Page 11 of Dirty Deal (Slayers Hockey 5)

Anders pushes out of his chair and shakes his head. “No, man. You’re not all he has. Never.” And then he gives me a grudging wave. “Let Uncle Anders have a turn.”

“Absolutely,” I say through a grin, emotion making my voice thick. “But wash your hands first. Yeah, don’t give me that look, either. I’m serious.”

While Anders washes up, I head back to Nora’s room and knock. She opens the door, pulling her earbuds out as she does.

No scowl. No snippy comment. But then it’s not like my teammates woke her up at four a.m. today. At least not my Slayers teammates. The newest addition to team Erikson may very well have.

She directs a soft smile at my son, not me. “Ready for me to take him?”

“Nah, I just wanted to tell you, you didn’t need to hide out in here all evening. Hell, have you even eaten today?”

Her hand moves to her belly. “I made some coffee this morning and had one of your protein bars this afternoon, but then I sort of lost track. Now that you mention it, though, I’m kind of starving.”

“Me too.” I nod for her to follow me back to the living room. “What do you like? I’ll order in.”

“Anything is fine.”

“Thai,” Anders chirps, drying his hands on his jeans. “That fat noodle stuff with the basil and chicken. Get two. And spring rolls. And satay. And stuff for you guys too.”

“Mmm, satay,” Nora hums, rubbing her hands together. “Can I share, or is all that really just for you?”

His head comes up and, eyes locking on Nora, his jaw drops.

“Anders,” I growl in warning. But when has this punk ever listened to me?

“Fun Wrecker?”

Shit.

Nora’s brow slips up into a smooth arch, her eyes shifting my way as a wicked smile curves her lips.

There she is.

“That’s me.”

Clearing my throat, I nod between them. “Anders, this isNora. She’s agreed to help me out with Otto for the next month. Nora, this is Anders. Whatever he wants, the answer isno.”

“Nice to meet you officially, Anders,” she says, stuffing her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. Message clear: no handshakes, no hugs.

I like it.

Especially since Anders is already sliding into smarmy-man-on-the-make mode. Yeah, I see the subtle adjustment to his stance. That crossed-arm thing with the faux bulgy muscles? Not on my watch.

“Anders, you wanted to hold Otto?”

To his credit, he doesn’t blow his brand-spanking-new nephew off for the hot nanny. He takes him in his arms, and then, all innocence, gives up this sort of nervous-sounding, totally fake laugh.

“Geez, am I holding him right? I’m not sure—”

The little prick.

Nora’s there in a blink, helping my brother— who actually did babysit, has dated at least one chick with a baby, and guaranteed, knows exactly what he’s doing with Otto. Her voice is reassuring and gentle, her hands adjusting my son, who, thank God, is too young to know he’s being used.

Anders’s eyes come up over her shoulder, gleaming with in-your-face satisfaction.

“Lucky you’ve got Otto, there,” I mutter, my knuckles cracking in my fist.

He beams back. “I know. Best part, the minute this kid takes a dump, I’m giving him back to Daddy.”

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