Page 33 of Sweet Distraction

“Hmm?”

He leans a little closer and whispers. “I need to get in the drawer.”

“Oh. Yes.” I jump out of the way and in the course of doing so, run smack dab into the front of him so we’re pressed together chest to knees.

I jolt back the other way so that my ass hits against the drawer he just opened and slams it shut again.

It’s a series of mortifying moments of my awkward ineptitude, and while my cheeks are burning red, Rocket chuckles mercilessly.

Almost as if this is the comedic relief he didn’t know he needed after the day’s events.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he continues to laugh, moves to the fridge, and opens the freezer door. “But that was funny as fuck.”

“Hilarious.” I roll my eyes. “For the record, it’s not going to work with me and this situation.”

He looks over his shoulder, and his brows furrow. “What isn’t?”

“What you’ve fallen back on your whole life.”

“You’ve lost me.” He pulls out two pints of ice cream from the freezer and sets them down on the counter between us.

“Your good looks and sweet-talking mouth.”

He chuckles and the sound is pure danger. “Can’t say I’ve even been accused of it being sweet. Dirty for sure, but definitely not sweet.”

I stare at him, my body reacting to his words and the innuendo. And falling right into what I just accused him of doing. “See? Right there? You’re doing it.”

His grin is lightning-quick. Of course he knows he’s doing it. Why does it feel like I’ve just laid down a challenge he’ll gladly accept?

“Relax. People misconstrue me being nice with flirting. They’re two completely different things.”

Every part of me wants to walk through that door he just opened and ask what the difference is in his eyes. The other part of me needs to save my sanity because, no doubt, his answer will replay in my head over and over as I stare at the ceiling and try to fall asleep tonight.

But his comment repeats in my head as he slides the two spoons from the drawer and places them beside the pints of ice cream.

“Ice cream always makes everything better, doesn’t it?” He lifts his chin toward the pints.

“Who said I needed to make anything better?”

He levels me with a gaze and a smirk. “Your silence did.” He taps the tops of both pints—Rocky Road and salted caramel—and lifts his brows at me. “How often do you do this?”

“Which part of it?”

“Pick up your life at a moment’s notice to go take care of someone else’s kid?”

“I haven’t. Not since I was in college.”

“Why not?”

“I’m a teacher. I teach.” Good one, Willow. “I was laid off due to budgetary cuts and knew a CPS employee who had an immediate need for someone with experience. I needed a job. They needed help with Poppy. So here I am.”

“So you’re an experienced nanny who’s out of experience.”

“Are you questioning my qualifications?” I ask.

“Far from it. Just curious.”

“I’m more than qualified.”