Page 7 of Cross Check Daddies (Miami Icemen #3)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tanner

Fuck, she’s pretty.

It’s not a new thought, but it hits harder now, watching her through the cracked door as she stands beside the photographer, hair loose and wild down her back, laughing at something he says.

I head back to the locker room and sit on the bench, pretending I’m scrolling through messages on my phone.

“She single?” Rhett says, lacing up his skates.

Deke grins. “Dibs if she is.”

“Dude, she’s working for the hire ups,” someone adds.

“Still hot though,” Rhett mutters, unapologetic.

I say nothing. Just breathe through my nose and flex my hands like I’m checking for soreness. Ace’s voice booms from the doorway before the conversation can get any more idiotic.

“Zip it. This isn’t a dating mixer. Act like professionals for five minutes."

Everyone quiets, some with smirks still lingering. Coach glances at the clipboard and starts reading names off in order. One by one, the guys head out, still hyped from practice, still sweaty and cocky.

I’m last on the list. I don’t even know if that was on purpose or bad luck, but either way, anticipation builds in my stomach like carbonation. I run a hand through my damp hair and wait.

Brooke Taylor. Dang. Back in high school, I used to watch her. She’d pull up in that old Civic, backpack over one shoulder, Cam’s arm around her waist. She was always laughing, always in on some joke I didn’t hear.

I used to wonder what it’d be like to be the one she kissed behind the bleachers or whispered to in the dark. My first kiss wasn’t anything special, and yeah, I compared it to my fantasy.

I thought it was just a tiny crush. A passing thing.

Now I’m not so sure.

“King,” Coach barks.

That’s me.

I head down the hall and into the small photo area. And there she is, leaning over a tablet, showing something to the photographer. When she looks at me, her eyes light up.

“Hey.”

That smile hits somewhere low in my gut.

“Hey,” I say back. “How’s the apartment? Settling in?”

She tucks her hair behind her ear and nods. “Moved in this weekend. Still getting used to the area, and driving all the way here is... terrifying.”

I laugh, stepping into the marked space as the photographer gestures. “Glad you made it out alive. Really happy to see you here, Brooke.”

She meets my eyes, something soft passing between us. The camera clicks. I do the whole jersey grip pose, turn sideways, and flex a little. She watches the screen, giving quiet feedback to the guy snapping the shots. When we wrap up, I run a hand through my hair again and walk toward her.

“Thanks,” I say. “Catch you around?”

She nods, lips curling. “Definitely.”

I head back down the hallway, the buzz in my chest still warm. Maybe I should’ve asked for her number. Just to keep in touch. For work reasons. Sure.

Back in the locker room, the place is mostly cleared out. My gloves are where I left them, but something else sits on the bench. A notebook. The same one she was showing us off earlier with character sketches and branding notes.

I pick it up.

Her name is scribbled on the inside cover in slanted cursive. Even her handwriting is fucking pretty.

I flip through it out of habit. Sketched concepts, notes, color palettes. Little things that make her real to me in a way I didn’t expect. Then, something on the last page catches my eye.

Brooke’s 30 Before 30 List.

I shouldn’t be reading it, but I do. Because curiosity has always been my biggest flaw.

Learn to surf

Dance barefoot on the beach at night. No music

Eat dessert before dinner

Sleep under the stars

Ride a motorcycle

The list goes on, the words scrawled quickly, casually, like she didn’t think anyone would ever see them. I close the notebook, grab my keys, and head for the parking lot.

She’s just climbing into her car when I jog across the pavement.

“Brooke!”

She turns, one foot still outside the car. “Yeah?”

I hold the notebook up. “You left this.”

She lets out a breathy laugh and walks toward me, taking it from my hand. “Lifesaver. Lisa would’ve killed me if I’d lost this.”

“Had to flip through it to find your name,” I lie easily. “That list in the back… You gonna do any of it?”

Her smile turns lopsided. “What list?”

“Thirty before thirty?” I wink at her. I just can’t help myself.

“Old notebook. I already turned thirty.”

“But the list’s still good.”

She raises an eyebrow, arms crossing beneath her chest. “You reading my personal scribbles now?”

“I mean,” I say, “you left it. Can’t blame a guy for being curious.”

“Half that list is ridiculous. I suck at surfing. I tried it once and nearly drowned.”

“I could teach you.”

Her expression falters just slightly, like she wasn’t expecting that. “What?”

“The motorcycle one too. I have a bike. I could help you knock a few of these off.”

“No,” she says, smiling like I’m amusing. “Come on, Tanner.”

“Come on ,” I repeat, stepping closer. “What’s the harm? I’m not asking you to marry me. Just... a beach night. A bike ride. Eat some dessert before dinner. Low stakes.”

She laughs again and starts to step back, but I catch her wrist gently, spinning her toward me. Her body leans into mine by accident. Or maybe not. She looks up at me, and I brush my fingers across her cheekbone.

“As friends,” I say, voice low. “I haven’t seen you in years. Don’t you wanna catch up?”

Her eyes drop to my mouth. My blood surges, heavy and hot. My cock stirs with the thought of her pressed up against me for more than a second. She smells like sugar and saltwater, like skin warmed by sunlight. Fuck, she’s close. I pull back before I say something I shouldn’t.

“It’ll be fun,” I add. “Think about it.”

She watches me like she’s weighing something.

Then I nod toward her palm. “Got a pen?”

She digs one from her bag. I take her hand, smooth and small, and write my number across her skin. My touch lingers a little longer than necessary.

“You could’ve written it in the notebook,” she teases.

“I could’ve,” I say, giving her a slow grin. “But this way, you have to look at it for a while.”

She laughs as she steps back, shaking her head.

“You’re trouble, King.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

She gets back into her car, tossing the notebook onto the passenger side. “I’ll think about it.”

“You better.”

As she pulls out of the lot, I watch the way sunlight catches her hair, the way she smiles through the window before she’s gone.

Too fucking pretty for her own good.

And way more dangerous now than she ever was back then.