Page 28 of Hat Trick Daddies

Heat rises to my cheeks, and I bite my lip, my mind racing.

He doesn’t know, of course, how could he? How could he know that the truth is that I’ve never been with anyone.

I’m not just a “good girl”.

I’m a total novice.

I clear my throat, trying to push the thought away. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Brooks glances at me. “It was meant as one.”

The truck slows as Brooks pulls into the parking lot of a small diner nestled between two brick buildings.

The retro aesthetic immediately catches my eye. It has bright neon lights in pink and teal outlining the windows and a giant sign shaped like a milkshake towering over the roof.

As we step inside, the smell of sizzling bacon, freshly brewed coffee, and something sweet, maybe pancakes, fills the air. The soft hum of chatter blends with the clink of plates and the low buzz of a jukebox in the corner, playing an old pop hit.

The decor is straight out of the ’80s, with checkered floors, chrome accents, and an old-school bar lined with red leather stools. The walls are covered in framed photos of smiling patrons and signed headshots of local celebrities.

I spot a few signed pictures from hockey team members on the walls. I wonder if there are any from the current team members.

Brooks gestures toward a booth in the corner with bright neon pink seats, and I slide in, the cushion soft beneath me.

A waitress appears almost immediately, her notepad poised and her smile warm.

“What can I get you two to drink?” she asks.

“I’ll have coffee,” Brooks says.

“Same for me,” I add, glancing at the laminated menu filled with comfort food classics.

As she walks away, I lean back in the booth and pick up the menu, but my eyes keep flicking up to Brooks. He sits across from me, his broad shoulders filling the booth, his hands resting lightly on the edge of the table.

His gaze is focused on the menu, his brows furrowed slightly, giving him that same harsh, domineering expression he seems to wear so effortlessly.

The soft glow of the neon lights from the jukebox catches the sharp lines of his face, making him look like he belongs on the cover of a gritty sports magazine.

It’s hard not to notice the glances from other women in the diner. Some are quick, a flick of the eyes as they pass, while others are more lingering.

They probably think we’re together.

The thought makes me smile, even though I know it’s ridiculous. For a moment, I let myself revel in the harmless fantasy before tucking it away.

The waitress returns with our drinks, her smile warm as she places a cup of coffee in front of each of us. “Ready to order?” she asks, pulling a pen from behind her ear.

“I’ll have the burger and fries,” Brooks says, his deep voice carrying easily over the low hum of the diner.

“Same for me,” I add, setting the menu aside.

As the waitress leaves, Brooks leans back in the booth, his arms stretching along the top of the seat. “Didn’t think you’d gofor a burger,” he says, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re in great shape.”

The compliment catches me off guard, and I feel heat rising to my cheeks. “It’s a lot of work keeping up with the likes of you all,” I jab, trying to keep my tone light.

His smirk widens, and I can’t help but feel a little giddy. Brooks Bailey, the team’s gruff enforcer, is flirting with me.

He shifts slightly, his expression softening. “For what it’s worth, I don’t blame you for leaving the bar last night,” he says. “Tyler was totally out of line.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “It’s fine. Really. I’m over it.”

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