What was she doing in this part of the arena? he suddenly wondered. Only folks with ID badges were allowed back here.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, sweetheart,” boomed a male voice. “Shall we continue the tour—” Presley Houston broke out in a wide smile when he noticed Brody. “You played well out there tonight, Croft.”
“Thanks, Pres.” He looked from Hayden to Presley, wondering if he was missing something.
Then a hot spurt of jealousy erupted in his gut when he realized that Presley had called Hayden sweetheart.
Oh, fuck. Had he screwed around with Houston’s mistress?
A dose of anger joined the jealousy swirling through him. He eyed the woman he’d spent the night with, wanting to throttle her for hopping into bed with him when she was very much taken, but Presley’s next words quickly killed the urge and brought with them another shock.
“I see you’ve met my daughter Hayden.”
EIGHT
What was he doing here? And why hadn’t he told her he played for the Warriors?
Hayden blinked a few times. Maybe she was imagining his sleek, long body and devastatingly handsome face and the hair that curled under his ears as if he’d just stepped out of a steamy shower—
He’s not a hallucination. Deal with it.
All right, so her one-night stand was undeniably here, flesh and blood, and sexier than ever.
He also happened to be one of her dad’s players.
Was there a section in the league rule book about a player sleeping with the team owner’s daughter? She didn’t think so, but with all the rumors currently circulating about her father and the franchise, Hayden didn’t feel inclined to cause any more trouble for her dad.
Apparently, Brody felt the same way.
“It’s nice to meet you, Hayden.” His voice revealed nothing, especially not the fact that they were already very much...acquainted.
She shook his hand, almost shivering at the feel of his warm, calloused fingers. “Charmed,” she said lightly.
Charmed? Had she actually just said that?
Brody’s eyes twinkled, confirming that the idiotic reply had indeed come out of her mouth.
“Hayden is visiting us from San Francisco,” Presley explained. “She teaches art at Berkeley.”
“Art history, Dad,” she corrected.
Presley waved a dismissive hand. “Same difference.”
“What position do you play?” Hayden asked, her voice casual, neutral, as if she were addressing a complete stranger.
“Brody’s a left-winger,” Presley answered for him. “He’s one of our best players. A superstar.”
“Oh. Sounds exciting,” she said mildly.
Presley cut in once more. “It is. Right, Brody?”
Before Brody could answer, someone else snagged her dad’s attention. “There’s Stan. Excuse me for a moment.” He quickly marched away.
Hayden’s mouth curved mischievously. “Don’t mind him. He often takes over conversations only to leave you standing in his dust.” Her smile faded. “But you probably already knew that, seeing as you play for his team.”
“Does that bother you?” Brody asked carefully.
“Of course not,” she lied. “Why would it?”
“You tell me.”
She stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “Look, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell my father about what happened between us last night.”
“Okay, so you do remember.” Amusement danced in his eyes. “I was starting to think you’d put it out of your mind completely.”
Sure. Like that was even possible. She’d thought about nothing but this man and his talented tongue all day.
“I haven’t forgotten.” Her voice lowered. “But that doesn’t mean I want to do it again.”
“I think you do.”
The arrogance in his tone both annoyed her and thrilled her. Like, how hadn’t she figured out he was a hockey player last night? The man practically had pro athlete branded into his forehead. He was cocky, confident, larger-than-life. Something told her he was the kind of man who knew exactly what he wanted and did everything in his power to get it.
And what he wanted at the moment, disconcerting as it was, seemed to be her.
“Brody—”
“Don’t bother denying it. I rocked your world last night and you can’t wait for me to do it again.”
