Page 41 of Hat Trick Daddies

“Cheap tricks?” Tyler exclaims, clutching his chest dramatically, like I’ve just mortally wounded him. “You wound me, brother.”

The banter comes easily, the irritation from earlier fading as laughter fills the cab. Tyler throws his hands up in mock defeat, and I can’t help but grin.

“Just wait,” I say, shaking my head. “You’ll see.”

“Sure, Nick,” Tyler replies, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Can’t wait to watch you crash and burn.”

The skyline of Minneapolis looms closer as we turn off the freeway, the sun catching on the glass windows of skyscrapers and casting streaks of light across the road.

We pull into the rink’s parking where and I swing my car into a spot near the entrance, and Tyler grabs his bag from the backseat with a grunt.

As we walk toward the doors, the crisp morning air bites at our faces, the chill cutting through even our heavy jackets. Tyler nudges me with his elbow, his grin sly.

“So, you really think you’ve got a shot with her?”

I glance at him, a grin spreading across my face. “Let’s make it interesting.”

Tyler raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh yeah? What’d you have in mind?”

“A bet,” I say, stopping just outside the doors. “Whoever gets to sleep with her first has to do the other’s laundry for twelve weeks. Deal?”

Tyler laughs, his breath visible in the cold morning air. “Twelve weeks? Damn, you’re confident.” He extends his hand, his grin widening. “Deal.”

We shake on it, the weight of the bet settling between us. Tyler’s smug confidence only makes me more determined.

“Better start buying detergent,” I say, pushing open the door and stepping into the warmth of the rink.

“Funny,” Tyler replies, following me inside. “I was just about to say the same thing.”

The familiar scent of the rink hits me as we walk through the halls, a mix of fresh ice and the tang of sweat and gear.

The locker room is buzzing with the usual pre-practice energy, players talking strategy and lacing up skates.

Practice is about to start, and with that, the bet is on.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Ally

The clockon my desk ticks louder than usual today, or maybe it just feels that way because the day is dragging. My calendar is empty, no appointments, no evaluations, not even a surprise walk-in.

The stillness of the office makes me question why I’m even here.

I tap my pen against the edge of my notebook, the repetitive click-click-click filling the silence as I glance at the computer screen in front of me. The medical records I was reviewing are a blur now, the words swimming together as my mind wanders.

I resist the urge to reach for my phone, which sits face down on the desk like a forbidden fruit. Dr. Martin’s gruff warnings echo in my head.“This isn’t social hour, Perry. You’re here to work.”

The thought of him catching me scrolling through my messages or zoning out on social media makes me cringe. The man has a sixth sense for slacking, and I’m not about to test it.

Still, the boredom gnaws at me.

I glance out the small window of my office, watching as a gust of wind stirs the branches of a nearby tree.

It’s gray and overcast, the kind of day that makes you want to curl up with a book and pretend the world doesn’t exist.

Instead, I’m stuck here, hoping something, anything, will happen to break the monotony.

The sound of Dr. Martin’s chair scraping against the floor pulls me from my daze. I sit up straighter as he walks over to my desk, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his white coat.

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