“Some kind of casserole thing. The recipe says it's easy as fuck. Basically, I mix all this crap together and toss it into the oven. Bam. Done.” Zay pauses as I come up beside him and looks down at me, his eyes smiling along with his mouth. His expressions just take over him completely, from head to toe. It's kind of refreshing, the way he doesn't hold back like that. My parents and my sister were always trying to hide their emotions, chug along as if everything were A-OK. I don't want to be like them. “Want to help?”
“Sure,” I say, even though I probably know less about cooking than Zayden does. I didn't even take home ec in school; it was all STEM classes all the time. Zayden hands me a stick of butter and a knife.
“It says pats,” he tells me with an easy shrug. “I have no idea what that means, but I guess we spread the butter out across the top of the casserole. It's a make it work moment.” He snaps his fingers above his head and then grabs a knife, spinning it around his fingers in a way that makes me raise my brows. “Time to tackle this chicken.”
Zay slaps a breast onto the plastic pink cutting board I once remember my sister using and then starts to slice into it with careful motions. He's so animated, I wonder what he'd be like if he were angry? Would that emotion take over his whole body the way his joy does? Would his eyes burn and his hands clench into fists?
I look back at the butter and start cutting thin squares off the end until it's half-gone.
“How much?” I ask as Zay glances over at me and smiles, his body grooving to a Kelly Clarkson song that I hate. I smile again.
“Looks about right. You want to start mixing shit together?” I nod and dig into a drawer for a can opener, examining the three soups in front of me. Cream of chicken, celery and mushroom. Hmm. I start opening them one at a time. “That claim thing I said this morning?”
I feel myself stiffen up, but I don't stop what I'm doing.
“Yeah?” I feel Zay's muscular arm bump against mine and wonder how such a simple move could feel so good. “What about it?”
“I'm not so sure why I even said it,” he admits as he drops chicken into the clear glass casserole dish sitting in front of me. At Zay's direction, I add the soup in after it and stir it all around with a plastic spoon. “I think I'm just getting all male around you, you know what I mean?”
I wrinkle my face up as I tug Zay's phone from his back pocket and check the recipe. Two cups of instant rice. Got it. I put the phone back just so I can have an excuse to touch his ass through the jeans. It's so firm! I breathe in deep.
“I'm not sure what that means, no. Keep explaining maybe?” I glance over at him and find him smiling weirdly, not as happy, more like he's creeped out by something. Is that something me? I hope not. If so, I can't figure out what I've done. He dumps the rest of the chicken into the dish and then stops to wash his hands.
“You know, getting all excited because I'm your first and all that.” Zay turns and dries his hands off before grabbing one of the empty cans, leaning his hip against the counter and swiping his finger around the inside of the metal. I wrinkle my nose again as he slides the finger into his mouth and sucks on it. Not because of the gesture though, that's actually hot. It's his words that are making me wrinkle my nose up.
“Seriously? Zayden, no offense or anything, but my decision to have sex had pretty much nothing to do with you. So don't get all excited or anything.”
“I'm not,” he says with pouty lips, dipping his finger back into the can again. The motion makes his red tank ride up and flashes me tantalizing hints of skin. I want to put my mouth on it and kiss my way down, see what it'd be like to take his cock into my mouth.
My eyes snap back up to Zayden's face.
“All I'm saying is that I like you. We have a pretty hot connection, don't you think?”
“This might sound like a dumb question,” I say as I spread the chicken-soup-rice mixture around the pan. “But isn't it always like this? The sex and the … all of this.” I point between us, trying to encompass the obsessive attraction I'm feeling. I'm not stupid, just inexperienced. Honestly, my ex, Anthony, and I never had anything like this heat I've got with Zay. I figured it was just because we hadn't had sex yet.
Zay smiles softly at me and shrugs his shoulders loosely, shakes his head a little. It's a conflicting answer to my question.
“Not really,” he says as tosses his can into the sink and turns the water on, rinsing it and tossing it into the recycling bin near the back door. Zayden grabs one of the other cans, fills it up about halfway and then adds it to the casserole dish, sliding his fingers over my hand and taking the spoon away.
“Not really?” I ask as he spins it around and then drops the spoon in the sink, taking my pats of butter and spreading them out across the top of the casserole like a crust. “I'm even more confused than I was when I left this morning.”
Zayden finishes with the butter, wipes his hands on a dish towel and pulls the oven open. He pops the food into it and heels the door shut, pausing to look at me with his hands on his hips.
“It's not usually this … intense,” he says, eyes sliding over to Sadie. It feels more like he's talking to himself than he is to me at this point. Maybe it's not me that has the problem? “We haven't done anything all that different and honestly, you're kind of amateurish.”
I purse my mouth as he chews his lower lip and nods his head like he's trying to convince himself of something. I cross my arms over my chest again and tip my head down, trying to give him a fierce look over the tops of my glasses.
“Excuse me? Are you trying to insult me? You're telling me I'm bad at sex? Well, screw you. How is that my fault? You knew what you were getting into.”
“No, no,” Zayden says, moving over to Sadie and lifting her up from the chair. When he tucks her under his chin and starts to rub her back, I feel like melting into a little puddle on the floor. “That's not what I'm saying. You're not bad, and that's the point. You have no clue what you're doing and yet … last night was the best sex I've ever had in my life. I can't figure it out.”
I feel my entire face heat up, shoving my glasses back into place and heaving out a big breath.
“What does that mean then? I don't get it.”
“Neither do I,” Zay says as he hugs his niece to his chest and gives me the weird half-smile version of his grin again. “All I want to do is fuck you though. Like, seriously, it's all I can think about.”
“And that's unusual?” I ask, even though my throat is tight and I cannot believe I'm actually having a conversation about this. Zayden's grin ratchets up a notch.
“Yeah, a little. I mean, I love sex. It's my first and third favorite past time, but usually I like to take breaks to play games or listen to music or whatever.” Zayden pauses and his grin fades a little, his eyelids dropping until they're half-shuttered and shadowed with intensity. “Brooke, when it's with you, I don't want any breaks.”
He turns away before I can come up with a response to that.
Holy crap.
I follow Zayden into the living room and watch him plop down on the couch with the baby. He sits her in his lap and picks up a colorful cardboard book.
“That's it?” I ask as I blink at him and he glances up at me.
“Hmm?”
“You're going to deliver a line like that and then just … walk away?” I move into the living room and watch as his eyes take me in slowly, pausing on my breasts, the curve of my hips, my calves in the brown suede boots I stole from my sister's closet.
“Um?” Zay pauses and looks up at the ceiling as Sadie giggles and laughs, grabbing his tattooed arm and putting her mouth on it. She's dressed up cute again, with a headband decorated in hearts and a pink frilly dress. It's clear that Zay's taking his babysitting duties seriously. I appreciate the fact that he's actually trying. “That's all I had to say. Just that. Why? What's up?”
I gape at him and move into the living room, sitting down next to him so I can keep the book open for the baby. My thi
gh and Zay's line up; our arms line up. It feels really good actually.
“Well, I think that's a lot to throw at someone all of a sudden.” I reach out and turn the page slowly, trying to keep my attention on the splashy illustrations and not on the fine hairs of Zayden's arm brushing against mine. “If you feel all those things, then … what does that mean?”
“Mean?” he asks as he takes a deep breath. “Nothing. I just thought you should know that this is a little bit different than usual. That's all. I guess what I'm trying to say is, if you sleep with Dan the Douche, it won't be nearly as good.”
I scoff and then start laughing, unable to hold back the sound as I crumple over. The funniest part is, I don't think that's even supposed to be a joke. When I sit up, I have to shove my glasses back up my face again. I'm sitting on my hair which is annoying but normal. I just don't want to move to get it out, not from this spot in this moment.
“Seriously? Don't worry about Dan. His ex stalked me to my car today to warn me off of him.” I pause and look up at the popcorn ceiling. I hate it. I have urges to get on a chair and scrape it all off. If this were my house instead of a rental, I'd do it in a second. “Or maybe she was telling me off of him. Not sure exactly which. My point is, how can you say all these things? Tell me I'm different from all the other girls you've …” I glance Zayden's way. “Slept with, and then try to act like that doesn't mean anything.”
“No, you're right: it means something,” he corrects himself as I turn the page for Sadie again. “It does. But what I'm trying to say is, it doesn't change anything. Between us, I mean.” Zayden glances over at me and smiles. “I think we should enjoy our week together, that's it. That's all I'm trying to say.”
“Right.” I'm so confused right now, but I think he is, too, so whatever. That's okay. That's his problem, not mine. I stand up from the couch and head to the back door to let the dogs in, cringing at the muddy footprints they splatter across the floor in their wake. An instant letter, I hear a hiss and a yowl and watch as Hubert tears out from under the couch with three chihuahuas on his heels.
Oops.
Zay gets up and hands me Sadie.
“One sec, 'kay?” he says and then he turns and swings around the newel post, heading up the stairs as I look down at Dodger and use my foot to stop him from lifting his leg on the edge of the baby's crib. The stupid little rat can't seem to stop marking his territory, even though none of this stuff really belongs to him. He wants it to be his, but he doesn't want to have to take any responsibility for it.
Zayden's the same way, I think. That's what all his posturing in front of Dan was about, why he said he was laying his claim on me. He wants to piss on me and mark me as his, but he doesn't want the responsibility that comes along with it.
Zay might be good with his nieces and nephews, with mine, but he's exactly what I thought he'd be: the perfect one-night stand.
Oh well. If he thinks that's news to me, he's wrong. I didn't sleep with a stranger expecting to be romanced.
Zayden Roth can watch my kids for me for free, save me some money, give me some time.
And you know what? I'll let him touch me because I want it, not because he does. I'll use him exactly the way he's using me, and then I'll be done.
It'll be a nice ending for both of us when he goes back to Las Vegas.
I am like, so screwing up this Brooke thing.
I know it; she knows it.
What the hell are you doing, Zay? I wonder as I corral the little brown and tan dogs in the upstairs bathroom and close the door. Ugh. What did I just say to that chick? It means something, but it doesn't change anything. Like I was one of the other assholes from the shop, protesting too much about how this thing between us is actually not a thing at all.
Why am I so determined to tell Brooke off—at the same time I want to get her off?
I muss up my hair with my fingers and lean my head back. I'm definitely losing it. Maybe it's the climate? It's so goddamn moist up here that I feel like I'm sucking in saltwater with every inhale. I miss the desert and the dry warmth and the bright lights of the Strip.
I pull my phone from my pocket and check for messages from my friends. The owner of the shop I work at—a placed called Needle in My Eye Body Piercing—texted me a picture of some girl's clitoral hood piercing. I stare at it and then scroll down.
The ladies miss u dude. Come back soon!
I smile and pocket the phone, shoving away all of that weirdness from downstairs. I shake it off and take a deep breath, pausing to fix my hair in Brooke's bathroom before I go back down and find her sitting with Sadie on the couch.
Mmm.
Yikes.
I pause there with my hand on the newel post and fight back the urge to put the baby to bed and drag Brooke upstairs, screw her bareback into the mattress. Wouldn't it be cute to see her pregnant? To have a baby to play with the way I play with Sadie? One that was actually mine?
Um.
No, it wouldn't.
Whoa, Zay. Put the brakes on there. I'm twenty-nine years old, so I guess it's right about that time where I'd start thinking of making babies, but hell, what am I doing? I don't know Brooke. And I don't live here. And she already comes with two inherited kids of her own. Besides, she's twenty-two and trying to get her master's degree. If I'm going to fixate on someone like this, I should find somebody closer to my own age.
Deep breath.
I move into the room and pause, sitting down on the arm of the big couch.
“Want to go somewhere? We can pick up the kids while we're out?” Because if I don't get the fuck out of here, I'm going to throw you over the back of this couch and screw the hell out of you. I smile, so Brooke can't see what I'm thinking about. “We could … go get some coffee at that place on the water, what's it called?”
“Um, the Waterfront?” Brooke says with a little sarcastic lilt. I grin at her and snap my fingers.
“Exactly. We can even get some fish and chips or something.” I grab my wallet from its place on the coffee table and flash the black leather at Brooke. “I'm whippin' out the credit card. My treat, okay?”
“What about the casserole?” she asks and I shrug.
“Fuck the casserole.” I bounce off the couch and into the kitchen, opening the oven and using a mitt to pull the glass out. Surprisingly, the damn thing actually smells good. “I'll hide it from Hubert and we can finish cooking it later.”
The glass is barely warm, so I cover it with foil and shove it in the fridge. I feel like I need to get out of here for a second, try to find some space to breathe.
“You game?” I ask as I come back around the corner and cross my arms over my chest. When Brooke looks up at me, I wiggle my brows and toss her a wink that I don't really feel. Fuck. I am so not myself right now. Want to know why I tattooed the words LIVE EASY onto my knuckles? Because that's how I like to do my thing, nice and easy and uncomplicated. Life's just more fun that way, you know?
All of this? This is complicated as hell.
“Sure. Why not. I'm not too proud to turn down free food.” Brooke hoists Sadie up in her arms and stands. When I see her lean in and kiss the baby on the pudgy cheek, I feel a little thrill shoot through me and know that I best keep the bio clock hormones on serious lockdown here.
The Waterfront Café is off the beaten path, across two bridges that span a marshy preserve that's full of brackish seawater, clumps of grass as tall as I am, and flocks of white herons.
“My dad used to tell me stories about these bridges,” I say to Brooke as we pass over the first one. “That when he was a kid, when they were first built, there were no rails on either side. Just an empty swath of road suspended over the water. One little swerve and bam. Done for.”
“They let people drive on it like that?” Brooke asks, like she doesn't believe me. I shrug my shoulders.
“Guess so.”
“Where does your dad live now?” Brooke asks and my smile gets real tight.
“My paren
ts are both dead.” I don't elaborate because hell, I'm already having trouble with this chick. The last thing I need to do is start sharing personal details. I never do anyway, with the girls I fuck. I like to keep things light and fluffy and fun. Nothin' fluffy and fun about dead parents.
Brooke doesn't say anything, turning her head to stare out the window as we hit a small patch of land between the two bridges. For a few minutes, there's nothing but the sound of pop music in the background.
“My dad has early onset Alzheimer's,” Brooke blurts, turning back to look at me. I keep my eyes on the road as I start over the second bridge, but I can feel her gaze like a laser beam through the side of my head. Boom. Explosion.
I suck in a breath.
“I don't know how I'm going to say good-bye to him. Did you get to say good-bye to your parents?”
“Um.” Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Brooke's got those doe eyes on again, big and watery and brown and sexy as hell. I want to cup her face in my hand and pull our mouths together. Ahh. I am, like, so seriously screwed it's not even funny. “I didn't actually. It sounds fake as hell, but they actually died in a boating accident when I was … twenty-two.” Same age as Brooke is now. “On Lake Tahoe.”
“I can't even imagine,” Brooke says, reaching over and taking my hand. Crap. Did not expect that. I was hoping for an I'm so sorry to hear that at most. This is … a lot harder to process. I wish her hands weren't so soft, her fingertips so hot. I wish she didn't smell good, like flowers and soap. I need to go home and get mind-fucked by some crazy chick with tattoos on her face. That's what I need to do. Yep.
Brooke lets go of my hand and I feel like I can breathe again. It's bugging me though, how jumpy I'm getting. Like, hello Zayden, you've never gotten this way before. You always make fun of Jude for freaking the fuck out over every girl he sleeps with. If he even catches a glimpse of them again after, he starts panicking that he's going to be stalked or something. I've always thought he was a douche.
Now I'm the douche. Me. I'm acting like the weirdo.
Bad Nanny (The Bad Nanny Trilogy #1) Page 15