Page 82 of Breaking the Pucking Rules
I need his hands, his tongue, his cock.
“Fuck,” I hiss as I stand at the kitchen window, waiting to see Dad’s car turn into the lot.
It was hard enough to put Kodie out of my head when he didn’t know who I was, when I thought I’d had my one shot. But that all changed when he learned the truth. And after he almost kissed me last night…shit. I don’t stand a chance of putting that night behind me. My crush on him is burning hotter than ever.
The thought of not seeing him again until the Vipers’ next home game doesn’t sit well with me.
They’re out of town for road games at the end of the week. They’re not playing here again until next Sunday.
That’s too long.
Watching him through a screen isn’t going to cut it.
But what am I meant to do? Stalk him wherever he goes in case I get a chance to continue what we started last night?
That’s crazy.
Let it go, Casey.
But as solid as that advice is, I’m not sure I can take it.
The second I spot Dad’s car, I grab my purse from the side and make my way down to meet him.
“You look better than I was expecting,” he says, chuckling to himself as I drop into his passenger seat.
“Thanks,” I mutter as I strap myself in, although a small smile plays on my lips.
I love my dad so much. He’s always been my number one. I have just as much fun hanging out with him as I do with Parker.
“Did you have a good night?” he asks as he pulls back out of the space.
Guilts twists up my insides.
“Yeah, it was okay. We had a lot to celebrate.”
“It was a good game,” he muses before we dive into a deep dissection of everything that happened.
It’s always been this way. Even when he was playing. I used to live for the morning after a game where I’d get my father’s undivided attention as we critiqued the game the night before. It didn’t matter if it was a win or a loss; we’d do exactly the same.
He’d ask my opinion on things, and it would mean the world to me that he cared about what I had to say.
Those mornings we spent together and the analyses we didmade me a better player. He used to tell me that it helped him, too. I really hope it did and that he wasn’t just saying that to make me feel good.
We’re still in the thick of it as Dad pulls up outside our favorite diner, and we head inside.
Sylvie’s face lights up as we walk in, and after grabbing two menus and the coffee pot, she races over.
She’s been serving us here since I was a little girl, and she’s just as excited to see us—okay, Dad—as she was back then.
“Good morning, how are you?” She beams at us as if our presence has made her entire week.
“Good morning, Sylvie,” Dad says as we slide into our usual booth. “I’m good. This one partied a little too hard last night, so she’s going to need extra special treatment.”
I roll my eyes and groan.
“He’s just jealous he’s too old to have the same kind of fun,” I say, glaring at him across the table.
Sylvie chuckles, her cheeks blazing red as her eyes flick between me and Dad.
