Transcend Read online

“When do I start?” She should question my taking the job before reviewing the contract or negotiating my wage. But she doesn’t.

  “Tomorrow too soon?”

  “Tomorrow is perfect as long as everything looks agreeable in the contract. I’ll read it over when I get home and message you. I don’t anticipate any issues.”

  We small talk for another hour while I give Morgan a bottle and change her diaper.

  “You’re good at that. It takes Nathaniel and me forever to do that.” Rachael’s eyes illuminate with wonder like I just demonstrated levitation.

  It’s a diaper change and three snaps on a onesie. This poor child may be doomed if a twenty-one-year-old stranger is the foremost expert on her.

  *

  “Tell me about your day, Swayz.”

  Griffin nods to the upside-down five-gallon bucket a few feet to his right. It’s where I like to perch when he’s doing his thing in his anal-retentively organized garage. Shiny red tool chests and pegboards of more tools and cords line the wall on either side of his workbench. Behind me, his Harley hides under a custom cover, flaunting its reserved parking spot while his black truck weathers the seasons parked in the drive beneath a canopy of mature oak trees on both sides.

  “I want a baby.”

  He raises an eyebrow at me as he works on his neighbor’s motorcycle. I love his two-bedroom house and one-car garage that he uses for side jobs like this. It’s in the middle of an older neighborhood with lots of trees and houses that have character, not the cookie-cutter homes in the newer neighborhoods. The fact that it’s two blocks from his parents’ house is also a lovable trait.

  He’s close to his family. Sometimes I envy his life. It’s not glamorous, but it’s rich in the really good stuff that I feel like I missed out on during my parents’ quest to discover something brilliant in me.

  “Before I put my foot in my mouth or you put yours in my balls, can you clarify if this is an announcement or a request?”

  I scrape the worn bottoms of my flip-flops along the gray-speckled sealant on his garage floor and wiggle my toes. My blue nail polish has seen better days.

  “I got the nanny job. I start tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. You went to meet the baby this morning … Morgan, right?” His socket clicks in quick succession.

  I find that sound mixed with the hum of the fan hanging in the corner quite soothing. Watching Griff work on bikes has become my favorite pastime. He’s magical with his hands. Heat spreads along my skin, settling between my legs, just thinking of his strong, capable hands.

  “I love you, Grocery Store Guy.”

  He stops his motions and looks at me with those sable eyes that won me over at our first grocery store encounter. I’ve stopped pinching myself and settled into the fact that he sees something in me that I don’t see in myself. We’ve “loved” many things about each other: his tattoos, my birthmark, his body, my hair, his fingers, my mouth. But neither one of us has used “you” without the “r” after the word love.

  “You’re pregnant.”

  I grin, not offended one bit by his assumption. “If I were?”

  His gaze flits over my face. If I were pregnant, I might fear the thoughts rolling around in his beautiful head. But I’m not, so my thoughts revel in the anticipation of his next words.

  “I’d have to design a sidecar to accommodate a car seat.”

  “And that’s why I love you.”

  He drops the socket and walks on his knees to me, keeping his sweaty body and greasy hands a few inches from touching me. I happen to love him in any state. Every inch of my body would welcome his touch, even if it left a few smudges.

  “Did I get one past the gate?” He rubs his nose against mine then nips at my lower lip. He smells like grease, sweat, and spearmint from his favorite xylitol gum. It’s not a marketable combination, but it’s my addiction.

  “No.” I giggle. “It’s a thing. When women hold babies and get a whiff of that newborn smell, our ovaries go into overdrive.”

  “So, you’re not pregnant, but you want to be?” His eyes shift from my face to my neck then slowly ease down my body, doing all the things I know his hands and mouth want to do.

  “No,” I say a little breathy. I know that look of his and so does my body.

  “But you said…” his gaze makes a quick return to mine “…you love me.”

  “I do. But I love you because you ask me about my day—every day. And you remember everything I tell you. And you’re observant. You know my favorite flower because you know the scent of my favorite lotion. You know the size of my clothes because you’ve peeled them from my body so many times. You hand me a tissue five seconds before I cry during a sad scene in a movie, but you never actually look at me. You just … know.”

  He shrugs, staring at me so intently a shiver snakes along my spine. “It’s because …” His teeth dig into his lower lip.

  “That’s my point.” I grin and lean toward him, teasing his lips with mine until he rewards me with a smile.

  “It’s because I love you,” he whispers over my mouth.

  “Thank you…” I kiss him once “…for remembering Morgan’s name.” I kiss him again—longer, deeper—as my fingers flick open the button to his jeans.

  “Baby,” he mumbles, “my hands are greasy.”

  I ease down his zipper. “Then put them in your back pockets. I don’t need your help with this.”

  He moans into my mouth as my hand slides inside his boxers, and like the good boy he is, he stuffs his hands into his back pockets. I love his body too, and the way his deep hums of pleasure vibrate my lips each time I stroke him.

  “Swayz …” He tears his mouth from mine and tips his chin down, watching me stroke him. “Fuck, baby …” His abs tighten on each labored breath.

  “Mom said you’d buy raffle tickets for my show choir fundraiser.”

  Griffin and I both snap our heads toward his sister, Chloe, standing at the front of the garage. His back is to her, hiding my hand wrapped around his cock. We have a terrible habit of tuning out the rest of the world when we’re together. It might have been a good idea to shut the garage door before expressing my recent declaration of love.

  “What are you guys up to?” She fans herself with a big white envelope.

  Griffin turns back to me. “Let go of my dick and go buy some raffle tickets,” he whispers.

  I’m not sure why I’m still holding it. Frozen in shock, I guess. “K.” I give him a toothy grin as I release him and stand. “Of course we’ll buy raffle tickets.” I step past Griffin leaving him to tuck the goods back into his jeans.

  Chloe’s fifteen, a sophomore, and I think she’s still a virgin, but I’m not sure. Regardless, there are some things she never needs to see, and my hand stroking her brother’s cock is at the top of that list.

  “Great! How many?” She opens the envelope.

  “Uh … ten?”

  “They’re ten dollars apiece.”

  “Maybe three?” I give her a wrinkled-nose grin.

  “Thanks, Swayze. How many for you, Griff?” Chloe rubs her lips together, mischief alight in her brown eyes as she bats her dark hair away from her face but loses her battle with the evening breeze.

  The clicking of the socket wrench starts again. “Swayze said three.”

  “She did. But how many are you buying. You two aren’t married, so you can’t make joint purchases yet.”

  She’s good. I like his sisters. Hell, I like his whole family. They paint happily ever after using all the colors of the rainbow.

  “I’ll take one.”

  “Five it is, Griff. Thanks! You’re my most favorite brother ever.” She tears off eight raffle tickets.

  Griffin tips his chin up from behind the bike and raises a single eyebrow until it brushes the edge of his orange and black bandana. I take the tickets and slip them into the back pocket of my denim shorts.

  “Wallet?” I smirk at him.

  He sighs and
stands holding up his greasy hands. “Front right pocket.”

  With my back to Chloe, I slide my hand into his pocket grazing his lingering erection. His lips twitch as he eyes me with promises of things that will happen when we are alone again. Heat spreads through my body, converging deep in my belly.

  I pull out his money clip and count out eighty dollars. “Mind loaning me thirty dollars to buy raffle tickets from my boyfriend’s sister?” Batting my eyelashes, I glance up at him, trapping my lower lip between my teeth.

  “I’ll let you work it off.” His gaze leaves no question as to how I will be working this off.

  “I’m not five. Your innuendos are weirding me out. Just hand over the money before I mini-vomit.”

  I giggle because she’s only six years younger than I am, but there’s this invisible wall between adolescence and adulthood that makes six years feel like thirty. In a few more years, that gap will be indistinguishable. However, for now, we’re the gross adults and she’s the innocent child who we’re weirding out. How innocent? I don’t know. Cheerleaders and football players get the bad rap for parties and sex. In my experience, more sex happens in the band room than any other place in school.

  “Here. What’s the prize?” I hand Chloe the money.

  “Caribbean cruise.”

  “Really?” My head jerks back.

  “No. Not really. A subscription to the Madison Symphony Orchestra.”

  “Fucking great,” Griffin mumbles from behind the bike.

  “Language, Griff.” I roll my eyes.

  Chloe laughs. “I’m familiar with the word. He’s said it more than once around me. Anyway…” she stuffs the money into the envelope “…thanks again. I’ll see ya around.”

  “Bye.” I give her a wave when she makes one last glance over her shoulder while walking down the driveway. “I love your sisters.” With a content sigh, I plop back down on the bucket.

  “Kinda takes away from the specialness of you declaring your love to me. Don’t you think?”

  “I assumed you and your family are a package deal. If I love one of you, I have to love all of you.”

  “Well, I sure as hell love all of you. Now, tell me more. Are you going to like watching after this Morgan?”

  Perfect. He’s so damn perfect.

  “I think so. The hours are good. She’s tiny and precious beyond words. It’s a pretty cool house. The sister-in-law, Rachael, is really nice, but she has no experience with babies. It’s a little weird that the twenty-one-year-old nanny has the most experience of anyone, but I think it may be true.”

  “And the dad?”

  “Nate, er … Nathaniel is troubled. But he lost his wife, and now he’s trying to work, grieve, and raise a baby—his first baby. I think that earns him a pass for any psychological issues he might have. There’s a reason they say it takes a village to raise a child. His village is quite small. So … yeah, they need me.”

  “Sophie has a dance recital this weekend.”

  “It’s on my calendar.”

  “And the motorcycle rally in August?”

  “I’ll ask for that time off. I’m not sure how my ass will feel after that long on the back of your bike, but I’m in. Even though your biker buddies look at me kinda …” Like lunchmeat dripping with mayo.

  “Like you’re beautiful?” he says it so matter-of-factly.

  “Sure. We’ll go with that.” I twist my lips to hide my grin.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A bonus to this job is its proximity to my apartment. Summer in Madison delivers temperatures in the mid-eighties with the occasional stray thunderstorm. I wear tennis shoes with my shorts and tee and toss an umbrella in my backpack to make the twenty-minute trek to Nate’s house.

  “She’s napping in her crib.” Rachael turns on the TV in the living room and a live feed of Morgan appears.

  “Not your average baby monitor.” I grin.

  “Only the best. Jenna and Nathaniel didn’t skimp on much.”

  I’m not sure who this Nathaniel guy is because the Nate I knew was frugal. It took at least four holes in his socks to warrant tossing them.

  Threadbare clothes.

  Secondhand sporting equipment.

  Even the occasional trip to the food pantry when money got really tight for his family.

  “He can monitor her as well from his computer or phone. Cameras throughout the house, so don’t try and steal anything.” Rachael winks and laughs.

  “Bummer. I brought my tape measure to see if that sofa would fit in my apartment. And the Viking stove too.”

  “Do you have any questions? Everything you’ll need is in the nursery. My number and Nathaniel’s number is on the kitchen counter. Help yourself to food, but other than beer and baby formula, I don’t think there’s much in the house. I bring my own stuff. You might want to do the same.”

  I nod.

  Rachael sucks in a deep breath and holds it before releasing it on one big huff. “I’m nervous.”

  “No need to be. We’ll be fine.”

  “I know.” She curls her hair behind her ears and smiles. “Leave her in her crib until she wakes up. Nathaniel’s trying to train her to be self-soothing. Holding her yesterday was an exception so you could meet her. It’s hard to let her be, but it’s really for the best.”

  “Got it.” I give a sharp nod.

  “Okay then …” Her eyes make a quick sweep of the room. “I’m off. If you need anything our numbers are—”

  “On the counter. I got it. No worries.”

  “And if it’s a real emergency—”

  “9-1-1. Got it.” I fight back a chuckle because while it’s funny, I can feel how much it pains her to leave. The need or guilt to fill her sister’s shoes is palpable.

  “Duh.” She shakes her head. “I’m out of here, then. See you tomorrow.”

  “Bye.”

  After the door clicks shut behind her, I turn in circles several times. Here I am. And he could be watching my every move. There’s nothing unnerving about that. I wonder if there’s audio enabled with these surveillance cameras.

  “Hey, Professor Hunt.” My gaze roams the room until I spy a camera in the corner. I grin and wave. “Thanks for the job. Morgan is in good hands.” I shoot two thumbs-up at the camera and grab my backpack to retrieve a book. “The Power by Naomi Alderman.” I hold up the red covered book so he can see it. “Have you read it? Probably not. You should. It’s quite thought-provoking. I don’t want to ruin it for you, so I’ll just say it’s some stimulating insight into what the world would be like if women were deemed the stronger sex. I finished We Were Liars by E. Lockhart last week. Mind-blowing.” I find my page and start to read.

  An hour later Morgan stirs, more like a muscle twitch, but I’m in charge, so I make the executive decision that she needs out of jail. “Hey, Lazy Daisy.” I kiss her head and lay her on the changing table. Her fisted hands and springy legs jerk as I unwrap the burrito. “Why is your diaper dry? That’s not good.”

  Morgan makes a weak attempt at scolding me as I dress her and carry her to the kitchen to heat up a bottle. My phone on the counter chimes with a text from a number I don’t recognize.

  It’s not time for her to eat.

  Snapping my head up toward the nearest camera, I shoot it a stink look.

  Swayze: Her diaper is dry.

  I add the number to my contact list with his name.

  Professor: Are you sure? They’re very absorbent.

  Swayze: It’s a nice day. After I give her a bottle I may take her for a walk. Is that okay?

  He doesn’t respond until I take the bottle from the warmer.

  Professor: She can’t walk yet.

  I giggle and look at the camera. This is the Nate Hunt I remember. Total smart-ass.

  Swayze: Good point. Maybe I’ll put her in the baby carrier.

  Professor: Don’t give her the whole bottle.

  Swayze: I won’t. Just the milk inside it.

  Professor: You kno
w what I mean.

  I carry Morgan to the rocking chair. “I do, Professor Hunt,” I mumble, hoping he can hear my voice but not make out my words, “but I’m still going to let her feed until she pops off like a stuffed tick.”

  She sucks down the whole bottle while my phone vibrates and chimes on the counter. After I burp her, change her diaper, and get her secured in the baby carrier, I check my phone. There is a string of texts spaced about five minutes apart.

  Professor: That’s enough milk.

  Professor: That’s enough.

  Professor: Stop.

  Professor: Why are you ignoring me?

  Professor: I can’t believe you let her drink the whole bottle.

  I slip the phone in my back pocket and wave at the camera in the living room, the one in the hall, and the one by the front door. “Say ‘Bye, Daddy.’”

  *

  Nate arrives home an hour early—if seven at night can be considered early. He sets his messenger bag on the counter, stares at the screen of his phone, and fetches a drink of water before making eye contact with me.

  I don’t have to acknowledge the downward curl of his lips to know he’s disappointed. His weary eyes say it all. They say, My wife died. I’m miserable. And after a long day, the last thing I need is to come home to the nanny breaking rule number one—don’t hold the baby.

  Reclined in the chair with a book in one hand and my other hand drawing circles on Morgan’s back as she slumbers in the comfort of human touch, I regret nothing. On a sigh, he marches toward me and lifts her from my chest.

  No kiss.

  No nuzzling to inhale her baby scent.

  No words.

  He takes her to her nursery with the sentiment of carrying a paper grocery sack in from the car.

  I pack my bag and attach it to my back just as he returns.

  “Thank you for today. Tomorrow I’ll have Rachael explain a little better the self-soothing process we’re using with Morgan. Too much off-schedule feeding and holding today.”

  His ginger locks look like his hands tugged the hell out of them today, probably while watching me overfeed and over hold his daughter. Those eyes, they feel like an intimate embrace, so damn familiar. How can he look at me with such detachment? What happened to him that he doesn’t remember me?