I turn back and see him holding up a single finger in the front doorway. Curious, I wait patiently for a couple minutes before only Wes steps back outside of the door, and hands me a folded pair of black socks.
“Gravel hurts,” he says.
What in the hell? I drop my gaze to my still bare feet, and then back again to the socks.
“Oh…thanks,” I reply, plopping down on the wood boards to put them on. They’re huge, going almost all the way up my calf.
Oh. These arehissocks.
“I’ll wash them and give them back tomorrow,” I say over my shoulder.
“Don’t,” he says a little harsher than necessary.
Okay, asshole.
I stand, grab my shoes again, and smile as politely as I can. “Um, alright then, thanks again. See you tomorrow.”
He dips his chin once, then turns around and steps back inside the house, slamming the door behind him.
I wave at the closed door. “Bye,” I whisper.
He’s just a peach. Feet swimming in humongous socks, I gingerly walk over the gravel drive to my car, and slip inside, tossing my shoes on to the passenger floor board. Don’t piss your new boss off, Ivy.
Too late.
6
Ivy
My first week of working for Wes is going well—at least, I think it is. Delilah is genuinely the best kid I’ve ever met. She has a great sense of humor, she’s smart, she’s kind, and she’s an absolute blast to hang out with. Her and I get along great, but from the way Wes has been acting, I have a sinking feeling her dad hates that fact.
When I arrive at the start of the day, Wes gives me the rundown of how their morning went and tells me anything I need to know for the day. Then Delilah and I hangout for eight blissful hours before her dad comes home and frosts over my good mood like the damn abominable snowman.
He barely says two words to me when he walks through the door. I’ll prattle on about the day we’ve had—rambling about every little detail I think he might want to know—and he’ll only nod or make noncommittal grunting noises in return. It’s infuriating.
Delilah begs me to stay for dinner, Wes tells her I need to get home, so I do.
Rinse and repeat.
Wes has been kind of a mystery to read. Aside from the stiff and cold pleasantries, he has given me absolutely nothing to go on. I have no idea what’s going on in that disgustingly hot head of his. I’ve tried to break the ice, wondering if he's just standoffish because we don’t know each other well, but he has not received any of my conversation starters well.
Talking to him is like pulling teeth with his mono-syllabic answers. The shittiest part of all? His frigid demeanor makes me worry he’ll decide not to keep me on as Delilah’s nanny when the trial basis ends next week. Admittedly, I did make a few inappropriate jokes. They were meant to be light-hearted and break the obvious tension, but I think they may have rubbed him the wrong way.
It was my second day on the job. I had just arrived that morning, and Delilah was in her room getting dressed for the day, so I was hanging out in the living room waiting for her. Wes was by the front door gathering his things to leave, and I waved an awkward goodbye to him.
Then he completely surprised me.
“Hey, quick question,” he said, looking right at me.
I didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, they’re real.”
My joke backfired spectacularly, making him take the quickest of glances down at my chest, before snapping his eyes right back to my face. He frowned, and I felt my face immediately flame bright red.
“I’m sorry…that was a joke, obviously,” I sputtered out, holding both hands palm up at my chest, gesturing toward the B cups in question.
That was also a terrible move, because all it did was bring more attention to the area I desperately wanted himnotto focus on.
I didn’t miss the muscle tick in his jaw. He wouldn’t break eye contact, refusing to look down at my hands that were still lingering midair, showcasing my tits I had shoved into an unflattering sports bra that morning.
