“Your method is flawed,” I say as I rub my thumb over her smooth handwriting.
“My, um, what now?”
I meet her puzzled gaze. “You said it was word of the day. I’m gone for six days. I’m owed five more.”
A short laugh escapes her lips. “You, you want…” She straightens, eyes wide the moment she seems to realize that the serious determination in my eyes is real. “Wait, you’re being serious right now? You want me to come up with five more words? Right now?”
I nod toward the drawer I know holds the note pads. “You signed up for this gig, Teach. Now go ahead and give me my homework so I can be on my way.”
twenty-eight
I can’t believe I’mofficially Anna’s nanny. And now, Mateo’s Spanish tutor.
I thought I for sure overstepped once I mentioned that I knew about his limited Spanish. And the gutted look on his face almost made me want to give myself the third and final strike.
That feeling alone shook me to my core.
Because I knew I never wanted to see that look on his face again, and I would stand in the way of anyone who tried to put it there, even if it were me.
By now, I know I’m slipping, and fast.
You’d think that after so many sleepless nights and years of agony, it would be easier to resist a baseball player. I vowed to myself to never put myself in that position again.
The problem is that Mateo being a New York Monarch is probably the least interesting thing about him.
With Jeremy, baseball was his world, and it was at the forefront of our lifestyle. Every decision taken into consideration had to go through the “how does baseball impact this?” funnel. And when he was off the field, baseball was still the third, imaginary being in our relationship. From the way he dressed to where he made reservations for us to eat so we’d be seen, to who we hung out with.
All those fair-weather friends who scattered like roaches when the lights turned on the second our scandal hit the headlines.
And the interviews they gave? Painted a picture that couldn’t be further from the truth.
People always said that we finished each other’s sentences. In reality, he finished mine as he saw fit. And my naïve brain took it ashe must know best.
I never realized how much that relationship chipped at my sense of self until I was out of it and left with scraps of myself to piece together.
While he carried on living in blissful notoriety.
But Mateo is the complete opposite of all that.
Maybe it’s because he’s so established in his career, but the man could give two shits about baseball once he enters his home. All the focus is on his family, and lately, me.
He doesn’t seek out the media. In fact, he avoids it at all costs. And the persona he feeds to his fans and post-game interviews is a generic and watered-down version of the man I now know him to be.
He’s kind, funny, and sensitive, and I swear to God, if he pins me against that kitchen island one more time, I’m going to go full spread eagle.
My poor libido can only take so much.
But I’m still stuck.
Because I struggle with trusting myself, with trusting my judgment after Jeremy, and I loathe that. Even five years afterthe fact, his fingerprints are still all over the damage on my heart.
And, of course, I couldn’t have made it any easier on myself either. Instead, I went ahead and developed a mad crush on not just a baseball player, but probably the most famous one to ever exist. And he just had to be my boss. And he just had to have the funniest kid in existence, whom I’m also starting to grow very attached to.
I’m a true mess.
Which is why I’m so grateful I’m finally having that long awaited girls’ night on Friday.
I kind of dropped a bomb on the initial girls when I added Daisy Stonehaven to the chat, quickly followed by Luisa Álvarez.
