The Feel Good Factor(26)

Vanessa reaches us. “Hey, guys. What’s up?”

Shaw clears his throat. “We were just chatting about Perri’s new roomie.”

And I want to kick his shin all over again.

But I don’t. Because I can keep my shin-kicking desires in check, right along with my hormones.

In fact, it’s no big deal whatsoever.

Derek’s not even home when I return that evening. I presume we’re on opposite shifts, or he’s out doing whatever he does when he’s not home. Hell if I know what that is. But I do find a note on the chalkboard.

I replaced the eggs I ate. Have I mentioned I have a large appetite? Also, I picked up some of that coffee you seem to like. And I noticed you were low on Talenti Caribbean Coconut. Don’t you know that’s a crime, officer? You’ll find some more in the freezer.





My stupid lips curve into an even stupider smile as I take out the pint and enjoy a few spoonfuls.

And I’m still smiling the next morning when I make my coffee.





*



Shaw was right.

I keep my hormones in check the next day, and not seeing Derek in the kitchen helps the cause immensely.

When I return home on Wednesday night, my hormonal state is as cool as a cucumber.

As I drive home.

As I park the car.

As I get out of the car.

And when I hear a voice. A sweet, bright four-year-old voice. “It’s the animal-sound lady!”

But then I walk around the garage and stop in my tracks. I run a hand through my hair, and my chest flutters.

Because holy shit. Derek is pushing a baby in a stroller down my walkway and holding the hand of the frog-loving little girl from the market.

Just like that, I zoom from cucumber-cool to red-hot chili pepper. These hormones are so very not in check.





15





Perri





“Giraffe! Do a giraffe!”

The order comes from Molly, who introduced herself officially to me, along with the sleeping baby in the stroller. Today, Molly is tutu-free—she’s decked out in cowgirl boots and a red cowgirl hat. I have no idea what sort of sound giraffes make, but the concentration distracts me from my libido.

I’m so damn grateful for giraffes right now, and for the obscurity of their vocalizations, forcing me to scroll through my mental list of animal sounds.

Perfect lust-killer.

I turn to Derek. “Any chance you know what a giraffe sounds like?”

He shrugs too, flashing a crooked grin. “I’m stumped. I bet Google knows.”

Before I can grab my phone and ask the all-knowing search engine, Molly shakes her curly head and thrusts a piece of pink chalk at me. “I brought my sidewalk chalk. Can you draw a giraffe with me instead?”

“She’s been drawing up and down the whole street,” Derek adds.

I narrow my eyes and straighten my lips as I face Molly. “Aha! I see I’ve nabbed the mad Sidewalk Drawer. We’ve been looking all over for you.” I stretch out my arms as if to grab her.

She squeals and clomps down the sidewalk in her boots, watching me the whole way and shouting, “Come get me.”

I chase her, grab her waist, and declare “Gotcha” in my most over-the-top voice.

“Oh no! You caught me!” She giggles, and I let her go. “Now, draw!”

“Draw, please,” Derek corrects as he pushes the stroller with the sleeping baby in it.

“Draw, please,” Molly adds, batting her eyelashes at me.

“Now that you’re in my custody, sure. I’ll do it.”

Molly laughs again. “Do it in blue. Please.”

“I will draw a blue giraffe. But would you let me change first?”

She sighs dramatically. “Okay. I’m not allowed to color in my school clothes either.”

I smile broadly at her we’re all in this together comment. “Exactly.”

Derek stares at my work attire. “You don’t need to change. You can draw in that, right?”

I toss him a flirty look, remembering his comments from the other night. This man clearly has a thing for a woman in uniform.

All the more reason to change. Best to avoid temptation.

“Be right back.” I head inside the house and turn the corner to my bedroom. I strip off my uniform and tug on exercise pants, a sports bra, and a tank top.

Then I go to the kitchen, pour a glass of water, and take a deep breath.

I can handle sidewalk chalk–drawing with a hottie pushing a baby and tending to his precocious four-year-old niece. After all, I don’t even want to have kids.

Yet.

Maybe someday. But I definitely don’t have baby fever, so there’s no reason the sight of him with two absolute cuties should make my heart speed up or my skin sizzle.

I return to the front lawn, where the man looks me over again from stem to stern. “Nice yoga pants, but I still miss the uniform.”

Spotting Molly twenty feet away, I whisper, “That’s because you have some sort of uniform fetish.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “A big one.”

“Why’s that? You want to be cuffed? Told what to do?”

He scoffs and stalks closer, shaking his head. “Not at all, kitten.”