Page 37 of Sweet Distraction

Gizmo: So we’ll stay away for now. We’ll hold off the wives as long as we can.

Vince: Might need reinforcements for that.

Hawkin: We’re here if you need us.

The boys went quiet after Hawkin’s comment so I spent an hour in the home gym, working out to escape the strangers in my house but thinking about them the whole goddamn time.

I drop the barbell to the mat and stretch out my arms after a brutal set. Sweat drips down my chest as music pounds through the built-in speakers, but I welcome the burn, the pain, and everything in between.

Movement outside the window catches my eye.

The far corner of the front yard grass. A slip and slide with water spraying up from its pontoon-like sides, casting rainbows across the lawn.

I step to the window and crane my neck.

And that’s what I get for looking at my own front lawn. For spying on the nanny. For caring what the fuck is going on.

Willow’s out there. Obviously, but it’s the black two-piece she’s wearing—modest but still giving me enough to look at—that’s caught my attention, and the laugh I can see her emitting but can’t hear.

Then there’s Poppy in a sunshine-yellow bathing suit with pigtails high and a smile like I’ve yet to see from her.

Something twinges in me at the sight of it but I shake it away.

And then without thinking, I feel compelled to move toward a window with a better view.

They’re running through the sprinklers barefoot. Poppy squeals in delight, flapping her hands and spinning in circles before flopping on the slip and slide. She only goes a few feet, but by her ecstatic reaction, she doesn’t care.

Willow runs over to her, drops to her ass, and slides a few feet until she bumps into Poppy.

There’s another round of giggles as Poppy tries to get up and then slips and falls again. It looks like they sign something back and forth to each other before Willow gets up, takes Poppy by the ankles, and then pulls her down the slide before sling-shotting her down the rest of the plastic.

When Poppy reaches the end and rolls with dramatic flair onto the grass, Willow throws her hands up in the air and jumps up and down, clearly her biggest cheerleader.

My eyes are drawn back to Willow now. How can they not be? Her hair is still in that damn braid, but it’s loosened so strands have fallen out and are stuck to her shoulders. Her body is compact, like a gymnast’s, but with subtle curves. But it’s her face that owns me. Her animated expressions and the way they emote everything she’s feeling.

Then there are her eyes—dark brown, framed with thick lashes. They always seem full of life, like she’s never looked at the world through a jaded lens. Why is that so intriguing to me?

“It’s because you’re fucked up, Rock.”

“Thanks, Vince. Appreciate the love,” I joke.

“What can I say? Truth and love often go hand in hand.” He shrugs through the FaceTime connection. “You’re thinking about the nanny because you’re not used to women who seemingly have it all together from the get-go.”

“Who said I was thinking about the nanny?”

“Well, you and I are trying to figure out the lyrics but you keep looking out the window of your office, and it’s not the gardener you’re checking out. I know that for a fucking fact.”

“Maybe it’s at Poppy.”

He snorts and then barks out a laugh. “Not with that look on your face it’s not. Look, it’s okay to be curious about her.”

“Why are we talking about her again?” I ask and glance over to where they are playing to make sure they can’t hear me. “You guys are more obsessed with her . . .” than I am.

“Because you’re used to chicks with daddy issues—case in point, Poppy’s mom. Women who use sexuality as a way to gain or trap something. Females who don’t care if they’re used simply so they can gain clout for sleeping with you. But Willow seems like none of that.”

I scrub a hand through my hair and sigh. “She wouldn’t be my daughter’s nanny if she were.”

“That’s the first time you’ve said that.”