Page 10 of Curvy Nanny for the Cougar (Uncle Uzzi’s Date to Mate #3)
Dane
W aking up usually comes fast for me. I have so much on my plate with business and Alex, but today? Today, I feel more centered than I’ve ever felt.
I’m relaxed. Sated. Happy.
Which is, of course, when everything goes to shit.
So, having the best sex of my entire damn life?
Priceless.
Waking up alone in a bed that still smells like her, with no sign of the woman who rocked my entire world?
Absolutely not okay.
Like, zero-fucking-percent okay.
I shoot up in bed, scanning the room like a damn crime scene.
The twisted sheets.
The faint shimmer of her delectable scent on the pillow.
The vague outline of her curves in my memory like a brand scorched into my skin.
She’s gone.
Gone.
My Cougar snarls beneath the surface, pacing, tail lashing in frustration.
My jaw clenches so tight I hear something crack.
I fumble for my phone, swipe it open, and launch the Date to Mate app like my life depends on it.
It does.
But all I get is a 404-style message where her profile used to be.
Profile ID: TW743
Age: 29
Likes: kids, cheese, quirky puns, and loyalty.
Location: less than a mile away.
Used to be right there.
With a happy, bright note that says MATCH FOUND.
Now? She’s been wiped clean like she never existed.
No more glowing profile.
No more name—or lack thereof.
No trail to follow.
My heart seizes.
My claws extend halfway before I reel them in, gritting out a curse so filthy the coffee table blushes.
“Fuck!”
I should’ve claimed her last night. Then, at least, I’d be able to track her through our matebond.
“Goddamn it!”
I pace the room naked, vibrating with restless energy.
I want to roar.
I want to shift and hunt her down like prey, but she’s not prey.
She’s my mate.
My honest-to-gods, for real in every way possible, better than I ever imagined— fated mate .
And I let her walk away.
You stupid fuck!
Okay, she snuck away. I didn’t let her do anything.
Pain hits me in the chest.
Because that woman came into my life like a hurricane and turned everything upside down, then she slinked out like a damn ninja with curves.
And it hurts.
Way more than I want to admit.
First thing I do?
I fire off a very heated email to Uncle Uzzi— if that’s even his real name.
Meddling, moon-dusted Witch with a chaotic sense of humor and a magical app that clearly works too well.
Grrr.
Subject: WE NEED TO TALK
Body: You ruined my life.
Okay, not really. But also? Really.
Then reality sucker punches me in the throat.
Alex.
My son is coming home today.
Swim lessons start tomorrow, and I can’t exactly tell his instructor I missed check-in because I was moping over a vanishing goddess with killer hips and a mouth that haunts my soul.
No. Life doesn’t stop.
Not for single dads.
Not for small business owners.
Not for guys trying not to lose their minds over a one-night-stand-that-definitely-wasn’t-just-a-one-night-stand.
I scroll through my inbox while shoving my legs into yesterday’s jeans, still hoping the app’s just glitched.
Dozens of emails from folks I met at the Supernatural Summit flood my screen— offers, questions, contracts.
It’s great. Amazing even.
But I don’t feel amazing.
I feel hollow.
And then I see it.
Like a little boon from the gods who just royally fucked me.
A reply to my nanny ad.
Just one.
From a woman who sounds too qualified to be real.
I click Reply and type my email like my fingers are possessed:
Can you come by for a trial run tomorrow at 8 a.m.? My son starts lessons and we need help immediately.
Click. Send.
Because life doesn’t stop.
Even when the woman who lit your soul on fire disappears into the night like a beautiful fever dream.
Next, I’m showering and dressing in a rush.
Trying not to replay every moan, every gasp, every way she cried out D without actually knowing it’s the first letter of my name.
But still I do.
Over and over, like a goddamn soundtrack set to ruin me.
I yank on a shirt, tug up my jeans, and move to make the bed—because I’m that guy now, apparently.
The guy who wants the room looking perfect just in case she what? Magically reappears?
Wishful fucking thinking.
Then I see it.
Something soft. Half-hidden under the edge of the sheets.
Panties.
Pink cotton.
A tiny bow on the front.
Hers.
My breath catches like I’ve been punched in the chest by a vengeful spirit.
I crouch, pick them up slowly like they’re fragile, sacred.
She left here without these.
Which means she walked away probably sore and utterly satisfied and— God help me and anyone else who noticed —completely fucking bare beneath that goddamn sundress.
Fuck.
I close my eyes, biting back a growl that starts low and thick in my throat.
My Cougar’s raking its claws down my insides, ready to bolt.
Ready to hunt.
But I can’t.
Because no matter how much I want to tear through the city sniffing her out, I have responsibilities.
Priorities.
My son, for instance.
So I fold the panties like a lunatic and tuck them in my drawer like they’re made of spun sugar and secrets.
Then I grab my keys, my wallet and phone, and I shove everything into the middle-storage-arm-rest-thing (pretty sure that’s its official name) in my SUV with more force than necessary.
Next thing I know, I’m barreling down the winding road toward Keeton and Lena’s cabin.
Trees blur past.
My thoughts don’t.
I’m aching. Wrecked. A man hollowed out by one perfect night and the question of what the hell it meant to her.
But first?
I get my boy.
Because no matter how lost I feel, he’s my home, my reason, my pride .
But maybe he’s not all I have anymore.
Maybe that pink scrap of fabric in my drawer is proof she’ll find her way back to me, too.
That I’ll be able to find her.
Because one thing I know for sure, that curvy luscious woman is exactly who the Fates designed for me. She is all mine, and I’m not giving up until she is exactly where she belongs.