“Shit, no way. No, no, no, Zayden,” I growl as I shove hair off my forehead and try to keep my attention focused out the windshield. No matter how hard I try though, I seriously cannot stop thinking about Brooke.
I start laying my reasons for leaving out again in my head. No money, no job, my condo, my friends, my lifestyle, Brooke's age, her inexperience, the two kids that she has.
And then I start feeling like, um, I'm a goddamn fucking mental patient.
A hot young girl who's smart as shit, who's trying her goddamn hardest to make a shitty situation work, basically told me she has a thing for me, a thing that I think I actually feel ten times harder than she does and yet, I'm bailing?
Is this the kind of person that I am? Is this who I want to be?
I pull the car over to the side of the road and take a deep breath, climbing out and putting my hands on my lower back while I pace in a circle and try to stop the sudden wave of panic washing over me. It's dark now, but there's not much traffic on this part of the highway, so I get a nice, long, dark moment to think by myself.
“Holy sweet baby Jesus, Hubert,” I say as I squat and look across the front seat into the passenger side of the car where my stupid hairless cat sits crouched in his kennel. He hisses at me, glaring with white-green eyes. “I'm such a fucking moron.” I stand up straight and dig my phone out, pressing call on Brooke's number and waiting anxiously, bouncing up onto my toes as I curse under my breath.
When her voicemail pops up, I start chattering.
“Airbnb.” That's the first thing I say which probably sounds dumb because come on, who opens up a … love confession? is this a love confession? … to somebody by mentioning a website where people rent out rooms and houses and shit. But to me, it makes perfect sense. I'll just put my condo on Airbnb, charge a ridiculous amount of rent to tourists who want to live like locals while they're in town. Of course, I'll probably get my shit stolen and the place burned down, but … hell. Hell, hell, hell. “That's what I'll do,” I tell Brooke's voicemail, praying she actually listens to hers. I know Jude leaves his voicemail full on purpose so he doesn't have to get any new ones or bother listening to them. “I'll rent out my place and I'll … I'll just hang out here for a while, if that's okay with you. I can even stay with my brother if you don't want me at your place.”
I pause and take a deep breath, realizing that I'm basically making zero sense right now.
“Okay, look, just call me back, alright? I'll send you a text.”
I shoot a quick message to Brooke, telling her I'm on my way, and then I hop right back in my car and make a ridiculously illegal u-turn.
Aaaaaand yeah, I get a ticket—the cop looks at me like I'm crazy when I lay out my nutty romantic love story—but that's okay because Brooke's worth it. Totally fucking worth it.
Brooke's car is missing from the driveway when I pull up in my stuttering, janky ass Geo, climbing out and heading to the door to find Monica waiting with pursed lips.
“She's not here. She has work, remember? It was you that roped me into babysitting duties in the first place.”
I stare at the woman and I … kind of want to punch her in the face, but then, I don't hit chicks, even rich old ones who let their nieces drop out of a prestigious university program to come back to this shit hole town to take care of a pair of kids.
“Right, right. My bad,” I say, not wanting to tell Monica that I got her niece fired from a strip club last night. “I'll, uh, try back later.” I give the woman a flirty wink that makes her nose crinkle and turn on my heel, trying not to run back to my car as I go.
I don't know why, but I feel frantic, full to fucking bursting.
You're in love, bro.
I skid to a stop next to the Geo, opening the door and leaning my hand on the roof as the smell of fresh cat urine—thanks Hubert—wafts out and around me. It's not all that romantic standing there with the neighbor across the street glaring at me, and the cat hissing, and the old car's engine ticking, but it is what it is.
I'm in love.
Love.
Mother Mary help me out here.
I breathe out in a long, hard whoosh and climb in, not entirely sure where it is that I'm going. After all, Brooke's only been back in town as long as I have, and we've both been busy. It's not like either of us has had time to develop local haunts.
But then it just hits me, like a football thrown by the NFL's future first woman QB to the back of the head.
The park.
Brooke's got to be at the park.
I'd completely forgotten about Zayden arranging a babysitting appointment with Monica, so when she showed up with pursed lips on my doorstep and glared at my drippy eyes and runny nose with complete and utter disinterest, I just grabbed my purse and left.
Of course, I barely have enough money to cover rent, utilities and food this month. If I still had my job, maybe I'd go out and treat myself to a burger or something, maybe even a beer. At least I'd grab a scoop at that ice cream place in old town where I went with Zayden.
As things stand, I don't have that luxury, so I head to the park where I first met the asshole.
Yeah, I'm a sucker for punishment, I guess.
It's dark when I get there, of course, but across the street at the park, there's a softball game, bright white lights illuminating the field and giving me something to look at as I swing slowly back and forth, my feet dragging in the wood chips.
I think I've just about cried myself out for today. For a few hours, I convinced myself that he'd come back, but he never showed. And then Monica was suddenly there and it became too real.
Zayden is gone. He left.
I know I shouldn't be surprised because seriously, we've only known each other for two weeks, but I felt something, and I know he did, too. It means something, but it doesn't change anything.
Guess he was right.
I'm crushing hard here, Smarty-Pants.
Gah. I can't think like that, can't let my mind keep repeating all of the things that he said. So what? Zayden will be a page in my history book and that's about it.
My hands squeeze tight around the chains of the swing as my body sways back and forth and I let my eyes slide closed, skin prickling at the memory of his warmth, his mouth pressed against my throat, his body pushing inside of mine.
“Fuck.”
I open my eyes and make myself focus on the game, on the crack of the bat and the cheering of the small crowd. I think it's the local adult softball league over there, but the people watching must be dedicated if I can hear them shouting from all the way over here.
The rattle of a car pulling into one of the spaces behind me, draws my attention. This park has been known to have its fair share of weirdos and bums at night, and I'm not about to end a crappy day with an even crappier mugging.
The sound of a car door opening is followed by an inhuman scream, like some sort of dying animal in the safari, one that's being torn apart by a lion.
My head whips around to find Zayden climbing out of his Geo, leaning in to shush … someone. Hubert maybe?
My breath catches and my heart starts to thunder as I whip my head back around and stare into the darkness of the forest. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. What the hell is he doing here?
“Smarty-Pants,” Zayden says, jogging up to me and coming around to the front of the swings to bend down. He's panting and he looks both excited and nervous as hell.
I feel like I'm about to throw up on his shoes.
Zayden puts his hands on his knees and tilts his head to the side, his hair a floppy mess. But even from here I can smell that blackberry and cinnamon scent of his.
My eyes open wide, wide, wide in an attempt not to cry again.
I try to play it cool.
“What do you want, Zayden?”
“Um, okay.” He stands up straight and sucks in a deep breath, planting his hands on his hips. I hate how hot he looks all the time, those tattoos of his dancing down both arms in swirls of ma
gnificent color. Even in the dark shadows of the park, I can see how goddamn pretty he is.
I watch with an aching heart as he slaps his palms together in a prayer position and puts his fingers to his lips, looking down at me with this weirdly tender expression.
“You're probably wondering what I'm doing here.”
“Uh, yes. Yes, I am,” I tell him as I continue to swing and fight back the sudden surges of emotion. I'm not sure if I should be happy or sad or pissed or all of the above. “Why aren't you on your way back to Vegas?”
“Well, see, that's a funny story.” He sits down suddenly, crossing his legs and putting a hand on either knee as he settles into the wood chips. “I actually was on my way to Las Vegas, you see.”
I cock an eyebrow and glance over my shoulder. I can still vaguely hear Hubert yowling.
“We got about, um, two hours out? And then we turned right back around. I tried to call and text you, but …”
“I blocked you,” I say as I look back at him. “After you dropped the girls off. I don't think I can handle an occasional hey, how are you, Zayden. I'm sorry, but I don't want that.”
“Yup, yup. I get it, Brooke. Oh God, I have so much to say. I just want to start babbling, but hell, I guess I better ask this first: can I stay at your place for a while?” He smiles as he asks this and I stop swinging, listening to another roaring scream from the crowd across the street. Next to the park, one of the town's water towers sits, the lot fenced off and filled with … goats. Yep. And that's one hundred percent truth right there (come visit us in Eureka, CA and see for yourself). The goats make weird … whatever you call goat noises as I stare down at Zayden.
“Stay at my place?” I echo as I try to figure out what's happening. He plays with his lip rings, using his tongue to slide them in and out of the holes. Aaaaand that was imagery I so did not need. “Why would you need to stay at my place?”
Zayden sucks in a deep breath.
“Airbnb,” he says, and then I'm even more confused than I was before.
“Huh?” I reach up and start gathering the massive fall of my hair together, just to give my hands something to do. “Are you drunk or something?”
Zayden claps his hands over his face and makes a small sound of frustration, not at me though, at himself for sure.
“Okay, what I'm trying to say is, I'll rent my condo out on Airbnb.”
“And … why would you do that?”
“Brooke,” he says, dropping his hands into his lap and looking up at me with an eager, open gaze. “At least for a little while, I'm staying here. In Eureka.”
I blink at him.
“Did something happen with your brother?”
“No, silly Smarty-Pants, fuck.” Zayden gets up on his knees and crawls toward me, pushing my own knees apart and getting in between them, grabbing onto the swing to keep me from swaying back. I should tell him not to touch me again, to leave me alone, but I just … it feels really good to have him here. “I want to try this thing out between us. I got about two hours down the road before I realized what was wrong with me, why I was sweating and why my stomach hurt and why I had a god-fucking-awful headache.”
“And why's that?” I have a hard time choking the words out as Zayden gives me one of his signature smirk-smiles.
“Because I'm suffering from a seriously nasty case of I.L.”
“Um.” I lean away from him and blink several times, some of my smarmy romantic swoon fading away. I was hoping maybe he was here to confess; instead he came to tell me he has an STD? “Is it contagious?”
Zayden tosses his head back and laughs, dropping his chin down and leaning in to press his face against the side of my neck. My body shivers without my permission as his hands curl around mine.
“I.L. stands for insta-love, you dope. I have no idea why because this has literally never happened to me before, but I'm, like, creepily obsessed with you.”
I close my eyes and try to get a grip on my swirling thoughts.
“I don't understand,” I whisper as Zayden leans back and lifts his hands up, cupping my face in that way of his that makes me crazy. I open my eyes and find him invading my personal space again, his own gaze way too close for comfort.
“What I'm trying to say, Brooke Overland, is that I want to be your nanny.”
That's seriously the most romantic thing I've ever heard in my life.
“One second, 'kay,” he says, standing up and jogging over to his car. I sit there in stunned silence as he opens the door and starts up some music.
It's Van Morrison's “Brown Eyed Girl” again.
I purse my lips together tight as Zayden appears in front of me.
“Please don't sing and dance,” I whisper, but it's too late. He's snapping his fingers and doing this sexy groove to the music. It should look really stupid—and it kind of does—but with his tight abs and his tattoos and piercings, it's really just … precious.
When he starts singing the words to me, I stand up suddenly and let the chains from the swing jangle behind me.
“You're … in insta-love with me?” I repeat as Zayden pauses and nods, grinning nice and big as Hubert's yowls blend harmoniously into the music.
“Yep.”
“And you're … staying in Eureka … for me?”
“Check and check, baby cakes,” he says as he reaches out to touch me. I reach up to take his wrists, but all he does is twist my arms and grab me anyway, tugging me close. His grin turns a little softer, a little more tender as he rubs a thumb along the line of my jaw, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.
It's all so sexy and cute and romantic … until the music changes to “In Da Club” by 50 Cent. Um. Yuck. God, I hate this song.
“Brooke, I'm … sorry for the way I acted yesterday. It's not an excuse or nothin', but …” Zayden pauses and looks into my eyes, his gaze searching deep. “I didn't expect to fall in love with you, and I sure as hell didn't expect it to scare me so much.”
“You were awful yesterday,” I tell him, and I mean that. “A mega dick.”
“Godzilla sized dick,” he agrees as he traces warm circles on my upper arms with his thumbs. He needs to hear how hurtful he was, how stupid he made me feel, what an ass he was. But later. Later because this is my romantic confession … and I refuse to listen to rap or pop while it's happening.
“One second,” I whisper, repeating his own words back at him as I dart to the car and use his iPod to start “The Air That I Breathe” by All That Remains. It's a nice, rough growling metal song that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
I jog back over to Zayden and pause in the wood chips facing him. He crinkles his nose up at my music, but he's still smiling.
“How long is a while?”
“Hmm?”
I put my hands on my hips and breathe deep.
“You said you were staying for a while. How long is that?”
“Well,” he says as he saunters over next to me, hands tucked in his back pockets, and leans down next to my ear. “As long as it takes. Maybe a week. Maybe two. Maybe forever.”
Zayden moves in suddenly and nips at my earlobe, drawing a sharp gasp from my throat.
“Come on, you know I'm not the only one crushing here, right?”
“I'm still mad at you from yesterday,” I tell him, but when he chuckles and pulls me into his arms, I'm putty.
“Did you know it's always been my fantasy to do a chick on a swing?”
“Did you know it's a federal offense to have sex on a playground?” I whisper back, but Zayden just laughs and tucks me against the hard, warm length of his body.
When he drops his mouth down to mine, my eyes slide shut of their own accord and I melt completely. My arms go around Zay's neck as his hands take hold of my hips, hot and hard. I can feel his erection through his tight jeans, so I wiggle closer, pushing myself against him until he moans against my lips.
I pull back and Zayden blinks sexy half-lidded eyes down at me.
“You
're really staying?” I ask and he grins, reaching down and scooping me up in his arms.
I let out a small scream as I cling to Zay's neck and his grin gets even bigger.
“If you're still cool with letting a dick like me have a go at this whole love thing.”
“You keep saying love,” I tell him as I feel a slight flush color my cheeks. “Add that to your list of things not to say.”
Zay raises his pierced brow at me.
“You're uncomfortable with the L-word?” I give him a look, but he just smirks at me. “Well how about you try this on for size, Brooke Overland: I'm in love with you.”
“Insta-love,” I whisper and Zay shrugs while still holding me. The fact that he can even hold me up like this is sexy as hell. “That's not the same thing.”
“Sure it is. Whether it happens in an hour, a day, or a year, love is love. A Smarty-Pants like you should know that.”
“I'll pretend that's not the second most romantic thing I've ever heard in my life,” I whisper as my body starts to heat up from Zay's proximity. Oh my God, my hormones are going crazy here.
He crinkles his face up.
“Second most? What's the first?”
I smile at him.
“When you said you wanted to be my nanny. Now, take me somewhere and make love to me, Nanny Roth.”
“Um, backseat of my car?” he asks hopefully, and I laugh.
Because I don't care if we're at the playground or in the car or at my sister's house, if Zayden's there, then that's exactly the place I want to be.
And that's the beginning of my story. His story. Our story.
That's the story of me, a couple of hairless pets, a cluster of kids, and a guy who's a bad boy … and a nanny.
My nanny.
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Bad Nanny (The Bad Nanny Trilogy #1) Page 31
