Page 41 of Her Hat Trick Daddies
Shane stares at me, stunned. “What the hell is—”
“Shane,” David interrupts, his voice like gravel. “Leighton… isPhoenix.”
Shane’s mouth parts. His gaze slowly travels over me, recognition crashing in. “It’s really you?”
I nod, giving him a small, closed-lip smile. There’s still so much more to say. So much I haven’t explained. But for now—
“It’s really me.”
The moment hangs in the air, fragile and electric. Three men staring at me like I’m some ghost plucked out of their past. Well, honestly? I am.
And even though every nerve in my body craves a taste of Shane again, all I can do is fight the sting rising behind my eyes.
Because this? This is the easy part.
What comes next… is the truth.
Chapter 11
Shane
When I got the 911 text, my mind went straight to worst-case scenarios.
Did Hackney, our oldest defenseman with that chronically busted knee, blow out his ACL again? Did something happen to Corolla, our starting goalie? Maybe one of the rookies pulled something stupid and caught a concussion skateboarding or messing around, like one of the guys did during my first year on the team.
What I didn’t expect was to walk in and see the woman I only ever associated with Wilson. Oh, and let’s not forget, better known as the commentator David somehow lost his damn mind over in the video room. That whole situation still makes no sense to me. David isn’t reckless, but man, he was that night.
And now? Now I know. She’stheblonde.
Our Phoenix. From the masquerade ball. The one the three of us took that night.
And suddenly, it actually explains a lot.
I’ve thought about her on several occasions over the years. I think all of us have. Which isn’t really like us. Hookups don’t stick—not in our heads, not like this. There’s a reason they’re called that. You move on. You forget.
But that night? That woman? Unforgettable.
And maybe it wasn’t just the sex. Maybe it washer. The way she moved with us, completely open, unguarded. Adventurous as hell, yeah, but there was something pure about her, too. Like every time she came, it surprised her. Like no one had ever taken her there before.
Andy’s brought her up more times than I can count. Probably because it was his first time sharing a woman like that… and none of us walked away unaffected.
“Hey, remember Phoenix?” he’d say.
David and I would always nod. Because, of course, we remembered. How could we not? She lingered—in our thoughts, in our conversations—long after most names and faces had faded. There was just something about her that stuck.
And now she’s here. Standing right in front of us.
Same woman, different world.
Dressed like she runs the place. Sleek black suit, hair pinned tight, all poise and power. The kind of woman who looks like she could level a room with just one word.
She could walk right into one of my sexy librarian fantasies and fit like a glove.
“Shane?” David says my name, snapping me back to the present.
Or at least trying to. Because I’m still reeling. This isher.
And somehow, three years ago feels like both yesterday and a lifetime ago.
