Page 9 of Nanny for the Athletes

“Nice to meet you, Christian! I’m—”

“Let me guess: Lizzy?” he asked with a small grin.

I chuckled. “Yes. Well, sort of. My name is Elizabeth, but I go by Beth. I was named after my grandma, who went by Lizzy. She used to own this property before I turned it into a dog boarding kennel, so I decided to name it after her. Sorry, I’m rambling. Heidi seems really sweet! I love German Shepherds.”

“Best dog I’ve ever had.” Christian slid back the sleeve of his suit jacket to look at his watch. “Braden was right behind me. I must have lost him at a light…”

“Is that him?” A cherry red Mazda Miata convertible was driving down the main road in the distance, then turned onto my driveway. The top was down, and a Golden Retriever was standing up in the passenger seat with its paws up on the edge, tongue lolling out in a wide canine smile.

“That’s him,” Christian said, waving.

Before the car came to a complete stop, the dog jumped over the edge and came running up to me. It didn’t just wag its tail—its entire back half wiggled back and forth as it rubbed against my legs.

“Oh you’re such a sweetie!” As soon as I crouched down, the dog began licking my face and neck.

“Woah, Pickles! You gotta ask permission before going to first base, buddy.” The man who hopped out of the convertible had a relaxed and carefree demeanor, in stark contrast with Christian’s intense calm. His sun-kissed, tousled hair was a shade of golden blond, and it seemed perpetually windblown, giving him an approachable and laid-back look. Unlike his suited friend, he was dressed in a simple, well-worn T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans that looked like they’d lived a full life. His playful blue eyes sparkled with mischievousness and were framed by a scattering of freckles on his nose, hinting at countless days spent under the sun. With an infectious grin that showcased a hint of dimples, he exuded an easygoing charm. I liked him immediately.

The Golden Retriever suddenly turned his head toward the field where Heidi and Hank were playing. Then he took off at a dead sprint to join them. Up on the front porch of the house, Princess cautiously watched all of this.

“His name isPickles?”I asked with a laugh. “That’s got to be the best name for a dog I’ve ever heard.”

“Matches his personality. It was extra funny when he got out of my backyard a few months ago, the weekend I moved in. I ran around my neighborhood shouting his name. Pickles! PICKLES!” His warm smile widened further. “My new neighbors probably thought:man, this guy is really into pickles.”

“This is Beth,” Christian said. “She runs the boarding kennel.”

“Shit. Forgot my manners. I’m Braden.”

His hand wasenormous, and completely enveloped mine as we shook.

“You forgot more than your manners. Why aren’t you suited up for the flight?” Christian asked. He sounded like an older sibling chiding a younger brother.

Braden rolled his eyes. “I brought clothes. I’m gonna change at the airport.”

“There are photographers at the airport. Go change now.” He turned to me. “I’m really sorry to ask this, but can my lazy teammate change clothes inside?”

“Go ahead. But please don’t judge me for the mess,” I added. “I’m still getting this place livable.”

Braden groaned, but went back to retrieve a bag out of his car.

“Normally we prefer clients book in advance,” I explained, “but you’re in luck, because today we can accommodate walk-ups.”

“Actually, we don’t need boarding today,” Christian replied. “We just wanted to come by and check it out first.”

“This place is dope,” Braden said over his shoulder. “There’s way more room than the boarder we’ve been using since moving to St. Louis.”

Christian nodded. “This is more like Brandi’s kennel in Indianapolis.”

“Yeah, totally.” Braden disappeared inside my house.

Indianapolis. The city triggered a memory. “Wait a minute. Did you hear about me from…” I trailed off. I couldn’t remember the names of the women at the hockey game. “Um. They were a nice couple, I met them at a Blues hockey game. They were, uh…”

“Lesbians?” Christian gave me a small smile. “Emily and Leslie?”

“That’s them! I gave them my card.”

“Leslie is Braden’s sister. That’s how we heard about you.”

“You’re football players. For the Colts.” I examined Christian with new eyes. He was at least six-foot-four, and lookedverysturdy underneath his suit. I should have known the moment he got out of his Jeep.

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