Page 53 of Hockey Nanny

“Are you seriously being a party pooper on a spontaneous pool day?”

Gage grunted, seemingly bored by my spectacular dive into the water. He’d claimed a lounger at the pool’s edge, and stretched out with one arm tucked behind his head. From there he had a clear view of the pool, the bar to the west under its shaded overhang, and the changing stalls Carissa had disappeared into.

I stepped out of the way to avoid Dawson’s splash as he dove in after me, Henry applauding even though it was a mediocre execution. The kid was having a blast and nobody was going to stop him.

“Fine. Have it your way.” I scooped a handful of water and launched it at Gage.

“Language,” Dawson pre-empted, motioning to Henry jumping off the steps. Gage bit back the curse he was most definitely about to lay on me.

“Oh, yeah, I forget,” he said, swiping stray droplets from his face, “there arechildrenin the pool.”

I hoisted myself out of the pool at the wall closest to him. “What did you just call me?”

“Boone, I swear to God.”

Three steps back was all I needed. Over the years, I’d perfected the cannonball to a fine-tuned art. The trick wasn’t in the run-up, but rather the flatness of one’s ass as it hit the surface of the water.

“Say it again. I dare you.” My challenge hung in the air between us. Even Henry had stopped splashing around to watch.

I couldn’t stop the grin creeping wide onto my face. Because Gage was a lot of things, but an apologist wasn’t one of them. That and his stubborn streak guaranteed that I’d get to do what I had planned.

He locked his eyes on mine, jaw stuck out as he doubled down. “You’re a child.”

“Cowabunga!”

I took off in a straight line, bare feet slapping against hot stone, water already flecking my calves as I hit the edge. I jumped with my knees tucked and my back straight, arms locked around my shins, and hit the surface hard enough to send a wall of water climbing toward the deck. The impact drove me under in a rush of cool pressure, the sound cutting out as the pool swallowed me whole.

For a breathless beat, there was nothing but blue and motion. Then I kicked up, broke the surface, and flung my head back. Water flew everywhere as my hair whipped free, long strands plastered to my face before I dragged my hands through it, pushing it back where it belonged.

Henry clapped from the steps, bouncing on his heels. “Do it again!”

Dawson was laughing near the ledge, one hand braced against the stone as he treaded water, eyes on Henry to make sure he didn’t slip. Gage stayed exactly where he was, stretched out on the lounger with his jaw set tight, arms crossed, glare aimed straight at me. He said nothing. That restraint did more damage than any curse ever could.

I floated onto my back, arms spread, soaking it all in because I’d earned it.

Then the door across the pool opened.

Carissa stepped out of the changing stalls, and the entire scene tilted on its axis.

She paused just inside the shade, one hand lifting to her neck as if she wasn’t sure where to put it, bikini straps catching the light against her skin. The walk from the stalls to the steps wasn’t long, but it might as well have been a runway built specifically to ruin me. Her thighs flexed with each step, muscle shifting under skin that caught the sun. The line of her stomach drew my eye without permission, smooth and unguarded, leading up to the rise of her chest, the fabric doing nothing to hide how full she was.

My attention climbed higher, to her collarbone, her throat, the way she swallowed when she realized all of us were watching.

She kept moving, gaze fixed on the steps like they were a safe harbor, hips rolling with a natural rhythm she wasn’t trying to sell. That made it worse. Everything in me tightened, heat pooling low, shorts suddenly doing me no favors at all. Memory piled in fast. Hot tub. Steam. Her hands. The night she hadn’t come back to me but to my brother instead.

Henry splashed past me, oblivious, laughing as he paddled toward her. That snapped a thin thread of restraint into place, but my eyes didn’t get the memo.

Cold water smacked me full in the face.

I sputtered, wiping it away, blinking hard as Dawson’s glare cut through the glare of the sun.

“Keep it in your pants.”

“Keep it in your pants.”

I snorted, shook the water from my eyes, and lifted both hands in surrender. “No promises.”

Then I ducked under before Dawson could come back at me, pushed off the wall, and took the lane hard. One full lap, arms burning, lungs working, eyes on the blue line at the bottom. By the time I surfaced at the far end, the buzz had quieted to something manageable, heat burned off by motion instead of bad decisions.