Bad Nanny (The Bad Nanny Trilogy #1)(34)
“I thought you said this was a casual, no strings attached sort of a deal?” Zay grins and brushes some hair away from my face with his tattooed hand.
“It is. Look, this is a perfect arrangement, don't you think? You can experiment with me, get all those virgin mistakes out of the way early on, and then in a week and a half, I'll be gone. Boom. Back to Vegas, baby. No worries at all, no awkwardness, no crossing paths.”
I narrow my eyes at him, but inside, I'm going completely crazy. I can feel butterflies and tingles and this weird sort of buzzing that I've never felt before. I guess I'm having some kind of … sexual awakening or something. I feel hot and squirmy with need. I'm aware it's all basic human chemistry and hormones and pheromones and all of that … but damn.
“You're offering to … teach me or something?”
Zay snaps his fingers and leans in close, the piercings on his face winking at me in the weak sunshine.
“Yeah, sure, why not? What do you have to lose?”
I look up at him, at this stranger that I let into my sister's house, that I let take care of her kids … that I let take me to bed. Why do I feel like I can trust this guy? I'm not stupid. I'm completely and utterly aware that I don't know this man at all, but God, I want to say yes. I want to stop being the Brooke that does everything right all the time, but that no one notices.
My sister, Ingrid, was always one step ahead of me. If I got an A in chemistry then she got an A+ in AP chem; if I got an after-school job, she had two; if I made the team, she was the captain. But now, here I am, trying to pick up the pieces of her mess. I feel like a background, a side character, a pawn on a chessboard.
And I'm sick of it.
I can do something for myself, can't I? Even if it's stupid and it makes no sense and it's probably a really bad idea.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Zay asks, snapping me out of my reverie. I blink up at him and then sweep some of my stupidly long hair over my shoulders; I should cut it all off. Make a fresh start.
“I'm trying to logistically convince myself to sleep with you again.”
“Oh. Any arguments I can offer to help make that happen?” He snaps his fingers at me again and then takes a step back, reaching down and tucking his inked fingers under his shirt. “Nah, don't say anything, Smarty-Pants, I got ya.” Zay tears his shirt off and flashes me his perfect midsection, a landscape of muscular hills and valleys, a sea of color and piercings that draws my eye and refuses to let go of my gaze.
I'm about to step forward and run my hands down all of that delicious perfection when a knock sounds at the bay window to my right and I jump, glancing over to find an older woman glaring at us through the glass.
Shit.
It's my great aunt, the one that decided she was currently unable to help my parents out with Bella and Grace, the reason that I'm here. My dad's too sick to deal with little kids right now, and if my parents didn't have me here, they wouldn't have been able to go to Scotland. My aunt suggested they call it off, but what happens if my dad ends up never getting to go? This is literally the first—and probably the last—time he's ever left the country. He deserves this.
“Crap. Put your shirt on,” I whisper as I scurry to the door and Zay groans, leaning down to grab his discarded tee as I unhook the chain and crack the door. I don't owe this woman anything, but I'm afraid if she thinks I'm up to no good over here that she'll call my parents and bitch. I really don't want anything to interfere with their trip. “Hey, Monica.”
I make myself smile even though the two of us have never really gotten along. Monica's always liked Ingrid more than me. She used to laugh and call me the ugly sister; I never found that to be very funny.
“Brooke,” she says, sweeping some black-going-gray hair over her shoulder, eyes flicking up past my shoulder to Zayden. “Am I interrupting something?” I wave my hand dismissively although I sort of want to scream. Yeah, you kind of are.
“Something I can help you with?”
“Aren't you going to invite me in?” she asks as I bite back a sigh and step aside, watching as my aunt's eyes narrow on the sparsely decorated house. I want to scream that none of this is my fault, but I know she won't listen to me. The frustrating thing about her disapproval is that she knows Ingrid's whole story. How my sister graduated with an accounting degree, got a decent job at the bank, how she took a hefty portion of my parent's retirement savings to buy a house, promising to pay them back.
How she got addicted and lost the house to foreclosure.
How my mom went to pick the girls up from school and found they'd never gone, came over here and discovered my sister's note.
She knows all of that and yet, here she is, judging me.
Monica squeezes her red coat tighter around herself and pauses next to Zayden. They look weirdly opposite, one of them old and conservative and closed off, and the other young and wild and outgoing.
“Zayden Roth,” he says, extending the hand with the book on it, taking my aunt's and shaking it firmly. He grins nice and wide. “I'm Brooke's nan—”
“Boyfriend,” I insert because God, if Monica finds out about the nanny thing or the stripping thing or just, well, any of it then she'll definitely call my mom up and demand she fly home. I don't want to deal with the drama. “From Berkeley. He's up visiting,” I say because, again, I don't want to be judged for picking up a guy two weeks after arriving in town. Although that's really none of her business anyway.