Bad Nanny (The Bad Nanny Trilogy #1)(33)

I think I can do this—at least until I get my degree. Then I'll be able to get a job as a biostatistician and make a cool hundred grand a year to start. I might have to move the girls at that point, but at least things should be more stable then.

As I'm driving home after, I let the radio play and listen to some stupid pop songs instead of my usual hardcore stuff. I have no idea why, probably because of Zayden or something, but I'm definitely not in a place to psychoanalyze that right now.

I pull into the driveway next to his minivan and take a deep breath.

Please don't let this be weird, I think as I climb out and make my way to the front door. I let myself in with my key, finding the baby asleep in the portable crib, baby monitor sitting nearby. I don't see Zayden at first, but then I notice that the back door is cracked and move over to peek outside.

He's sitting on the tire swing that's strung up in the back, hunched over the glowing screen of his phone. As soon as he hears my heels on the damp wood of the deck, he glances up and gives a little wave, hopping off and jogging across the yard.

“Well.” Zayden claps his hands together in a prayer position and puts the tips of his fingers against his lips, eyes wide as he looks up at me. “How was it?”

I pause and swing my keys in a circle on my finger, trying to figure out how to put my night into words … and then direct those words at the guy standing in front of me. I never thought I would be in the position of having slept with the nanny. Isn't that spot usually reserved for old guys smack dab in the center of a midlife crisis?

“It didn't break me the way I thought it would,” I say as Zayden drops his hands and comes up the steps. The guy has a serious personal space issue, getting way too close for comfort. When he pauses in front of me, I realize he's got either blood or ketchup splattered across his shirt. I hope it's the latter, but knowing how kids are, it could go either way. “Everyone okay?” I ask as I point at the stain and Zay glances down, wrinkling his nose. The silver ring through his nostril winks at me in the moonlight.

“Define okay. I think Kinzie's going to be the fucking death of me. But this … to be straight-up honest with you, I haven't got a goddamn clue what it is.” Zayden lifts his shirt up, sniffs it, then shrugs his broad shoulders loosely, twisting the fabric up to glance at his bare chest underneath. The sight of all that skin brings back thought obliterating memories. “Ah, okay. Cat scratch.” I notice a dark red gash between Zay's pecs. “Well that explains the hell outta that, huh?”

“The kids were okay for you?” I ask, hoping to God that he'll drop his shirt back into place. The whole sex thing is awkward enough as it is without him flashing me like that.

“Your kids?” he asks as he finally folds his white t-shirt over the wound and raises his pierced eyebrow. “Your two are, like, fucking seraphic compared to those other ones.” Zayden pauses and nibbles his lip for a moment. “Except for the baby. I like the baby.”

“Good, good.” I stop swinging my keys and clutch them in the heat of my palm, remembering suddenly how good Zayden's nipples felt when I was teasing them with my fingers. Damn. My body feels addicted to his, like I could go another round or two or seven.

“So,” he says gesturing as he moves over to the back door and leans against it to open it for me. “Tell me about your big night. I want all the deets.”

“Deets?” I raise my brows but slip past Zayden into the kitchen. The most logical, rational part of me wants to tell him to go home again, but that's not fair to the kids. He's doing me a huge favor here and he shouldn't have to wake up a six month old, two four year olds, and a seven year old just because I'm having trouble controlling my hormones.

“Yup. Deets. The down and dirty. The skinny. I want it all.” Zayden gestures at me with his tattooed fingers in a come on gesture, the word EASY flashing upside down at me from his knuckles. I watch him as he turns and opens the fridge, grabbing a plate of premade peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He plops them down on the table between us as I stare, not entirely sure what's happening right now. “Milk?” he asks as he lifts up a jug. I nod slowly and pull out a seat as Zay brings two glasses over and sets them down, yanking out a chair and spinning it around so he can lean forward and cross his arms over the back.

Zay stares at me from his pale green eyes for a long, quiet moment before reaching forward and peeling the plastic wrap off the plate. He grabs a sandwich with the crust cut off and hands it to me. I take it gingerly and look down, wondering when the last time I had a PB&J was.

“There weren't that many people in the club,” I say as I realize there's light music trickling into the room. It's some Avril Lavigne song that makes me wrinkle my nose. “The other girls were complaining the whole time, but honestly, it was a huge relief.”