Page 45 of Man Advantage

I appreciatedthat Jenni and Kristina wanted to include me in the spouse’s suite even though I wasn’t a player’s partner, but I really didn’t want to chance any friction with Bryan. And by the time the twins and I had settled into the owners’ box, I’d made the decision to stay here for every game rather than joining the wives. The tension between Bryan and me wasn’t exactly subtle, and I didn’t want to cause problems.

So… I’d stay out of their suite tonight and going forward. No point in making everyone in there uncomfortable.

That, and butting heads with him seemed like it was just asking for him to drag Trev to court and fight for full custody. I wasnotgoing to be the reason Trev lost his kids. With that in mind, staying away from him as much as possible seemed more than prudent.

What could I say? Working at a high-end gym with a ton of drama between divorcing high-society members had taught me a lot about conflict avoidance.

And anyway, it turned out, the owners’ box was swanky as hell. Cushy leather seats. Free drinks of the alcoholic and non-alcoholic varieties. Tons of food. A handful of devoted staff members.

The view wasn’t half bad either. We were sandwiched between the upper and lower bowls—a better view than the nosebleed section, but not quite as good as if we were down by the glass.

The boys were thrilled by it all. They were even happier when they found out one of the staff members would get them some snacks from the concessions downstairs—pizza for Zane, a hot dog for Zach, and sodas for both of them.

“They didn’t do that for you last season?” I asked.

Zane shrugged. “Dad always took us to get snacks last season.”

“Oh. We can do that at the next game if?—”

“No way!” Zach grinned. “This is cool!”

I chuckled and let it go. I could talk to Trev about it later. Make sure he and Bryan were okay with this rather than expecting the boys to go through the concessions line like everyone else. Not that they seemed to have any issues with waiting their turn, in line or otherwise; I’d been to a handful of stores and restaurants with them, and they were always patient when they had to wait. They’d also been polite when they’d placed their orders with the staff member, and they thanked her profusely when she arrived.

I was probably overthinking things. Having someone run out of the luxury suite to pick up their game food was probably just a cool novelty for a couple of six-year-olds.

For an inexperienced nanny who really, really needed this fucking job, it was something to sweat bullets over.

Yep. Definitely overthinking.

I rolled my shoulders and tried to shake off the nerves. This wasn’t my first outing with the boys, but it was the first where I was truly on my own. I couldn’t reach out to Trev if I had aquestion. I could theoretically reach out to Bryan, and I certainly would if there was an emergency, but if I went to him over something stupid, I’d never hear the end of it. Or I’d never have to worry about watching the boys at a hockey game again, since I’d be on my way back to Seattle.

Breathe, Cameron. They’re fine. You’re fine. Bryan’s not here to try to catch you doing something wrong.

Which… now that I thought about it, I was kind of surprised he hadn’t come up here to be with the boys. He preferred to stay in the spouse’s suite instead.

Because he wanted a break from being a dad? Because he wanted to hang out with the partners he knew? Because he wanted to give me a chance to fuck up so he could convince Trev to fire me?

I didn’t know. I probably didn’twantto know. At the end of the day, he was in another suite, I was in here with the boys, and I wasn’t looking that glorious gift horse in the mouth.

While the boys ate their snacks, the pregame montage kicked on. The sellout crowd went nuts, roaring their enthusiasm as the clock ticked down to puck drop. After the montage, there was a brief segment by the sports commentators, which I couldn’t hear very well.

Normally, the players would return to the ice, and then there’d be the national anthems, followed by puck drop. Opening night, however, began with player introductions. They were introduced in numerical order, each skating out onto the ice to the cheers of the crowd as their photo came up on the Jumbotron.

“From Seattle, Washington,” the announcer’s voice boomed, “number forty-seven—Trevor Allen!”

Zach and Zane cheered for their dad, and my balance went a little wonky as his face appeared on the big screen. I was still not used to how attractive Trev had turned out to be. The thirty-year-old version of him decked out in his hockey gear, sweaty with finger-combed hair? It wasn’t fair how smoking hot he was.

The announcer continued down the roster as each player skated out to the circle. When he was done, the players saluted the crowd, and then they moved to the bench or the blue line for the national anthem.

After the anthem, I asked, the boys, “So besides your dad, who’s your favorite player?”

“Hoes,” Zach said without hesitation. “He’s Dad’s linemate.”

Zane nodded. “I like Hoes. But Petrovich is my favorite.” He grinned. “I like goalies.”

I chuckled. “I thought that was just soccer.”

“No.” He shook his head as he reached for his soda. “All goalies.”

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