Bad Nanny (The Bad Nanny Trilogy #1)(23)
“Mistress?”
“Isn't that what nannies call the lady of the house? Close enough, right?”
He pokes me in the forehead with a tattooed finger.
“Got the kids in the car. Gotta run, Smarty-Pants.” Zayden gives me a stupid boy scout salute and turns on his heel, lifting his iPod up over his shoulder in a wave.
I wait until he leaves out the front door for the second time before I reach up and touch a hand to my cheek. Holy crap. I really am blushing.
Better be careful with this guy. He doesn't just smell like fruit and home … he smells like trouble.
And I am so allergic to that.
The next morning goes a lot smoother. I get the girls to school on time and manage to make it to class with minutes to spare, sliding into a seat before the professor even gets to the room. Of course, week two and I'm pretty sure this course is going to kick my ass, but it feels good to be here. I'm twenty-two; this is where I'm supposed to be.
I work really hard not to think about tonight.
Or about Zayden Roth.
For some reason, my mind is desperate to conjure up images of his rock-hard body, his colorful kaleidoscope of tattoos, all those weird goofy mannerisms of his.
After class, I head home with metal music thrashing around my shitty old car, tapping my hands on the steering wheel in time to the drums, wishing I was back in Berkeley on my way to a party or a club or something.
Well, I will be on my way to a club tonight. Only this time, it's gonna be me who's the entertainment.
My mouth purses tight and I swallow hard, pulling into my driveway to find … Zayden waiting for me. What the hell is it with this guy?
I climb out of the car and find him dancing to Lady Gaga with the baby giggling on his shoulder. The minivan door is wide open and the music is blasting into the yard as he swings his hips to “Bad Romance” and sings the lyrics. I expect him to stop when he sees me, but he doesn't. In fact, it doesn't even look like he's embarrassed.
If I were him, I sure as hell would be.
I cross my arms over my chest as he bounces the baby in a gentle rhythm and turns in a circle, foot tapping to the music as I glance over my shoulder. But nope. There are no neighbors around right now; they're probably all at work or something.
One eyebrow raises up as I study Zayden in his red Dr. Martens and his black skinny jeans, his hands this vibrant splash of color against the baby's peach onesie. Fuck, I hate this song, but … the whole scene is kind of … cute?
“What are you doing here?” I ask when the song ends and Zayden smiles over at me, oozing confidence and don't-give-a-shit swagger. He literally looks like he could not care one crap less about what anyone thinks of him. How did this guy ever get hired as a nanny? But then I see the gentle but firm way he cradles the little girl against his chest, the kindness of his eyes buried behind all those piercings and tattoos.
I guess it's not such a far stretch. I mean, I hired him. Only … I'm not paying him any money.
“I don't need you until nine or so,” I say, but he gestures with his chin at the car and the duffel bags in the back. I hear a hiss from somewhere inside and assume he's got his cat with him again.
“Cops busted a neighbor at one of the other duplexes for drugs. There are police everywhere; it's f*cking chaos over there. Figured I'd stop by early if you don't mind? If it's too much trouble, we can camp out here.”
“You think I'd leave a baby outside on the driveway? Come on.” I move up the single step and unlock the front door, stepping aside to give Zay plenty of room to squeeze inside. “Was it the neighbor in your building?”
“Nope. Not the pot growing asswad directly next door, but the Bible-thumper on the other side. Looks like she was cookin' up meth with her gospel.” Zayden chuckles as he pulls the blanket off his shoulder and tosses it on the floor, setting the baby down and stepping back with his hands on his hips.
We both watch as she attempts a shaky crawl, her floral headband bright against the dull colors of the living room.
“I've got a baby hack figured out. See, I let her do this for a while and then she just,” Zayden slaps his palms together, “conks the hell out. Works like a charm every time.” He looks up at me suddenly and then snaps his fingers. “Hey, let me grab the dogs and I'll be right back. Watch her for me for a sec?”
I nod as Zay disappears outside and returns with three yipping dogs. He almost trips and drops the cat carrier in his hand as they tangle their leashes around his legs. Dodger appears immediately, standing guard in the kitchen doorway, teeth bared and hackles raised. I ignore him. Nobody in their right mind would find that thing threatening.
Zayden drags the dogs across the floor and then lets them all outside—Dodger included.
“Fuck, you're so lucky you have a yard. The duplex has a tiny square of cement that pretends to be a porch. The dogs crap all over that and then run into the five by five space where there used to be grass and go there, too.” He shivers as I raise a brow again. I want to ask who has money for a nanny that doesn't have money for sod or a better house, but then I realize that I'm in pretty much the same position.
Maybe Zayden does a lot of charity work? If so, where does he get money to live?
I narrow my eyes on him and wonder for the millionth time if I'm getting roped into a scam or something here. He just stares at me, bends down, and then releases his hairless sweater wearing cat.