Page 7 of Power Play Daddies (Miami Icemen #1)

CHAPTER SIX

Mason

The sun’s barely up as I paddle out onto the water, the waves smooth, almost glassy. It’s the kind of morning you dream about—perfect conditions, no crowds, just me and the ocean.

My board cuts through the water effortlessly as I wait for a good one. I don’t have to wait long.

A wave rolls in, just the right size. I position myself, pop up with ease, and immediately feel the rush. The wave carries me forward, the spray hitting my face as I ride it all the way to shore.

It’s like time slows down. Every twist, every turn on the wave feels natural, like I’ve done this a thousand times. My arms move fluidly, my body adjusting with every shift in the wave’s motion. I’m grinning like a fool, enjoying every second of it.

This is why I wake up early, why I make time for the surf—nothing beats the feeling of conquering a perfect wave.

I catch a few more before I finally decide to call it quits. I paddle back to shore, my muscles already starting to ache from the adrenaline, but it’s a good kind of pain. I make it to the sand, rolling off the board and walking back to the beach like I own the place.

After a quick stretch, I grab my towel, wiping the salt water from my face before tossing it around my neck. Time to get moving.

I pull on my sweatpants, the kind that are loose but still fit just right. The waistband’s snug enough to keep everything in place but not tight enough to feel uncomfortable. It’s a good look.

I check my phone—ten minutes to get to practice. Perfect.

I jog over to my car, my feet still wet from the surf, and slip on my flip-flops. I hop into the car. The engine hums to life, and I make my way down the street, my mind already shifting gears from the peaceful surf session to the intensity of practice.

As I pull up to a juice place, the sign neon and bright, I decide I could use a little something extra today. I swing into the parking lot and park, grabbing my wallet from the passenger seat.

Walking inside, the air smells fresh and fruity. I order my usual juice, which has kiwi in it, as well as a bunch of other healthy stuff. It’s packed with vitamins. It makes me feel like I’ve done something good for my body.

I refuse to ask how much sugar is in the drink.

“One green detox, coming right up!” the guy behind the counter says, his voice upbeat.

I thank him, take the juice, and step back outside into the morning sunshine. I can already feel the buzz of energy hitting me.

I sip it, feeling it slide down my throat, and then I head to the matcha place right across the street. I’m not a coffee guy, but matcha? Yeah, that’s my jam.

“Matcha latte with oat milk?” the barista asks when I step up to the counter.

“Yep, make it extra strong,” I reply, handing over my card.

He nods, getting it ready. I do the same thing every time, but I like the routine. Matcha in hand, I walk back to my car, about to hop in when my phone rings.

It’s my mom. Of course.

“Hey, Mom,” I say, answering before it can go to voicemail.

“Mason, sweetheart, did you get the ashwagandha I sent you?” Her voice is sweet, doting, like it’s her mission to take care of me, even though I’m twenty-six and fully capable of handling my own shit.

“I did. I got it. Don’t worry,” I say, grinning. She’s been sending me all sorts of vitamins and herbs lately.

“And are you taking your vitamins? You need to keep your energy up! Are you using your sunscreen?” She’s all over it, like always.

“Yep, sunscreen’s in the bag, and I’m popping my vitamins like a good boy,” I say, humor in my voice.

“You’re my only child, and I just… I can’t help myself. I just want you to be healthy.”

“I know, Mom. You’re the best,” I say, rolling my eyes, but there’s no annoyance in my voice. I love how much she cares.

“And remember, video chat tomorrow, okay? I want to see your face,” she adds.

“Promise, I’ll call you tomorrow,” I say, smiling.

“Love you, honey,” she says, before adding, “I’m off to book club. We’ll talk later. Love you.”

“I love you, too,” I reply and hang up.

I’m about to start my car when I see her—at least a few cars over, struggling with the back of her SUV. She’s got heels on, the kind that make a statement, and a red dress that’s clinging to her in all the right places. But it’s the way the hem rides up just enough that makes me stop in my tracks.

Her red hair glows in the morning light, and I can’t help but stare. She’s got this… energy about her. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something about her draws me in.

I’m out of the car before I even think about it. My feet move without hesitation.

“Need some help?” I ask, already walking toward her.

She looks up, her eyes locking onto mine, and for a second, I forget everything—practice, the car, the matcha. All that matters is her.

She gives me a quick smile, a little surprised. “I’ve got it, thanks,” she says, but her voice is warm.

I take another step closer. “I’m sure you do, but you’re struggling there. Let me grab that for you.”

She hesitates, but after a beat, she hands me the bag she’s been wrestling with. I take it, and she finally laughs. “Okay, okay, you win.”

“Good,” I say, smiling back. “I don’t lose that often.”

And just like that, the game’s on.

I pop the last of her gear into the back of her SUV. Camera equipment. Looks like she’s got a whole setup back there. Tripod, lights, some kind of bag full of lenses. Damn. No wonder she was struggling.

“Got it,” I say, sliding the last bag into place, making sure it’s secured properly. I shut the trunk, dusting my hands off.

She smiles at me, this slow, knowing grin that makes me pause for a second. “Thank you. My photographer was supposed to help with this, but he got food poisoning,” she explains, shaking her head. “I’m on my own today.”

“No problem, I’m glad. Not about your guy, though,” I say with a shrug.

We both laugh a little, and I offer my hand. “I’m Mason.”

She takes it, her handshake firm. “Daisy Love,” she says, her name rolling off her tongue. She holds my hand a little longer than necessary, and I’m not complaining.

I’m about to let go when her eyes widen, and she blinks a few times, like she’s processing something. “Wait… I know you,” she says. There’s a pause, and then, “You play for the Miami Icemen.”

Shit.

The word “puck bunny” flashes through my mind.

Puck bunnies are the kind of fans who love the game but love the players more. They’re the groupies who hang around the locker room, the ones who’ll throw themselves at anyone with a stick and a jersey.

I don’t know if Daisy’s one of them, but I sure as hell don’t want to deal with that today.

I force a smile, trying to keep things light. “Yeah, that’s me,” I say, hoping my tone doesn’t sound too tight.

She looks at me, kind of studying me, like she’s got a theory brewing. “I’m actually headed to the arena,” she adds.

“Yeah?” I say, raising an eyebrow, trying to mask the tension creeping up. “For what?”

She pulls out a lanyard from her cleavage. “I’m not a stalker,” she says, catching my glance. “Just a fan. And a sports journalist.”

I let out a breath. “Oh, shit. I had no idea,” I admit, scratching the back of my neck.

“I’m supposed to start interviews today,” she says, shifting her weight to one side, clearly comfortable in her skin. “You and some of the other players.”

I nod, eyeing her camera again. “Ah. So what’re you doing here, then?”

She points to the camera. “Getting this.”

“Got it,” I say. “I was coming for my matcha, but now I’m headed to the arena, so…” I trail off, letting her fill in the blanks.

She nods. “Okay.”

I’m about to get in my car, but something clicks in my brain.

“Hey, you could follow me. I’ll help you unload when we get there,” I offer. My words sound casual enough, but honestly? I just want to see more of her.

She looks surprised for a second, but then gives me a grateful smile. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

I slide back into my car, feeling a little giddy. Daisy’s a damn bombshell, and I’m not exactly in any rush to get away from her. As I pull out of the lot, I see another woman approach my car.

“Hey, Mason,” she says, flashing a flirty smile. I don’t have time for any random hookups today, not when I’ve got this journalist in tow.

“Hey,” I reply, keeping it short, hoping Daisy doesn’t catch on.

Daisy’s still in her SUV, waiting, so I exchange pleasantries with the other woman for a minute, then we drive to the arena. As Daisy is stepping out of her car, I feel the need to explain. “That was Avery Park back there. She’s with the team. Our physical therapist.”

Daisy just nods, eyes sharp. “You two… kind of dated?”

I smirk, not really wanting to get into it, but I’m not one to lie. “Yeah, we did. Nothing serious, though.”

Daisy looks intrigued. “Really? Is it… messy working with someone you dated?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Nah. We were just having fun, no strings attached.”

Her eyes widen a little. “Wait, what? You mean you two were… just casual?”

I laugh again, feeling a little cocky. “Yeah. And there was this other guy on the team… we used to share sometimes. It was a mutual understanding, all grown-ups, you know?”

She stops dead in her tracks for a second, clearly shocked. “Oh… wow,” she says, eyes wide.

I shrug, leaning against my car. “Hey, it worked for us. No harm, no foul.”

Daisy doesn’t seem like she’s sure what to say. “You’re… interesting.”

I grin. “Only off the record, though.”

She nods quickly. “Of course.”

I look over at her, trying to gauge if she’s into me or if I’m just one of the players she’s excited to interview. “I hope to see more of you, Daisy,” I say as I carry her equipment into the building.

She smiles back, that same confident grin, and shrugs. “Okay, Mason. We’ll see.”