Page 25 of The Nanny Tenure (Single Dads Club)

I pretended I wasn’t at all affected by that. “I’m fine.”

“Then why aren’t you driving?” When I refused to answer, he shifted closer, looming over me. “Kennedy.”

I gave in with a shrug. “Even though I amperfectlyfine now, it’s hard to ignore the little voice of fear in the back of my head. I didn’t get my license until I was twenty, and I’m a nervous driver. I get, like…” I shook my hands, trying to think of the word for whenever I attempted to merge on the highway. “It’s nerve-racking for me to begin with, and ever since the accident, I haven’t been able to talk myself into driving again.”

Liam squinted, sucking his lips between his teeth. A habit, I’d learned, that he had when in deep thought.

After a moment, he cleared his throat then met my gaze. “What I said to you on Sunday, about not trusting you to drive with Finn, I’m sure that made it worse, and I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t lie and tell him it didn’t add to my hesitation, so instead, I offered him a small smile. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“And I want to go driving with you this weekend. You can practice with Finn and me in the car. I want you to be comfortable.”

“No, I don’t?—”

“I could bribe you like Finn.” He squinted, assessing me. “For every four hours of practice, I’ll buy you something special.”

“Ooh, Professor,” I said, laughing. “You don’t know what you just promised.”

“Has to be under five dollars.”

I leaned into him, my chin in my hands, both of my knees on the inside of his. “You’ve never been to Ulta before, have you? There’s quite a bit you can find for under five dollars.”

“What’s Ulta?”

I stood up, slapping him on his unsuspectingly muscular shoulder, and grinned. “You’ll find out tomorrow. But I have to go get changed now. Dinner’s on the stove. It’s pasta fagioli, my mom’s recipe. Finn tried a few bites of it, but I’m sure he’ll want snacks later.”

“Thanks,” he said and turned to call for Finn while I skipped upstairs.

Two hours later, I had on my old reliable: sky-high nude heels, my favorite pair of jeans, and a black top that showed off the girls. I slipped my purse over my shoulder and texted my friend.

Liam had already put Finn to bed. I knew because they’d knocked on my bedroom door about an hour ago. Finn didn’t want to go to sleep without a hug from me, and I’d melted into a puddle, which took about twenty minutes to recover from.

When I finally made it downstairs to the living room, I needed to pick my jaw up off the flooryet again. Liam “hot daddy professor who secretly boxed and had tattoos” was lying there on the couch in gray sweatpants, a worn T-shirt, and wire-rimmed glasses.

It was like he’d researched all the things heterosexual women loved and set out to accomplish them one by one.

But this time, he didn’t notice how I was staring. Because he was staring too.

Starting at my feet, his gaze crawled up my legs, hovering somewhere below my waist before journeying up for a long look at my breasts—I mean, I didn’t wear this shirt for peoplenotto notice them—then finally, he met my eyes. The tops of his cheeks were ruddy, and he shifted on the couch, crossing his legs at the ankles.

“Where are you headed?” he asked after a while.

“Drinks with my friends.”

“In that?”

“Yeah.” I glanced down at myself. “Why?”

“Won’t you be cold?”

I laughed. He didn’t.

My shirt was deceptively sexy. From the back, it looked like a loose T-shirt, but the cowl neckline drooped low in the front, held together by one tiny strip of material. It was a pain to tape my boobs up, but this shirt had a 100% success rate.

“You don’t need a cardigan or something?” he asked, and I shook my head.

“No, Mr. Rogers, I’ll be okay.”

---