Page 9 of Tell Me Lies

“So, this would be your room.” Logan pushes open the door across the hall from Amelia’s. “Bring whatever you want for it, and I can give you money for whatever bedding you’d like.”

Even though he’s at least four feet from me, I can smell him. And I hate to admit … he smells scrumptious. When I’m writing characters, it’s always hard to articulate in words exactly what they smell like. In my mind, I know what I’m trying to explain on the pages, but it’s sort of up to the readers to use their imaginations to think of the scent.

I stare at the room before I frown, looking at him. “Uh, sorry. I’m a little confused. Why would I need a room?”

Down the hall, I hear Walker and Poppy playing with Amelia, which gives Logan and me a few minutes to discuss the logistics of the next six weeks.

He leans against the doorframe, putting one arm up over his head. His gray Sharks T-shirt hugs his muscles, and a sliver of his abdomen peeks out, but I force myself not to gawk.

“Well, I mean, I leave really early. And on game nights, it’s too late for Amy to stay the whole game, so Maddie would bring her back early and just stay here.” He must see the hesitation on my face because he swallows. “I mean, you don’thaveto stay here. But you can whenever you want.”

“Maddie is your current nanny?”

“Yeah. She’s been with us basically since Amelia was born. This place was her home. She lived here.” He pauses. “She was supposed to be here tonight, too, but something came up.”

My eyes shift from the room and back to him before I clear my throat. “It sounds to me, Mr. Sterns, like you’re looking for a mother for your child.” I take a step back. “I am not interested in that.”

“Whoa. Whoa. Whoooa,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose and yet somehow still grinning playfully. “I sure as shit am not looking for a mother figure for my kid. Trust me, I have no interest in that. Having one female in my life is more than enough. But, look, I’m a professional athlete who’s a single father, Maci. So, yeah, I kind of need someone to seamlesslyslide into Amy’s life and be around to care for her when I’m not here.”

“And what about when you are?” I raise an eyebrow. “What then? We all just hang out and act like we’re playing house?”

“I mean, sometimes, Maddie would stick around and hang out with us, and sometimes, she’d go stay with her parents. She was taking online college courses, so a lot of times, she’d be in her room, studying.” He shrugs. “When I’m home, you are free to do whatever you want. Stay here or go home and just arrive really early. Whatever works for you.”

He sighs. “I need my daughter to have structure. I need her to be here, in her own environment. And I’d feel like a dick, making you wake up at the ass crack of dawn to drive over here every morning, especially when Amy sleeps clear until eight.”

“What’s the pay?” I say, changing the subject and crossing my arms in front of my chest.

“You’re a famous author. What’s it matter?” He smirks, catching me off guard because he knows I’m a writer. When I roll my eyes, he laughs. “I’m kidding. I’m kidding. I was paying Maddie ten grand a month. If she traveled with us, I’d pay her way, and if she had to work more than usual some weeks, I’d give her more.”

My eyes must bug out of my head. That’s a lot of money for babysitting. Though my books are still earning, sales are down right now because—let’s face it—my readers are moving on. And if I don’t produce something fast, it will only get worse. So, this money? It’d be a nice sense of security. It could also help me pay for promotion leading up to my next release.

“All right,” I utter, holding my hand out. “Six weeks. But if I suck at this whole … kid thing, you can blame Walker and Poppy. It’s their fault.”

“Deal,” he says, shaking my hand. “You’ll be fine. But, like … you’re not going to give her full-sized grapes or anything, right?”

“What?” I gasp because this no-go on full-sized grapes is news to me.

He must see the shock written all over my face because he cringes.

“Tomorrow, if you’re free, stop by anytime in the morning. Maddie will be here; she’ll teach you everything you need to know. About grapes and all the other crap that I had to learn.” Releasing my hand, he winks lightheartedly, but not flirtatiously. “Don’t worry; I didn’t know shit about kids or raising one. If she can help me, she can help anyone.”

He jerks his chin toward the living room. “Better go see what they are up to, I suppose. The new parents-to-be.”

Following him, I glance at my friend, who’s sitting on the floor between her husband’s legs. Though I can see the fear on their faces, I can see the love and excitement too. And I love that for them. I love it so much.

They share the sort of love that I’ve written about. The kind I’m scared I’ll never get to experience.

“I’m going to be babysitting a three-year-old girl. Actually, some days and weeks, I’ll probably be living with the child for part of the time. I’ll write when I can, but my main priority for the next six weeks will be tending to her.” Before I can stop myself, I force the words from my lips, knowing it’s not what any author’s publicist wants to hear. “My hope is that this break will give me a chance to get my head on straight. To really … figure my shit out.”

There’s a pause. And after being with Holly for so long, I know a pause is never good. A pause means she’s processing what the hell I said. And not in a good way.

“I don’t understand. You’ve had months andmonthsto get your head on straight. And to … figure your crap out,” she finally says, her tone clearly less than impressed. “And now, instead of writing—or even trying to write—you’re going to be … babysitting? A child. A three-year-old child.”

I frown because when she says it like that, yeah … it sounds bad.

“Yes, well, I just thought it’d be good for me to have a change of scenery, is all,” I answer, holding my phone between my shoulder and ear as I pull on my pants. “I mean, sitting in front of the computer for hours each day or watching romance movies, trying to get inspired, clearly isn’t cutting it.”

Her response comes out instantly this time. “Hey, you know what? I just heard about a writing retreat back in yourold stomping grounds, Boston. It’s in a few weeks. Let’s try that first.” I hear her suddenly hitting keys on her keyboard. “Shooting them an email now to see if we can get you in.”

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