My head starts shaking viciously back and forth. “Absolutely not. Zack has no interest in me at all, I can assure you.”
There’s nothing extraordinary about me at all, I think sadly.
“I think you might be wrong,” Sutton says quietly. “I’m good at reading people. It’s part of what I do for a living. And let’s be honest, Kate…you’re a beautiful girl. He’s noticed that, I’m sure.”
My jaw hangs open as I look at her with astonishment. “I’m not beautiful.”
Sutton snorts and a knowing smile tips her lips up. She picks at her salad and remains quiet.
“I’m not,” I assert again.
Tilting her head up to look at me, she says, “You’re a smart girl, Kate. Brilliant, I’m thinking, based on what you’ve accomplished already. You try to hide what God gave you…I can see that. But, honey…I hate to tell you, it’s kind of hard to hide what you have.”
Not really, I think. I’ve managed to hide my body well enough under bulky clothes. My face isn’t totally horrid, but I don’t have men beating down the doors for me. She’s got it wrong, absolutely wrong, but I’m not going to argue with her about it.
“All I’m saying,” she continues, “is that maybe part of the reason Zack is being distant with you is because he might have some feelings tied up where you’re concerned. I don’t know what they are…I can’t speak to that, but I think there may be something there.”
I give her an accommodating look and quickly change the subject. I am absolutely unwilling to entertain the thought that Zack sees anything in me other than his son’s nerdy nanny.
Chapter 9
Zack
I pull the bottle of Patrón off the minibar that’s set up in my basement. The man cave that I’ve been in maybe twice since the accident. This is where I came to veg out and relax. Ben hung out here with me a lot, or I’d invite some of the guys over to watch a televised fight or other major sporting event. I have a kegerator in one corner that kept an endless supply of draft beer flowing, which is my normal drink of choice, but tonight I feel like getting a bigger buzz.
Reaching for one of the shot glasses that sit beside the bottle, I change my mind and decide to drink straight from the source. There’s no polite company down here with me to say I have to do otherwise. It’s late, as after our home game tonight I went out for a few beers with Alex and Garrett to celebrate our win. I played spectacularly and got an assist, which isn’t bad for having been back out on the ice for less than two weeks now.
I pull the round cork stopper from the bottle, tilt it, and take a hefty swallow. The beauty of Patrón is that it’s so smooth, you don’t need to doctor it up with salt and limes or chase it with something else. It goes down like silken butter, and given the two beers I had tonight, it’s not going to take long for me to get drunk.
With the bottle in hand, I walk over to the pool table that hardly ever gets used—more for show, I guess—and I try to consider exactly what this house means to me. Gina hardly ever came down into the basement to hang with me. Outside of watching me play hockey, sports weren’t her thing. Besides that, Gina and I had pretty independent lives much of the time. She had her interests and group of friends she hung with regularly, and so did I. Outside of getting together with Alex, Garrett, and their women, we rarely socialized together as a couple. In fact, most of our joint activities revolved around Ben, which, of course, accounted for a good chunk of our lives. Once the little man was born, he became the most important thing to me, and that, unfortunately, meant that hockey and Gina took a backseat to him.
Sitting the bottle on the edge of the table, I pull the triangle rack from its holder and start placing the balls inside. Solid, stripe, solid, stripe, solid, stripe. When I have the rack tight, I remove the triangle and grab one of the cue sticks off the wall. Pulling the bottle off the pool table, I walk to the other end and grab the cue ball from the bottom return. One more drag of tequila and I place the bottle on the floor, line up my shot, and break the triangle of balls with a sharp crack.
I take my time, deciding to hit the balls in numerical order, pausing every few shots to take another hit off the Patrón. By the time I sink the last ball, my head is slightly swimming with a buzz.
Racking the balls again, I think about how much Gina loved this house and neighborhood. To me, it was just a house, but now that she’s gone, it’s really become her house. Every room is filled with her touch, every picture and knickknack holding a special memory of a life that is no more.
Yup…I think I’m going to sell this place…find something that will be for just me and Ben. I’m going to do it if I can truly convince myself that it’s acceptable to do so. Is it too soon? Is there an appropriate amount of mourning time before you start making new memories?
“Zack?” I hear from the staircase that leads down into the basement.
I groan internally and take another hit off the Patrón. The last thing I need right now is to have Kate anywhere around me when I have liquor in my system. She’s been fucking plaguing my thoughts constantly since I saw her—truly saw her—in my kitchen that night just over a week ago. So damned intriguing, completely sexy and unaware of it, and totally off-limits.
She’s Ben’s fucking nanny, for Christ’s sake.
Off-limits.
But damn if I haven’t been thinking about what would happen if she wasn’t off-limits. Is she as innocent and clueless about her sexuality as she appears to be? Or is she hiding something sexy inside that can’t be covered with baggy clothing and thick-framed glasses? Christ, I want to know those answers.
There’s nothing extraordinary about me at all, I think sadly.
“I think you might be wrong,” Sutton says quietly. “I’m good at reading people. It’s part of what I do for a living. And let’s be honest, Kate…you’re a beautiful girl. He’s noticed that, I’m sure.”
My jaw hangs open as I look at her with astonishment. “I’m not beautiful.”
Sutton snorts and a knowing smile tips her lips up. She picks at her salad and remains quiet.
“I’m not,” I assert again.
Tilting her head up to look at me, she says, “You’re a smart girl, Kate. Brilliant, I’m thinking, based on what you’ve accomplished already. You try to hide what God gave you…I can see that. But, honey…I hate to tell you, it’s kind of hard to hide what you have.”
Not really, I think. I’ve managed to hide my body well enough under bulky clothes. My face isn’t totally horrid, but I don’t have men beating down the doors for me. She’s got it wrong, absolutely wrong, but I’m not going to argue with her about it.
“All I’m saying,” she continues, “is that maybe part of the reason Zack is being distant with you is because he might have some feelings tied up where you’re concerned. I don’t know what they are…I can’t speak to that, but I think there may be something there.”
I give her an accommodating look and quickly change the subject. I am absolutely unwilling to entertain the thought that Zack sees anything in me other than his son’s nerdy nanny.
Chapter 9
Zack
I pull the bottle of Patrón off the minibar that’s set up in my basement. The man cave that I’ve been in maybe twice since the accident. This is where I came to veg out and relax. Ben hung out here with me a lot, or I’d invite some of the guys over to watch a televised fight or other major sporting event. I have a kegerator in one corner that kept an endless supply of draft beer flowing, which is my normal drink of choice, but tonight I feel like getting a bigger buzz.
Reaching for one of the shot glasses that sit beside the bottle, I change my mind and decide to drink straight from the source. There’s no polite company down here with me to say I have to do otherwise. It’s late, as after our home game tonight I went out for a few beers with Alex and Garrett to celebrate our win. I played spectacularly and got an assist, which isn’t bad for having been back out on the ice for less than two weeks now.
I pull the round cork stopper from the bottle, tilt it, and take a hefty swallow. The beauty of Patrón is that it’s so smooth, you don’t need to doctor it up with salt and limes or chase it with something else. It goes down like silken butter, and given the two beers I had tonight, it’s not going to take long for me to get drunk.
With the bottle in hand, I walk over to the pool table that hardly ever gets used—more for show, I guess—and I try to consider exactly what this house means to me. Gina hardly ever came down into the basement to hang with me. Outside of watching me play hockey, sports weren’t her thing. Besides that, Gina and I had pretty independent lives much of the time. She had her interests and group of friends she hung with regularly, and so did I. Outside of getting together with Alex, Garrett, and their women, we rarely socialized together as a couple. In fact, most of our joint activities revolved around Ben, which, of course, accounted for a good chunk of our lives. Once the little man was born, he became the most important thing to me, and that, unfortunately, meant that hockey and Gina took a backseat to him.
Sitting the bottle on the edge of the table, I pull the triangle rack from its holder and start placing the balls inside. Solid, stripe, solid, stripe, solid, stripe. When I have the rack tight, I remove the triangle and grab one of the cue sticks off the wall. Pulling the bottle off the pool table, I walk to the other end and grab the cue ball from the bottom return. One more drag of tequila and I place the bottle on the floor, line up my shot, and break the triangle of balls with a sharp crack.
I take my time, deciding to hit the balls in numerical order, pausing every few shots to take another hit off the Patrón. By the time I sink the last ball, my head is slightly swimming with a buzz.
Racking the balls again, I think about how much Gina loved this house and neighborhood. To me, it was just a house, but now that she’s gone, it’s really become her house. Every room is filled with her touch, every picture and knickknack holding a special memory of a life that is no more.
Yup…I think I’m going to sell this place…find something that will be for just me and Ben. I’m going to do it if I can truly convince myself that it’s acceptable to do so. Is it too soon? Is there an appropriate amount of mourning time before you start making new memories?
“Zack?” I hear from the staircase that leads down into the basement.
I groan internally and take another hit off the Patrón. The last thing I need right now is to have Kate anywhere around me when I have liquor in my system. She’s been fucking plaguing my thoughts constantly since I saw her—truly saw her—in my kitchen that night just over a week ago. So damned intriguing, completely sexy and unaware of it, and totally off-limits.
She’s Ben’s fucking nanny, for Christ’s sake.
Off-limits.
But damn if I haven’t been thinking about what would happen if she wasn’t off-limits. Is she as innocent and clueless about her sexuality as she appears to be? Or is she hiding something sexy inside that can’t be covered with baggy clothing and thick-framed glasses? Christ, I want to know those answers.
