Page 5 of Her Puck Daddies

But now? I’m onto their game.

Some women will do anything to get our attention, share our limelight, or have us spend money on them. And that’s not even mentioning the ones who go full-blown stalker mode.

This one, though—she doesn’t give off that vibe. Not at the bar. Not during our night in that hotel suite.

But now? Now I’m wondering how the hell she ended up on our flight. It’s too convenient. And the longer I stare at her, the more it smells fishy.

Were we wrong about her?

Could she be a gold digger? A puck bunny with an elaborate scheme? Someone looking to screw us over?

I cross my arms. "Interesting how we went from sharing a room a couple days ago to sitting on the exact same flight. Care to explain why you're flying from Newark to Denver?"

"Dude… keep your voice down before passengers start pulling out their cameras," Eric warns, smacking my arm. I shift uncomfortably, hating that he’s right. Thankfully, this isn’t a full flight.

I still need answers. What is she hiding?

If she’s not a gold digger, is she a reporter willing to sleep with the three of us for an exclusive exposé? A member of the paparazzi? Some scandal-hunting opportunist looking to stir up shit?

Because if the hockey world caught wind of our off-ice activities, it wouldn’t just be a minor controversy. It would be a fucking disaster.

Sven, Eric, and I? We aren’t exactly vanilla in the bedroom.

“You don’t have the right to interrogate her,” Sven says, throwing me a glare.

I could throttle him for taking the same tone as Eric. They’re being so naïve.

Not just any woman would willingly head up to a hotel room with three guys built like us. But she was different. There was something about her, something that set her apart from the rest.

And yet, my gut twists with panic.

Did we just make the biggest mistake of our careers?

Sven must sense my spiraling, because he grips my shoulder, and Eric does the same on the other side. Like they’re trying to keep me from charging.

Meanwhile, the flight attendant helps Hottie to her feet. She’s stable enough, though the movement wracks her chest with coughs. Eric sneezes again.

That flight attendant needs to chill with the disinfectant spray, or whatever it is.

Then, she speaks—hoarse, but steady. “You might not believe me, but I’m heading to Denver for the same reason you are.”

I frown. That makes zero sense.

The only reason we were in Newark was for a charity event—a scrimmage with the Devils to raise money for kids with disabilities. It’s something I’m genuinely passionate about. Kids deserve all the support they can get, and if I can use my platform for good, then I’m all in. But that’s not the issue here. The issue is that Hottie’s claim is driving me up a wall. The photos and story from the event won’t even hit the press until tomorrow, so unless she’s some kind of media plant looking for more scoop about the piece, what the hell could she possibly mean?

Eric gives her a puzzled look. “Huh?”

She draws in a breath, like she’s about to drop a bomb. “We have the same employer.”

The words slam into me like a body check.

The confusion and anger start to take over, and I feel myself bristling. “What the hell are you talking about?” My voice is tight, controlled, but sharp—like a blade. And this time, neither Sven nor Eric steps in to shut me up. I guess they’re finally on the same page as me.

I’ve got enough on my plate already, with my parents in a senior center losing their memory day after day, and my older sister in Florida who could care less about helping them or me out. I can’t even begin to process this new chaos right now. Hottie? The same employer? What?

“The morning after I… met you,” she says carefully, “I got a job offer from Cecille Chiang.”

Cecille. Our office manager. The one who hires staff for the team.