Page 14 of Curvy Nanny for the Cougar (Uncle Uzzi’s Date to Mate #3)
Tamare
I t’s been a few days since that night.
You know—the soul-melting, symphony-in-my-head, earth-tilting, body-ruining hookup that was supposed to be anonymous.
No names. No strings.
Just two strangers crashing into each other under the stars like horny comets.
Only— surprise!
He’s my boss.
Yeah. That boss.
The one whose lap I rode like it was my final destination on earth.
The one I ran from like a thief in the night— pantyless and panicked —because I thought I was protecting myself from the messy entanglements of feelings.
Fast forward to today, and Dane Alistair— sex god, single dad, and my very professional employer —hasn’t said a single thing about what happened.
Which is great. Totally. Awesome.
A blessing, even.
Because living here under his stupidly gorgeous roof, sleeping one hallway away from the man who quite literally shattered my world with his tongue alone, could have been awkward as fuck.
But no. He’s calm. Cool. Collected.
Meanwhile, I’m the one hyperventilating every time he leans over the kitchen island to grab a coffee mug.
The one whose knees go weak when he brushes past me in the hallway, all muscles and cologne and “Morning, Tamare.”
The one silently screaming: Why did I run?!
Right. Because I’m an adult.
A grown-ass woman with responsibilities. I came here for a job, not a second round of let me moan your name into the ether while our souls collide .
Focus, Tamare.
Focus on the job.
Focus on Alex.
The world’s cutest six-year-old with curls like spun gold and a grin that could melt Antarctica.
The sweet, hilarious little boy who thinks I’m a wizard because I showed him how to make his bed without crawling under it.
Even if his room looks like a toy store exploded during a full moon.
Just the job.
Just the kid.
Not the boss.
Definitely not the boss.
Shit. I am so screwed.
“Okay, Captain Chaos,” I say with a grin, lifting a sock from the lamp and pointing it at Alex like it’s a sword. “Time to restore order to this kingdom.”
He giggles, grabbing his superhero cape from under the bed. “Yes, General Tam! But I’m hungry. Can we snack first?”
“No more snacks tonight, Alex,” I say, trying not to frown.
“Oh, man,” he moans.
“You had three tonight already, remember? I’ll make you some banana muffins in the morning, how’s that?”
“Okay! Instead of cleaning can we play operation story time?”
“How about operation tidy up, then we can work on story time?”
“Only if you sing too,” he bargains.
“Deal,” I tell him with a wink.
We make fast work of the scattered toys and laundry.
Well, I make fast work of it. Alex mostly dances around offering moral support and occasionally folding socks into sock grenades.
By the time he’s wriggled into his dinosaur pajamas and brushed his teeth with only minor protest, we’re sitting on the edge of his bed.
I help him straighten his blanket, tucking it around his little frame.
He yawns, blinking up at me with eyes too wise and golden for a kid his age.
“Tam?”
“Yeah, buddy?” I look over from where I’m folding one of his tiny dinosaur t-shirts.
Alex hesitates, biting his bottom lip like he’s thinking really hard. His little brows knit together in concentration, and my heart already knows it’s about to break— just a little.
“The kids at swim lessons,” he starts, voice small, “they go to the park after. With their moms.”
“Oh, yeah?” I smile gently and sit down on the edge of his bed, t-shirt still in hand. “Would you like to go to the park after your next lesson?”
He nods enthusiastically, but then the light dims in his eyes.
He looks down at his thumbs, fiddling with them like they hold the answers to the universe.
“What is it, sweetie? You can talk to me.”
He’s quiet for a second. Then he opens up, and it’s like the whole world narrows to this tiny five-year old boy.
“Can you, can you tell me what it’s like to have a mom?”
The question lands like a soft grenade in the middle of my chest.
“What?” I whisper, blinking fast. “I mean, don’t you?—”
Shit. Way in over my head.
But lying isn’t an option.
Not with those honest golden eyes staring at me like I hold the secrets to the cosmos.
So I do what I always try to do with him— I tell the truth .
“Well, my mom left when I was a baby. I don’t really remember her,” I admit, brushing a curl off his forehead. “My grandparents raised us, but they were older, so my big brother Kyle kind of stepped up. He’s been my person for a long time.”
Alex’s eyes go wide. “Really? So you didn’t have a mom either?”
“Not really. But I had people who loved me. Families look different for everyone, kiddo. Some are made, not born.”
He processes that, his little fingers playing with the corner of his blanket.
“You’re like me,” he says at last. “It’s always been me and Dad. Sometimes we go see Aunt Lena and Uncle Keeton, and the rest of the Pride.”
“Pride?” I blink. “Like lions?”
He giggles. “Kind of. It’s what Dad says. Our family. Even if we’re not belated .”
“Related,” I correct gently, smiling at him even as my chest throbs with that achy, too-big feeling.
Alex lifts his head again, blinking at me with a shy, hopeful expression.
“I think I like it when you’re here. A lot.”
My throat tightens.
“Oh, Alex,” I murmur, reaching for his hand. “I like being here too. A lot.”
I smile, brushing a curl off his forehead.
He hesitates, then whispers, “It’d be cool if you liked my dad. Like liked liked him. He's not good at talking, even though he’s a lawyer. But he's really nice. And he brushes his teeth. And he’s strong. Plus, he cooks the best waffles.”
I blink.
Then laugh.
“Oh, does he now?”
Alex nods seriously. “But he’s got no friends his age. I think he’s lonely. Maybe you can be his friend? Or—what did you say your brother was? His person! Maybe you can be his person.”
I press a hand over my heart, because damn —this kid might just break me in the best way.
“Well, that’s quite an offer, Alex, but I think your dad can pick his friends. Now, time for our story,” I say softly, kissing his forehead.
“Okay,” Alex says seriously, blinking up at me like he’s solving the world’s biggest mystery, “but I think maybe you should ask Dad if you can be his friend.”
I bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing or crying.
Honestly, it could go either way.
“Hmm,” I hum, adjusting his pillow and smoothing back his hair. “Maybe we’ll see where things go.”
I mean, what else can I say to that? How do you tell a kid you’re doing everything you can not to fall completely in love with his dad when you’re already so far gone it’s laughable?
Still smiling and trying very hard not to get all misty-eyed, I reach for the storybook and flip it open to the page we left off on last night.
Alex’s grin softens into something sleepy and sweet. “Good. ’Cause I think you’d make an awesome mom.”
A sharp ache flares in my chest, and my eyes burn. But I blink fast and push the tears back where they belong.
“You ready to start the story?” I whisper, voice thick with emotion.
He nods, already halfway to dreaming. “Yep. Thanks, Tam.”
I turn off the overhead light, flick on the little book light clipped to the headboard, and begin to read.
My voice is soft, familiar, curling through the room like magic.
One hand turns the page, the other curls against my chest, covering the place where my heart has just completely cracked open.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself hope.
I know this story by heart— every line, every twist —so my thoughts wander.
To him.
To Dane.
Sexy AF dad.
Devoted father.
Unreasonably hot guy.
And apparently, the most confusing man I’ve ever almost-loved.
Who are you kidding? You’re already there, Tam.
I ignore my inner voice and keep reading.
But Alex’s words echo in my mind, little truth-bombs lobbed straight into my chest.
Maybe you could be my dad’s person.
God. If only.
But he’s been so distant .
Kind. Polite. Professional.
Not a trace of the passion from that night.
Not a single move made since then.
So maybe I imagined it. Maybe I was just a one-time thing.
Still, here I am. Sitting in his son’s room. Reading a bedtime story.
Tucking hope into my chest like it belongs there.
Because somehow, it does.