His Virgin Babysitter(9)

By: Lila Younger

We’re reading a classic, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, when I hear the door open and Carter calls out.

“Living room,” I holler back.

He pops his golden head through the doorway. Luna sees him, but instead of running over, she stays next to me.

“I got pizza,” he says. “I figured that everyone likes pepperoni right?”

“Definitely,” I say. My stomach gives a rumble. Lunch suddenly seems very far away. “Come on Luna, I’ll finish the story after we eat.”

She pouts for a moment, but I think she’s hungry too, because she relents without a fuss and we head into the kitchen together. I’m glad that Luna is here with us, because she calms me down, keeps me focused on my job as the babysitter. Otherwise I’d be scorched by the Carter’s gaze. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but my back straightens instinctively, breasts out, displaying myself to him. But can I really be blamed when he looks that good?

At least conversation is easy. We mostly talk to Luna, trade small talk. It turns out that Carter works at a law firm, which explains the impeccably tailored suits, and I tell a white lie about how I’m working to afford my next semester of tuition. When he asks me what I’m studying for, I don’t say lawyer or doctor, but that I’m still thinking about it.

“You have time,” he says, surprising me. Every other adult in my life has been pressuring me to make a decision. “You should enjoy it. Figure out what you really want so you don’t waste time and money on things that don’t matter.”

“Thanks,” I say. “You’re probably the first person I’ve met so far that thinks that way.”

The conversation flows on pleasantly until finally dinner is finished. Luna yawns.

“I think it’s time for bed,” I say.

“But what about the story!” she exclaims. “I want my story!”

“We can do a story before bedtime,” I say. I glance at Carter, who nods. “How about that?”

Reluctantly Luna agrees, so I troop up the grand curving staircase onto the second floor. The hallway goes in two directions, and Luna leads the way to her bedroom. It’s obviously a guest room, painted a soft lilac color, with pictures of flower fields on the walls and a white bedspread on the gigantic king size bed. I was right about the fact that every bedroom has their own ensuite. The purple theme continued into the four piece bathroom.

“Wow,” I say. “This sure is fancy. Like a princess’s bathroom.”

“It is,” Luna says regally. “I am a princess.”

“That you are,” I say with a smile. “Now let’s get going on this bath.”

Bath and bed go quicker than I’m used to because Luna doesn’t have any bath toys. I make a mental note to tell Carter so we can maybe get her some tomorrow, and I read stories to her once she’s dressed in her new nightgown and I’ve braided her hair. We read together at least three stories, her small body snuggled up against mine. I feel so at peace that I could have stayed there forever, but Luna starts to drop off as I finish up the third story about Rainbow Fish, one of my favorites when I was a kid. Even though I know she’s not my kid, I can’t help but give her a little kiss at the top of her head. I carefully ease myself out of the bed, turn off the lamp, and head out.

“Well, that’s all taken care of,” I say when I get back to the kitchen.

Carter’s put away the rest of the pizza, and everything’s already loaded into the dishwasher, which is humming along. He turns away from the back porch and walks over to me.

“Thanks for doing that,” he says. “She seems to have taken to you so much. Maybe even more than me.”

“Oh I don’t think so,” I reply, allowing myself a little peek into those gorgeous blue eyes of his again. “She talked about you all day.”

I swallow hard, my heartbeat doubling as I lose myself in his eyes. I have no idea what to do here. It’s probably time for me to go, but I want to stay in his presence just a little bit longer. His gaze drops down to my mouth, my body, before raising back up to me.

“Anyways, she does think you’re amazing,” I repeat again because I need a moment to collect my thoughts. “Is there anything you want to talk about for tomorrow or should I go?”

He reaches out and grabs my arm.

“Stay,” he commands.


The air crackles with tension.

The air heats up.

The way he looks at me, like he wants to take me right here in the kitchen tells me that he’s not thinking about babysitting at all. My body has suddenly stopped working, including my tongue.