“. . . then I feel sad for the town!” I finished, whisper shouting to myself.
The thought that Jace would be interested in me—a thirty-eight-year-old, divorced, single mother—was laughable. Which made my reaction to him all the more ridiculous. Take today for instance. He had a red rash all over his face and my body still wanted to mount him like a gazelle in the middle of mating season in the savanna. Sure, he’d been shirtless, but that was no excuse. It made me no different than the single mothers who preyed upon him at the school, like some sort of she-cougar.
Maybe Jace being the kid’s nanny will be for the best. It sets a clear and definite boundary. Like with a patient’s parent, I can notice if they are attractive but never be tempted to pursue anything.
Giving myself a firm nod, I realized I could do this. Attraction was a mere biological response, and Iwas an expert in controlling my reactions, even if my desires were in direct opposition. Hell, I majored in that. A pure, involuntary, biologically programmed response had nothing on me.
I had my books to keep me warm and satisfied. And I got the job done,every single time.
Take that, National Geographic.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
JACE
“I get paid for my time, not sex, but if she’s hot and wants it, I say why not? I’ll throw it in as a freebie.”
“And if she’s not hot?”
“I’ll probably still throw it in. My standards aren’t real high.”
J. Bengtsson,Fiercely Emma
Sam: If you ask me the rash improves your face
Sam: No problem on covering your shift. Denice probably misses me anyway.
Sam: That mom is pissed. I got a really angry email about the petting zoo going to hell. Remind me never to use my cousin Fletch for anything again
Sam: Has Denice always been this hot? She’s already snapped at me twice. I think she likes me
I had several texts from Sam when I woke up the next morning that I promptly ignored. Late last night, I sent him several pictures of my face along with a text:
Jace:The client asked for a magician, not a clown. The face paint you provided gave me leprosy. I need you to cover my shift at the valet tomorrow. I already messaged Denice. You owe me.
Sam had previously valeted at the country club, occasionally pitching in during large events. Denice acted like she hated him, but he’s great with the customers so I knew she’d be fine with it.
After a cold shower that morning, the ghost of itching past didn’t return, and I counted myself lucky. I received a few sidelong glances at the drugstore yesterday, apparently no one had ever seen someone dressed as part man/part clown/part rash before, but the cream and medicine Polly suggested worked like a charm. I’d always been sensitive to certain shampoos, but I hadn’t had a reaction like this in years.
A few hours later, I was finishing packing up my stuff when I texted Sam back. I already texted Polly to confirm that I’d be over around three when Sam actually called me back. I answered on speaker, continuing to pack up my clothes.
“What does ‘I’m moving out of my parents’ house, and I need to store my stuff at your place’ mean?” Sam’s voice greeted me, reciting the text I’d just sent him aloud.
“Exactly what it sounds like.”
“What brought this on?”
“I got a job working with a family who needs a nanny for the summer. I sent in references, did an interview—” of sorts, Sam didn’t need to know the shirtless details— “and met the kids, who are pretty great. It pays well, and my parents might be selling their house, so I needed to move.”
My explanation was met with silence, so I continued to go through my closet to finish packing.
Ten seconds later, Sam replied, “You’re telling me that you’re some kids’ nanny and are moving in with the entire family?”
“Yup.”
“And your parents are moving?”
“Seems that way.”
