Page 13 of Power Play Daddies
Beau
The smellof vanilla hits me first, warm and familiar, clinging to the sheets tangled around me. My hand stretches across the bed automatically, reaching for her.
It’s empty.
I crack one eye open. “Daisy?”
Silence.
I push myself up on one elbow, my body protesting with a dull ache that’s almost satisfying. Last night wasn’t a workout—it was better. My gaze sweeps the room.
What the hell?
I grab my phone off the nightstand. Seven a.m. When did she leave? How did I not hear her?
Raking a hand through my hair, I swing my legs over the side of the bed, scanning the room like a dumbass hoping for… what? A note? Her number? Afucking cluethat I wasn’t just another notch on her belt?
“Great,” I mutter, getting to my feet.
I check the fridge—don’t know why. Maybe she left some poetic goodbye scribbled on a napkin or something. Nothing. Just expired orange juice and a sad half-empty beer bottle.
I sigh and head back to the bedroom. The sheets still smell like her, like vanilla and a hint of tequila. God, she was fucking incredible.
I lean against the doorframe, replaying every damn moment from last night—the way she looked at me, how her body moved, the little sounds she made.
Shit.
I shake my head and head to the bathroom. The mirror doesn’t lie—there are scratch marks across my chest and down my sides.
“Jesus, Daisy,” I say, running a hand over them.
She went harder than most, not that I’m complaining. I step under the shower spray, the hot water scalding but not enough to drown out the memories. Reluctantly, I soap up, watching the last traces of her scent swirl down the drain.
Twenty minutes later, I’m in the living room with a steaming cup of black coffee. No cream, no sugar. Just bitterness—pretty much sums up my mood right now.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I pull up the security cam on my phone. I scrub through the footage until I see her. There she is, sneaking out at 5:20 a.m. She’s wearing my damn T-shirt, looking every bit as sexy as she did last night. Even grainy and pixelated, she’s fucking gorgeous.
My cock twitches.
“Yeah, no,” I say, shutting the video off. No way I’m starting my day with another cold shower.
I grab my gym bag and head to the arena.
The locker room’s already buzzing when I get there. Kieran, as usual, is in the middle of some stupid story.
“...and then she says, ‘That’s not my bra!’” Kieran laughs, slapping Mason on the shoulder.
Mason just shakes his head, pulling on his pads. “You’re an idiot.”
Before Kieran can fire off another comment, Coach storms in, clipboard in hand.
“Where’s Ford?” he barks, scanning the room.
We all glance at each other. No Ford.
“Late again?” Tanner says, pulling on his skates.
Coach scowls. “We’re running extra drills today. I want this team sharp. We were third last season—that’s not good enough. The board expects us to win this year.”
