Page 12 of Power Play Daddies
A satisfied grin spreads across my face. Yeah, well, four rounds of back-to-back orgasms will do that to a man.
I grope for my phone to shut the damn alarm off. My fingers land on it, and as soon as the screen lights up, my grin freezes. A text from Uncle Ace.
>> Sorry for the late reply. Just heard your voicemail. Let’s meet at noon to discuss.
My stomach twists so hard I almost drop the phone.
“Shit,” I whisper, sitting up. My head’s pounding faintly from all the tequila, but that’s not the problem. The problem is I’m in bed with the Miami Icemen’s star forward.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I glance back at Beau. Still out cold.
I doubt a tornado could wake him right now. His chest rises and falls steadily, and his hair’s a mess from my hands. My eyes linger longer than they should because God, he looks so good even while unconscious.
But that’s not the point.
I slide out of bed carefully, biting my lip to keep from making a sound. My clothes are crumpled on the floor in the living room, and my shoes are near the door. I spot my bra hanging off a lamp, and I grab it on my way toward the kitchen. But my panties? No clue.
Shit. Not important.
I’m still wearing his T-shirt, and I don’t have time to change. I grab my stuff and slip into my slacks and heels. Quietly, I order an Uber.
The clock on the wall says 5:20 a.m. Perfect. Plenty of time to get out of here before I do something stupid like crawl back into bed with him.
“Daisy,” I mutter to myself. “What the fuck have you done?”
This was supposed to be a one-night thing. Fun, casual, forgettable. Except it’s not. Now I want to see him again, even if I know damn well I shouldn’t.
The Uber pulls up and I bolt out the door, practically tripping over my own feet as I climb into the back seat.
“Rough night?” the driver asks with a knowing smirk.
I force a smile. “Something like that.”
He chuckles and turns up the radio, thankfully leaving me alone.
My head’s a mess the whole ride home. The Icemen are a massive deal, and this story could put my career back on track. Could I have already screwed it up by screwing Blaze?
When I finally walk into my apartment, Slim is curled up on my pillow. He cracks one eye open, blinks at me, and promptly goes back to sleep.
“Glad one of us is having a stress-free morning,” I mutter, kicking off my shoes and tossing my stuff onto the chair.
I text Uncle Ace back.
>> Noon works. See you then.
I crawl into bed in nothing but Beau’s T-shirt and press my face against Slim’s soft fur. My body’s sore in places I didn’t even know could be sore, but it’s the good kind. Still, my brain won’t shut up.
How did the best night of my life turn into this giant clusterfuck?
Slim purrs, a small comfort in the chaos.
“Just sleep,” I whisper to myself. “Figure it out later.”
But even as I drift off, Beau’s stupidly handsome face and the heat of his hands on my skin are all I can think about.
CHAPTER FOUR
