My Son's Sitter

Who knows, maybe I’ve just watched too many Disney movies or romcoms. But, I know what I want – real-life attraction and romance, and I’m not about to give it up because some boy gave me some half-hearted attention for five seconds. No way.

“So,” George says, her knowing smile still resting on me. “You gonna wear those tomorrow?”

I fling them back at the other bed in my room; the one she will be sleeping in.

“Goodnight George.”

She giggles and blows me a kiss.

I roll my eyes, but as I set my head down on the pillow, my insides are seething. Because really, would it be so bad if I wore these tomorrow?

That morning, I arrive at the impressive grey-stone mansion right on time.

“We were ready half an hour ago,” Clayton jokes as he opens the door.

“I like to keep people guessing,” I say with a wink.

Our gazes rest on each other for a bit too long. His flicks to my lips while my head reels. “I like to keep people guessing”, seriously? What am I doing? Trying to channel George?

I shift uneasily, resisting the overwhelming urge to scratch my butt crack. I don’t know what has gotten into me this morning, other than me sleeping through my alarm and having a grand total of five minutes to get ready. But I’d actually thrown on the stupid skimpy little black thong. And now, here I am, all ready to babysit in my sexy black thong.

Yep, I’m officially the world’s worst babysitter. Not to mention the world’s worst aunt.

“Stevie!”

The whole reason for me being here races up to me and gives me a barreling hug.

As I hug him back, my whole body sighs.

“You look nice,” Clayton says, his gaze on my t-shirt.

“Thanks,” I say in a high-pitched squeak that isn’t my own.

No way am I about to admit to him that out of the five minutes I had to get ready, four of them were spent deciding what to wear.

Then there’s the whole issue of how Clayton looks himself. Yesterday, in his casual-formal black suit jacket with a white collared shirt underneath and his styled hair, Clayton was mouthwateringly sexy.

But now, clad in a tight-fitting black shirt that showcases his toned physique and some low-slung blue jeans, let’s just say there’s a lot more saliva in my mouth.

The car ride to Legoland is one long Sesame Street sing-along. I can’t help but smile, remembering my own childhood. My sister and I were basically raised on Sesame Street.

A glance over at Clayton, however, finds that his attention is solely focused on the road.

“Not a Sesame Street fan?” I ask.

He shrugs.

“My parents never really were into that. My dad, more specifically. He was all about drilling a good work ethic into me early on. Thought a lot of kids’ stuff like Sesame Street and that was silly.”

“And you?” I asked, not impressed.

The way Clayton said that, in a reasonable tone of voice, almost indicates that he agreed with his dad. His hands visibly tighten on the steering wheel.

“I think my dad was wrong about a lot of things.”

Silence.

Clearly, I’ve hit a nerve, one that’s pulsing in a vein on his neck. Remembering my old iceman ex, Wednesday, I find myself freezing up. Even before our big unofficial break-up Wednesday had had a gift for shutting down whenever things didn’t go his way.

Great. Looks like I’ve fallen for another jerk of the century. When am I going to learn?

The rest of the car ride is quiet. Clayton makes some vague attempts at conversation out of politeness more than anything.

When we pull up to the hulking cube that is our desintation, Winston starts losing it.

“Legoland! Legoland!”

Once we actually get him out of the car, he’s about ready to run.

“Hold your horses, bud,” Clayton says, tugging his eager son back, “Stevie probably doesn’t want to sprint all the way up there.”

“Speak for yourself,” I challenge, starting to jog up there myself.

Smirking his own challenge back, Clayton starts running, taking Winston along with him.

By the time we reach Legoland itself, we’re all gasping for air and laughing.

“Stevie won,” Winston declares stoically, turning his grave blue eyes to his father.

“I didn’t know this was a race,” Clayton shoots back coyly, “otherwise, I would’ve gone much faster.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” I quip.

Now that we’re stopped and Clayton’s deep sapphire gaze is piercing me, my heart seems to be racing not slower, but even faster. Is it just me or did his eyes just dip to my lips?

“We better get going,” Clayton says, seemingly as much to remind himself as to tell me.

It doesn’t take long for us to get our ticket and begin our winding tour of the big place.

As it turns out, Legoland is not completely adequately named. Lego World or even Lego Universe would have been a more accurate title. The place is sprawling with displays featuring Star Wars and its hundred-piece ships, a full hockey rink and stands, even the towering Parliament buildings in Ottawa. It’s hard to say which is the most extraordinary.