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“I bet Miss Georgia would be happy to rub your muscles for you,” shouts Deacon, our top defenseman.
“What?” I ask him, confused. “That was random.”
Deacon grabs a towel and strides off toward the showers, grinning. “No, it wasn’t. I’m pretty sure that was Savannah Jones was sitting with your family today. She looks as hot now as she did when she was 18—better if you ask me.”
I yell back, “Her name is Anna Blackwood, and she’s Penelope’s new nanny. And before any of you heathens try to make a play for her, she’s off-limits!” I use two fingers to point to my eyes, then flip them around and make sure each of the guys knows I’m serious.
Swank rests his elbow on my shoulder, “I don’t know about you boys, but that sounds like a challenge if I ever heard one!”
The team yells in unison, “Challenge accepted!”
I throw them all scathing looks and push Swank’s elbow off my shoulder. “Seriously, guys, there will be no Sunday barbeque if you can’t contain yourselves. Remember that my dad is going to be smoking a brisket, so the choice is yours!”
“Is Martha going to be making her loaded baked potato salad?” Brandon, one of our goalies, yells.
“What about her Sriracha deviled eggs?” shouts another. “I’ll play nice for some of your mom’s eggs!”
I ignore them all, and by the time I’m done showering and getting dressed, most of the team has already left. I see Swank waiting for me by my locker, watching something on his phone. “What are you looking at? You’ve been staring at that screen for at least three minutes.”
His mouth quirks up, and he hands me the phone, “I can see why Deacon thought that Anna was Savannah Jones.”
I take the phone from him and glance at the picture. “That’s not her. She’s far too thin, has brown hair, and her eyes don’t sparkle when she smiles.”
He grabs his phone out of my hands and stares at the picture intently. “I don’t know. Women can color their hair and gain weight. Wait! You’ve taken the time to notice that Anna’s eyes sparkle? Do you have a thing for the nanny?”
“No! Um…I mean, not really. It’s stupid.”
Swank puts his arm around me, “Bro, you’re not stupid. Okay, maybe compared to Penny, you are, but not to us regular folks. What’s going on?”
“Why have you been so touchy-feely lately?” I ask, pushing his arm off me again. He stands there with his lower lip out, looking like a dejected puppy who had his favorite chew toy taken away. “Can you keep a secret?”
“I’m like a vault! You can tell me anything!” He rubs his hands together excitedly, ready for some juicy gossip.
I lean in and whisper, even though it’s just the two of us. “I think Anna is hiding something from us, and I plan to find out what. I’m going to shower her with kindness and get her to open up.”
Based on my cadence and the way the words sort of rhyme, he points at me and laughs, “You’re a poet and didn’t know it!”
“Knock it off, Swank.”
“Maybe she’s hiding a secret identity and is really Savannah Jones in disguise! Maybe she’s some secret agent or a criminal hiding out from the law!” he exclaims.
I grab my duffle bag and head for the door, waving off his silly comments. “Let’s go. My family is probably worried about us after the beatings we took today on the ice.”
I forget all about Swank behind me when I stop in my tracks at the sight of my family in front of me. I hadn’t taken the time earlier to appreciate the view, too preoccupied with my discussion with Patricia. Mom smiles wide and walks up to hug me, “How’s my baby? Are you going to be able to play tomorrow?”
I hug her back and give her the answer she wants to hear. “I’m going to be fine, Mom. But if you’re all going to attend the game tomorrow, there is something I need to take care of first.”
She chortles when she notices where my eyes are zeroed in. “I was wondering if that would bother you.”
Lowering my voice so only she can hear, “More than you know, and more than it should.”
Penny runs over to me, and I pick her up on my way toward Anna, this time talking loud enough for everyone to hear me. “Penny, what do you think of Anna’s shirt?”
“I told her that you wouldn’t like it!” she says with a scrunched-up nose.
“I think my number and name look fantastic on her,” Swank says, winking at Anna, who is wearing a jersey with ‘Kristofferson’ on the back and the number 12.
Anna rolls her eyes. “It was the only one I could find at the thrift store. One person’s junk is another person’s treasure.”
