“You aren’t a dick to the kids you look after, are you?”
“Not really.”
“That’s comforting.”
“I generally prefer kids to adults, so…”
“Yeah? Hang on—my brain’s a little slow today, but I just realized something. It sounds to me like you’re very familiar with my entire body of work.”
She scoffs and looks away. “No.”
“And yet, you speak as though you are familiar with the scripts of the films I’ve starred in.”
“Movies. You’ve starred in movies. And I did not watch them willingly.”
“Go on.”
“No. Are we just going to sit here and talk about you and your hair for half an hour, or would you like to tell me about your children?”
“You’re the one who started talking about my hair.”
“I don’t think so… Okay you know what—this is weird, so I’m just gonna tell you something and get it out of the way so things don’t get weirder, and then you can decide if you want to hire me as a nanny or not.”
“Okay…” This should be interesting. If she tells me that she’s been arrested, I think I can still make this work, as long as it was for a nonviolent crime.
She takes in a huge breath, grabs on to the pendant of her necklace, and tilts her head up, squeezing her eyes shut. I take this opportunity to briefly admire her slender neck and elegant collarbones, the impossibly smooth skin of her chest, and the strap of that pale-pink bra that’s peeking out from under her blouse and tank top, and fuck me she’s pretty. Not just pretty—she’s lovely and odd and sexy in a way that I’ve never encountered before. I want to take her to dinner and go for a walk on the beach and talk to her for hours and hours while Netflix and chillin’, and I want that gentle, knowing hand and that pouty sassy mouth on my cock. Oh fucking hell, I want to suck on those beautiful tits until she comes, and I want to spank that round ass and fuck her with my tongue and make her scream my name, and then I will bend her over and give it to her until she—whoa.
She takes another deep breath, and I look around for Nico. He could take one look at me from inside the store and know that I’ve been thinking about coming all over his little sister’s tits, and there would be one hell of a cleanup needed in Aisle Me. He is nowhere to be found, but I need to clamp down on this train of thought regardless.
“I used to have a crush on you.”
Fuck. That’s not helping.
“A big one. Years ago. When you worked with my brother. And maybe for a few years after that. I mean I was basically a zygote and we only met once, and you barely even knew I existed. I realize I was just one of thousands of little girls who had a thing for you, but anyway. You were the first famous guy I’d ever met—I mean the first cute young one. I had met the local weatherman in Detroit, but he was old and creepy. Anyway. You were so nice to me, and it meant a lot to me, so…I had fond memories of meeting you.”
Goddammit. It’s so cute that she’s telling me this.
“But I’m over it. So over it. That was then. This is now. Between now and then, I’ve dated tons of other guys. Mostly European ones. And not all of them were chemistry nerds either. So. It’s not a thing anymore. Let’s just focus on your kids and your sleeping problem and the job you need me to do and not get weird about the fact that I might be living with you for a few months. Right?” She wrinkles her nose, finally looks over at me, lets go of her necklace, and bites her lower lip.
Fuck me. I don’t want her to be over it.
“Yeah. Right. Thanks for making it not weird.” Fucking hell, why does she have to be Nico’s sister? “First of all, there were hundreds of thousands—possibly a million or more girls and moms who had a thing for me when I was on That’s So Wizard, just to clarify. Secondly, I’d like you to define tons. Tons of guys—is that Girl Speak for three?”
She smirks. She clearly did not mean three. “Sure. So, we’re cool, right? Potential friends who might be living and working together-ish? Obviously don’t tell my brother I had a crush on you, because he would lose his mind and never let me see you again.”
“You think?”
“Oh yeah. He had no idea how I felt about you. I’m gonna stop talking about how I felt about you now.”
“Good, yeah, great… You should probably stop talking about that now.”
“Okay, I need to do something though.” She slaps her hands on her thighs. “It would be better if you cover your eyes.”
“Sure.” I cover my eyes with both hands and totally sneak a peek through the cracks of my fingers just in case this thing she’s about to do involves giving me another glimpse of her cleavage. She stands up, takes one step to the side of her chair, and starts jumping up and down while flinging her hands around. It would probably be a strange and not at all sexy thing if someone else were doing it, but her tits are all bouncy and carefree, and nothing else really matters right now except for that. She’s jogging in place and tilting her head from side to side, and now she’s jogging away from me and back again, once, twice, three times, and now she’s back in her chair.
“Okay, I’m done.”
I remove my hands from my face. “What are you done doing, exactly?”
“I just had to release some nervous energy and do something even more embarrassing than disclosing my former crush to you.”
“That makes sense.”
“Now you tell me something embarrassing about yourself.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Fine. I guess that penis shirt is embarrassing enough.”
I look down at the front of my inside out shirt. “Pen shirt. My pen is… You can read what it says?”
“I’m pretty sure everyone can.”
“Whaddya know…shit—what time is it?” I flip over my phone to check the time. “I should start shopping. I’ve gotta get back home to unload the groceries and then pick up the kids.” Jesus, those are the least sexy sentences a guy could ever say right there. “You want to come with? We’ll keep talking. About the kids. Not about the huge crush you used to have on me.”
“I’m super glad I confided in you. Thanks for not making me feel awkward about it.”
“I’m super glad you brought it up, even though I’ve practically forgotten about it already.”
I text Nico to let him know we’re shopping, but I saw the model he’s hitting on. He won’t be joining us anytime soon. And I’m glad. This is the first time I’ve been out grocery shopping with anyone other than the kids in years, and it’s nice to just push a cart up and down the aisles and not have to worry about things being dropped or knocked over or someone getting lost. Although I could easily get lost in that voice and those eyes and that hair and those hands and that body and the way she smells—Jesus, she’s a buffet of sensory delights, and I can’t indulge in any of them.
But I can tell she’s trying just as much as I am to find a rapport that will work for us.
Kids.
Focus on the kids.
“So how old were the kids you looked after in France? Versailles, right?”
“Yes, right outside of Paris. That’s where the post-graduate school is, where I got my Master of Science.”
“In perfume.”
“In scent design and creation.”
“So now you’ve learned all the different ways to mix things together to get the smells you want?”
She smiles and blushes. “Pretty much. Anyway, I boarded with the Angier family. Noelle and Leo are the kids. Noelle was six when I first got there, Leo was eight. School-age. I’d look after them when their parents were at work or traveling. My class schedule was similar to theirs, so it worked out quite well. They’re good kids. It was easy.”
“Well, mine are good kids, but they aren’t easy.”
“No?”
“No, they’re a nonstop adorable nightmare. Like an animated Disney movie that follows you around and just won’t end.”
She giggles. “I don’t believe yo
u.”
“You’ll see. They’re really smart, though. Probably a little too smart for my liking.” We’re in the produce section, and I reach for a bunch of organic bananas. “Hey, you don’t happen to know why banana skins get brown spots, do you?”
“Enzymatic browning,” she says without whipping out her phone or even stopping to think. Her face lights up as she explains, “Polyphenol oxidase reacts with phenolic compounds and oxygen to create brown pigments. During the ripening process, amino acids transform to ethylene gas, which is a hormone, to break down the complex sugars. They also go brown from bruising if they’re dropped, because that makes them produce the gas faster. It’s actually best to eat a banana once the brown spots have started to develop. Sugar is easier to digest than starch.”
I am an undereducated moron.
“Right. Chemistry. I’ll just tell Lucky it makes the bananas sweeter.” Moving on. “Do you speak Spanish?”
“I’m pretty fluent in French, but I learned how to say ‘please leave me alone, I’m not interested’ in five other European languages. Why do you ask?”
“Because the kids learn Spanish at school. Our other nannies would speak it with them quite a bit. Don’t worry about it. It sounds like you were very popular in Europe.”
“I could probably pick up Spanish really quickly,” she says, ignoring my last comment. “They’re both Romance languages.”
“Really, don’t worry about it.”
“No, I should learn Spanish if I’m here. You must speak it pretty well by now.”
“Si.” That’s it. That’s the extent of my spoken Spanish. This girl is out of my league.
“Where do you live?”
“Pacific Palisades. Overlooking the ocean. It’s between Malibu and Santa Monica.”
“I’ve been dying to get out to the beach.”
“My house is on the bluffs, with a view. I gotta warn you, though. I mean, has Nico told you anything about my neighborhood? It’s no place for a single twenty-four-year-old. Every restaurant in the village is closed by ten. It’s really family-oriented and quiet.”
“Has Nico not mentioned that I’m a boring dork?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I am.”
“Really? Because you seem like a fairly exciting dork to me.”
“Really? Thank you, but you seem like you have fairly limited experience with dorks.”
“It’s not for lack of trying. Can you cook? You don’t have to.”
“I cooked for the kids in France sometimes, sure. But I learned a lot of tricks from their grandmother, and they all involve butter, so…”
“My personal trainer will hate that.”
“Sorry.”
“No, I hate my trainer. That’s a good thing.”
When we pass by the Wellness and Beauty department, Willa places her hand on my arm for half a second, and I feel things that I haven’t felt in ages. “Have you tried lavender essential oil?”
I shake my head. “For what?”
“Insomnia. You should get an essential oil burner.”
I let her guide the front of the cart down the aisle and listen to her explain in a sing-song voice about aromatherapy and how breathing in the scent molecules of lavender essential oil can transmit signals to my limbic system to relieve stress and promote deep, relaxing sleep. She doesn’t harass me about it the way Margo does. She just presents me with the information and lets me decide for myself if I want it.
I want it.
I’ll take it.
“Do you have a current driver’s license?”
She blinks at the abrupt change of subject as she places a burner, tea lights, and essential oil in my cart. “I do.”
“How’s your driving history?”
“Minimal but fantastic. I went to college in Ithaca, so I didn’t have to drive much there, and I sometimes drove the kids around in France, but not much. I’ve been driving Nico’s truck here.”
“His old Nissan pickup?”
“Yeah. I like it.”
“Well, I’d have to rent you a car if you’re going to drive my kids around.”
She shrugs. “Okay.” She looks up, directly into my eyes, for the first time since we’ve been walking around the store. “So, you really want to do this?”
Yes.
Fucking hell, I need this woman in my life.
I’ll take her any way that I can have her. Dick in pants. Heart on lockdown.
My kids need this woman in their lives.
I can make this work.
I can sell this to my ex-wife.
Margo loves this natural beauty, aromatherapy shit. She fancies herself a Gwyneth Paltrow for millennials. She will eat this girl up in a totally different way from how I want to.
“Well listen, I’ll have to talk to Margo, and then you’ll have to Skype with her, but I really need a nanny, like yesterday. This could definitely work. If you’re really interested.”
“Do you want me to meet the kids first too, though? Make sure they like me?”
“Oh, they won’t like you. They’ve never liked any of their nannies or babysitters.”
She guffaws. “Seriously?”
“It shouldn’t affect the way you do your job.”
I have now replaced all of the food items that my daughter transferred to the kitchen floor this morning and push the cart over to checkout. I don’t think about how easy it is to talk to Willa, and I don’t think about how good I feel, and I don’t dwell on how impossible it will be to restrain myself from kissing her. I just ask her to stay in line with the cart while I go over to the floral section and pick out the flowers that I saw her inhaling when I walked in. Back in the good old days, when I didn’t know she was Nico’s sister. I grab all of them. Five bunches of these sweet and peppery-smelling blooms.
When I place them on the checkout counter, she smiles and helps me place everything from the cart onto the counter. We don’t say anything until the cashier scans the five bouquets and I take them from her to present them to Willa. “For you. Welcome to Los Angeles.”
“All of them?”
“It’s a big city. You deserve a big welcome.”
“Thank you.” The way she’s blushing and smiling at me now, it’s just like when I first met her. When she was a zygote who had a big crush on me. “Well, why don’t I take one of them back to my brother’s and you can take the other four to your house? I mean, since I might be there too. Eventually.” She places four of the bouquets back into the cart.
“That also works.”
Is the lack of sleep clouding my judgment?
Is this the best or the worst idea ever?
Do I have any other choice?
No. I don’t have any other choice.
Having Nico’s hot, weird younger sister help me with the kids and sleeping and showering in my house is the only choice I’ve got.
Fuckin’ A.
I love this day.
“Sorry we didn’t hang more,” Nico says, putting his arm around my shoulder as we carry the groceries to my car. Willa is waiting by his Jeep and sniffing those flowers with a dreamy look on her beautiful face. “I’ve got a show coming up. Maybe you’ll come.”
“Yeah, no, it’s fine. I’m glad you got to spend some quality time with yet another model in yoga pants.”
“Somebody’s gotta do it.” He grins. “Hey man, no pressure about hiring my sister or anything…”
“Not at all, man. She’s great. I’m in. I think this is happening. I’ll just have to clear it with Margo, you know.”
“Yeah, good. It’s just that she needs a job, and I don’t know if she’s ready to handle LA guys if she’s at a sales counter or waiting tables or whatever, but I trust you.” He squeezes my shoulder, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mean to do it in a menacing way, that’s just how my dick’s reading it. “You’ll look out for her. Like a brother.”
“Yup.” I will definitely keep her away from other LA guys. “You can count
on me.”
6
Shane
“So…you really didn’t get in any trouble for this?” I tape Summer’s latest masterpiece up onto the side of the fridge, above Lucky’s painting of my red board shorts.
“No. Why?”
“No reason. And your teacher didn’t say she wanted to talk to me?”
“No. Why? I did what I was s’posed to.”
“You did, baby. You really did. It’s beautiful. Yours too, Lucky. These are really, really good. I’m proud of you.” Summer did a really good job painting a big red pen and writing out the words MY PEN IS BIGER THAN YORS. “Really, really proud.” I toss their empty juice boxes into the recycling bin and put their snack dishes in the sink.
“What are those flowers doing here?” Summer stares at the flowers that I put in a pitcher in the middle of the kitchen table.
“They make the kitchen more homey, don’t you think?”
“Yeah. What’s homey mean?”
“A place where you feel good and comfortable.”
“Why do they smell like that?”
“I’m not sure, buddy. To attract bees, maybe?” Why the fuck don’t I know anything? “Hey, Lucky, do me a favor and find my iPad. I think it’s in the living room. We gotta Skype with your mom before she goes to bed.”
“Why does she have to go to bed so early?” Lucky asks.
“It’s not early where she is, remember?”
“But why is it different for her?”
I bet Willa can explain time zones to a five-year-old. “That’s a really good question, buddy. There’s these things called ‘time zones,’ and we’ll have to look them up later. Summer—brush your teeth.”
“Why?”
“Because you didn’t brush them this morning.”
“But I’ll have to brush them again before bed!”
“Get to the bathroom now. We can’t Skype your mom until you have clean teeth.”
She makes a cartoony harrumph sound, and I follow her as she stomps to the guest bathroom. “I. Will. Only. Brush. My. Teeth. If. You. Sing to meeeeee!”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Yes! From a musical!”
“Nope.”
Sleeper Page 5
