Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Once more, I pick up what she’s putting down. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I say, in a tone that makes it clear that once again I will play along.
“I don’t either,” she says.
And I wish she didn’t need to forget about it. I wish I didn’t, too, though it’s for the best for both of us.
But as I head upstairs, I’m flooded by memories. By her words. By the sound of her voice telling me how much she wants me.
I have this whole fantasy that starts with your beard. I keep thinking about how it’d feel. I keep wondering, too, about those arms. How you could pin me down…
Heat roars in me. Desire grips me too tightly. At the top of the steps, I grab the railing and close my eyes, as if I can will away the images.
But they come faster, like the words we said to each other in the hotel room as we inched dangerously closer. Like what I said when she told me about her ex and his mouth. I bet you’d enjoy it done properly.
Her reply? I bet I would too.
I breathe out roughly, fighting off my fantasies of the nanny.
Get it together, I tell myself before heading into my home, which feels far too close to hers.
11
TELL ME WHAT TO DO
Sabrina
“I deserve a gold star for that feat of strength,” I tell Trevyn as we finish dragging boxes into my bedroom. We leave the other items in the living room. I’ll sort through them later, though I’m grateful to have had his help today.
“You and me both,” he says.
Barbara-dor lifts her snout and pants.
“And her too,” I add, stroking her soft head.
“Definitely. Hot Dad was something else, wasn’t he, girl?” Trevyn says to his mutt.
I roll my eyes. “Stop making it worse for me.”
“Please, you moved in with him.”
“I know, and look at this,” I whisper, like I’m afraid talking loudly will break the magic spell of this apartment—the magic being the wide-open space, the quiet, the fresh carpet smell. “And it’s all mine.”
Trevyn gives me a friendly smile. “It’s perfect, doll.”
“But,” I say, plucking at my tank top, “I should change before I get the kids.”
“Please, all the moms dress like that,” he says.
“And yet I’m going for something a little more…demure.”
He gives me an approving wiggle of his fingers. “You’re so demure, Sabrina. So demure with your gold star and your resistance.”
“I am,” I say lightly, but resistance is exactly what I need. From Tyler’s thoughtful questions to his genuine concern, the man is definitely boyfriend material.
Not that it matters.
Not that anything will happen.
This place feels like more than just a step up—it’s freedom and a fresh start all at once. I won’t ruin it, even though I still have the hots for my boss.
As he waits for me, I change into jeans and a simple blue top—something that won’t make me stand out at school pickup with the kids. I’d rather blend in.
Then I stand in front of the mirror, take a big breath, and say quietly, “You can do this.”
It’s what I used to do before my skating competitions when I was younger. When I was older too. My parents would say it to me when I was waiting to take my turn on the ice—one of the few encouraging things they ever did for me.
At the time, I believed both that I could do it and they believed in me. I’m not sure they ever truly did though. They wanted me to train harder, jump higher, eat better, land stronger, wake up earlier. Is that belief in me or hope in a human machine? I’m not sure. But that’s okay because I learned how to believe in myself, both on and off the ice. Thanks in large part to Elena, who helped me when I was ready to stop skating competitively. When I had to figure out who the hell I was without the order, the rigor, the rules.
Still, even though I believe in myself, this job as a nanny is brand new. I swallow nervously, picturing making mistakes and fucking up and not having the right answer for the kids. Briefly, the desire to write down every detail of what I did flits through my head, chased by thoughts of training harder, faster. But the thoughts are just that—thoughts. They’re also brief.
I’m on the other side of all that perfectionism.
One more centering breath, then I leave the bathroom and the pep talk behind. Grabbing my canvas bag with the fox illustration on it, I head up the stairs with Trevyn in tow. There’s only one little problem, and that’s why nerves are still chasing me.
“I’ve never nannied before,” I whisper to Trevyn.
“Don’t worry, doll,” he says, then dips a hand into his bag, handing over a small white kit with a red cross on it. “I got you a first-aid kit.”