That man is, like, way too attractive for his own good. And he knows it. And he knows I know it. And I had him shirtless on top of me last night, his body pressing me into my sister's mattress. Yuck. Super yuck. But also … not. I mean, I wanted him. If he'd kept going, slipped on a condom, put his thick, hard cock inside of me …
I shiver and shake my head, turning away from the window and heading down the hall to check on Bella and Grace. They're sitting on Bella's floor, playing with a pair of dolls, a giant monster truck, and … a copy of War and Peace? Not sure what that's about.
“How was your day today?” I ask, trying not to let the deluge of emotions I'm feeling into my voice. Not that anyone cares, but my day was not a good day. My class ran late and caused me to then be late to an interview. Next, my phone died and I forgot the new charger, so I had to use a crappy printout from the school library to try to get to my next one. In the end, I wound up getting lost and showing up five minutes late to that, too.
Oh, and I stopped over at that endangered sea crustacean's house and got my fifty bucks back.
Bitch.
Going back to the strip club was one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life, but I sucked it up and I went. I did it. I got my job back.
“Fine,” Bella answers. Grace ignores me and uses the old book as a stage for her doll.
“Was … how was Zayden?” A shrug as Bella grabs Grace's doll from her hand.
“No. Not like that,” she snaps, turning the doll's lopsided dance into a complicated hip-hop routine of moving parts. I raise a brow, but I well remember the joys of having an older sister.
“He was nice? Polite? Did he feed you? Nothing … weird happened, right?”
“Kinzie got four time-outs, but she deserved them because she's a bully and she spits.”
“Um, okay.” I retreat from the room when it's clear there's nothing remarkable to talk about. Good. That's what I need from a nanny. Plain, boring, normal. No incidents to speak of whatsoever. Except for the fact that I almost had him run my V-card and make a hefty transaction. I shiver when I remember the crazy way I grabbed at his dick, like I was trying to spot shine it or something.
I am such a weirdo.
Flipping my long hair over a shoulder, I head downstairs and pause on the landing, the faint sound of music coming from the kitchen. I find an iPod that's distinctly not mine sitting on the table, pop music trickling softly from the speakers.
When I pick it up, I find a god-awful playlist with Britney Spears on it. Who listens to Britney Spears anymore anyway? My mouth twitches as I flick my thumb down the playlist and find several other atrocities against mankind: Beyonce, Bruno Mars, Miley Cyrus. Ewww.
“Aw, cool beans! You got my iPod.”
A tattooed hand shoots over my shoulder and snatches the MP3 player from my hand as I whirl and find myself chest to chest with Zayden.
“What the … you can't just come in like that!” I say, my heart beating in my throat as I realize I can feel the warmth of his body from here. He even smells good, like blackberries and cinnamon. I swallow hard as he looks down at me with a confused pucker to his mouth.
“Huh?”
“You … left, and then you came back. That means you have to knock.” I ease myself along the length of the table and slip away from him. Being that close to him makes me remember yesterday, and I think that's a memory best left forgotten. “Seriously.”
“Ooookay,” he says as he taps his iPod against the shaved side of his head, green eyes focused on my face with a perplexed expression. “Will do, Mistress.”
“Mistress?”
“Isn't that what nannies call the lady of the house? Close enough, right?”
He pokes me in the forehead with a tattooed finger.
“Got the kids in the car. Gotta run, Smarty-Pants.” Zayden gives me a stupid boy scout salute and turns on his heel, lifting his iPod up over his shoulder in a wave.
I wait until he leaves out the front door for the second time before I reach up and touch a hand to my cheek. Holy crap. I really am blushing.
Better be careful with this guy. He doesn't just smell like fruit and home … he smells like trouble.
And I am so allergic to that.
The next morning goes a lot smoother. I get the girls to school on time and manage to make it to class with minutes to spare, sliding into a seat before the professor even gets to the room. Of course, week two and I'm pretty sure this course is going to kick my ass, but it feels good to be here. I'm twenty-two; this is where I'm supposed to be.
I work really hard not to think about tonight.
Or about Zayden Roth.
For some reason, my mind is desperate to conjure up images of his rock-hard body, his colorful kaleidoscope of tattoos, all those weird goofy mannerisms of his.
After class, I head home with metal music thrashing around my shitty old car, tapping my hands on the steering wheel in time to the drums, wishing I was back in Berkeley on my way to a party or a club or something.
Well, I will be on my way to a club tonight. Only this time, it's gonna be me who's the entertainment.