Page 19 of Nanny for the Rockstars

Jeanette whips around to look at him.

He glares back, but she just shakes her head. The look on her face is somewhat surprised, yet somehow amused.

“I just remembered when we were in high school and you used to say that to me all the time,” she says with a sneer. “I see there’s still some things about you that are exactly the same.”

Caleb shakes his head and turns his attention to his phone, and I do the same. Julian is already engrossed in his laptop, so he’s not even paying much attention to the conversation between the three of us anymore anyway.

I have a lot I want to say, but I hold it back. I don’t want to engage in an argument, and that’s clearly where this is heading. We’ve hired her to take care of Hendrix for the next couple months at least. I don’t want to kick off our first night with an argument.

Even if there are so many conflicting feelings coming at me all at once right now, I’m not going to let my brain entertain any of them. There’s no reason for me to dredge up the past, even if being around Jeanette is enough to bring back things I haven’t thought or felt in a long, long time.

I remind myself that reconnecting with Jeanette isn’t what we’re doing here, and that’s not what this is about. The only reason she’s here is to take care of Hendrix, and we should focus on that professional relationship we have with her now. If we were smart, we would only talk to her about professional things.

What we had is in the past, and it’s best to leave it there. All of it. Not just the emotions, but the physical side of things as well. It would be stupid to get sexually involved with her again, I know that.

But the real question is, do I care?

Julian and Caleb sure don’t, I can see it in the way they’re watching her.

And I’m sure if I got the chance, I would take full advantage of having her again.

In fact, I know I would.

NINE

JEANETTE

I’m glad I didn’t have to deal with eating a meal with the triplets tonight.

I’d grabbed a fast dinner from the fast-food joint across the street from my apartment complex and scarfed it down while I was waiting for my Uber to pick me up.

I remember the times when we were much younger, when my dad was out at a bar somewhere and I would have the triplets over to my place. We’d have so much fun putting together pizzas to throw into the oven, or we’d make nachos or tacos.

They were good times, no denying that. But after it wound up so terrible for me my senior year, I can’t think of the good times we had without thinking of the bad times too. And that always pisses me off. I can’t get over what they did to me that year. And just because I’m taking care of their son now, that doesn’t mean shit when it comes to how I feel about them.

This entire evening was filled with aggravating conversation.

Every subject any of the men wanted to talk about was somehow a commentary on what life was like when we were kids, and subtle jabs at how I needed a job so badly that I took one from them. I had done and would continue to do my best to get it through their heads—I don’t need them and I only took this job for the sake of the kid.

But I’m sure they don’t believe me about that, and that only feeds my belief that they’re somehow putting me down in all this.

Yet, for all the hatred I feel toward them, and how much I doubt they’re being genuine when they’re nice to me, that doesn’t change the fact that they really have gotten a lot hotter with age. Ten years has done wonders for them from head to toe.

They now grow facial hair. And it grows in so evenly, they’re all sporting a five-o’clock shadow tonight. They’ve filled out their tall frames too. No longer the lanky teenagers I once knew, they’re now athletic men.

And that doesn’t even begin to touch on their tattoos.

I have loved tattoos ever since I got out on my own and realized just how many people have them. I don’t have any of my own, but I’m drooling over the tattoos that the triplets have. It makes me think that someday I might actually be brave enough to commit to something forever—a first after what happened back in high school.

I now lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling. They quickly added another bed for me before embarking on the next leg of their journey, so I’m lucky enough to not be stuck with the men and their bunk beds. I get to have the space at the back of the bus, all with the added benefit of having space for a small crib for Hendrix.

Tank, the driver, walked back to the other, larger bus where he sleeps with several of the other stage hands. It provides more privacy for the rockstars while on tour, though they don’t wish to have privacy from their son, which means that I’ll also be sleeping in their bus.

When they detailed the arrangement to me yesterday, I thought my sleeping with them in the bus was a joke. At least, I hoped it would be. But no, I now realize I will be living and sleeping in here with the triplets and their son for the duration of my time on the road with them.

I want to believe it’s not that bad, but as I stare up at the black ceiling, the only sounds I hear are the short, light breaths of the baby sleeping in his crib next to my bed, and the longer, deeper breaths of the triplets as they sleep in the bunk beds further up the bus.

These are the three men who made my life hell for so long. But they’re also the men who I considered to be my first loves. Shit. These men are the only men in the world I have ever considered to be true loves.

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