Skate the Line: A Single Dad Hockey Romance (Blue Devils Hockey Book 2)

Nope.

The second I lay eyes on her, my shoulders tense. What I expected was an unattractive woman to nanny my child. What I got was a punch-to-the-gut beautiful woman with glowing skin, a sweet-as-sin voice, and a rocking body that curves in all the right spots.

She looks like all the rest of the nannies that I’ve hired—the ones who take the job because they have dollar signs in their eyes and see a spot in my bed that could be filled. Past nannies used my daughter to get closer to me, and I don’t see how this will be any different.

“Wait.” Her warm hand lands on my elbow, and I almost lose my footing. “You’re Mr. Volkova, right?

I scoff with my back still turned toward her. As if she doesn’t know. Everyone in this coffee shop knows.

Peering over my shoulder, I grimace again. She flutters her thick eyelashes, and the act makes her seem innocent. A small line digs in between her eyebrows as she waits for my answer.

“You’re not what I’m looking for,” I say as deadpan as ever.

She flinches at my words, and for a split-second, I feel bad.

Not bad enough to hire her, though.

I leave her standing there in the middle of the coffee shop. My jaw cracks with the grinding of my teeth.

I’m such a fool.

I thought the reason her photo wasn’t on the website was because she wasn’t attractive enough. It’s the complete opposite. She has this innocent vibe to her too. When I told her she wasn’t what I was looking for, shock flashed across her features, like I’d hurt her feelings.

I know I can behave myself if I were to hire her. I’m just not sure she can. My experience is that the innocent-looking ones are always the ones you have to look out for.

“You need a nanny, don’t you?”

I pause in the middle of the sidewalk.

Color me fucking surprised that she followed me.

Loose pebbles crunch beneath my shoe as I twist and eye her from outside the establishment. Out of habit, I slowly run my eyes down her frame.

I give her brownie points for not dressing up for the interview.

The last two women I had interviewed and hired—out of pure desperation—wore high heels and short dresses that left nothing to the imagination.

I almost told them that it wasn’t an interview to be my wife, but an interview for a nannying position.

“How old are you?” I ask.

The lines on her forehead appear again, and she darts her eyes away.

“Twenty-five.”

I scoff. “You’re too young.”

Her arms cross with defiance, and I have the sudden urge to smirk.

“I turn twenty-six in a few weeks,” she argues.

I detect a hint of annoyance in her tone, and it’s a pleasant surprise. Every other nanny I ever interviewed tried too hard to please me. Half the time, I think they mistook my irritation and clipped responses as foreplay instead of what it really was: annoyance.

I cross my arms to mimic her stance. “Twenty-six?”

All I get is a curt nod.

“I’m thirty-two,” I add.

Sunny’s lips curve. “Well, then…I guess I should call you grandpa.”

I blink a few times and try to clear my head, because she surprised me again.

“What does your age have to do with mine?” she adds.

It doesn’t. Her age has nothing to do with nannying my daughter. In fact, Gia was around twenty-six when she had Ellie.

“I worry about your intentions,” I say.

There it is again—the worry digging into her features.

“My intentions?” She clears her throat. “If you were to hire me, my only intention would be to care for your daughter.”

Silence surrounds us. The noisy city fades, and all I can hear is my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Heat creeps up my neck and spreads across my skin with the amount of stress I’ve been carrying around.

I give her one more long look. She looks sweet, and I do think she has a good head on her shoulders. Her determination runs deep. I can feel it like my own.

But I’ve been fucked over one too many times.

My trust in pretty women is nonexistent at this point.

“I’m sorry.” My apology is more of a grunt. “But again, you’re not what I’m looking for.”

Sunny’s shoulders fall, but the disappointment only lasts a second. There’s a little crevice in between her eyebrows that disappears when she finds whatever she started to dig for in her bag.

A small piece of paper is trapped between her thumb and finger. I take it hesitantly before stepping away.

“I’ll be in town for a few more days if you change your mind.”

I shove the crumpled piece of paper in my back pocket and grumble under my breath, “I won’t.”

Ice flies up with the cutting of my skate. I have the urge to snap my stick in half, but that’ll make me look like an overgrown toddler, so instead, I flex my jaw and climb over the side toward the bench.

“Why are you pulling me in?” I shout to Coach Jacobs.

I sit down with anger rushing through my limbs.

“Emergency.”

My heart stops. I stand right back up. My stick slips out of my hand, and Malaki swoops it up without even looking in my direction. I nod at Coach Jacobs, thankful that he and I have the type of coach/player relationship that allows me to put my daughter first.

It was my only stipulation when I switched teams. My agent hunted for a team that would accommodate my lifestyle of being a single father, and the Chicago Blue Devils were the only ones willing to bend while still offering me a hefty salary.

We sucked at first. I’m not going to lie.

But this year is different. That’s partly why I’m so dead set on finding a nanny who I can trust so I’m able to focus on the team and the rest of our schedule.

One of the managers hands me a phone. “Hello?”

The crowd’s chants die out slightly as I round the corner toward the locker room. Nerves rage in my lower stomach with anticipation peeking over my shoulder.

Ellie’s panicked voice hits me right where it hurts. “Daddy?”

“Printsessa, what are you doing? I’m in the middle of a game.”

She sounds scared, and I’m not sure if it’s because she’s afraid I’m angry with her or because of something the new nanny did.

“Can I go to Scottie’s?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Scottie is here at the game. We’re several hours away. You should be in bed. Where is the nanny? Hand her the phone.”

“Um…”

“Ellie.” I sigh with agitation. I’m not frustrated with her. I’m frustrated with the situation. “Where is the nanny?”

“She locked me in my room.”

I think I pop a blood vessel.

My voice doesn’t allude that I could strangle the new nanny—who I thought was a good pick—but on the inside, my heart is beating a million miles a second. “She…” I clear my throat and glance toward the game. “She locked you in your bedroom?”

“Mm-hmm.” Ellie sniffs. “I remembered how to call you from my tablet. I don’t have Scottie’s number, so I called you instead. I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Fucking Christ.

“Don’t worry, Printsessa.” I sound calm. “Just hang tight.”

After telling her that I love her, I shoot a quick text to Emory’s wife and have her call Ellie’s tablet so she can keep her calm while I try to fix things.

The game is seconds from being over.

Not only have I let my team down, but I’ve let Ellie down too.

Why is this so fucking hard?

My phone cracks in my tight grip as I pull up the number that I saved on a whim.

Alright, Sunny. You’re up.