The Manny

by Piper Rayne

  “I’ll be right back,” I say to Payne, following Vance out. “You don’t have to leave.”

  How pathetic do I sound?

  Vance turns around, putting his black leather coat on. “Yeah, I do.” There’s a finality to his voice and I realize that he thinks the kiss was a mistake. Knowing he’s right does nothing to ease the sting.

  “Thank you for today and for cleaning up. I have an interview set up for a nanny tomorrow after work.”

  Vance nods. “Thanks again for dinner, Layla.” A small spark travels through my body and zings me right in the heart when he says my name.

  “You’re welcome.”

  He opens the door and I hold it open for him to leave. He stops on the stoop outside and turns around, his eyes roaming up and down my body, pausing for a moment on my lips before he raises his gaze to my eyes.

  “Oh, I forgot,” he says.

  To kiss me goodnight?

  “Yeah?” My breasts push out and his gaze dips but recovers too fast for my liking.

  “I picked up your dry cleaning. It’s in the front hallway.” He winks.

  “You didn’t have to do that, but thanks.” My shoulders falter and I have to remember he’s many roles in my life. He’s my new scriptwriter, my kid’s manny, but he’s not my conquest. He’s not someone I can sleep with. No matter how much I want him and how sweet and thoughtful he seems.

  He steps back up the steps, his hand moulding to my cheek. “You’re an amazing woman. You have your hands full and I noticed the slip on the counter.” He shrugs. “I’m glad I could take one thing off your list.”

  I lick my lips, ready for another kiss, but his hand falls from my cheek and he steps back.

  “Good night,” he mumbles and disappears down the walkway.

  I shut the door, my hand still clutched around the door handle while I gather myself.

  “Mommy,” Payne says from behind me and I startle.

  “Don’t scare Mommy.” I lock the door, and lead Payne back to the kitchen.

  “How come Vance was licking your neck?” he asks.

  Shit.

  “I’d spilled something on myself and we ran out of napkins.” Not my best excuse, but this is uncharted territory for me. Since Payne’s half asleep he takes me at my word.

  I look around at the clean kitchen, think of the dry-cleaning hanging in the hall closet and how Vance will be back tomorrow to watch Payne. It may only be temporary, but it’s a relief to have someone else to rely on and not have everything resting on my shoulders alone.

  I’ll carry the load alone if I must, but I’m beginning to understand that it’s so much sweeter when there’s someone there sharing the weight of it all.

  Chapter 11

  Vance

  “I’m worried.” Leo glances away from the Golden Retriever he’s shampooing in his doggie spa to where Payne is hanging out by the puppy corral.

  “What?” I pop a chip into my mouth as I sit on the counter watching him.

  “The kid looks at you like you’re Spider-Man. You’re playing with fire. He’s attached after only three days.”

  “Nah, Payne loves Ninja Turtles. He’s on the fence with Spider-Man.” I pop another chip into my mouth.

  Leo shoots me his annoyed look. What can I say? I know what he’s saying, but I can’t be expected to control how awesome I am.

  “You know what I mean.” He hoses off the big dog, the water spraying back onto his shirt, causing it to cling to his chest.

  “Do you have that window so women can ogle you?” I look through the cut-out in the wall at the four women sipping their Starbucks and admiring the scene unfolding in front of them.

  “No.” He glances at them, too, then back to the dog. “I do it so the owners can see what we’re doing.”

  “Uh-huh, whatever. Clearly those women haven’t heard the rumors.” I chuckle and Leo shakes his head.

  Besides his doggie spa Leo creates and sells dog clothes on some website that starts with an ‘E’. When people find that out they make their own assumptions and Leo never bothers to refute them. Apparently, a single heterosexual man can’t be good at designing and sewing dog clothes.

  “They can assume all they want. I don’t lie.” Leo shoots me a look of warning and then glances at the window where two of the women with iced coffees look like they’d like to be sipping him up with a straw.

  “You should just take off your t-shirt. You know, for sales.”

  Leo picks up a wet rag and throws it at me.

  I catch it in time to avoid getting wet. “Don’t bring me into your twisted world. You don’t want me competing for their attention.” I wink and then place the rag in the sink next to me.

  “You do realize that they probably think you’re my lover, right?” Leo lifts the dog out of the tub and places him on the grooming table, hooking him up to the pole.

  Each woman follows his movements with a head tilt, their mouths ajar slightly.

  “You just made them all wet.”

  “I aim to please.” He laughs.

  I pop another chip in my mouth and glance over to the room beside us to check on Payne. He’s playing with the puppies and having fun.

  “Must be hard to be so wanted.” My voice is thick with sarcasm because Leo doesn’t date. Like ever.

  He can thank that bitch Yvette for that. I swear he doesn’t even notice anyone with a pussy unless it’s an actual pussy cat because I think he sometimes grooms them here. I’m convinced it’s why he’s okay with the rumor he’s gay.

  “They like the outside package, that’s all.” He shrugs.

  “Well, they could like the guy on the inside if you ever… I don’t know, went out on a date.” I catch Payne walking toward the door, stopping to pet another dog.

  “We’re focusing on you, remember?”

  “My life is peachy keen.”

  “That’s why you’re screwing the lead actress in your movie.” He leans against the wall, crossing his arms, allowing the overhead dryer to finish off the Golden Retriever.

  “Don’t try to bait me. I’m not fucking her.”

  “But you want to.”

  “No.”

  “Bullshit. I’d bet good money you’re having a hard time keeping your hands off her.” That know-it-all grin covering his face is making me crazy.

  I hop down from the counter. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Hold up.”

  I stop mid-stride.

  “Remember it’s not just her.” His gaze moves to Payne in the other room. “It’s them too.”

  The hint of sadness in Leo’s eyes reminds me that he grew up with a single mom. That he probably saw his fair share of dipshits come and go.

  “Got it.” I nod.

  “He really likes you and from what you say he needs a father figure in his life, so don’t mess it up.”

  “Leo.” I stop and hold my hand up in the air. “I got it.”

  “I hope so… now, go buy something.” He smiles and I walk out of the grooming area only to have Payne at my feet seconds later.

  “Can we buy a dog?” he asks, jumping up and down.

  I ruffle his head. “That’s your mom’s department.”

  “Pleeease,” he whines. His hands are up in a prayer position. “Please?”

  “Leo, I’ll catch you later man.” I give him a half wave which he returns and then I push the door open.

  “Please,” Payne begs, his footsteps dragging along the pavement.

  Spying the ice cream shop a few doors down I figure a distraction might work. “How about some ice cream?”

  “Yay! Ice cream.”

  He grabs my hand and drags me forward toward the placard that has a picture of a giant ice cream cone. “Do they have cookie dough?” he asks, practically vibrating with excitement.

  “I dunno, buddy. Let’s go take a look.”

  We step inside and head over to the glass case displaying all the flavors. A sign behind the counter
proclaims ‘Home of fifty flavors’.

  “I can’t see,” Payne says, tugging on my pant leg.

  I bend over and lift him up so that he can see into the freezer. He leans forward as I walk the length of the counter so he can see each and every damn flavor.

  “Looks like they have cookie dough, bud. Is that what you want?” He’s quiet and doesn’t say anything. His expression is serious his brows drawn. “Payne?”

  “There’s so many.” He juts out his bottom lip.

  “What can I get you?” the teenaged boy behind the counter asks.

  “Can you give us a minute? He’s still deciding,” I say.

  “Sure thing. Just let me know when you’re ready.” He starts checking the stock of the ice cream buckets, clearly buying time until we’re ready.

  I look back to Payne. “All right, what’s it gonna be?”

  “I don’t know. Go back that way?” I walk back from where we came from.

  “Again?” I ask after he’s still biting his lip and in deep thought. Does this kid never get ice cream that the decision on the kind is this crucial?

  I do as he asks and what feels like twenty, but is actually only four minutes later Payne has settled on his original pick of cookie dough.

  Note to self: Next time I have to buy a kid ice cream ask for their order and go to the counter alone.

  “I think we’re ready,” I say loud enough for the employee to hear me.

  He heads over from the other end of the counter, probably as annoyed as I am right now. “What’ll it be?”

  I set Payne down on his feet and shake my arms out. I might work out on a regular basis, but I don’t hold a forty-pound barbell in my arms for five minutes straight.

  “Cookie dough, please.” I point to the tub in question.

  “What size do you want?” he asks.

  I look down to Payne. “I want a triple scoop,” he says.

  I shrug. “Triple scoop it is.” It took long enough for the choice of ice cream, we aren’t going back and forth on how many scoops.

  “You sure about that?” the teenager questions my order.

  “You heard the kid,” I say and Payne starts cheering and jumping up and down in excitement. Three scoops might be a tad too much, but hey, I’m the Manny. The teenage boy can keep his opinion to himself.

  “Okay then.” The teenager grabs a cone from the stack and works on assembling Payne’s masterpiece.

  Once I’ve paid we head back out onto the street and begin walking toward my truck.

  For the first time all day, Payne is silent, mostly because his tongue is working overtime licking at his ice cream. My hand on his back guides him in the right direction.

  Five minutes later, halfway to Layla’s, Payne is groaning in the back seat so I turn down the radio. “What’s wrong buddy?”

  “I don’t want anymore,” he says in an unhappy voice.

  I pull onto the freeway and merge with traffic then take a quick glance at him in the rearview mirror. His face is covered in ice cream, dripping from his chin, on his nose and his hands.

  “Payne wipe your chin with the napkin that’s around the cone, okay?”

  “I can’t,” he says.

  “What do you mean you can’t?” I ask. “Hold on,” I say as I make a hard break. Traffic has slowed to a crawl in the blink of an eye as it’s liable to do in L.A. at any given hour.

  “I can’t because it’s wet.”

  I suck in a breath. Fuck me.

  I chance a quick glance in the back seat since we’re only moving at about ten miles per hour and immediately wish I didn’t. My eyes widen as they take in the ice cream dripping down the cone, over Payne’s hand and what’s left sitting in his lap.

  Shit. I open my center console while keeping an eye on traffic, stopping and going every few seconds. Without taking my gaze from the road I feel around inside and plastic wrappers topple out and onto the floorboards. The box of condoms that I keep in my glove compartment in case of emergencies is open and condom wrappers are scattered inside the glove box and across the floormat below.

  How can a kid his size be so messy?

  Manny fail.

  “I’m sticky,” Payne half says, half cries.

  “Okay, okay. Hang on. Let me think.”

  “It’s all over my privates!” Payne wails and then starts sobbing.

  I adjust the rearview mirror so that I can get a better view of him and realize that he’s now holding the ice cream cone out to his side so that it’s dripping all over my interior.

  “Oh, buddy, don’t do that. Leave it where it was.”

  “No! It’s cold and sticky,” he screams and continues to cry.

  “You’re going to have to wait until we get back to your place and then we’ll get you cleaned up okay?”

  I grip the steering wheel harder imagining the state of my interior by the time we reach Layla’s in this traffic. I could take the next exit, but by the time I make it across the two lanes of traffic we won’t be far from Layla’s anyway.

  Payne sniffles behind me. I ruined the kid the first day.

  “Can’t I use one of those?” he asks.

  “One of what?” I turn my head quickly to see what he’s looking at.

  “Those,” he says and points with his free hand to the condom wrappers.

  “Uh…no, bud. Those are for adults.”

  “Mommy lets me use her Wet-Naps.”

  Relief floods my veins that at least he doesn’t know what condoms are and won’t go telling his mom.

  “Oh, those aren’t Wet-Naps,” I say, hoping he’ll drop the subject. I honk my horn at the guy in front of me. Why are there so many damn people in LA?

  But of course, he doesn’t.

  “What are they?” he asks.

  I try to think of something to say—something that won’t lead to another question and another. I’m at a loss and so finally I say, “You know what? That’s also your mom’s department.”

  Thankfully, he accepts my response and goes back to sniffling about his melting ice cream. “Mommy always gets me the kid scoop,” he mumbles. “This never happens with Mommy.”

  I’m a cars length away from sniffling too, thinking of what that sticky liquid is doing to my interior. There’s more to this manny stuff than just keeping the kid alive.

  “Do you like basketball?” I ask Payne, later that afternoon after we’ve got him all cleaned up.

  He shrugs. “Yeah.” I glance to the unused mini basketball hoop in the corner of the basement.

  We spend most of our time down here, since the majority of his toys are stored in the rec room. Not to mention I figured I’d keep the upstairs clean for the sitter interview.

  “Well, my buddy got some tickets for tomorrow night’s Lakers game. You wanna go?”

  I still remember my very first football game with my dad and my sister, Charlie. It was such a huge deal. He got us the foam fingers, we ate nachos, hamburgers, and had our first taste of Coke. For the record, we thought it was the best thing in the world.

  “Sure.” He shrugs.

  Inside I’m already cringing because I’m not so sure he’s going to appreciate the near court seats I snagged.

  The doorbell rings and I jog up the stairs. When I open the door, an older woman with gray hair and orthopedic shoes, wearing a dress, stands in the doorway. The interview wasn’t scheduled for another half an hour, but I’m going to guess that this is the potential new nanny.

  “Hi,” I greet her.

  She looks me up and down with a disapproving glare. “Are you the dad?”

  “Since you rang the doorbell, why don’t we start with who you are?”

  Her face morphs into disgust, as if her nose could twitch and I’d be turned into a cat or something.

  “I’m Nanny Theta.” She straightens her back, squares her shoulders, and raises her chin as though she just announced she’s the president.

  “Come on in, I’m just filling in temporarily.” I smile.<
br />
  She doesn’t return the gesture, but walks in with her squeaky brown canoe feet.

  “Is Layla here?” Her gaze sweeps around the foyer.

  Payne runs in and slides on the marble floors, skidding to a stop by my legs. He wraps his arms around, hiding behind my legs.

  “This is Payne.” I pat his back.

  “Come here, boy, let me see you.” She crosses her arm, her small shell purse in front of her now.

  Payne grips my jeans tighter.

  “He can be shy,” I say.

  He’s never really been so with me, but it’s clear that he wants nothing to do with this woman.

  “You should never use that word. It only makes them believe it’s okay.” Her attention is still focused where Payne is strung around my legs. “Payne, you need to unglue yourself and step forward for presentation.”

  “Why don’t we move into the family room and get better acquainted? Give him some time to warm up.” I motion in the direction of the family room, hoping she’ll go first.

  “Have it your way, but babying him is not going to help him with social anxiety. I’m a firm believer that you cannot treat them as children, otherwise they never grow up.”

  She runs her finger along the table set against the foyer wall as we pass before stepping into the family room.

  What is her problem? I think Nanny Theta might belong more in the military than looking after young children.

  “A clean and orderly house helps with behavioral problems. She’ll have to hire a housemaid. I do not dust, or vacuum. I don’t prepare dinners. I’m here for the children’s care only.” She stands in the middle of the room, her arms crossed and her judgmental eyes taking in every surface of the house.

  Payne scurries further behind my legs than before.

  “That should really wait until Layla is here. Let me text her and see when she’s due back.”

  “Her tardiness is not a good sign,” she snips.

  “I’m pretty sure you’re early.”

  Her head twists fast and abruptly, her eyes glaring. “Being early is being on time. I’m sure she wouldn’t like it if I was late.”

  I release an annoyed breath. This woman is horrendous. “Please take a seat and we’ll be right back.”