My (Mostly) Temporary Nanny: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy

by Penelope Bloom

  He pulled me in a little tighter. “You should come with me to Florida. I’ve got a three-game series this weekend. Maybe you could bring the kids to the game.”

  “I’d like that,” I said, smiling to myself as Kevin McAllister clapped his hands to his cheeks, looked into the camera, and screamed.

  We put the boys to bed and Jack kiss-walked me toward the bedroom as soon as we were sure they’d gone to sleep. Except we didn’t even make it to the bed before he spun me around and pinned my wrists over my head. He tugged my shirt and bra up ravenously, lowering his mouth to suck my nipple between his lips.

  I arched my back, breathing out my pleasure and letting him pin me there. Letting him take me.

  He freed himself and slid a condom on, then pulled the running shorts I’d been wearing down in a quick yank. Without even completely taking them off, he pushed my thighs up and pinned them between us, guiding himself inside me.

  I gasped. This didn’t feel temporary.

  It felt too good to ever go away.

  Being taken like this. Being wanted so ferociously. Wanting him back just as much.

  I was pinned by his hands and his rock-like grip. He pounded into me, breathing hard already with enjoyment.

  I dug my fingernails into my palms, feeling weightless. Feeling alive. Feeling terrified of the future, because even now—even in this bliss—I could sense the looming fork ahead of me.

  Tell him about Florida. Say it right now. You’ll be in Florida for this trip. Maybe you could even take him and show him the place to help him understand.

  “Oh, God, Jack,” I gasped.

  His face became more rabid with each thrust, threatening to blast away my thoughts with the rush of molten bliss spreading through me.

  Tell him.

  “Jack, there’s something—”

  My own body betrayed me as a white-hot climax ripped through me from my core to my fingertips. My mouth clamped shut and I let out a low, mmmm, limbs shaking against his grip.

  He slowed himself down, easing me through my orgasm and kissing me all over. “There’s what?” he asked a little while later when he’d relaxed his grip but still stood there with himself buried in me, lips brushing my jaw, neck, and ear with kisses. “Just before you came, you were about to say something.”

  Would you still feel this way about me if I had to leave? Could we make this work if I was on the other end of the continent? Would you hate me if I left Ben to chase a dream you’d probably think was silly?

  “I was just thinking,” I said. My heart started pounding out of my chest. My throat felt tight. My head was getting light. “Do you remember if we turned the stove off?”

  Jack relaxed a little. “Oh. It turns off on its own. There’s a weight sensor on the stove. It turns off as long as you take the pots or pans off.”

  “That’s good,” I said.

  Tell the man about Florida, Nola. Stop being a coward.

  But I wanted both things too badly. I wanted this glimpse of perfect Jack and Ben were offering us. Cozy nights on the couch while the boys played. Warm cuddling. And, well, mind blowing sex. An irrational part of me kept waiting because maybe—maybe—there was some compromise I just hadn’t considered yet. Some middle ground where I didn’t have to sacrifice one desire for the other.

  Jack kissed me softly. “That was the appetizer. Are you ready for the second course?”

  Wowza.

  I licked my lips, nodding. At least it sounded like I was about to be taken to a mental place where I wouldn’t even be able to worry about what to do for a while.

  The following morning, I opened my laptop and saw the unit in Florida was still available. I’d had a vivid dream last night about ghostly visions of my parents floating into the bedroom on cotton-candy pink clouds. They’d waved their transparent hands, eyes bulging in outrage as I lay tangled in bed with Jack Kerrigan.

  “You’re betraying us to get on that dick,” they’d said in wavering, disembodied voices.

  “No! The dick got on me!” I’d cried out, trying to escape to the corner of the room.

  “But you liked it!” they accused.

  I had put my hands to my ears and hissed in admission, “I did! I did! And I’ll do it again!”

  Then they’d descended toward me with outstretched, ghostly hands.

  My last memory of the dream was clapping my hands to the side of my face and screaming like the guy from that Van Gogh painting.

  As ridiculous as the dream was, it had re-ignited the fear that I was disappointing my parents. I was letting what might be my only chance to ever make their dream happen slip by one flirtatious step toward Jack Kerrigan at a time.

  So I typed out an email to the property owner as quickly as I could. I told him I was very interested in his available unit. I promised I only needed two more month’s pay from my employer before I could afford the down payment in full and offered to make a partial payment to secure the rental.

  Before I could lose my nerve or change my mind, I hit send, then sat back and let out a long, shaky breath.

  “Important emails?” Jack asked. He was only wearing his underwear as he walked into the kitchen. Even flaccid, I could see the pleasant bulge of his package against the thin material. I took a little dirty pleasure in knowing I was still on him from last night, because we’d both gone straight to sleep afterwards.

  Except my dirty pleasure quickly blossomed into guilt when I looked back at my laptop screen and saw “Message sent.”

  I snapped the screen closed and smiled. “Something like that.”

  31

  Jack

  We weren’t supposed to have our families at the team hotel, so I’d set up Nola and the boys at a nice Airbnb outside the city. It had a big fenced in yard, a pool, and plenty of space for everyone to spread out. I hoped Nola was enjoying herself, and I wished I was there instead of sitting through a team meeting.

  Our coach was talking about almost nothing that mattered to a pitcher. It was all the permission I needed to zone out and daydream about soft curves, red hair, and whispered gasps that brushed my ear with soft heat.

  When the meeting was over, we had half an hour before we needed to head down to the stadium and get ready to play. Tonight, would be the first time Nola had watched me play. She was going to bring both boys and I was sure they’d be pounding down hotdogs and sodas all night.

  I’d become so used to feeling bitter and closed off that it still surprised me when the urge to smile tugged at me. But that’s what Nola did for me. She made me want to smile. Laugh. Enjoy things.

  It was why I was becoming more and more certain I’d made the right choice. I was a better dad for Ben if I was happy, and Nola gave me that. So what was there to feel guilty about?

  Still, I couldn’t shake the gut feeling that it couldn’t be this easy. It was like eating a frosted doughnut and being told it had all the nutritional qualities of a cup of broccoli. Good things came with a price, but I still hadn’t found Nola’s, and that kept me from completely letting my guard down.

  I was met by a man in a suit when I left the meeting. He held a briefcase and wore a sour expression. “Mr. Kerrigan?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re being sued for custody of your son, Ben Kerrigan.” He handed me a stack of papers.

  I felt ice spread through my veins, but I didn’t let it show on my face. “You flew here to give me these? Wouldn’t a phone call or an email do the trick?”

  The lawyer gave me a little grudging shrug. “Miss Callaway insisted I do this in person. But yes, typically we would reach out in a more convenient way.”

  I took the papers and headed toward my room. I’d hoped she wouldn’t have the nerve to actually sue me when I told her she’d need to send a lawyer next time. I shouldn’t have been surprised, though.

  For people with money, lawyering up was about as painless as shouting “mom!” when your little brother won’t stop pissing you off at the dinner table.

 
; My stomach twisted because I had a feeling the law was on her side, at least partially. They wouldn’t take Ben away from me, but chances were, they would legally mandate some form of shared custody. If I thought Ally wanted to be in his life because she cared about him, it wouldn’t have felt so terrifying.

  But I had a hunch the only thing she actually cared about was Nola. For some reason, Nola had triggered her like no girlfriend I’d ever had before. I wondered if it was the connection to Ben. The idea that some other woman was going to be like the mom to him that she never was.

  My cell rang about five minutes later as I was tossing the papers on the dresser by my bed. It was Ally. I’d figured I would ignore her outright after our last encounter but thought if there was any chance of changing her mind, it was worth a shot.

  “Yes?” I said.

  “You sound crankier than usual. I assume you met my lawyer?”

  “I have the papers. Yes.”

  “You know we could still settle this like reasonable adults. The only thing I want is to be part of my son’s life.”

  “You’re several years late. And I don’t believe that’s what you actually want, either.”

  She scoffed. “Is this about the nanny? You think I care? Get over yourself, Jack.”

  “Then what changed? Why now?”

  There was a long pause. “Because it’s time. People are allowed to make mistakes, and not being in Ben’s life was a mistake. Not being in your life was—”

  “Let me stop you there. Nothing is ever going to happen between us again, Ally. I moved on a long, long time ago, and you should too.”

  “I guess we’ll be talking about it in court, won’t we?”

  32

  Nola

  Griff and Ben were still whacking each other with oversized foam hands holding up one finger. The boys’ shirts were covered in stains from jumbo hotdogs and Griff was wearing half of his soda on his pants. Worse, they had both been splattered by excited sprays of beer from nearby fans. They smelled like train wrecks, but they were grinning from ear to ear, so I couldn’t complain.

  Watching Jack play had felt surreal. I’d seen him on TV before we ever met, but little by little, some of the shock had worn off. He’d become less of an idea or a symbol and more of a person. Seeing him on the mound while tens of thousands cheered brought a little bit of that back.

  I was dating an MLB pitcher. A superstar who nearly every person in the country could name and recognize at a glance. The thought made me feel a kind of heady fullness, like waking from an amazing dream only to realize I was still in that dream.

  My favorite part of the feeling was that I got to see the real Jack Kerrigan. Almost everybody else had to deal with some fantasy idea of what “that super-hot pitcher” would be like. I didn’t have to wonder.

  But I still felt the sinking in my stomach to remember I’d be back with the rest of them on the outside soon. The email I’d send the other night was doing its damage, ripping us apart even if the damage hadn’t reached our eyes yet.

  I watched Griff and Ben set up a sort of “trap” for Jack. Ever since we’d watched Home Alone together, the boys had a renewed interest in that sort of thing. At the moment, they were putting a little toy spider in the pair of shoes Jack usually wore for his morning run. When they finished, they high fived.

  I wasn’t sure which boy was having the bigger influence on which. Before they’d met, Griff had been heading down a self-destructive path. It seemed like he was destined to be that kid who winds up getting kicked out of middle or high school to be sent to a strict prison-like reform school. Now his pranks and rebelliousness seemed curbed to the point of regular childhood antics. Then there was Ben, who had been inward and shy to the absolute extreme. Ben had grown brave enough to talk to adults and even join in with other kids on the playground for pickup games of soccer.

  To my surprise, his little training routines with Griff had continued as well. Ben could do two legitimate pushups. If he kicked his spindly legs just the right way, he could even pull himself an inch or so up toward the pull up bar.

  I was proud of both the boys, and it was just one more reason I was starting to think I’d be crazy to follow through with my plans to go to Florida.

  My mind was anywhere but the present as I went through the ritual of the nighttime routine. Teeth were brushed, books were read, and pajamas were put on. But my thoughts were on what I’d felt like was the dilemma I faced. Jack, or Florida?

  My parent’s dreams, or my own?

  But for the first time, it didn’t feel like a dilemma. Clinging to the idea that I’d do this someday was just some convoluted form of grief postponement.

  I’d been putting away the few toys the boys had brought on the trip when the realization sank into me. I stopped with a robot who was hurling threats my way in one hand, turning the facts over in my head until I had a clear picture.

  That’s exactly what I was doing. I was holding onto the restaurant in Florida like some kind of seed. As long as that seed of my parent’s dreams was in my pocket and I believed I’d plant it someday, I didn’t have to fully accept their loss. I could hold on to that one last thread of something.

  It was why I hadn’t been able to accept the knowledge that my mom and dad wouldn’t have wanted this for me. They would’ve told me to be happy. To forget what they wanted and live my own life. But I’d selfishly clung to their dream because I was too scared to let that last piece of them go. Sure, I loved the idea of starting my own restaurant someday. But if I was doing it for myself, it didn’t need to be in a particular, exact spot by the beach in Florida.

  And there I was, standing with two forking paths laid out in front of me.

  For the first time, I didn’t feel as drawn to the one that took me to Florida. When I looked toward my future with Jack, I saw warm, cozy nights, the laughter of the boys in the background, and the pleasant scratch of his beard against my cheek when he kisses me. I saw happiness, and I didn’t have to commune with the dead to know what my parents would tell me to head towards.

  I needed to try to be with Jack, because knowing he called me his felt like it made everything fall into place.

  I dropped the robot and went to my laptop. I’d sent the email to the property owner already and had even wired over almost everything Jack had paid me so far to secure the unit. But it wasn’t too late to tell him I was backing out. He could keep the money if he wanted, too. All that mattered was I wouldn’t go to Florida anymore. I was going to stay.

  I found the last email I’d sent in my inbox and hit reply.

  All I had time to type was “Dear Mr…” when the cursor on my mouse started moving on its own. I bashed the old laptop on the side a few times, thinking it was just acting up. But when I saw the cursor purposefully move by itself to click “forward” on the chain of emails between myself and the property manager, my heart started pumping at a record pace.

  I tapped keys, slid my fingers around on the track pad, trying to stop it. Then I saw Jack’s email getting typed into the “send” field and I panicked. I slammed the laptop closed then hurled it at the wall like an overweight frisbee.

  I watched it spiral toward the wall in slow motion. I could practically hear the woosh of wind as each corner of the device twirled in a slow loop toward its own death.

  I braced myself for the explosion of machinery. I pictured the glittering burst of electronics and the loss of all the pictures I’d never thought to back up or that fanfiction I wrote once on Harry Potter that was about to be obliterated.

  The world would never know how dirty some of the professors liked it when the candles were dimmed. I Expecto your robes off this instant, Severus.

  You could’ve just closed it, a ghostly, equally slow-motion voice in my mind reminded me.

  And then it sunk into the drywall.

  No explosion. No destruction.

  Just an anticlimactic little thud as my laptop did its best to look like a credit card inserted into a chip
-reader.

  I stared in disbelief and hadn’t even gotten up from my chair when Jack came through the door. He was showered and changed from his game.

  “How were the—” He paused, noticing my gaze, which was glued to the laptop.

  He turned his head, then put his hands on his hips and joined me in staring. “Is that your…”

  “I was putting it away and it slipped out of my hands.”

  Jack looked from the laptop to me. To me, who was sitting at the desk on the opposite end of the room. “Is everything okay?”

  “Hey,” I said as casually as I could. My heart was pounding out a message in morse code at the moment. The only problem was I had no experience interpreting morse code. Run? Are you telling me I should just grab Griff and run, heart? Is the church on fire? Is somebody trapped in a well?

  “Hi,” Jack said, sliding his arms around me as he walked close. He smelled like soap, shampoo, and detergent. A little medley of fresh I wished I could sink into if circumstances were less dire.

  “So there’s something I wanted to—”

  Jack’s phone buzzed. I could feel it vibrate through his pocket and fought the brief but overpowering urge to frisbee it toward the wall where it could join my laptop. Don’t check your emails. Don’t do it.

  He looked down and groaned. “I should get this. Sorry.”

  “You really don’t have to. They can leave a message.”

  “It’s Ally. My lawyer said if she reaches out personally, to let her talk. He’s got a recorder embedded in my phone. Hopefully, she’ll screw herself by saying something dumb.”

  All I could do was watch Jack put the phone to his ear and head out into the hallway. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but I could hear the deep rumble of his voice muttering single syllable replies.

  I was going to come clean when he came back. That’s all there was to it. Whatever ghost had possessed my laptop and fired off that email was trying to tell me as much. Jack would understand, especially now that I was changing my mind.