Page 13 of Second Chance with the Single Dad Goalie (Second Chance Hockey Players #2)

Chapter nine

Whitney

H e wants me to do what?

I blink at Blake, trying to process the words that just came out of his mouth.

I would have preferred if he had said I should compete in the upcoming beauty queen pageant in town, because honestly?

That would make more sense than him standing in my doorway, hands shoved into his pockets, looking all broody and serious, and unfortunately, ridiculously good, asking me to be his kids’ nanny.

Seriously, how is it fair that a man can be that handsome and that insane at the same time? His dark button-down is rolled up at the sleeves, showing off strong forearms, and his hair - thick and just the right amount of messy - looks like it’s been tugged at one too many times today.

The late evening air is warm but carries the scent of an oncoming storm. Maybe he's the storm. A faint breeze shifts a loose strand of my hair, but I don’t bother tucking it behind my ear. I am too busy gaping at him.

"You really are serious?" I ask again, one brow arched, head tilted just enough to let him know I think he’s lost it.

Blake exhales, his fingers brushing over the light stubble on his chin - a desperation habit I remember all too well. "Um… yeah."

That small, familiar gesture flickers through me, stirring something I don’t want to acknowledge. But I shove it aside just as fast.

I let out a short laugh. "No."

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look surprised. "Figured you’d say that."

I cross my arms, leaning against the doorframe, my curiosity officially piqued. "So, why ask?"

"Because," he says, slipping his hands deeper into his pockets, "I was hoping you'd prove me wrong."

I snort. “Then you were hoping wrong.”

“Whitney, just…”

“Blake,” I place my hands on my waist. “I heard you, gave you an answer. There.”

I move to go inside, but his hand shoots out, holding my hand - warm, solid. My breath catches, just for a second. My eyes snap to him, and something unexpected jolts through me. Annoyance, definitely…, and maybe something else I refuse to name. I yank my hand away, a little too fast.

He raises his hand in surrender and says, “Let’s go somewhere and talk.”

I arch a brow. “Why? You think if we change locations, my answer magically changes too?”

He lets out a small chuckle. “No. But I figured you, of all people, might at least hear me out properly. You know, since we’re…, friends. And we have history.”

I still am. The word hits harder than it should.

Then, slowly, step closer until there’s barely any space between us. His brows lift slightly, but he doesn’t back away.

“First things first, Blake, you and I are not friends. Acquaintances? Sure. Friends? No. Secondly, history?” I lean in a little more, my eyes locked on his, my voice low but sharp.

"You erased that the moment you chose someone else and walked away. So, no. We don’t have history.

We’re just two people who used to be something. That’s it."

His expression tightens, and something flickers in his eyes - pain? Regret? I don’t let myself linger on it long enough to be sure.

For a second, neither of us speaks. We just stand there, locked in this silent, stubborn battle. The tension is almost unbearable, like if one of us moves, the fragile balance will shatter.

Then I exhale sharply and step back. "Look, I have things to do for my dad, so if this is all, you should go."

Then, his throat bobs like he’s about to say something, but before he can, a voice interrupts.

“Sweetie?” My dad’s voice breaks through the tension. “Who are you talking to? You’ve been out there for a while.”

I jerk back just as the door swings open. My dad’s gaze lands on Blake, and his face instantly lights up.

“Oh, Blakey boy! How are you doing?”

Blake straightens, nodding respectfully. “I’m good, sir.”

Dad leans against the doorframe, glancing between us, his brows lifting slightly - like he can feel the awkward tension.

“What brings you here this evening?”

Blake glances at me before saying, “I had something to discuss with Whitney.”

“And we have discussed,” I say quickly, “and he was just leaving.”

“As a matter of fact,” Blake says smoothly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “We haven’t and I wasn’t.”

I glare at him.

Dad hums in amusement. Then, to my absolute horror, Blake asks, “Mr. Desmond, would it be okay if I took Whitney to the park so we could continue talking? I know she has something to do for you.”

I shoot him a sharp look, then turn to my dad, expecting immediate backup. Instead, Dad eyes me thoughtfully.

“Does she now?”

I pleaded with him with my eyes to say no, but he ignores me completely and grins at Blake. "I can ask Rosa to do the ‘something’ she was supposed to do for me, so, yes, you can."

I gasp. “How can you just let me go off with a total stranger?”

Dad scoffs. "He’s not a stranger. He’s Blake."

My eyes widen. "You…"

Dad gives me a knowing look, then heads back inside without another word.

I stand there, staring at the door, still processing when someone clears their throat.

I whip around to see Blake watching me with that amused glint in his eyes.

He tilts his head, a mischievous look in his eyes. "Now that I have permission," he says, grinning, "can we go somewhere and talk?"

I sigh. "Fine. Five minutes."

A few minutes later, we’re sitting on a bench in the park down the street.

The evening air is cool, the sky turning soft shades of pink and purple.

Streetlights flicker on, casting a warm glow over the quiet space, leaving only the occasional bark of a dog, the rustling of leaves, and the distant laughter of kids still playing.

I cross my legs and arch a brow. "So, what’s with the whole wanting me to be your children’s nanny thing?"

Blake leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Their nanny quit," he says, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "And hiring another one has been…, challenging."

I frown. "Challenging how?"

"They don’t like just anyone," he mutters. "I’ve interviewed half a dozen nannies, and none seem to be the right fit. The kids just couldn’t click with the last two.”

I raise a brow. "And you think they’d like me?"

He huffs a small, dry laugh. "They already do. You were with them."

“That was one time. I looked after them just one time.”

“Which is more than enough.”

"Liking someone and wanting them as a nanny are two different things."

“Liking you makes it easier for them to want you to be their nanny.”

I don’t have a response to that, so I stay quiet.

After a moment, he continues, "Keith actually suggested I ask you, you know…, to be the nanny."

My head snaps toward him. "He said what?"

"Yeah," Blake mutters, running a hand through his hair. "Figured you didn’t have much going on right now and might be interested."

I scoff. "Wow. Love that for me. Keith’s an idiot," I mutter, shaking my head.

There is a beat of silence before I ask, "Who’s been watching them since the nanny quit?"

"My mom."

"Then why can’t she keep helping out?"

He leans back, staring up at the sky. "She’s having surgery next week. Knee replacement.”

“Oh.” My chest tightens a little. "That’s…, I’m really sorry, Blake. I hope it all goes well."

His jaw ticks, and for the first time tonight, he looks almost…, exhausted. Not just physically, but the kind of tiredness that settles deep in your bones.

“Whitney,” he exhales, dragging a hand through his hair, “I wouldn’t be asking if I had other options.”

That makes me pause. I bite the inside of my cheek. "Blake, I really can’t do this."

He looks at me, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly, "At least think about it."

I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair. "Blake…"

"Just think about it, Whitney." His voice is softer this time, almost careful. "That’s all I’m asking."

I hesitate but finally exhale. "Fine. I’ll think about it."

Not that my answer is going to change.

By the time I step into the living room, I’m still shaking my head. I can’t believe Blake asked me to be his kids’ nanny. Like, what was he thinking?

"Soo…" My dad’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. He’s lounging on the couch, looking far too amused. "How was your chat with Blake?"

I open my mouth to respond, but then I see movement from the stairs.

Keith.

My eyes narrow.

"YOU…!"

He pauses mid-step, eyebrows lifting in that fake innocent way of his. "Me?"

"Yes, YOU!" I point at him, fire in my veins. "When I get my hands on you, you’re dead!"

His eyes widen. " What? Oh, no!"

His eyes widen comically, and without missing a beat, he spins around and sprints back up as if his life depended on it -which, at this point, it kind of does.

I take the stairs two at a time, hot on his heels.

He reaches his room, fumbling with the door, but I’m faster.

I shove the door open just before he can slam it shut and slip inside.

"Whitney, wait…”

Nope.

I launch at him, tackling him onto the bed. "What the heck were you thinking? Huh? Why would you…?"

"Whitney, get off - you’re violent!" He tries to pry me off, but I smack his arm away.

"Whit, c’mon!" He protests, grabbing a pillow for defense. "I don’t even know what I did. But whatever it is, I don’t deserve this!” I grab a pillow, whack him with it, and press a knee into his side for good measure.

"Ow! Okay, okay, time out!" Keith shields himself, laughing as he tries to grab the pillow. “Ow, woman! What did I even do?”

I finally stop, breathing hard, and glare at him. "Oh, you know what you did!"

“Enlighten me, please.”

"Why would you tell Blake to ask me to be his kids’ nanny?" I demand, narrowing my eyes.

Keith blinks. "Wait. He actually asked you?"

I throw my hands up. "Yes, Keith, he asked me!"

“I was joking when I said that.”

“Well, your joke is no longer a joke,” I snap, crossing my arms. "Now he’s serious, and I’m stuck in this weird, awkward mess because of you."

Keith’s face splits into a grin. "Wow. That’s hilarious."

I grab the nearest pillow and smack him with it.