Page 136 of Worst Nanny Ever
Travis watches with something like disbelief as the first lock of black hair falls down.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask, even though it’s obviously too late.
“Your tits are pressing against the back of my head. Right here, right now, I’m completely happy.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
TRAVIS
The hair continues falling down onto the sheet. I didn’t know I had so much hair. But it’s hard to pay attention to it, because I can feel Hannah’s tits pressing against me, her fingers gliding over me. Even the feeling of her scissors slicing through my hair, cutting off the deadweight, is almost sensual.
Right now, I need her more than I need air.
Bixby’s betrayal keeps stabbing into me, bringing back those other betrayals. All the reasons I’d wanted to live my life quietly. But I don’t want that anymore. It was a desperate wish made by a hurting man.
I want to live my life loudly—to be someone Ollie and Hannah can be proud of.
No more hiding.
While I’m not about to wear a sailor suit and sing about the Good Ship Lollipop to get people interested in my band, I’m not going to cringe from who I am anymore. If I’d accepted that sooner, this would never have happened.
She climbs off her stool and circles back around to the front again, her breasts on display, and I can’t miss the opportunity tobury my face in them. I feel her laughing before she gives me a little push. “Come on, I need to see it from the front.”
A grin stretches across her face as I lean back, letting her look her fill.
“You areridiculouslygood-looking,” she says, letting the scissors fall onto the sheet, and then climbs into my lap. I groan as my already-half-hard dick gets all the way there.
She kisses me and then kisses the birthmark on my forehead before rocking against me, her delicious heat hidden from me by her yoga pants and my jeans. Too many layers.
“I’m going to have to lay down the law at your shows, because there’s no way I’m letting women throw their unmentionables at you.”
“Last time it was a toy boat,” I say. “They clocked me in the birthmark, which you just made a clearer target.”
“If anyone tries to use you for target practice of any kind,” she says, moving her hips, “they’re going to have to get through me first.”
“Lucky for you, there probably won’t be any more shows,” I say darkly, still not wanting to think about it. I want to savor her for as long as I can. Until the reality of what happened bites me in the ass.
She grips my chin, lowering it so my gaze is glued to hers. “You listen right now. There will be.”
“Two people don’t make a band,” I say, wrapping my hands around her hips.
“So you’ll find two more.”
“We weren’t having much luck finding one more before we dropped Bixby.”
She sighs, burying her face in my chest, above the area where a massive bruise is forming, thankfully, and says, “Liam plays guitar, and I know he jams with his friends sometimes. He might be willing to sit in for a while.”
“What?” I ask in shock.
“He’s pretty good,” she says. “You know I like to sing…”
“Yes…”
“We used to have this super lame family band when we were kids—Liam, Connor, my dad and me. We were the Moroney Movers and Shakers. It was my dad’s other way of bonding with us…you know, besides the beer thing. I almost hate to admit it, but there are videos.”
“Seriously?!” I say, laughing as I glide my hand up and down her back, pulling her closer. “Why have you been holding out on me? Don’t tell me you were embarrassed. You saw the Ships Junior videos. What could be worse than that?”
“Honestly? I figured you guys might be interested in bringing Liam into the band if you knew, and I was still pissed at him. But I’m not mad anymore, so yeah, I can talk to him. I bet he’d be willing to help you out for a while. Or point you toward someone else.”
