Page 17 of Curvy Nanny for the Cougar
There’s a rumble underneath it, a gravelly tone that does inexplicable things to my insides.
“Yep. That’s me.”
I tilt my head to look at him because I’m pretty short, and most people are tall to me.
But—holy heck. Wowza.
He is just so big.
Sharp-jawed and golden-eyed.
There’s something in the way he watches me approach—like he sees everything, and he likes what he sees.
I clutch my purse tighter and smile, heart pounding.
“So, you’re DA123?” I ask, breathless.
He smirks, just a little. “Guilty.”
And he smiles, like one of those full on panty-melting smirks I’ve spent most of my adulthood reading about.
Oh yeah. I’m in trouble.
Hopefully, it’s the good kind.
He nods and gestures toward the grass clearing just off the park’s paved path.
“I grabbed us a spot near the stage. Hope you don’t mind music up close.”
“Not at all,” I say, trying to sound casual as I follow him.
I don’t trip.
Yay for small victories.
When we reach a cozy little patch by the trees, he shrugs off his sweatshirt and spreads it on the grass like some courtly Elizabethan knight.
“Here—don’t want your dress getting grass-stained.”
It’s chivalrous. Charming, even.
But then? I swear I hear something growl softly from the shadows beside the tree line.
I freeze. “Did you hear?—?”
He doesn’t react. Just gives me another smile that could melt a glacier and says, “Wanna grab some snacks and drinks before we sit?”
I nod, tucking a stray curl behind my ear and trying to convince myself that it was just a dog.
Or my imagination.
Definitely not some cryptid-level beast watching from the foliage.
“Um, sure.”
As we make our way toward the little food carts dotting the sidewalk, my nerves do that thing. The thing where I start second-guessing everything.
He’s polite. Asking if I prefer iced tea or coffee. If I want churros or pretzels.
