Bad Nanny (The Bad Nanny Trilogy #1)(102)

I don't know why, but I feel frantic, full to f*cking 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 *.

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 magnificent 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.”