by Julie Kriss
Kate
* * *
Here’s the first thing you need to know about Ryan Riggs: He’s gorgeous. Utterly, perfectly gorgeous, from his handsome face all the way down his lickable body. Seeing him for the first time is like taking a hit of helium or laughing gas. Your head goes light and your skin goes hot and you have to bite your tongue, because whatever comes out of your mouth is either going to be verbal nonsense or a high-pitched giggle. I’ve met good-looking men before, but Ryan Riggs is a man who will make you legitimately stupid.
It’s almost ridiculous, how good-looking he is. Who actually looks like that? He has the kind of looks that make otherwise smart women do very, very stupid things. I knew because I was a smart woman who had done exactly one crazy, risky, stupid thing in her life, and that thing was with Ryan Riggs after a party five years ago.
Well, technically I did that crazy thing with him three times. In one night.
I had never done anything like it, before or since. It was my one night of rebellion.
It was even better than you think it was.
My cousin Amanda, of course, had no idea. She thought I was the smart, straight-A cousin she’d always known, not a woman who would throw herself at a baseball player—three times—when she didn’t even know the first thing about baseball. No, that was something Kate Washington would never do, and I wasn’t about to enlighten her. So when Amanda had suggested I apply for the nanny job for her husband’s friend Ryan, a baseball player who needed help with his son, I had no excuse to say no. Sorry, I jumped into bed with him one crazy night five years ago and I can still remember every raw second of it, so I think that would be awkward.
It wasn’t that I was ashamed. I was single, and I’m well aware of what year it is. It’s just that you don’t necessarily tell your cousin these things so that she can stare at you funny every Christmas for the rest of your life.
Even crazier than the fact that I had done it was the fact that it had been good. Good for the usual physical, orgasmic reasons—but also good for my mind. That night had built my confidence, made me think I could do more than I thought I could. Which was why I had really, truly hoped never to see Ryan again. Which makes no sense. There were very good reasons I didn’t have a boyfriend.
And still, when Amanda had suggested I apply for the job with Ryan, I’d said yes. That’s the Ryan Riggs effect.
I’d hoped that five years might make him fat and bald, but I should have known better. He was still tall and dark-haired and clean-shaven and freakishly hot. He was wearing jeans and a tee with a hoodie thrown over it, worn open. Bare feet. Tousled hair. Dark eyes, flawless high cheekbones. Even the hand braced against the doorframe was masculine and perfectly formed, the bones of the long fingers and the tendons of the wrist like works of art. It is completely incredible that a man who looks like this ever slept with you, a voice in my head said. How the hell did that happen?
I had no idea. He recognized me, and he was looking at me with an expression that was narrowed and almost wary, like he suspected some kind of scam.
“You’re Amanda’s cousin?” he asked.
I nodded. “The party we met at—it was Amanda and Wes who were actually invited. They were supposed to go, but they couldn’t. They gave me their invitation instead.”
It had been a party for baseball players, of all people. A benefit. I did not watch baseball or any other sport. I wasn’t even sure I knew the rules. (Hit the ball, run around the bases? Right?) But I’d been in my third year of college, and I felt like I’d done nothing but study all my life. I was tired of being clever, brainy, straight-A Kate all the time. Something had come over me, and on impulse I’d decided to be someone else for one night.
And I had.
“Huh,” Ryan said, leaning on the doorframe, his gaze going up and down me, taking me in. “You didn’t say you were a nanny.”
“I wasn’t,” I said, narrowing my eyes back at him. “And speaking of not saying, you never mentioned a kid.”
He stared me down, calculating. Amanda said the son was seven. A kid meant a woman, at least in a lot of cases.
“You think I was cheating?” he said.
“Were you?”
“She had the kid and didn’t tell me. We weren’t together. We aren’t. I only got Dylan a few years ago. Are we straight?”
Reluctantly, I nodded. There was obviously more to the story—like what the words I got Dylan meant—but Amanda and Wes wouldn’t vouch for a man who was a dirtbag cheater. And they had vouched for Ryan.
He’s a good guy. You’ll like him, Wes had said. His career is in the shitter right now, but it isn’t his fault. Riggs just has bad luck.
He has a bad reputation, Amanda had said, but ignore that. It’s just people talking. Ryan is a good person. He just doesn’t think before he acts sometimes.
There was something about a shoulder injury, and I realized too late that I should have Googled him, because he didn’t look injured. He just looked like the badass, foxy baseball player who had picked me up and taken me home five years ago. And I’d let myself get picked up and taken. It could have ended up awkward and bad but oh my God, it hadn’t.
“You sure you want to do this?” he asked me now.
Right. Work for him. I shrugged, trying to look casual. Looking at him was like looking directly at the sun, so I directed my gaze to a spot on the doorframe. “Amanda says you need help. I see no reason why we can’t make it work.”
He seemed to consider that. “Okay,” he said. “Come in.”
I followed him into the house and down the hall. It truly isn’t a hardship to follow Ryan Riggs anywhere—he has a way of walking that’s sort of stupefying, his shoulders back and casual, his hips sinuous, his long athlete’s legs and his perfect ass in motion. They could make a TV show called Ryan Riggs Walks Around, and women would tune in every week. This week: Ryan walks around a supermarket. Next week: Ryan walks around a park. It was a million-dollar idea.
His house was a small bungalow, cluttered with mess: toys and a kid’s schoolbooks, baseball gear, wide-open video game boxes, boots and shoes and jackets. The décor was simple, in that it was basically rooms with furniture in them. That was it. This was definitely a house with no woman in it.
We entered the kitchen where a boy sat at the table, eating crackers and poking at a tablet. He was wearing a baggy tee and a baseball cap, and he looked up at me with sweet, intelligent eyes. “Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” I said, holding out my hand. “I’m Kate.”
“I’m Dylan,” he said, and shook it. This boy had basically won the gene pool, and it showed. He didn’t look exactly like Ryan—he was fairer, his eyes and hair lighter—but he had a perfect, beautiful little face. At the moment it was very adult and serious-looking, probably because his father had told him about this interview. I didn’t have kids, and I’d never had a particular jones for them, but it was impossible not to like this one. I wondered where his mother was.
Ryan pulled out a chair at the table next to his son and sat down. He motioned for me to do the same. I assumed we’d start with some small talk and basics, but instead Ryan said, “Dylan, say something to impress Kate.”
“Pi is three point one four,” Dylan said immediately. “It’s been calculated past a trillion digits.”
Ryan jerked a thumb at Dylan. “Can you believe he’s seven? I was failing school at his age.”
“It isn’t that hard, Dad,” Dylan said. “They tell you everything in class.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t go all that often,” Ryan said. “That’s why you’re smarter than me.” He looked at me. “Do you want anything? We might have some coffee somewhere.”
“I’m fine,” I said.
Ryan sat back in his chair. “Okay, I’ll get down to business. I’m not gonna lie. I need a nanny for this kid.”
Dylan perked up at that. “Dad says you can take me to baseball practice.”
“Um, yes,” I said. “I can do that.”
Ryan ran a hand through his hair. “The thing is, I have therapy and appointments and stuff. I’m sort of bad with routine.”
“Dad’s always late,” Dylan supplied, though there was no anger in his tone.
Ryan just nodded, like he copped to it. “Okay, I’m not on time a lot. Dylan needs to get to school and back. And to baseball practice on Wednesdays. And when school is out I need help over the summer.” He scratched his chin. “He has day camp and stuff. Birthday parties. He needs his lunch made every day, because he doesn’t like how I make it.”
“I can make it,” Dylan said. He turned to me magnanimously and added, “You can help.”
When Amanda had used the word nanny, I’d pictured babies or toddlers. I’d forgotten that Dylan was seven. Making a few sandwiches and driving this boy around didn’t seem as hard as I’d thought. “That sounds fine,” I said.
“Amanda says you’re qualified,” Ryan said, and my good feelings vanished.
Shit.
I cleared my throat. “Well, I, um—I’m college educated.”
His eyebrows rose. “I didn’t know that,” he said, and what he meant was You didn’t mention it five years ago when I took you home and banged you senseless.
“No,” I said. “I didn’t mention it.” Which meant I didn’t want to be a serious college student that night five years ago, I wanted to have some mindless hot sex instead.
“Right,” Ryan said, as if I’d spoken out loud. “What are you educated in?”
I put my hands in my lap. “I have an English degree.”
“Can you help with my English homework?” Dylan asked. “I have to know what nouns and verbs are.”
“Yes, I can help you with that,” I said, trying not to smile.
Ryan’s gorgeous eyes were fixed on me. “But you’re not a teacher,” he said.
“No,” I said, and for a crazy second I had the urge to lie—to say whatever it took to get this job, to stay in this place with this man. I swallowed down the impulse and told him the truth instead. “I’ve never worked as a nanny before,” I said, holding his gaze. “To tell you the truth, I got my college degree and I haven’t done anything with it. Right now I’m working as a pet sitter.”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence.
Ryan and Dylan looked at each other. “A pet sitter?” Ryan said.
“I was an office manager before that,” I said. “And before that, I worked at a florist’s. I guess you could say I’ve been at loose ends, professionally, since I finished college.” Which was four years ago, much to my parents’ dismay.
Ryan lowered his chin, his deep brown eyes fixed on me. “Amanda used the words eminently qualified.”
I rubbed a hand over my face. “She meant that I’m responsible and trustworthy. And I am. I’m good with details and I’m always on time.” I dropped my hand. “And I’ll work for a discount.”
That made Ryan’s eyebrows go up again. “A discount? You want a job that bad?”
“To make up for the fact that I have no experience. That you’re taking a chance on me.”
“I don’t know.” Ryan glanced at his son. “Dylan is pretty easy to take care of. Put some food out for him, take him for the odd walk, and he’s fine.”
“Dad!” Dylan said.
But my gaze locked on Ryan’s, and for a second it was just the two of us in the room. “It’s up to you,” I said to him. “Honestly.”
He looked thoughtful, still holding my gaze. “How far away are you?” he asked me. “Are you still in that place on Chester Street?”
Right. He knew where I lived five years ago, because he’d taken me home there. And he’d fucked me in my bed there, and he’d made me come three times before he left. “Um, no,” I said, feeling my cheeks burn for the first time in this little encounter. “I don’t live there anymore. I live on Montgomery Avenue now.”
“Not far,” Ryan said.
I shook my head. I didn’t tell him that I lived with roommates now, because pet sitter income didn’t allow for an apartment to myself. I had a little money from my parents, but I was trying to live without it and go it on my own. Trying, and not really succeeding. I had already dipped into my parents’ fund for me more times than I wanted to count. And if I worked for Ryan at a discount, I’d do it again.
There was another long silence, punctuated by a crunch as Dylan ate a cracker and went back to his iPad.
“Dylan?” Ryan said finally. “You’re the one who has to spend time with her. What do you think?”
“I like her,” Dylan said.
Ryan smiled. It was deadly, that smile. It was the kind of smile that melted knees and made panties vanish. Not that mine would. That had been a one-time thing.
“Okay,” Ryan said. “You’re hired, Kate the college graduate pet sitter. Think it over. If you want the job, you start in the morning.”
Four
Ryan
* * *
A college student. She’d been a fucking college student five years ago, and now she was a college grad. She was class, too, I could see that now. She was smart and responsible, like Amanda said. And she could afford to work for me for next to nothing, which meant she probably came from money.
In short, she was way, way above my league.
I hadn’t known that on that first night. That first night, she’d worn a sexy black dress on her curves, and she’d seemed sweet and maybe a little bit nervous. She was hot and she smelled good. I wanted to make her laugh, to make her feel less nervous, and then I wanted to get her naked and make her come. And I always got what I wanted.
She was that same woman now, but not exactly. She had grown her hair longer and put it in a soft ponytail with stray pieces curling against the side of her neck. She was more poised—the nervousness was completely gone—and she was harder to impress. She made working as a pet sitter look classy, like something everyone should aspire to. Like it was a perfectly natural career. I couldn’t pull off being a fucking baseball player, but she could pull off being a pet sitter like she was in a magazine.
But as far as hotness went, she was the same woman. Better. Because now I wanted to crack her dignified shell, strip her naked, make her beg, and then make her come. In that order.
There was a reason they called me the Bad Boy of Baseball.
As soon as the door closed behind her, I sent Dylan to do homework in his room where he couldn’t hear. Then I called Wes. My friend Wes, husband of Amanda, who had sent the Ghost of One-Night Stands to my doorstep to work as my nanny.
“Tell me you liked her,” Wes said when he answered. He was outdoors somewhere, with wind blowing into the speaker. “If you didn’t, you’re an idiot.”
“I want her to work for me, but she hasn’t decided,” I said. “What do I do?”
He whistled. “That’s a tough one. Kate is smart and independent. She makes her own decisions.”
I looked in the fridge, trying to think of something to have for dinner. As with every other day, I had no fucking idea. “She’s willing to work for peanuts, so it isn’t money she’s after.” Not that I had any. “How do I sweeten the deal?”
“You think I know the answer to that?”
“I need intel. Whatever you have.”
“Hmm.” He took his sweet time, which made me want to smack his teeth in. “Kate is brainy. Really brainy. But she’s been sort of directionless since college. Her parents are Amanda’s aunt and uncle. They have tons of money, and Kate is their only child. They’re disappointed in her.”
“Why? Because she didn’t make some big career yet?”
“It’s important to them. Amanda adores Kate, but to be honest she’s sort of the black sheep of the family right now.”
I smiled to myself. This, I could work with. “What else? Does she have a boyfriend?”
“There was a serious guy that her parents wanted her to marry, but she didn’t. Part of the reason why her parents are mad.”
Bingo. “And no boyfriends
since?”
Wes paused. “Wait a second, Riggs. Why are you asking?”
I reached into the fridge and picked up a tomato. Could we have tomato sandwiches for dinner? Was that starving my kid or something? “Intel, I told you.”
“No way. I know you, Riggs. You’re a player.”
“Correction. I was a player. Now I’m a single dad, and I’m completely fucking celibate.” It wasn’t even a lie, which was something that made me want to jump off a cliff on a regular basis. “I’m just trying to figure out where Kate’s head is at. If there’s some guy who’s going to be pissed if she works for me.”
“If you’re celibate and your intentions are pure, then why would some guy be pissed that she’s working for you?”
I tossed the tomato in the air and caught it. Maybe I should try pitching a tomato and see if my arm improved. “Because I’m very, very fucking good-looking,” I told Wes. “I know you’re straight and all, but are you blind?”
Wes sighed. “I don’t even know why I’m friends with you.”
“I know,” I said. “I have everything I need, thanks.”
I hung up on him and dug some non-moldy bread out of the bread bin. Tomato sandwiches it was. I found some cheese in the fridge, and then, worried about nutrition, I grabbed the box of bran cereal. Tomato sandwiches and cereal. Ryan Riggs, world’s number one father.
Kate Washington was a straight arrow. A brainy college girl. Except I knew something no one else knew: she’d spent a night with me, the Bad Boy of Baseball, a man she’d just met. It had been very, very fucking hot. Like steam-the-windows hot. And she didn’t tell me about college or anything else, because that night she was rebelling.
She might be doing it in a quieter way five years later, but she was still rebelling. Making her parents mad.
I already had two things going for me: sex and rebellion. I was excellent at both.
I had my answer. Kate was going to be my nanny.
And I wasn’t going to have to do a damn thing.