Page 6 of Worst Nanny Ever
I shut myself in the bathroom with my latest bottle of hard kombucha before checking my phone—and then do a double take.
The texts are from Travis.
Hi Hannah.
I was wondering whether you’re busy tomorrow night.
Oh, you havegotto be kidding me.
After my friend Sophie started dating his friend Rob, Travis and I exchanged a few fun, flirty texts. Okay, several. Mostly about our friends. But our enjoyable back-and-forth exchange ended abruptly after I babysat for his son.
The poor kid had just gotten dropped off by his mother as if he were a mis-delivered package. My own mother had abandoned me at around the same age, so I knew exactly what he was going through. He was terrified. He needed a distraction, some fun…so I’d pulled out the only game that looked remotely fun in Travis’s cabinet.
And, sure, it isn’t precisely meant for children, but what kid doesn’t love being allowed to do something they shouldn’t?
Travis made it very clear he doesn’t approve of my parenting skills.Idon’t approve of the drumstick he has firmly wedged up his ass. Nor do I want lectures on “proper behavior” from someone who’s my age.
It’s incredibly amusing that Travis would try to sidle into my phone using such a casual approach when we’ve barely spoken all month.
Based on his opening, there are only two things he could want. Option A: a booty call. Or option B: a favor.
It’s not hard to figure out which one he’s after.
Travis is a good-looking guy in a popular local band. He has avery nicehouse and an attitude that suggests he grew up rich, which is appealing for some women. In other words, he’s not the kind of man who needs to plan ahead to cinch a booty call.
I also happen to know that his band, Garbage Fire, is playing at Big Catch Brewing, my former place of employment, tomorrow night.
Which means we’re definitely dealing with option B.
The guy’s gotcojones, I’ll give him that. It’s almost admirable.
I shake my head at my phone for a solid five seconds before responding:
Ohhh, are you asking me out?
Because sorry, not interested.
You’re not my type.
As I wait for his response, I catch a glimpse of myself grinning in the mirror across from me.
No getting around it, messing with Travis is way more fun than Catan.
He doesn’t keep me waiting long.
Very funny, Hannah.
I thought so too.
I also think it’s very funny that you’re texting me at two in the morning.
I didn’t think you’d answer.
A fantastic reason for getting in touch.
So, let’s have it. What do you need? A makeup artist? My rate is $125 an hour.
I’m starting to regret texting you.
