Chapter 4 #2
I’m on a break, and I’m sitting on the back step of the diner amid stacks of empty catering-size jars of mayonnaise and cans of vegetable oil. It’s hardly a relaxing spot, but it’s the easiest place for me to breathe some fresh air.
“I’m great, thanks,” I say, forcing a breezy tone, crossing my fingers that Mr. Grant is going to ask me to come back and babysit. I only spent one night with Rosie, but I miss her already.
“I’m pleased to hear it. Listen, Elena. Are you free to babysit Rosie this Friday? I would have called you sooner, but it took us a while to set a date for our poker game. ”
I close my eyes and smile. “I’d love to.”
“Wonderful. Did you get the money I sent you via Cash App last week?”
“I did, thank you.” For the first time since I moved into my own place two and a half years ago, I had a little money left in my bank account after I paid my aunts.
I felt like I could breathe for the first time in forever.
Maybe it would have been easier for me to pay off my aunts’ loan if I were living with them, but I would have been miserable because of their beady eyes and disapproval, and while I ate their food and used their electricity, the debt would have just kept growing.
I had to fight for every scrap of happiness in my life, and I’m going to keep fighting for it.
“You’re welcome. See you this Friday after your shift.”
“I don’t mind coming earlier—before Rosie is asleep,” I say quickly before he can hang up. “I’d like to be there to put her to bed so she won’t be surprised to see me in the night when she wakes up.”
“What about the diner? I thought you would be working.”
“I can trade shifts with someone.”
He’s silent for a moment. “I don’t expect you to lose out on money while you’re looking after my daughter. Come at five, and I’ll pay you for your time.”
I tense up, afraid he thinks I offered just so I could get more money out of him. “You really don’t need to do that. Just pay me from the time you leave.”
“No, you’re right that you should be the one to put Rosie to bed. I should have suggested it myself, and I’m going to pay you for your time and work. I like that you’re thinking of her happiness.”
“But you really don’t need to—”
“Elena,” he says firmly. “Don’t argue with me.”
Loosening my grip on my phone, I take a breath and say, “Yes, Mr. Grant.”
I hear the smile in his voice. “All right. See you on Friday at five. After Rosie is asleep, I’ll cook for us.”
He hangs up before I can say goodbye, probably so I can’t argue with him.
I clasp my phone between my hands, no longer aware that I’m perched on the grimy diner steps, and I smile up at the sunny sky. This Friday. I can’t wait. Looking after Rosie is the happiest I’ve felt in a long time.
“I hope you don’t mind that we’re eating in here instead of the dining room,” Mr. Grant says as he places a salad and a platter of chicken thighs roasted with peppers and herbs on the kitchen table. Rosie is in her crib, and she’s such a sound sleeper, I know she won’t need me again for hours.
I shake my head. “Not at all. The food looks amazing, thank you.”
We sit down, and Mr. Grant fills a plate and passes it to me before serving himself. It feels nice to sit down to a proper meal in a home, and his kitchen is cozy. I usually snatch a bite at the diner before my shift starts .
Mr. Grant gets a call in the middle of dinner and excuses himself, saying it’s about tonight’s game.
He walks out into the garden, closing the back door behind him.
I can see his profile through the window as he talks, and his face is sterner and flintier than I’ve ever seen it before.
I dawdle my fork through my food, curious about why he would look so intense while talking about poker.
You’d think he was discussing life and death.
When he comes back inside and sits down, I remark, “You must really like it.”
Mr. Grant frowns in puzzlement. “What?”
“Poker.”
His face clears, and the corner of his lip quirks in a smile. “Oh, yes. It’s become an obsession for me. I used to stand back and watch, but now I’m enjoying getting my hands dirty.”
He heads off at nine-thirty, and I intend to get my book and read, but as I head for the stairs, I’m distracted by a photograph on the wall.
It’s one of Leon and Mr. Grant at the beach with their arms around each other.
Leon looks about twelve years old. I smile at boyish Leon, and then my eyes move over to Mr. Grant.
His body is lean and muscular, and there’s bare skin on his arms and chest. It hasn’t all been filled in with tattoos.
I study the photograph closely, wondering if I can make out which tattoos haven’t yet been inked into his flesh.
I think I remember a bird’s wing on his arm that’s missing, and an ornate metal key on his bicep…
I step back, realizing I’ve been staring at Mr. Grant’s body for a ridiculous amount of time. Am I getting a weird crush on my boyfriend’s father?
My boyfriend’s father who is also my boss?
I have got to stop staring at Mr. Grant at every opportunity.
He’d be horrified if he knew that I was having these thoughts about him, and I’d probably lose this job.
I’m striving to pay off my debt so I can meet my real family one day soon, and I can’t jeopardize that by having thirsty thoughts about an off-limits, older man. God, he must be twice my age.
I go to the guest bedroom and put on my pajamas, brush my teeth, and get into bed with a book. I doze off, and the baby monitor app on my phone wakes me just after eleven o’clock. I go into the nursery and hoist a crying Rosie into my arms.
“It’s okay, Rosie. Ah, there, there,” I murmur, pacing up and down with the wailing baby in my arms while I rub her back. I give her a few sips of warm milk from a plastic cup, and slowly, she settles down.
My phone rings in my pocket while I’m cuddling Rosie in the nursery chair, and I pull it out, see the name, and answer it.
“Mr. Grant?”
I expected to hear the rowdy sounds of poker, music, and men talking, but it’s silent wherever Mr. Grant is. I suppose he must have gone outside for some fresh air.
He speaks in a soft murmur. “Elena. Do you have everything you need? ”
“Yes, thank you. Rosie woke up, but I’m settling her down again.”
“You two look cozy in that chair.”
“We do?” I say, confused for a moment. Of course, one of the baby monitors is pointed right at the nursery chair. I smile at the camera and wave.
I hear a soft chuckle from Mr. Grant.
“How’s the poker game?” I ask.
“Complicated. But nothing I can’t handle.”
I imagine him looking up at the night sky. I glance out the window, and I wonder if he’s looking at the same stars as I am.
“Seeing you two safe in my house makes me happy. I’ll be home in a few hours. Get some sleep.”
“I will,” I tell him, and I hang up. I realize I’m smiling fondly at my phone, and Mr. Grant could still be looking at me through the baby monitor, so I quickly wipe the smile from my face.
Ten minutes later when I’m back in bed, I’m still thinking about the warmth in his voice.
Heat blossoms between my legs. Sleepily, my hand drifts down to touch myself over my pajamas as thoughts of Mr. Grant grow more lurid in my mind.
His naked, muscular chest. My hands trailing over his tattoos while he pants heavily in my ear.
Grasping my wrists and pinning me to the bed.
The heat between my legs becomes an ache, and I push my hand inside my pajama shorts.
My fingers slide through slippery wetness and find my clit.
Mr. Grant touching me here. Mr. Grant pushing my legs apart so he can run his tongue up my sex.
Mr. Grant breathing hard with his cock in his hand, about to thrust inside me.
The swollen tip of his cock pushing against my inner lips. A moan escapes my lips.
I gasp and yank my hand out of my pants. My eyes open in the dark. What am I doing? I don’t masturbate thinking about Leon. I haven’t even been tempted, but here I am, desperate to climax while thinking about his dad. I think there’s something gravely wrong with me.
I snatch up my phone, notice that Leon is online, and I call him. He answers after just a few rings.
“Hey, babe. You’re up late. Can’t sleep?”
“I’m babysitting your sister.”
“Is my dad still out? Do you want me to come over?” he asks hopefully.
“I just needed to hear your voice.” What I need is reassurance that my affections are still for my boyfriend, and I’m not losing my mind.
“I could still come over.”
“Mr. Grant told me that you had to stay at your mom’s the nights I babysit Rosie.”
“He said that to me too. Fuck his rules.”
“Leon,” I admonish him. “I might be dating you, but he’s my boss. We have to do as he says.”
He sighs gustily. “You’re such a goody-goody.”
“No, I’m not,” I mutter, but I don’t think Leon hears me.
“When are you free for a date?”
I think for a moment, picturing my schedule. “Wednesday. I finish at three. ”
“Meet me at my house after your shift, and we’ll head out.”
Before, Leon has always picked me up after my shifts when he wants to take me out, but I don’t say anything about it. We chat for a few more minutes, and then we say good night.
I don’t know if I’ve got my mind sorted about who I desire and who I’m allowed to fantasize about. I toss and turn for a long time, my lower belly tight with needy frustration.
On Wednesday afternoon, I head around to the beautiful Georgian revival house.
Mr. Grant opens the door. He must have had a meeting today because he’s wearing a crisp white shirt that is fitted closely around his shoulders and biceps. He smiles when he sees me, puzzled but pleased. “Elena, did I tell you the wrong night for babysitting? I’m sorry.”
“Dad. She’s here for me. Duh.” Leon reaches past his father and grabs my hand, pulling me inside past Mr. Grant.
The smile vanishes from Mr. Grant’s face. “Right. Got it.”