“Um, okay.” He stands up straight and sucks in a deep breath, planting his hands on his hips. I hate how hot he looks all the time, those tattoos of his dancing down both arms in swirls of magnificent color. Even in the dark shadows of the park, I can see how goddamn pretty he is.
I watch with an aching heart as he slaps his palms together in a prayer position and puts his fingers to his lips, looking down at me with this weirdly tender expression.
“You're probably wondering what I'm doing here.”
“Uh, yes. Yes, I am,” I tell him as I continue to swing and fight back the sudden surges of emotion. I'm not sure if I should be happy or sad or pissed or all of the above. “Why aren't you on your way back to Vegas?”
“Well, see, that's a funny story.” He sits down suddenly, crossing his legs and putting a hand on either knee as he settles into the wood chips. “I actually was on my way to Las Vegas, you see.”
I cock an eyebrow and glance over my shoulder. I can still vaguely hear Hubert yowling.
“We got about, um, two hours out? And then we turned right back around. I tried to call and text you, but …”
“I blocked you,” I say as I look back at him. “After you dropped the girls off. I don't think I can handle an occasional hey, how are you, Zayden. I'm sorry, but I don't want that.”
“Yup, yup. I get it, Brooke. Oh God, I have so much to say. I just want to start babbling, but hell, I guess I better ask this first: can I stay at your place for a while?” He smiles as he asks this and I stop swinging, listening to another roaring scream from the crowd across the street. Next to the park, one of the town's water towers sits, the lot fenced off and filled with … goats. Yep. And that's one hundred percent truth right there (come visit us in Eureka, CA and see for yourself). The goats make weird … whatever you call goat noises as I stare down at Zayden.
“Stay at my place?” I echo as I try to figure out what's happening. He plays with his lip rings, using his tongue to slide them in and out of the holes. Aaaaand that was imagery I so did not need. “Why would you need to stay at my place?”
Zayden sucks in a deep breath.
“Airbnb,” he says, and then I'm even more confused than I was before.
“Huh?” I reach up and start gathering the massive fall of my hair together, just to give my hands something to do. “Are you drunk or something?”
Zayden claps his hands over his face and makes a small sound of frustration, not at me though, at himself for sure.
“Okay, what I'm trying to say is, I'll rent my condo out on Airbnb.”
“And … why would you do that?”
“Brooke,” he says, dropping his hands into his lap and looking up at me with an eager, open gaze. “At least for a little while, I'm staying here. In Eureka.”
I blink at him.
“Did something happen with your brother?”
“No, silly Smarty-Pants, fuck.” Zayden gets up on his knees and crawls toward me, pushing my own knees apart and getting in between them, grabbing onto the swing to keep me from swaying back. I should tell him not to touch me again, to leave me alone, but I just … it feels really good to have him here. “I want to try this thing out between us. I got about two hours down the road before I realized what was wrong with me, why I was sweating and why my stomach hurt and why I had a god-fucking-awful headache.”
“And why's that?” I have a hard time choking the words out as Zayden gives me one of his signature smirk-smiles.
“Because I'm suffering from a seriously nasty case of I.L.”
“Um.” I lean away from him and blink several times, some of my smarmy romantic swoon fading away. I was hoping maybe he was here to confess; instead he came to tell me he has an STD? “Is it contagious?”
Zayden tosses his head back and laughs, dropping his chin down and leaning in to press his face against the side of my neck. My body shivers without my permission as his hands curl around mine.
“I.L. stands for insta-love, you dope. I have no idea why because this has literally never happened to me before, but I'm, like, creepily obsessed with you.”
I close my eyes and try to get a grip on my swirling thoughts.
“I don't understand,” I whisper as Zayden leans back and lifts his hands up, cupping my face in that way of his that makes me crazy. I open my eyes and find him invading my personal space again, his own gaze way too close for comfort.
“What I'm trying to say, Brooke Overland, is that I want to be your nanny.”
That's seriously the most romantic thing I've ever heard in my life.
“One second, 'kay,” he says, standing up and jogging over to his car. I sit there in stunned silence as he opens the door and starts up some music.
It's Van Morrison's “Brown Eyed Girl” again.
I purse my lips together tight as Zayden appears in front of me.
“Please don't sing and dance,” I whisper, but it's too late. He's snapping his fingers and doing this sexy groove to the music. It should look really stupid—and it kind of does—but with his tight abs and his tattoos and piercings, it's really just … precious.