Page 13 of Slap Shot Daddies

Kenzie.

Emerging from the corridor that leads to the veterinarian room, her deep brown eyes widen slightly as they lock onto mine. For a fleeting moment, we simply stand there, transfixed by each other's gaze.

She's small and curvy, the kind of petite that makes you want to gently lift her and see if she fits perfectly against your frame. Her olive-toned skin is flushed, perhaps from hurrying through her tasks, or maybe from something else entirely.

I can't help but grin, tilting my head playfully. "Hey there, vet girl."

Her cheeks bloom into a deeper shade of crimson, and instead of replying, she quickly lowers her head, almost as if shyly retreating from the encounter.

With a quickened pace, she nearly scurries away, her footsteps echoing softly against the polished floor.

I blink, somewhat bemused, as I watch her disappear down the hall, her presence lingering in the air long after she's gone.

What just happened?

I find myself shaking my head a bit, my hands buried deep in my hoodie pockets. She is a stunning girl.

There's something about her Irish look that captivates me, which is a problem, given my whole Irish pride thing.

Yet, I'm well aware of what people say about me.

Kenzie isn't the kind of girl for a casual fling; she's the kind you fall deeply for.

And falling for someone isn't my style.

I have too many places left to explore.

Still, I can't help but look back, torn by the sight of her anxious expression.

The scent of sweat, sharp menthol, and that peculiar blend of damp gear and soap fills the air as I step into the locker room.It’s an aroma that might turn most people off, but for me, it’s the scent of routine, of home. It’s a familiar, comforting fragrance that wraps around me like an old sweatshirt.

All the guys are already congregated near the benches, the air full of a lively mix of activity and chatter. Some are still half-dressed from practice, their jerseys clinging to their bodies, while others are vigorously toweling off their damp hair, sending droplets flying.

Reggie is on the floor, stretching out his legs with the focus of a seasoned athlete, his muscles taut under the dim fluorescent lights. Ambrose, meanwhile, is meticulously lacing up his street shoes, his fingers moving with practiced precision.

And Tyler, ever the laid-back character, at least compared to his brother, has his feet kicked up on one of the benches as if he owns the place, a grin playing on his lips.

“Oi, Braden!” Reggie calls out, his Scottish accent as thick as the fog rolling over the highlands. “Saw you chatting up the vet girl out there. You moving in on her, or was she running for her life?”

The guys snicker, their laughter echoing off the tiled walls, and I shake my head, peeling off my hoodie, the fabric soft and worn against my skin.

“She literally ran away from me,” I admit with a rueful smile.

Tyler smirks, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Yeah, that’s what most women do when they realize who they’re talking to,” he quips, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

I roll my eyes, the gesture exaggerated for effect. "Hilarious. Really. You guys should do stand-up," I say with a dry tone, as sarcasm drips from my words.

Reggie, ever the jokester, waggles his brows with a mischievous grin. "I dunno, mate. Seemed like she was flustered. Maybe you got under her skin," he suggests, his voice teasing but with a hint of curiosity.

Ambrose, quiet yet perceptive, glances over from the corner of the room, his eyes thoughtful. "Maybe she's just shy," he offers, his voice soft and contemplative.

Shy? Maybe. But there was something about the way she bolted out of there that felt...different, like a puzzle missing its final piece.

“Yeah maybe after that night at Ally’s party with you!” I retort.

The room fills with an accusatory “ooo” sound as all the player’s gazes flick to us.

Before I can dive deeper into my thoughts, Coach strides in with purpose, clipboard tucked firmly under one arm.

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