Page 7 of Puck Me Daddy

My heart stuttered. "What? No way," I protested, even as a thrill shot through me. "I was so careful, Alana. I kept it professional. I didn't even—”

But Alana was already laughing, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Tilly, you literally doodle all over your notepads and bite your lip when you're nervous. You might as well have a neon sign above your head that says 'Baby.'"

I groaned dramatically, half mortified and half thrilled by the idea. "Oh god, do you really think so?"

Alana nodded, her grin never fading. "Girl, it's written all over you. And if this guy is as perceptive as you say he is, and he knows anything about Little stuff . . ." She trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

I could feel the tension in my chest building again, a mix of excitement and dread. I reached for another block, my hands shaking slightly as I stacked it on top of the others. Alana mirrored my actions, her giggles subsiding as we both focused on the growing tower.

But even as we built, I couldn't shake the feeling of Demian's eyes on me, the rumble of his voice in my ears.

“I don’t think he’d tell anyone. Do you?” I asked.

“No. He wouldn’t.”

“If my boss finds out—”

“I think Demian Pierce has better things to do than to ruin the life of journalists he barely knows.

A block teetered at the top of our towering creation, and Alana’s grin widened, her eyes gleaming with a familiar spark of mischief. I mirrored her expression, feeling the warmth of friendship and shared secrets bubbling within me. Suddenly, a sharp vibration against my thigh made me jump. I lurched forward, nearly toppling our masterpiece. Alana steadied it just in time, giggling as she playfully swatted my arm.

“Jumpy much?” she teased, sticking out her tongue.

I flushed and scrambled to grab my phone from my pocket. “Sorry, I—” My voice caught as I scanned the message on the screen. My heart did a somersault, lodging itself firmly in my throat.

Alana’s eyebrows shot up. “What is it?” she asked, leaning in to peer at my phone.

I could barely process the words, let alone speak them aloud.

Hey Tilly, it’s Demian. I’d like you to come see the real me in my environment. No handlers. No limits. Be my guest at the next Avalanche game. -DP

“Earth to Tilly,” Alana sang, clicking her fingers in front of my face.

I blinked, my cheeks heating up again. “It’s . . . it’s Demian,” I managed to stammer.

Alana’s mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ as she grabbed the phone from my hands, her eyes eagerly scanning the message. “He’s basically asking you on a date!” she squealed, clapping her hands together in delight.

My stomach did a flip, and I could feel the heat spreading down to my neck. “No, it’s not like that,” I protested weakly, even as my heart hammered against my ribs. “It’s just a professional courtesy. He probably wanted a follow-up interview or something.”

Alana rolled her eyes, thrusting the phone back into my hands. “Tilly, wake up and smell the coffee. This is personal. He wanted you to see him—not the hockey player, but the real Demian,” she said, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

I swallowed hard, rereading the message for the hundredth time. I’d like you to come see the real me. The words sent a shiver down my spine, igniting a warmth deep within my core. There was an intimacy in his tone, a subtle hint at something more. Something . . . private.

Alana watched me, her expression a mix of excitement and concern. “Tilly, this was a good thing,” she said softly. “You deserved to have some fun, to explore this connection. And who knew? Maybe he was the one who would finally see you for who you truly were.”

Her words struck a chord, resonating deep within me. I took a deep breath, my fingers tracing the edges of the phone. The message was still there, still real, still waiting for a response. Andas I stared at Demian’s name, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of inevitability—like that moment had been building since the second our eyes met across that conference table.

My heart raced as I imagined seeing him again, feeling his intense gaze on me, hearing his voice rumble in my ears. I pictured myself in the stands, watching him dominate the ice, his powerful form moving with grace and precision. The thought sent a jolt of electricity through me, igniting a fire that spread through my veins like wildfire.

Alana's eyes had sparkled with mischief as she leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, I've been thinking. There was something about Demian, right? Like, he had this . . . energy."

I swallowed hard, my mind racing. "Energy?"

Alana grinned, her teeth grazing her lower lip. "Yeah, like, he was all controlled and commanding. It was hot, right? And he had said something about private clubs. What if . . . what if he was a Dom?"

My eyes widened, and I felt a jolt of electricity shoot through me. "A Dom? You mean, like, a Daddy Dom?" The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them, my cheeks flushing with heat.

Alana's grin widened, and she nodded eagerly. "I don’t know? Maybe? Maybe he’s just a Dom? It’s hard to know. Think about it, Tilly. He was protective, he had that quiet commanding vibe, and he was obviously into you. What if those clubs he mentioned were, you know, lifestyle clubs?"

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