Page 20 of Slap Shot Daddies

Ambrose fixes me with a deadpan stare, his eyes unwavering. "Can you?" he challenges, his words hanging in the air like a silent dare.

I open my mouth to respond, but the words falter on my tongue. I close it again, feeling the weight of their collective resolve pressing down on me.

Braden's grin spreads slowly across his face, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "That's what I thought," he says, his tone teasing yet affectionate.

Reggie leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And when we get there, we'll whip up a good, home-cooked meal," he promises, his enthusiasm palpable.

I frown, my brow furrowing in protest. "You really don’t need to do that," I insist, though my resolve is weakening.

Braden arches an eyebrow, his expression inquisitive. "Do you have anyone waiting for you at home?" he asks, the question hanging heavily between us.

I hesitate, the truth slipping out reluctantly. "No? I mean, I wish I had a pet. I love animals, but I’m just not home enough."

Ambrose's lips curl into a smirk, his victory evident. "Good. Then you can’t really say no to us helping you," he points out, his logic irrefutable.

I groan, exasperation mingling with a touch of gratitude as I drag my good hand down my face. "You guys are impossible," I mutter, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips.

Reggie laughs, a warm, infectious sound, as he nudges my knee playfully. "Aye, but we’re charming," he retorts, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Damn it, they are.

As soon as I’m cleared to go, they whisk me out of the hospital with an urgency that makes me feel like some kind of pampered princess being escorted from a royal engagement.

As soon as we’re settled in the car, Braden twists around in his seat with a mischievous grin. “All right, doc. What’s lurking in your fridge?” His voice carries a teasing lilt.

I blink, caught off guard. “Uh…not much,” I admit sheepishly.

Reggie lets out an exaggerated groan. “Figures,” he mutters, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation.

Ambrose, with his hands firmly gripping the steering wheel, lets out a resigned grunt. “Fine. What do you want for dinner?” His voice is a deep rumble, like distant thunder.

I shrug, glancing between them. “I don’t know. What do you guys usually make?”

Braden tilts his head thoughtfully, pondering the options. “Steak? Stir-fry? Pasta?”

At the mention of pasta, a light bulb flickers on in my mind. “Fettuccine Alfredo?” I suggest, my voice tinged with sudden eagerness.

Then, all three men respond in perfect unison, their voices ringing out with enthusiasm. “YES.”

I can’t help but laugh, a warm feeling spreading through my chest. This feels...comforting, like the embrace of an old friend.

I sink deeper into my seat, letting the gentle purr of the car engine and the smooth, rhythmic glide of the tires on the pavement lull me into a sense of calm.

Yet, beneath the surface, my thoughts drift back to last night’s dreams. Vivid images of three men, their hands, their lips, linger in my mind.

I squeeze my thighs together in a futile attempt to chase away the memory.

Fuck, I really need to get a grip.

CHAPTER FIVE

Reggie

I glanceover at Kenzie in the passenger seat as Ambrose drives, noting the way her fingers nervously fidget with the frayed hem of her jacket.

The silence from her has been palpable since we left the hospital, broken only by an annoyed sigh when Ambrose had insisted she sit up front to keep her bandaged hand elevated.

Braden, who’s seated in the back, is humming along to the radio, seemingly oblivious to the tension simmering between her and Ambrose, the melody masking the undercurrent of unease.

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