Climbing wall. Indoor sky diving. Alligator wrestling. Two out of three are actual possibilities.
I tried to ignore the giddiness that shot through me at Slade’s text. I sent back: No way. Max will be too scared. Gilly will hurt herself trying to outdo all the other kids.
My phone pinged again. What ya got, then, BB? Besides a documentary.
BB? Still with the nickname, right to my face?
Not to your face, exactly. More like to your screen. Then he sent a bunch of smiley faces.
Before I could chicken out, I dialed his number. He answered on the first ring.
“It’s like when Alex and his gay friends call one another queer,” he said, before I could say anything. “It’s about embracing something meant to hurt, then claiming it as your own.”
“I think maybe I have the wrong number,” I said.
“Bird Brain was a stupid nickname,” he said. “I’m sorry I ever gave it to you.” I didn’t hear any laughter in his voice. “But maybe BB is just as bad. Another one of my failed attempts at humor.”
I was quiet for a few seconds. “No,” I said, “BB is cool. I can live with that.”
“Yeah?” he sounded surprised.
“Yeah,” I said.
We were both quiet. I wasn’t used to talking to guys on the phone. “So, uh, your ideas. They might work for you and Gilly, but I don’t know about Max.”
“What about you? Are you philosophically opposed to dangerous activities?”
I tugged at my hair. I had to be honest, or at least partially so. My body shivered at the thought of the secrets I was still keeping from him.
“I’m not much of a risk taker,” I said.
“Hmm.” His voice hummed in my ear, making me bite my lip. “Are you open to the possibility of becoming a risk taker?”
My heart sped up a little. “I prefer to stay on the ground.” I coughed nervously. “How about bowling? Or Putt-Putt golf?”
He chuckled. “I can see we’re going to have work up to zip-lining.”
I wished he could see me rolling my eyes.
“Putt-Putt golf could work,” he said. “We can take them to a movie after that.” He paused. “And by that I mean an actual movie with a plot, not a documentary.” I heard the smirk in his voice.
“That sounds great,” I said, relieved.
“So let’s meet at Gilly’s on Monday,” he said.
“It’s a date.” I immediately wanted to grab the words back.
“Sounds good,” he said, apparently unfazed by my faux pas. “Oh, and Trina? I read the binder. In its entirety.”
“You did?” My voice was a whisper.
“Yep. It’s a good thing you gave me my own copy. Seeing as how yours suffered an untimely demise.”
“That’s some might fancy words you’re using, Edmunds,” I drawled.
“Lots more where those came from. Just because I’m not on the honor roll like you doesn’t mean I couldn’t be.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. “You’d better not bring the binder with you on Monday. The kids will freak.”
“Binder of Doom rises from dead to torture innocent children.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“You do know it has an index, right? And a table of contents?”
“So I’m thorough. There are worse things.”
“Name one.”
I chewed on the inside of my lip. “Um…not being thorough?”
His laughter made me shiver in all the wrong places.
“Okay, I give up, BB. You’ll never cop to the binder insanity. But you should get paid overtime for all the work you put into that thing.”
And just like that, the mention of overtime reminded me of the paycheck from his mom that I’d cashed that morning, snapping me out of whatever flirty haze I’d fallen into.
The happy juice flooding my system evaporated, replaced by guilt and…something else. Panic, maybe?
“Trina? Did you pass out or something? Should I take back the compliment so you can breathe?”
I glanced at Glen, Sharon’s handyman, who’d just clomped down the stairs with his tool belt, a man on a mission. He was a retired plumber or electrician or whatever, who volunteered at the shelter. I suspected he had a thing for Sharon.
“Look, I’ve gotta go, Slade. Glen needs me.”
“Who’s Glen? Where are you, anyway?”
“Never mind. I’ll see you Monday.” I disconnected before he could ask any more questions. Or toss out any more backhanded compliments that made me feel like a modern day Benedict Arnold.
Hours later, I typed up my first weekly report on Slade’s progress, distilling the crazy week to one short paragraph.
We got off to a rocky start but I’m hopeful next week will be smoother. Slade’s interactions with the kids are entertaining and surprisingly helpful. He has some unexpected skills, which are coming in handy.
I hoped there were no hidden nanny cams in Max’s house to reveal our reality TV show drama to the moms. What happened on our watch should stay just between us.
It was disconcerting to imagine Slade’s mom reading my email. Maybe she’d read it on her phone while they ate breakfast tomorrow, with Slade sitting across the table. The mini-movie playing in my head made my stomach roil.
How long could I keep up this charade?
Chapter Thirteen
Slade
Saturday, June 8
Usually I enjoyed hanging out at the club, but not today. I was lifeguarding, subbing for Lindsay, who’d sprained her ankle and called me in a panic.
It should’ve been a perfect day: lots of hot chicks to check out, friends to joke around with, and free food from the snack bar because the girls working there never charged me. But I was distracted.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Trina. BB. Whatever name I called her, it didn’t change the fact that she was taking up more way space in my head than she should.
This never happened. Or at least it hadn’t for a really long time, not since the evil Kristen had steamrolled my heart. Ever since then, I’d made sure not to get attached. I picked girls who weren’t interested in long-term relationships. Or if I accidentally did hook up with one of those girls, I bailed as soon as possible.
This thing with Trina was weirding me out. I wanted to stop obsessing over her, but it was like I had no control over my thoughts. Who was that Glen guy she’d mentioned on the phone? She’d said he “needed” her. For what? My jaw clenched as I imagined her entwined with some guy, some total player telling her how much he needed her.
Some guy just like me.
I looked at the shimmering water, the fluorescent swimsuits, the beach towels flung like discarded superhero capes across lounge chairs. This was my turf; I practically owned this pool, presiding over it like a king, bestowing jokes and favors on my minions.
But today I felt like an impostor.
Especially when a familiar blonde caught my attention with a wave and swam toward me. Crap. Evidently ignoring her texts wasn’t enough. I was going to have to do this the hard way.
I hoped Alex had his tissues ready.
“I swear it’s the last time,” I told Alex around a mouthful of chicken burrito. We sat at an outside table at Chipotle, inhaling our food. We’d swum laps together after my lifeguarding shift, and now it was like we couldn’t eat fast enough.
“Dude, get real. It’s the last time, until next month, or whenever you do this again and the next Barbie falls apart, begging me to tell her why you’re such an ass.” Alex crunched on a handful of tortilla chips. “Which, ya know, is a legit question. Why are you such an ass?”
I sucked from my straw, glaring at him. I’d spent the past twenty minutes trying to convince him that I wasn’t going to cause any more female meltdowns this summer, but he didn’t believe me.
“Remember our bet, dude?” he asked. “Why don’t you focus your energy on Bird Brain instead of breaking random hearts?”
He’d st
umbled too close to the truth. “What bet?”
He snorted. “You forgot already? Cool. That’s an easy fifty bucks for me.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “I remember the bet. But like I told you before, even I can’t turn the Bird Brain into a party animal.” I cringed a little, calling her that.
“No signs of life, there, huh? Even after a full week with you and your magic moves?” Alex grinned wickedly. “At least with Trina I don’t have to worry that she’ll come crying to me. She can’t stand you.”
I grabbed my burrito and stuffed it in my mouth so I didn’t have to answer him.
Alex watched me closely. “She’s giving you crap, isn’t she?” He laughed. “Man, I wish I could be a fly on the wall with you two. It’s gotta be better than a World Wrestling match.”
I snorted. “Yeah, you could say that.” Though the idea of actually wrestling with Trina made me reach for my soda.
“How’s that crazy schedule of hers working out for the kids? Does she carry a stopwatch?”
I laughed, but then I pictured her in tears, surrounded by the shredded guts of her binder. I crumpled my burrito wrapper and threw it at him. Hard. It bounced off his head and landed on the floor.
He stuffed another handful of chips in his mouth and chewed, still watching me. I hated it when he turned all psychoanalyst. He was worse than my parents.
Then he twirled the straw around in his cup. “Soo,” he drawled, “maybe I’m wrong about Trina ending up crying on my shoulder? Is that horrific event in my future?
I stood up abruptly, my chair screeching behind me. “No,” I snapped. “It’s not. We’re partners. That’s it.”
Partners. That’s all we could be, or should be.
Nothing more.
Chapter Fourteen
Trina
Sunday, June 9
Desi and I sat by the fountain, munching on free pretzels. Since it was a hot Sunday afternoon, the mall was packed with people in need of free air conditioning. Screaming kids crawled over the indoor playground equipment.
“This is like a work day for you, right?” Desi asked. “Surrounded by screaming kids?”
“Not really. I just have two kids to deal with.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re not counting Slade as kid number three anymore?”
“Um, I guess not. I think maybe he has…potential.”
“What type of potential? Are we talking personal or professional?”
I knew how I should answer. Strictly professional, of course. But a teeny voice in my mind whispered both.
Desi and I didn’t keep secrets from each other. It was our number one rule. But I’d been sitting on a giant secret, about the double salary and the secret mentoring. And now it felt like I was keeping another one, about my feelings for Slade.
“I think you just answered my question.” She beamed at me. “I knew it! I knew you didn’t have total immunity to the Slade spell.” Her smile morphed into a wide grin. “It’s perfectly understandable, you know. There’s not a girl alive who can resist him for long.”
I jerked upright in my chair. “It’s not like that. Just because I don’t totally hate him doesn’t mean I’m…” I took a deep breath. “I told you before. Slade and I have decided to alternate planning the days for the kids. So, to answer your question, the potential I see in him is strictly professional.”
Desi didn’t say anything. She worked on her pretzel, taking lots of small bites. Then she patted her lips with her napkin.
“Remember fifth grade?”
I blinked at her. It wasn’t like I had a highlight reel in mind.
“Remember Jack Wilson?”
Oh. That highlight reel. “What about him?”
Her lips quirked as she watched me squirm. “Just how you spent the whole year complaining about him and ragging on him, and then on the last day of school, I found you two smooching under the slide.”
“We weren’t smooching,” I protested. “He kissed me once. On the cheek.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “That’s not what I saw. I definitely saw a lip lock.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’d hardly call it a lip lock. It was more like a peck.”
“Anyway…” She strung out the word to at least five syllables. “I’m just saying.”
“Saying what?”
Desi stood up suddenly. “My break’s almost over. But we will continue this conversation later.”
“Or not,” I muttered, standing up and gathering our trash.
“Oh, we will.” She put her hands on her hips, looking down at me. “You should know by now that you can’t keep any secrets from me.”
I bit the inside of my lip and turned away.
If she only knew.
Chapter Fifteen
Slade
Monday, June 10
Gilly was playing with her action figures when Max and I arrived. She’d tied them to the banister with a tangle of yarn and was trying to force her dog to rescue them. Trina watched her, looking perplexed. Sometimes I wondered if she’d ever been a kid.
Trina gave me half-hearted wave, but she looked tired, and paler than usual. Maybe it was a good thing we weren’t going indoor skydiving today. I’d expected a lecture for arriving late, but she didn’t say anything.
Gilly squealed at Max. “Maxie! Come help me. My heroes were kidnapped by aliens. They need to be rescued but Spike won’t help.” She glared at her non-heroic dog, whose tail wagged as I knelt down to pet him.
“Is there any coffee?” I asked. I’d wanted more at home, but hadn’t wanted to listen to another round of my parents’ never-ending debate about my future.
“Sure,” Trina said. “Mrs. Forrester brewed a fresh pot before she left for work.” She made a sound between a laugh and a sigh. “Guess I must look as tired as I feel.”
“Late night?” I teased, following her into the kitchen while the kids played on the staircase.
She paused, then turned around to hand me an empty cup. “Yeah.” Her mouth curved up. “It was a wild party. The cops came.”
I paused mid-pour to stare at her. “No way. Whose party?”
She actually laughed. She should do that more often. It would help her social life. A lot.
“I’m kidding.” She glanced out the kitchen window over the sink. “My mom works nights sometimes, and I don’t always sleep well when she’s not home.”
“What about your dad?” I asked.
“He’s in California. They divorced when I was seven. Mom and I moved here after—” She stopped suddenly, then looked down at her T-shirt, plucking at the hem. “I see him at Christmas. And for part of the summer.” Her eyes lifted and locked on mine. “That reminds me. I might spend a week with him in August, before school starts. You’d have both kids on your own. Think you can handle it, Super Nanny?”
I grinned. “Of course I can. Don’t you worry your pretty head about it.”
Crap. Why did I use that lame expression? Now she’d think I thought she was pretty. Which I didn’t. Not really.
Her eyes widened in surprise, then she turned to pull snacks out of the pantry.
“Hey,” I said, “grab some of those awesome cookies for me.”
She shot me a disapproving look, which suddenly morphed into a smile. She was like a tiny sun, shining brightly one moment then covered with clouds the next.
The kids ran through the kitchen, Gilly holding superhero action figures over her head and screaming, “Save us! Save us!” Max ran behind her, flying Iron Man and making zooming noises. The dog brought up the rear, barking with excitement.
As Trina watched them, her smile deepened and, watching her lips, suddenly I thought of cherries
No. This could not happen. I sucked down the rest of my coffee, hoping the caffeine would clear my head.
“We should go,” I said, not looking at Trina. “It’s going to be hot today, so we can golf this morning, then spend the afternoon in the theater.”
“I’m ready,” Tri
na said. “But we have to lasso the kids.” She left the kitchen, calling their names.
I heard them giggling as their feet pounded up the stairs. I should help her chase them down, but I needed to reset my brain. Needed to delete the unwanted image of kissing Trina. Something was seriously wrong with me. She was so not my type. Why couldn’t Gilly’s mom have hired a hot European nanny?
“Come on, kiddos.” I heard her voice, muffled above me. “Time for miniature golf.”
Their footsteps pounded across the ceiling, then back down the stairs. They rushed into the kitchen, but I was ready. I jumped out from behind the counter and snatched them up, one in each arm. At first they were terrified, then they burst into hysterical giggles.
“Slade’s kidnapping me!” Gilly shrieked.
“Me, too!” Max hollered. “Trina, save us! Hurry!”
Trina didn’t hurry. She sauntered into the kitchen, hands on her hips, while the kids wriggled under my arms like puppies.
“Excellent work, Edmunds,” she said. “Let’s take them to the dungeon.”
“No!” They hollered at the top of their lungs, wriggling with excitement.
Trina grabbed her tote bag and we headed outside, the kids wailing like banshees under my arms.
“It’d be funny if someone called the cops, thinking we were kidnappers,” I said, strapping the kids into their booster seats.
Trina shook her head. “I’d hate to end up on the evening news. I need the money from this job.” She looked almost guilty.
“Yeah, me too,” I agreed. “I’m hoping to upgrade to a better car before school starts.”
“Your car’s nice,” she said, taking in my Jetta. “My mom and I share an old Honda.”
After a brief argument about whose playlist to listen to—which I won because Country kicks Indie’s ass—I tried to think of something that would take my mind off her lips.
“So what do you do on your days off from this torture?” I asked, merging my car onto the highway. “Besides recover from the kids?”
“Sleep in. Catch up on shows. Read. Do a little volunteer work. Visit Desi at the mall.”
I glanced at her. “Desi’s working at the mall? Where?”
Playing the Player Page 9
