Page 10 of The Big Puck

I’m holding Krissy, feeding her a bottle, and trying to keep her relaxed, which isn’t easy to do with the caged tiger named Jason stalking around me. It’s a miracle she isn’t sobbing with fear, but we had a pretty busy day of playing baby games and walking around town buying decorative items to spruce up the place.

When I’m about to scold Jason and tell him to sit down, Spencer walks in his back door and stops short as he sees Jason.

“Jason—”

“Coach. What the fuck?” There’s a pause where neither man says a word, and I feel the tension crackle through me as I hold Krissy closer and whisper a lullaby near her ear to run interference from the bad mojo in the room.

Finally, Spence speaks up. “Want to be more specific?”

“You’re hiring my sister to live in your house? With you?”

Spence rubs the back of his neck, and he doesn’t roll his eyes, but I can tell he wants to. Relief lets me breathe easier. I’m not sure why his less-than-urgent attitude about my brother’s insane concern should make me relieved, but it does.

Hell, maybe I should be insulted, right? His attitude implies that it would be ridiculous for him to be tempted by the likes of me. And double hell—I’ve been known all my life as nothing short of show-stoppingly gorgeous. If I had a dollar—okay, maybe a hundred dollars—for every time someone told me I should be a model or a movie star, I’d be a millionaire. No exaggeration—or not much, anyway.

“I need someone to help with Krissy until my Aunt Hildie recovers from her hip surgery. I was counting on someone being here with Krissy full-time, so I could feel confident working late and traveling without worrying about schedules.”

He pauses and takes a breath, then goes on in a halting voice like he’s confessing that kryptonite would kill him. “I need someone to be available at night when I’m home so I can sleep.”

My tummy takes a little tumble because I feel for him, taking on so much.

“You look like a zombie, man. I’ll give you that,” Jason says. His forehead furrows with frustration, and he paces a tight circle. “We need our coach to be in the zone this season. All in.”

“You’re right,” I say before he can backtrack. “And Krissy needs someone to be there for her. She deserves it.”

“She deserves a hell of a lot more than I can give her,” Spence admits in a low gravelly voice like it pains him, “but I’m all she has right now.”

And that’s where I lose it—and by it, I mean any last vestiges of pretense that I don’t find this man wildly attractive. Old? There’s nothing old about him, according to my melting ovaries. Uptight and grumpy? Well, duh? Who can blame the poor guy when he’s only trying to do his best for his dead brother’s orphan baby? Crap. I think I might tear up.

Even my one-track-mind-over-protective brother stops his glowering and looks thoughtful for a second. “Sorry about your…situation. But what you’re saying is you want my sister to live with you, and that makes me nervous because…” This is when the knucklehead realizes he’s talking to his coach and implying that the man who will determine his playing time for the duration of the season is some creeper who might take advantage of his innocent little sister.

But since said innocent little sister would be me, that’s incredibly laughable. I can take care of myself, and I’m far from innocent based on the response of my lady center at the idea of being taken advantage of by Spencer “Hottie” Hall. Yikes.

Spencer gives my brother a serious stare and one raised brow to ensure Jason realizes he’s acting like an asshole. “I appreciate that you’re concerned about protecting your sister, but I can assure you her virtue is safe with me.”

Did he just say that? I sputter. “What? Are you for real?”

My indignance is entirely authentic and uncalled for, but I blame my temporary disorientation on being uprooted from my prior life for the fragility of my ego. Who knew a rejection, even from a weak-minded traitor, because I once thought I was in love with him—or the idea of being married to the town heartthrob—and he was supposed to be in love with me, and that rug being ripped from under me still makes me dizzy with doubt at odd moments. Like now.

My brother and Spence snap their glances to me from two directions at the same time, and I ping-pong between them, waiting for a response. Folding my hands over my chest, I wait them out because I refuse to fill the gap in this ridiculous conversation.

“I’m sorry if that sounded harsh.” Spencer’s face softens, and my entire reproductive system squeezes at the agony of longing. “I didn’t mean you aren’t a beautiful young woman.” He smiles a self-deprecating smile, but then it disappears fast, and he clears his throat. “I’m not the guy who goes for young women. And…I have a…girlfriend.” His voice is low and gruff and scratches against that itch I didn’t know was there, the one that needs the attention of a good man—and by attentions, I mean epic toe-curling sex.

“No worries. I’m not the girl who goes for old men. And…a boyfriend is the last thing I want.” I hold his gaze with mine, willing him to believe me, willing myself to believe me—not the boyfriend part because that’s abso-fucking-lutely true. But the going for old men part. If Spence is the kind of guy who passes for an old man, then I’m all in.

But not with him. Of course not. He’s so not my type. Not even for a quick skate around the rink. He’s my brother’s fucking coach. He’s my new boss.

Temporarily. For the next two months. He’s my new project. He’s too broken to be anything but a rescue puppy, albeit a very hot and finely muscled one.

He fights a smile, and I see the small tic in his jaw. “I’m going to go check on Krissy. Hall, why don’t you give your sister a ride home.” My stomach falls. He’s backing out.

He reaches into his bag—an old-fashioned briefcase in canvas, black with the Whalers team logo—and pulls out a folder. “Here’s the contract for your nanny services, based on what we discussed. Look it over, and if you still want to help me out, sign it—”

“Of course I do.”

“Lainey—” Jason starts, reaching for the folder, but Spencer pulls it from his grasp.

“The deal is for Lainey to review it, Hall. If she wants to share the details with you, that’s entirely up to her.” He stares down my brother, and I hold myself in place against the will of my aching lady parts—all of them, as my vagina to my ovaries and everywhere in between that throbs in unison with longing to hug this man, to embrace the one man who’s recognized my actual fucking independent free will, since who knows how long.