Page 66 of Her Puck Daddies

Barb isn’t some timid PR rep. She’s six feet tall, sharp as a blade, and has zero problems steamrolling anyone who gets in her way. I’ve seen her handle the press like a damn assassin, making sure the team is always seen in the best light. She’s tough as nails.

Which is why I have an unsettling feeling when she takes one fleeting look at me and then immediately yanks her gaze away. Barb’s been in the locker room. She has seen me and every other guy on this team in nothing but a towel.

Whythe hell is she acting skittish now?

I force a sleepy, confused expression, ruffling my hair like I just rolled out of bed. "What can I do for you two?"

My voice is casual, slow, maybe even a little bleary. But inside? It’s like a five-alarm fire is ripping through my chest. Because out of all the people in the organization, this particular duo showing up unannounced could only mean one thing. And that’s bad news.

“Sorry to get you out of bed on an off day, Hinter, but it’s important.” Coach blusters past me and into the apartment despite me not welcoming him in. Barb pauses on the threshold before scooting in after him.

Okay, then.

I shut the door behind them, praying that no one in the other rooms trips or bumps into a lamp or something.

“What’s going on?”

My gaze drifts to Barb, seated on my couch, the same couch where my three teammates and I had Ava a few hours ago. There’s a visible spot mere inches from where her hand rests, one I’m pretty sure is a mix of our bodily fluids.

I catch a glimpse of pale pink on the carpet—Ava’s silky panties—sticking out from beside the sofa. Without hesitating, I march over and casually toe them beneath the sofa, praying neither coach nor Barb noticed.

The scent of sex still lingers in the air. Subtle, but there. I stride over to the kitchen, cracking the window open just enough to let fresh air in.

Coach lets out a heavy breath, nodding toward Barb. She retrieves something from her purse, a small, discreet bag that blends in with her sweater. With a clink, she sets something on the end table, positioned between us.

"That arrived in the general mail at team headquarters, addressed to you, Corolla, and Schwartz," coach says, rubbing the bridge of his nose like this whole thing is already giving him a migraine.

Barb finally speaks, her tone measured. "I’m not sure how long it sat unopened in a bubble mailer. It came in with the usual fan mail that my assistants go through, but they give me anything that isn’t… normal. So, I open packages with devices in them myself. Just to check for malware, viruses, that kind of thing."

We get fan mail all the time. Letters from kids. Handmade crafts. Explicit shit from puck bunnies. But whatever this is? It’s not any of that.

I lean forward, my pulse spiking as I take in the small object on my glass end table.

It’s a thumb drive.

The hairs on my neck stand on end before I even have the details. Because I’m sure that whatever’s on that drive is bad news.

“Go ahead,” coach gestures, pacing along the length of my couch. “Stick it in your computer.”

"It’s safe," Barb assures. "I ran a malware check."

But my gut tells me otherwise. Still, I do as I’m told. A video file pops up. The footage is grainy at first, then the camera zooms in. I realize my laptop is muted and turn up the volume. And the second I do, I regret it.

Because by the time I recognize what I’m seeing, voices come through loud and clear. Voices I know…

“She feel good, Odds?” That is undeniably Levi’s voice, and Eric who replies to him, his words rough and desperate. “The sweetest fucking sin.”

I observe the monitor closely, showing a woman pinned under him, just as she moans out her pleasure with a declaration made up more of nonsensical noise rather than words.

Myfinger slams the mouse, pausing the video so fast my knuckle cracks. My eyes lock onto the screen, my breath stalled in my chest. The angle is weird, off, but the quality is too damn good. The faces? Crystal fucking clear.

Muting it again, I let the footage roll just long enough to see myself enter the frame. Then, I slam the laptop shut, my pulse pounding in my ears. I’m not easily shaken. But this caught me off guard.

"Where did this come from?" I ask, my throat burning, heat boiling up from my gut like acid.

I don’t bother asking if they’ve seen it. The answer is obvious. They have. They absolutely have.

Barb is staring hard at her clasped hands, avoiding my gaze like it might burn her. I don’t blame her.