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Yes, Ben would always come first. But there was something else lurking in the shadow of that desire.
The fact that I wanted to help myself as well. To the nanny.8NolaI knelt down outside Jack’s apartment and tried to straighten Griff’s hair. I licked my thumb and reached for his head. He had dad’s color and not a touch of the red mom had passed on to me. But he also had a stubborn chunk of hair right above his forehead that was as obstinate as he was.
Griff swiped at my hands, bobbing and weaving like a prize fighter while I tried to corral him and fix the cowlick. Eventually, I had to bear hug him from the back and smooth it down while he was practically kicking and screaming.
“If you don’t stop fighting me, I swear to God I will end your devious little existence.”
Griff was laughing in high pitched tones as he tried to reach around and tickle my armpits. I finally pinned his arms and got the hair on his head straightened.
I let him down, breathing out a sigh of frustration, then turned to ring the doorbell.
But the door already stood open and Jack was standing there with his arms folded and a curious look on his face. As always, he looked immaculately rugged in a charcoal gray dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and jeans that hugged his long, athletic legs.
A small sound escaped my throat. “Horseplay,” I said in a near whisper.
“Yeah,” Griff agreed. “Nola is a horse who likes to play.” He made an obnoxious neigh sound and then mock galloped past Jack like he owned the place.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Pretend I’m not here,” Jack said. He held up a small notepad and a pencil. “I want to see how you’d handle a day of looking after Ben when I’m gone.”
I had to stare at the notepad for a few seconds before what he said sunk in. Pretend Jack Kerrigan isn’t here. Pretend he wasn’t in the room? I imagined that would be nearly impossible, considering he was already sexually assaulting all five of my senses—yes, I was even unable to stop from imagining whether his lips would taste as good as they looked.
Against my better judgment, I let my eyes trail from the square lines of his face and the dark scruff of his beard to his body. It was purpose built for athleticism, and it only took a glance to see. He didn’t have the bulging neck muscles and disproportions of a bodybuilder. He was built the same way I’d seen farmhands from old photos were built. There was a gorgeous kind of symmetry to him—a functionality that made every hard, muscular bulge and crease seem more sexy.
Jack dipped his chin a little, capturing my attention again. “Is that alright?”
“Yes, it’s perfect,” I said, feeling my eyes drift back to his stomach. Even through his shirt, I could see the subtle bulge of abs pressing against the fabric. I found myself wondering if he kept himself manscaped or let whatever hair he had run wild. I also found myself realizing I wouldn’t care either way. No, I thought. I don’t need to care, because I’m never going to find out.
Jack gestured for me to go in and get started, I assumed.
Sure enough, he followed several steps after me with his pencil in hand, eyes focused like a psychologist studying a particularly interesting patient.
Jesus. This was going to be weird. I felt immature for even thinking it, but I liked the way his eyes were supposed to stay locked on me for this entire experience. It felt oddly personal and intimate.
Cool it, Nola. The guy was screening me for a job. Nothing else.
Griff had already sat across from Ben at the same little table I’d seen him using to draw on my first visit. Griff was drawing something while Ben watched with interest. When he finished, Griff spun the paper around and waited.
Ben studied it, then scrunched up his little eyebrows. “What is it?”
Griff looked slightly disappointed, but one of the few good things about my brother was that he wasn’t easily discouraged. “It was supposed to be one of those things in your sketchbook. The little guys with three arms, remember?”
Ben nodded wisely. Even though I was conscious of Jack’s gaze practically burning into my back, I didn’t interrupt the two of them as they had an impromptu drawing class with Ben as the teacher and Griff as the shockingly respectful student.
From there, the job practically did itself. I spent the majority of my time following behind the boys and tidying up as they made a slow, purposeful path through the house. Drawing, action figures, then drawing action figures, then a show, then more drawing. I had to remind them to stop for lunch, which I prepared from Jack’s hilariously bachelor-level stockpile of food. It was mostly cereal, peanut butter, oatmeal, and various packages and cans of things that might survive the apocalypse.
