Page 24 of Nanny for the Athletes

“There’s eight of us from the Colts,” Christian explained. “Six players, and two coaches. A few members of the city council will be there, too.”

I thought about Logan Landry shoving my ex over the fence. “No hockey players?”

Braden chuckled. “Doubtful. It’s an after school youth football charity. You expecting someone?”

“One of my new customers is a hockey player,” I said. “He has four mutts staying with us.”

“Black beard?” Christian asked. “Kind of rough around the edges?”

“Looks like he is perpetually biting into a lemon?” Braden added.

“That’s him! Logan Landry.”

Christian chuckled. “I thought I saw Loki over by the kennel. I could spot his snaggle tooth a mile away.”

“Logan’s my brother-in-law,” Braden explained. “His sister Emily is engaged to my sister Leslie. And yes, if you’re wondering: I got a lot of mileage out of calling her Leslie the Lesby when we were younger.”

“Oh, yeah! I met both of them at the hockey game. And my introduction to Logan was… eventful.”

Both of them frowned. “He wasn’t a dick, was he? Usually, he’s more polite around women,” Christian said.

Laughing, I said, “He was definitely a dick, but in the best possible way. My ex-boyfriend showed up and made a scene, so Logan threatened to knock his teeth out.”

“That’s not just an idle threat,” Braden assured me. “I’ve seen him do it. Logan lives for that kind of thing.”

Christian nodded. “He didn’t have the best childhood. Took him a long time to work through his issues.”

“He’s working through some new issues this week,” Braden added. “He found out—”

Christian shot him a look. “What’s the one thing Logan hates more than anything?”

Braden’s smile disappeared. “When people gossip about him behind his back. Shit.”

“No worries, you didn’t say anything. And even if you did, my lips are sealed. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“He really is a good guy, deep down,” Braden insisted. “Like a jolly rancher stuffed inside of a jalapeño.”

“Try five jalapeños,” Christian said. “It takes a long time to get down to his sugary interior.”

“Good to know.”

We picked up two Colts linemen next. They lived in a gated neighborhood with houses that were the size of castles. Their dates looked like supermodels with fake boobs and Brazilian butt lifts, and they gave meverylong looks when introductions were made. I started regretting coming; it was difficult to feel like I belonged when those two bombshells were in the same ride as me. I was grateful that Braden had to scoot over next to me, because he blocked their view of me during the ride.

“You good?” Braden asked.

“I’m great!” I answered.

He flashed me a warm smile before turning back to say something to one of the linemen.

The charity event was held at the Grand Hall at Union Station, a converted section of the train station. It was bookended with 65-foot arches, with intricate frescoes, gold leaf detailing, and art glass windows. As we exited the limo and walked inside, a sign on the wall boasted that the room had been restored to the original style from its 1894 opening.

I was nervous about all the attention I would get as we went inside. A professional photographer snapped photos of us before we were admitted into the ballroom. The sound of classical music from a four-piece orchestra was drowned out by the buzz and chatter of at least two hundred guests that milled around the space with drinks in hand. Many of them turned to openly stare at us as we entered. It was impossible to forget that I was here with Braden and Christian, two of the most famous athletes in St. Louis.

“Braden and I have to go check-in with the event coordinator, and then make our rounds among the guests,” Christian told me. “Make yourself at home. Mingle, and enjoy as much food and drinks as you want. I’ll come check on you in a little bit. Cool?”

“Works for me!” I said.

“If you need anything, come find us,” Braden said with a dashing wink.

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