Page 7 of Hockey Nanny

“Early this morning,” Boone spun around to inspect the contents of the fridge and stretched tanned, muscled arms over his head. “Dawson said we had to head back for more training, but I think our team captain was homesick.”

“Well, it’s nice to have you back,” I said absently, a little too absorbed in his flexing biceps and the broad, winged muscles of his back.

“So you admit you missed me—?” Boone, unfortunately, picked that moment to glance over his shoulder and caught me staring. His smile turned devious as I hurriedly looked away.

While I pretended to be suddenly, thoroughly invested in a random blob of pancake batter, he snagged a box of orange juice from the fridge, then proceeded to flex in earnest, an over-the-top show clearly for my benefit. “It’s okay, you can stare. I know I’m gorgeous.”

My rolling eyes did nothing to deter his peacocking.

I was just scraping my brain for some way to defend my honor when Boone’s gaze traveled past me, and Henry jumped off thecountertop to shrink into my side. I turned to find Gage standing in the doorway, taking in the scene with a stunned expression on his usually blank face.

“Oh. Hi. Welcome back.” Feeling, foolishly, like I’d been caught in the act of thinking horny thoughts, I stepped away from Boone and put my hands behind my back. “We made pancakes if you want some…”

Gage’s eyes traveled to Boone, and his expression soured slightly. “Why are you covered in flour?”

Boone shrugged as he took a swig of orange juice. “Carissa’s just kinky like that.”

Both Gage and I directed a withering glare in his direction, but Boone was already preoccupied trying to lick pancake batter from his pecks.

“Anyway,” I turned back to Gage, unsure of exactly how to speak to him. Every time I tried, he looked like he would rather be anywhere else. “How was the game? We couldn’t watch the last one; Henry had lessons.”

Gage’s eyes dropped to Henry, who was still hiding behind my legs, watching the hockey player with apprehension. A similar, hesitant expression flickered across Gage’s face, and he looked like he wanted to say something to the kid before Boone butted in again.

“We kicked ass, as usual.” Boone sauntered forward and flung an arm over my shoulders. “But Gage here nearly earned us a match penalty.” He tilted his head and threw Gage a wry grin. “He lost his temper. Again.”

He said it fondly enough, but Gage’s expression hardened, and his lips thinned into a harsh line. He grabbed the pot of coffee from the countertop and stormed off without a word, leaving Boone shouting after him.

“Ah, man, come on! I didn’t mean it like that.” When it was clear Gage wasn’t coming back, Boone pinched the bridge of his nose before unhooking his arm from my shoulder. “God. Dude’s as temperamental as a teenage girl.”

“And you’re a sexist asshole.” I elbowed him in the ribs and kneeled down to hand Henry a plate of pancakes.

Henry was still clinging to me, one hand fisted in the fabric of my skirt, and he looked away when I offered him the plate. I knew what was bothering him without his needing to say it. Gage scared him a little, that’s why he hid from him, but deep down, Henry desperately wanted the aloof hockey player to like him.

“Hey, don’t worry about Gage.” I ruffled Henry’s hair, waving the pancakes under his nose. “He’s just grumpy because Uncle Boone likes to push his buttons.”

Behind me, Boone spluttered an indignant objection, but I ignored him, offering Henry a reassuring smile. “You can eat these on the sofa if you want, just don’t get syrup on your new controller, okay?”

Henry hesitated for only a second before nodding, his grip on my skirt loosening as the promise of pancakes and video games won out. “Okay. Can I play the racing one?”

“Absolutely.” I patted his head, straightening up as he tottered away to set up the PlayStation. “One of these days you’re going to beat Boone’s high score.”

Once he was gone, I turned to survey the state of the kitchen and the aftermath of Boone’s baking attempts. Somehow, he and Henry had managed to dirty at least ten different kitchen appliances in the process, as well as seemingly every spoon and spatula in the house. Syrup stuck to the cupboard doors where Henry had run sticky fingers, and every tile on the floor was powdered white with spilled flour.

“Alright,” I sighed, slinging the only clean dish towel over my shoulder. “Now the real fun begins.”

I got to work wiping down the countertops while Boone remained unmovable and purposefully in my way. He leaned against the counter, watching me with a small smirk that made my stomach do a single, treacherous flip. I brushed it off and cleaned around him, even as heat burned pink on my cheeks.

“What?” I said eventually, when he wouldn’t quit staring. I could feel his eyes on me, even without looking, and I focused instead on scrubbing at a particularly stubborn smear of batter.

“Nothing,” Boone answered in a singsong voice. “Just admiring the view.”

I swatted him with the dish towel. “If you insist on hanging around, at least make yourself useful. There—” I pointed at the sink. “Dishes. Surely you can handle soap and a sponge?”

“Better than batter and egg-beaters.” Boone pushed off the counter and flexed his fingers, approaching the sink like it was some kind of fearsome adversary. He did what he was told, at least, and got to work scrubbing at dirty utensils while I moved on to sweeping the floors.

We worked in silence for a while, a comfortable sort of quiet that took me by surprise. In the brief time that I’d known him, Boone had proved to be a motormouth, but he seemed surprisingly happy to get lost in the task of dishwashing.

It lasted right until I started climbing countertops, struggling to reach the cupboards on the wall above. I had one knee hiked up and balanced on the edge, and my other leg stuck out behind me, when Boone closed a hand around my ankle.