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And what a tight end it is.
The thought flits through me quickly, but I know for a fact if I had been drinking, I would have choked on my mimosa. The last thing I need to be doing is thinking about Leo’s—my boss’s—ass, while I’m having a meal with my mother and her friends. Or, actually, I should not be thinking about Leo’s ass at all, period. It’s wildly inappropriate and unprofessional, and I have already crossed a bit of that line when I came home drunk the other night and Leo had to help me with my guest house keys.
I am relieved I barely remember any of it. The knowledge that it happened alone is embarrassing enough. I’m just lucky and grateful that I didn’t say or do anything that was further mortifying. But Leo had said I hadn’t. I’m sure if I did, I wouldn’t still have my job. I can’t keep fantasizing about the man. It’s going to get me in trouble in some way.
“Yeah,” I answer Mona’s questions with an airy laugh. “I’m his three-year-old’s nanny.”
“What’s he like?” Taylor asks, intrigue lighting up her face. I thinkstarry eyedwould be a good way to describe how she looks right now. Unsurprising, given that Leo is one of Chicago’s most eligible bachelors. Any single guy on the team is, actually. “Is he as handsome in person as he is on TV?”
Mrs. Albert clicks her tongue. “Taylor,” she says disapprovingly, shooting her daughter a look. Of course, talking about an attractive football player isn’t proper.
I laugh, meeting Taylor’s gaze. “Heisvery good looking,” I say diplomatically, feeling slight relief when the waitress comes by.
We order food and I’m already pouring myself another glass from the jug of mimosa, aware of Mom’s hawkish gaze on me from across the table. Which, of course, I ignore as I take a long sip of my drink.
“So,” Cece says to me, nudging my knee with hers under the table. Everyone else at the table has broken off into other conversations, including Mom, so it’s only Cece and me. “A three-year-old, huh? That’s the youngest you’ve looked after, right?”
I smile, a warmth spreading through me. Trust Cece to remember the details even my own mother couldn’t—or wasn’t interested in. She reminds me so much of Camila, and I make a mental note to visit my old nanny as soon as I have the free time to.
“She is,” I say with a nod, leaning back in my chair and feeling some relaxation ease into my bones, now that it’s just Cece and I talking. “She’s adorable. She may be the youngest, but she’s definitely the easiest kid I’ve worked with.”
Cece nods, shifting so she is facing me more. She keeps her voice low and asks, “And she’s a happy kid?”
My smile widens just a little. “Oh, yeah, for sure,” I say with a nod. “The happiest.”
My words are true, and that’s enough to spread the warmth further through me. There had been so many times, in the past with the other kids I used to nanny, that the lack of their relationships with their parents weighed down on them so much. Missed practices, missed birthdays, missed holidays—so many times, the parents rarely showed up for their kids, too wrapped up in their own work and social lives to pay any attention to what really matters. It had been heartbreaking, and I always did my best to somehow fill that void for the kids. To be their listening ear, to show them that someone cared.
And, yeah, I am getting paid to look after these kids. But my affections for them are so very real.
My phone buzzes, and I glance down to see that I have received a text from Daria, pulling my phone to me as I read her message.
Hey, Alex! I know it’s short notice, but Elaine and I are going to be in town tomorrow instead of going with Caden to Texas. Do you want to set something up for the girls for tomorrow?
The Chicago Rebels have an away game in Houston tomorrow, and the team has already left. Even with his ankle sprain, Leo still has to be there. Although he won’t be playing, it’s important that he shows up for the team. Since Lilah and I don’t have any solid plans for tomorrow, I quickly text Daria back.
Hey! Yeah, that sounds good. Would you want to take the girls to lunch and then come back for a swim?
I reach for my mimosa as I watch the bubbles pop up, indicating that Daria is already typing back.
Yes! That’s perfect!
“Alexandra, please—no phones at the table,” Mom’s annoyed, exasperated voice cuts through, making me lift my head to catch her tight expression.
I purse my lips, not entirely a fan of her treating me like a kid, or of the slightly embarrassed flush that warms my face when Mrs. Albert and Mrs. Sullivan throw me their own looks of patronizing contempt. “It was a work thing,” I say by way of explanation. Not that I really need to explain anything to them.
Mom arches an eyebrow. “A work thing?” she repeats. “I’m sure scheduling a play date can wait until after lunch.”
My muscles grow rigid at her condescending words—even if they carry a truth in them. Yes, I was quite literally scheduling a play date, but I sure as hell do not appreciate Mom’s tone of voice. But, God, why am I even surprised at this point? I knew this was the kind of treatment I would be subjecting myself to by agreeing to attend this stupid luncheon. While I spent most of it chatting with Cece, I wasn’t deaf to Mom praising Mona and Taylor for their respective jobs, the former a financial auditor for a big medical technology company and the latter an up and coming journalist for The New York Times.
Has Mom ever talked about me and my job that way? Of course not. My line of work isn’t worthy of admiring or being praised in my mother’s eyes.
The fire that has been simmering in my veins since the moment I sat down at the table finally erupts, icy hot beneath my skin and ready to burn anyone in its path. Including my mom. “Well, the parents like to keep their kids to their routines. You’d know a thing or two about that if you ever raised a child.”
Silence follows my snappy words, everyone at the table gaping at me with various levels of disbelieving shock as well as, in Mom’s case, anger that she cannot hide from her face. Mona and Taylor both stare at me in surprise, obviously not expecting me to say something like that to my mother in the presence of others. Mrs. Sullivan and Mrs. Albert look angered on behalf of Mom, while also looking at me as if I’m a spoiled brat. Beneath the table, I feel Cece give my hand a squeeze. And across from me, Mom has never looked so cold and furious.
I have a feeling I will never be invited to these luncheons again after this. I’m not exactly upset about it.
But the weight of their stares pricks my skin, and I push my chair back. “Excuse me,” I mutter, walking away from the table and in the direction of the bathrooms, all too aware of their gazes burning my back.
