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“You’re so right,” I said dryly, thanking the bartender when he set my bourbon down on the bartop. One drink was my limit, so I had to savor it. “I slept with the nanny,” I told Matt.
Carson was the only one who knew and he was not known for his understanding nature.
Matt choked on his drink. “What? Which one?”
“The new one. I had sex with her first, then hired her to be my nanny. She’s a team cheerleader.”
Matt ran a hand over his mostly bald head and gave me an incredulous look. “Are you fucking insane?”
“It seems that way. To be fair, Poppy offered her the nanny position. I just didn’t object.”
“Is she hot? Wait. Stupid question. She’s a cheerleader, of course she’s hot.”
“She’s got legs for miles, man. Fucking miles.” I took one first sip of bourbon, needing to feel the burn.
“Can I see a picture?”
“That feels very high school.”
Matt hit my arm. “Just show me a fucking picture.”
“I feel like an idiot doing this, but fine.” I swiped through my phone and found her social media account. I handed Matt the phone. One of the first pictures in her feed was her posing on the Brooklyn bridge in shorts and a bikini top.
He whistled. “Damn.” He kept scrolling. And scrolling. He enlarged a photo or maybe two. Or three.
“Give me that,” I said, grabbing the phone back. “Stop creeping on my nanny.”
“You’re a lucky bastard.”
“Shelly is your rock, remember?”
“She is.” Matt glanced around like Shelly, who was at home in New Jersey, might pop up behind us. “But a hot cheerleader? Come on. That’s a fantasy come to life. It’s usually the players getting to have all the fun. Coaches are supposed to be family men.”
That gave me mixed emotions. I had wanted that. The simple, comfortable family life. Now it felt way out of reach. And I wanted to have sex with Dakota. Every single time the opportunity came my way. “This is probably going to blow up in my face.”
“Duh, you fucking moron. She’s going to think she can be the next Mrs. M. She’s going to try to sink her claws into you and she’s going to use your daughters to do it.”
The whole idea offended the hell out of me. “No way,” I scoffed. “Dakota isn’t like that. I don’t think she even wants to get married.” She’d left Marksman at the altar.
“Like she would tell you her master plan? Chicks know not to bring up marriage too soon.”
I refused to believe any of that was true. Dakota hadn’t been the impetus behind any of this. I had called her into my office. I had kissed her. Poppy had offered her a job. Dakota wasn’t trying to manipulate me. “It’s not that. I’m serious. She’s not the clinger type. Or a social climber. She doesn’t care what other people think and she’s independent.”
Matt stared at me. “You actually like her. Oh, shit, man, retreat. Retreat.”
“Of course I like her. She’s a good person, she’s funny, compassionate.”
“Then why don’t you just date her?”
He wasn’t getting it. “Because we’re just having fun. We’re not a good fit long term. She’s too… something, and I’m too cynical. She’s ten years younger than me and it’s just complicated. It wouldn’t work,” I repeated. “She probably wants to have kids, you know, and I don’t think I want any more.”
Then I wondered who I was trying to convince. Matt or myself.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Willow. A picture. I opened it.
It was her, Poppy, and Dakota, posing for a selfie. They all had waves in their hair and makeup on. Poppy’s was subtle. Willow’s was substantial enough it hurt my heart to see how much she was growing up and changing. Dakota looked insanely gorgeous. She was mugging for the camera.
Willow had written “Girls’ night” on the picture.
