Page 8 of Power Play Daddies (Miami Icemen #1)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Daisy

My uncle walks up, his steps measured and steady, like he’s sizing me up for the millionth time. His badge glints under the fluorescent lights of the arena hallway. “You ready to get started, Daisy?”

I nod, lifting my camera slightly. “Almost. I wanted to do some test shots first, make sure the lighting isn’t gonna ruin anything.”

“Smart,” he says, glancing at the overhead setup. “I’ll send someone to help you out.”

I can’t tell if that’s a polite dismissal or him genuinely being helpful, but I don’t argue. The guy has a schedule to keep, and I’ve got work to do.

Five minutes later, I’m crouched over my equipment, adjusting the lens, when someone clears his throat behind me.

“Need a hand?”

I look up and blink at Ford Hale, the Icemen’s star goalie. “You’re my help?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Yeah. Coach told me to, uh, pay it forward or whatever. Apparently, being late to practice three times this week comes with chores.”

I snort. “Guess I’m your punishment?”

“Could be worse,” he says, flashing a grin. “I could be cleaning out the locker room.”

“Well, let’s not waste your parole time, then.” I hand him a reflector. “Stand over there and hold this steady.”

We work through the test shots quickly, the camera clicking as I adjust angles and lighting. Ford’s surprisingly patient, even cracking a few jokes about the team’s game faces.

“This good?” he asks, holding the reflector up higher.

“Perfect,” I say, stepping back to check the images on my camera. “Okay, we’re set.”

Ford leans against the wall, crossing his arms. “So, what’s the plan? You snapping candids, or making us look like runway models?”

“Bit of both,” I say with a shrug. “I’ll start with group shots, then move on to individuals. You guys will come in one by one.”

“Great. Let’s see who shows up first.”

Ace must’ve sent out a message because, within minutes, players start trickling in.

Tanner “T” King is first, all swagger and sharp cheekbones.

“You’re Daisy, right?” he says, his voice smooth as silk.

“That’s me,” I reply, lining him up in front of the backdrop. “Stand there. Relax your shoulders a bit.”

“Relax? I’m always relaxed,” he says, smirking.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, sure. Try not to look like you’re about to sell cologne in a cheesy ad.”

He laughs, and I snap a few shots.

Rhett Collins follows, quieter but just as intense.

“You’re the photographer?” he asks.

“Journalist,” I correct. “Photography’s part of the gig.”

He nods, stepping into position.

“Look straight at the lens,” I say, adjusting the focus.

“Like this?”

“Perfect. Hold that.”

He doesn’t say much else, but his presence is steady, like he’s used to being the anchor for those around him.

Then there’s Asher Hart, who winks the moment he walks in.

“Don’t flirt with me,” I warn, not even looking up.

“Who said I was flirting?” he says, feigning innocence.

“Your face,” I shoot back.

He laughs, and I catch the perfect shot mid-grin.

One by one, the players come in: Ryder Blackwell with his no-nonsense vibe, Kieran Donovan with a boy-next-door charm, and Hunter Grayson, who looks like he stepped straight out of an action movie.

Each of them brings something different to the session, and I’m in the zone, capturing their personalities through the lens.

The last to walk in is Beau.

My stomach knots the second I see him. His jaw’s tight, and his eyes are cold. Gone is the man who had me gasping his name just days ago.

“Hey,” I say cautiously.

He doesn’t reply.

“Beau—”

“Let’s just get this done,” he snaps, cutting me off. “I’ve got shit to do.”

The words hit like a slap, but I force myself to stay professional. “Fine. Stand there.”

He moves into position, his body tense like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Look at the camera,” I say, keeping my tone steady.

His gaze locks on the lens, and I snap a few shots, the clicks of the camera echoing in the silence.

“Okay,” I say, lowering the camera. “We’re done.”

He steps back, already turning to leave.

“Beau, wait.”

He stops but doesn’t face me.

“We need to talk,” I say softly.

He exhales sharply, like the effort of staying is physically painful. “What’s there to talk about? You got your scoop. Now I’ve got nothing to say.”

His tone is frigid, and before I can respond, he’s gone.

I spend the rest of the day trying to shake off the encounter, but it lingers like a storm cloud.

Back at my laptop, I compile questions for the sports piece, my fingers flying over the keys. But no matter how hard I focus, my mind keeps drifting back to Beau—his anger, his coldness, and the way his eyes refused to meet mine.

“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath.

If he thinks he can just shut me out like that, he’s got another think coming.

It’s almost noon, and my stomach growls loud enough to make me wince.

I shut my laptop, satisfied that the questions for Janice are done. At least that part is handled. She’ll probably rip them apart, but for now, I’ve got a lead, and that’s enough.

I toss my camera bag over my shoulder and glance at my phone. Lunch. That’s the plan. But first, I want to swing by Ace’s office. Let him know things are running smoothly—or as smoothly as they can when I’ve got Beau fucking Callahan ignoring me like I don’t exist.

The Miami Ice Arena is quiet, the hum of the air conditioning the only sound as I make my way to Ace’s office. I knock once and push the door open.

“Hey, Ace.”

He looks up from his laptop, his ever-present clipboard resting on the desk. “Daisy, how’s it going? Everything good?”

I nod, setting my bag down on the chair. “Yeah, the equipment’s in the media room. Is it secure in there?”

Ace waves me off. “All the rooms are locked up after hours. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Good, because if someone swipes my lights, I’m billing the team,” I joke, but he chuckles like I’m serious.

“Daisy, meet Leo Vega,” Ace says, motioning to the man standing near the file cabinet.

Leo turns and extends a hand, his grip firm. “Assistant coach. Nice to meet you.”

“Daisy Love,” I reply, smiling. “Nice to meet you, too.”

Leo leans against the cabinet, crossing his arms. “So, how long have you been a journalist?”

“Oh, a few years now,” I say, trying to sound casual. “I’ve always loved the Miami Herald . It was my dream to work there ever since I was a kid.”

“And your dad?” Leo asks.

The mention of him makes my stomach twist. But my dad was a local legend of sorts, so I’m not too surprised. I glance at Ace, who suddenly seems very interested in his clipboard.

“Yeah, my dad was big into sports,” I say, forcing a smile and avoiding my uncle completely. “He’s the reason I’m here, I guess.”

Leo nods but doesn’t push. “Well, most of the players have left for the day, but there might still be a few in the locker room. You planning to take more pictures? Have you been to the locker room yet?”

“I was hoping to snap a few for my Instagram. Create some buzz for the article.”

Leo grins. “I’ll take you.”

“Thanks,” I say, grabbing my bag.

We walk through the maze of hallways, Leo pointing out random things like the weight room and the lounge. When we reach the locker room, he pauses.

“This is it,” he says, pushing the door open.

The smell of sweat and whatever industrial cleaner they use hits me first. It’s not bad, just… locker room.

As we step inside, voices echo from around the corner. I catch the tail end of a crude joke, followed by loud laughter.

“I’m telling you, the sex was whack anyway,” one guy says, still laughing. “No way I’m going there again. Too complicated, especially with us working together.”

“That’s harsh, man,” another voice replies. “If you’re not into it, fine, but… I might give it a try again.”

“Go for it,” the first voice says, snorting. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. You’ll be disappointed.”

My stomach drops. I know that voice.

Leo clears his throat loudly. “Boys, behave. We’ve got company.”

Two heads snap up, both of them staring at me like I’ve caught them mid-crime. Mason Hayes and Beau fucking Callahan.

Beau’s eyes widen for a split second before his expression shutters. He looks away, jaw tight.

I stare at him, the words replaying in my head. The sex was whack. Too complicated.

Fuck him.

“Need more pictures?” Leo asks, his tone too bright, too casual.

I shake my head, gripping my camera strap like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. “No. I have enough.”

“Daisy—” Beau starts, stepping toward me.

“No,” I snap, holding up a hand. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

I spin on my heel and storm out of the locker room, ignoring Leo’s concerned look.

Beau calls after me, his voice sharp, but I don’t turn around. I can’t. Not without losing it completely.

The parking lot is sweltering, the Miami sun beating down mercilessly. I unlock my car, tossing my bag onto the passenger seat before climbing in.

I sit there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, trying to breathe.

How could he?

How could he say that?

I blink rapidly, refusing to cry. Not here. Not over him.

Instead, I start the car and drive, no destination in mind. I just need to get away, put some distance between me and Beau fucking Callahan.