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Lookingrespectfully, I took in the ladder of muscle along his abdomen and another tattoo. This one of an infinity symbol over his heart. He had light-brown chest hair sprinkled across his defined pectoral muscles, which narrowed to a line down the middle of his stomach, eventually sinking below his blue shorts. And dear God in heaven, he had those deep grooves at his hips.
The music shut off, and I shot my attention up to where Liam had his hand lifted, aiming a tiny remote control at the speaker in the corner. His chest still heaved with his breathing, and he swiped the back of his wrapped-up hand over his mouth. “Everything okay?”
I forced my mouth closed. “Mm-hmm.”
“Kennedy.”
I, once again, zipped my gaze up from where it’d been tracing his biceps and the veins in his forearms. “Yeah. Hi.”
I swore a look of satisfaction crossed his features before they shuttered.
My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Sorry. I heard the music and…”
He sniffed and wiped his face with his forearm, propping his other hand on his hip, not at all detracting from his level of hotness. If the internet knew the hot daddy professor was also a hot boxer, it would collectively lose its mind.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?” he asked, and I shook my head.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“I usually work out down here at night.”
“It’s after eleven,” I said. “I figured you’d be asleep by now.”
“It’s the only time I get.” He took a step closer to me, and I made sure to keep my eyes on his.
Because I was his son’s nanny. I couldn’t be attracted to him. That was, like, rule number one in the nanny handbook.
If there was a nanny handbook.
“Maybe now that I’m here, you’ll be able to find a different time.”
He shrugged. “I don’t mind. I like tiring myself out before bed. Helps me relax.”
“Yeah. Right.” I absolutely did not think about other ways he could tire himself out. “That makes sense.” I motioned to him, still walking toward me on the steps. Him in only shorts, sneakers, and hand wraps. Me in gray cotton pants and a Minnie Mouse T-shirt with no bra. “I didn’t expect…”
He challenged me to finish that sentence. “What?”
“For you to be like…”
He was outright grinning now, standing next to me, his fingers on the edge of the step my feet were on. I had the height advantage here, and he had to tip his head back to meet my gaze. “Like what, Kennedy?”
“You know…”
He shook his head. “I don’t.”
I peevishly crossed my arms. “I didn’t expect you to look like that under your old-man sweaters.”
He huffed. “They arenotold-man sweaters.”
“Okay, Mr. Rogers.” I slanted my eyes to him, and he laughed.
“You know who Mr. Rogers is, but you don’t know the Tasmanian Devil?”
“Everyone knows Mr. Rogers.”
He flicked his gaze over me so quickly I wasn’t even sure he was aware he did it. Then he backed up two paces. “You’re so young, I don’t know where your pop culture references start.”
“I’m notthatyoung. I’m twenty-four.”
