Bad Nanny (The Bad Nanny Trilogy #1)(51)

“I can't even imagine,” Brooke says, reaching over and taking my hand. Crap. Did not expect that. I was hoping for an I'm so sorry to hear that at most. This is … a lot harder to process. I wish her hands weren't so soft, her fingertips so hot. I wish she didn't smell good, like flowers and soap. I need to go home and get mind-f*cked by some crazy chick with tattoos on her face. That's what I need to do. Yep.

Brooke lets go of my hand and I feel like I can breathe again. It's bugging me though, how jumpy I'm getting. Like, hello Zayden, you've never gotten this way before. You always make fun of Jude for freaking the f*ck out over every girl he sleeps with. If he even catches a glimpse of them again after, he starts panicking that he's going to be stalked or something. I've always thought he was a douche.

Now I'm the douche. Me. I'm acting like the weirdo.

And yet, all I can do right now is hope that Brooke will let me f*ck her again when she gets off of work. How messed up is that? But every time I look at her—every time—I see that image of her on the floor, her back pressed to the wall, one foot propped on the step, the other leg open wide. I can see her panting chest, her moist lips, the glitter of liquid on her inner thighs.

“The doctor says the average life expectancy from the onset of symptoms is about eight years. It's been just a few months since he was diagnosed, but that means by the time I'm thirty,” a pause, “by the time I'm your age, he'll be gone.”

Brooke takes a deep breath and threads her fingers through her hair. I see now. It makes sense why she's watching the kids, why her parents haven't stepped in. The whole thing makes her sister, Ingrid, seem like even more of a douche-y bitch.

“Anyway, sorry. My fault. I shouldn't have brought that up,” she says.

“Naw, that was totally me. Hey, relax a little. You made it to the end of the week. Yay.” I pretend to wave a little flag and Brooke smiles. I can see the expression from the corner of my eye. I like the way her lips curve up, giving her this sexy porn star look in the mouth while her big, black glasses look dorky as hell. “One more night of work and you'll be off for a few days. Hey, what do you want to do on Saturday?”

“Saturday?” Brooke echoes, like she's completely lost.

“You know, your aunt's babysitting and all that. You want to hit that art festival in Old Town or something?”

“Arts Alive?” Brooke asks and then starts gathering her hair into a ponytail. It takes her some serious effort because it's all caught up under her ass. I'd sure like to be caught under this chick's ass. “I don't even know if Monica really will show up. She hasn't contacted me since.”

“If she does, you want to go? I could show you some of my favorite haunts down there.” I pause and let a smile tease my lips. “Some of the best places to f*ck without getting caught.”

Brooke's mouth drops open as I take a left towards the restaurant, pulling into the parking lot without hearing a response from those pretty lips of hers.

When I park the car and turn to look at her, she's finally closed her mouth and is staring at me like I'm insane.

“Who says I even want to hang out with you on Saturday? I might make other plans.”

“With who? The endangered sea crustacean chick? Dan the Douche? His ex? Come on. I'm the only friend you've got in town right now.”

“I just moved here,” Brooke says defensively, but I just shrug my shoulders loosely. Straight-up, I don't know why I'm hounding her anyway, asking her out on a date. I mean, it's not like I'm generally opposed to taking girls out, but never one I've felt this magnetic sort of a connection with. This could be the end of me right here. “Sure, why not? I always loved Arts Alive. It's one of the few things I ever liked about this place.”

“Amen, sister,” I say, reaching out and giving her a tap on the shoulder. Brooke smiles and I toss her a wink, climbing out of the car and heading around to the sliding door to grab Sadie. I carry her inside with the car seat and then get her set up in a wooden high chair.

“Do you think she'll be okay in there while we eat?”

“Bam.” I produce a bag of that Gerber puff cereal crap from Sadie's diaper bag. I Googled how to go to a restaurant with my baby and got all sorts of sweet tips. “Lookie there. Zay plans ahead, Smarty-Pants.”

“Nice move. I'm still figuring all the kid hacks out. My mom gave me a sort of crash course last week, but it didn't even begin to cover everything.” Brooke pauses and flattens her menu out on the table. “Bella's been crying at night.” A pause. “Well, not since you started staying over, but before that. And Grace … has she snuck into the yard to play hide and seek yet?”

“Oh yeah. Twice while you were at work the other night. It's so creepy, total horror movie-esque.”

Brooke laughs.

“Yeah, exactly. I actually get scared to go out there and look for her, like I'm afraid the next time I see her she'll look like the zombie girl from the first episode of The Walking Dead.”

“Ah, I knew it. You like horror stuff? Zombies?”

“Definitely. The darker the better. What about you? I figured since you liked pop music …”

I wave my hand and Sadie giggles. I think she digs all the colors on my arm. I read that babies her age dig movement and bright things. Guess I'm a lot of both, huh?