“Hi,” Ivy replies.
God, she’s beautiful. Her hair looks damp, like she just showered. It’s cascading in waves around her shoulders, and framing her fresh face. She’s got these big turtle-shell glasses on, I’m assuming because she’s writing on the laptop she has out. They’re hot as fuck. Fantasies of sexy librarian Ivy come to the forefront of my mind just as she starts to stand.
She’s been wrapped in the big blanket we have on the couch, but as each inch of her body comes into view, I feel my mouth open along with it. She’s wearing a light grey, thread-bare tank top that stops a couple inches above the waistline of her soft-looking, matching pants.
I drag my eyes from her bare feet on the living room carpet, up her legs, then to the few inches of her exposed tight, toned stomach. My eyes catch on her perky, round breasts straining against the thin top. No bra. Hard nipples.
No. Please no. As my eyes adjust to the low lighting, I see the stretched fabric of her tank top is doing absolutely nothing to conceal the gleam of metal beneath.
Piercednipples.
Paralyzed by this revelation, I’m unable to move my eyes any further. My baser instincts have taken over, and I can’t do anything but stare. She has her fucking nipples pierced. My cock quickly swells to the point of discomfort at the sight, and I’m immediately thankful the counter is blocking my lower half.
“Ah-hem!”
Ivy’s mock throat clearing finally breaks the spell those twin bars of silver had on me. With palms braced on the counter, I flick my eyes up to meet hers. She’s pushed her glasses up onto her head, sweeping her waves away from her face, and one eyebrow is arched.
Busted.
“Wesley Arnold Cooper…” she trails off, shaking her head.
“Not my middle name,” I mutter, refusing to look away from her. I can’t. Also, I don’t want to.
“I am thenanny,” she says, feigning offense. “You can’t look at me like that. I am absolutely scandalized.” She clutches her chest, giving me an exaggerated look of outrage.
She’s obviously teasing me, but she’s not wrong.
I let out a deep, long sigh. “I know,” I say, seriously.
Her expression softens. “Hey, I’m only kidding. Wes, it’s okay,” she gestures between her and I, “Boss. Employee. Professional. Boundaries. I get it.”
I nod, relieved she brought it up, and feeling like a total ass for not being the one to do it.
She goes on, “Look, I was fired from my last job. I hated it, but still, it sucked. You hiring me gave me freedom to do the things I enjoy. I’m way less stressed, I can write.” She gives me a gentle smile. “So trust me when I say, I don't want to do anything that would jeopardize this job, too.”
I frown. I would never fire her, unless she did something to endanger Delilah, or… I don’t know, stole all of my money.
“Ivy, I’m not going to fire you. If anything, I worry I’m going to do something to make you quit,” I admit, gripping the back of my neck. “I can’t do that to Delilah. She adores you. I’ve never seen her become so attached to someone so fast. I won’t do that to her,can’tdo that to her. We have to have boundaries.”
She begins to shake her head, looking as if she’s about to say something, but I stop her.
“Really, Ivy. I can’t.”
She looks at me for a moment, weighing my words, but eventually, she nods.
“Okay,” she says with a small smile.
She folds the blanket and drapes it over the back of the couch. I watch her take the glasses out of her hair, and begin to gather her computer when I finally say something.
“Hey, I interrupted you. You don’t need to leave. The space is yours too. Unless you’re tired.”
Her nose scrunches up like she’s deciding. I know the speech I just gave says I should encourage her to go to her room, but I can’t deny that I want to get to know her. Maybe we can be friends.
The word makes me sick.
She still hasn’t answered, so I offer, “We can be friends right? Beer?” I grab two bottles from the fridge and hold them up.
“Okay. Friends.”
