes to the wing, the wing carries through neutral zone, drops to the center, center feeds the far wing for the shot.

Basic hockey. Been doing it since you were twelve. ”

Six faces stare back at me, their expressions ranging from blank to vaguely nauseated. I don’t know what’s happening here. These are solid players—Coach wouldn’t have recruited them otherwise—but today they’re skating like they’ve got cinderblocks tied to their ankles.

“Let’s go again,” I say, deciding to demonstrate. “Cooper, you and I will run it once, then you guys take over.”