Bad Nanny (The Bad Nanny Trilogy #1)

by C. M. Stunich

  “I just don't … I mean, I get it, but why?” When I look up at Zayden, I think I have tears in the corners of my eyes. Or maybe I just feel like I'm about to cry. “Why couldn't, you know, this,” I gesture between us, “work? It's kind of awesome so far.”

  I make myself smile, but Zayden's expression has slipped into a gentle frown.

  “I live in Las Vegas,” he says, but that's not good enough for me.

  “So?”

  “So. You live here. You just up and moved, Brooke. And you have school, and the kids, and Jesus, you're only twenty-two. You can't put all your dollars in one slot.”

  “You're saying because I haven't slept with other guys that this can't work?”

  “I'm saying you have no idea what you're feeling for me because you have nothing to compare it against. That's all.”

  “We could … do this long distance?” I say as Zay glances up at me and smiles. But it's not a good smile. It's kind of a sad smile, a why-are-you-so-pathetic sort of smile. It pisses me off. “What's so crazy about that? Not enough sex for you? Is that it?”

  “You have enough to worry about without having me in the picture. And I have a mortgage and a job back at home. There's nothing here for me.”

  I purse my lips and glance away.

  “Look, I know this seems really special now, but what about in two weeks? Or three? In my experience, relationships don't exactly work out. They're more trouble than they're worth. Let's leave this at a sweet spot and say good-bye when the time comes.”

  My eyes really do water then, and I stand up, moving away from Zayden as I take a deep breath. I feel like I'm in a prison of my own making. I got myself here. I invited him into my bed and into my life.

  This sucks.

  “We still have three nights left though,” he purrs, his voice drawing my attention back to the bed. But then I look at him sitting there, looking so pretty in the moonlight, and I just feel sad. Maybe it's not even Zayden that I care about? Maybe I'm just lonely. I don't know. I feel really fucking lonely right now.

  “You should go check on that duplex,” I say as I squeeze the baby monitor in my hand. Zay stands up and starts to move toward me, but I back up and he takes that as a hint, holding up his palms in surrender.

  “Okay. Alright. Look, if you change your mind while I'm gone,” he pauses again and takes a few steps closer to me, leaning in to breathe hot words against my ear, “leave your bedroom door unlocked.”

  Zayden disappears out the door and down the steps. I wait until I hear it lock behind him before I move over to my own door and lock that, too.

  The next morning, I dress all the way up for class, using a YouTube tutorial on my phone to apply my makeup, and picking out the most cohesive pieces of clothing that I own. I end up in skinny jeans, black boots that remind me of a pair I saw Zayden wearing, and a hot pink tank top.

  I even get up an hour early to wash and dry my hair, combing it out until there's a sleek shiny chocolate wave tumbling down to my ass.

  When I'm finished cleaning my piercing, I head into the hallway to the sound of … quiet? When I clomp down the stairs, I manage to catch a brief glimpse of five children seated around the dining table. As I pause to stare, one of the twins scrambles away and Zayden chases him down.

  “Oh no you don't,” he says as he swings the kid over his shoulder and then pauses to look at me.

  There's a sudden moment of awkward where I wonder if I should say something. But why? Zayden made it perfectly clear last night that he didn't need to talk. It means something, but it doesn't change anything. Fine. If that's how he feels …

  “Brooke,” he says as I turn away and start for the door, reaching out a hand and resting it on the knob as I take a deep breath. “We cool?” he asks, his voice this soft breath that makes me shiver a little. “Because you know, it'd totally bum me out if you didn't come home after class.”

  I almost smile, but I can't quite force my lips to move. I keep thinking of that quiet dark and that slanted moonlight and Zayden's weirdly sad half-smile.

  “I have plans with Tinley,” I say, looking over my shoulder and shrugging loosely. “I'll stop in before work, okay?”

  Zayden watches me for a moment and then nods, swinging his nephew back onto the ground and snapping his fingers.

  “Back to the kitchen, kid. Let's do this. Military precision, remember?”

  “Eat a dick!” the four year old screams before rushing up the stairs with screeching laughter. Both Zayden and I exchange a look over that one, the confusion about our weird non-relationship temporarily forgotten.

  “Um,” he says and then scratches at the back of his head. “I am so going to get it from Rob for that one, even though I don't actually remember saying it around him …”

  “Don't look at me,” I say as I snag my bag off the coatrack and open the front door. “It definitely wasn't me. I already spent the last of my cash in the curse jar.”

  I smile tightly and slip out before things can get anymore awkward, moving quickly to my Subaru and climbing in before Zayden can think to come after me. I'm still trying to process what happened last night, push my emotions down and lock them away. Especially since I know I'm being ridiculous. I knew what to expect from Zayden Roth—and I definitely didn't expect his knight in shining armor meter to ping for long.

  Guess I was right about that one.

  After class, I head back to the house to change, finding a peaceful set of kids gathered around the TV with bowls of grapes in their hands, eyes glued to the flickering action of Zayden's video game. He's playing some wildly colorful platformer with his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth, his black hair spiked up into a wild crazy Mohawk, his shaved side impossible to see from where I'm standing.

  As soon as I close the door behind me, he pauses the game and glances over, drawing groans of disappointment from everyone but Sadie.

  “Aunt Brooke!” Bella says as she scrambles from her seat and comes over to give me a hug, presenting her daily report card to me. The kids get one at the end of each school day, and I'm supposed to sign them before sending her in the next morning. I don't remember doing it for the past week, and I wonder if Zayden's been picking up that slack? “I got a one hundred today.”

  She waves the paper around in front of me until I drop my bag and take it.

  Zayden's cat immediately climbs up on the green canvas and starts scratching his nails while I roll my eyes at his rainbow sweater. It says Go Gay! on the back which is kind of funny, but … a cat in a sweater? Come on. Never gets less ridiculous.

  “This is my first one hundred ever,” Brooke states proudly, copying me by flicking her dark hair over one shoulder. She gets the gesture down perfectly, the backhanded sweep that I've been perfecting since I was her age.

  I smile and use my foot to detach Hubert from my bag.

  “This is awesome, Brooke,” I say, reaching my palm up to give her a high five. I bend down to give my niece a big hug, shoving Dodger away with my hand. If I couldn't literally see that the dog has no balls, I would never believe he was fixed. What's wrong with him? Why does he always hump everything?

  I pull back with a smile and stand up, noticing that Zay's got a tortilla chip halfway hanging out of his mouth, a bowl of grapes in his outstretched hand.

  “You want some?” he mumbles around the chip, clearly trying to make peace. I give him a half-smile for whatever he did to encourage my niece to behave better in class, popping a purple orb into my mouth and chewing it slowly.

  “I ate out with Tinley,” I say, glad that today's hangout session had little to nothing to do with Zayden. There was one brief moment where Tinley started to bring him up, but I changed the subject. Doubt she even noticed I was doing it. “But thanks.”

  Zayden uses his tongue to pull the chip the rest of the way into his mouth and for whatever reason, I find that sexy as hell.

  I glance away sharply which is dumb. There's no need for all of this drama, right? If I want
to keep sleeping with him while he's here, he's made it perfectly clear that he's open to it.

  “I'm going to start getting ready,” I say as I move away and head up the stairs, taking them two at a time until I'm alone in my room. Part of me wishes Zayden would follow me up here, but then I know that's impossible. The kids are all here, and they're all awake, and I stayed out long enough that I don't really have time to do much before work.

  Work.

  Ugh.

  Having a few days off was almost cruel. Faced with the reality of going back to the Top Hat, I feel nauseous. It's just not the place for me. I feel silly thinking that because, really, who is it the place for? But I know that each night I dance there, a little piece of me will crack and break.

  And I've never been good at repairing fractures in my heart.

  “Stop it, Brooke,” I say as I slap my hands against my cheeks and shake myself out. This is ridiculous, sitting up here and fretting over a guy I've known for like, two weeks. So stupid.

  I focus on picking out clothes for tonight, dropping the stack on the bed and heading into the bathroom to do my hair and makeup. Even though I leave my bedroom door unlocked, Zayden doesn't come up to see me like I secretly hoped he would.

  I end up downstairs in my trench coat an hour early to find the kids wrapped around the table, elbows leaning against the wood as they watch Zayden play with one of those tornado-in-a-bottle things, with the two plastic soda liter bottles taped together. I vaguely remember making one in fifth grade, and it puts a smile on my face.

  “Told ya I was a storm magician,” Zayden says proudly as he stands up and lets the water swirl from one bottle into the other, a big grin stretched across his mouth as Kinzie narrows her eyes on him and then grudgingly leans in to watch the spectacle.

  I smile and let myself slip out the front door before anyone can see me. I've had about enough questions about my “fancy waitressing job”, thank you.

  “Hey.”

  I pause with my hand on the car door, a little thrill licking down my spine as I listen to Zay's boots move up behind me. He gets close—too close, but what's new about that—and puts a hand on my shoulder.

  “You sure you're alright? I wouldn't want you to go to work feeling … I don't know, however it is that you feel.” I glance back at him and damn, but he's pretty. I suck in a breath and pretend like his looks have no effect on me, like the love and care he puts into these kids has no effect.

  “How I feel?” I ask, not entirely sure if even I'm aware of the answer to that question. “Maybe it's not me that has a problem, Zay? Maybe you're the one that needs to check into his feelings. You date girls you don't like, and you tell girls you do like that relationships don't make any sense. I mean, unless you're lying about the whole liking me part of that equation, then I think it's you that has the problem.”

  I open the car door before he can respond, listening to the long huff of breath he lets out as I get in and slam it behind me. Starting the engine up as Zay stands there and watches. He doesn't try to stop me though which kind of pisses me off. Guess that white knight meter isn't as loud as he thought it was? Because I sort of feel like I'm drowning here.

  “Stupid,” I mutter under my breath as I start up some Nine Inch Nails and crank the volume.

  At least the drive to the strip club is nice, rain drenched and shadowed by trees for the first half, fields where cows come out to graze in the mornings for the second half.

  I head south past the community college and take in a deep breath as the round building comes into view, one entire wall of tinted windows facing the highway. On the roof, a cheesy fake top hat sits tilted to one side. Even though I'm early, the parking lot is already mostly full and I frown, feeling a tug and pull at my insides that makes me queasy.

  Suck it up, Brooke, I tell myself as I pull into my usual spot near the top of the short windy driveway that leads to the cement lot. Get yourself together.

  Since I have about an hour to kill, I tilt my chair back and close my eyes, letting the car rumble beneath me and the music play. There is no way in hell that I'm going in there early. Nope. Not a snowball's chance in hell.

  After a couple songs from NIN, I switch over to old school Metallica and sit up, checking my phone for messages. There are a few new ones from my friends in Berkeley and a brief Facebook message from my mom with a few pictures of her and dad at the Edinburgh zoo.

  I smile briefly as I respond, using a few of the ridiculous selfies Zayden took with my phone to show him off to my girlfriends. Even with the photos, they'll probably never believe that I finally took the plunge and did it with some random stranger from the park. It seemed like a bad idea from the start … seems like an even worse idea now.

  I snort and shove my phone in my purse, climbing out onto the wet pavement in my heels and heading towards the back door. Inside, a few of the girls are changing costumes and they smile at me as I walk in, the gossip pausing for a brief few seconds before they readjust to my presence.

  “He told me I had to get rid of the dog,” Tiffany complains as she sweeps blond hair over one shoulder and fixes the booby tassels she's wearing. Yep. That's my world now. When I went to UCB, I was a part of the work-study program and got to work in the campus bookstore. Up here, there were no work-study positions available, so … it is what it is. And anyway, there's no way I could've paid rent and supported the girls on that kind of part time work anyway.

  “Why?” one of the other women asks, her long dark hair in tiny braids, eyes watching me as I move over to the single bench in the center of the room. There are lockers on either side and a set of small steps leading up to the club. One of the big burly bouncer dudes stands right outside the curtain, arms crossed over his front like he works for the secret service or something.

  “Because,” Tiffany starts, standing up and adjusting the little black tutu she's wearing. “He knows I love that damn dog more than I love him.”

  Robyn laughs her ass off as I slip my trench down my shoulders and hang it up in one of the rusting teal lockers. The place is clean, but it could definitely use some repairs. Guess as long as it's raking in money, the owner doesn't much care.

  “What's wrong with you?” Tiffany asks, coming over to press the back of her hand against my forehead. “You don't look all that great.”

  “I'm fine,” I lie because I wish I were fine. Or that I was back in Berkeley. I suck in a deep breath and sling my purse into the locker. “Just tired is all.”

  “Sure, sure. Boy trouble, right?” I look at Tiffany with my brows raised.

  “Not everything is about boys,” I tell her and then it's her turn to raise her brows at me.

  “Well, not everything is, but that face, that look of disappointment, that's got man trouble written all over it. Who else in this world do we depend on that could let us down so thoroughly?”

  “I'm not depending on anyone,” I say, more fiercely than I probably should. But I'm not. I always take care of my own business, always have. My parents were supportive, sure, but I was always second place to Ingrid. I felt like the backup heir, the just-in-case kid. Even now, based on my mother's text message, she still hasn't grasped how hard this is for me.

  Oh, and she said she had several voicemails from Monica that she hadn't wanted to listen to yet because, you know, Monica always has something to say. Can't wait to hear about my aunt's gossip this time.

  “That's a girl,” Tiffany says as she moves back and smiles at me. “And well you shouldn't. Now, if you'll excuse me …” She takes a mock bow and disappears up the steps and into the club, the thumping bass beat teasing the soles of my feet through the floor.

  Robyn watches me for a second and then goes back to her phone. The other girls are pretty close here, but I don't feel welcome yet. Maybe I never will? Maybe I don't care if I ever do? I don't want to be here long enough to be part of their family, I think meanly as I sit down at one of the mirrored vanity tables to my left and start to fix my makeup.


  In a few days, when Zayden's gone and my sister's house is quiet and empty feeling with just me and the girls in it, what am I going to do? I really need to call Nelly up again and see if she'll reconsider watching the kids … even if she is an endangered sea crustacean.

  My mouth twitches as I stand up and head over to the curtain, letting myself into the main part of the club. Although California has a ban on smoking indoors—even in a strip club—the place still reeks of smoke and weed and the sound of clinking glasses and male laughter makes my skin ripple.

  Tiffany is onstage, swinging around the pole and swishing her blond hair, her tutu discarded, wearing nothing but a tiny G-string. Technically since the club serves alcohol, full nudity isn't allowed, but everyone here knows if you pay the right price you can get a private nude dance in the back.

  But not from me.

  No fucking way.

  I reach up to check my ponytail, slicking my hands over the shellacked hair as I move across the back of the room, my heels loud against the tiled floors. The rest of the building is carpeted in dark green with little gold circles on it, clean but old and smelling of smoke. This place is the only strip club within a four hour radius, so it doesn't have to be special; it just has to exist.

  One of the bouncers, a guy whose name I can never remember, nods at me as I hit the two steps up to the second stage and put the most fake ass smile on my face known to man, breathing deep through my nose and trying to pretend that I don't notice the group of rowdy college guys near the end of the stage.

  Only … I actually do.

  Crap. Crap. And fucking crap.

  One of the dudes laughing and shaking dollar bills in the air is Dan the Douche, my study partner for survival analysis, and Tinley's ex-boyfriend. Great. Just great.

  I think about retreating back behind the curtain, feigning a sudden illness or something, but our manager's standing across the room staring at me, his eyes narrowed and lips pursed. I'm on close watch after missing that first night apparently. Or maybe he just doesn't like me. I notice when he talks to the other girls, they look away, at the floors or the walls or the ceiling. I stare the man straight in the face, even that first night when I was crying.