Page 5 of The No Touch Roommate Rule (That Steamy Hockey Romance #2)

Chapter

Three

PARKER

M y knee is fucked.

I know this with the same certainty that I know the sky is blue, the sun is hot, and Makena looks criminally good in soaking wet underwear.

But as I pull into my driveway, I keep my mouth shut about the throbbing behind my patella. Acknowledging it aloud might make it real, and I’m not ready for real at four a.m. after nearly dying at least once tonight.

What I’m ready for is sleep.

And ice.

And possibly amputation if it means the stabbing pain will stop.

But first, I need to get Makena inside without letting her see me limp. She’s not stupid. She’ll know what a big deal an injury like this is for a man who makes his living as a professional athlete, and I refuse to give her anything else to be upset about tonight.

She’s been through enough.

“Wow. This is really nice,” she says as I cut the engine. Her voice is small, exhausted. She’s got my gym towel wrapped around her shoulders, but it’s doing fuck-all to hide the fact that she’s basically naked.

But at least she’s stopped shaking. For a while there, I was afraid she was going into shock, and we should be on our way to the ER instead of my place.

The ER would be smart for both of you, idiot. That knee isn’t going to get any less fucked by sitting around with your thumb up your ass.

But I enjoy having a thumb up my ass, I remind the inner voice. Aloud, I say, “Thank you. I don’t like to brag, but my lawn is the envy of all who behold it.”

She nods. “It’s hot. And giving major suburban dad energy. Do you mow it yourself?

“I do. And fertilize it. And roll naked across it when the moon is full.”

“But only when it’s full,” she deadpans. “That would be weird during a new moon.”

“Totally weird,” I agree, enjoying how easy it is between us. Even now, when we’ve both definitely had much better nights.

I flex my fingers on the steering wheel, trying to psych myself up for the walk to the front door.

It’s maybe thirty feet.

I’ve skated through worse pain than this.

Of course, that was before I tore something in my knee playing action hero. But it was worth it. One hundred percent worth it.

Fuck…I’m so glad she’s okay.

When I busted through that door and saw her on top of her counter with the water rising all around her…

Well, I’ve never been so grateful that I’m a lunatic.

But I am a lunatic. I still can’t believe I drove my truck into a building. I haven’t had a chance to look at the front of Thor, Truck of Thunder, yet, but I’m sure he’s going to need a trip to the body shop, bare minimum.

“If you’re waiting for me to invite you in, I can’t,” Makena says, breaking into my racing thoughts. “Because it’s…not my house.”

Right. Focus. Stop spiraling.

There will be time to process all of this later, after we’ve slept.

“Of course. Come in, woman. Let’s get you settled.” I grab the door handle and swing myself out, clenching my jaw as my right leg takes my weight and the pain spikes hard and hot.

The world goes sparkly at the edges for a second, but I power through it.

You’re fine. You’re completely fine. Your career isn’t over. You didn’t just destroy everything you’ve worked for since you were six years old.

And if you did.

Fine.

Her life is worth your career.

Any human life is, but especially hers.

That’s right, Inner Voice. Keep it positive. Much better than calling me an idiot and criticizing my thumbs and ass.

I trail Makena to the front porch, hiding my limp as best I can.

She turns back to me, blinking in the porch light in that champagne-colored lingerie that’s basically see-through, even now that it’s had time to dry.

The porch light hits her like she’s under a spotlight, and Christ, she’s beautiful.

Hair frizzed into messy curls, mascara smudged under her eyes, my gym towel around her neck like a Victoria’s Secret boxer who just won a big match…

I’m tempted to pull out my cell and snap a picture.

“Are you staring at my nipples?” she asks.

“Of course not,” I lie.

She arches a pointed brow.

“Okay, I was staring at your nipples.” I fish my keys out of my pocket, proud of myself for only wobbling once as I shift around her. “But in my defense, they’re very nipple-y at the moment.”

“Well, I’m cold,” she says. “And super turned on by how much we smell like mud and sewage.”

“At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

She sighs. “No, just…everything else.”

“Maybe not. We’ll see when the water goes down. Until then, positive thoughts.” I open the door and gesture inside. “Now, how about some jammies and a hot chocolate?”

She sighs again, more heavily this time. “Jammies sound good, but I’m too—” She breaks off, lunging forward to grab my arm as my stupid knee buckles while I’m closing the door. “Parker! Are you okay?”

I wince and grit out, “Fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Worry fills her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

“I’m fine,” I say as I head for the kitchen, waving her off when she reaches for my arm again.

“You’re limping.”

“I’m walking with character.”

“Come on, Parker. Be serious.” She steps closer, the towel sliding off one shoulder as she reaches for me again. This time, I let her wrap her cold little fingers around my bicep. “How bad is it?”

I want to lie again, to brush it off with a joke, but it’s too late for that.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “Something popped when I was tossing you into the truck. Could be nothing. Could be…” I trail off with a shrug, unwilling to voice the possibility that it could be everything. “I’ll get it checked out tomorrow.”

Her expression flickers, landing somewhere between anger and guilt. “You shouldn’t have come for me. You should have stayed safe.”

“Yeah, well, I have this thing where I don’t like my friends to die, so…”

She scowls. “We aren’t friends. You didn’t owe me anything.”

“And you don’t owe me anything,” I assure her. “I made the choices I made, and I would make them again. In a heartbeat. But you don’t get to be mad at me for saving your life because that makes me sad.”

Her angry face is almost comically intense as she whispers, “I’m not mad at you , dum-dum. I’m mad at me . I will never forgive myself if your career is?—”

“Hush,” I say, afraid she’ll jinx me if she finishes that sentence.

“Come on. Let’s get you to the guest room.

” I start forward again. “Before my gentlemanly restraint gives out, and I start staring at your nipples again. We’ll do a proper tour tomorrow, but this is the kitchen.

” I motion vaguely toward the cabinets. “I hope it meets with your chefly approval.”

“It’s gorgeous,” she says, still sounding irritated.

“Thank you,” I say, forcing a smile. It is nice, complete with granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, and the kind of coffee maker the professional baristas use. The whole house is nice.

It’s everything I wanted. A real house in a real neighborhood with real neighbors who complain when I forget to bring my trash cans in. I fucking love my slice of suburbia, no matter how much my teammates tease me about choosing to live in a place where all the restaurants close by ten.

It feels good out here. Peaceful. Easy.

It feels even better with Makena here.

Even when she’s pissed at herself and taking it out on me.

“You sure you don’t want hot chocolate?” I ask, wincing as I glance back, and my knee turns in a way it really doesn’t like.

“No, I want you to sit your ass down,” she says, pointing to the kitchen table. “There. Now. Sit. Take a load off and let me take a look.”

“I told you I’ll get it checked out tomorrow. Right now, I just?—”

“Sit.” She points again, with the authority of someone who used to make me eat my vegetables before I got ice cream after dinner. “Now. I’ll help you get your pants off, and we’ll see how bad it is together.”

I bob my brows. “Ah, so that’s your plan, is it? You don’t need excuses, Mack. I’m happy to take my pants off for you anytime.”

She rolls her eyes with an exasperated huff that makes it clear she will not be tolerating any of my monkey shine.

“Okay, fine,” I say, limping to the closest chair. “But I’m perfectly capable of getting my pants off by myself. It’s not that bad.”

Please don’t be that bad , I silently pray as she reaches for my belt buckle with all the sensuality of a nurse at the end of a double shift in the Extra Bloody and Gross ward.

“This is not sexy.” I pout as she pushes my pants down my thighs. “At all.”

“Stop complaining and sit,” she says. “It’ll be easier to get them the rest of the way off if you’re not on your feet.”

I half collapse into the chair, doing my best not to bend the irritated appendage. My breath hisses in as she kneels at my feet, guiding the fabric over my knee. She’s being careful, but—fuck. It hurts.

“Oh, Parker,” she whispers, her brow furrowing as she lets my pants fall to the floor. “Oh…wow.”

I force myself to look down. My joint is already swollen to nearly twice its normal size and turning interesting shades of purple and red. It looks like someone stuffed a softball under my skin and beat it with a hammer.

“See, not so bad,” I say, but the joke instantly falls flat.

“We should go to the hospital.”

“At four in the morning? During a natural disaster? The ER will be packed. I’ll just ice it and see how it looks tomorrow.”

She blinks faster, her throat working as she continues to stare at my gimpy knee. “I’m sorry. So, so sorry.”

“Stop,” I order. “No more apologizing. I refuse to accept them.”

“But you’re hurt,” she says, her voice breaking. “Really hurt.”

I reach down to cup her cheek, waiting until she glances up to say in a more serious voice, “Maybe, but either way, it’s not your fault. Okay? It’s really not, and if you cry, then I’ll cry, and I’m really ugly when I cry.”