Page 40 of Grizz

Daisy.

Last night plays in an endless loop in my mind.Her legs wrapped around me.Her voice saying no before screaming my name.The way she looked right after—kiss-swollen mouth, hair a mess, cheeks flushed.

And I hate myself for replaying it.

No.That’s not even true.I like replaying it.Too much.That’s the part that scares the hell out of me.

Daisy’s so different from any other woman I’ve been with.Different in all the ways that matter.Different in ways that are both amazing and a fucking nightmare.She doesn’t put up with my shit, doesn’t shrink, doesn’t look at me as though the entire world hinges on my mood.

She stands up to me.And I don’t like that… except I kind of do.

The ball skitters off toward the trainers’ room and I swear under my breath as I trot after it.

This is what happens when I let someone get into my head and let myself get too close to a reality I can’t control.Sex is supposed to be simple: release, forget, move on.Last night wasn’t that.

And now she’s everywhere in my thoughts, in places I don’t want her.

The way she kissed me like she wanted to win the kiss.The way she touched me like she was trying to memorize a body she wasn’t allowed to keep.The way she looked at me afterward, trying so hard to make it seem like it didn’t mean anything.

It meant something.Or maybe it didn’t.I can’t figure it out.

I bend down, scoop up the soccer ball, and take a slow breath, letting the country music fade into the next track.Chris Stapleton now—gritty voice, emotional lyrics.Not exactly helping.

I should text her.Or avoid her entirely and pretend last night never happened.

But none of those options feel clean.

“Yo, Grizz!”

Tanner pops around the corner, grinning.“Jesus, been calling your name like twenty times.You coming?Power play meeting in ten.”His grin widens when he gets a good look at me.“Damn.You look like shit.You sleep okay?”

“I slept fine,” I lie.

“Hmm.”He wiggles his eyebrows.“Does this have anything to do with our favorite PR princess?”

I spin the ball on my finger.“Don’t start.”

He smirks, knowing exactly what that means.“So something did happen.”

“Nothing happened.”

He whistles low.“Liar.”

I meet his eyes, dead serious.“Cut the shit, Tanner.”

He blinks in surprise, hands up.“All right.Damn.Sensitive subject.Didn’t know you were already in your feels.”

I walk past him before he can see the truth on my face because he’s not wrong.Not about the feels, not exactly, but about the fact that something’s different today.

Daisy Turner is the reason for it.

And I can’t decide if I want to run straight through it or run like hell the other way.

As we head toward the dressing room, I crank the volume on my music until the bass rattles through my ribs.Country fades into rap right as we reach the doors—my signal, my gear shift, the moment I flip from human to weapon.But today, the switch sticks halfway, jammed.

The power play meeting drones on, the same spiel from the coaches as usual.Makes me wonder if they ever put thought into these or if they use it as a way to make sure we’re all dialed in for the game.Once it’s over, I gear up with the rest of the team and before I know it, it’s game time.

I’m usually gone the second the puck drops.