Page 197 of Trouble from Abroad
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
mia
Did the shirtless,hot-as-fuck, fine doctor say he was going to imaginemein bed with him? No, I must’ve misheard him. I shake my head and laugh at myself. How crazy am I?
It’s late. I’m tired. I’m making things up. Cherry-picking his words and giving them a new meaning. Wow. I took selective hearing to a whole new level.
I pinch my arm and watch the red mark bloom. This has had to be a dream—or a side effect of that weird-smelling tea from that dodgy little shop I visited earlier.
My teachers always said I had a vivid imagination. Inventive, some called it. Delusional feels more fitting now.
Like I must’ve imagined the size of the dick outlined by his pants. It can’t be as big as it looked. Not possible. Or feasible. No way that’s anatomically plausible.
Never, in my twenty-eight years, has a man who looks like Preston shown an interest in me. That delusional bit in me says that he was flirting. Or at least teasing.The pragmatic part of me wonders if this is a trap. One I’m laying for myself and shouldn’t even entertain the possibility of being real. No matter how much I want it to be. Heart hammering in my chest, I march toward my bedroom, lock the door, and laugh into my pillow. The kind of laugh that only comes when you’ve finally lost your grip on composure. God help me if this echoes through the vents and I sound deranged in stereo.
The man whispered one inappropriate sentence in the dark, probably already regrets it and will apologize profusely in the morning. But that will be too late because my mind’s already running a million miles a minute, playing all the different scenarios where he takes more than my scent to bed with him.
I get up and use every available socket in this room to charge a toy. I’ll be getting no sleep, but I’ll be having fun. So much fun. I stretch my fingers too. Just in case.
My brain tries to switch from what would Dr. Preston do to me, to the implications of sleeping with my boss while nannying his child.
Pragmatic Mia reminds me that he’s not just my boss. He’s Lily’s dad.
And I adore that kid. I mean, full-stop, love-at-first-sight, adore her. Last thing I want to do is hurt her.
But vagina takes over, shuts brain down and now I’m fantasizing about how much of that monster dick I could take. A better person would stop.
Me? I’m tempted. Wet. Hoping to God he’s as tempted and meant every word he said tonight.
Please, Universe. Just this time. Let me not be that crazy.
* **
I wake up to sunlight clawing at my face. My mouth is dry, my hair a bird’s nest, and my dreams? As obscene as the grin I pull as I recall them all. A quick pit stop at the bathroom, then I head to Lily’s room with plenty of time to get her ready without drama or mishaps. I trace my fingers through her locks. “Wakey-wakey, Lils. Time to star your day.”
She rubs her eyes and asks, “Do you meanstartmy day?”
“No, cutie. I mean, star. You’re the star of your day.”
She smiles mid-yawn. “Mia, you’re silly.”
I am. So I’ll take it.
“Come, let’s get dressed. What’s today’s vibe, kiddo? Sparkly or all the colors of the rainbow?”
“Sparkly,” she answers without hesitation.
“Excellent choice.” I pull out glittery pink tights from her drawer. “How about these?”
“Yeaaaah.” She bounces out of bed and picks a pair of bright orange Mary Janes that may or may not match, but I’m not here to question Lily’s fashion choices. I’m here to hype her up.
“And that’s why you’re a star, Lils. Born to shine.”
She giggles and hands me a three-tier acrylic box packed with about a thousand hair clips and ties. “Can you do hairstyles?”
“Oh!” I grin smugly and tickle her. “I can.”
We sit cross-legged on the smiling sun rug in front of her mirror. I brush her hair first as we sing anotherDisney classic. Once I’m done, I use the brush as a mic for my falsettos, then pass the improv microphone to her.
