Page 5 of Puck Me Daddy

As we wrapped up, my fingers fumbled over my notes, trying to capture every detail before they slipped away. My cheeks burned, and I could feel Demian's gaze on me—intense, curious. I gathered my things, hastily cramming my notepad into my bag.

Then he stood, towering and imposing. Strong arms flexed beneath his fitted shirt as he pushed back his chair. He moved with a confidence that made my pulse quicken. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low, tinged with a softness that made me want to lean closer.

I swallowed hard, caught off guard by how much I wanted him to ask me that. “Yeah. Just… uh, trying to get everything.” My flustered attempt at professionalism fell flat. I could feel a mix of excitement and anxiety swirling in my stomach.

Demian stepped forward, closing the space between us. The air shifted, crackling with an electric tension. “You did well in there, baby girl,” he said, genuine admiration lacing his tone.

I almost melted.

He’d called me baby girl. Probably something he called everyone.

There was no way he could know.

“Thanks,” I replied, surprised by the flutter in my chest. The way he looked at me, almost protective, sent shivers down my spine.

As I turned to leave, I felt his presence lingering behind me—strong and magnetic. Each step toward the exit felt heavier, the pull of wanting to look back almost unbearable. I glanced over my shoulder just in time to catch him watching me, those storm-gray eyes holding something unspoken.

My heart raced, thoughts tumbling over one another. Did he feel it too? The connection? The tension? I quickly turned away, reminding myself this was business. He had a thousand girls who probably threw themselves at him every day. He probably hadn’t even noticed me. Probably wouldn’t remember my name tomorrow. But the heat on my cheeks belied my internal struggle.

I walked through the sliding glass doors, my mind racing. The clatter of my heels echoed down the hallway, but all I could think about was him.

Outside, I took a deep breath, the crisp Colorado air hitting me in waves. I needed to transcribe my notes, but more than that, I needed to reflect on what had just happened. How could I have felt so drawn to him in such a short time?

I replayed his guarded answers, the flashes of vulnerability, and the undeniable chemistry. I wanted to see him again—not just as a journalist seeking a story but as someone intrigued by the man behind the public persona.

What was happening to me? I shook my head, trying to dismiss the thought. But it lingered, taunting me. The question hung in the air: Would I get another chance? And why did I want him to see me again so badly?

I walked to my car, each step heavy with anticipation. The door hadn’t closed completely; it was wide open, and I was itching to step through.

Chapter 2

Istepped into myapartment, the buzz from the interview with Demian still coursing through my veins. The sterile chill of the team's facility was a distant memory as I was enveloped in the warmth of my own space. Stuffed animals lined the couch, their vibrant colors popping against the pastel fairy lights that twinkled around the walls. The scent of soft vanilla from the air freshener was like a comforting hug, a stark contrast to the clinical smell of the conference room.

Kicking off my heels, I sighed as the plush carpet soothed my aching feet. Every step deeper into my sanctuary brought a sense of safety and familiarity. My eyes scanned the cartoon posters—from "My Little Pony" to vintage Disney—each a testament to my Little side. This was my world, a place where I could let down my guard and just be.

I sometimes had nightmares about people from work at the newspaper seeing my sanctuary. I always thought I’d get fired if anyone found out. The worst would be my boss. The editor was a nightmare and he had a reputation for bullying in the office. I hoped my secret would never get out.

I tossed my bag onto the small table, scattering crayons and stickers across the half-finished coloring book. My mind was a whirlwind, replaying every charged moment from the interview. Demian's gaze had been intense, almost too much to bear. His answers were guarded, but there was a softness in his voice when he called me "baby girl." That moment had nearly sent my heart soaring out of my chest.

I tried to convince myself it was nothing, just a slip of the tongue. But I couldn't shake the feeling that Demian had seen more of me than he should have. His piercing gray eyes seemed to look straight through me, like he could see the vulnerability I kept hidden beneath my professional facade.

The memory of his voice, the way it rumbled with a quiet intensity, sent a shiver down my spine. I could still feel the heat of his gaze, the way it lingered on me, making me feel both exposed and oddly cherished. It was a dangerous mix, one that left me feeling both thrilled and terrified.

I sank onto the couch, surrounded by the comforting presence of my stuffed animals. Here, I could let go of the professional determination and just be Little Tilly, the girl who loved cartoons and coloring books.

But even as I tried to relax, my mind kept drifting back to Demian. The way he carried himself, the quiet confidence and measured control, it was all so . . . compelling. I couldn't help but wonder what lay beneath that guarded exterior. Was there a nurturing, protective side to him? Or was he just another "bad boy" hockey player, all charm and no substance?

I should probably type up the interview notes, but I felt like it might be dangerous to do it just yet. If I heard his rumbly voice again, I was liable to do something pretty naughty.

I picked up a crayon, twirling it between my fingers as I stared at the coloring book. Coloring usually calmed me, but today, it felt like a futile attempt to distract myself from the storm ofemotions inside me. Demian had stirred something deep within me, something I hadn't felt in a long time.

I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to let Demian see this side of me. To let him see the real Tilly, the one who loved stuffed animals and fairy lights and cartoons. The one who yearned for a meaningful connection, despite her fierce independence.

I sank onto my bed, a sea of plushies parting beneath me. My fingers trembled as I grabbed my phone, scrolling to Alana's number. She was my rock, my sanctuary, the one person who understood every part of me—including the Little side I kept hidden from the world. It was easy with her because she was a Little, too.

I hit call, my heart pounding like a kick drum. The ringtone barely finished its first trill before Alana's voice chirped in my ear.

"Tilly! What's shakin', bacon?"

---