Page 42 of Puck Your Nanny

I don’t bother arguing further. That’s probably the best I’m going to get.

Footsteps echo from the hall, followed by Nate’s voice calling out, “They just pulled up.”

I take a deep breath, smoothing my hands over my dress. Here goes nothing.

Before I can even get the front door open, Nate and Calvin step past me, opening it to head out and grab the chair from the truck bed. Brent grins as they lift it easily between them, the sheer size of the piece making it a little awkward to maneuver through thedoorway. They leave it in the entry for now, tucked against the wall near the coat rack.

"Damn, you guys are even bigger in person!" Brent's eyes sparkling as he looks between Nate and Calvin. "Man, I knew you were built, but seriously, what do they feed you?"

Nate smirks, stretching his arms behind his head. "Nothing special. Just a lot."

Brent shakes his head in amazement before his gaze shifts and lands on Peter, who has stepped into the hallway, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his slacks. Brent's entire body stiffens before he practically vibrates in place.

"Holy shit. No way. Peter Sinclair." He points, eyes wide. "Daisy, you didn’t tell me you worked forthatPeter Sinclair. This is insane. Dude, I followed your whole career. That knee injury, man… brutal. Bet you would’ve had another five, six years easy without it."

Peter’s expression doesn’t change. "Nice to meet you, Brent."

Brent barrels ahead, oblivious to the shift in energy. "Dude, you were one of the best captains the Vipers ever had. No offense, Nate. That OT goal in the championship run? Legendary. You ever think about coaching? Bet you could whip these guys into shape."

The air turns razor sharp. I see the shift in Peter’s shoulders, the tension in his jaw. His words will be cutting if I don’t step in.

"Dinner’s ready!" I announce, forcing brightness into my voice. "Freda, want to help me bring everything to the table?"

She lights up. "Of course!"

"Peter, why don't you show Brent to the table?" I brush past him and whisper. "Be nice, please."

I lead her back toward the kitchen, my pulse still racing. Brent might not have meant anything by it, but bringing up Peter’s injury so casually is like throwing salt in a wound.

Freda hums as she picks up the salad bowl. "You were holding out on me."

I grab the platter with the roast, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"Your bosses! They arehot." She fans herself. "No wonder you gave in. I mean, three Alphas? Who could resist that?"

The implication stings. I grip the platter tighter than necessary. "It didn’t happen like that."

She rolls her eyes, playful but dismissive. "Right. Sure. But seriously, you’re one lucky girl."

I don’t respond. I just push through the double doors leading to the dining room, setting the roast down in the center of the table. Freda follows, placing the salad next to it.

Brent is already in a chair, arms crossed over his chest. "Hope you’ve improved in the kitchen since you lived with us."

My stomach tightens, but I plaster on a smile as I take my seat. "Guess you’ll have to be the judge of that."

As the meal starts, Brent zeroes in on Nate. "Man, I gotta know what’s it like being captain? Lot of pressure, right?"

Nate takes a bite of roast, chewing before answering. "Yeah. But it’s part of the job. Really good job on the roast, Daisy."

Heat warms my cheeks. "Thank you."

Brent ignores his comment toward me. "And Calvin, best save percentage in the league last season. That’s wild. What’s your workout routine like? You do more weight training or agility drills?"

Calvin wipes his mouth with his napkin. "Both."

Brent barely pauses for breath before launching into another question. "Nate, do you ever think about switching up your play style? You’ve got great puck control, but I feel like you could be more aggressive on the rush. Have you ever thought about adjusting your positioning?"

Nate’s fork clinks against his plate as he sets it down. "I think I’m doing fine."

---