“You think I'd leave a baby outside on the driveway? Come on.” I move up the single step and unlock the front door, stepping aside to give Zay plenty of room to squeeze inside. “Was it the neighbor in your building?”
“Nope. Not the pot growing asswad directly next door, but the Bible-thumper on the other side. Looks like she was cookin' up meth with her gospel.” Zayden chuckles as he pulls the blanket off his shoulder and tosses it on the floor, setting the baby down and stepping back with his hands on his hips.
We both watch as she attempts a shaky crawl, her floral headband bright against the dull colors of the living room.
“I've got a baby hack figured out. See, I let her do this for a while and then she just,” Zayden slaps his palms together, “conks the hell out. Works like a charm every time.” He looks up at me suddenly and then snaps his fingers. “Hey, let me grab the dogs and I'll be right back. Watch her for me for a sec?”
I nod as Zay disappears outside and returns with three yipping dogs. He almost trips and drops the cat carrier in his hand as they tangle their leashes around his legs. Dodger appears immediately, standing guard in the kitchen doorway, teeth bared and hackles raised. I ignore him. Nobody in their right mind would find that thing threatening.
Zayden drags the dogs across the floor and then lets them all outside—Dodger included.
“Fuck, you're so lucky you have a yard. The duplex has a tiny square of cement that pretends to be a porch. The dogs crap all over that and then run into the five by five space where there used to be grass and go there, too.” He shivers as I raise a brow again. I want to ask who has money for a nanny that doesn't have money for sod or a better house, but then I realize that I'm in pretty much the same position.
Maybe Zayden does a lot of charity work? If so, where does he get money to live?
I narrow my eyes on him and wonder for the millionth time if I'm getting roped into a scam or something here. He just stares at me, bends down, and then releases his hairless sweater wearing cat.
Hmm.
Okay, so there's no way in hell a guy with a sweater wearing cat could be up to anything devious. It's just too … nerdy. But then I remember that I dated a guy for three years and couldn't figure out that he was cheating on me, abstaining from sex because I was going to be his perfect wife one day.
I sigh.
“My shifts are from nine to two every day this week. I know it's a pain in the butt, but if you could just, I don't know, stay and then go home on the weekend, that'd be great. I'll start up again Tuesday of next week.”
Zayden sits down and tries to put the cat on his lap, but it thrashes around in its black sweater and takes off like a shot up the stairs. He watches it go and then shrugs like his shoulders are made of water, nice and loose and easy and flowing.
“You alright, Brooke?” he asks me instead and I pinch my lips, staring at his face for a long moment before responding.
“I'm okay,” I say, but then that's how I felt when I freaked out originally. Okay. Fine. Decent. Managing it. Until I wasn't. Until I was panicking and tearing my clothes off my body like they were poisoned, throwing myself at some strange guy I met at the park. I look up at Zayden, at his modelesque face, the silver points of his lip rings, the butterfly tattoos on his throat. “Actually, I'm flipping the fuck out.”
He smiles at me and nods his head like that's the answer he was waiting for. Next to me, the baby struggles across the blanket, working her way towards Zayden with a shaky sort of intensity, like she's as fascinated by him as I am.
“Tell me about it.” He crosses his arms over his chest and looks at me with those sea glass green eyes of his. The muscles in his arms bunch with the motion and I find my gaze tracing them greedily, finding new designs in his tattoos each time I look. There's a woman bleeding from the eyes, her hands locked in prayer … right next to a smiley face emoji. Interesting. I wonder what his stories for all these things are.
I dig my fingers into the dirty beige carpet beneath my hands and take a breath.
“I think men that go to strip clubs are pathetic.”
A nod from Zayden.
“Have you ever been to a strip club before?” I ask.
Slight smile.
“Yup.”
“So then … I think you're pathetic.”
I sit up straight and lift my chin. Zayden just keeps nodding at me.
“More than likely, yeah.”
“I feel like … I don't want to give monetary value to my body.” I put my hands together over my chest, my loose red peasant top ruffling with the motion. “To me, it … there is no amount of money that's worth me. I am priceless. I am … my value is more than just dollars.”