Page 58 of Hockey Nanny

“Pretend what?” I swallowed hard.

He was right in front of me now. Our bodies brushed, intentions undeniable. His hand settled at my hip, fingers firm, grounding me in the moment even as my thoughts scattered.

“That you didn’t come here to fuck me.”

My heart skipped so hard it felt like it would crash clean out of my chest.

I barely had time to breathe before his mouth was on mine.

The kiss landed heavy and demanding, his lips parting mine without hesitation, heat and intent flooding every inch of spacebetween us. I gasped into him and he took it as an invitation, tongue sweeping in, claim made clear in the way he kissed me like he’d been waiting all night. My hands slid up his chest, gripping his shirt. There was nothing but the press of his mouth and the sound he made when I kissed him back just as hard.

With Boone, there was no second-guessing. No careful pacing. He lifted me with ease, my thighs locking around his waist on instinct, my back hitting the wall hard enough that the framed photos rattled. I didn’t break the kiss. Neither did he. His body pinned me there, heat everywhere, his hands roaming under my shirt, the sensation dizzying and fast and overwhelming in the best way.

He made a low sound into my mouth, the kind that vibrated straight through me, and I clung to him, lost in it, willing to let it go wherever it wanted to go.

And that’s when the door flew open.

We broke apart so abruptly I practically fell out of his arms.

Dawson stood in the doorway, jaw set, eyes fixed on us. His expression was solid, closed, nothing giving.

I was breathless and flushed, heart racing for reasons that went beyond the kiss. I slid out of Boone’s hold, tugging my shirt down, hands shaking just enough to annoy me.

“Is— Is everything okay?”

“I can’t find Henry,” Dawson said. “He’s not in his room.”

“What?” I asked, stepping back fully now. “What do you mean? I put him to bed a few minutes ago.”

He just looked at me without answering, and that silence landed heavier than words.

Boone scoffed, irritation flashing across his face. “Well, he’s clearly not here. So if you don’t mind…”

He gestured toward the hall, ready to dismiss the interruption, ready to pull me back into what we’d started.

But I didn’t let him.

I moved past them both, heart pounding, the imprint of Boone’s hands still vivid against my skin as I headed down the hall, dread setting in with every step.

20

~

Gage

The fort was a cave of pillows and blankets, the projector spilling The Mighty Ducks across the wall in front of us in the game room. Henry was perched cross-legged, knees brushing mine, a half-empty bowl of popcorn between us. He kept poking at the pieces like they were clues in a mystery, but I didn’t care. He was quiet enough.

“I’m glad you weren’t sleepy either,” he said, not taking his eyes off the movie.

I chuckled. He’d burst into my room like a tornado, insisting he wasn’t tired and wanted to play helicopters. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was clinical insanity, but I hadn’t pawned him off on Dawson the way I usually did. I’d brought him down here to build a pillow fort and watch a movie.

“I was a lot like you when I was a kid,” I said. “I loved a good pillow fort.”

His face dropped. Eyes off the screen. Suddenly the little balls of fluff on the blanket were way more interesting.

“What’s up?” I asked, trying to sound casual, but my gut told me this wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Other kids aren’t like me. Not really.”