Page 60 of The Nanny Game Plan
It sure as hell hasn’t gotten me laid, I can tell you that.
“And then, he went right back to pretending we were just friends,” I say, sucking on my toothpick before exhaling a vigorous stream of white air into the February chill. “That we’ve onlyeverbeen friends. And that his hand was never down my pants in a back hallway at a pizza place, while his kids played downstairs.”
Tully, the other bartender on this deathly slow shift, gapes. “That’s insane.”
“I know, right?” I agree, jabbing my fake cigarette her way.
“You didn’t talk about it? Like…at all?”
I shake my head. “No! I tried to corner him on Monday, after snack time with the girls, but he suddenly had a burning need to buy a king cake before they were all sold out.”
Tully frowns. “But Mardi Gras isn’t until this coming Tuesday.”
“I know.”
“The cake will be stale by then,” she continues.
I nod. “Yes. Exactly.”
“You should go get another one on Monday,” she says, puffing on her own toothpick. “Life’s too short for stale king cake. The bakery around the corner from here is great and always makes extras for people who didn’t pre-order. Just be sure to get there early, so they don’t sell out before you get one.”
“Thank you, but the king cake isn’t my main focus right now, Tulls,” I say, pinning her with a pleading look. “What am I going to do? I don’t want to be his friend. I want to do filthy things to him in trucks and hallways.”
She arches a wry brow. “Or you two could try a bed, you know. If he’s that good crammed in a truck cab or against a wall, imagine what he’s capable of on a horizontal surface with room to spread out and…devote himself to the work. You know what I mean?”
“Oh, I do. I really do. But I can’t let myself think about that too much,” I say, blowing out another puff of air smoke. “I can’t, or I’ll do something crazy and ruin everything. I can’t get fired. I really can’t. The girls need me, and…I don’t know.” I sag against the loading dock’s brick wall. “I think I need them, too. Turns out, I really love being their nanny.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Tully says, her nose wrinkling as her upper lip curls on both sides.
Grinning, I ask, “Oh, yeah? Then why do you look like you just got a big whiff of doo-doo on your shoe?”
She laughs, tossing her long blond hair over her shoulder. “Okay, you got me. I can’t stand kids, at least not until they’re old enough not to be so loud, sticky and gross all the time. But I love thatyoulove taking care of them. Someone has to like…raise the next generation and all that.”
I wave my toothpick through the air. “I’m not raising them. I’m the nanny.”
She cocks her head. “How is that different?”
I shrug. “I’m just…tending to them. Mentoring them. Helping them get through life and grow up right while their dad is at work or away at a game or whatever.”
“Sounds a lot like raising them to me, but what do I know?” she asks, before continuing in a pointed tone, “I was only raised by a nanny, who I still send Christmas cards every year.”
“You do?” I ask, the thought of getting a card from Ava or Bella when I’m old and gray doing something funny to my heart.
But it’s a happy kind of funny…I think.
Tully nods. “And Easter cards, because Nanny Carol is Polish, and Polish people are super into Easter for some reason. I mean, I know Zombie Jesus was born on that day and all, but they’re likereallyinto it. She sends me pictures from the Easter market in the village where she lives now. It’s insane. Painted eggs as big as I am and tons of food and beer and dance parties.” She shrugs and grins. “Seems pretty lit, actually. I may go party with her next year if I can save up the travel money.”
I grin. “Zombie Jesus. Is she appalled that you’re such a heathen?”
She rolls her eyes with a laugh. “Nah, Nanny Carol loves me just the way I am. Just like you love your girls.”
My girls…
They’renotmy girls, they really aren’t, but…
Well, the thought of getting fired and never seeing them again makes me sad. Really sad. So sad that I’ve been able to resist cornering Dean in a linen closet and forcing him to let me return the orgasm favor for an entire week.
I don’t want to be forced to say goodbye to the girls. I also can’t afford to go without a paycheck right now. Thanks to gorgeous, always runway-ready Tully wearing one of my vintage jumpsuit designs around town, I’ve sold three more. But the profit from three jumpsuits isn’t enough to keep me fed and housed. And even if I could sell more, I’m not strong enough to sew full-time yet.
