Page 2 of Her Hat Trick Daddies (Game On Daddies #3)

Leighton

“ I ’m so hungry I could eat a horse,” I blurt out as we step inside the mansion. “But with how tight this damn dress is, I’ll be lucky if I can get more than a few bites in before my stomach starts bulging out.”

Ava and the guys laugh. “Don’t worry. I’ll eat enough for the both of us,” she teases, a mischievous grin on her face.

I roll my eyes, my voice dripping with mock sarcasm. “Lucky you,” I drawl as she nudges my shoulder playfully.

Being around Ava lately has introduced me to the finer things in life, but this place still leaves me astounded.

Greek marble columns frame the entrance, and the grand double doors glow from behind, their tulip-patterned cut glass catching the light.

As we step inside, we’re greeted by a pair of attendants in Venetian masks, offering crystal flutes of champagne on silver trays, their movements synchronized like those of dancers.

A pristine foyer leads to an atrium reminiscent of a museum, complete with a colossal crystal chandelier and sweeping staircases that curve elegantly to the next level.

Live modern music with a classical twist, hums in the background, and a towering bouquet of fresh flowers fills the air with its sweet scent, so massive it would never fit through my apartment door back home.

Tonight, though, I’m not thinking about home. I plan to lose myself in this royal lifestyle.

An usher in a tux and white gloves leads us into the ballroom, where opulence takes on a whole new meaning.

The ceilings soar at least sixteen feet, the space large enough to fit the Avalanche’s rink with room to spare.

Iridescent ribbons drape from above, shimmering in the light, while floral arrangements burst from tall pedestals like fireworks.

The tables are set with fine china, polished silver, and cushioned chairs that belong in a Michelin-starred restaurant.

And servers greet us with endless options of appetizers.

High above us, a few aerialists are suspended in silky ribbons, their bodies twisting and dancing in slow, hypnotic movements, scattered artfully throughout the space like living chandeliers.

A string quartet plays just off the dance floor, their music drifting through the air like perfume.

It’s all so indulgent, so theatrical, it’s like stepping into a fantasy world.

Dinner is a lavish affair, each course more decadent than the last. God, if only I’d worn a damn tummy tuck under this dress, I could’ve indulged like a normal person. Instead, I’m nibbling like I’ve got a runway call time at dawn. Beauty over pain… and carbs, apparently.

Champagne flows freely, so between that and a few shots of top-shelf tequila, I’m deliciously tipsy by the time we hit the dance floor.

In public, Ava and her men avoid drawing attention, keeping their love quietly tucked behind knowing glances and subtle touches.

She mostly stays close to Sven, while Levi and Eric take turns dancing with me.

Their relationship remains a well-guarded secret, except for Sven.

Since his retirement, the world has learned that he found the love of his life and that they’re expecting a child together, giving him every reason to hold Ava a little closer, a little prouder.

At times, we all dance together as a group, laughing and twirling beneath the dazzling lights. Eventually, Ava, who’s now looking much more at ease, retreats to the table with Sven, leaving me in the capable hands of the defender and the goalie. And I don’t mind one bit.

After the next song, a slow thirst starts to creep in, curling deep in my chest and making my mouth crave something cool and crisp. Champagne would do the trick, sure, but it’s not just the bubbles I want. It’s the pull of curiosity, the heat of a glance not yet exchanged.

My gaze drifts toward one of the quieter bars tucked into a secluded corner of the mansion, half-hidden behind a statue and sweeping curtain of ivy.

Three men stand there, their energy magnetic even from across the room.

There’s something about the way they carry themselves—confident, relaxed, like they’re in on a secret—that lures me in.

And suddenly, the idea of getting a drink feels like more than just quenching a thirst.

“All right, boys,” I say, catching my breath. “I’m going to grab another drink. Thanks for the dance.”

“You want me to get it for you?” Eric offers, ever the gentleman.

I flash him a playful grin. “No, thank you. I think I spotted something I like over there.” I add a wink for good measure as I nod toward the corner.

Eric and Levi exchange a knowing look, matching smirks on their faces.

“Try not to start any trouble,” Levi teases. “We’re right here if you need anything.”

As I make my way toward the bar, the noise around me seems to fade, like someone gently turned down the volume of the party.

The lighting is softer here, casting a warm, golden glow over the sleek countertop and glinting off the bartender’s polished glassware.

He’s focused on his task, carefully wiping down the counter with the kind of attention that says he’s seen it all.

But it’s not him that has my pulse kicking up a notch.

It’s the three men standing just off to the side.

Their presence is impossible to ignore, like gravity pulling me in.

I’ve met almost everyone linked to the Avs by now—players, coaches, the whole crew—but here, in the maze of dresses, tuxedos, and masks, I can’t tell who’s who.

They all blend together. There’s nothing distinctive about their appearances now, just the blur of masks that keep their identities hidden.

And yet, I can’t shake the feeling that these three, wearing dark suits and their own signature masks, are somehow different.

Wolf. Lion. Jester. Each one watches me with an intensity that could melt my mask.

At a masquerade ball like this, I should probably be cautious. But tonight, the air thrums with unspoken energy. The way my mask hides my face and the buzz of champagne and tequila settling in, the way it empowers me to be something more than just Leighton, makes me take another step forward.

“What can I get for you, miss?” the bartender asks, his voice smooth and low, breaking the silence like the soft pop of a cork.

Another sip of champagne. Just a little conversation.

Nothing more.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

The moment I open my mouth to answer the bartender, one of the men speaks.

“That’s a gorgeous dress, darlin’,” he says, voice like soft gravel, low, rumbly. “That red suits you all the way to the ground.”

I curtsy, mimicking something I’ve only seen in movies. “Thank you. That’s nice of you to say.”

“It’s not,” he continues. Despite the full Jester’s mask of blue and ivory, I catch a glimpse of salt-and-pepper hair along his jawline. “It’s the damn truth. You’re collecting admirers tonight.”

A silver fox with a filthy mouth. Trouble never felt this good.

I glance around quickly, making sure he’s not attracting too much attention. The coast seems to be clear… for now, at least.

“And the ruby necklace is the perfect touch with your sparkly mask,” says Lion, his deep voice smooth as velvet beneath a brass lion’s face. “But it’s the woman wearing them who steals the breath from my lungs.”

Where Jester smiles, Lion roars, sharp fangs carved into the mask’s snarling face.

“Breathless, huh?” I tease, coiling a strand of hair around my finger as my lips curve into a smirk.

“That’s right,” he adds, clutching his chest theatrically, the unexpected silliness cracking through his confident aura and tugging a laugh from me.

“A friend helped pick it out,” I say. I tilt my head down, then peek up at him through my lashes, slowly licking my lips. His eyes immediately drop to my mouth.

Yeah, I saw that.

“Is your friend here tonight?” Lion asks.

I spin around, looking for Ava, but the motion dizzies me. Before I can right myself, a third man steadies me with warm, strong hands on my bare shoulders .

“Your skin is so soft,” he murmurs. He wears a pewter wolf mask, his mouth fully visible, and clean-shaven beneath it. He smirks.

“No,” I answer, turning just enough to avoid his gaze. “Looks like she went home.” I pull my phone from my clutch and see a message from her.

Ava : Couldn’t find you. Heading home with Sven to kick my feet up. Levi and Eric are still hanging out somewhere. The limo will come back for you guys. Have fun! Xoxo.

I quickly type off a reply before turning my gaze toward Wolf.

“I love dresses like this,” Wolf says. “All that exposed skin and a slit riding up the thigh like an invitation.” His eyes glide along my arms, my collarbone, and linger in a way that sends shivers chasing down my spine.

“And those heels are killer,” Jester adds.

They are killer. As in, they’re killing my feet. I had to practice walking and dancing in these four-inch sequined stilettos before I committed to wearing them. And now? They feel like a punishment, but are worth every ounce of pain for the way they complete my look.

We’re near an abstract statue and a staff cart tucked into a small alcove. Wolf keeps glancing at it like he wants to pull me behind it, out of sight. His palms are on my shoulders again, confident, lingering .

Under different circumstances, I might feel uneasy surrounded by strangers.

But this isn’t like slinging drinks at a dive back home.

We’re visible here, and this is a high-profile event.

Classy. Safe. And more than anything, these men don’t feel dangerous.

Well, maybe just dangerous to my restraint.

It’s just harmless flirting. Okay, more like bold, intoxicating flirting. Maybe it’s the champagne. Or the tequila. Or the masks.

“Any of you care to dance?” I purr, owning this new, untamed version of myself.

“Mmm,” Lion growls. “I’ve got first dibs, sweetheart.”