Chapter 5

I look down at Amelia's angelic face as I hold her snugly against me. Before Maddie left last week, she told me if Amelia's fighting a nap, I should read one of her favorite books while sitting with her in the rocker, and she'll fall asleep. This might only be my second full week with her alone, yet I feel like each day, I get a bit more comfortable.

Reaching my hand as close to the ground as I can, I drop the Goodnight, Goodnight Construction Site book onto the rug and continue to admire her. Her adorable, chubby lips are squished together from her hand resting on her cheek. And her cheeks have a rosy color to them as her chest rises and falls. I've never really thought about having kids, but right now, holding this precious angel in my arms, I can see what all the fuss is about.

After a few more minutes, I slowly push myself to stand and head toward her bed. Gently, I set her down and pull her fuzzy cow blanket over her tiny body. I put an extra pillow next to her so that she won't roll out of the bed, and then I turn on her fan.

Sitting back down in the chair, I do something I haven't done since I took this job. I open up my author account on Instagram to see if I have any messages. But before I have the chance, I see the post at the top of my feed from one of my best author friends—at least she was before I shut her out years ago—and I can't stop the smile that spreads across my face.

"She did it," I whisper, tears of pride welling in my eyes as I look at Winter Collins's post that her newest series is getting traditionally published by Tangent Publishers. One of the largest publishing houses in the country. "She really did it."

The tears of pride quickly turn to tears of pain when I realize that the closest friend I had in the industry got published and didn't share the news with me. And without thinking twice, I swipe out of Instagram and call her.

Standing up, I grab the monitor and head into the hallway.

"Hey, stranger," Winter's sweet Southern voice drawls. "Long time no talk."

"Well, hello to you." I pause. "Mrs. Freaking Trade-Published Author! Why didn't you call me? I had to read about it on social media like every other Tom, Dick, and Harry. We're officially fighting, and next time I see you, I'm going to kick your scrawny ass." I swallow back the lump in my throat because I know how hard Winter worked to get to this point in her career. "But also … I'm so damn proud of you. This is incredible. This is huge."

"Thank you," she says, and I can tell she's uncomfortable. Winter is truly one of the humblest human beings I've ever known. "I just … I guess I didn't want to rub it in. I know you've been going through a lot. It just didn't seem right to call and blab about myself. That's all."

Of course that's why. It's Winter. Debatably the nicest person on the planet. But I hate myself for growing so distant from the people in my life who matter that they don't even feel like they can tell me when their dreams come true.

"By all means, rub it in. Please!" I insist. "I always want you to tell me things! I'm sorry that I've sucked as a friend for the past three years." I sigh. "I really am going to try to be better. I'm working on it, I swear."

"Mace, you went through something extremely traumatic, and you lost your dad, all in one day. And then the man who you were going to spend forever with took the coward's way out and left. You have every reason to be a shit friend right now." She stops. "I'm the shit friend for not checking in with you more. I'm so sorry. I just wanted to give you space. I didn't want to be too pushy, but really, I should have been reminding you I'm here."

Winter and I were close enough that when my life was turned upside down, she was one of the only people—besides family—I talked to about it. Losing my dad was hell, but losing him in the way that I did? Indescribable.

"I did go through some shit," I say, agreeing with her. "But that was well over three years ago now. It's time for me to figure out how to put myself back together." I laugh sadly. "Nobody likes a Debbie Downer."

"Are you writing anything right now? Or just taking time for yourself?" Winter asks, keeping any judgment from her tone, which isn't hard for her to do because it's her.

"I've been trying to write a story for eight months, but it just won't click, you know? Even with my last book, I barely mustered up eighty thousand words to publish it. And when I did, I knew it wasn't great. But I just wanted to give my readers something. Something to remind them I'm still here." I shrug even though I'm all alone and she can't see me through the phone.

"I took a temp job as a nanny for a three-year-old girl. I needed a change of scenery, I suppose." I attempt to laugh, but it sounds pathetic. "How can I be a romance writer if there isn't an ounce of romance in my life?"

"Mace, you write beautiful stories. I know you'll find your way back."

My throat feels raw now. I have no idea why I'm spilling this to Winter, especially on a day that should be about her, but for whatever reason, I can't stop. "When I used to write, I'd feel everything so deeply. Each press of the button, each word, each page … it meant so much to me. Now, I feel … nothing.

"And I have felt nothing since that day. Even the day Gavin left me, I was lying in bed when he packed his stuff. I swear the room was black and white, not an ounce of color, and I felt so empty. But as I watched him leave, I didn't cry. Or yell. I didn't say anything at all. Because I couldn't feel it." My head hangs. "If I write romance, it'll be a lie. I don't believe in fairy tales anymore, Winter. And that makes me a fraud."

"That is not true!" Her voice is filled with thick emotion. "Maci, I promise, you're going to be okay. I lost my dad years ago, and I still carry that pain with me every day. But I swear, it does become tolerable. I guess we learn to live with it." She sighs sadly.

"And you know what Kye went through with his father. It took a lot out of him. And it took him a long time to feel normal. And even now, some days are hard for him."

At the mention of her husband, Kye, my heart aches. Because like me, he lost his father too.

"One day, you will feel better. Maybe never exactly how you did before that day, but it'll be better than this."

"Thanks." I sniffle. "Goddamn it. I'm so sorry. This is one of the most exciting days of your life, and here I am, being a little bitch baby." I huff out a breath and stand up taller. "This is just the beginning for you, Winter Collins. I know it."

"And it's just the beginning for you too," she throws back, damn near knocking me on my ass. "The best is yet to come, I promise."

My mom and sister miss my dad terribly, and even they have tried to talk some sense into me. They've told me I should go to therapy or try medication to bring me out of this dark hole. I haven't listened to them.

But right now, I have a chance to figure out my shit. To get back to the sunshiny person I used to be instead of this constant dark cloud.

And when I glance in the room where Amelia sleeps, I'm reminded that for six weeks, her dad is trusting me to take care of her when he's not around. And for her, I'm going to be the best version of myself that I can muster up.

And it's not lost on me that this week … I've felt better than I have in years. And I know it's from being here, around her.

"Now, tell me all about this nanny job," Winter says. "I want to know everything."

I waste no time diving into my newest endeavor of watching NHL star Logan Sterns's daughter. And for the first time, I smile so hard that my cheeks hurt when I listen to Winter squeal in excitement. Her husband is in the NFL, and somehow, I knew she'd eat this up.

"Hey, how's it been working out with Maci so far?" Walker asks in between reps as he lifts his legs up, pulling the weights on the machine higher before slowly bringing them back down. "Poppy talked to her yesterday and said Mace wouldn't stop gushing about Amelia. She adores her, man."

I can't fight the smile on my face that comes from hearing how much she likes my girl. She'd be crazy not to, but still, it's nice to know that Amelia is spending time with someone who adores her.

"It's going good. Real good." I take a sip from my water bottle. "She's stepped into Maddie's shoes effortlessly. And Amy loves her."

"That's awesome, man. I'm glad it worked out," he says, seeming pleased with my answer.

In the back of my head, I keep thinking about how I'll be back to square one in five more weeks. I know I need to find someone else to take care of Amelia once our six-week agreement ends. And that means I should start looking soon. Really soon.

"How's Poppy been feeling?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

His entire face lights up, but when he speaks, I can still hear the worry in his tone. "She had an appointment a few days ago. They said everything looks great. Not too much longer, and she'll be twelve weeks. The doctor said, at that point, the chance of a miscarriage goes down significantly." He sighs. "I wish I could fast-forward the next week and a half so she's out of the first trimester. Every day, both of us are so scared something is going to happen." His expression looks pained. "I can't watch Poppy go through that again."

"Hey," I say, nodding my chin up. "She's nearly there. And the doctor said everything looked fine, right?"

He nods.

"All right then. Just relax for now, okay? Try to enjoy it all." I do my best to assure him it's all going to be okay, even though I can't guarantee anything.

I imagine how cool it must be to go to baby appointments and see that little being growing throughout the weeks. With Amelia, I missed all of that because I had no idea her mom was even pregnant. If it hadn't been for her parents knowing I was the baby's dad, I don't know if I ever would have gotten the chance to be her father. And the thought of that makes me sick.

"You're right," he utters. "Thanks, man."

From the corner of the room, I hear a phone ring, and right away, I know it's mine because of the obnoxious ringtone blaring "Who Let the Dogs Out" throughout the weight room.

"Dude, you have cashed in whatever scrap of swagger you had left," Kolt calls from the treadmill. "‘Who Let the Dogs Out'? Are you serious?"

"I think it's catchy." Ryder shrugs. "Sterns is living his best no-longer-cool dad life. Leave him be."

"I'm still cool," I say, beelining it for my phone.

"Keep telling yourself that, man!" Kolt calls out, and I give him the finger.

Seeing Link's name on the screen, I grin and swipe to answer. "Oh, hey, Shithead Number Three. What's cracking today?"

Out of the four Sterns brothers, Link is third in the lineup. First is my oldest brother, Carter, then me, followed by Link, and then the baby, Travis. Growing up only a year apart, Link and I have always been each other's biggest competition. And both of us ate, slept, and breathed hockey from a young age.

"Just calling to check on you, dickwad," he tosses back. "How's it going? How's the new nanny doing with Amy?"

"Seems to be doing good so far," I tell him truthfully. "She's nice, and I'm convinced she's fairly normal. Not like the type to go digging through my underwear, smelling them or anything."

"Dude, isn't that a guy thing? Like something a creepy bastard would do?" Link sounds less than amused. "But anyway, that's great, I guess? Wouldn't want an underwear-sniffer watching my angelic niece."

I bark out a laugh. "For fucking sure. How're Tate and Crew?"

"Both doing good," he answers, and I can hear the pride in his voice. "He's really been into baseball lately. We got him one of those plastic T-ball sets, and it's all he wants to do."

Crew is my nephew, and he and Amelia are very close in age, which makes it fun when we all get together. And now, Tate is pregnant again and due in a few months.

"Might have us a future baseball star. Maybe he'll play for the Red Sox and be close to his uncle Logan," I tease Link because he never misses an opportunity to torment me on being a New Englander now.

"No way. Your old ass will be retired, and you'll probably be a guest star on random podcasts by then," he says seriously. "Talking about how awesome you once were."

"You do realize I'm only a year older than you, right, asshole?" I shake my head. "If I'm old, you're old too, motherfucker."

"I don't know," he drawls. "The California sun over here makes my skin look pretty damn fresh. I'm going to age like a fine wine."

"Yeah, we'll see about that." I snort.

"You will see. Anyway, I just wanted to check on you. Well, mostly just wanted to check that my girl was being taken care of. And that you hadn't left her with some crazy nanny."

"You know better, dipshit," I mutter. "Maci is great. I'm really happy with how things are going so far."

"Good, good." I hear him shuffling around through the phone. "I gotta run. Later, big bro."

"See ya, you little asswipe."

Ending the call, I grin.

Family means everything to me, and I wish more than anything that Link, Tate, and Crew lived closer. Who knows? Maybe one day.

Looking back at the team, I set my phone down and head back to working out, wishing like hell it was time to go home so I could hang out with Amelia instead.

"Sorry I'm so late. I got hung up at the arena with Coach, talking about the season," Logan whispers, bringing Amelia's blanket higher under her chin. "I hate nights when I don't get to say good night to her. Makes me feel like a shit dad."

"The fact that you feel bad makes you a good dad," I say, watching him brush her hair away from her face.

I don't tell him that she cried for him before falling asleep in my arms tonight. I don't want to make him feel worse, but it's obvious she loves her father very much. And I can see why; he's a wonderful dad.

She fought her nap earlier, and I had to read to her until she fell asleep. Then, tonight, she was fine until it was bedtime and he wasn't home yet. She's a daddy's girl for sure. I know what that's like because I always was too.

"Yeah, but I sometimes feel like hockey gets in the way of me being her dad. And I'm all she has in the parent department, so I just don't want to fuck it up," he whispers, still looking at her. "And when we go places, people flock to get my autograph. I appreciate it and all, but some days, I just want to be her dad. You know?"

"I get that." I lean against the doorframe. "But you have to remember, this is all she's ever known. Having a dad who is thousands of people's hero. In the eyes of a three-year-old, that's got to be pretty cool."

He looks across the room at me. "That means a lot to me. Thanks." Leaning down, he kisses her forehead before standing and walking toward me. "Want a beer or something?"

"I actually hate beer." I cringe. "I'll have a seltzer water though. I added some to the grocery order to have when I'm here." I pause. "I hope that's okay. I can pay you back since it's your card on there."

"Order anything you'd like, Boston," his deep voice drawls slowly before he struts past me and into the hallway.

I follow behind him, and he waves toward the sectional, where Clyde is lying on his back with his tongue hanging out.

"Oh gosh. I'm sorry. I've been trying to keep him off of your furniture." I rush toward him. "Clyde, get down!"

"Relax. He's fine. Let the big man sleep." A deep chuckle comes from Logan's lips. "Sit. I'll get you a drink. I'm sure my little tornado kept you going nonstop today."

Leisurely, I move toward the sectional, ushering Clyde off quietly because I know Logan is too easygoing and will tell me to leave him be. But this furniture is nice, and my dog has crocodile toenails.

I take a seat on my favorite spot—the chaise lounge on the end. This is hands down the comfiest furniture I've ever sat on, and the past few days, I've discovered how much I love this spot in particular.

I watch him reach into the refrigerator and grab a can of my blueberry pomegranate Bubly and a beer for himself. As he struts toward me, the air feels different. It seems thicker. Maybe that's because it's just us. I don't really know. But whatever it is, it's making it harder for me to breathe.

He reaches down, passing me the can before sitting down.

"Thanks," I utter, cracking it open and taking a small sip.

Clearing my throat, I pull in a breath, pushing myself to ask what I've wanted to all day. Something that is big for me because ever since the accident, I have barely driven outside of Maine. The few times I have were to go back to Boston for the holidays. And even then, it was a huge deal.

"So … you can totally tell me no, and I'll completely understand. But I was wondering, would you be open to me taking Amelia to Santa's Village in New Hampshire?" I chew my lip nervously because this is a big ask. I know Logan doesn't like missing stuff when it comes to his daughter. I also can't believe I want to do this, considering it's quite a long drive. "It's about two and a half hours away, so it would be a day trip, and I promise I'd have her back at a reasonable time."

That catches his attention. "Santa's Village?" He frowns. "What is that?"

Leaning forward, I set my drink on the coffee table. "It's a small amusement park. My parents used to take me and my sister there when we were kids. I just love the White Mountains area."

"I've never been," he admits. "Never heard of it, to be honest."

"What? For real?"

"I'm a Southern boy. What can I say?" He shrugs. "Tell you what. You can take her," he says.

I can't stop the cheesy smile that spreads across my face because this is something I hope she'll really enjoy.

"But you're taking me too. Preseason doesn't start for another few weeks. I still have a day off here and there." He relaxes back. "What about this? We can leave after practice on Saturday and stay somewhere overnight and drive back on Sunday night."

With his answer, I don't know whether to smile or frown. I didn't really anticipate staying the night with him in New Hampshire. I thought it would make for a nice trip for Amelia and me, getting us out of Portland for the day.

"Don't look so excited," he deadpans.

"Sorry." I blush. "I just … didn't think you'd want to go."

He rears his head back. "Boston, it'll be my daughter's first time going to this Christmas Village—"

"Santa's Village," I say, correcting him. "It's called Santa's Village."

"Right. It'll be Amy's first trip to this place. I'm going." He grins at me, and I hate the way my heart flutters. "Can't wait."

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his wallet and takes out a credit card.

"What are you doing?" I ask, looking at the card.

"Booking us a hotel," he says matter-of-factly. "No getting out of this now." His eyes roam my face. "You just like me for my cute kid, huh? I'm just the dad no one wants to take to Christmas World. Well, guess what, Miss Maci. I like amusement parks too."

I don't correct him on the name since it's clear now that he loves antagonizing me by saying it wrong. So, instead, I nod. "All right, fine. But let me at least pay for the room. It was my idea and all."

"No chance," he mutters, pulling out his phone and tapping his fingers on the screen. Moments later, he turns it toward me. "This place looks cool."

My eyes light up. "That's where my family and I always used to stay. It's so pretty there."

"Well then, it's decided." He looks at his card before glancing back at his screen and typing in the information. After a minute, he sets his phone down and tucks his card back into his wallet. "All booked. They'd better have Christmas cookies there."

"They do." I laugh. "But I'll warn you now, they aren't very good."

"I've never met a cookie I didn't like," he drawls. "Thanks for the invite, Boston." He winks.

"Hey, no problem." I laugh, rolling my eyes.

"Want to watch some trashy grown-up TV? Maybe something with swear words, violence, and an occasional titty shot." He grabs the remote. " Anything besides the Disney channel or fucking Blippi ."

I giggle because it's obvious Logan Sterns is in full dad mode, but even the best parents sometimes need a break from parenting, I'm sure.

I glance at the clock and see it's after nine. "I should probably get going."

"I'll make popcorn," he says, dangling the offer in front of me and making it impossible to say no even though I know I should.

Nannies aren't supposed to stay late and watch movies with the dad. I don't think so anyway.

"I have the good stuff. Movie theater butter and everything," he adds. "Pretty great shit, really."

I know I should leave. I'm his kid's nanny, for God's sake. But for some reason, my mouth opens and says otherwise. "All right. But just for an hour. And only because you mentioned buttered popcorn."

Shooting up from the couch, he walks into the kitchen. Thanks to the open concept of his home, I can still hear him rifling through the cabinet. Seconds later, the microwave makes some beeping noises as he hits the buttons, and soon, popcorn is popping.

"Hopefully, that doesn't wake up Amy," I hush-whisper, glancing nervously toward the hallway that is right off the kitchen area.

"Her fan is on; she's good." He chuckles. "That kid is a diva. What three-year-old demands a fan to be on full blast?"

"Her, apparently." I smirk. "She really is something."

Putting the popcorn into two big bowls, he takes a seat on the couch and hands me one. This time, he sits closer. "Course she is. She has the world's coolest dad." He points the remote toward the tv. "Whatcha wanna watch?"

"Anything besides crime documentaries. Otherwise, I won't sleep," I admit. "For, like, weeks."

"Yeah, I'm not about that shit either," he mutters. "Freaks me the fuck out."

It's comical to me that he can turn his pirate mouth off when his daughter is around. I mean, yeah, he slips up occasionally and drops a swear word in front of her, but he tries to contain it.

This shouldn't feel so natural, the two of us sitting on the couch, gorging on popcorn. Because just last week, it wouldn't have. Heck, it felt uncomfortable when he came home and I gathered my things before leaving. He was a stranger. He still is, but now, it doesn't seem nearly as weird.

"I'm excited about our little trip." He smiles, flipping through Netflix. "I'm even excited for the shitty Christmas cookies."

"You should be," I say, popping a few pieces of popcorn into my mouth. "And I'll even take you to my very favorite restaurant. If you're lucky."

"I'm always lucky," he says playfully, making my heart flip. "Too bad it's only the beginning of September. The leaves probably won't be changing yet. I bet that's pretty and shit when they do."

When he sees the surprise on my face, he shrugs. "What? Think the big meathead hockey player can't enjoy a little scenery? I'm more than just a big stick and pretty face, you know."

I ignore the big stick comment because the last thing I should be thinking about is Logan Sterns with his big … stick.

Even though that's exactly what I'm thinking about right now.

I have to stop myself from squirming. It's been a long time since I've had any action. And to force myself to not imagine things like Logan Sterns's big stick … yeah. Not easy.

"I love driving around and seeing the fall foliage," I say, forcing myself to think of anything else. "We'd always go to the White Mountains in October. Right when the foliage was at its peak." Suddenly, I frown. "Wait, you mentioned fans flocking to you when you go anywhere. Do you think people are going to go nuts when they see you, the infamous Logan Sterns, at a small amusement park in New England?"

The corner of his lips turns up as he chews his popcorn, and his eyes give me a mischievous look. "Infamous, huh? I am pretty popular, aren't I?"

"Calm down. Don't let your head swell any bigger. I have social media. And Google." I roll my eyes. "Your face is everywhere." Giving him an amused look, I laugh once. "I also go shopping from time to time. So, I've seen your … rather revealing underwear campaign." I can't fight the giggle that bubbles from my lips. "Now … remind me, what was the slogan?" I tap my chin. "Oh, right. Keeping the boys in place ."

He is completely unfazed as he stuffs some more popcorn in his mouth. "Hey, no one wants their nuts bouncing around in their pants during workouts. I'll advocate for that all day long. Gotta keep the boys secure."

"Noted." I nod.

"Anyway, you're ignoring my question. The fans? Are they going to go insane?" I chew the inside of my cheek. "I mean, are they going to take photos of us?"

To Logan, I'm just the nanny, watching his kid. But in the book world, even though I've sucked for the past few years, I'm still very well known. If the tabloids put a picture out of Logan Sterns with his mystery girl and my readers saw it, they would go insane. And I don't want that sort of attention.

"Why, Boston? You embarrassed to be seen with me?" he teases.

"No," I answer quickly. "It's not that I'm embarrassed. But if pictures got out, my readers would jump to conclusions. You know, about you and me. And that'd just make things weird."

"Or they'd eat that shit up, and you'd be forced to write a hockey romance about a hot single dad." He winks. "Now, that's got a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"No." I try to give him an annoyed look.

But the truth is, since being around him, I've had a new story plot brewing in my mind. One about a single father who happens to be insanely good-looking. Oh, and he plays professional hockey.

I can't tell him all of that. He'll think I'm a stalker.

"You're so going to make me your muse, aren't you?" His smirk only intensifies. "Wait … can I be on the cover?"

"No!" I reach forward, swatting his arm lightly. "You are not my muse. And, no, you cannot be on my cover!"

"You're no fun." He sighs. "As for fans at Christmas Land with the shitty cookies, I'll wear a hat and sunglasses, and no one will know who I am. Hopefully."

"All right," I utter. "Are you going to choose something to watch?" I wave toward my bowl. "My popcorn is nearly gone, and you just keep scrolling past everything."

"I'll make you more," he tosses back. "Hey, before I put on a show and we space out on whatever trash I choose, can I ask you, when is your next book release?"

"Why?" I scowl, not able to stop myself.

"Whoa. Calm down, sparky." He shakes his head. "I just wanted to know so I could give you the day off for it. I mean … that's a huge deal."

Relaxing, I instantly feel bad. "Sorry," I breathe out. "It's a sore subject. Writing hasn't exactly been easy the past few years." I sit a little taller. "But a few days ago, I wrote a few hundred words, and I'm really hoping that if I continue to write, I can have a spring release."

"Are your books dirty?" His eyes narrow, a sneaky smirk on his lips.

"No," I lie.

"They totally are." He grins. "Where can one get these books?"

"They are all sold out. Everywhere," I lie again. "Guess you're out of luck."

He gives me a playful once-over. "That was a test, Miss Maci. I already found your books. I also know they are dirty as hell. I'm telling ya, you need a hockey book." He waves his hand at himself. "The ladies love them a puck boy."

"Oh my God. I cannot believe you looked up my books!" I whine as my cheeks heat, to the point of damn near pain. "Okay, we're done talking about this. Time to find something to watch."

He tosses me the remote, and I begin searching through Netflix.

"Oh, and, Maci?" I can hear the amusement dripping from his voice.

"What?" I huff out, terrified of what he's going to say next.

"You can totally use me as inspo, just FYI. I give my permission."

I peek over, and he winks.

"I know; I'm pretty inspirational."

The embarrassment I was just feeling slowly fades. Rolling my eyes, I bark out a laugh. "I'm not even going to respond to that. Now, be quiet. Let's watch Love Island . You wanted trashy? You got it."

He starts to say something, but I hold my hand up, silencing him.

"No more talk of my books, or I'm going to leave right now."

I glance at him to see him pouting. Slowly, he turns his attention toward the screen, and thank the Lord, he leaves me alone.

He might not know it—and I'll never admit it out loud—but he is already my inspiration. Because … hello … he's Logan freaking Sterns.

The ache in my neck hits me instantly even though I haven't even fully woken up yet. For a split second, I don't have a fucking clue where I am. But I know I'm not in my bed, simply by how my body feels.

I glance down to find Maci snuggled on my chest as my body rests against the arm of the couch. The last thing I remember, we were on episode three of the trashiest, corniest show I've ever seen, called Love Island or some shit, where a bunch of single people try to find their soulmates, though I feel like there's no fucking way it works. And then we must have fallen asleep.

I reach for my phone, tapping the screen to see it's after two in the morning. We've been lying here for hours. Hours … together. Something about the way Maci feels with her head against my chest … I don't know why, but I like it. It feels good to actually hold a woman in my arms.

It's been years since I've slept near a female or held one this intimately. When I'm away from Amelia, sure, I'll have a quick hookup. Or maybe let a chick suck on my cock if she begs for it. But after I blow my load, I'm out. Or I politely get her out of my room, depending on the situation.

If this were any other time, my skin would be crawling, and I'd want this woman away from me. But right now, I'm in no rush to get away from her. And that's not good because it complicates the fuck out of the situation with her being Amelia's nanny.

For a few minutes, I just hold her against me, listening to her soft breaths and letting her sweet coconut scent invade my brain. I wonder what's holding her up on writing. And even though I was just ribbing her, I wonder if she has ever put any thought into writing about a hockey player. Or, hell, maybe she finds us repulsive—who knows? I know she has some books about baseball players and even a few about the Mafia. Yet no hockey.

Pfft … baseball over hockey players? She hasn't lived yet.

Maybe spending time around me will change that.

Yeah, right. What about me would she find inspiring? I can't turn the charm on to show her the old Logan Sterns because she's my kid's nanny. And I'm not about to fuck this arrangement up for Amelia because she's been so happy since Maci started watching her.

Her arm falls lower, and her hand rests right over my dick. I curse inwardly because, well, one, I'm a dude, and two … she's very, very attractive.

Not wanting to risk popping a chub, I slowly stand, lifting her in my arms. Clyde watches me, as if waiting to see what exactly I'm going to do.

"I'm just taking her to bed," I whisper-hiss when he cocks his head to the side. "No need to attack me."

As I walk toward the guest room, he follows close behind. I quietly set her down on the bed, grab the throw blanket from the chair, and put it over her body. Once I take a step back, Clyde lies down beside the bed, looking satisfied and convinced I'm not going to hurt his human.

She rolls to the side, curling her legs up to her chest and lifting an arm over her face. Being a professional athlete, I'm used to being around women with plastic body parts and lips that are way too big for their face, but feel damn good when wrapped around my cock. They wear the flashiest clothes and are flawless by anyone's standards. But this girl? She's the type of beauty that is underrated. Her skin looks baby soft, and her lips are naturally red and plump. She's a woman who is just as pretty when she wakes up as she was when she fell asleep. That's not something that happens very often.

Slowly, I back out of the room and close the door.

I spent hundreds of nights with Maddie just like this one after Amelia fell asleep. And yet I never carried her to bed, nor would I ever. And I certainly didn't admire her face while she slept.

I don't know what came over me tonight to make me do all of that. But I know one thing for sure: I can't let it happen again. Things are going perfectly right now, and if I think with the wrong head and I try to get in her pants, it'll ruin everything for my daughter; it'll make shit awkward between Maci and me, and she'll inevitably quit.

If she were a random woman on the street, yes, I'd try to hook up with her if she was into it. But it's not like that. And it never will be either.

No matter how attractive or charming I find Maci McKenzie … I. Must. Not. Fuck. Her.