Page 2 of Shootout Daddies
“He got poached by a big agency in Boston. Transferred out last week. So the Icemen are scrambling.”
Brooke shakes her head. “I wish you had your bar papers here. You’d kill it.”
“I’m not a sports lawyer,” I say, chuckling. “Entertainment law’s more my mess. Besides, I came here tonotwork for a while, remember?”
Before either of them can tease me, the sliding door opens and in walks Tanner, looking like a damn sunscreen ad. Saltwater drips from his board shorts, his chest gleams under the morning light, and he grins like he knows exactly how pretty he is.
He drops a kiss on Brooke’s temple and throws a lazy “Hey, Ivy” my way.
“Morning,” I answer, smiling. Because I’m happy for them. I really am.
It’s just… when your best friend has three ridiculously hot men who adore her and help change diapers? You start to feel like the single spinster aunt in a reverse Hallmark movie.
Cam relays the news about the new hire.
“Cool,” Tanner says, raking a hand through his hair.
“You nervous for the play-off game today?” I ask, handing off the now-empty bottle to Tanner.
He shrugs and puts it in the sink before grabbing a Gatorade from the fridge. “Not really. Ace gave me some pointers. Said to trust my instincts and avoid getting decked in the jaw.”
“Sounds like solid advice,” Brooke mutters, sipping her coffee again. “You’d better come back with a win, babe.”
Tanner grins. “Always! Hey, you should come to the post-game party. We’re planning something fun.”
Brooke waves a hand. “Can’t. Lisa needs me for testing. But Ivy should go.”
“Oh, I don’t think—” I start.
“Ivy,” Cam cuts in, “you’ve been helping more than we ever expected. Let us return the favor. Go have some fun.”
I hesitate. “I don’t know…”
“Babe,” Brooke says. “You’ve been a saint, and we literally begged you not to lift a finger. You’ve changed diapersby choice, which makes you a better person than me. Go. Drink. Dance.
Tanner smirks. “I have a plus-one anyway. Come with me. You’ll have a blast.”
I glance down at my ratty sleep shorts. Then at Skye’s empty bottle. Then at Brooke, who’s already pulling up a makeup tutorial on her phone.
A night out. No babies. Alcohol. Hopefully dancing. My type of evening, apparently.
Brooke raises her mug. “Go. Wear something tiny and slutty.”
Cam bounces Sage one more time, then grins. “We’ve got the twins. Go have fun.”
And just like that, I say yes. Because this summer wasn’t supposed to be about helping everyone else. It was about helpingme.
Maybe tonight will be the start of that.
The rooftop bar above the arena hums with celebration—the sharp sting of tequila, the hiss of beer bottles twisting open, and the chorus of shouting, half-drunk hockey players reveling in another win.
The air’s thick with heat, sweat, and laughter.
My head tilts back on a half-smile, eyes scanning the glass railings where palm trees flicker below in the dark, the lights of downtown Miami pooling like spilled gold.
Tonight, the Miami Icemen shut down the Dallas Blaze. It was close. A brutal, nail-biting third period, but they clawed their way up the scoreboard, goal by sweaty goal.
The Icemen fans went feral when Hunter sealed the win with an overtime assist to Rhett.
