Page 8 of Hockey Nanny

“Get down, Jesus. We can’t have a nanny with a broken leg.” He reached past me, taking the box of pancake mix from my hand and returning it to the shelf. The heat of him at my back took meby surprise, sending an unexpected thrill shivering through my body.

“Thanks.” I accepted the elbow he offered and climbed down from the counter, hoping to high hell he wouldn’t notice the blush. “I guess I’m just used to handling things alone.”

“You and my brother have a lot in common,” Boone muttered, closing the cupboard doors above my head. When he turned to face me, we were inches apart, and it occurred to me too late to step back.

Boone’s lips tipped into a small, knowing smirk, and his eyes dropped briefly (and pointedly) to my lips, before flicking away again. “Quite close proximity for a professional.”

The guy was teasing me, clearly. Acting like he hadn’t been the one to flirt with me first. It was an infuriatingly effective tactic, and my heart gave a single, heavy thud. Sensible instincts told me to step away, to stick to my guns. But the rest of me thought it couldn’t hurt to play the guy at his own game. So, instead, I lifted my hand.

“Hold still,” I murmured, wiping a thumb across the sharp curve of his cheek to catch a stray spattering of pancake batter. Rather than wiping it from my fingers, I brought it to my lips, and Boone’s green eyes widened as I held his gaze and slowly, sensually, licked my fingers clean.

A sharp, breathy laugh of disbelief burst from his lips, and he shook his head. “You’re dangerous.”

“I’m just cleaning up,” I said innocently, offering him a charming little smile of my own.

Neither of us moved for a moment, and the tension in the air quivered like a taut bowstring. Despite the sudden, rampant fire in my loins, Boone was the one to break first. He stepped backwith another nervous chuckle and scratched at the back of his neck.

“It seems I have underestimated your game, Miss McCabe. I’ll leave you to it.” He stepped past me, heading for the doorway, but paused briefly to murmur in my ear. “You know, if you’re ever feeling lonely in that big bed of yours, you’re always welcome to pay a visit to mine.”

And then he was gone, breezing out of the kitchen along with my last remaining shred of professional sense.

4

~

Dawson

It was the first night back after winning our last away game and I, of course, could not sleep.

It’s not like I wasn’t beyond exhausted; every muscle ached in that satisfying way that usually knocked me out cold. My mind, however, refused to shut up. It wasn’t enough that our recent games went perfectly, and that the Gold Knights were on fire, with a fighting chance at making it to the finals.

In my world, if you weren’t thinking about how you could do better, you were obviously falling behind. And so, my brain would not let me rest.

Instead, I took to training, working myself past the point of fatigue in our home gym in the dead of night. Thank God my brother had crashed early, or I’d be getting an earful from him about the necessity of beauty sleep for luring in the ladies.

By the time I was finished running drills in my head and worked up enough sweat to drown in, the clock on the wall read ten past one. Tip-toeing through the house after that, barefoot with a towel around my neck, the place was silent. Dark except for the thin sliver of light at the end of the hall.

In the time it took my tired mind to register that Carissa McCabe was probably still awake, I was already in the kitchen brewing tea, because no doubt the mad woman was up studying and probably hadn’t had a sip of water all day.

I had noticed, in the few days I’d been home long enough to chat, that Carissa did a wonderful job of taking care of Henry, but did not extend the same level of care to herself. She was always smiling, always presentable, and flawless to a fault, but she spent every one of her waking moments working. Either nannying Henry or poring over her notes, and never taking a moment to even consider a rest.

I knew an overachiever when I saw one, and Carissa McCabe fit the bill like a glove. So I padded down the hallway at ten past one in the morning with a cup of tea in hand and knocked gently on her door, hoping to convince her to go to bed before the sun rose. My hypocrisy in that sentiment was not lost on me either.

My knock went unnoticed for a long while, and I wondered if she had simply fallen asleep with the light on. I knocked again and waited, listening. After another beat went by with no sound but the low hum of the air conditioner, I nudged the door open slightly.

“Carissa?” I called quietly, peeking inside.

The woman was asleep at her desk.

Slumped over in her chair, Carissa McCabe was fast asleep with her face buried in her books and study notes, one arm folded awkwardly beneath her and the other hanging limp at her side. Her short blonde bob was a tufted nest on her head.

I stood in the doorway, frozen for a second, debating internally what the hell I was supposed to do. On the one hand, I didn’t want to wake her. God knows she needed the rest, and I also wasn’t entirely thrilled about explainingwhyI was standing in her room in the first place. On the other hand, she slept bent over like a shrimp, and leaving her there would do nothing good for her spine.

In the end, I decided to deliver the tea and leave, and hope the sound of the door shutting would be enough to rouse her. I got about halfway through that plan, reaching over her to put the cup on the desk, when Carissa stirred.

“Shit,” I jerked backward when she jolted upright, very nearly dropping the teacup in the process. I raised a placating hand when her frantic gaze landed on me. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Dawson? I mean, Mr. Barnett,” Carissa blinked bleary eyes at me, and I winced at the formal title.