Page 12 of Made for Mayhem

“Occupational hazard.” He said it easily, like it was something he’d never questioned. “Take the hit so someone else doesn’t.”

I wasn’t sure what Huddy’s occupation was, but with every word, I was starting to understand him anyway.

The bar hummed around us—neon buzzing, classic rock low on the speakers, the TV flickering overhead. Somewhere between the L station and here, I realized I wasn’t thinking about how badly I already missed my sister. Or how terrified I was that I’d fail here, just like everyone always seemed to think I would.

I was just here, present, with him.

And I couldn’t decide if that was wonderful or terrifying.

3

When Daisy said I could probably use more time in the danger zone, I didn’t think this was what she meant.

Sitting across from a beautiful woman in my favorite bar wasn’t dangerous in the obvious ways. But the ease of it—the way she drew things out of me I usually kept locked down—was another story.

Reliable.

And I was, wasn’t I?

The first to drop my gloves for a teammate. The first to step in when my sister’s husband crossed a line. The first to smooth things over, fix what was broken, explain away my parents’ emotional blind spots.

I took hits, one after the next, and I stayed standing.

For the most part, I didn’t even mind it. I liked being needed. Liked knowing I mattered because I was useful.

What I didn’t like—and what sat heavy in my chest tonight—was realizing how rarely anyone stepped up for me in return. How empty the stands had felt at my last game. How quiet the end of it all had been.

Tonight, reliable felt invisible. And that didn’t feel good at all.

And then there was Daisy, throwing fries at my face when I tried to pull back in on myself.

She was everything I wasn’t—life instead of duty, laughter instead of silence. Sitting across from her, I didn’t feel like the guy who’d just kissed his only dream goodbye. I was still me—still a little solemn, still a little grumpy—but smiling more than I had in years.

“You’re something else, you know that?”

She grinned, taking it for the compliment it was. “I’ve been told that before.”

Gus reappeared a minute later, balancing two baskets in his hands. He slid two burgers in front of us, the smell of grilled beef and caramelized onions filling the booth.

“Here you go,” he said. “One Huddy Special. And one sacrilegious order with mayo on the side.”

Daisy clapped her hands together. “Perfect. Thank you.”

I rolled my eyes at the mayo, not convinced she wasn’t doing this to irritate me. Somehow, that felt very on brand.

She picked up her burger, inspecting it like a jeweler examining a diamond, then took an unapologetically massive bite. A soft, unfiltered sound slipped from her as she chewed, eyes fluttering closed like she’d forgotten I was sitting right there.

And just like that, my attention snagged on her mouth. The quick swipe of her tongue catching a smear of sauce at the corner of her lips. The satisfied curve of her smile when she swallowed, unconcerned with how she looked doing any of it.

Fuck, she was stunning—not in the shiny, curated way of the women who used to trail the team from city to city, all polished edges and practiced interest. Daisy was real. Unguarded. Like she hadn’t shown up tonight planning to be noticed at all.

Her long, wavy blonde hair was still a little wind-tossed and messy. The soft pink T-shirt and ripped jeans looked chosen for comfort, not effect, and when she shifted under the table, I caught a glimpse of scuffed high-top sneakers with hand-drawn flowers all over them.

She was curvy too—full hips, soft thighs, a body that looked warm and real and too easy to notice. The attraction hit fast, settling low before I reined it in.

I cleared my throat and forced my eyes elsewhere. “How old are you?”

The question came out more abrupt than I meant it to, but I didn’t take it back.