Page 53 of Hat Trick Daddies

And yet…they think I’m good at it.

More than good.

Great, even.

Multiple men have now said I’m good at sex, me, the girl who used to blush at the word “sex”.

It’s a strange, heady feeling, one that makes me sit up a little straighter in my seat.

But as I drive through the quiet streets, my mind drifts back to Brooks.

I think about his touch, the way he made me feel like I was the center of his world. How will that compare now that I’ve experienced something else entirely?

After the wildness of tonight, will I feel different about sex with Brooks?

I shake my head, trying to push the thought away. For now, I just let myself revel in the fact that I’ve taken these steps. They’re steps toward being the woman I’ve always wanted to be.

The red light stretches on endlessly, the glow of the traffic signal bathing the inside of my car in a dull red hue. I lean back in my seat, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel, my mind still racing from the events of the evening.

The familiar ringtone cuts through the quiet, and I glance at my phone lighting up on the passenger seat with a call.Dad.

I hesitate for a split second before picking up. “Hi, Dad,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says warmly. “Guess what? I made lasagna, your favorite. Why don’t you come over for dinner?”

The mention of lasagna makes my stomach flip, and not just because it’s my favorite. Seeing my dad right now, after what just happened with Nick and Tyler…it feels surreal.

But guilt tugs at me. I haven’t visited him in weeks, and he doesn’t deserve to be put off.

“That sounds great,” I reply, forcing a smile into my voice. “I’ll head over now.”

“Good,” he says, his tone filled with joy. “Drive safe. I’ll keep it warm for you.”

All right, Ally. You’ve got this.

The drive to my dad’s house is familiar yet nostalgic, the streets quieter now as the night settles in. Passing by landmarks from my childhood, a faded playground, the corner deli thatused to sell my favorite bubblegum, I can’t help but feel a pang of bittersweet longing.

When I turn onto my dad’s street, his house comes into view, bathed in the glow of the porch light. It’s a modest, two-story home with white siding and green shutters, the kind of place that feels cozy no matter the season.

The garden beds lining the walkway are still perfectly maintained, a burst of late-season flowers adding color against the neatly trimmed lawn.

I park at the curb and sit there for a moment, my fingers fiddling with the ends of my scarf.He’s not going to know,I tell myself firmly.There’s no way he could know.

I flip down the sun visor and check my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are still flushed, and there’s a smudge of mascara under one eye. I smooth my hair, patting it into place, and dab at the makeup with my thumb until I look presentable again.

“All right,” I whisper, taking a deep breath. “Time to face the music.”

The doorbell chime echoes softly through the night, and moments later, the door swings open to reveal my dad. His face lights up the way it always does when he sees me, his smile wide and warm.

“Ally!” he exclaims, pulling me into a bear hug. His arms wrap tightly around me, and I relax against him, feeling a wave of comfort wash over me.

“Hi, Dad,” I say, smiling as he guides me inside.

The house smells exactly as I remember, cinnamon from the ever-present candle on the living room coffee table, mingling with the rich, cheesy aroma of lasagna baking in the oven.

Stepping into the foyer, I’m hit with a blast of nostalgia.

The familiar beige walls are still lined with framed photos from my childhood, school pictures, family holidays, and even afew embarrassing hockey photos. The carpet under my feet is the same soft gray that muffled my footsteps as a kid sneaking down for midnight snacks.

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