Maddox
“Are you sure?” I ask for probably the tenth time in the last two days. I am not normally insecure about anything, but the last six months have thrown me for a curve ball.
Sam, my best friend, punches me in the arm. “Enough,” he growls. “If my Cookie says she’s sure, she’s sure.”
“It’s okay, babe. He’s nervous about trusting someone with the kids,” Isabel says.
Isabel is Sam’s wife. In addition to being funny, sassy, and great with kids, she’s a saint for helping me interview potential nannies. Since taking custody of my sister’s kids six months ago, I’ve become aware that my career as a quarterback has not prepared me for several real life situations. Hiring a nanny is at the top of the list.
Thank God, Isabel offered to step in and help by conducting the first round of interviews. Unfortunately, her offer came after several disastrous first attempts on my end.
Sam snorts. “No, he’s worried she’s going to grab his junk.”
Isabel stops walking. “Hold up, did that happen?”
I blow out a breath. “Can we not talk about that right now? Little ears and all that.”
“Unka Mad doesn’t want us to hear,” Libby says, her voice speaking of wisdom beyond her four years.
“That’s right, honey,” Isabel says to my niece. “But y’all are going to love Finley. She’s amazing. Look, there she is.” Isabel nods to the bench sitting at the edge of the playground where we’re meeting the woman who is hopefully going to be my new nanny.
Since the season officially started, I’ve had four nannies and interviewed a dozen more. One of those live-in nannies actually climbed into bed naked with me. Thankfully I woke up before she actually had a chance to molest me.
This is what I get for having one of the most recognizable faces in football. And for being in the special (AKA nude) anatomy issue of the most popular sports magazine when I was younger. All my important pieces were hidden in artistically creative poses, but women still comment about that photo spread.
After a few weeks of dealing with handsy women, gold diggers and more than one cougar, I enlisted Isabel to help with the interviews in the hopes that removing my name from the process would weed out the worst of the worst. Sam, my best friend and teammate, is nearly as recognizable as I am, but his new wife is not known to the football-nutso-fans. I’m not dissing the fans. Fans are awesome. Normal fans are awesome. But what kind of woman gets a job as a nanny just so she can sleep with a football player? That is next level.
Isabel promptly fired the nanny service I was using and found a more reputable one. I didn’t even know there were nanny services to choose from, but Isabel is a badass business woman, so she has mad skills.
After weeding through applications and interviewing three other candidates, she picked Finley Young. And young, she is. Her resume stated she was twenty-two. But she’s already graduated with a degree in early childhood development and is about to start on her Master’s degree.
I glance at the woman sitting on the bench and she definitely looks too young and far too pretty to know anything about children. Not that either of those attributes disqualify a person’s skill set, but after all the money-hungry man eaters, I’m leery.
Libby skips next to Isabel, holding her hand and talking. Always talking. I don’t always know what she’s talking about. My experience with animated ponies is limited. But I know she’s whip smart and sweet and a great big sister and I love her as if she were my own. At least I think I do. I don’t actually have my own kids.
Tucker, the fourteen-month old tugs on my ear. I pull my head away and remind him to be gentle.
The woman on the bench looks up as we approach, no doubt because Libby is loud and still talking. Well, that, but also because Sam and I are both professional football players and not small guys. Especially Sam, whose nickname is The Viking.
The woman’s smile is immediate and so genuine that it seems to squeeze at something in my chest. Fuck, she’s pretty.
“Down,” Tucker says, then starts kicking his legs as if he’ll be able to take off at a running pace when I set him down. Instead his feet hit the gravel path and he stumbles. And then the water works begin.
The woman—who I’m assuming is Finley Young—immediately falls to her knees and leans over enough to get at his level.
“Hey little man,” she coos. “I think I might need a high five because I’ve never seen a little boy run so fast.” She holds her hand up waiting for him to smack it.
His chin is quivering but he looks up at her and at her hand.
“I mean you were like a super hero you moved so quickly.” She narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Tell me the truth, are you Superman?”
He gives her a toothy grin, but shakes his head. Then he claps his tiny palm against hers.
“My name is Finley, and it’s very nice to meet you,” she says. Then she stands, picking up a tote bag from the bench and looping it over her shoulder.
She’s so damn short, she barely comes to my chest. Her dark brown hair falls in a sheet down her back stopping where I’d guess her bra-line is. Not that I’m thinking about her bra because I’m not. Nor her fantastic tits or the fact that her curves are so ripe that they fucking demand my attention.
I am not looking for a woman.
I do not have time for a woman.
Sex. I would have time for sex. But I can’t have sex with my live-in nanny. Surely, that’s a rule.
If it’s not a rule, it should be. Because if Finley really is the perfect match for my kids that Isabel says she is, then I can’t fuck this up. I need her. Libby and Tucker’s paternal grandparents have expressed interest in taking them instead of me, which means I’ve got a case worker from CPS breathing down my neck, questioning whether or not a single dad with a reputation as a player has what it takes to care for kids.
Basically, I need a nanny more than I need to get laid. I definitely should not be thinking the words nanny and sex in the same sentence. Especially when the nanny looks like this.
Maybe I should have taken that one chick up on her offer last weekend at the game in New York. I don’t normally go for ball bunnies, but it’s been a damn long time since I’ve gotten laid. The only logical explanation for why I’m looking at this woman with lust surging through my body.
She introduces herself to Libby, before finally raising her eyes to meet my gaze. And holy fuck.
Her eyes are so big and expressive and such a rich shade of brown. Like that light shade of brown that used to come in the M&M packs. I don’t think she’s even wearing make-up, but her thickly lashed eyes blink at me and then she smiles warmly.
I have to shake my head to clear my thoughts enough to remember to shake her hand. I turn to introduce my friends only to discover that Isabel and Sam are loitering a ways behind me.
“I’m Maddox,” I say. I do not have time to be attracted to this woman. I need her professional assistance and nothing more. But seriously, where is Mrs. Doubtfire when you need her?
“Finley Young. It’s very nice to meet you. You’re kind of enormous if you don’t mind me saying.”
I just stare at her, but there’s zero recognition in her face.
“And your friend over there with Isabel looks even bigger.” She claps a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, that was probably rude. I’m so used to being with children and they just say whatever is on their minds.”
“You don’t know who I am, do you?”
She shakes her head. “The woman, Isabel, that I met with said you were some kind of athlete.”
“I’m the quarterback for the Austin Armadillos.”
Her eyes narrow. “Football, right?”
I just nod because, really? Who doesn’t know what a fucking quarterback is?
Somehow, the fact that she doesn’t know who I am makes her even more appealing. Fuck, that’s not a good sign. I need to get my head in the game.
“Isabel said you met all my qualifications. But we need to go over a few things first before you’re officially hired.”
She nods. “Did you want to walk the kids over to the play area so they can entertain themselves a bit while we visit?”
“Oh, right.” I look down and Tucker is already halfway to the brightly colored toddler-sized playscape. Isabel and Sam are following closely behind them, giving Finley and I time to discuss her employment. “Libby, listen to Sam and Isabel.”
“Okay Unka Mad.”
“Unka?” Finley asks.
I exhale slowly. I hate this story, but I know it needs to be shared if I’m going to hire this woman as my live-in nanny. “They’re my sister’s kids. She just got sentenced to prison and her parental rights were terminated. So right now they’re in kinship care with me.”
Finley’s expression warms and I feel her concern like a physical touch. “Wow, that’s a lot to take on for you and a lot of turmoil for them.”
“They’ve been in and out of foster homes for the last year. I don’t know why I wasn’t contacted when they were first removed. But I got them as soon as I was able to. The problem is, with my job, I can’t give them the kind of constant attention that they need.”
“Which is where a nanny comes in. I understand.”
“It’s a live-in position. You’ll be given a suite of rooms so you have plenty of space of your own. You have access to the rest of the house though.” The moment I say the words out loud, I’m picturing her in my house, drinking coffee in the kitchen, lounging in the media room. Lounging in my bed. Fuck. Get your head in the game, Maddox. “I have a housekeeper who also cooks so I don’t need you to do any of that. Just spend time with them and make sure they don’t get into too much trouble.”
She nods. “Of course. I am perfectly capable of cooking though.”
“You’re welcome to, but it’s unnecessary. Mrs. Brewster comes over every morning and prepares meals and cleans the house, does the laundry, etc.”
“Very well. I brought the sample curriculum I put together for the kids. Did you want to go over that?” She reaches into her tote bag and digs for a moment, like she’s looking for that sample curriculum.
The action angles her head closer to me and I get hit with a whiff of her scent. It’s something homey and welcoming with a hint of vanilla. Like fresh baked cookies.
It’s got to be her shampoo or something, because there’s no way this woman actually smells like home. The combination of her and cookies and home should not be arousing, but it is. Alarmingly so.
I take a step away from her, suddenly aware that this is a big problem.
“Uh, I can look at it later. Can you email it to me or something?”
“Yes, of course. Did you have specific questions about any of my qualifications?”
“No, Isabel looked at all of that. And you came from the agency, right?”
She nods.
“Good. Then we just need to get some things clear. You can’t have any overnight guests at the house. No sex.”
She opens her mouth, then closes it with a frown. I can tell from her expression my bluntness surprised her.
“I’m not currently involved with anyone,” she says.
My dick perks up at the news she’s single.
“I’m not either, and I’m not looking to be either.” I say it firmly, hoping that my dick gets the message, because it doesn’t matter whether or not she’s single. “I have enough on my plate with the kids and my job.” I glance over at the playground to see Libby helping Tucker down a slide. My heart tightens. My sister is an idiot to have messed up her life so much that she lost them.
“They seem like great kids,” Finley says.
“They are.” And for once in my life I’m not naturally good at something. The whole jumping in and being a dad—uncle—whatever has just been so damn difficult. I know how to put effort into things. Regardless of any natural ability I may have with sports, I still work and practice hard. But I also trust my instincts. Nothing about parenting works that way. I’m in over my head and I know I need help. “They just need more than I can give right now. I plan to retire soon, but I’m already contractually obligated for this current season.”
“Finney,” Libby calls out.
Finley looks up, then glances at me. “May I?” she motions to the playground.
I nod. Watching her walk away, I’m struck all over again by those luscious curves of hers.
Then Sam and Isabel are at my side. “You need to pull your head out of your ass,” Sam grumbles.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re attracted to her, but you can’t go there.”
I shake my head. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“Sam, baby, don’t be so grumpy. Mad might need some loving.”
“Don’t encourage him, Cookie. You’re already distracted enough,” he turns to me, “worrying about the kids and we need your head in the game. You don’t have time to fuck around with the nanny.”
I wince because, damn, it’s like he can read my thoughts.
“She’s very cute,” Isabel said.
“Not helping,” Sam growls.
She smacks his arm playfully. “You’re supposed to want everyone to fall in love and have what we have.”
“I do. Just not right now. And not with the nanny.”
“Grumpy pants,” Isabel says.
Grumpy or not, Sam is right. I know he’s right. I need this to work, which means I need to keep my dick in my pants and my hands off the nanny.
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