Page 43 of Nanny for the SEALs

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Katie

I was starving.I couldn’t hide in my room much longer. I had just one more day before I had to get to work.

I took my phone as I headed to the kitchen. I needed to eat and after talking to Mom. I couldn’t help but think about Thanksgiving. I was excited not only to see her, but to spend time with her, too.

“Good evening,” Rick said sarcastically. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and I blushed as my eyes didn’t meet his, but his chest. He was perfectly sculpted like Pete, and our time together this weekend flashed through my mind as I remembered slowly tracing my fingers over his chest.

“Sorry,” he apologized as he grabbed the shirt, which was on the workspace, and quickly put it on. My ever-growing wet panties wanted him to stop. I didn’t mean to embarrass him. It was as if spending time with Pete had turned me into a heathen. I couldn’t stop thinking about his naked body, even when he had on his black polo.

“You hungry?”

I nodded, finding my throat dry and unable to speak.

“Good, I’m making lasagna—the only thing I can make and feel proud about eating. You can set up the table, I hate eating alone.”

Again, I nodded and robotically headed to the breakfast table and started grabbing plates and cutlery to prepare it—the way I’d done so many times before, but usually just for Stan. It never dawned on me until now that I’d never spent time with Rick. Well, not like this. We’d exchanged words, talked about the twins, but to sit down and have a meal, never.

“Twins? Where are they?”

I didn’t even realize he was standing behind me. I was too busy, lost in my own thoughts.

“They’re with Aunt Elizabeth. She wants to spend more time with them, which is why she’s staying in the city more and more. Trying to get to know them. If she stayed with them here, then they would always want to be with us.”

“Makes sense,” I agreed, as for some crazy reason I was worrying about my job. Even if I didn’t feel like I was just the nanny anymore.

We stood for a few seconds, our eyes locked, and neither of us spoke. I was too busy recapturing the moment I walked into the open-plan kitchen when he had no shirt. I had no idea what he was thinking. I think out of the three of them, he was the most difficult to figure out all the time because he didn’t give anything away. Since our kiss that was weeks ago, he’d gone all cold again. Professional. I should have felt good about it, meaning I was only involved with one brother and not all three.

“I’ll get it out of the oven. Grab the salad from inside the fridge, and we’ll be good to eat.”

Again, I did as he asked, and once I laid it on the table, I sat down.

God, I was hungry. I didn’t realize how much until the smells that were enveloping the table as he laid the lasagna on the table made me close my eyes, and the only sounds were my rumbling stomach.

He chuckled. “You were hungry. No wonder you’re quiet.”

That wasn’t the only reason for my silence, but I didn’t say anything.

“Well, don’t wait. Give me your plate, and I’ll put a bit on it.”

I handed it to him, and he smiled as he paused and looked at me. I wonder what the reflection of myself said in his eyes. Her hair’s a bird’s nest. She looks a mess.

The only thing I had in my favor was about the fact I brushed my teeth before leaving my room. I hate it when my breath stinks of hunger, at times it puts me off eating, but between the other secret candy bar that I stashed away for an emergency. I gazed to the clock which hung on the wall, and I could tell why Rick said good evening. He wasn’t being sarcastic, it was nearly seven and the sun was still shining strong as if it was lunchtime.

“Shoot, drinks. Forgot about that. What’s your poison?”

“Just water.”

“Gotcha!” He jumped up as I put some salad, not a lot, but a little to show that I did believe in healthy eating. Both Rick and Pete were advocates of healthy eating, whereas Stan was the complete opposite, which was why in the span of over three months, I’d managed to be an extra ten pounds heavier.

“Here you go,” he said as he put the glasses down next to our plates. “Go on eat. Don’t wait for me.”

I was about to tell him I was trying to be well mannered, but he didn’t seem to care as he cut the lasagna and put some on his plate, then filled it with more salad, then lasagna. I felt guilty, looking at the couple of lettuce leaves and tomato I’d put on mine.

“This is better than good. It’s excellent.”

He chuckled. “See, told you so. I’m not just a pretty face.”

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