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This guy named Baxter was here this afternoon, apparently. He brought his kid with him, and Zoey and I-don’t-know-his-name screamed the house down playing chase, then pirates, then firefighters, then tag. I heard Sienna talking about it with Wily. I bet that kid wore poor Zoey out, and now she’s overtired and grizzly.
I wonder if he’ll come over every time Baxter does. Oh joy.
The builder is gonna be renovating the garage. Zander spoke with the landlord last night, and he was happy with the idea as long as it didn’t cost him anything. I wasn’t part of the discussion, but if I had been, I would have told him to stop being a dick. Zander will be moving out of the house after he graduates, and the landlord will then have his room plus the garage space to rent for money… and he’s not gonna help finance that? Asshole.
Zander was too excited about getting permission that he didn’t even question it, and between his parents and Sienna’s parents, they’re gonna cover the costs. So, Baxter is onto it and no doubt stoked that he’s got a decent gig to keep him busy. Now I just have to adjust to the fact that there’ll be building noises and extra people wandering around the house over the coming weeks.
I should be irritated by this, but I’m not because it means I won’t have to live with a toddler anymore. I mean, sort of. They’ll still be sharing the kitchen, but Zoey won’t be sleeping just a door away from me, which means I can bring chicks home and watch any movie I fucking want on the big TV downstairs again.
Bring chicks home?my brain taunts as I think about the only chick I want up in my bed right now and how that’s an impossible scenario.
Fuck!
There’s a knock at the door, and Zander calls down the stairs. “Can someone get that? It’s the babysitter.”
What the fuck?
Standing with a frown, I shuffle to the door, immediately formulating an escape plan. I could just go for a long ride. That’ll use up some time, and maybe I could find a bar a town or two over and watch some football or play some pool or?—
My plans disintegrate the second I open the door.
Nylah’s standing on the porch, looking pretty damn sexy in her yoga pants and baggy Nolan U Cougars sweater. Her lips are glossy, and whatever shit she put on her eyes is making them look big and beautiful.
Holy fuck. Does she have to be so gorgeous?
And then my slow-ass brain registers that she’s standing outside my front door, and I’m flooded with a rush of panic. “What are you doing here?”
She can’t come and see me like this. Is she crazy? People will talk. The guys on my team will find out. I’ll?—
“I’m babysitting.”
“No, you’re not.”
She gives me an amused smirk. “Ah, yes, I am.”
“You can’t. Are you crazy? You can’t be here. The guys on the team will find out.”
“About what?” She gives me a confused frown, which I seriously don’t think is genuine. There’s this glint in her eye like my snappy warnings are more funny than serious.
I grit my teeth and whisper-bark, “About us.”
Tipping her head, she raises her right eyebrow at me and asks, “What us? I mean, is there an us?”
My shoulders slump and I dip my chin. “Come on. Your parents were just across the street. I was doing you a favor.”
Her look remains dry and unimpressed as she slips past me into the house. “You really need to work on your goodbyes, champ.”
“Lame,” I automatically reply.
She snickers. “And I wasn’t even trying, Houdini.”
“Still lame.”
Narrowing her eyes, she mock-glares up at me as I close the front door. “Okay, fine, you pansy-ass bailer.”
“Ooo.” I hiss. “And the claws come out.”
“You deserve a little scratching,” she mutters. “And not the fun, sexy kind.” The tip of her tongue pokes out the side of her mouth, and all I want to do is grab her face and taste her again.