SKYE
My eyes blurredas I stared at the screen on my phone. After my early morning, arousal-infused run-in with Nick, I had done what any normal person would do: a Google deep dive and I’d gone down the Nicholas Locke rabbit hole. At least that’s what I was telling myself. In my defense, part of my search was purely born out of giving myself a reality check.
I’d thought that our first meeting in the kitchen had caused a stir in my libido, but it had nothing on being inches away from the man who looked even sexier in sweats and a T-shirt than he had in business casual. Being that close to a human being that hot had short-circuited my brain. I’d actually thought, for a brief moment, when he was talking aboutFriends, that he was flirting with me. My internet research was embarked on to serve as a snap-out-of-it slap in the face, ala Cher inMoonstruck. I needed to show myself that whatever I was feeling was delusional.
It started out innocent enough, but hours in, I was beginning to feel like I was walking the fine line between harmless curiosity and obsessive stalking. The only thing that was tipping the scales toward curiosity was that I hadn’t looked him up after meeting him in the kitchen. I’d thought about doing it. A lot. But I had not given into the temptation of typing his name into a search bar until after oursecondencounter of the night. In my mind, that was stalker status zero, harmless curiosity one.
Still, I planned on clearing my search history immediately. No one needed to know that I’d read dozens of articles on the self-made billionaire. Or that I had looked at hundreds, if not thousands, of images of him, most of which featured a different Sports Illustrated-esque model on his arm. Reality check achieved.
I’d learned a lot about the man who had me questioning my sanity. He was self-made. A single father of a six-year-old girl named Bella, which explained the drawings on the fridge. Another mystery that was solved was the need for an NDA. Every article I’d read that mentioned his parents reported that they were both deceased. It made sense that he wouldn’t want it publicized that his mother was alive and had been in prison his entire life.
Out of all my research on the man who had awakened my dormant libido and caused me to momentarily lose my grasp on reality, the most surprising tidbit was that he was the host of the podcast that Callie was obsessed with. Which solved the mystery as to why he seemed so familiar to me in the kitchen—it was his voice. His voice had been played on a near-constant loop in my home for the past three months. It was surreal to reconcile the man I’d listened to and greatly disliked with the man I’d met last night.
As interesting as his life, his past, and his achievements were, I had to admit I’d spent most of that time on Google images. At every event, he was photographed, and he was with a different woman. And every single one of them wasn’t just pretty or attractive; they looked like they could be in the pages of Victoria’s Secret. I hadn’t seen him with the same person twice. He might have dated more people than my bestie Ri, and that was saying a lot.
Every picture I saw served as proof that all the sparks that flew last night were one-sided. All of the tension I’d experienced was clearly a projection of my own feelings. I wasn’t even sure he’d noticed I was female at this point, or if only supermodels registered to him. Some women might be disappointed by that discovery, but I felt reassured and validated. I’d thought that my reaction was ridiculous and perhaps a bit unhinged, but now I knew it just meant I had a pulse.
What human wouldn’t feel that way in his presence?
Feeling a little better about my out-of-character reaction, I put my phone down and looked up to find Naomi sleeping peacefully. She’d woken up once to use the restroom, and I’d had to wake her twice to give her medication, so I could take her stats and chart them. Other than that, she’d been out cold.
It didn’t surprise me at all. Yesterday must have been a big day for her. She was released from prison, where she’d spent her entire adult life. The environmental difference between a prison infirmary and her current surroundings had to be jarring, not to mention the emotional transition.
The more I learned about Nick, the more curious I was about Naomi and their relationship. Not that it was any of my business. It wasn’t. But I couldn’t help but wonder about it.
The door opened, my heart jumped, and I silently gasped in anticipation. When Gary walked in, I exhaled a breath of both relief and disappointment that it wasn’t the man who inspired Elvis-fandom-level swooning in me.
After quickly getting Gary up to speed on my shift and catching up to see how his twin sons, who were freshman in college, were doing, I collected my things and stepped out of the room. A quick glance at my phone told me it was ten past eight in the morning, which meant I should have heard from Callie by now. I’d asked her to text me when she got to school. Just as the thought crossed my mind, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out and saw it that was a message from Callie.
Callie:At school
I pressed the thumbs up to like it, and another message popped up.
Callie:Did you sign the thing for camp?
Me:Yes, and I took care of your uniform.
I was putting my phone back in my bag when it buzzed again.
Callie:How was your first night? I hope it was okay. Love you.
Most of the time, Callie was a normal teen who only cared about what was going on in her world. But every once in a while, the pre-eye-roll, pre-self-absorbed, pre-puberty Callie would make an appearance. When that happened, I was reminded that inside the moody, increasingly distant teenager, there was still the sweet, smart, kind, and caring little girl who couldn’t go to sleep without me reading her a story.
I lived for those moments.
My fingers flew over the keys as I told her that my first night was good and I’d see her when she got home from school. I felt torn and a little guilty that I couldn’t tell her who I was working for. She loved Nick’s podcast so much, and I knew that if she ever found out, she’d feel like I’d betrayed her. But it was probably for the best. If I did tell her, it would put an unfair burden on her to keep a secret that I was sure she’d have a difficult time keeping.
I slid my phone back into the side pocket of my bag and stretched my arms up over my head. I wasn’t nearly as tired as I’d expected myself to be, and I hadn’t had a drop of caffeine. Normally, night shifts required at least three cups of java, four or five if I hadn’t been able to sleep the night before, which was the case because this had been so last minute. But I was wide awake.
Apparently, attraction is a much stronger stimulant than caffeine. Who knew?
Not me. The last person who’d sparked any sort of sexual interest for me had been Callie’s dad. I’ll never forget the first time I saw Dr. Tim Dubois standing at the front of the classroom in my Ethics in Health Care course. His thick, wavey brown hair was just long enough that it curled at the base of his neck. His six-foot frame was thin but athletic. Glasses that sat on high cheekbones framed dark brown eyes. A beard covered a strong jawline and served to complete the picture of a sexy academic.
He was brilliant, charismatic, attractive, funny, and, as I found out after becoming pregnant, a married father of three. I didn’t miss the irony that myethicsprofessor ended up being a lying, cheating asshole.
It was strange, but when your first love lies to you about having a whole family, it causes trust issues. Actually, he compounded issues that I had from growing up with a front-row seat to my mother’s love life. She tended to choose narcissistic, abusive, manipulative, liars.
Growing up, I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t follow in my mother’s footsteps. After finding out about Tim’s double life, I shut down romantically. Then, once I had Callie, I decided not to date until she was in college because I didn’t want her childhood to be anything like mine.
