Page 56 of Hat Trick Daddies

“Exactly,” I say, shooting him a quick grin. “That’s why I love playing with you. You get it before I even say it.”

Nick chuckles. “Twin intuition.”

“Damn right.”

The city skyline comes into view, the lights of the buildings reflecting off the frozen Mississippi River. I feel a wave of gratitude wash over me. Having Nick by my side, both on and off the ice, is something I’ll never take for granted.

“Think about it,” I say, breaking the comfortable silence. “How many players can say they’ve got someone who knows them like this? We’ve got an edge.”

Nick nods, his gaze fixed on the approaching city. “We do.”

The whiskey bar sits on a quiet corner in downtown, its understated sign illuminated by soft, golden lighting. As we pull up, the valet steps forward, greeting us with a friendly nod.

“Evening, gentlemen,” he says, opening my door.

“Thanks, man,” I reply, tossing him the keys as Nick climbs out on the other side.

Inside, the bar is a warm oasis against the winter chill. The wood-paneled walls gleam under dim, amber lights, and the stone flooring gives the space a rustic yet polished feel. Rows of whiskey bottles line the backlit shelves behind the bar, each label a promise of smooth, smoky enjoyment.

Nick and I make our way to our usual table, a sturdy wooden booth tucked into a cozy corner. By now, it’s always reserved for us when we call. The waitress pulls the reservation slip off the table as soon as we sit down, flashing us a smile.

“Your usuals?” she asks.

“Yeah, thanks,” I reply, leaning back into the worn leather seat.

She returns quickly with two glasses of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling invitingly. As I take my first sip, the rich, oaky taste spreads warmth through my chest.

At the bar, a few men nod in our direction, lifting their glasses in silent acknowledgment. It’s a quiet camaraderie, the kind that comes from being regulars.

“This,” I say, gesturing with my glass, “is how you unwind after a good practice.”

Nick raises his glass, smirking. “To us.”

“To us,” I echo, clinking my glass against his.

I swirl the whiskey in my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light as I lean back in the booth. The burn in my chest from the sip I just took is pleasant, but the memories from earlier today are even better.

“So,” I say, smirking at Nick, “that tryst with Ally in her office, how hot was that?”

Nick rolls his eyes but can’t suppress the small grin tugging at his lips. “It was…something else,” he admits, his tone quieter, more thoughtful. “We’ve been with a lot of girls, Ty, but none like her. She’s…different.”

I nod, the smirk slipping into something more genuine. “Yeah, I know what you mean. She brings out…I don’t know, something deeper in me.”

Nick raises an eyebrow at me. “Deeper? Since when do you get all philosophical?”

I chuckle, taking another sip of whiskey. “Fine, maybe that’s your department. But she’s definitely the hottest girl we’ve ever been with. No contest.”

Nick shakes his head, laughing softly. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you love me.”

He doesn’t argue, and we clink glasses in a quiet toast.

Before I can say more, a familiar voice cuts through the low hum of the bar.

“Well, well,” Tiffany says, sauntering over to our table with a hand on her hip. Her dark eyes glint with annoyance. “I was wondering where you two have been hiding.”

I sigh, leaning back in my seat. “Hey, Tiff. What’s up?”

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