Page 23 of The Prez

After he retrieves what he reached into the fridge for—a container of strawberry yogurt—he turns around and jumps when he sees me. “Fucking shit!” he exclaims, his hand on hischest as the yogurt squirts everywhere. He squeezed the container in his fright, getting most of it on his hands. “Why are you creeping up on me?”

I raise an eyebrow. “The kitchen is public space, precioso.” I feel my face heat at the endearment. Thankfully, Omari doesn’t comment on it, so I don’t think he knows much Cubano. “I came to get a bottle of water.”

“Need to put a bell on you,” Omari mutters as he turns to get some paper towels. I watch openly as he gets on the floor, his ass facing me, to wipe up the spilled yogurt. My hands twitch to grab him by his hips, pull off those teasing fucking shorts, and bury my cock in him as deep as I can while he begs me for more.

I clear that thought from my head. Omari is my nanny and I will not fall for my fucking nanny like some fucking leading man in a chick flick. Besides that, he looks at me like I’m scum because of Baby Rafael. I have less than a snowball’s chance in hell of burying anything in Omari.

When he’s finished and throws the paper towels in the trash, he turns around and looks at me, still standing just inside the kitchen. “What?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. He has on a tight shirt that shows the roundness of his belly and I itch to touch him there, to feel his softness under the calloused palms of my hands.

Dios, he has such a fucking attitude all the time. It’s as arousing as it is annoying. “Do I need to report what I’m doing in the kitchen of my own home to you?”

“You do when you fucking stare at me like a creeper.”

Ignoring his snark, I go to the fridge, bumping him out of my way and pull out a bottle of water. I could swear I hear Omari call me a psychopath.

Turning around, I demand, “Come again.”

“Only psychopaths keep their water in the fridge.”

“Then you should be afraid you’re living with apsychopath,” I tell him, swigging the cold water. It helps to push away the feeling of inadequacy that’s been stuck with me since Little Raf got here, made stronger by my dream tonight.

Fuck, when did I start calling him Little Raf?

Omari scoffs, leaning against the counter across from me. “Not even close.”

My lips tip up at his lie.

While we stand there, I let my eyes roam down his body, taking in all the skin that’s showing. Just as I thought, he’s smooth everywhere. His skin looks soft and I want to reach out to see if it’s true.

Omari clears his throat and I raise my eyes to meet his. He has a confused look on his face but doesn’t comment on my staring. Instead, he says, “I want to start Little Raf on solid foods. Nothing major. Mainly carrots, peas, potatoes, eggs. Soft stuff. Do you know about any allergies your sister may have had?” He asks the question delicately and while I appreciate it, it irritates me. Because I don’t know. She could have been introduced to any number of things we didn’t eat with Mama and reacted badly. Or been allergic to something like a new strand of fucking grass not on native to our island. I wouldn’t know.

“None that I know of,” I say through clenched teeth.

He nods, seeming to file that information away. “Okay. I’ll go slow, doing veggies before we make our way up to anything else. I want him to get used to the mushy stuff first.” He smiles at me, but it falters when I don’t return it. “Little Raf needs to go to a pediatrician. I asked Shane about his insurance information, but he said you have everything.”

My stomach swoops and a flash of anger descends on me. Why is he asking Shane? Why didn’t he ask me anything he needs to know about my nephew?

Because you’re a shitty uncle, I answer myself. Still, I don’tlet the anger go. It gets under my skin that I’m not dependable and Omari knows it. Little Raf knows it. Everyone knows it.

I’m a failure.

“Is Shane his uncle?” I snap at Omari, crushing the empty bottle in my hand. “Next time, ask his fucking guardian.”

Omari’s head snaps back and fire enters his eyes. He’s gearing up for a good one and I have to admit it’s sexy as fuck. “Well, you haven’t been uncle of the fucking year. You’ve been absent and anytime I try to include you on anything about Little Raf, you shy away or dismiss me. I haven’t even seen you hold him and I’ve been here for almost a week. Excuse me for asking someone that actually gives a fuck.”

His words are a punch to the gut but I can’t refute them. I have been absent, but I can’t figure out how to even bridge that gap. Not between me and Little Raf, but between me and Elena.

I don’t have answers from her. I don’t have closure because she’s not around to tell me anything. I have to guess why things unfolded the way they did. Guilt for not taking care of her eat away at me, and I know if I try to be what Little Raf needs, I’ll fail him too.

But Omari looking at me the way he is, his eyes full of accusation does something to me. I don’t like it. Normally, what people think of me means less than nothing, but not with Omari.

Exhaling slowly, I lean back against the counter and run my fingers through my hair. “I know.” I look up at him, seeing surprise cross his face. I might be a son of a bitch, but I can admit when I’m in the wrong. “I can’t … it’s hard, okay?”

The anger drains out of Omari’s face and is replaced with … sympathy. Not pity like I would assume, but he actually feels bad for me. My heart thumps hard, a new, foreign feeling swooping low in my belly. “Why?” He leans back, resting his elbows on the lip by the sink. I have to fight to keep my eyes from dragging down his body. “What’s hard about it? He’s your blood, your family. You shouldn’t treat him like you do.”

Again, I bristle, even though I know he’s right. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” My voice is hard, spitting the words at him like barbs.

He’s not flustered at all. “Then help me understand. I want to help Little Raf. That means making sure he has a relationship with his uncle and knows his uncle loves him. I want what’s best for him. He deserves it.”

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