Page 3 of Knocking up his Nanny

CHAPTER 2

When I realize the awkward position I am in, on my hands and knees in front of the vending machine, I realize that my butt must be in the stranger’s face.

A small blush touches my cheeks as I quickly right myself, rising to my feet and trying to reclaim some morsel of my dignity. “I just paid for a snack, and it isn’t working,” I say in a small voice, trying to appear cool and conceal how emotional I am about this situation. But I’m close to tears. A quick glance at the man reveals that he is even more handsome than the fictional fellow I was just making up stories about. Dammit. Probably not single, then. I look down and fix my gaze back down on my ugly sweater.

The stranger steps forward, and grasps the side of the vending machine.

He stands very close to me, and I am hit by a whiff of his cologne, which floods my senses. It leaves me dizzy—the musky scent of sandalwood and spice. Whoa. Where did he come from? I can barely process that he is firmly tapping the side of the vending machine, and like magic, the Cheetos fall. He then reaches down, and retrieves the snack, before handing it to me. “The machine is tricky. It’s like a temperamental woman. You have to know just how to touch her. Yelling and cursing and shoving your arm up inside her like you’re trying to deliver a baby isn’t going to do the trick.”

I take the Cheetos from the man, still feeling embarrassed. “Thank you for helping. So—how long were you watching me?”

“Long enough,” he says with a light chuckle.

I take this moment to study his features. Something I definitely shouldn’t do, because he is way too gorgeous. A full head of dark hair, and blue eyes sparkling with amusement. His jaw is sharp and defined, and I can see the outline of shapely muscle beneath his shirt. His waist is trim and small, and well, I try to force my eyes to stop roaming lower. I look away, but his scent is still surrounding me, and making me keenly aware of his presence.

Remember that tiny spark of hope in my neglected lady bits? Breathing in the smell of this man feeds a bit of oxygen to that ember, without my permission, and the light that was about to fizzle out completely into ashes, somehow burns a tiny bit brighter. But it shouldn’t. I mean—sure, he’s saved my life and rescued my Cheetos—but that doesn’t mean he’s even straight, or interested in me, so I tell my dumb body to calm down.

“I just have one question,” he says, lifting an eyebrow as he looks down at me, with a bit of a grin. “Shake it like a polaroid picture?”

This makes me freeze.

I am keenly aware that I wore panties today with that exact phrase on them.

Everything else was in the laundry. But how on earth would anyone be able to read the words on my butt, unless—my cheeks begin to turn red-hot I realize my skirt must have flipped up in the back while I was wrestling with the vending machine.

June. June. This is bad.

Stop standing here with your mouth open in horror. Say something.

“I am an entrepreneur,” I tell him, once I gather my composure. Lifting my head high, I smooth out my dress, making sure it is properly arranged down over my bottom, in an effort to salvage some pride. “I dabble in fashion design, and I make specialty lingerie. I was only wearing these to test out the fit and comfort.”

“Is it comfortable?” the man asks, genuinely interested. “I don’t think I have ever seen so many sequins on a woman’s ass since I got dragged to strippers in Vegas for a bachelor party.”

My embarrassment is only growing, and I clutch the Cheetos tightly against my chest for comfort. “This is from my ‘Dance Like No One’s Watching’ collection. There’s also a pair that says ‘Badonkadonk’ and ‘I wasn’t farting, I was blowing you kisses with my butt.’ I also have a Christmas collection with phrases like, ‘Ho Ho Ho’ and ‘Let it Snow Right Here.’ It’s supposed to be eye-catching, and clearly it worked. I caught your attention, didn’t I?”

“Ah, I see. So, who is your target audience?” the man asks. “People who like to put on goofy underwear and twerk in their bedrooms for TikTok posts? Circus performers?”

“If you must know, I design a lot of custom costumes for drag queens who work at The North Pole.” I try to say this proudly, but clearly I am a failed entrepreneur. Although I have sewn and sold many outfits, it hasn’t been nearly enough to pay the bills. My friend Rudy is a performer who has supported me by buying many of my creations, and recommending my work to all his friends. But I still don’t even have a few extra dollars for gas, or Cheetos.

“You’re full of surprises,” says the man. “When I first saw you, I had you pegged for a kindergarten teacher or a nun. Until you bent over, of course.”

“Why does everyone keep calling me a nun?” I say with exasperation.

“I think it’s your hairstyle,” he suggests. “It’s very old-timey and proper.”

“How dare you insult my hair,” I say defensively, reaching up to touch my braided buns. “I looked up so many tutorials on YouTube to learn how to do this style!”

“Were those tutorials from the 1800s?” he asks playfully.

“No, because there was no YouTube in the 1800s,” I respond.

“Well, I know that,” he says with a chuckle. “Just the middle part and updo reminds me of Queen Victoria.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with a bit of Victorian style. I consider it classic,” I inform him stubbornly.

“It is quite classic,” he says, reaching out to touch my braids. “May I?”

“Sure,” I say in an anxious squeak. I can feel the heat of his hand near my ear. It’s a very gentle and curious touch. Who is this gorgeous man and why is he fussing over my hair? “Are you a hairdresser or something?”

“Oh, no. Not at all. I just know a little girl who wouldkillfor hair like this,” he responds.

I find the answer adorable, but at the same time a bit disappointing. He seemed intrigued and fascinated by the glimpse of my bottom, perhaps—but my hair is reminding him of a child. I seem like a cute kindergarten teacher, not someone he would ever find attractive. A sobering reminder of my failed love life.

The little spark in my tummy threatens to fizzle out. But I don’t want to let it die just yet.

“Would you like to go on a date with me?” I blurt out.

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