Page 26 of Cross Check Daddies (Miami Icemen #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Ace

There’s something about being inside her place that always settles me. The lived-in comfort, the scent of coconut and something sweet baked into the fabric of the couch, the sound of Jackson’s feet hitting the hardwood like a mini stampede.

But tonight, it’s more than that. There’s Ivy now too, and it’s easy to see that this woman—standing barefoot in black slacks and a wine-stained grin—is more than just Brooke’s best friend. She’s family.

The four of us sit around the coffee table, pizza boxes open, slices disappearing quickly.

Jackson is mid-rant about which dinosaur would win in a fight—laser-eyed T-Rex or armored Triceratops—and Buddy the bulldog is curled up beneath the table, snoring with one paw on Jackson’s foot.

Ivy’s curled into the arm of the couch like she lives here, and Brooke’s beside her, legs folded under her, grease on her wrist, hair frizzing slightly from the Miami humidity.

She’s got her hoodie zipped halfway, shorts peeking out under it, and she doesn’t even realize how stupidly hot she looks right now.

I slide a small bag across the table. “Saw this at the shop next to the pizza place. Thought of you.”

Jackson’s eyes widen as he rips the tissue paper apart and pulls out the keyholder—a green dinosaur, teeth bared, with a magnetic belly. “RAWR!” he roars, already running to the front door to stick it next to the coat hooks.

I glance at Brooke. Her eyes are soft. No teasing tonight. Just warmth.

Ivy watches the scene unfold, sipping her wine, then turns to me like she’s been waiting to pounce. “So, Coach Carter. You know, since I am best friend slash adopted auntie, I think I deserve at least seasonal tickets.”

Brooke laughs. “Here we go.”

I hold my hands up. “You want box seats or behind the bench?”

Ivy leans in, eyes sparkling. “Both. I want the full Icemen experience. Mascots, foam fingers, emotional breakdowns, free popcorn. All of it.”

“I think I can manage that.”

It’s a good time.

Laughter. Empty plates. Brooke swatting Jackson’s hand away when he reaches for another slice. Ivy asking questions about team politics and then making Cam sound like a cartoon villain for fun. I sit back and watch, letting it soak in.

The ease between the two women is electric. Years of friendship, tucked into glances and private jokes I can’t translate. Ivy leans her head on Brooke’s shoulder at one point and calls her “rookie,” and Brooke throws a crust at her. This is her real world. No PR. No filters. Just life.

Eventually, the wine runs low, and Jackson is yawning, his little hand digging into Buddy’s fur as he curls up beside the dog like it’s a custom bed.

I glance at my watch. “Alright, I should head out. Let you two have your time.”

Brooke’s already getting up. She whispers something to Ivy that I miss. Ivy waves her hand. “Go."

Brooke crosses to me, that secret little smile tugging at her mouth. I lean in, brushing her hair from her cheek.

“Nice to meet you, Ivy,” I say over her shoulder.

“Likewise, Coach.”

Brooke walks me to the door, then down the hallway, hoodie zipped to the chin and still managing to look like sex incarnate.

I stop and tug her toward me. My palms settle at her waist. I lean in, kissing her slowly, my mouth brushing hers until she lifts on her toes to deepen it.

Her tongue slides against mine, soft and lazy, and I sink into the kiss.

Her fingers curl in my shirt, pulling me in closer, like she wants to draw me inside her chest.

She pulls back, barely. “Thanks for being such a good sport tonight.”

I kiss the corner of her mouth, then lower. “It was my pleasure.”

She gasps softly when I suck her bottom lip into my mouth, then moans when I bite down just a little. My hands slip under her hoodie, finding warm skin, and her nails graze the back of my neck.

“You taste fucking fantastic,” I mutter against her throat.

She leans her head back, smiling, breath shaky. “Walk you to your apartment?”

I nod, heart kicking in that slow, heavy way it does when I’m with her. I reach for her hand, and she laces her fingers through mine without hesitation.

We head up the stairs, quiet and comfortable.

This feels right. Every goddamn step of it.

By the time we reach my door, she’s already tugging at the hem of her hoodie like it’s suddenly too warm. Her hair’s slightly messy, lips still kiss-swollen, and I’m dangerously close to cancelling any plans for sleep tonight.

I fish out my keys, turn the lock, and let us in. She lingers in the doorway, eyes flicking around the space like she’s still considering whether she should stay.

I pull her close and kiss her again. Her hands slide into my back pockets, dragging me against her. She nips my lower lip hard enough to make me groan.

“Fuck,” I mutter, breath catching.

She grins. “I could spare a few more minutes.”

That’s all I need.

I back away just long enough to point toward the living room. “I’m getting condoms. If I don’t find you naked when I come back out, I’m carrying you to the bedroom and doing it there.”

She raises a brow, unbothered. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

I grin. “You’ll find out.”

I jog down the hall, tearing into the dresser. When I return, packet in hand, the sight in front of me knocks every thought out of my head.

She’s bent over the arm of my sofa, hoodie discarded, shorts on the floor, nothing but that ridiculous confidence and bare skin staring back at me. Her legs are spread just enough to make my cock twitch painfully, and she glances over her shoulder like she’s not doing anything extraordinary.

I curse under my breath. “You’re trying to kill me.”

She arches her back slightly. “I’m waiting.”

I drop to my knees behind her before she can get another word out. My hands grip her thighs as I lean in, tongue dragging slowly along her slick folds. She gasps, fingers digging into the cushion.

I lick her again, deeper, firmer this time, my hands tightening around her waist as I bury my mouth between her legs. She moans, hips pushing back against my face, her breath growing ragged. I suck her clit, flicking my tongue in circles until she’s panting, legs starting to shake.

Just before she tips over, I pull back. She groans in frustration, but it’s cut off by the sound of the condom tearing open.

I slide it on, line myself up, and push into her in one smooth stroke.

She gasps—sharp and desperate—and I freeze for a moment, savoring the tight heat around me.

Then I start moving, hips snapping against her ass, hands gripping her waist like I need to keep myself from breaking apart.

She braces herself on the couch, taking every thrust, her cries muffled in the cushions.

It’s filthy. Raw. The kind of sex that lives in your skin for days after. I reach around to rub her clit, and the moment I do, she clenches hard around me, body pulsing as she comes. I follow seconds later, spilling into the condom with a low growl, forehead dropping against her spine.

We stay like that for a moment. Breathing. Shaking. Wrapped in heat and the scent of sex.

She finally shifts, wiggling slightly. “Okay. I really have to go now.”

I kiss her shoulder, pull out carefully, and toss the condom. “Alright. I’ll walk you down.”

She dresses quickly, tugging the hoodie back on, cheeks flushed but smiling. We don’t speak much as I open the door and walk her to her floor.

“See you soon?” I ask.

She nods. “Yeah. Soon.”

She leans in to kiss me softly, like it’s just a casual thing we do now, like it hasn’t just wrecked me in every quiet way. Then she turns and walks off.

Except she stops halfway, spins on her heel, runs back to me, and crashes her mouth to mine. Her hands grip my face like she’s scared I might vanish. I kiss her back, stunned, greedy for more even though I know I shouldn’t ask.

She pulls away breathless, eyes lit up. “I forgot something.”

“What?”

She smirks. “You.”

Then she leaves for real this time.

I stand there, grinning like a teenager, my heart aching in that deep, raw way it hasn’t in years.

Shit.

I think I’m in love with her.