Page 38 of Curvy Nanny for the Cougar
Still no word from Uncle Uzzi, except a cryptic-as-hell email that said:
Have patience, son.
Patience?
I’m hanging on by a damn whisker, and the meddling old Witch is off fortune-cookie-ing me through a life crisis.
My Cougar’s pacing under my skin, snarling, tense, horny—and let’s be honest, just this side of feral.
Because he knows.
We know.
My Pretty Girl? She’s our fated mate.
And she left.
Vanished. Poof.
Just a memory and a damn pair of pink panties under my bed.
I check the clock: 7:27 AM.
Two minutes early.
But somehow, I’m already irrationally pissed off that this nanny hasn’t arrived yet.
Because I have plans today.
Plans that involve tracking down the mystery woman who turned my brain and my bed into her playground.
“Daaaaad! Can I have another waffle?”
I glance over at Alex—my son, the tiny chaos machine—who is mid-bounce in his chair, syrup in his hair, and a hopeful gleam in his eyes.
“Not now, pal. Your swim lesson’s in half an hour. I don’t want you getting sick.”
“But I’m hungry!”
“Drink your milk. That’ll fill your tummy. And after the lesson, your new nanny can make you a snack, okay?”
He huffs. Hard. But grabs the cup like the little man he is. “Fine.”
7:29 AM.
The doorbell rings.
I storm toward it, fully ready to let this new employee know exactly how I feel about cutting it so close to her start time.
Because technically? She’s not late.
But also? I don’t care.
I’m mad. I’m anxious. I’m dangerously close to launching a full-scale magical manhunt for a woman I haven’t even exchanged last names with.
But then—I open the door.
And all the air leaves my lungs.
