Slow Ride
Sneak Peek
“So,” Elliot says through a grunt as he racks the weights, glancing in my direction between bench presses. “Being my son’s nanny is a full-time gig, I hope you’re clear on that.”
I fix my gaze on the bench stitching to avoid letting it wander over his solid chest and ripped abs…and what’s below them. “Yeah, I definitely figured that when you were throwing around salaries.”
“It might be a bit more like…” He sits up and wipes a drop of sweat from his chin. “Overtime.”
I tell myself I’m imagining the dirty tone is his voice when he says that word and clear my throat. “What do you mean?”
“So, here’s the deal. I don’t know how familiar you are with the demands of pro football during regular season, but it’s, well, a ton. Most days my ass has to be in this gym by six AM, at the very latest.”
“I can get there early.”
“Morning traffic in Fort Lauderdale can be a bear and I live on the intracoastal waterway.”
Of course he does.
“And the thing is,” he continues, “Asher has a really hard time sleeping. I’m not sure what it is, but he wakes up. Like a lot. And if I’m gonna be even remotely competent on the field…”
“You need your beauty sleep.” I finish his sentence with a wink.
“Precisely. So, I was kinda hoping for someone who could stay over some nights, to help Asher when I can’t.”
Surprise, intrigue, and a smattering of dirty thoughts race through my mind. I straighten my back and push them away, remembering why I have to take this job. Elliot must have seen my face processing the information, because as I open my mouth to respond, he interjects.
“I have a full guest wing and everything, and it’s close to Asher’s room.” Something between determination and desperation registers on his devilishly handsome face. “Please.”
As he leans back to pick up the weight bar again, I relish in the moment that a six foot three, disgustingly loaded NFL player is begging me for anything at all, let alone to sleep over in his beachfront castle of a house.
I guess there are worse things.
“I don’t think that should be a problem,” I smile at Elliot.
He racks the bar one more time, and sits up, slightly winded, leaning his elbows on his knees. “You’re a total lifesaver.”
Am I? “You sure I’m the right person? I’m not positive I’m the most qualified candidate to be a nanny.” I look down at the speckled rubberized floor of the training center, thinking of the endless lineup of nannies that raised me. Some were better than others, but they were all so fleeting. My mother could never settle on one. No one ever met her standards. No one was every perfect enough. Not even me.
“Yeah, well,” Elliot lifts up his tank top to wipe sweat off his forehead, exposing a stupidly defined six pack that I have to physically pull my gaze away from. “Asher is insanely shy. He won’t talk to anyone, unless he knows them really well. Not even other kids. You’re the only person he’s just marched up to and had a conversation with. He responded to you, and all I want is for him to be able to come out of his shell a little bit, and learn basic life skills. And you…” He gestures up and down my body. “…seem to be able to do both. Believe it or not, the last thing I want for Asher is to be raised as a spoiled, rich, private schooled douche.”
“I can certainly teach him how to be a regular person, if that’s what you’re asking.” I say with a chuckle.
“I just want him to understand that nothing is handed to you in life. I worked really hard to get to where I am, and he has to do the same.”
I feel my expression turn serious. “You have no idea how much I get that.”
“So,” he leans forward on the bench, stretching his back. “To answer your question, yes, Miss Jessica Randall, I am sure you’re the right person.”
I smile and meet his hazel eyes, sensing every bit of sincerity in his words. “You really are full of surprises.”
“Oh, and there’s the talent show,” he says, running his hand through his slightly sweaty hair.
“Talent show?” I ask.
“Yeah, in December. The pre-school talent show. I really want Asher to participate, but he’s way too shy to really consider doing anything. If you could just work with him on something…it can be literally anything. Just so he can at least try to step outside of his five square feet of comfort zone.”
I smile at the image of a completely yolked nine-figure contracted NFL player at a pre-school talent show. “I’ll see what I can do.”
One football season. A cute little kid. A whopping paycheck. Spending night after night in a waterfront mansion with the sexiest single dad I’ve ever seen.
What could possibly go wrong?
