Page 77 of Worst Nanny Ever
“All right,” he says with a smirk. “If that’s how you want to spin it.”
“It’s not how I want to spin it,” I say, feeling unreasonably pissed at him, especially since I’m the architect of all of my own problems. “That’s how it is. She’s Ollie’s nanny.”
“And single dads never end up with the nanny,” he says wryly, with a knowing look that has me seeing red for probably the fiftieth time today.
“Funny.”
“Come on,” he says. “I’m guessing your mother hired an elderly nanny. I’m thinking thick glasses, floor-length dresses even in the summer. Maybe a knee brace or two. Someone your father’s actual age.”
I have to laugh at this, because it’s like he just drew a picture of Nanny Grace.
“So did Lilah,” I volunteer. “Ollie and I have FaceTimed his old nanny a few times. She looks like Mrs. Doubtfire.”
“But not you, you crazy bastard,” he says, laughing. “You had to hire the only woman you’ve wanted this bad in years. Maybe ever.”
I drop the cloth I was using to wipe down my kit. “What are you talking about? I never said that.”
“It’s all in what you haven’t said, brother. I know you. Just like you knew I was in deep with Sophie before I had any idea.”
I swear under my breath. “Sure. Fine. I should have gone with Mrs. Doubtfire. Hannah drives me crazy. Everything in the house smells like her, and worse, I want it to smell like her.” I drop my head before admitting, “And, yeah, I kissed her the other day, which was a huge mistake, but I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“I know a thing or two about that,” he says, a sparkle of humor in his eyes.
“I want her, but I’m not going to give into it. I have enough on my plate, and Ollie needs her more than I do.”
“There’s no denying you have a lot to deal with,” he agrees. “Should we give your fan base a thrill and wearShips AhoyT-shirts? Maybe learn some yacht rock?”
“Very funny.”
“Do you want to cancel the show tomorrow?” he asks, and I know he’d do it for me. He’d send Drake away for me too. Which is exactly why I can’t let him do it.
I shake my head. “No, Bixby’s already pissed, and if I cancel, they’ll probably just show up at my door with popcorn and ask for a special airing of the movie.”
“Sophie and I would join you,” he says with a grin. “She hasn’t watched them since she was little.”
“I’ll pass.” I swallow, then admit something that hurts. “Drake’s good. I guess we should give him a shot. He can play with us for Frank next week. See what he thinks of the sound.”
He gives me a crooked grin. “You don’t like him, though.”
I shrug. “He’s cocky.”
“But that’s not your only problem with him.”
I should tell him I don’t like where this is going. That I can’t envision myself going on tour, ever. That I’m not even sure I want to level up, because it might mean people start recognizing me as Travis Thomas, not Ships Junior, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
But if Rob wants the tour and the fame, he deserves them. He’s worked his ass off for this band, and it’s his music we’re playing, even if we work together on the arrangement and melodies.
If I need to step down when the time comes, I will, as much as the thought destroys me.
“Yeah, it is,” I say. “Bixby’s cocky enough—he doesn’t need the encouragement—but let’s give this guy a go if he’s interested. He’s by far the best we’ve seen.”
Rob laughs. “I mean, if it’s between him and the other people we’ve seen, I’m going to have to agree with you.”
“I’ll make it good with Bix,” I promise. “I’ll Uber him some nachos.”
It’s an in-joke from the first night we met Bixby, when he ate two orders of nachos during a ten-minute conversation.
Rob pats me on the back, but he doesn’t leave yet. He watches me for another long moment, then says, “Be a little easier on yourself. You’re doing the best you can.”
