Page 9 of Power Play Daddies (Miami Icemen #1)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Kieran

The parking lot’s damn near empty, which is perfect. The arena lights are dim, and the asphalt gleams from a light drizzle earlier.

I’ve got my helmet strapped on and my bike humming, ready to take a few laps before the sun dips. The place is usually deserted this time of evening. Nobody bothers me. That’s why I like it.

I turn the corner and—shit.

I slam the brakes, the tires screeching loudly against the pavement. There’s a figure dead in my path. Red hair. Red dress. And what the hell?

It’s her. Daisy Love. The stunning sports journalist who’s been lurking around for interviews.

She stumbles back, her drink splattering across the asphalt, and a bag hits the ground with a dull thud.

“Jesus, are you okay?” I yank off my helmet, my heart racing. “I didn’t see you!”

Her eyes are wide, but she’s still standing. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… startled.” She glances down at the mess. “Well, there goes my milkshake.”

I swing off the bike and crouch, grabbing the bag first. It’s heavier than it looks. “What’s this?” I unzip it halfway, catching sight of a broken lens. “Shit, is this your camera gear?”

Her face drops. “Oh no. Not the lens.” She crouches next to me, inspecting the damage.

“Looks busted.” I hand it over. “Do you have a backup?”

“Nope.” She sighs, pressing her lips together. “I need that for tomorrow.”

Damn. “All right, I’m replacing it.”

“What? No, you don’t have to do that.”

“I do. I was the asshole who almost ran you over. Plus, I’ve got a guy for this kind of thing. He’s fast. Let’s fix it tonight.”

She hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip. “You don’t have to?—”

“I insist.” I stand, brushing my hands off on my jeans. “You’ll need it for your interviews, right?”

“Yeah.” She exhales sharply, like she’s about to argue again, but then she nods. “Okay. Thank you.”

I study her face. Her mascara’s smudged, and her eyes are red-rimmed. Crying? “You all right?”

She waves a hand, clearly brushing it off. “Long day.”

I’m not buying it, but I let it slide. “The place is across town. How about we ride there now? I’ll get your lens, and we can grab you another milkshake.”

“Ride?” she squeaks.

“Yeah.” I nod. “So we can beat the traffic.”

She glances down at her heels. “On your motorcycle? In these?”

“Take ’em off.”

She blinks. “What?”

“Take off your shoes. I’ll carry them. You can’t ride in heels.”

She glances around the empty lot like someone might be watching, then back at me. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious. C’mon, you already know where I work. I’m not a serial killer.”

That gets a laugh out of her, soft but real. “Fine.” She slips out of the heels, holding them awkwardly.

I take them from her and toss them, along with her bag, into the compartment on the back of my bike. “Locked your car?”

She nods.

“All right. Ever ridden before?”

“Nope.”

“First time for everything.” I grab my spare helmet and hand it to her. “Here, put this on.”

She fumbles with the strap, so I help her, my fingers brushing against her jaw. Her skin’s soft, and she smells like citrus and vanilla. Fuck me.

“All right,” I say, stepping back. “Hop on.”

She stares at the bike like it’s about to bite her. “I’m not sure about this.”

“You’ll be fine. Just hold onto me.”

Her hands hover over my shoulders, tentative.

“Tighter,” I tell her. “You don’t wanna fall off.”

She wraps her arms around my waist, and I swear I could get drunk on that scent. “Comfortable?”

“Scared.”

“You’ll be okay, I promise.” I smirk, kick the bike into gear, and we take off.

She lets out a small gasp as we pull onto the road, but she doesn’t scream. That’s a good sign.

“You okay back there?” I call over my shoulder.

“I think so!” she shouts back.

I keep the ride smooth, easing into turns and keeping the speed steady. She’s got her arms tight around me, and it’s distracting as hell. Every time she shifts or adjusts her grip, I’m way too aware of her body pressed against mine.

We hit a stoplight, and I glance back. “How’s it going?”

She lifts the visor on the helmet, her hair a mess. “Not as terrifying as I thought.”

“Told you.” The light changes, and we’re off again.

We reach the shop a few minutes later. I park the bike and she slides off, smoothing her dress. Her bare feet touch the pavement, and she winces.

“Hang on.” I grab her shoes from the back and hand them over.

“Thanks.” She slips them on, looking around. “This where your guy is?”

“Yep.” I lead her inside. The place is small, crammed with gear. My buddy Raul is behind the counter, flipping through a magazine.

“Kieran.” He grins. “Long time, man.”

“Raul, I need a lens. Fast.” I motion to Daisy. “She had an accident.”

Raul’s eyes dart between us, a smirk tugging at his lips. “An accident, huh?”

“Not like that,” I snap.

Daisy laughs softly, shaking her head. “My lens broke. He offered to help.”

Raul raises a brow, clearly enjoying himself. “Got it. Let me see what I’ve got.”

While Raul disappears into the back, Daisy leans against the counter. “Thanks again. Seriously.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She studies me for a second. “So… you do this often?”

“What?”

“Ride around parking lots on your motorcycle.”

I chuckle. “Keeps me sane. I like the open space, no traffic. What about you? What were you doing at the arena so late?”

“Finishing up prep for interviews.” She sighs, looking tired. “Didn’t realize how late it was.”

Raul returns, holding a lens. “This work?”

Daisy inspects it, her eyes lighting up. “It’s perfect.”

“All right.” Raul punches some numbers into the register. “For you, Kieran, I’ll knock off twenty percent.”

“Appreciate it.” I pay him, then hand the lens to Daisy.

She smiles, genuinely this time. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did. Let’s get outta here.”

Back on the bike, she’s more relaxed, her grip less rigid. I take a detour, pulling into a diner parking lot.

“What’s this?” she asks as she climbs off.

“You need that milkshake.”

We grab a booth inside, and I order two shakes. She sips hers slowly, looking out the window.

“You seem… better,” I say.

She shrugs. “It’s been a day.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.”

Fair enough. We sit in silence for a bit, the hum of the diner filling the space. I don’t press her. She doesn’t owe me her life story.

When we’re done, I take her back to her car at the arena.

“Thanks again,” she says, slipping her bag over her shoulder.

“Anytime.”

She hesitates, then leans up, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek. “Goodnight, Kieran.”

And just like that, she’s gone, leaving me standing there like an idiot, wondering how the hell this night happened.

The motorcycle hums beneath me, the rumble steady, and the cool evening air wraps around me like a jacket I don’t want to take off. Daisy’s citrus-and-vanilla scent lingers in my helmet, clinging to my skin, my clothes.

I circle the parking lot again, the pavement smooth beneath the tires, leaning into each turn like I’m chasing the high of her arms wrapped around me. Her laugh, soft and startled when we hit that first sharp curve, plays on repeat in my head.

Shit, I should’ve asked her out. Properly, I mean. Instead of just dumping her back at her SUV like I was doing her a favor.

I take one more loop, pulling into a sharp stop near the arena’s exit.

The sun’s dipping low, painting everything in warm amber and deep blue. Gorgeous, but not quite as gorgeous as Daisy Love standing there earlier, hair glowing in the light, that red dress fitting her like it was painted on. My pulse picks up just thinking about it.

My stomach growls. Right. Food. I know exactly where I’m heading.