Page 6 of Wrong Number, Right Single Dad
“On a Friday night?”
“It’s a weekend thing.” I scratch my jaw. “I’m a firefighter.”
Annoyed doesn’t even begin to cover how I’m feeling right now. Frankly, I wish I could blow the whole damn thing off and pretend this isn’t happening.
But it’s mandatory. Even if I know most of the weekend is going to be spent with the guys playing poker and complaining about their wives.
It’s a pain in the ass for a single dad like me who doesn’t have a family support system.
“You’re a firefighter.” She seems to perk up at that nugget. “I had a feeling you had a job like that.”
I almost hate to ask. “A job like what?”
“One that involved working with your hands.”
I lift an eyebrow at that and her cheeks flush. “What? You’re good with your hands. Plus, you have these really great calluses.”
I shake my head, even as the blood rushes from it to my cock. “I really don’t have time to flirt with you.”
“No, you don’t. You need to say good-bye to your daughter and grab your bag. Or you’ll be late.”
“I can’t possibly go now.” I don’t know how the hell I’m ever going to explain this to my boss.
“I can watch Hannah.”
“You want to watch her?” I shake my head. “I don’t even know you.”
“I can give you references, if that’s what you’re worried about. I even nannied for a summer in college before… well, before I started another job.”
“You were a nanny in college?” I don’t know why I’m asking this. I’m not really entertaining this possibility. Am I?
“You need a nanny, and I clearly don’t have any other plans going on right now.” Delaney shrugs. “It’s like it was meant to be.”
“I don’t know about that.”
But, I also don’t know what other choice I have.
The office door swings open and Hannah bounces in. “Can Delaney stay, Daddy? Pleeeeaaassseeee.”
Both of them turn to stare at me. Batting their eyes. Expectant expressions on their faces.
Hell. This is a terrible idea.
I sigh. “You said you have references?”
THREE
DELANEY
After calling my old nannying boss—who I haven’t spoken to in years—and somehow requesting a last-minute criminal background check, Jared hires me for the weekend.
With a bunch of rules.
“She gets only one hour on the tablet,” he says while double-checking the contents of the fridge, which he already gave me instructions about earlier.
It’s clean—and organized—like he’s one of those restock accounts on social media.
“She can watch two shows, but only if they’re from one of the approved playlists.” He closes the fridge and points to a neatly printed sheet of paper stuck there with a WORLD’S BEST DAD magnet. “Emergency numbers. You should be able to reach me by phone, but just in case.”
