Page 51 of Breaking the Pucking Rules
I hate lying to her. Parker and I tell each other everything.
But this…telling her about Kodie...I don’t want to break his trust. But at the same time, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to keep it in.
Especially now that he knows.
I need advice. I need to talk it out. And I can’t do that with anyone else. I certainly can’t go to Dad with this little issue.
“Okay, I’ll pick you up in thirty. If he’s there, kick his ass to the curb. I’m coming for you, girl.”
“No kicking needed. I’m alone,” I tell her as I throw the covers off and swing my legs over the edge of the bed.
“Boring,” Parker complains.
“I’m getting ready. See you in thirty.”
We hang up and I throw myself in the shower to get ready for a day of retail therapy with my best friend.
Istep out the front door of my apartment exactly thirty minutes later, just as Parker pulls into the parking lot. The top of her car is down, and her red hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail. As usual, she wears a tank and leggings. You can take the girl out of the gym, but you can’t take the gym out of the girl.
“Hey,” I say, dropping into her passenger seat.
“Hey,” she says, glancing over at me before taking off again. “You look tired.”
“Thanks,” I mutter as I put my sunglasses on and enjoy the warm fresh air rushing over my face.
“Long week at work?”
“Something like that,” I mutter cryptically.
“You know what you need, a nice massage.” I groan when she shoots me an evil grin.
I know the kind of massages she gives and that’s the last thing I need in my life right now.
“You’ve seen him, haven’t you?”
I groan. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“Casey, you had a night with a masked stranger. I swear, that’s the hottest thing I’ve heard in…a very long time. I need more information. Hell, I need a mystery man of my own.”
I can’t help but laugh, but something in it makes her look my way with her brow pinched.
“What?” I ask, not liking the way she’s looking at me.
“You’re stressed. Your shoulders are tight as hell. Something is going on.”
The sigh I let out only confirms what she already knows.
“Fill me with caffeine and I might just spill,” I mutter.
A smirk covers Parker’s face as she presses her foot harder to the gas. “Consider it done.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting in the back corner of Starbucks, waiting for Parker to collect our orders.
As I wait, I pick at my croissant, but I don’t enjoy it. I may as well be eating sand.
My stomach rolls with nerves and guilt. I haven’t spoken a word yet, but it’s already hitting me.
“Here you go, a venti caramel latte with a double shot,” Parker says, placing the large mug in front of me.
