Winning Brynn (Seattle Strikers)

7. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Brynn

"What?" My head snaps up so fast I almost dislocate my neck.

My stupid brother grins like a mad scientist. "Well, you're not traveling for a while, right? You can work from anywhere, and you love to keep busy.”

“Um…” I trail off, my gaze falling on the man currently set to explode on the sofa. “I’m not sure Leo is feeling so hot about the idea.”

“Ignore that miserable fucker.” He says it like Leo has no say in this at all and the matter is already decided. “It’s perfect. You don’t hit kids, and to my knowledge, you’re not known for any sex crimes.”

“The bar really is on the floor,” Roman mutters, trying not to laugh.

“Salem clearly adores you,” Alex continues, on a roll apparently, “and it’s not like you have any interest in having sex with Sully.” He snorts like the very idea is preposterous.

And it is.

But only because Leo has got a stick up his ass as tall as the Space Needle. He would actually be pretty damn fine if he removed it.

With dark hair in a permanent state of disarray, as if he’s spent the last twelve hours fucking—or “shagging” as they call it in his part of the world—a body more muscular than you’d expect from a soccer player, and eyes so dark they could hypnotize a hypnotherapist, it’s no wonder he’s considered one of the hottest players in the league.

And don’t even get me started on his fucking accent.

If only he didn’t ruin it all with his personality.

“But the position is for a live-in nanny,” Leo states like a lawyer resting his case, as if that fact halts all further discussion, and the job, therefore, couldn’t possibly be mine.

But unfortunately for him, my brother’s excitement only intensifies.

“Oh, thank fuck.” He breathes a mega sigh of relief. “She’s been here one night, and I’m already going crazy.”

“Hey!” I sulk. “I’m not that bad.”

“No, but your ban on me bringing girls home is.”

“It’s been less than twenty-four hours, dude. How much sex do you even need?” I ask then instantly regret it. “Actually, no, don’t answer that.”

“Sex is a perfectly healthy and natural part of life, little sis.”

I narrow my eyes, knowing exactly how to wipe that shitty-ass smirk off his face. “Well, in that case, let me tell you about a guy I met in London who could do this really amazing thing with his ton—”

Alex throws his hands over his ears and sings loudly to himself. “Nope. No. Not listening. Don’t wanna hear it.”

“But sex is a perfectly healthy and natural part of life,” I mimic, my face smug as all hell.

My brother growls. “Not for you, it isn’t.”

All the while, Leo watches our argument unfold in abject horror. “You can’t possibly think that I can trust little Miss Kim K over there to take care of my child?”

Rather unhelpfully, depending on which way you’re looking at it, Arun pipes up, “Kim Kardashian is a really great mom, actually. You should watch her show.”

“He’s right.” Theo nods. “She is.”

Leo’s scowl grows three shades darker. “You all actually think this is a good idea, don’t you?” He shakes his head with a disbelieving laugh. “Bloody unbelievable.”

I fight to hide a smile at his adorable British idiom, redirecting it to the tiny little girl fiddling with my necklace in my lap.

“To be fair, man,” Roman says, “as ideas from Alex go, it’s one of his best.”

Leo rounds his glare on me, eyes flaming with fury. “Do you even have childcare experience?”

“I volunteered at a kindergarten once in high school,” I tell him with a shrug, though I'm selling myself short on purpose. I haven't decided which way I want this to go yet, and truthfully, expanding on my experience would reveal information about me that I'm not comfortable sharing.

Harley pats me on the shoulder like a proud father, as if I’ve just announced that I have a secret PhD in education. “See, Sully? She’s perfect.”

I would say that I don’t know why all the guys seem so hellbent on this idea, but from the looks on their faces, I have a pretty good feeling that they just like to see how far they can push their midfielder before he snaps.

Apparently, I’m just collateral damage.

“Do I even get a say in this?” I ask, stroking Salem’s hair absentmindedly as I narrow my eyes at the group.

“No,” everyone replies—even Leo.

I guess no matter which way this goes, the decision won’t have anything to do with me.

Whatever.

Turning my gaze to the window, I stare out at the winking city lights. They’re barely visible through the reflection of Alex’s apartment swirling on the glass, but I watch them anyway.

As proud as I am to have taken my career to the level that I’m able to travel, home really is where the heart is.

I love every country I’ve visited, every new culture I’ve learned about, every delicacy I’ve tasted in foreign markets and restaurants. My wanderlust is up there with the best of them.

But there’s just something about Seattle that brings me a serenity I can’t find anywhere else.

It’s where my family is.

And, truth be told, I hate being away from them for too long, despite how pig-headed my brother can be.

“Look, man,” Alex says, “pre-season starts on Monday. That gives you four days to find a nanny, and you’ve been searching for two months already.”

Leo deflates, falling back on the sofa cushions. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I’m just saying that, unless you feel like calling up that woman you traumatized, Brynn is the best option you’ve got right now.”

“Fuck my life.” Leo drags his hand down his face as the guys beside him pat his back in a bro-like gesture of love. Cracking one eye open at me, he asks, “Are you good with this?”

My mouth falls open in shock.

I’m no stranger to my brother’s schemes, but I didn’t think Leo would actually fall for it.

“What?”

"Watching Say for me," he grinds out, like it's physically paining him. "Just until I find someone more suitable."

His tone irks me. That smug twitch of his lips as he speaks. The cock of his brow as if he's daring me to challenge him. It's almost like he's counting on me to put an end to all this before he's forced to admit defeat.

It's killing him that he needs me.

And I'm loving every second of it.

The man has had it out for me since the day we first met, when I blocked his car in the parking lot for, like, 2.5 seconds to grab a coffee. He doesn't take me seriously, and he thinks my profession is a joke. He doesn't even need to say it. I see it in his eyes every time someone mentions it around him—on the rare occasions when we've been around one another for longer than two minutes.

And I've always handled it with grace and dignity.

But if he wants to sit here with his condescension and "someone more suitable," I'll become the most suitable, trustworthy, and reliable nanny the world has ever known just to spite him.

Plastering a saccharine smile on my face, I give him my full attention. "Say please."

His jaw drops, his entire body stiffening. "Excuse me?"

Around us, the room inhales a collective intake of breath as everyone watches on like they want to grab a bowl of popcorn.

"Manners are free." I inspect my manicure for a second before flicking my eyes back to him. "And I think I’d like to hear you beg for it."

Maybe I'm imagining it, but I'm sure I see a brief flash of heat in his eyes before he masks it with indignance. "Not in this lifetime, princess."

Shrugging, I turn my attention back to the little girl in my lap. She's grown bored of the conversation, it seems, because her eyelids blink slowly, her body sagging against mine with sleepiness. "Isn't that a shame, ladybug? You have no hope of having pizza for the first time without me."

Scooping her into my arms, I carefully get to my feet and walk over to Leo. "I don't know what your undoubtedly militant protocol is for sleep time, but I guess I don't need to know now, huh?" With a wink, I deposit Salem back into his arms.

His mouth opens as if he wants to say something but apparently thinks better of it, which can only be a good thing. I'm reaching my tolerance threshold for Leo Sullivan's piss-poor attitude, and I don't want Salem to witness her father's murder tonight.

"Think I'm gonna hang out in my room for a while," I tell my brother. "Holler when the pizza is here."

"You're a hellhound." Alex smirks. "You'll smell it before the delivery guy has even knocked."

"True." I grin. "Don't forget the extra pineapple."

But even as I'm strutting my ass out of the room with my head held high, there's a tiny, inexplicable tug of something in my gut that feels a lot like disappointment.