Page 38 of Doughn't Let Me Go

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, rubbing his hands together, practically bouncing on his heels. “I just can’t fucking believe this.”

“You’re acting likeyou’rethe one who got laid.”

“So you went all the way?” His brows shoot up. “You wildcat.”

“I’m about two seconds from punching you.”

He puffs his chest out. “I could take you.”

“Anyway,” I say, “it turns out I kind of know her.”

His brows crush together. “How? You’ve only been here two weeks.”

“Last night was my first night meeting her.”

“Did you read every fucking Dr. Seuss book on the way over here or some shit? You’re talking in riddles and it’s really starting to piss me off. Just spill it already.”

I gulp down the rest of my water, and he watches my every move.

When I finish, I center the glass perfectly on the coaster.

“It was Dory.”

“You fucked a fish?”

I pinch my nose. “Doris.”

“Okay…”

“She is—or was—Drew’s sitter.”

“So?”

“I had interviews today to hire a new nanny.”

It hits him, and his eyes widen. “Oh.Oh.” He barks out a laugh, slapping the countertop. “You bagged your nanny, didn’t you?”

I groan, dropping my head onto the counter, thumping it a few times.

Maybe if I keep hitting my head against things, the memories of last night will crack and fade and I’ll no longer have images of a naked Dory burned into my brain.

Thump.

“This is amazing.” Foster continues to laugh. “Just absolutely perfect.”

“It is not.”

“Youneverdo the one-night-stand thing, haven’t since your dumb ass slept with your intern and she went all crazy on you. You go out and score for the first time in forever andthisis what happens?” He wipes at his eyes. “Priceless.”

“I really hate you.” I say it into the countertop, but I know he hears me.

Maybe this is what I get for going against my better judgment and dipping my toes into the wild bachelor life most people assume I lead. I know how people see me. They think because of my face and my body—I’m not arrogant; I just know I work hard for my body and own a mirror—I’m inviting girls into my bed left and right. I’m sure my padded wallet plays into that assumption as well.

But that’s not the case. I’ve never been into the one-night thing. I’m more of a long-term guy, which is apparently a wild concept in this day and age.

“You do not,” Foster says. He finally gets the last of his giggling out and clears his throat. “So what are you going to do?”

I lift my head. “I don’t know. I told Mel to cancel my other interview for the afternoon.”

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