If I want a shot at exploring whatever this is between us, I’m going to have to step it up, and that means giving a little to get a little.
Holy crap, I’m going to seduce my boss. Just the idea of it brings heat to my cheeks and a dull ache between my thighs. I want his heart—that’s my end game, make no mistake. But I’ve only got one shot at this, which means I’m going to have to pull out all the stops to show Brody how good we could be together. That’s not saying I’m going to roll over and make this easy for him. If he wants me, he’s going to have to work for it, but I plan to make it well worth his effort.
…
Brody
I walk into the kitchen and find Amelia bent over, ass sticking out of the refrigerator. “What are you making?”
Amelia startles, and I wince when she bangs her head on the top shelf. “Could you try to make a little more noise when you walk around?” she grouches, rubbing her head. “I wanted to make omelets so you could eat before you leave, but I can’t find the spinach. I just bought some.”
Well, this is a one-eighty from the cold shoulder she gave me not even thirty minutes ago, not that I’m complaining. I’m just wondering why the change of heart. Perhaps I’m not the only one who recognizes we can’t keep going on like this.
“Ah, here it is.” She pulls out the package and closes the door. Taking a bowl from the cupboard, she begins cracking half a dozen eggs. “Hungry?”
She grabs a whisk from the drawer, and my gaze strays to her breasts, which are taunting me mercilessly. There’s no way she’s wearing a bra, not with the uninhibited way they’re moving as she whips those eggs.
“Starved.” But it’s not food that has my mouth watering. I watch her chop up some veggies and pour the eggs in a pan. A few minutes later, she’s sliding an omelet onto a plate and handing it to me. I head to the table, and she sits across from me, plopping a big glass of orange juice next to the plate.
“Aren’t you eating?” I didn’t realize she was making breakfast just for me.
“I prefer to drink my breakfast.” She lifts her coffee cup and gives me a smile over the rim before taking a sip. “You don’t have a nervous stomach on game days?”
“I used to,” I admit, forking a big bite of omelet into my mouth, then wash it down with some orange juice. “Would puke my guts out before every game.”
“But not anymore? What changed?”
“Life,” I simply tell her. “Wow, this is really good.”
“Thanks.”
“It has a way of putting things into perspective, you know?”
“I suppose it does. Lily has a playdate this morning with Maddie at the park, but we’ll be home in time to cheer you on from the couch.”
The thought hits me and is out of my mouth before I consider the wisdom of it. “I could get you and Lily tickets if you wanted to come to the game.”
Surprise briefly registers on her face. I can’t believe I just invited her to watch me play. I shouldn’t have put her on the spot like that. I’m about to retract the offer when she says, “I’d love to come. Lily will be so excited.”
Her enthusiasm is unexpected and pleases me more than it probably should. Suddenly, I’m not dreading this day as much as I was. My daughter is going to be in the stands cheering me on—and Amelia. The thought of her wearing a jersey with my name on it makes my dick twitch. “I’ll have tickets for you at the box office.” I check the time and finish scarfing down the rest of my breakfast. “I need to go. Penner will be here any minute.” I slide the chair back and stand with my plate and glass in hand.
“I’ve got it.”
She takes them from me, her fingers brushing over mine, and her touch tingles all the way up my arm. It’s electric. It’s dangerous. I freeze. We’re both holding the plate I’ve yet to release. If I do, I may just grab her, fist my hand into that unruly hair, and take what I think she’s offering me.
Time stops. Neither one of us is willing to look away. I can’t breathe. I want to kiss her so bad. Fuck it. I need this today. I need to prove to myself that there’s life after Stella, that she didn’t break me.
“You’re going to be late.”
Her voice echoes through my reverie. Sweet, beautiful Amelia, and I’m such a bastard for using her like this. I jerk the plate out of her hands and close the distance, vaguely aware of the dish shattering on the floor. I’m going to need a new dining set by the time this season is over. A startled gasp catches in her throat as I drive my hands into her hair and back her up against the wall. Her lips part, the perfect invitation to take what I’m starving for. My mouth is suddenly on hers, and fuck me, she tastes better than I imagined. Fresh and minty—alive. I feel alive for the first time in so long.
My tongue dives in for another taste, and I groan from the pure bliss of it. She’s kissing me back, and it’s a chaotic blend of lips, tongue, and teeth. There’s no finesse, just a hot, desperate joining of our mouths, and it’s perfect.
“Oh fuck, Mia,” I groan, but it comes out more like a plea because I’m losing control. My mouth moves to her neck, lips latching onto the sensitive skin over her pounding pulse. She tips her head, giving me full access to her throat, and slips her hands up my shirt. I’m lost. I could yank those turtle-print shorts down and fuck her right here against the kitchen wall. And I might have, if the doorbell wasn’t ringing.
Repeatedly.
“Dammit,” I snarl, breaking away since Penner, the asshole, seems to have no qualms about wearing out my doorbell.
I cross the foyer and yank the door open. Penner is standing there wearing his classic grin. “What the fuck, dude, are you trying to make us late? I’ve been waiting outside for the last ten minutes. Coach is going to be—holy shit, would you look at that ass?”
I turn around. Amelia is bent over, picking up pieces of the broken plate, her beautiful ass on display, and a surge of jealousy rips through me.
“Quit staring at my nanny,” I growl, grabbing my duffel bag and slinging it over my shoulder.
“Dude, that’s your new nanny? You didn’t tell me she was hot. I was expecting Mrs. Doubtfire.”
Yeah, so was I.
“Fuck, I gotta get me a kid.”
I chuckle at Penner’s harmless, dipshit antics, and put my splayed hand against his face, pushing him outside. He stumbles down the steps, and I close the door behind me. Leaving without so much as a goodbye is probably a pussy move, but I honestly have no idea what I should say to Amelia because, fuck, I just made out with my daughter’s nanny.
Chapter Ten
Amelia
“Hi, Maddie!”
Lily lets go of my hand and races through the grass toward her friend who’s hanging from the monkey bars. I head to the park bench, grateful for a few moments to myself, still reeling from Brody’s kiss.
I’ve been kissed before, but never with the physical or emotional punch of being kissed—no, orally dominated—by Brody Evans. My lips tingle with the memory of his mouth on mine and the demanding sweep of his tongue. How far would he have taken things if his friend hadn’t interrupted us? Would I have stopped him?
I don’t see Jill, Maddie’s mom, as I approach the bench. There’s a man sitting on one end, so I take a seat on the other. His cell is against his ear, his expression intense as he speaks in a low, controlled voice.
“I know it’s my weekend, but I’m on call. I just need to be sure you’re going to be around if I have to go in.” He exhales and tips his head back as if searching the billowy clouds overhead for patience. I’m not trying to eavesdrop, but I can’t help it. He’s four feet away. “I don’t know. No one plans for their house to burn down. Shit happens. I guarantee it’ll be a bigger inconvenience for them than it will be for you.”
He’s a firefighter. I study him a little closer, trying not to be too obvious. The guy’s attractive. Not quite to the same insane level that Brody is hot, but he’s no slouch in the looks or build department, that’s for sure.
“Fo
rget it, Jill—” Jill? I glance around the park again and quickly put two and two together. This guy must be Maddie’s dad. Okay, well this is awkward. I’m about to get up and sit somewhere else so he can have some privacy when he says, “—I’m done arguing with you. That’s the beauty of divorce, I don’t have to put up with your shit anymore.”
He hangs up and pockets his cell, then glances my way and grimaces as if just now realizing I probably overheard his entire conversation. And I have. But I also empathize with him because I’m not Jill’s biggest fan. I’ve endured hours of her prattling on when we’ve met for playdates. I also know more about this guy than I want to, though. If I’m judging a book by its cover, I’d say Jill’s story is mostly fiction. The woman is egocentric and narcissistic, but Brody isn’t paying me to make friends, and Maddie is a sweet girl. Lily really likes her, so weekly playdates it is.
“Sorry you had to overhear that.”
“It’s all right.” I hold my hands up. “I’m not judging. Believe me.” He looks relieved and gives me a smile that showcases an impressive commitment to dental hygiene. If my heart wasn’t already taken, it’d be beating a little faster right now. That it doesn’t even flutter tells me just how far I’ve fallen for my boss. “You must be Brad.” I lean across the bench and offer him my hand.
He laughs. “I should probably take it as a bad sign you know that.”
When Jill was on her tirade about her “evil” ex-husband, she failed to mention that he was charming. She also failed to mention that she was having an affair with her yoga instructor. I learned that little nugget from another playdate mom.
“Hey, I’m just the nanny,” I laugh. “No need to impress me.” It’s no secret there’s a clique of preschool moms that I’m pretty sure inspired the movie Mean Girls. Brody shudders every time he talks about having to take Lily to these things.
“I disagree.” Brad holds my hand a second too long before releasing it. “Maddie speaks very highly of you.”
He says Maddie, and not Jill. I can only imagine what she’s said about me, considering how she’s demonized this man, but I’m not insecure enough to care. “She’s a sweetheart. The girls play well together.” My cell vibrates, and I fish it out of my purse. It’s a message from Brody, and just seeing his name pop up on my screen makes my pulse quicken. I open the text.
Hey, sorry I left without saying goodbye this morning. Penner took one look at you and I thought he was going to nut if I didn’t get him out of there.
I laugh, unable to resist the grin tugging my lips. Nut? LOL. Is that really a thing?
Oh, it’s a thing.
If you say so.
“That’s a big grin,” Brad says. “Boyfriend?”
“No, boss.” His brow arches in question, and I quickly explain before he gets the wrong idea. “He’s getting Lily and I tickets to the football game this afternoon. I’m excited to take her to see her dad play.”
“Ah, Brody Evans. Hell of a quarterback. It’s a shame what happened to his wife.”
I don’t know the details about her accident, only what Julia told me, and admittedly, that wasn’t very much. My cell buzzes in my hand, and another message pops up on the screen.
I can’t stop thinking about this morning.
“Yes, it was a horrible tragedy,” I respond, only half-listening as I type back a message to Brody. Me, too. It was… I send him the open-ended response, not sure what to say.
Hot? His text quickly pops up on my screen, and a wave of heat sweeps through me.
Uh-huh.
Amazing?
Definitely.
“I can’t believe they let Williams back on the team. They should have fired that asshole.”
Wait. What? “What does Kyle Williams have to do with Stella’s accident?”
“You don’t know?” He hesitates as if deciding whether he should tell me. “Williams was in the car with her at the time of the crash. Hell of a way to discover your wife is having an affair.”
Oh, my God. I’m speechless. My mind is racing with the implications of a betrayal like this. Now Brody’s behavior makes a lot more sense. Why wouldn’t he tell me? That night when he came to my room and confessed that he wanted me but it could never happen, I thought the pain and brokenness I saw in his eyes was from grief over losing his wife, but it’s so much more complicated than that.
Time to get back on the field. I left tickets for you and Lily at the box office. See you this afternoon.
We’ll be there. Good luck. ;)
I shove the cell back in my purse and turn to Brad, giving him my full attention. “How do you know this?” Maybe it’s a lie.
“Are you kidding? Haven’t you been hanging around the gossip brigade? How do you not know this? Those hens have been clucking about Brody Evans since he became single.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s such an accurate description of what it’s like at these playdates. Brad joins me, his chuckle deep and throaty.
“Honestly, I do everything I can to avoid them,” he confesses. “But then I feel bad because it’s not fair for Maddie to miss playing with her friends. But today?” He gives me a smile that pre-Brody, I would not have been immune to. “Today, I’m glad I came.”
…
Brody
“Evans. My office.”
Coach turns from the doorway before I can acknowledge his summons. We’ve been running through plays all day. The locker room is full, we’re gearing up, and all eyes turn to me as silence descends. Fuck.
At Coach’s office door, I rap my knuckles against the metal frame before entering.
“Have a seat,” he tells me without glancing up from the file on his desk. Coach doesn’t sound happy.
As I step closer, I see my name at the top of the page. It’s my PT report. My gut twists. Since I turned down Mel’s advances, she’s become a woman scorned. I don’t trust her after the shit she pulled with Amelia, and I’m not comfortable with Mel holding my gameplay in her hands. But I can’t tell Coach that. I doubt he’d appreciate hearing his daughter propositioned me. After running that conversation through my mind, I don’t see this ending well for me.
“How’s your shoulder?”
“Never better.” It hurts like hell, but that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Coach eyes me with a raised brow. “That so? According to Mel’s report, your ROM’s eighty-five-percent.”
Shit. “My arm at eighty-five-percent is better than most QB’s at one-hundred and you know it.”
His smile tells me he does, and he agrees. “That may be true, but going against the advice of the team’s PT is not in your best interest, son.”
“Fuck my best interest, what about the team’s best interest? What about the franchise’s best interest? You pay me to play, not sit on the bench. We’re facing off with the Patriots today. It’s the toughest game of the season, and Pax is good, but he’s not as good as me.” Jeff Paxton is our second-string quarterback, and he played all last year when I was out. “I know the Patriots’ strengths and their weaknesses. You need me out there.” I have zero doubt that if I’d fucked Mel, I wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation right now, and that pisses me off.
Coach sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose as if trying to fend off a headache. Opening his eyes, he pins me with a stare that I swear can see right through me. “How’s your head, son?”
I tense and meet his gaze. So that’s what this is really about. It’s not my shoulder that’s got him worried, it’s my mental fucking stability. He thinks I’m going to go out there and crack. To be fair, this morning I wasn’t so sure that I wouldn’t. But then I kissed Amelia, and she’s exactly the diversion I need because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her and the sweet way her lips yielded to mine, the taste of her tongue…the perfect way her curvy little body fit against me.
“I know what today is.”
I was hoping he wouldn’t remember. But then, it’s probably hard to forget
sitting with me at the morgue while I identified my wife’s body.
The memory is foggy, like it belongs to someone else, but there are clips of clarity scattered throughout that night—the incessant ticking of the clock above the door, the harsh florescent lights burning my eyes, the endless waiting for that door to open and the coroner to call my name.
I heard a door down the hall open and turned to see Coach walk in. I never found out who called him or how he knew I was there. If I had to venture a guess, I’d say it was Penner. His footsteps echoed down the hall, drawing closer, louder until they matched the cadence of my hammering pulse. I remember looking up at him—shocked, speechless—as he stood there in front of me. And I fucking lost it. Sobbed in his arms like a goddamn baby.
Hours later, I learned the truth about Stella’s affair, about Williams. Coach was with me the entire time. He’s a good man and a great coach—tough, but fair. He truly cares about his players, and although he can be a hard-ass sometimes, I’ve never doubted he has my back.
“Then you know how important it is to me to get back on that field, especially today. I gave her my entire last season. She’s taken enough from me.”
Coach studies me a moment longer then nods, going against his better judgment. “All right, Evans. You win. Go gear up.”
I take my leave before the emotion clogging my throat gets the best of me. As I cross the locker room, I have no choice but to pass Williams. He’s sitting on a bench by himself, half-dressed, his jersey bunched in his fisted hands, forearms braced on his knees as he stares at the ground. I’m sure he’s battling his own demons today. I hope those monsters eat him alive.
His transition back to the team hasn’t been smooth. I never talked about what happened, but shit has a way of getting out. I think he blames me for his less-than-warm reception, but I’ve had nothing to do with it. What the fuck did he expect? A “Welcome Back” banner and confetti? Fucking prick.
When he sees me, his eyes narrow to a glare that would probably intimidate most men, but I’m not most men. If I weren’t worried about jeopardizing my position on the team, I’d have kicked this fucker’s ass a long time ago, but he’s not worth my career.
The Nanny Rules Page 6