Nanny for the SEALs by Cassie Cole

27

Heather

I re-read Rogan’s texts approximately fifty gazillion times.

He was actually suggesting that I hook up with Asher or Brady?

Sure, they were sexy. I liked them. I’d been thinking about the threesome they had for the past day.

But for Rogan to outright suggest I hook up with them? That was another ballgame entirely. Men were jealous and possessive. Especially men who were in the Navy Freaking SEALs.

Rogan also said that Asher and Brady both liked me. Sure, I saw the way they looked at me. And, at the risk of sounding immodest, I was an attractive young woman. But that didn’t mean they liked me. It just meant they appreciated the way I looked. Big difference.

And there was another huge leap to them wanting to hook up with me.

That’s when I remembered the porn I had seen on the office PC.

“It wasn’t Rogan after all!” I gasped.

Cora twisted around to look at me. “What?” I was halfway done braiding her hair before bed.

“Oh, nothing, Cora Cat,” I said. She giggled at the nickname and turned back around.

Rogan wasn’t the one who watched the porn in the office. Brady or Asher had watched it, gone to bed, and then Rogan had gone into the office whenever he got home. That’s why he denied it when I texted him.

Brady or Asher was fantasizing about me.

It was probably Brady. He seemed like the kind of guy who would do that. Sharing beers with me after dinner, then sneaking off to the office after I went to bed. I pictured him in the chair, watching the nanny-themed porn while gripping himself with a fist…

I had to admit: it turned me on. I liked being lusted after. I was only human, after all.

I finished braiding Cora’s hair and put all the children to bed. They went down easy tonight. The baseball game we had played outside today had really worn them out. I was starting to think I would be able to get the boys under control after all.

“There’s our favorite nanny,” Brady said as I walked by the man-cave. It was next to the office, and also had a keycode entry since that’s where they kept the bar cart. Brady held up a bottle of mixer. “Want a whiskey sour?”

“I’d love one,” I said. Then I added, “Make it a double.”

Brady whistled at the order, then said, “Yes ma’am. Coming right up.”

I slipped inside with them. A projector mounted from the ceiling was displaying the Lakers game on one wall. Asher was sitting on the couch, a drink already in his hand. He raised it to me in greeting.

Was it you? I wondered as I sat on the couch next to him. “Who’s winning?”

“Lakers are down six,” he said. “But there’s a lot of time left.”

Brady appeared behind the couch and handed me a tall glass filled with liquor. “For the lady.”

“Brady was a bartender in another life,” Asher explained. “He doesn’t have a lot of strengths, but mixing cocktails is one of them.”

“Gee, thanks, pal,” Brady said while dropping onto the couch on the other side of me. He clinked his glass against mine. “Fuck. They’re down by eight?”

“Parker missed a wide open layup,” Asher replied.

Brady grunted. “Lazy fucker.”

For a while we sipped our drinks and watched the Lakers game. I enjoyed being between them on the couch, their individual scents intermingling in my nose. Asher had shed his tie but was still wearing his dress shirt tucked into slacks. Brady had changed into jeans and a faded grey Backstreet Boys shirt.

“Seriously?” I said, aiming my drink at his shirt. “Backstreet Boys?”

He looked down at himself. “Oh. Yeah. Didn’t realize I was wearing it.”

“After we graduated from boot camp, our base commander gave Brady that shirt. Because Brady was such a smart-ass.”

“Naturally,” I nodded.

“He made him wear it whenever we were on shore leave. Everyone else in the battalion would be dressed to the nines and looking to score, and Brady would strut into the bar wearing jeans and his Backstreet Boys shirt.”

Brady took a long gulp of his drink. “Jokes on them. I have no shame. I love this fucken shirt.”

I laughed and sipped my own drink. It was strong, as I had requested, and I was feeling really good about now. So were both of them.

And I still couldn’t get the porn out of my head.

“Jimmy Cardannon is a real asshole, huh?” I said.

“Now you know why we dislike him so much,” Asher said with a grimace. “It’s not just because he is our competitor.”

“It’s one thing to insult the three of you,” I said. “But it’s another thing to insult the children. I wish I had tasered him a second time.”

Brady barked a laugh. “Once is plenty. Let me tell you, Heather: I liked you before that. You’re great with the kids. But seeing that British asshole holding his smoking crotch? That’s when I knew you were special.”

He stretched an arm across the back of the couch and patted my shoulder. His fingers lingered a moment before receding. It was a totally platonic gesture, the same kind he might have given a guy.

But I couldn’t help but think of it differently.

“It sucks he got the Lakers contract,” I said.

Brady shrugged. “What can you do?”

“I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault. For sneaking into the suite that night.”

“Their decision to go with Heimdall had nothing to do with you,” Asher said quietly. “Cardannon was just trying to get under our skin. It doesn’t work on us, so don’t let it work on you.”

I smiled and said. “I still feel like I need to make it up to you.”

“You’re making it up to us by nannying the triplets,” Brady said. “Dustin went to sleep tonight without jumping on the bed or throwing his toys around. You’ve earned every penny.”

Asher nodded. “I agree. You do not need to do anything else to make it up to us.”

I had something else in mind, I thought.

I downed the rest of my drink and then plowed forward with the topic that had been stuck in my head all evening.

“So,” I said casually, “which one of you was watching porn on the office computer last night?”

Brady almost snorted his whiskey sour out his nose. Asher’s mouth slowly hung open in surprise.

“I like to keep my porn habits to myself, thank you very much,” Brady said. “I appreciate your interest, though.”

There’s no use backing down now. I might as well charge forward.

“If you want to keep it to yourself, then you should delete your browser history after,” I replied. “Or at least use a private browser. Leaving it in the history last night? Come on, man. Rookie mistake.”

Brady’s chiseled face twisted in confusion. “Last night? Not that it’s any of your business, but I didn’t poach my egg last night.”

I stared up at him skeptically. “Oh really? You didn’t watch a video about a slutty nanny getting pounded?”

Brady snickered. “Not to my recollection.” He looked over my head at Asher. “What about you? Did you rough up the suspect last night?”

I never suspected Asher—not really—until I saw him blush. He tossed back the rest of his drink in three long gulps, then got up and went to the bar.

I gasped. “It was you!”

The blond man faced away from me while fixing himself another drink. This time he didn’t bother with the mix, and poured whiskey straight into his glass. “I don’t know what you, um, are talking about.”

He was clearly embarrassed about it. Shit, I couldn’t blame him. Getting called out about your porn habits was about as awkward as it could get. Especially for a quieter guy, like Asher. I should have dropped it.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about what Rogan had suggested. And I didn’t want to go to bed unsatisfied tonight.

I twisted on the couch to look back at him. “You were fantasizing about me. It’s okay.”

Asher turned back around. Now all the color had drained from his face. He held the whiskey glass close to his mouth, like it was a shield against my words.

“It’s all good, buddy,” Brady called. “Heather’s hot as fuck. I’d fantasize about her, too.”

“You mean you haven’t already?” I asked.

Brady raised an eyebrow at me. “Not as of yet. But you keep looking at me like that and I’ll clear my schedule.”

Asher gulped his whiskey and put the glass down. “I think I’m going to go to bed.”

Shit. I embarrassed him too much.

I leaped up from the couch and went to him. “No! I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to put you on the spot. Please stay.” I held onto his arm. Underneath the starched shirt, he was every bit as strong as Rogan.

“The game’s over,” Asher said, nodding at the TV.

I considered myself a bold person. When I wanted something, I went after it without hesitation. Hell, that’s how I got into this position in the first place: by sneaking into the suite at the Lakers game.

But now, I paused to think about it. I had a good thing going with the nanny job. Aside from the money, I was getting a career boost at the end. I also got to live here as opposed to my cramped studio apartment. Several birds, one stone.

Sleeping with Rogan was one thing. Sleeping with Asher was another. More complexities might lead to more problems. Doing this might make the entire thing fall apart. It was a bad idea.

All of that went through my head, and then I dismissed it immediately.

I desperately want this. And so does he. I won’t hold myself back from something beautiful.

I put my hand on Asher’s chest. His heart was pounding like a drum.

He gazed down at me with his crystal-blue eyes. “What are you doing?”

“I told you, I want to make up for the incident in the Lakers suite. If you want me to stop, then just say so.”

I tilted my head up and brushed my lips against his. They were warm and wet and tasted strongly of whiskey. And they were hungry. Asher kissed me back with all the same hunger I felt, magnified back into my own desire.

Asher’s arms wrapped around mine, holding me close as he surrendered to what we both wanted.

“So, uh…” Brady walked sideways across the room behind us. “I think I’m gonna go…”

I broke off the kiss and looked over my shoulder at him. “You don’t have to go.”

He blinked. “I don’t?”

“You can stay. But under one condition.”

He cocked his head, waiting for my response. I held my breath before telling him what I wanted. The thing I had been fantasizing about all day, something they had done together but I never had.

“You can stay,” I said lustily, “but you can’t just watch.”