Page 17 of Her Hat Trick Daddies (Game On Daddies #3)

Andy

W hen I get an email notification from Barb, the team publicist, that she’s slotted me for some media time, I’m all in.

Born and raised here, Colorado is in my blood.

I’ve played for the Avs my entire career, and I’m proud to rep the team any chance I get.

I love my job, and I’ll talk anyone’s ear off about it if they let me.

Barb’s note said Leighton would be swinging by the locker room later this morning, and with morning skate already done, I kill time pumping iron in the gym before grabbing a shower.

I take every opportunity I can get to stay in shape, and I’ve been hyper since the day I was born.

There’s no stopping me once I get my eyes set on something.

I goof around, bouncing a hockey stick on the tip of my finger, when a melodic voice cuts through the air from the doorway.

“Mr. Webb, I’m Leighton Jennings. I’ve seen you around, but it’s a pleasure to officially meet you. ”

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine,” I say, fighting to keep my cool.

It just dawns on me. The last time a woman stole the air from my lungs like this was her .

Phoenix. I never saw her whole face, but those eyes, damn, those eyes, are burned into my memory.

The way she moved, like she owned every inch of space around her, confident and untouchable, but with this subtle innocence underneath.

And her scent… mmm. Sweet and heady, it clung to me for days, haunting me in ways I couldn’t shake.

“Well, I’m meeting with each of you to dig into your personalities and what playing for the Avalanche means to you.

” She steps forward and offers her hand.

I take it, noting how small and delicate it looks swallowed up in my bear paw.

They’re soft, too, like silk against my rough palm.

And I’ve got at least a foot on her, but damn, she feels even more fragile than she looks.

I don’t say anything right away. I’m too busy drinking her in.

She’s gorgeous, wearing a sleek pink business skirt suit, blonde hair draped over her shoulders, and killer curves, but that’s not what grabs me.

Nope. What’s got me locked in is the fact that Leighton is the new sports commentator for the team.

Which makes her the woman David slept with the other day.

And she has no idea we know.

Not that it matters. Or should. But my dick? He’s got other ideas. My brain is already serving up crystal-clear images of her completely naked, tangled in sheets, that perfect blonde hair all mussed up, those full lips parted, moaning how David probably has —

Jesus Christ.

All too eager to show himself, my cock springs to life in my athletic pants, and I sidestep fast, trying to hide the evidence of that shameless bastard.

Settle the hell down, you son of a bitch .

“It means everything to me,” I finally say, voice low, rougher than I intend. My gaze tracks the line of her neck, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

Her smile wavers, and I swear her eyes dart down, lingering at my chest, before she catches herself. She’s flustered.

Good.

There’s something about her smile, though.

It lights her entire face, soft and radiant in a way I hadn’t noticed before.

Those pretty blues sparkle, surprisingly warm, drawing me in like they’ve got their own gravity.

Up until now, she’s been just another face in passing, someone I never really looked at long enough to see.

But now? Now I get it. I get why David couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

She glances around, a little hesitant. “Is there somewhere to sit in here?”

The locker room’s full of benches, no plush couches or fancy chairs, but they get the job done. I motion her over to a spot near my locker. Thankfully, the walk across the room gives my cock enough time to calm down.

“Right here,” I say with a grin, dropping onto the bench to face her. My mind, of course, has to be a dirtbag, flashing back to all the times I’ve been parked right here, sweaty and bare-assed, peeling off my gear.

Wouldn’t you know it. Today’s the one damn day I don’t have my jock on to keep things under wraps. Figures.

She seems nervous, and in any other situation, I’d like to think it’s because I make her uneasy, but this is different.

I mean, I wouldn’t expect a woman who hooked up with the team captain, what, a couple of weeks after starting this job, to be just fine , but there’s no missing it.

Her hands, her whole frame, she’s trembling like a leaf.

Is she nervous about something I’m not in the know about?

Is she scared to ask me about it in this interview?

Sick? Hell if I know. I might be a cocky loudmouth, but I have a protective streak a mile wide when it comes to people around me.

And I don’t know Leighton, but she’s a woman, and my instincts are kicking in full gear right now.

“You okay, darlin’?” I ask, leaning in, trying to read her.

Suddenly, she jerks back like she’s just taken a puck to the face, her neck craning up to stare me down. There’s something in that look, something eerie, searching maybe, and it sends a weird shiver racing down my spine. She’s studying me, dissecting every inch, like she’s hunting for something.

My skin prickles, the hairs at the nape of my neck standing on end.

The staring goes on for a long time, too long, so I finally look away, breaking the energy between us.

I don’t know what’s going on, but this might be the weirdest interaction I’ve had in this locker room, and that’s saying something.

I can’t tell if she’s about to bolt for the door or crawl into one of these lockers and hide.

Just when I think she’s going to say something or start the interview, her hand snaps out so fast it shocks me.

My body stiffens, ready for impact. A slap, a shove, something sharp.

But it never comes. All she does is grab my sleeve, her grip tight, dragging the fabric up over my bicep with fast, deliberate focus.

Her touch is rough, her gaze intense as it lands on my arm where my old ARMY brAT tattoo sits.

Her eyes go wide, locking onto it like it’s just answered a question she didn’t even know she was asking.

This sudden change in her demeanor hits me square in the gut.

Instinct kicks in, and I slowly pull back, slipping out of her grip.

Not because I’m embarrassed. Never. It’s old as dirt, inked by my brother’s buddy in his garage when we were just a couple of dumb teenagers.

Jagged, faded, not winning any beauty contests.

But the way she’s looking at it hints at a missing puzzle piece.

“Homegrown tatt,” I say lightly, even though the uneasiness crawling up my spine is anything but casual. “Not much to look at, I know.”

She keeps staring, like she’s searing the image into her memory. Finally, she blinks hard, snapping out of it like someone just clapped at the end of a Vegas hypnotist show. “I apologize for staring. That was rude.”

Maybe. But why does she still look so flustered?

Part of me wants to reach out and wrap my hands around her, whispering in her ear that it will be ok.

The other part of me wants to do what I always do in situations like this.

I start babbling, throwing a bunch of nonsense her way just to fill the awkward silence.

“Got it when I was a teenager. It hasn’t exactly stood the test of time.

The black ink has been fading for years now.

I’ve thought about getting it removed, but I've never been able to bring myself to do it. It’s part of my checkered past.” I pause, smiling wryly.

“Not that my past has much to do with my job now. Or… maybe it does. Isn’t there a saying?

Something about how your past shapes who you are today? ”

She sits up a little straighter, like she’s trying to shake off whatever’s got her rattled. “Yeah, that’s the one. Can you tell me more? About the tattoo… and that checkered past?”

My mind spins back to my older brother, my shadow, my rival.

“Well, it started with my older brother, Kenny. Growing up, everything I did was about chasing him. He joined the Army while I carved my own path on the ice, but that bond between us? Complicated as hell. He was my hero and my biggest obstacle all at once. But… I guess that’s normal between brothers, right?

” I chuckle. “Maybe that’s why I’ve stayed competitive to this day. ”

Her features soften, the air between us finally shifting to something normal, something real. “Was?”

I take a deep breath. I didn’t expect this interview to dig up old scars.

“Yeah. He went to the Army and didn’t make it back.

The last time I saw him was over an unstable video connection.

” I pause, my fingers smoothing over the tattoo on my bicep.

“So now, when I look at these words, the ones he dared me to get during one of our wild summers, they burn like a brand. I don’t know how to explain it very well.

But, no matter how far I skate, he’s always there with me, just under the skin. ”

“Mr. Webb. I’m so sorry to hear that. And those words. They’re really powerful,” she says, voice gentler now, full of genuine sympathy.

I crack a grin, trying to ease the weight of the conversation. “Oh, you can call me Andy. No need for formalities.”

“Andy…” Her cheeks tint pink. “So, is it fair to say that you like your job?”

“I do,” I say, rambling about my favorite things—first memories on the ice, injuries, comebacks.

“This is all really good stuff,” she says. “I think I’ve gotten more out of you than any other player. It’s refreshing. So, I think I’ve got just one final question.”

“Shoot,” I say, hoping it’s not something out of left field.

“So… what about your friends? Are you close with any of the guys here, or do you try to keep work and personal life separate? ”

Oh, good.