Page 6 of Puck Me Daddy

I couldn't help but smile at her greeting. "Hey, Alana."

"Uh-oh," she said, her playful tone shifting to concern. "What's wrong? You sound . . . different."

I took a deep breath, picking at a loose thread on my comforter. "I . . . I interviewed Demian fucking Pierce today."

A squeal almost burst my eardrum. "Shut the front door! The hockey god himself? How did you swing that? Oooh, tell me everything!"

I hesitated, my cheeks heating up. "It was . . . intense. He was intense."

Alana gasped dramatically. "Did he spank you with his stick?"

"Alana!" I choked out a laugh, my face burning hotter. "No! But . . . I got this feeling, like he could see right through me, Alana. Like he knew. I'm all jumbled up inside."

"Then let's un-jumble you," Alana declared. "Meet me at Little Haven. We can build blocks and talk about everything."

I hesitated, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands. "I dunno, Alana. I'm pretty beat."

"Come on, Tilly," she coaxed. "You know you wanna. And who knows? Maybe building a castle will help you figure out your Prince Charming dilemma."

I laughed, my body already relaxing at the thought of retreating to our Little space. "Alright, you win. But only because I really need to talk this out."

"Yay!" Alana cheered. "Okay, see you in a bit. Love you, Tilly-bean."

"Love you too, Alana-banana." I hung up, my heart already lighter.

Rolling off the bed, I started gathering my things, eager to get to Little Haven. Eager to process this whirlwind of emotions churning inside me. Eager to figure out what the hell I was going to do about these Demian feels.

Ipushed open thepastel-blue door of Little Haven, and a warm hum of laughter wrapped around me like a blanket fresh from the dryer. The gentle tinkle of lullaby music seeped into my bones, and my shoulders dropped for the first time all day. The club was a cozy wonderland, filled with plush rugs and beanbag chairs that swallowed you whole. Low tables were strewn with crayons, coloring books, and building blocks—all the essentials for a Little to retreat from the grown-up world.

The scent of cotton candy sweetened the air, wafting from the vintage-style concession stand in the corner. Littles, dressed in onesies and other playful getups, were scattered about. Some were deep in concentration over a craft, others giggled together like they didn't have a care in the world. My eyes scanned the room and landed on Alana, tucked away at a corner table. Shewore a pair of bunny ears and was sipping from a hot pink sippy cup, her eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief.

She spotted me and her face lit up. "Tilly!" she squealed, jumping up and enveloping me in a big hug. Her warmth seeped into me, and I felt my body relax further. She pulled back, her hands on my shoulders, and gave me a little shake. "Okay, spill. What's got you all twisted up?"

I took a deep breath, the words bubbling up inside me. But before I could start, Alana tugged me towards the table. "First things first," she said, patting the seat next to her. A pile of pastel blocks sat in the middle of the table, waiting to be turned into something magical.

I slid into the chair, the smooth wood cool against my legs. Alana hummed softly, her fingers already clicking blocks together. I started arranging my own pieces, the clack of plastic soothing my frayed nerves. The music, the hum of voices, the soft shuffle of papers and crayons—it all worked like a balm on my frazzled mind.

My heart rate slowed, and the tension in my chest began to unravel. This was my safe space, my haven. Here, I could be Little Tilly, not Tilly Jameson, the rising star journalist. Here, I could process the whirlwind of emotions that Demian had stirred up inside me.

Alana looked at me, her eyes soft with understanding. "Alright, Tilly-bean," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me everything."

I took a shaky breath, my fingers pausing on a bright yellow block. And then, piece by piece, I began to unload the puzzle of emotions and experiences that had turned my world upside down. The sterile conference room, Demian's piercing gaze, the rumble of his voice that made my stomach flip. Each memory was a block, and I was trying to build them into something that made sense. Something that wouldn't leave me feeling so utterlyexposed. Alana listened, her eyes wide and her blocks forgotten. She knew, just as I did, that this was more than just a story. This was my heart, raw and vulnerable, laid out on the table between us.

My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for another block, the cool plastic grounding me as I began to spill my guts to Alana. "Demian was so intense."

Alana leaned in, her eyes wide and eager. "Intense how?"

I bit my lip, trying to find the right words. "Like a panther, I guess. All coiled power and control. And his voice—" I broke off, a shiver running down my spine. "His voice was like thunder. Deep and rumbly, you know? It just . . . it did something to me."

Alana let out a soft "Whoa."

I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I confessed, "I was keeping it together, but then, he called me 'baby girl,' Alana. And I swear, my knees just . . . they went weak. I couldn't even stand up straight afterward."

Alana's mouth dropped open. "He did what?"

I nodded, my face burning with embarrassment and something else—something hotter and more volatile. "I know, right? And the way he looked at me, it was like he could see right through me. Like he knew something about me that I didn't even know myself."

Alana's eyes widened, and she leaned back, a grin spreading across her face. "He totally knows you're a Little."

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