Page 8 of Worst Nanny Ever
“Then he’s the rare man who has excellent judgement.”
“Please, Hannah. Will you do this for me? I need you to do this for me.”
I pause, letting him sweat, though I’ve already decided I’ll do it. Truth is, I’ve been worried about Ollie and want to see how he’s faring. But while I’m doing it more for Ollie, I’d be lying if I said the bone-deep exhaustion in Travis’s voice didn’t move me—or the gravelly purr of his voice saying please.
I’m not immune to the appeal of making a big, strong man beg.
“Yeah, okay,” I say after another couple of seconds. “But I’m really bummed to be missing Garbage Fire’s fourth show this month. It’s going to hurt my psyche not to get to hear the same songs over and over again.”
“We always play a different setlist,” he says with a touch of annoyance, and I nearly burst out laughing.
He’s right, they do. They’re good, too. And Travis is so touchy right now that a puff of wind against his skin would set him off.
“Oh, my bad,” I say. “But yeah, I’ll do it. Do you need me to bring some fun stuff with me?”
“No,” he replies quickly. “Not necessary. We’ll have everything you need.”
“You’re going to hide all the fun stuff in the house, aren’t you?” I ask, leaning against the sink. “Say, what are you doing awake at two a.m.? Sophie said you didn’t have a show tonight.”
“Ollie hasn’t been sleeping well.”
I think of that little boy from last month, so small against Travis’s massive sofa.
When my mom left, I was Ollie’s age, and my little brother Connor was a baby. Just three months old. I never forgave her, and I’ll never forgive Ollie’s mom either.
“What a cunt,” I mutter.
“Excuse me?” he says.
I roll my eyes at my reflection in the mirror.
Travis isn’t as much of a prude as he likes to pretend. He’s a sexy guy in a band. He plays the drums, for goodness’ sake, a sensual instrument if ever there was one. All that banging around. All the sweating he does under those hot lights after moving his arms for an hour…
Sweat’s sexy when you know a man’s worked for it.
I really have attended a lot of Garbage Fire shows over the last month, so I can honestly say I’m not the only person who’s noticed the allure of Travis. He’s a tall, fit man with hair that’s too long up top and shorter on the sides, and dark eyes that remind me of black holes. Even more intense when he’s lost in his music.
Sophie, obviously, only has eyes for her boyfriend, who’s the lead singer. Briar claims she’s disinterested in all men at themoment, but the band is popular, and there’s a group of women who show up for every single show. Admittedly, so do we, so I’m not judging. Just…noticing. Partly for Sophie’s sake, because if any of those women try to make a run on her man, I’m gonna cut a bitch. Metaphorically.
There’s this one woman who’s always front and center, though, and she seems fixated on Travis. All the guys in the band know her, but I haven’t asked who she is…I don’t want them to misinterpret my question and think I’m interested.
“Hannah? Did you just call Ollie?—”
“Oh, no. I wasn’t talking about Ollie, obviously. He rocks. I was talking about his mother.”
“I’m not sure that’s much better,” he says, firmly back on his high horse.
“I didn’t call her a cunt in front of him,” I say, annoyed. “And I wouldn’t. But I think you and I can solidly agree that she’s a cunt.”
“I don’t think I should answer that,” he says, but I can hear a thread of humor in his voice.
“Plausible deniability. I got you. So what time do you need me tomorrow night?”
“From seven until ten thirty, maybe eleven? Is that okay?”
“Yup. Great. It’ll help make up for doing makeup in exchange for goat cheese and soap tonight. Do you like goat cheese?”
“I’m suspicious of anyone who’d give you goat cheese in exchange for doing makeup, so I’m going with no.”
