“Hey, sorry I’m a little late,” he says as I sweep the door open wide. And of course he’s wearing a tight, sleeveless shirt and shorts that sit on those handlebar muscles that frame his sides. I don’t even know what those fuckers are called, but at a quick glance, I can’t help but figure they’re made for gripping.
I shake my head and right my gaze, hopefully before he catches me gawking.
“You’re fine. My mom was just making dinner. You’re invited, but that’s because she’s nosy, so . . .” I wave my hand, urging him to say no while my mom hollers from behind me.
“I made plenty, Brooks. You’re welcome to stay.” I glance over my shoulder and shoot her a glare.
“I’m pretty zonked, actually. How was Holly today? She’s been good for the sisters down at?—”
“You’ve been taking her to the sisters at Countryside, huh?” I sway Holly in my arms as I hand her over to Brooks. He picks up my movement naturally and continues to rock her. She doesn’t stir a peep. He’s better at this than he thinks.
“Out of desperation, really. They don’t get a lot of babies at the preschool, so they were pretty excited to have her. But their hours don’t exactly jive with a baseball schedule.” His gaze flickers up to me, but only briefly before dropping back to his daughter’s angelic face.
“I bet not. If you run into one of them, I maybe wouldn’t mention I’m her nanny now. They’ll triple bless her and warn you to run,” I say through a chuckle.
“Oh, I doubt that,” Brooks says, his eyes lifting and his gaze sticking to mine a little longer this time. His crooked smile strikes a tender nerve in my chest, and my cheeks heat.
“She’s not kidding,” my dad says, ruining my moment. I was rather enjoying being admired, even if it’s meaningless and brief. It’s something I shouldn’t indulge in. Brooks glances over my shoulder, toward my dad, so I brace myself for the truth.
I am a bad girl. And not in the sexy way I’d prefer all single men to assume moving forward. Bad, as in, name on the chalk board, as well as a police report or two.
“They kicked her out . . . of Sunday school,” he whispers loudly. It’s not even really a whisper when he does that. His damn speech is getting better, so I can’t hope Brooks doesn’t hear him clearly. He’s clear as a goddamn bell.
“What does a kid have to do to get kicked out of that?” The twitch in Brooks’s lip as his gaze flits to me strikes that nerve again, and this time the heat in my cheeks spills down my back.
“I’m not going to stand here for this,” I say, walking away from the doorway and heading to the kitchen table where I have Holly’s bag of extra diapers and formula packed and ready to go.
“For starters, she blew her nose . . . on Sister Mary’s skirt,” my dad says.
“That’s not so bad,” Brooks says, giving me a sideways look.
I may as well be the one to break it to him.
“I was twelve,” I clarify.
His mouth hangs open for a beat before he begins to quake with silent laughter.
I shake my head and roll my eyes as I scoop up Holly’s carrier and bring it to the door, along with her bag.
“She picked on me. And I don’t care what these two tell you, she had it out for me and maybe deserved it a little.”
She totally didn’t.
Nobody deserves the hell I gave that woman. I was young, and my parents were sort of splitting up, so I started acting out. Plus, adolescence was a bitch. I got curves early, and boys are dicks. I got sent to the timeout corner for putting gum in her hair. I did that because she took my soda away from me, which I snuck into the youth room after lunch, and promptly spilled on the new carpet.
“And then this devil-child cut Sister Mary’s shoelaces off with her craft sisters. Then cut a hole in the back of her skirt, right about . . . here,” my mom says, rounding the corner as she draws a line along her own buttocks.
I sigh loudly.
“What can I say? I failed at Jesusing.”
“Ha! That’s an understatement,” my dad coughs out.
I roll my eyes until my gaze meets Brooks again, and his amused smirk is both irritating and alluring. I have to get him out of here.
“I’ll come to your place tomorrow. Lest these two get me fired by revealingallmy secrets.” His hand wraps around half of mine as he takes the diaper bag from me, and we both utter an awkward, “Sorry.”
“I don’t know. I kind of like hearing your secrets,” he says.
