Page 47 of Power Play Daddies
He stops but doesn’t turn around right away.
“Why do you hate journalists?” I ask, my voice more hesitant this time.
He stiffens slightly, and I can see his jaw clench.
“Off the record,” I add quickly.
He turns back, studying me with those intense blue eyes. For a moment, I think he’s going to brush me off again. But then he nods.
“Find me after practice,” he says. “I’ll tell you. On the record.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
He nods once, then turns and walks away. I watch him go, his broad shoulders disappearing around the corner, and I’m left standing there like an idiot.
How is it possible that I’ve slept with Mason and Kieran in the last twenty-four hours and still get actual fucking flutters for a third guy?
“What’s in the Miami water?” I mutter to myself, heading back inside.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Beau
The rink smellslike sweat and ice, a weird mix that’s become part of being in my second home.
Coach Ace is barking orders, his voice cutting through the clatter of skates and pucks hitting the boards.
Leo, his assistant, is pacing the bench, saying something about zone coverage. They’re in their element, orchestrating the chaos of practice like generals preparing for war.
We’re running drills hard today. Quick passes, tight turns, shots fired like missiles at Deke, who’s in the net and already swearing like a sailor.
“Fuck’s sake, Asher, you gonna aim or just try to kill me?” Deke yells, swiping sweat off his face.
“Maybe both!” Asher shoots back, smirking as he sends another puck flying, this one rattling off the post.
The guys laugh, the usual shit-talk filling the air. It’s practice, but everyone knows we’re prepping for the Mississippi Outlaws in three days.
They’re fast, physical, and cocky as hell. We hate them. They hate us. It’s hockey.
I’m circling mid-ice, watching plays unfold, when the doors to the rink slam open.
And there she is.
Daisy strides in, wearing these snug black leggings that cling to her curves and a white cropped hoodie that shows just enough of her waist to mess me up. Her hair’s loose, cascading over her shoulders like some kind of goddamn spotlight, and those boots she’s wearing click against the concrete.
She’s fucking breathtaking, and it’s like all the air in the rink shifts toward her.
I’m not the only one who notices, either.
“Holy shit!” Ryder mutters under his breath, earning himself a glare from Leo.
“Settle the fuck down, boys,” Leo growls, not bothering to hide his irritation.
She walks straight toward Coach, confidence oozing from every step. He spots her, his face breaking into a rare smile.
They start talking, and she’s animated, her hands moving as she explains something I can’t hear. She glances over her shoulder at me—just for a second—and it’s like I’ve been hit by a puck.
“Blaze, your lane!” Deke shouts, yanking me back to reality.
