Page 19 of Cross Check Daddies (Miami Icemen #3)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Brooke

We’ve been playing for four hours now. The controllers are warm in our hands, the food long gone, and I’m curled up sideways on Ace’s couch, legs tangled in a throw blanket I didn’t mean to steal.

He sits beside me, legs stretched out, relaxed in that quiet, masculine way that makes everything about him seem effortlessly composed.

But I’ve caught the way his eyes slide to me when I laugh too hard.

The little hitch in his breath when I trash-talk him mid-match.

He’s into this—into me—and the tension has been crawling under my skin since we passed the second hour.

“You still hungry?” he asks, glancing over between rounds. “I could make us sandwiches.”

“No,” I say with a slow smile, setting the controller aside. “I should go. I’ve got to get up early and pick up my car. This was fun.”

“I know,” he says simply, eyes not leaving mine.

He stands first, offering a hand. His grip is strong, warm, rough in a way that shoots tingles up my arm as he helps me off the couch. The space between us is charged. My feet feel too light on the floor, like my body wants to drift into his.

“I’ll walk you to your door.”

“Okay.”

The building is quiet this time of night. Lights dimmed, elevator hum low and steady. We don’t say much at first, just a slow, companionable silence. Until we’re halfway down the hall.

“What if I tell you a secret?” he says suddenly, voice rougher now. “Will you tell me what had you crying in that booth tonight?”

My steps falter. I glance at him. His face is unreadable.

“I’m retiring,” he says.

I blink. “You’re what?”

“This is my last season. Been thinking about it a long time. Didn’t want to say it until I was sure.”

“But you love the game.”

“I do,” he says. “I always will. But it’s been years of bruises, bus rides, and media bullshit. I’m tired. I want to sleep in. Maybe get a house by the beach.”

I picture it instantly. Ace Carter in linen shirts, barefoot, ocean outside his window. The visual almost knocks the breath out of me.

“I didn’t see that coming,” I say softly.

He looks over. “Your turn.”

My mouth dries. How do I explain that I’m trying not to collapse under the weight of my own desire for two men who just happen to be brothers? I can’t say that. So, I go with something safe.

“I guess I’ve just been stressed. The game. The pitch. Trying to be everything for everyone.”

He hums, not pushing. “You’re doing better than you think.”

He follows me down to my floor until we reach my door. I pause, hand on the key. “Thanks. For tonight. You didn’t have to?—”

He pulls me into a hug before I finish the sentence. My arms wrap around him instinctively. He’s solid. Warm. Smells like cedar and sweat. His hand is firm on my back, his other curled lightly against my waist. I melt into him without thinking. My body just gives.

When we pull apart, his hand lingers on my hip. He leans in slightly, his voice low, unhurried.

“Goodnight, PixelVixen.”

My lips twitch. “Goodnight.”

I turn toward the door, still flushed, trying to string together another thank you, but then?—

“Ace…”

He whirls. No hesitation. Just walks right back to me and kisses me like it’s already been decided. Like the minute I said his name, he knew I wasn’t finished. His mouth claims mine, hot and confident. I gasp, then melt again as he presses me into the door, his body firm against mine.

My knees almost buckle. My arms loop around his shoulders, one hand sliding into the back of his hair. His hands find my waist, grip tight, pulling me up against him like he doesn’t want space between us ever again.

“Whoa,” I gasp when we finally part, breath knocked out of me.

Then the words fall out before I can stop them. “I’m kind of... in the middle of something.”

His eyes stay locked on mine. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

His voice is low, commanding, edged with something primal that shoots straight through me. My thighs press together. I could pull my panties off right now if he asked. My body’s already there.

“No,” I whisper. Truth.

He kisses me again, rougher this time. His hand curves around my jaw as he holds me in place, devouring my mouth like he’s been waiting all night for the excuse. I moan softly into him, hips angling forward without permission.

When he pulls back, his eyes are darker. “In that case,” he says, “have dinner with me.”

“I have to check with my nanny and Jackson…”

“Just let me know, okay, vixen?”

I nod, still catching my breath.

He winks, stepping back slowly. His smile—if you can call it that—is a quiet promise.

Then he turns and walks down the hall. I stare after him, dazed, lips tingling, skin hot under my clothes.

The moment he’s out of sight, I slide my key into the door and stumble inside legs barely working.

I drop onto the couch like a puppet with its strings cut.

Ace Carter just kissed me.

Jackson is already at the kitchen table when I come in, swinging his legs under him, hair sticking up like a puffball, still wearing his dino-print pajamas.

The smell of butter and coffee fills the air. Sasha must’ve just left. Her note is stuck to the fridge with a little smiley face and a reminder to call about Jackson’s dentist appointment.

I set my mug down and ruffle his hair before reaching for the eggs. “Alright, chef, what are you in the mood for today?”

He grins. “Waffles. With chocolate chips. And strawberries. And those tiny marshmallows.”

I laugh, cracking eggs into a bowl. “That’s not breakfast. That’s sugar with a side of chaos.”

He leans forward dramatically. “I’m in my sugar era, Mom.”

“God help me,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Fine. But we start the day by picking up my car, then we can find somewhere to ruin your teeth. Deal?”

He nods and stuffs a strawberry into his mouth from the container I just set on the counter. Thirty minutes later, we’re in the car, waffles in a box on his lap, fresh clothes on, and my own car retrieved with minimal annoyance.

The sun is already hot by mid-morning, so I park near the waterfront.

There’s a little farmers’ market sprawled across the sand-side plaza, booths lined with fresh fruit, baked goods, and some indie jewelry.

Jackson darts toward a stand with handmade slingshots, and I trail after him, still sipping from my lukewarm coffee.

Then I see him.

Tanner is leaning against a wooden post near the smoothie shack. Gray shirt stretched across his chest, sunglasses pushing his hair back, like he belongs here in the sun. He spots us immediately, lifts a hand, and Jackson runs to him like they’ve been best friends since preschool.

“Hey buddy,” Tanner says, crouching down to Jackson’s level. “Where’s your dog today?”

“Home,” Jackson replies with a tiny shrug. “He had too much fun yesterday. He’s sleeping it off.”

Tanner ruffles his hair. “Smart dog.”

I stand awkwardly to the side, watching them connect like it’s natural. Tanner’s eyes slide to me as he stands. The line of his jaw tightens.

“Why are you ignoring my texts?”

My lips part. “Tanner, not now.”

He stares at me for a long second, expression unreadable behind his glasses. Then he pulls his phone out and types. My own buzzes a second later.

I’ll be waiting for you at the beach tonight. 9. If you don’t show, I’ll take that as my answer. And I’ll stop chasing you.

I stare at the message, heat licking through my chest and pooling lower. My mouth dries. I glance up and he’s already walking away, hand tousling Jackson’s hair again as he goes. He doesn’t look back.

I spend the rest of the day on autopilot. We buy overpriced watermelon chunks. Jackson wins a tiny plush turtle from a ring toss. He’s smiling so hard it makes my chest ache. I laugh when I need to, answer his questions, pretend like I’m not unspooling thread by thread inside.

That evening, I’m halfway through a quiet dinner with Jackson when my phone rings.

Aaron.

I stare at the name for two full seconds before answering. “What?”

“Hi, Brooke. I’m in town.”

My stomach clenches. “And?”

“And I want to see Jackson.”

“It’s seven.”

“I’m only here for a day or two. Can I take him?”

“You can’t just drop in like this. You always do this. Last minute, no warning.”

“I’m here,” he says again, flat. “So, can I?”

My jaw tightens. “You know what? Fine. But I swear to God, if you cancel last minute again?—”

“I won’t.”

He hangs up.

Exactly an hour later, his driver is at the curb. Jackson’s bag is packed. I kneel to hug him tight before watching him disappear into the backseat, waving at me through the tinted glass. The SUV rolls away, and the silence that follows is deafening.

I lock the door behind me and toss my phone on the couch. I don’t want to clean. I don’t want to work. I want to throw something. Instead, I crawl into bed with my laptop, prop it on my knees, and open Reddit.

Search bar: Is it normal to like more than one guy at the same time?

I scroll past the judgmental responses. Past the usual emotional triangle disasters. Then deeper. Into threads about polyamory. Non-monogamy. Open dynamics. But that’s not what this is. I’m not into labels or politics. I just... want.

I want Cam when he’s pushing me up against walls and demanding answers I can’t give. I want Tanner when he holds my kid’s hand and calls him buddy like he means it. I want Ace when he kisses me like I’m more than a distraction.

I lean back, exhaling slowly.

Three men. All tangled into my life like vines. I shut the laptop, the heat between my legs worse now than when I first opened the damn search tab. Tanner’s message still lives in my mind, bold and unrelenting.

9 PM. Beach. Or nothing.

My eyes flick to the clock.

8:34.

And every part of me knows I’m not staying in tonight.