Page 21 of Power Play Daddies
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Nah. We were just having fun, no strings attached.”
Her eyes widen a little. “Wait, what? You mean you two were… just casual?”
I laugh again, feeling a little cocky. “Yeah. And there was this other guy on the team… we used to share sometimes. It was a mutual understanding, all grown-ups, you know?”
She stops dead in her tracks for a second, clearly shocked. “Oh… wow,” she says, eyes wide.
I shrug, leaning against my car. “Hey, it worked for us. No harm, no foul.”
Daisy doesn’t seem like she’s sure what to say. “You’re… interesting.”
I grin. “Only off the record, though.”
She nods quickly. “Of course.”
I look over at her, trying to gauge if she’s into me or if I’m just one of the players she’s excited to interview. “I hope to see more of you, Daisy,” I say as I carry her equipment into the building.
She smiles back, that same confident grin, and shrugs. “Okay, Mason. We’ll see.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Daisy
My uncle walks up,his steps measured and steady, like he’s sizing me up for the millionth time. His badge glints under the fluorescent lights of the arena hallway. “You ready to get started, Daisy?”
I nod, lifting my camera slightly. “Almost. I wanted to do some test shots first, make sure the lighting isn’t gonna ruin anything.”
“Smart,” he says, glancing at the overhead setup. “I’ll send someone to help you out.”
I can’t tell if that’s a polite dismissal or him genuinely being helpful, but I don’t argue. The guy has a schedule to keep, and I’ve got work to do.
Five minutes later, I’m crouched over my equipment, adjusting the lens, when someone clears his throat behind me.
“Need a hand?”
I look up and blink at Ford Hale, the Icemen’s star goalie. “You’re my help?”
He scratches the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Yeah. Coach told me to, uh, pay it forward or whatever. Apparently, being late to practice three times this week comes with chores.”
I snort. “Guess I’m your punishment?”
“Could be worse,” he says, flashing a grin. “I could be cleaning out the locker room.”
“Well, let’s not waste your parole time, then.” I hand him a reflector. “Stand over there and hold this steady.”
We work through the test shots quickly, the camera clicking as I adjust angles and lighting. Ford’s surprisingly patient, even cracking a few jokes about the team’s game faces.
“This good?” he asks, holding the reflector up higher.
“Perfect,” I say, stepping back to check the images on my camera. “Okay, we’re set.”
Ford leans against the wall, crossing his arms. “So, what’s the plan? You snapping candids, or making us look like runway models?”
“Bit of both,” I say with a shrug. “I’ll start with group shots, then move on to individuals. You guys will come in one by one.”
“Great. Let’s see who shows up first.”
Ace must’ve sent out a message because, within minutes, players start trickling in.
