Page 8 of Cross Check Daddies
Inside, it’s all clean lines and modern furniture. Consoles are set up in waiting areas, and monitors are displaying looping footage of games in action. You can tell the people who built this place gave a damn. It breathes cool without trying too hard.
Reception is empty for a second until a woman rounds the corner carrying a tablet and a bright green smoothie. Mid-thirties, brunette with a sharp bob and smart eyes. Her lanyard saysLisa.
She spots me, and her gaze narrows slightly in that you-are-not-on-the-calendar kind of way.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Brooke Taylor.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” I say, offering a small smile.
“I’m sorry, but she only works on an appointment basis.” She assesses me. “You’re name?”
“Cam King.”
“She’s not in right now.”
“I’ll wait.”
Lisa hesitates, then nods and gestures to a small seating nook tucked near a wall of plants and gaming concept sketches. I sit. The chairs are comfortable in that overpriced, minimalist way. My knee bounces, fingers tapping against my thigh as I glance around.
Everything about this place screams Brooke. Smart, efficient, weirdly sexy in how clean and sharp it is.
I lean back and stare at the ceiling, wondering how she did it. How she carved this out for herself while I was busy chasing a puck around the world and spiraling through scandal after scandal. Pride rolls through me, caught off guard by its own warmth. It should’ve been jealousy, maybe. But no. This is different. She fucking did it.
I hear the soft click of heels before I see her.
And then—she’s there.
She walks in holding an iced coffee, a phone in one hand, hair swept into a high ponytail that swings with each step. Straight skirt hugging her hips, crisp blouse tucked in, heels biting into the floor with purpose. She’s on a call, red lips moving quickly as she nods to someone behind her. I watch her without moving.
The second she sees me, she stops mid-step.
Her mouth parts. “Cam?”
I straighten. My blood rushes so fast it’s almost dizzying. I can’t stop staring at her lips, can’t stop the flash of memory that hits me like a freight train. That fucking bathroom. Her on the counter, my hands gripping her thighs. My cock twitches, hard and eager, like it remembers every detail.
Brooke blinks and lowers her phone. “What are you doing here?”
I stand. “We need to talk.”
She swallows, flicking her gaze to Lisa, who’s already pretending not to be eavesdropping from her desk. Brooke’s spine straightens, her voice clipped and cautious now. “Follow me.”
I trail her down a glass hallway, past more workstations, a lounge area, and into a corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows and warm lighting. She shuts the door and walks behind her desk, putting it between us like a buffer.
CHAPTER FOUR
Brooke
“What are you doing here?”My voice edges tighter than I mean it to. “How did you even find me?”
Cam doesn’t sit. He stands near the window, hair slightly tousled, polo hugging his shoulders like it was sewn on him. That look in his eyes—intent, unreadable, and a little tired—drags something loose and hot through me.
“I’m here about the deal.”
He says it like it explains everything. It doesn’t.
