Page 61 of Shootout Daddies
I reach for my phone and flip to my messages. Cam rescheduled our meeting to three. Right. I need to be sharp for that. Focused.
But I can’t focus when I keep seeing her.
Ivy.
I remember her expression in the elevator this morning. She’s so fucking beautiful.
Fuck!
This city is fucking cursed. Everyone’s in a harem. Everyone’s tangled up in someone else. I came here for a job. To rebuild. To get away from the messy divorce I left behind.
And yet here I am.
I rub my jaw, teeth gritted.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not a voyeur. I’m not a jealous ex. I barely know her. Still, she got under my skin.
The silence in my apartment feels louder now.
Everything is still in place. Everything is exactly how it’s supposed to be.
But I feel completely out of order. And the worst part?
I know this isn’t over.
Not the image of her. Not the way my body reacts. Not the bitter pulse of something dangerously close to want when I think about the way she smiled at them.
The way she belongs with them. The way she’s not mine—and never will be.
I don’t want her in my life.
But I’m starting to realize that doesn’t mean she’s leaving my head any time soon.
The phone buzzes on the counter. I’m just now starting to zone back into the legal brief on my laptop, but the name flashing on the screen pulls my attention fast.
I exhale, pinch the bridge of my nose, and swipe to answer. “Cam.”
“Hey, man. Sorry about this, but can we reschedule our meeting to later this evening?”
There’s commotion in the background—blades on ice, a whistle, some shouting. Arena noise. I glance at the time. “You at the rink?”
“Yeah. Media day got pushed and the guys are running a longer practice block. We’re scrambling to keep the new schedule tight. I owe you one.”
“Not a problem.” I check my watch out of habit. “What time were you thinking?”
“Seven work for you?”
I glance at the calendar on my laptop. “Yeah. Send me the updated invite. I’ll swing by the office.”
“You’re a lifesaver, man. Appreciate it.”
I end the call and stare at my screen for a second longer before I shut the laptop again. I haven’t even had coffee, and I’m already spinning.
Screw it.
Maybe if I take a drive, I can shake some of this tension out of my head. Being cooped up here is making me unravel.
Twenty minutes later, I’m pulling into the arena’s underground lot. I don’t even know why I came here. Part of methinks it’s to get ahead of the chaos this team brings. Part of me knows better.
