Bad Nanny (The Bad Nanny Trilogy #1)(88)

“Just trying to have a little fun in life, am I right?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” I say as Tinley passes by and tickles her nails down my arm, leaning in to whisper in my ear.

“If I call you when I'm in Nevada, you'll answer, right? Because I'd love to see if you're as wild and crazy as you were in high school.” She lets go of my arm and disappears into the kitchen as I cross my arms over my chest and lean my back against the wall, listening to the slight murmur of voices in the kitchen. Hard to hear 'em over the Bebe Rexha song that's playing.

I smile as it stops a moment later, and some raging metal trickles quietly out of the speakers.

When I swing around the corner, I find Brooke shrugging out of her coat, her shoulders smooth and pale and sexy, a stark contrast to the bright red of her silly little cocktail dress. She looks so goddamn young and innocent next to Tinley's tall, tatted form and confident swagger.

“You want me to make sandwiches or something?” I ask as I lean up against the counter and try to get a read on the situation. This is so not my scene, dealing with this kind of stuff. When your dating life consists of tourist chicks, it's easy to make sure they never run into each other. This is just … a really weird coincidence.

“No thanks,” Brooke says, giving me a tight-lipped smile that I can't even begin to interpret. “We're good here.” She gestures between her and Tinley and then sits down, focusing on the open screen of her laptop like I'm not even there anymore.

I cross my arms over my chest as Tinley gives me one last, lingering look before she focuses on whatever advanced shit it is that they're studying. There's no way in hell I'll understand any of it, so I bail, heading out the back door and over to the tire swing to chill with my phone.

Jude won't stop sending me texts of all the vaginal piercings he's done in the last week. A set of inner labia piercings, an outer, another of those VCH piercings I was telling Brooke about. I wonder why the hell any of these girls would let him take a photo of their genitals, but hey, the man can be persuasive as fuck.

There's a group text about all the partying we're gonna do when I get back.

Strippers will rain from the sky, one of my friends texts and I smile before I frown.

Hmm.

Damn. After seeing Brooke cry, after seeing the desperation in her eyes, I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to enjoy a strip club again. I mean, I get that not all girls feel the way she does about the job, but I'm not sure I'll ever be able to set foot in one of those places without wondering which ones are the Brookes, the sad virgin girls with no other choice.

I sigh and smack the cracked screen of the phone against my forehead.

There's another text from that girl, Kitty, on there, too, but I ignore that one. The little she and I had has run its course for sure.

I check my bank balance next and frown. Two weeks without working is really setting me back. I barely have enough for my next mortgage payment in there. Time to start using the credit card for a while I guess.

Tucking my phone into my pocket, I sigh and lean back on the swing, wrapping my hands around the chains as I swing slowly back and forth, my boots dragging across the grass as I sway in time to the creaking branch above my head.

Figure I'll wait it out here, either until Tinley leaves or the kids get home from school. Then we'll see how Brooke's feeling and work from there. If she's jealous, that's cool. So was I when she brought Dan the Douche home. I get it.

But give me five minutes alone with her and I'll make her forget all about it.



Tinley does not fucking leave, and my day gets even better when animal control shows up as I'm struggling to get something presentable ready for dinner. I tried making PB&Js but that shit did just not go down well. Kinzie feed hers to the dogs, and the twins flushed theirs down the toilet. I need to get some food in these brats and get them to bed early.

Sadie's doctor couldn't fit us in today, but we've got an appointment at nine in the morning. God only knows how I'm going to make that shit on time.

Oh.

And one of Rob's neighbors—I think it was actually that bible-thumper, Shiela (out of jail on a technicality)—called to tell him that the front door of the duplex was hanging wide open and that it was a “complete shit hole inside”. Rob's words, not the neighbor's.

So now I've got to cook dinner, get the kids in bed, see if Brooke can take a break from her studying with Tinley to watch them, and then run over there to check on the place/clean it/take pictures for Craigslist.

I feel like I'm about to blow my damn brains out, kind of like the way I did when I first got here. And I thought I was getting the hang of all this shit? Please.

My phone is clutched in my hand when I answer the door, the answers on Google about how to make spaghetti waiting patiently for my attention.