Page 6 of The Big Puck

“Krissy is adorable, and I like this house.” Her gaze wanders through the living room.

But then I remember the rest of my conversation with the nanny service.

“There’s one catch. If you take the job, I’ll need you to do some housekeeping. And like I said, to live in because of the early mornings and frequent travel.” She nods, and I prompt her, needing to get past the biggest stumbling block. I clear my throat. “Will your brother have a problem with that?”

Holding my breath, I wait for her answer because somewhere along the way between meeting Lainey at the elevator and watching her soothe Krissy back to sleep, I started counting on her to be the one to take care of the poor baby. Krissy deserves far better care than a stranger or I can give her the next couple of months for damn sure.

Lainey looks at me, unexpectedly unreadable, and bites down on her plump juicy lower lip. Fuck. My cock is sending me an unmistakable message that I need to suck that lip into my mouth and bite down on it myself. I’m going to fucking hell.

I bite down on my self-control instead.

Chapter 2

SPENCER

Her chin goes up. “It doesn’t matter what my brother thinks. He’s not the boss of me.”

Spoken like a rebellious kid sister.

“Look, I don’t want to cause trouble on the team, so if there’s any reason you don’t think he’d be—”

“None. I don’t need to live with him in his apartment. It’s nothing compared to this place. He wants me to start over. This is a great way to start over. After your aunt recovers, I’ll enroll in a graduate school program and maybe get a Kindergarten teaching job. It’s all perfect. He’ll get it. I’ll talk to him. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

“He won’t mind you staying here? With me?”

“Of course not. Why would he? I’m a big girl, and you…you’re…his coach.” She stumbles over her last words, her smile faltering for a fraction. But it flares up again at full wattage like it got past a minor interruption of power.

I am her brother’s coach, and according to some women, a fucking hot hunk. Even if I am old. Far too old for her. I’ll convince Jason he has nothing to worry about, even if she tries any more of that flirting business or develops a crush. So what if I find her attractive? I’m not a horny teenager and can damn well control myself. I can handle the young woman no matter how attractive she is.

Besides, I have a girlfriend, don’t I? Or I did before I left Minnesota. It’s an open question whether our long-distance relationship is going to work, and she made it clear she wasn’t uprooting her career to come to Portsmouth for a one fucking year contract.

Thank you very much for your support.

Lainey crosses her arms over her chest and looks at me as if to say, What now?

“All right then. Let’s make it official. I’d planned to include room and board in the compensation—as long as your brother is okay with you can staying here. Plus, the weekly salary suggested by the agency.” I quote it for her, and her eyes go wide.

“Are you fucking kidding me? That’s fifty percent more than a live-in nanny would make back home.”

“Costs are much higher in the northeast.” Too bad my salary doesn’t reflect that fact. When my agent tried negotiating with the Whalers for more, he was told by the owner, good old Anthony Gavonza, that if I didn’t want the job at the salary offered, he’d find someone else who’d piss himself for the opportunity. Mr. Gavonza made it clear it was a one-year deal until the coach they really wanted was clear from his current contract and could take the job.

So, I took the job as the Whalers’ temporary head coach for two reasons. First, I had nothing else lined up besides the college coaching job at St. Paul U. Second, Portsmouth is my hometown, and I want to be here.

Plus, if I’m a hundred percent honest with myself, I have this deep-seated need to prove myself as a coach and a rebellious enough attitude to want to prove Gavonza wrong, to prove that I’m better than he gives me credit for, that I can succeed. In fact, I’m so pigheaded and competitive that I forced my agent to wrangle one single clause in the contract that Gavonza luckily found so laughably unlikely that he agreed to include it.

The clause? I get a three-year extension at triple my current salary, plus a bonus if the Whalers win the division championship. Admittedly, it’s a longshot because the Boston Brawlers have been dominant for the past five years and show no signs of softening.

But I’m a desperate man with something to prove, a giant chip on my shoulder in the form of a tough bastard father, and absolutely everything to lose. Okay, maybe not everything—but I’d lose the house, my self-respect, and bragging rights to rub in my bastard father’s face.

I would still have Krissy at the end of the season, and I think maybe that’s the scariest part about this whole one-year deal. I’ll have a fucking shit-ton of responsibility and no money. And no job, unless I count the assistant hockey coach for St. Paul U because they said I could always go back there. May as well bury me and Krissy with me.

Long shot or not, there is no one in the NHL more determined than I am to win and to drive my team hard to win with me. It’s not impossible.

We managed to snag one of the Brawlers’ players, their captain and former superstar and future Hall of Famer, Rafe Lemaire. Sure, he’s past his prime, but he’s the kind of veteran with experience that’ll be priceless in the locker room. And he’s still got more moves than half the league.

He also happens to be a former teammate of mine when I did a stint in Montreal for a year, and I respect the guy. He’s the same age as me, yet light years ahead of me in every measure possible, professionally, family, community, and of course, money. He’s loaded. A snick of jealousy invades, but I shake my head and give myself an internal eye roll because, really?

I may as well compare myself to fucking Bobby Orr or Gretsky. Or an alien from Mars.