Page 48 of Power Play Daddies
“Yeah, yeah.” I refocus just in time to miss a pass. Perfect.
Daisy grabs a stick from the rack and takes a few shots at the empty net, the sharpcrackof the puck echoing in the rink.
Her form is solid. Controlled. Sexy as hell.
“Damn, she’s got hands,” Kieran says beside me, low enough not to get another verbal smack from Leo.
“Shut up,” I snap, sharper than I mean to. He raises his hands, smirking.
She hands the stick back to Coach, says something that makes him laugh, and then she’s gone, just like that. Like a hurricane blowing in and out of my already wrecked world.
Practice is a mess after that. Passes get sloppy, tempers flare, and Coach is red in the face by the time we wrap up.
In the locker room, it’s chaos. Guys stripping out of gear, bitching about drills, making plans for after practice.
I head to my stall, pulling off my pads, and grab a towel to head for the showers. But my mind is back on Daisy and the way she looked in my bed, hair a mess, lips swollen, eyes full of something I can’t even name.
And now I know she’s been with Mason. It’s obvious. Those hickeys weren’t subtle. It should piss me off.
“You coming to the bar later?” Kieran’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “Some of us will be going to Finnegan’s at six.”
“Nah, I’ve got shit to do.”
He shrugs, tossing his towel over his shoulder. “Suit yourself, man. Don’t brood too hard.”
Brood. Right. Like I’ve got any fucking control over that with her in my head.
The showers are hot, steam filling the small space as I stand under the spray, letting it wash away the sweat and frustration.
But it doesn’t wash her away. Nothing does.
Back at my stall, I pull on a hoodie and jeans, glancing at the clock. There’s a meeting with Ace in twenty, and I need to pretend I’m not completely distracted by a woman who’s barely been in my hemisphere for five minutes.
She’s hisfuckingniece.
This shit just keeps getting more and more convoluted.
But as I sling my bag over my shoulder, all I can think about is her walking away from the rink, her scent still lingering in the air.
I’m so fucking gone for her, it’s ridiculous. And somehow, I know it’s only gonna get worse.
The door to Coach Ace’s office creaks open and he glances up from a stack of papers, giving me a nod. Leo leans against the wall, clipboard in hand, eyes sharp as always.
“Callahan,” Coach says, setting his pen down.
“Yeah.” I step in and shut the door behind me. “You said you wanted to talk to me.”
Leo arches a brow, looking at Coach. “As the center, I wanted to hear his opinion on some of the plays we have. This game needs to go spectacularly,” Coach Ace explains to his assistant.
“Makes sense,” Leo says.
Coach leans back in his chair, fingers steepled. “All right, let’s hear it.”
I shift my weight, crossing my arms. “Cam’s been talking about their defensive setup. They’re good at clogging the lanes, especially their second line. We need to spread them out more, pull them wider. Maybe get T and Grayson to pinch a little deeper.”
Cam is our team analyst. I haven’t seen him since the last season. Last I heard, he was in New York. Seems he’s back.
Coach hums, nodding slowly. “You’re thinking faster transitions, then? Less time playing it safe in neutral?”
