I kick my legs over the edge of the bed and tug them on quickly, waiting on the edge of the mattress as he opens the door and Bella throws her arms around his waist.
“Did you hear that?” she whispers ominously. “It was a banshee. I learned about them from YouTube. They come in the night and scream when you're going to die. Am I going to die, Uncle Zayden?”
I smile when she calls him uncle, this stupid sloppy smile that I wipe quickly off my face lest Zay sees it. Ugh. I don't want him to think I'm going to go all crazy virgin on him and start professing my undying love. Even if he is adorable with my niece. And good in bed. And silly and funny and sexy and brimming with personality.
Um.
I stand up quickly and brush my hands down the front of the shirt. It's one of Zay's and it says Too Kewl For School. Heh.
“It wasn't a banshee,” Zayden says with all due seriousness. “Aunt Brooke just stubbed her toe.” He lifts up his fingers and gives her a salute. “Scout's honor, Bella, I swear it. I actually activated an anti-banshee spell around the perimeter of the house. We're all safe here.”
I smile another dumb lumpy smile as Zay glances over his shoulder. He totally sees that one and I feel the blood drain from my face. Great.
He turns back to Bella and reaches down to ruffle her dark hair.
“Even if it was Brooke, I can't sleep now. I'm too awake.” Zayden nods for a moment and then snaps his fingers.
“I got it. You want to go downstairs and bake some midnight cookies? Midnight cookies actually taste better than regular boring old day cookies. You game?”
Bella's face lights up and she claps her hands together, nodding her head vigorously and giving Zayden this adorable grin with her teeth showing and her eyes squinched shut.
“I'll go get the sugar and flour out!” She disappears down the hall before I can say anything.
Zay looks back at me and holds out a tattooed hand.
“You want in on this?” I nod and move over to take it, gasping a little when he pulls me into his arms and … hugs me? Zay squeezes me tight and breathes against my neck, letting go only when he hears the sound of a door opening.
It's Kinzie.
“You down for midnight cookies, squirt?” he asks as she blinks at him and rubs sleep from her eyes. Her smile, when it does come, is slightly less cynical than usual.
“You're not going to ruin them this time, are you?” she asks and Zay laughs, holding out a hand for her to take. I watch them start down the steps together, voices low and gentle in the early morning dark.
And then I feel something deep stir inside my tummy.
I don't know it at the time, but it's the beginning of my love for Zayden.
How cliché is that? The master of the house falling in love with the nanny?
I really am a crazy person.
When I wake up in the morning, I am so totally confused. First of all, I'm wondering why there's hot air blasting me in the face. My first thought is that the A/C is broken. I try to roll over and shake my date awake—because let's be honest, I always have a lady friend over—when I realize my arm is trapped behind another body.
Hmm.
I'm not saying I've never had two chicks in my bed before, but I feel like it's something I would've remembered. Then I notice a third warm body across my lap and finally blink myself awake.
I'm sitting on Brooke's shitty inherited couch with my feet propped up on the coffee table. The heating vent in the ceiling is spouting hot air like a politician, and the three bodies around me finally make sense. I've got Kinzie curled up on my left side, Bella on my right, and Brooke with her head nestled riiiiiiight up against the warm bulge in my sweats.
My morning erection solidifies into stone as I carefully try to extract myself from the pile of people around me, cringing as a hiss explodes in my ear and a claw lashes me across the neck.
“Goddamn it, Hubert you little cocksucker,” I snap as the useless cat grumbles and moves away from his position curled against the back of my neck. As the three ladies moan and snore in their half-sleep, I ease myself up and away from them. It's totally great to have Brooke's hot breath against my dick, but not with the fucking kids on either side of me. That's just goddamn gross.
I tiptoe over to the downstairs bathroom and release the chihuahuas, tripping and stumbling over the panting, hopping little bodies as I struggle over to the back door. As soon as I let them out, Dodger comes ripping down the stairs and explodes out into the yard behind them.
“Useless rats,” I snort as I yawn and scratch at my belly with tired fingers. When I check the bathroom out, I find that the little shits have crapped and pissed all over everything. Great. Perfect way to start the morning.
“Zayden?” Brooke says as she sits up and leaves the two seven year olds sprawled out across the sofa. “What time is it?”
I check the clock and find that it's kind of freakishly early.
“Um, ungodly?” I joke as I peek in the crib and find Sadie wide awake and sitting up all by herself. She has a pink stuffed bear that I grabbed for her at the store, the end of one of its legs shoved into her tiny mouth. I smile and wink at her, reaching in to pinch her cheek as she laughs. “You want some breakfast?”
Brooke shrugs her shoulders, wrapping her arms around herself and looking so fucking ridiculously sexy in my t-shirt that I kind of want to toss her over the kitchen table and screw her right now. Damn. If only we were alone …
I pick up one of the blue sugar cookies we made last night with food coloring and shove it into my mouth.
“I can make pancakes. I think. At least, I once had this ex-girlfriend who was obsessed with them. I used to cook them for her in little heart shapes.” I use both of my pointer fingers to draw a heart in the air as Brooke wrinkles her nose at me. Stupidly, I can't stop thinking about how cute that is, too. Like, I'm completely and utterly obsessed with this girl. I wasn't even this crazy interested in anyone in high school. And that's what I'm acting like right now, like I'm in fucking high school or something.
“Don't talk about your ex-girlfriends,” she says and lifts her palms up. “I'm not trying to get weird or anything, I just … I don't want to talk about them right now, okay?” A strange shadow of emotion flickers across her face and is gone. I try to interpret it, but I'm no good at this stuff, so I just shrug my shoulders and open the cabinet.
I pull out the box of pancake mix and read the instructions carefully. Huh. Easy peasy. I got this shit.
“You want them in heart shapes?” I ask as I waggle my eyebrows and grin at her. Brooke pulls out a chair and sits in it, crossing her legs in a pair of pink cat pj's that kind of make me want to kiss her face off. “Or if that bugs you, I can do … smiley faces? There's bacon in the fridge. We can go classic breakfast cliché and do fried eggs, too, if you want.”
“Do hearts,” Brooke says firmly and then after a long pause, “and fuck your ex-girlfriend.”
I throw my head back and laugh, putting my hands together and touching my fingers to my lips.
“Yeah, yeah, I like that. Let's reclaim the heart pancakes from that bitch.” I grab a rag and wipe off Sadie's high chair before heading to her crib to grab her. “And she was a bitch, that much I can assure you. I felt bad for her because after we slept together, she cried and told me her whole life story, like how she was homeless and everything.”
I snag Sadie's diaper bag with my foot and toss a blanket onto the living room carpet to change her.
“Your white knight disorder again?” Brooke asks from her spot in the kitchen. She sounds bemused, and I wonder what her face looks like, cleaning Sadie up as quick as I can and hefting her against my chest.
“Yup. Exactly. That shit gets me into such serious trouble. The chick ended up stealing like, a thousand in cash from the safe in my closet and bailing after two months.” I park my niece in her chair while I get some music started and make up a bottle. My song pick for the morning is “Queen of Hearts” by We The Kings. O
h, I so totally dig this tune. “To be honest, I never even really liked her that much.”
“You date girls you don't like?” Brooke asks as I let warm water run over the bottle and start prepping the pancake batter, jamming to my groove as I move. “I think there's a few psychological issues hiding in there somewhere.”
I snort and grab a cup and a half of water to toss into the mixing bowl, whisking out the lumps as I bump and grind my hips and Brooke laughs at me. When I look back at her, she slaps a hand across her mouth and shakes her head at me. I just give her a wink and keep movin'.
“For sure. No doubt there. I think I have commitment issues. Like, if I date girls I hate, then I don't have to worry about falling for them, you know?”
“Wow. I mean, you're actually aware of that?”
“Hell yeah. Have been for years. What about you? Do you think dating a guy for three years that won't sleep with you or marry you means anything?”
“You think I have psychological problems?”
I shrug my shoulders as I check the bottle's temperature. Perfect.
“You want to feed this kid for me?” I ask with pouty lips. I know I'm supposed to be the nanny here, but I also sort of want to see Brooke hold the baby. She nods and reaches her arms out for Sadie, propping her up against her chest as I watch, feeling all possessive and shit. Like, maybe this girl's supposed to be my woman or something?
Buuuuut, I just did say I have commitment issues, didn't I? I was not fucking kidding about that shit.
I go back to the pancakes and stir the batter with vigor as the song repeats itself. I like to put my songs on loops sometimes, listen to the same damn thing a hundred times in a row. Who doesn't, right?
“I guess I was scared,” Brooke admits as I get out a pan and rub some butter around the bottom. Pancakes always taste better when they're soaked in butter, right? “My sister got pregnant really young and then went through a long string of semi-serious boyfriends. None of them turned out to be who she thought they were. Maybe by dating Anthony, I felt like I was safe from all of that. He was safe. Everyone always said what a good guy he was, how nice he was, how dedicated he was to his faith …”
“Oh, that is so not sexy,” I laugh as I get out the bacon and eggs from the fridge. “Dedicated to his faith? Gross. Don't you want a guy that's dedicated to you instead?” I glance over my shoulder and find Brooke's cheeks turning a funny pink color. “A guy that can nail you to the mattress?”
“Um, children present,” she says, but she knows they're asleep and that Sadie can't understand a damn thing we're saying. I grin at that.
“Good guy. Nice. Dedicated. Yuck. No wonder you fell into bed with me.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” she asks as I start a second pan up for the bacon.
“I'm, like, the complete opposite of that guy, don't you think?”
“Not really. You might not be religious, but you are kind of a nice guy. I mean, you look all badass and tough, but you're kind of sweet, Zayden.” I turn around and wrinkle my nose at her.
“Ouch. Sweet and nice?” I put my tattooed knuckles together. “You just haven't seen me get up the need to kick anybody's ass yet. I totally can.” I flex for Brooke and she laughs, sunlight streaming through the glass of the sliding doors and turning her hair into a glittering sea of bronze. Damn. Damn, damn, damn.
I make myself turn away from her, pulling my phone out to Google how long bacon needs to cook for. There's a text from that pink haired chick, and a few from my buddies at home. A couple Facebook messages from a girl I hooked up with last month. I stare at it all, the proof of my life back home and I feel this weird emptiness yawning open inside of me.
Fuck.
I jam the phone back in my pocket and refocus on breakfast. I can't think about anything but this moment. I just have to live this. I've got an exhibitionist date booked with Brooke for tonight and a week of guaranteed fabulous sex waiting for me. At the end of the week, we'll see how I feel.
I bet I'll be gunning to get the hell out of here.
Surprise, surprise.
That bitch, Monica, really does show up like I asked. I think Brooke's in complete shock, her mouth hanging open as she pushes the door wide and lets her great aunt in. The woman gives me a look that's worth a thousand words, most of them synonymous for dickhead or serial killer. I don't think she can decide exactly how much she hates me. S'okay. I'm used to it. People love to judge me based on my appearance. I got this.
“Yo, Monica,” I say as I pry one of the twins off of my leg and use my foot to stop the ugly hairless dog from humping the ugly not-hairless one. The kids keep asking me what they're doing, and I had no clue how to answer. When Brooke suggested they were “dogging” and that it was some sort of game, I went with it. “No dogging, Dodger.” I grin when I say it and enjoy the way Monica's face pales. “We're callin' the whole humping thing a euphemism.” I clap the woman on the shoulder and she gasps, putting a hand to her chest as I wink and twirls my nephew around my waist like a swing dancer. He screams in joy as I deposit him back on his feet. “You'll get the hang of it pretty quick.”
“I'm not—” Monica starts, but I ignore her. She's one of those selfish, judgmental assholes that I hate. Who cares what she has to say? Not me. All I want right now is for her to watch these rugrats so I can go screw their aunt into the side of a brick building during the arts fair.
“Alright everyone, listen up.” I clap my hands together and lean down, ignoring Monica as she clutches her red coat in front of herself and frowns. Her lipstick's this weird dark brown color that looks like dog crap. Huh. “This is Brooke's Aunt Monica, okay? You guys can call her whatever you want, but you need to behave. You got that? Anyone that steps out of line has to help me clean chihuahua poop out of the backyard.”
“Can we call her poop face?” Kinzie asks and sends all the kids into a giggling fit. I roll my eyes as I stand up straight and glance over at Brooke again. To be honest with y'all, it's hard for me to pull my gaze away for even an instant. The kid cleans up good, that's for sure. Her makeup is clean and fresh, not heavy like it is when she's on her way to the club. That long chocolate mane is straight and shiny and gleaming, and her outfit is ballin', baby. Smart chick. She choose a short black skirt and a flouncy pink top, paired it with a pair of old brown boots and called it done. It's the weirdest thing I've ever seen in my life and I'm totally digging it.
“No more poop or fart jokes, okay? I'm starting to wonder if you need to see a therapist or something.” I ruffle Kinzie's curls and pass over a couple twenties to Monica. “Order 'em pizza or something, okay? Oh, and I left instructions for the baby on the counter. You've taken care of babies before, right?”
“I have two kids,” Monica says, blinking at the chaos in the living room like she's never seen this much activity in once place before. Sort of looks like she might be close to having a heart attack. Hopefully she can just hold off until we get back. She does and I'll buy her casket myself.
“Ready, Brooke?” I ask as I head to the front door and open it for her, waving good-bye to the kids before I step outside into the cool darkness of a Eureka evening.
“She … actually showed up. The most selfish woman on the entire planet,” Brooke mumbles as we head over to the van and I dance a few steps ahead to open her door. She raises a brow at me but climbs in anyway, getting control of my iPod before I do. Within seconds, we're listening to some crazy loud screeching song about pain and death. Ech. Eww. I so hate rock and metal music. Buuuut, I so love to see Brooke's face as the music washes over her and she smiles. “I haven't been to Arts Alive since I was seventeen.”
“'bout the same here. Since I was eighteen. It's totally hippie chic from what I remember. Lots of live music, art, people smoking pot.” I grin as I back out of the driveway and head towards Old Town with some tortured soul screeching out of the van's speakers. “I don't know if you can tell, but, like, I am flipping excited as fuck.”
“We're n
ot really going to have sex there, right?” Brooke asks, but not like she wants me to agree with her.
“Listen up, Smarty-Pants, I don't joke about sex in public places, okay? This shit's a serious art form and you, my dear, are about to get an introduction by a master.”
Brooke leans against the window and studies with me her pale brown eyes, sweeping long hair away from her face.
“What's the weirdest place you've ever done it?” she asks, and I have to chew my bottom lip and think really hard for a minute. I snap my fingers as it comes to me.
“One time, I fucked this chick at a hotel.”
“Um …” Brooke starts, but I'm not done.
“No, like I was there for this comic convention thing—”
“Nerd,” Brooke whispers under her breath as I reach out and push her shoulder playfully.
“—and there was this romance readers convention happening in the other ballroom.”
“You screwed a romance reader?” Brooke asks with an incredulous expression. “In a hotel. I'm still not seeing the big deal here.”
“Because you're not letting me finish the story. I didn't screw a reader; I screwed an author. Right in the back of the room, behind some banners of half-naked guys during the book signing. Like, with people everywhere and all that. Most of the attendees thought I was a cover model.”
“You're a weird person, you know that?” she says, but she sounds like she's half-laughing and half … jealous? Is Brooke jealous? I can't tell if I want her to be or not. “You know, we forgot to tell my aunt that you have a weird hairless cat wearing a pink glittery sweater.”
“Hey, that sweater is not pink. It's a pale red.”
“Which, by definition, is pink,” Brooke shoots back as the song changes to yet another brain pummeling metal song. “She might seriously have an aneurism and die if she sees him.”
“Oh, come on. Hubs isn't that scary lookin', is he?” I glance over at Brooke as we pause at a red light. Now that I think about it, the cat actually lets her touch him which is a good sign; Hubs kind of hated that pink haired girl, Kitty. Kind of ironic, huh, considering the name and all?
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