Page 50 of Nanny for the Bikers

Teller nods in agreement, his eyes glazed. “Me neither. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “Alright, you two, let’s get you some water and something to settle your stomachs and get you to bed.”

As I guide them towards the kitchen, Kip trails behind, a smug grin on his face. “Amateurs,” he scoffs, his stride steady despite the alcohol in his system. “I could drink them under the table any day.”

I glance over my shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Is that so? Well, Mr. Invincible, you can help me take care of these two, then.”

Kip’s grin widens, and he gives me a mock salute. “Aye, aye, captain.”

In the kitchen, I fill glasses with water and rummage through the cupboards for some crackers. Clay and Teller slump into chairs at the table, their heads in their hands.

How much did they all drink?Too much.

As I set the glasses and crackers in front of them, Clay looks up at me, his eyes softening. “Thanks, Ayla,” he murmurs, his words heavy with gratitude. “You’re so caring.”

Something in his tone makes my heart flutter, and I feel a blush creeping up my neck. I busy myself with arranging the crackers on a plate, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through my chest.

Kip leans against the counter, watching me with a knowing smile. “She’s pretty amazing, isn’t she?” he says, his voice low and sincere.

“She?”

“You.”

I swallow. “Alright, Kip, let me grab you a chair.” He’s drunker than he let on too.

I go to the living room to grab him a chair but when I turn to go back into the kitchen, Teller is standing in the doorway. “Ayla, wait.” His words are soft, almost hesitant.

I turn to face him, my heart skipping a beat at the intensity in his gaze. “What is it, Teller?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he’s about to say. “We’ve been talking about you,” he admits, his eyes searching mine. “All of us.”

My pulse quickens, and I feel a fluttering in my stomach. “What do you mean?” I manage to ask, my mouth suddenly dry.

Teller runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture I’ve come to recognize. “We all care about you, Ayla…want you.” He pauses, as if choosing his next words carefully. “And we’ve realized that we’re all willing to share you.”

The words hang in the air between us, heavy with meaning. I stare at him, my mind racing as I try to process what he’s saying. Share me? What does that even mean?

I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. I’m too shocked, too overwhelmed by the implications of his confession.

Teller takes a step closer, his gaze never leaving mine. “I know it’s a lot to take in,” he says softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch sends a shiver down my spine. “But we want you to know how we feel.”

I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest. I’ve always known that my relationship with these men was special, but I never imagined it could be something more. The thought is both thrilling and terrifying.

“I... I don’t know what to say,” I whisper, my voice trembling.

Teller nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You don’t have to say anything right now…”

With that, he leans in and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulls away. I close my eyes, savoring the warmth of his touch, the promise of something more.

When I open them again, Teller is back in the kitchen, plopping back down in his chair.

I take a deep breath and go back into the kitchen, just as Clay’s boisterous laughter echoes through the house. “Remember that time Kip tried to impress that girl at the bar by juggling shot glasses?” he howls, his words slightly slurred.

Kip groans, burying his face in his hands. “Don’t remind me,” he mutters, but I can see the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Teller chuckles, shaking his head. “And then he dropped them all, shattering glass everywhere. We got banned from that place for a month!”

The tension in the room dissipates as we all dissolve into laughter, the heaviness of the moment temporarily forgotten.

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