The Man Cave Collection: Manservant, Man Flu, Man Handler, and Man Buns

by Ryan, Shari J.

  I’m just going to cry a little while no one is watching.

  As if Dylan never left his spot from where he started the day, he’s on the couch with his iPod. I desperately tried to switch it out for a book, but I didn’t want to pick that battle after his tolerance for me suddenly grew. Instead, I’ve been sitting beside him like a prison guard for the last hour, staring at the wall, afraid to rock the boat by saying anything else to him, while avoiding the thoughts threatening to enter the weak parts of my brain. I’m not sure how much longer I can stand playing the reruns of certain moments from the day, but I can’t help reliving them over and over again. Thankfully, Samantha walks through the front door during the tenth time I heard Liam’s voice tickle the inside of my ear with the very last thing he said to me while I was making Dylan’s sandwich.

  Since that moment, Liam has made himself scarce. He’s been moving from room to room, cleaning every nook and cranny like he owns this job he’s claimed. I have to admit, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man clean so well, and if I wanted to continue lying to myself, I’d say it isn’t a complete and utter turn on to watch a man dust so diligently—especially when reaching for a ceiling fan, while offering a certain passerby a quick peek at the tan lines where his pants slip a little too low and his shirt rises a little too high. I’m not thinking about it, though, because the thought is inappropriate, and we work together.

  “How was your first day?” Samantha asks while closing the front door. She looks far more exhausted than she did this morning, or even last night for that matter. She falls against the back side of the door and releases a loud exhale while pulling her running shoes off. “Three hot yoga classes, three Slow Flow, and two private lessons . . . I’m about ready to drop,” she says, breathlessly.

  “I’ve never tried yoga before, but that sounds like a very tiring day,” I offer. I’ve watched people practice yoga at the gym I used to go to, but I don’t think my body would ever move like that. I’d be the one lying on my back for the entire class.

  “You haven’t tried yoga?” She sounds appalled.

  “Never, the sight of it scares me a bit.”

  “Well, I’ll have to show you it’s not so bad.” She waves the air as if it’s nothing, but I don’t think she quite understands my lack of coordination or the fact that I can’t even walk down a set of stairs without twisting my ankle . . . or float in five feet of water.

  “Sure,” I say, trying to sound upbeat about it.

  “Where’s Liam?” Samantha asks.

  I shrug, truly not knowing. “I’m not sure. He’s been upstairs for a bit.” I haven’t seen him since I walked by Dylan’s room and saw him dusting the ceiling fan. I bet that ceiling fan is super clean, though.

  Samantha points at Dylan and mouths the words, “Oh my God,” to me, as if she were shocked to see him content. I get a thumbs-up from her, and I feel sort of proud for a moment. One moment is all I get, though.

  “I got bit by a crab today, and Julia almost drowned trying to help me,” Dylan outs me, all without taking his eyes off his device.

  Samantha’s big hazel eyes bug out of her face as she takes a couple of steps closer. “Oh my gosh, what happened?”

  “She can’t swim, Mom,” Dylan says, with more than just a hint of sarcasm.

  She places her hands on the side of her face, and they slowly slide down the back of her neck. “You must think I am the worst person in the world,” Samantha says, and I’m completely taken aback by her statement. I was expecting her to think that thought about me, not herself. If Liam weren’t there, I’m sure Sterling would have helped Dylan, but I don’t think he could just leave his class in the water either. Whatever the case, I needed just as much babysitting as Dylan did today. It’s humiliating, to say the least.

  “I would never think that. I feel like a failure after today,” I tell her. I’m being honest. I don’t want to be fired but, geez, I’ve seriously screwed up.

  “I should have asked you if you swam, and I know I didn’t warn you about—” She looks over at Dylan and nods her head toward him. With a deep inhale, Samantha walks over to me and takes my arm, pulling me into the kitchen where she pulls a seat out from the table for me. We both sit down, and her head falls to the side. “Dylan has had a rough few years. His dad, my ex-husband, took off three years ago and hasn’t returned since. To make matters worse, it was right after Dylan’s Asperger’s diagnosis, and unfortunately, Dylan was old enough to correlate the two events in his life.

  “I was hoping he’d get over it like children often easily do, but having Asperger’s made it more difficult for Dylan to deal with his dad’s abandonment. The thing is, in most ways, Dylan is a normal kid. He just has some special challenges. He struggles with social skills, he requires structure in his routine, and he gets very upset when things change. It makes him feel out of control. He’s sensitive. It’s who he is and has always been, but right now, he’s angry, and it’s understandable. I purposely didn’t tell you about him because I have lost more applicants than I can count. Nannies experienced in working with kids like Dylan are difficult to find, and they usually have a waiting list for their services. People without experience in disabilities don’t want to take a chance on Dylan, I guess.”

  I listen and watch as Samantha pours her heart out. Learning about Dylan’s dad from Liam today made the confession a little less shocking, but the look on Samantha’s face is crushing. What do you say to someone who’s gone through this? I place my hand on hers. “Samantha, I don’t know what to say, but Dylan is so lucky to have you as a mom.”

  “Is he?” She laughs with a sense of guilt. “I work all day.”

  “It’s your life too,” I tell her. “You come home every night and see him every morning.” A frail smile stretches across her lips like she wants to believe what I’m telling her, but I can imagine the guilt that comes along with her circumstances, even though they were mostly beyond her control. Dad felt the same kind of guilt when Mom left us. There was nothing we could tell him to make them feel differently.

  “Well, you’re leaving Dylan in good hands, I promise. Tomorrow, I’m going to start learning how to swim so today will never happen again,” I tell her. It’s all I can offer. I will do whatever I can to help her this summer, and Dylan too for that matter.

  “I’m sure Liam can help you with that,” she says. Just hearing his name forces me to remove the affectionate gesture of resting my hand on hers. I pull it up and drop my hands to my lap.

  “That would be great. He offered, actually.” Can she hear the frustration in my voice? I’m not sure I’m great at hiding something I feel so strongly.

  “Are things going okay with you shadowing him?” Her nervous smile from moments ago is turning into a more curious straight line across her face, and it’s making me wonder what’s going on in her head.

  “Yup,” I tell her. That was definitely not convincing. What I’d like to say is: Things have been fabulous. Oh by the way, were you aware you have Satan working as your manservant? Just thought I should let you know.

  “Speak of the devil,” she announces as Liam walks into the kitchen. So, she does know . . .

  “Hey Sam, how were those private classes today? I know you were stressed about them.” Liam moves over to the oven and pulls it open, checking on whatever is in there, and whatever smells like heaven. He cleans and cooks. What a pretty and talented asshole/manservant.

  “Oh! They both signed up for memberships. It went very well.”

  “Awesome,” Liam says with an excitement I’ve yet to realize he is capable of.

  “I forgot to ask you this morning. How was your date last night?” No. Come on, Liam told her where he thought I was or where he was convincing himself I was? What the hell?

  I peer up at Samantha, feeling my gut twist into knots, assuming she’s going to think I’m a slut for staying at some guy’s house two nights after arriving in a new state. However, when I see where her focus is, I realize she’s tal
king to Liam. No way. Ha! She’s asking Liam how his date was last night.

  Except, Liam was at the bar, sitting beside me all night.

  I turn my head and smirk at him, waiting for the same response Samantha is evidently waiting for.

  “It was the third date, right?” Samantha asks, jiggling her brows at the same time.

  Liam makes an odd noise, sounding like a groan and a sigh at the same time. Taking a minute to pause the conversation, he grabs a pair of hot mitts and pulls the oven door down to retrieve a casserole dish.

  I watch as he bends over and . . . is his shirt purposely that short, just so he knows everyone gets to glance at his v-cut muscles that are basically an arrow to his ass? He strikes me as the type to do that. Cocky.

  Liam places the dish on top of the stove and closes the oven door. “It was fine,” Liam responds to Samantha.

  “So, will there be a fourth date?” she ask like she’s trying to get her juicy gossip from Liam’s evident soap opera lifestyle.

  “I’m thinking no,” he says flatly. Oh my God, was he stood up last night? Maybe it’s because he’s a turd to everyone.

  “Noooo,” Samantha whines. “What happened? You said she was pretty perfect just the other day.”

  Samantha’s words do something to my stomach, and I’m going to pretend I’m just hungry and not feeling any sort of emotion in my gut for this . . . mongrel of a man.

  “A little too self-absorbed for me,” Liam says. “I guess it took her a couple of dates to show her true colors.”

  “That and she ditched you last night,” I say out loud instead of in my head. Oh shit. This conversation did not involve me, not even a little, and here I am smack in the middle of it while Liam and Samantha are both staring right at me waiting for something else to come out of my stupid mouth.

  “She—” Samantha looks at me first and then over to Liam. “She did?”

  “I guess.” He clears his throat and pins me with his darkening glare. “Should I make you a plate, Julia?” Liam asks.

  I want to smile as I construct the choice words rearing to pour from my mouth. “Thanks, but I have a date tonight. What time do you guys go to sleep? I don’t want to cause anyone to worry, and I don’t want to wake you up, of course,” I ask Samantha.

  “Daniel and I usually go to bed around twelve,” she says with some added excitement to her answer. “Who’s the guy? Where did you meet him?” While leaning on her elbows, she presses her fists into her chin, and her eyes widen as she leans forward with eagerness to hear more.

  “Sam needs to get out more,” Liam follows her questions. “You can become her new reality show now.” He winks at Samantha, so she knows he’s joking, but he’s totally not joking at all.

  “It’s kind of funny, I met Sterling, Dylan’s lifeguard coach at the bakery in Ogunquit the other day, and we keep running into each other, so he convinced me to have dinner tonight.” I make sure to up the cheese factor just to get under Liam’s skin, especially seeing as he was stood up last night. This is starting to feel like a game, and I love winning.

  “Oh, Sterling is a sweetheart,” she says. “Good pickings. There’s nothing like a good ole’ Canadian boy, eh?” she mocks with a cute chuckle.

  “Exactly.” We both have a good laugh while Liam is clashing plates down onto the countertop.

  “Well, if everything with Dylan is all set now, I’m going to head upstairs and get dressed for tonight,” I tell her.

  As I leave Samantha and Liam alone in the kitchen, I hear her mumbling something to him, followed by him responding with, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Obviously, Liam can dish out all the assiness but can’t take it in return. I’m willing to bet all the other nannies have run away because of him. I wonder if Samantha has considered that.

  Little do they both know, I’m not sure I’m as excited about going out with Sterling tonight as I made it appear. I suppose I’ll get some better insight into what’s going on with his flirtatious nature and expertise in making a woman melt with just one stare. I’m juggling too much right now. I’m going to get myself in trouble. I guess since I’m already heading in that direction, though, I might as well go all out.

  I lift the flap of my suitcase and find it completely empty. Um, except, I didn’t put my clothes away yet. As the milliseconds pass by, I come to the quick conclusion that my clothes were put away by someone. A man who serves this house, possibly? I whip open the drawer closest to me and find my jeans all sorted by color and type. Oh no. Working my way down the row, I open one of the smaller drawers, finding my panties all folded nicely. Who the hell folds a pair of panties? He touched them all. Every single pair of my panties has been touched by this guy. My heart is racing, and anger is raging, or maybe it’s embarrassment. I don’t even know what the hell I’m feeling right now. He’s screwing with my emotional wiring, and it’s . . . AGH. I open the drawer a little wider, needing to continue suffering through the truth of what happened up here, and I find a goddamn sticky note with a smiley face on it and the word “Nice.” I fall backward onto my butt and run my fingers through my hair. How am I supposed to face him now? No, screw this. Payback is in order here.

  I’ll start with my black, thigh-length dress. By the length of her short shorts, I doubt Samantha will think much of it, and God knows Dylan hasn’t noticed anyone come in or out of the living room in two hours. The only person whose attention might be affected by this is Liam’s, and Sterling of course. I can handle him, though.

  I take a few-minute shower, freshen up, get dressed, spritz some perfume over myself, and head downstairs. Liam is on the couch, looking over Dylan’s shoulder at whatever game he must be playing, but his attention is quick to shift over to me as I make it to the bottom step without falling this time.

  His mouth parts just slightly, enough that for me to take a guess at the thoughts he’s trying to hide, except he’s not so good at hiding the struggle within his eyes. “Thank you for putting all of my clothes away,” I tell him. I press my lips firmly together and offer him a gracious, not-so-gracious smile.

  “Did you get my note?” he asks.

  “No? I must not have needed that drawer tonight. However, I did dump all my dirty clothes into the hamper, so if you need to tend to that, have it at, but was the note important?” Sorry, Liam, I’m not wearing panties tonight, or if I am, you definitely won’t see the lines through my skintight dress while you stare at my ass on the way out of the house. Take that, manservant.

  Liam bites down on the tip of his thumb and slouches into the couch, looking away from me. “Ah, no note. Well, I guess you’ll see it the next time you choose to wear—” His gaze drop to my thighs as he swallows whatever lump must be in his throat. He’s very uncomfortable all the sudden. I can’t imagine why? Weird.

  “Next time I wear what?” I question.

  “Never mind,” he snickers nervously, with apparent frustration.

  “Oh, okay, well, thank you for folding and organizing my clothes today. I appreciate it. Have a good night,” I say, chipperly.

  “Have fun!” Samantha yells out from the kitchen.

  “I sure will,” I tell her, holding my focus on Liam with a raised brow to make my point clear.

  The second I leave the house, I feel like I won some kind of tournament. Game on, buddy.

  The twenty-minute drive to Jade’s apartment was filled with fending off my bundled nerves as I question the right and wrong of going on this date tonight.

  I’m in the prime of my life. This is what I should be doing—dating, trying new things, meeting new people, and finding what I do and don’t like, even though I’ve already learned that I don’t like good-looking men, which is why I shouldn’t be going on this date tonight.

  In addition to Andy, my other past relationships contain enough content to fill an entire book, which is exactly what I plan to do. Some day when I get the nerve to do so, I’m going to write about my awful dating experiences and title it He�
��s Just Too into Himself.

  While I’m not proud of the fact that I have enough knowledge on the subject to write an entire book, I can’t be the only one who keeps experiencing these types of men, and maybe the lessons I’ve learned can help a few others avoid the heartache I’ve suffered.

  Before Andy, there was Brad. Brad had super light blond hair that every woman just needed to touch, baby blue eyes, a tan—even in the winter—and of course, gorgeous muscles. He had dazzling white teeth and a perfect smile, surrounded by his perfect pouty lips.

  Brad and I dated for ohhh . . . just less than a week, but in that week, I endured awkward situations such as our first date when he sat down across from me, lifted his spoon, held it up in front of his face, smiled, and actually said . . . “Wow, Brad, you are looking fine tonight.” I thought to myself, okay, maybe he’s just joking. However, when he pulled out his phone and asked me to take a picture of him because selfies weren’t his “thing,” something felt a little off. In any case, I took the picture, then later that night, I saw it on Instagram with one hashtag that said, #lookinggood. I endured two more dates by drinking enough to convince myself his behavior was normal until he took me home and got me into bed. Things started out okay, but then I caught him staring at himself in his mirror while thrusting into me. At that moment, I decided enough was enough, so I got up mid-thrust, and walked out.

  After Brad, there was Zach. I had high hopes for Zach. Just like Brad, he was a lot to look at: dark hair, light inset eyes shadowed by thick lashes, a perfect nose, and lips I couldn’t look away from. He also knew how to dress, which is a total turn on for me. He looked good all the time, which I took as a good sign that he took care of himself and probably wouldn’t stop showering a month into our relationship if it were to end up going that far. So, I gave it a go.