Bad Nanny (The Bad Nanny Trilogy #1)

by C. M. Stunich

  Like you did last night, when you thought of Zayden's hands on your body.

  I hate to admit it, but … it made things bearable.

  I cross my arms over my chest and lean back in the seat with my eyes closed. This is sort of the last thing I needed right now … and sort of the exact thing I needed at the same time. It's weird, I know, but … I open my eyes and them slide over to Zayden as … he starts mouthing the words to “Lucky” by Britney Spears?

  Um.

  My mouth breaks into a smile and he raises his eyebrows, pointing over at me.

  “See? This is why I like pop music.” When he starts snapping his fingers and biting his lower lip, I draw the line.

  “Jesus, okay. I get it. Please stop.” Zayden laughs, ruffling up the side of his head that still has hair. I resist the urge to reach out and trace one of the stars he's shaved onto his scalp. He's just a little bit cute though, right? I refuse to admit that I like him—even a little. “You're really doing all this to help me out? Just because you're a nice guy?”

  “I've got a white knight disorder,” he says as he glances over at me with those gorgeous eyes of his. They're the same color as the lichen that clings to the sides of the trees in my sister's backyard. Pale, but pretty, mysterious. Ugh. “That's why I have so many exes. I know they're bad news, but I want to help 'em out, you know?”

  “And that has nothing to do with sex?”

  “Well, that's just a consolation prize.” He gives me a look that's a lot less cute than the last one. It makes me squirm, the way his eyes rake over my body. “If it was just sex I wanted, I can get that, too. But I always end up getting tangled in these,” he gestures with his right hand and I find myself mesmerized by his tattoos, “fucked up relationships.”

  “Do you think that speaks more to your character than to your million exes? Maybe there's something wrong with you and not them?”

  “Ooooh.” Zayden taps his right shoulder with his left hand and makes a sizzling sound. “Ouch. Burn, much? You could be right, I guess.” He looks over at me and his face gets that … look again, like he's about to drive his hips into mine. I squirm and wiggle in my seat, squeezing my thighs tight against the sudden pulse between them. “So tell me, what's my problem then?”

  “How should I know? We”—I gesture between the two of us—“are not in a relationship.”

  “Sure we are. Any connection with another person is a relationship. It's how you define that relationship that matters. Me and you, we're friends now.”

  “We are not friends. We are strangers. Strangers. And you are a non-nanny that's watching my kids for free and eating all my organic applesauce. Are you sure this isn't a scam? Are you trying to pull one over on me?”

  “I stuck twenty bucks in your purse when you weren't looking, to cover the cost of the food we've been eating. Now shut up and get some ice cream with me. When you need to, you don't think hard enough. When you don't, you think too much.”

  Zayden pulls up to the curb outside one of the Old Town shops. The streets are made of red bricks, and the city has managed to maintain the original horse hitching posts and streetlights from way back when. The whole area is made up of Victorian shops with fine architectural details and bright colors. In all the flower beds and at the bases of all the trees are crushed up white oyster shells.

  Welcome to Eureka, California, USA. Population 30,000. Nightlife: none. Seafood: plenty. Gods: one covered in tattoos and piercings. Clues: none because I have no idea what to do about him.

  With a sigh, I shove open my door and climb out, waiting while Zayden unhooks Sadie from her car seat and puts her in a fold out stroller. When she's successfully strapped in, he looks up at me and smiles, nodding his chin across the street at a place called Seaside Coffee and Ice Cream. Must be new because it definitely wasn't here when I was in high school.

  “What's your favorite flavor?” Zay asks as he checks both ways and starts us across the street. “Personally, I'm a rainbow sherbet kind of a guy, but …” He leans over and breathes hot against my ear. “If I'm licking a scoop off the body of a beautiful woman, I'll take just about any flavor.”

  I pull away from him and toss a look his direction.

  “I'm still not sure what I'm doing with you. Even if it started off as a joke, you still lied to me. And besides, I never said I wanted an ongoing fuck buddy scenario with you.” Zay pushes the stroller, looking ridiculously sexy in his black boots, grungy jeans and tight t-shirt, very edgy and cool. With the white and blue stroller and the soft skinned baby inside of it, he's ten times more attractive. I notice other women staring enviously at me as we make our way down the brick sidewalk towards the front of the shop.

  It smells heavenly when we step inside, like espresso and vanilla, the soothing sounds of brewing coffee and the clack of laptop keys making for a pleasant atmosphere. The walls on either side and in front of us are made entirely of brick, looming up two stories into old wooden rafters. I guess if I have to live in this town, I could find a worse place to hang out and do homework.

  “Whatcha want?” Zay asks, pausing in front of the glass ice cream case and planting his wicked sexy hands on his hips. Looking at him now, it's like the sex is a dream, like it never even happened. But then my hip bone tingles and I remember the hot brush of his fingers, the warm press of his body, the sudden knowledge that I was sharing my space with somebody else, that he was inside of me.

  I shiver.

  “Something with coffee in it. I have a feeling this is gonna be a long night.”

  Zay grins and salutes me, stepping up to the counter to order while I wait with the baby.

  She stares up at me with dark brown eyes, her head fuzzy with hair, her skin the color of a good mocha. She blows a raspberry at me and I smile, reaching down to squeeze the pink and white sock on her foot.

  “Hard to believe my lumberjack dickhead of a brother made this, huh?” Zay asks, pausing next to me to point at the baby with an ice cream cone. He hands mine over to me and I notice he's taken the liberty of ordering a waffle cone with chocolate and sprinkles on it for me. I kind of love him for that. “I give my sister-in-law all the credit. Mercedes never misses a raid, and she annihilates on first person shooters. You should see her in action; it's impressive.”

  Zay pushes the stroller over to a pair of seats near the front so we can look out the window while we eat. I notice he watches me lick my ice cream before starting in on his. And then when he does, he makes such a sensual face that I laugh.

  “Trying too hard?” he asks as he looks at me with half-lidded eyes and then runs his tongue along his lower lip. “You don't seem to like that. Should I scale back a little?”

  “I'm not sleeping with you,” I say and he smirks at me. The expression on his face sort of makes me want to slap him.

  “Not sleeping with you again. Don't forget the again part. I'm a part of your life narrative now, Smarty-Pants.”

  “Why do you keep calling me that? If anyone's the smarty-pants in the family, it'd be my sister Ingrid. She was always outdoing me on everything.” Zay scoffs and his face gets dark for a split second.

  “Doesn't look like she's outdoing you now, leaving her twenty-two year old sister to watch her kids. What a bitch.” The overprotective part of me wants to tell Zay not to talk about my sister like that, but the other part of me is happy to have someone on my side for once. I know my parents are disappointed in Ingrid, but I don't feel like they care enough. What she did, leaving like that, losing her house, starting the drugs, it's practically unforgivable and yet my parents talk about her like she's on an extended vacation.

  “Fuck her,” I say and Zay raises his eyebrows. I take a nice, long lick of my ice cream and close my eyes against the sweet cream taste, the bitter notes of coffee pinging around on the back of my tongue. In the background, soft jazz music plays. It's not my usual thing, but it's pretty, relaxing. I could use a little bit of relaxing right now. I'm only on day two of my new job and I'm already
wondering how I'm going to get everything done. How I'm going to do this without Zay. Because it's been one day and I can't figure out how to juggle it, who I'm going to get to watch the kids, clean the house, take care of the dog. I wish for a second there that he really was a nanny so I could hire him permanently. “I can't believe you're a body piercer. Do you actually make money off of that?”

  “On the Strip? Are you kidding me? There's a constant stream of new customers fresh off of gambling.” Zay takes an erotic lick of sherbet, swirling his tongue around the rim of his cone and making my heart palpate. I hate how much I wish that was me under his hot mouth instead. “But, I sort of suck at managing my money. I still have the same crap car I packed all my shit into and moved to Vegas with, no savings or retirement money set aside. I do have a pretty kick ass condo though.”

  I pause and set my cone into the little metal stand on the table, cleverly designed for this exact purpose, and reach down to unbutton my shirt. Zay watches me, his pupils clearly dilating in those sea glass green eyes of his. I shrug it off onto the back of my chair, leaving me in nothing but a tight white tank. I act like I don't notice him checking me out, gaze landing on the pale curves of my breasts, the tantalizing bit of white lace from my bra that's peeking out above the neckline.

  “You flew up here as a favor to your brother then, like you said? Or was that a lie, too?” I try to smile a little when I say it although I'm still pretty pissed off. I really hate being lied to, even if it's just a joke. The man that I dated for three years, he was the ultimate liar, hiding behind a cloak of superiority and religion. I'll never date a man like that again.

  “Nope. Cross my heart and hope to bleed, baby.” I pucker my lips at that and take a tentative lick of my ice cream. “But I didn't fly. My dick brother made me drive. Neither one of us had the money for a plane ticket. I blew all of mine on a collector's edition computer game and a crazy three day weekend with some pink haired chick named Kitty. We drank and ate ourselves to death. Oh, and fucked. There was plenty of that, too.”

  “I really don't want to hear about you sleeping with other girls, but thanks for offering up the info.” Zayden laughs at me and his ice cream splats to the table, topples right off his cone and lands in a rainbow splotch.

  “Oops,” he says and I wrinkle my nose as he scoops it up in his hand and plops it right back on top of the cone. “Three second rule.”

  “That's disgusting,” I say, but I'm laughing because this guy is like a caricature of a human being, and I can't help myself. He's so … weird. But kind of cool, too. Like, he looks like every stereotypical bad boy ever, but he's sort of … nice? I always wondered how all those dickhead bad boys in books and movies got laid. Who wants to sleep with some piece of shit, like that big time rock star everyone's obsessed with right now. What's his name? Turner Campbell, from that band Indecency. Nobody in their right mind would actually date someone like that. But I get it now. Like Zay said, more flies with honey. He's got the look, and he's friendly and open. Can't beat that I suppose.

  “It's only gross if you think about it,” he says as he whips his tongue through the sherbet and smiles at me. He smiles a lot. I like that. I could use more smiles in my life. Until he flies back to Vegas at the end of next week. Stop letting him charm your pants off and remember that.

  Right.

  Las Vegas.

  “If you're for real, and you're actually helping me out because you have a—what did you call it—white knight complex? If that's what's really happening then … thank you.” I make myself sit up straight and take a deep breath. “Seriously. I would've been screwed without you.”

  “No problem, Smarty-Pants. No thanks necessary. Remember, you don't owe people shit, okay?”

  “Sure.” I lick my ice cream and listen to the jazz music simmering around me. I want to stay in here forever. The last thing I want to do tonight is head over to the Top Hat and take my clothes off. Long term, this could kill me. But I won't let it. I'm going to stay strong because I have to be. “So you'll be here for a little while? I mean, just so I can figure out who to get to watch the kids.”

  “Sure thing. You've got me for eight more days, Brooke Overland.”

  Eight days.

  I didn't think that was nearly long enough to lose my heart.

  Frankly, it was about six days too many.

  Busted, baby.

  I guess I feel relieved that Brooke knows I'm not actually a nanny, but at this point the chances of getting her to relax and fall into bed with me again are pretty slim. Oh well. I peel some chewing gum out of what little hair this ugly gray and white dog has around its neck and give Kinzie a look on her perch atop the fuzzy pink toilet seat.

  “Dude, you are so in much freaking trouble right now.”

  “You're going to the H-place for licking other grown-up's privates in the shower. God doesn't approve of that. That's what Shiela told me.”

  “Um, what? That's weirdly specific.” I stand up and wad the gum up between my fingers. Fuckin' gross, man. “Where did you hear that?”

  “I saw mom and dad doing that in the shower when they thought I was sleeping. I picked the lock and everything.”

  I try not to be really disturbed by that, but shit. I'm creeped the hell out.

  “Okay, stop picking locks on the bathroom door unless an adult asks for your help getting the twins out. People deserve privacy in the bathroom, Kinzie.” She kicks the wall hard and I grab my cell, clutching it tight in the hand that's not covered in gum and holding it out like a weapon. “I'm restarting the time-out clock. Every time you kick or hit or scream or spit, I restart it. How many minutes you trying for here, sweetheart? A world record?”

  Kinzie turns away from me as I head into the kitchen to extract the gum from my hand. It's like, seriously stuck. Takes some hardcore scraping to get that off. I've noticed that with everything the kids spit out, like it's all glued to whatever it lands on. Even the baby has that special ability. How that's bloody possible is beyond me.

  I grab a dish towel and head back into the kitchen, taking in the four kids that are seated around the TV, eyes glued to the flickering screen like it's made of pixie dust. It's definitely easier to park them in front of it and let the boob tube do the babysitting for me, but I feel kind of bad about it. Maybe I should, like, try to do an activity with them or something?

  “Hey Google,” I start, lifting my phone up to my lips. “How do you make cookies?”

  “Cookies!” Bella says, her head whipping away from the TV and over to me. She pushes herself off the couch and bounces over to stand in front of me, her long dark hair and pale brown eyes making her look like a miniature Brooke. Staring at her like that makes me a little curious about what it would be like to have kids with somebody, make my own mini me. Or maybe I'm specifically fantasizing about what it would be like to make mini Brookes. Oh yeah. I haven't forgotten the feel of her body beneath me, writhing and moaning, those small noises in her throat, those frantic breaths like the beating of a bird's wing.

  Hmm.

  Maybe I do sort of give a crap if she fucks me again. Because I really want to fuck her. I need to make this happen.

  “I'm on my way out,” Brooke says, appearing at the bottom of the stairs in a long black trench coat à la an old western movie or something. I smile at her total lack of style—and then start getting real, real curious about what's under that thing. “Do you need anything before I go?” she asks, her pale eyes like hazelnuts. Good enough to eat. I smile. I think I actually kind of miss the big thick black hipster glasses.

  “We're making cookies!” Bella says, drawing those candy twins my way. Mike and Ike bounce and scream and hang off my pant legs.

  Brooke raises an eyebrow at me. God I want to pierce her so bad. I grin and try not to let myself get caught up in the pun.

  “Do you actually know how to bake?” I lift my phone and wiggle it at her.

  “I got Google, like I said. How hard can it be?”

  �
�Oookay,” she says, making me ten times as sure that I've gotta do this. I have to prove this chick wrong. “I better get going.”

  “One second,” I say, peeling a twin off my leg and depositing him on the couch. I seriously have no idea which one of my nephews is Mike and which one's Ike. “Go watch TV for, like, five more minutes while I get everything set up.”

  The kids scurry away like ants as I gesture for Brooke to follow me outside for a minute, scooting heaps of chihuahuas away with my foot as I step onto the deck.

  “What's up?” Brooke asks as I move over to the right side of the deck, out of view of the children. Before she can get all logistical up in that crazy head of hers, I grab her jacket by the front and gently push her back into the wall, drawing a sharp gasp from those pretty lips. Her makeup's perfect, but I figure better for me than for those assholes at the club.

  I lean in and kiss her hard, slipping my tongue into her mouth on the tail end of another gasp. The way her breath rushes around my mouth makes it hard to concentrate as my hands drop and undo a few of the top buttons on the coat. My fingers slip inside and find a lacy teddy and a slim waist, a warm and willing softness that leans into me with little prompting.

  Oh yeah.

  This chick still wants me. With her pressed up against me like this, I feel like I'll do anything to get her. Just one more night would be fucking killer.

  Brooke groans against my lips, her hands dropping to the waistband of my jeans and curling around it, nails scraping my skin as she tugs me closer.

  “Cha-cha-ching, Smarty-Pants,” I whisper as I pull back an inch. “If you want, I can be naked and waiting for you when you get home.”

  She doesn't answer me as rain starts to fall, pattering against the wood and the grass and the majestic trees dancing above our heads. If there weren't a million kids in the house, I would lift her up and fuck her right here, right against the green siding of this shitty house. I'd make a million miniature Brookes with her right now if she wanted.

  Uh. Where the fuck did that thought come from?