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“I know it’s hard,” my mom says. “It’ssohard. But you’re strong and you can do it.”
“You can. I believe in you,” Jupiter says.
I don’t.
Because I have never felt this way before.
I’ve always been able to control myself and do the smart thing. And yet when it comes to this, when it comes tohim, I’m weak.Soweak that I snooped through his phone and found those texts. He really should password-protect his phone, especially when he’s a famous person, a pro soccer player. Oh, and especially when I’m his nanny.
His nanny desperately in love with him.
“Okay,” I say, squaring my shoulders and taking a determined breath.
“Okay what?” my mom asks.
“I’ll do it. I’ll go on the date.”
“Yay!” Jupiter goes.
“Woot woot!” my mother cheers, making me chuckle sadly.
Then she goes on to tell me where I’ll meet him and what time. She also tells me what I’ll wear, how I’ll do my hair and what shoes I’m going to wear. And in the end makes me repeat everything to her like I’m still a child.
“I’m meeting Evan at that burger place on Main Street at seven. I’m wearing my red dress and —”
“Why?” she asks.
And dutifully I tell her, “Because it displays my boobs.” Then I can’t help but mutter, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My boobs are doughy and fat and they need to be hidden, not displayed.”
“Meadow Harmony Brooks,” my mother snaps. “What have I told you about self-hate?”
I sigh, knowing I brought this on myself. “That it’s worse than any other form of hate.” Before she can say anything, I go on, “Which means the world needs it even less than all the other kinds of hate.”
“Good. If people loved themselves more there would be a lot less conflict in the world,” she mutters. Then, “Now, are you ready?”
I look to the ceiling for a second before squaring my shoulders again and nodding. “Yes, I am.”
With that, we end the conversation and I’m ready to get out of here when I feel tingling at the back of my neck. The kind I feel when he’s around. The kind I felt — like a touch — six months ago at my interview and as always, like I’m helpless to stop it, I turn around so fast my head spins.
And there he is.
The man who became the love of my life only forty-seven minutes after I met him.
Riot Rivera.
CHAPTERTWO
“What are you doing here?”
His voice, just like his chuckle and laugh, is rich. It’s deep and it’s smooth.
And as much as I love his voice and always strain to hear it whenever he’s around, my focus is on other things.
The texts that I’d accidentally read on purpose said that he was going to meet Tara at six tonight at some swanky Italian place. Or at least that was the plan until Tara said that she’d get back to him later about whether or not she could make six. She was leaning toward six-thirty more.
So to cover my bases, I got here at 5:20.
It’s 5:40 now.
