Page 8 of Her Hat Trick Daddies
Is it wrong that I loved every second of what just happened? This should be soaked in shame, screaming guilt, but I don’t feel either. Instead, I feel relieved. Sated. Wrapped in a strange, decadent calm. Utterly at peace.
Is this how Ava felt in the beginning? Caught between the thrill of the forbidden and the weight of what it meant? And then, eventually, surrendering to it completely—choosing the pleasure, the power, the freedom? I let out a low chuckle and mumble, “I feel you, girl.”
God, I want more. Every part of my body wishes for more nights with them. But I can’t. I head back home to Jersey the day after tomorrow. And in no version of reality does this continue. I knew exactly what I was getting into the second I started flirtingwith those irresistible masked men. This was fast, not forever.
“Are you okay, darlin’?” Jester calls through the door a moment later.
Understanding what I need to do, I steady my breath and reply, “More than okay. You three can go. Really.”
I hear the low rumble of voices outside the door. They pause. Someone starts to say something but stops short, the words swallowed by hesitation. The unspoken offer to stay lingers in the silence like a cloud of smoke.
“You were amazing, sweetheart,” Lion says. “We probably won’t see you again, but… I gotta know what we can call you. For when we remember tonight.”
Fair enough, since I gave them names of my own based on their masks. I look at my reflection in the mirror. A smirk curls at the corners of my lips. Red dress. Secret room. Three sexy men. “Call me Phoenix.”
“Best night of my life, Phoenix,” Wolf murmurs, his tone dripping with praise.
“Same.” I smile at myself, still catching my breath.
Then, finally, footsteps fade into the distance.
Ten minutes later, when I feel confident I don’t look like I just lost a fight with a lawnmower, I emerge from the bathroom. I don’t see Lion, Jester, or Wolf anywhere. And although I allowed them to leave me behind, my heart drops when I can’t find them. Suddenly, the mansion feels too big, too quiet.
I pull my phone out to see a text from Eric that was sent about five minutes ago.
Eric: Are you ready to head out?
Me: Yeah. Meet you out front.
I know what tonight was meant to be. And, more importantly, what it wasn’t. No names. No numbers. No promises. Just chemistry, heat, and intrigue sparking behind our masks.
It was supposed to be simple.
But as I step out into the night air, my panties damp, my skin still tingling from every touch, every whispered moan, it doesn’t feel simple at all. My body aches in the best possible way, but it’s my heart that catches me off guard, tight with something I can’t quite name.
That was more than just sex. It was electric. Raw. Unapologetically forbidden. And now… I don’t think I’ll ever look at pleasure the same way again.
Chapter 3
Leighton
Three Years Later
As I peer out the living room window of the slightly worn duplex my dad inherited from my late grandparents, I take in the scene outside. A group of teens shoots hoops under the afternoon sun, sneakers squeaking and the ball thudding against the cracked asphalt. A shorter boy darts between two much taller opponents, trying to outmaneuver them with quick footwork and determination.
The backboard’s glass shattered years ago, and the hoop itself leans at a sad angle—clear signs that this neighborhood has seen better days. Still, with my older brother regularly parking his police cruiser out front, crime doesn’t exactly run rampant on our block.
This part of Newark may be a little rough around the edges, but it’s home. Or at least, it has been. But I’m happy to move on to greener pastures, literally. The employment gods must’ve finally tuned into my late-night manifesting, because I’mmoving to Colorado as the newest—and youngest ever, at just twenty-five years old—sports commentator for the best team in the NHL, the Colorado Avalanche. A fresh start, a new city, and a shot at something bigger.
Back at my apartment, my roommate and unlikely close friend, Brianna, doesn’t quite know how to feel about me leaving. We were college roommates once, part of a chaotic crew of five girls packed into a one-bedroom apartment. Somehow, despite being complete opposites, we’ve always gotten along. She’s quiet, methodical, and thrives on structure. I’m… just not any of those things.
Lately, though, her patience has worn thinner than the walls between our bedrooms. Sharing space with a toddler can do that to anyone. She says she’s looking forward to the peace and quiet now that she’s working from home full-time, but I know she’ll miss us, too. I saw it in her face this morning, that tug-of-war between craving calm and already mourning the absence. She wants the silence… but she’s going to miss Luna like crazy.
My daughter is a walking whirlwind, a tiny force of chaos who wormed her way into Brianna’s life with crayons, glitter, and unfiltered affection. That apartment is about to feel way too quiet, and I think she knows it.
Truth is, I’ll miss Brianna too. She’s been more than a roommate. More than a friend. She’s been part of the small, cobbled-together village helping me raise my daughter when things felt like too much.
And saying goodbye to her was harder than I thought.
