Bad Nanny (The Bad Nanny Trilogy #1)(60)

I make myself turn away from her, pulling my phone out to Google how long bacon needs to cook for. There's a text from that pink haired chick, and a few from my buddies at home. A couple Facebook messages from a girl I hooked up with last month. I stare at it all, the proof of my life back home and I feel this weird emptiness yawning open inside of me.

Fuck.

I jam the phone back in my pocket and refocus on breakfast. I can't think about anything but this moment. I just have to live this. I've got an exhibitionist date booked with Brooke for tonight and a week of guaranteed fabulous sex waiting for me. At the end of the week, we'll see how I feel.

I bet I'll be gunning to get the hell out of here.



Surprise, surprise.

That bitch, Monica, really does show up like I asked. I think Brooke's in complete shock, her mouth hanging open as she pushes the door wide and lets her great aunt in. The woman gives me a look that's worth a thousand words, most of them synonymous for dickhead or serial killer. I don't think she can decide exactly how much she hates me. S'okay. I'm used to it. People love to judge me based on my appearance. I got this.

“Yo, Monica,” I say as I pry one of the twins off of my leg and use my foot to stop the ugly hairless dog from humping the ugly not-hairless one. The kids keep asking me what they're doing, and I had no clue how to answer. When Brooke suggested they were “dogging” and that it was some sort of game, I went with it. “No dogging, Dodger.” I grin when I say it and enjoy the way Monica's face pales. “We're callin' the whole humping thing a euphemism.” I clap the woman on the shoulder and she gasps, putting a hand to her chest as I wink and twirls my nephew around my waist like a swing dancer. He screams in joy as I deposit him back on his feet. “You'll get the hang of it pretty quick.”

“I'm not—” Monica starts, but I ignore her. She's one of those selfish, judgmental *s that I hate. Who cares what she has to say? Not me. All I want right now is for her to watch these rugrats so I can go screw their aunt into the side of a brick building during the arts fair.

“Alright everyone, listen up.” I clap my hands together and lean down, ignoring Monica as she clutches her red coat in front of herself and frowns. Her lipstick's this weird dark brown color that looks like dog crap. Huh. “This is Brooke's Aunt Monica, okay? You guys can call her whatever you want, but you need to behave. You got that? Anyone that steps out of line has to help me clean chihuahua poop out of the backyard.”

“Can we call her poop face?” Kinzie asks and sends all the kids into a giggling fit. I roll my eyes as I stand up straight and glance over at Brooke again. To be honest with y'all, it's hard for me to pull my gaze away for even an instant. The kid cleans up good, that's for sure. Her makeup is clean and fresh, not heavy like it is when she's on her way to the club. That long chocolate mane is straight and shiny and gleaming, and her outfit is ballin', baby. Smart chick. She choose a short black skirt and a flouncy pink top, paired it with a pair of old brown boots and called it done. It's the weirdest thing I've ever seen in my life and I'm totally digging it.

“No more poop or fart jokes, okay? I'm starting to wonder if you need to see a therapist or something.” I ruffle Kinzie's curls and pass over a couple twenties to Monica. “Order 'em pizza or something, okay? Oh, and I left instructions for the baby on the counter. You've taken care of babies before, right?”

“I have two kids,” Monica says, blinking at the chaos in the living room like she's never seen this much activity in once place before. Sort of looks like she might be close to having a heart attack. Hopefully she can just hold off until we get back. She does and I'll buy her casket myself.

“Ready, Brooke?” I ask as I head to the front door and open it for her, waving good-bye to the kids before I step outside into the cool darkness of a Eureka evening.

“She … actually showed up. The most selfish woman on the entire planet,” Brooke mumbles as we head over to the van and I dance a few steps ahead to open her door. She raises a brow at me but climbs in anyway, getting control of my iPod before I do. Within seconds, we're listening to some crazy loud screeching song about pain and death. Ech. Eww. I so hate rock and metal music. Buuuut, I so love to see Brooke's face as the music washes over her and she smiles. “I haven't been to Arts Alive since I was seventeen.”

“'bout the same here. Since I was eighteen. It's totally hippie chic from what I remember. Lots of live music, art, people smoking pot.” I grin as I back out of the driveway and head towards Old Town with some tortured soul screeching out of the van's speakers. “I don't know if you can tell, but, like, I am flipping excited as f*ck.”

“We're not really going to have sex there, right?” Brooke asks, but not like she wants me to agree with her.

“Listen up, Smarty-Pants, I don't joke about sex in public places, okay? This shit's a serious art form and you, my dear, are about to get an introduction by a master.”

Brooke leans against the window and studies with me her pale brown eyes, sweeping long hair away from her face.

“What's the weirdest place you've ever done it?” she asks, and I have to chew my bottom lip and think really hard for a minute. I snap my fingers as it comes to me.

“One time, I f*cked this chick at a hotel.”