Bad Nanny (The Bad Nanny Trilogy #1)(97)

I swallow hard and rake my fingers through my hair again.

I wish I was better with words, wish I could explain all the things I was feeling to her.

“I'll ruin your life, Brooke. I'm not the man of your dreams. I'm just some * from Vegas.” I smile at her, but it doesn't feel real. Feels like bullshit to me. “I'm just the nanny, right?”

“Yeah, whatever.” Brooke's voice sounds unstable, but when I take a step towards her, she moves away.

“Your aunt's got the kids covered for a while. We could go out and have some food? Try a little more exhibitionism. What do you say?” I make myself grin at her, but her face stays flat, her pale eyes dark and shadowed.

“Sorry, Zayden, but you can't goof your way out of this one. You know what? Why don't you go back to my place, pick up your kids, and go home. We're, uh,” Brooke starts as she begins to back away towards her Subaru, “we're done here. Yeah, yeah. We're done.” She stops after a few steps, a bag of clothes slung over one arm, and points a shaking finger at me. “I was okay with this being casual, but you pushed into my boundaries. You chased after me. And I hate being dicked around.”

Brooke turns and climbs in her car as I pace in a tight circle and run my hand over my face. I have no clue what to do. In the back of my mind, I realize how goddamn easy this all is. I basically have two choices: go home tomorrow and forget about this, or … stay.

Because I could stay if I really wanted to. Yeah, it'd be hard, but … is Brooke Overland worth it?

The answer to that is easy. Sure she is. Of course she is.

I stand there on the wet pavement as her car zooms around me and splatters my slacks with dirty water. As I turn and watch her red taillights disappear into traffic, I decide it's time to head out and find somewhere to grab a drink.

Because I need to really think about this. Changing my whole life for a girl I've known for two weeks?

How is that any different from changing your whole life for two kids that aren't yours?

Whatever happens, I know this to be a fact: Brooke Overland is a hell of a lot stronger than I am.





Even my angriest metal music can't help me. A cascading fall of guitar riffs and clattering drums can't take the shock of pain and anger away. I scream the lyrics along with the lead singer until my voice is gone and my throat hurts, but it makes no difference.

I am f*cking livid. And sad. Really, really sad. I feel like this is the thing with Anthony all over again. Obviously, it's a very different scenario, but I see parallels here that bother me more than I care to admit. Anthony said he wanted me to be his perfect wife, but all he really wanted was a showpiece for his parents, somebody on his arm to play the good Christian with him.

Zayden … I invited Zayden into my bed and into my life, but he was the one that kept pushing my boundaries, weaseling his way into my heart. He said he was only up for a casual fling, but what he really did was charm the hell out of me.

So one guy says he wants me but doesn't and the other says he doesn't but clearly does.

“This is so shitty,” I say as I pull up to a Dutch Bros and grab some coffee. Now that I don't have a job, I probably shouldn't spend the money, but screw it. I need this right now.

I pull over a few blocks away to take the lid off and blow steam away from the dark liquid. Out of habit, I pick up my phone and check for messages. Several from my friends back in Berkeley, the sight of the familiar names in my contacts sending a pang of loneliness through me.

So how could I blame Zayden for not wanting to stay here with me? He hates this town as much as I do, and he's right: there are hardly any jobs here. His friends are back in Las Vegas. Hell, he owns his own place. And if I'm having this much trouble changing my whole existence for two girls that are my own flesh and blood, how can I expect some playboy dude to do the same?

I test my coffee and then put the lid back on, pausing for a moment as I take a sip. I want to go home and curl up on my bed, but at the same time, I don't want to go home. The thought of Zayden leaving turns my insides into this gaping, yawning hole. If I have to head back there and watch him pack his things … I think I'll go crazy.

I put my coffee in the cup holder and start up my car, deciding to head over to my parents' place. I have the keys, and I'm supposed to water the houseplants anyway. I haven't done it once in the last two weeks, but oh well. I had more important things to worry about.

Like losing my virginity.

I cringe as I pull back onto the street and head towards Wildwood Community Park, a fancy name for the gated old folks neighborhood that my parents live in. They had me when my mother was forty-three, so even though it doesn't feel like they should live in a place like Wildwood, they do. Yet another reason why my parents couldn't take care of the kids; nobody under age eighteen is allowed to live on the premises.

I pull up to the front gate and key in my parents' code, heading over to their perfect oil spot free driveway and the manicured yard that the homeowners' association takes care of. When I get out and let myself inside, the quiet darkness settles over me and I take a deep breath, tossing my purse onto the counter and moving over to the couch to lie down.

Without realizing I'm doing it, I slide my phone from my pocket and look at my texts for any messages from Zayden. Once it dawns on me that I'm doing it, I delete his number from my phone and put the damn thing away.