Dirty Bastard

by Jessica Clare

  Knox looks over at me again, impressed. “You’ve been studying me, huh?”

  “I wouldn’t say ‘studying.’”

  “I would.” He winks at me. “But that’s all right, I won’t give ya shit about it. To be honest, I hate texting more than I hate phone calls. I do ’em sometimes because my brothers love to text all damn day long. But I’d rather talk to someone in person, see their face, read their body language. It tells me a hell of a lot more than those emotee things.”

  Emotee? The fuck? “You mean emoji?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Oh my god, that’s so cute. A millennial that doesn’t know what an emoji is. Are you sure you’re not an eighty-year-old with a really great skin regimen instead of a twenty-three-year-old?” I reach over to pinch his bearded cheek, and he half swats my hand away. Just the brush of my fingertips against his skin fills me with an insane amount of lust. Man, I have got it bad for this guy. What is wrong with me? I’m used to being on my own, being independent. I haven’t wanted or needed anyone in forever, but the moment Knox is around, my body seems to be making up for lost time.

  It’s a little ridiculous and a lot unfair.

  “I think what I’m hearin’,” Knox says slowly, unaware (or maybe too aware) of my sexual frustration, “is that you want me to text you more often.”

  “I’m not saying shred my phone bill with texts or anything like that. I’m just saying that if you’re going to drop by, maybe you text me first so I know to expect you.” And so I can make sure that Keith is nowhere around to freak out.

  “I aim to please.”

  I can’t resist the response that immediately comes to mind. I pat my stomach. “Seems to me like your aim is pretty good so far.”

  His laughter fills the truck and makes me feel far too good.

  * * *

  * * *

  The Old Pearson is everything a paranormal enthusiast could ever hope to want in a hotel. It’s a massive old building downtown, made of red brick and with rounded white brickwork over some of the windows that reminds me of cake frosting. It looks cheery and old-fashioned from the outside despite the fact that it’s growing dark, which is fascinating. It’s almost like it’s unaware that it’s such a hotbed for paranormal activity. There’s a massive archway entrance to the hotel that reminds me of a church more than anything else, and it goes straight up like a skyscraper for sixteen floors. There’s a neon hotel sign up front, and it’s a fascinating mix of old and new. I give an appreciative shiver at the sight of it. “I can’t believe you booked rooms here.”

  “Wasn’t easy,” he murmurs, moving to my side as we gaze up at the building from the parking lot. “Apparently the fourteenth floor is under renovation and the owner didn’t want to rent it out until I threw some serious money his way.”

  “Should I ask how much money is serious money?”

  “Nope, you shouldn’t. Doesn’t affect things one way or another, and I’m rich.” He crooks his arm, indicating I should slip my hand in the space at his elbow. “Shall we?”

  “Oh yes, we definitely shall.”

  As we check in, I can’t help but notice how much the front desk girl fawns over Knox. He’s not dressed like a bajillionaire in the slightest. His jeans are worn as hell and not in the designer way. The T-shirt he’s wearing is plain, and he’s still got that scruffy beard and hair that’s a little too long under his trucker cap. He looks like he just came into town on a big rig. I mean, he’s ridiculously handsome, of course, but she’s acting like he’s a fucking celebrity with the way she’s fawning over him and giggling at everything he says, which suggests to me that she’s done a little Google-fu of her own. She’s closer to his age than I am, and perky and cute, with blonde highlights that sweep into a light pink, and a bubbly personality to match the cupcake-cute hair.

  I hate her on sight.

  Knox smiles at her flirting but doesn’t encourage her, which is good. That means I don’t have to murder him. She hands him a business card and flutters her lashes at him, and I almost reach across the desk to slap her around. I don’t know why I care so much, but when he gets the envelope with the electronic keys and then turns to me, putting a hand at the small of my back, I practically melt into a puddle. Take that, flirt. He’s with me.

  So much for my not wanting him. All it takes is one barely-out-of-high-school twit and I’m suddenly snarling and ready to claw someone’s eyes out. I wonder if I can blame that on pregnancy hormones, too?

  “Ready to do this?” he asks, eyes gleaming with enthusiasm.

  “Born ready,” I reassure him. “From what I’ve read online, all the good shit happens after midnight, but we can do a little reconnaissance first.”

  “Lead the way.”

  I do, hating myself a little for wishing that his hand would slide a little lower and caress my butt. Not too much, just enough for Pinky McGiggles back at the front desk to realize he’s not interested in her.

  The elevator is empty as we head up, and Knox is just as quiet as I am. After a moment, I glance over at him. “That card had her phone number on it, didn’t it?”

  Knox grins at me, his expression knowing, and I get a little weak in the knees at just how gorgeous he is. “Yup. You want it?”

  “I do. I intend on prank calling her on a regular basis for the near future, just to make her regret that action.”

  “So fierce. I love that in a woman,” he murmurs, handing the card over to me.

  I reach into my black T-shirt and tuck it into my sports bra, since I don’t have any pockets on my workout clothing. I want to tease him back about not getting a swelled head, but he’s giving me this possessive look of approval that’s making me melt, and I realize the conversation could head in a direction that would be very bad for my independence. If he challenges me on my jealous streak, what happens then? Is he going to believe me when I say it’s nothing? I’m not even sure I believe me. Time to change the subject and deflect. “Have you ever ghost hunted before?”

  “Me? Naw.”

  “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  He shrugs. “Think I’d like to. It’d be proof there’s something after death, y’know?”

  I go silent, aching for him. His brother’s death is still too near, and I imagine that’s on his mind. Poor Knox. Maybe this was a bad idea and I’m an asshole for going through with this. After all, it was my hints about haunted houses that made him do this. Maybe I should have hinted about a love for steak or something along those lines. “Well, most people that have visited this hotel haven’t seen a full-body apparition of a ghost. It’s subtle things, like noises in empty rooms, lights turning on when no one’s home, and cold spots.”

  “Cold spots? In an old, air-conditioned hotel? You don’t say.”

  Now I can’t help but grin because he sounds just like me. “That’s right. People take pictures, too, and they see orbs and shadows where nothing was supposedly there.”

  “Okay, then.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket.

  I giggle at the sight of it. The screen is a spider web of cracks, and I swear to god, one side is duct-taped. “That’s your phone?”

  He shrugs. “Yeah. It works fine.”

  “You do realize you’re rich, don’t you?”

  “You do realize it’s a perfectly good phone?”

  “A cheap rich man. Never thought I’d see the day,” I drawl. “Pinky McGiggles down at the front desk would be so disappointed.”

  He laughs and gives me another scorching look as the elevator dings our arrival. “It’s good for her that I have zero interest in her type, then.”

  I know what his type is, and my heart skips a little beat. He likes girls that wear all black and give him shit. Girls like me. Oh god, I desperately want to have sex tonight, even though it’s such a bad call. Sex leads to relationships and connections, and I told Knox I’m not in
terested. I shouldn’t be. The last thing I need is a confrontation between Knox and Keith. Or another man in my life that thinks he owns me.

  I give him a polite, tight little smile and rush out of the elevator as the doors open. As confused as I am about what’s going on between Knox and myself, the fourteenth floor provides the perfect creepy vibe to distract me. Plastic sheeting and ladders scatter the hallway, and at the far end, I can see part of the ceiling has been removed. Wires hang down, and the decorative old-fashioned chandeliers have been denuded of everything but the light bulbs. A door is open at the far end of the hall, boxes parked in the entryway to keep it open, and behind us, the hall is half painted.

  “God, this is sexy,” I whisper. It’s bringing all my ghost hunting dreams to life.

  “Is this more what you had in mind?” he asks me.

  I nod, overwhelmed. I’m both humbled and utterly pleased that he went to so much trouble to impress me. Galveston is a few hours’ drive from Luka, and I know he lives a few hours away to boot. Couple that with how much money he must have spent to rent the entire floor—and how much wheeling and dealing to get them to let us stay here when it’s under construction—and I feel suspiciously weepy. I’m sure that’s the hormones talking, but I don’t think anyone’s ever gone to such lengths to make me happy.

  “Let’s pick a room to sit in, shall we? I watched one of them ghost-huntin’ shows last night to see what we need to do. Apparently we sit in the dark and yell insults to dead people to try to get ’em to do something.”

  I laugh. “We don’t have to sit in the dark.”

  “Unless we want to, of course.” And he gives me the sexiest look. My heart does a little flip at the thought of sitting in the dark, alone, with Knox. Suddenly the ghosts seem secondary to just spending time with him. How wonderful is that? What’s this sensation moving through me?

  Am I . . . happy? Ugh. I’m going to start giggling like the girl at the front desk soon if I don’t watch myself.

  Chapter 11

  Lexi

  We pick a room to do our “hunting” in. Knox admits to me he doesn’t know much about ghost hunting at all, so he lets me take the lead. I’m kind of pleased with that. Most of the men I’ve met in the past haven’t been keen on letting a woman have any sort of control, so it’s nice to have my suggestions listened to after all the Keiths and Jonases of the world. Since I’ve heard that ghosts are bothered by renovations, I pick the room that needs the least amount of work. I don’t want pissed spirits. I’m just curious about the situation.

  Okay, I’m actually way more curious about Knox and spending time with him than actually ghost hunting. Maybe that’s another reason I pick the most finished room. There’s only one bed and no chairs, though, and I realize that after I’ve selected it. I turn on the lamp next to the bed and sit on the edge of the mattress. It feels a little presumptuous to assume I get the bed, so I slide down and thump onto the floor, resting my back against the mattress. “You can take the bed.”

  “I’m good sitting with you,” Knox says, and thumps down right next to me, then stretches out his long legs. He crosses his ankles and looks over at me, his hands in his lap. “So . . . what do we do now?”

  “Well, now we mostly wait to see if anyone decides to show themselves to us.” I shrug. “Ghost hunting might be boring to you. It’s going to involve a lot of wait and see.”

  “I’m fine with wait and see. Nothing about spending time with you is boring.” He looks over at me. “You want room service? I bet if we wave enough money under their noses, we can get them to come up to this floor, haunted or not.”

  I’m basking in the warm glow of his offhand compliment, but I’m also pretty freaking hungry. I haven’t eaten anything since lunch, and our drive down to Galveston was long. Knox had offered to stop somewhere to get a bite to eat, but I was too eager to get to the hotel. Of course, now that we’re here, I’m so hungry I think I’d eat anything tossed my way. “I’m down for room service. But you should let me pay.”

  “I ain’t lettin’ you pay for shit,” he tells me, and puts a hand over mine when I dig into my purse for my wallet. “Stop that. You’re carryin’ my baby. Least I can do is buy you dinner.”

  I can’t decide if that’s sweet or bossy, but I’ll let it slide. “Okay, fine. I’ll have a burger.”

  He arches an eyebrow at me. “A burger? Not a salad? You seem like a salad type to me.”

  “Oh, you know what?” I say in a mock-surprised voice. “A salad sounds great. They can put it on my fucking burger, because I want a burger.”

  He throws his head back and laughs, clearly delighted at my sass. “That’s one of the things I like best about you, Lexi. You don’t let anyone tell you what the fuck to do.”

  If only I were as confident in myself as he is. Keith tends to run the show lately, and I spend my time trying to avoid him. I hate that. “I’m just a real party,” I tell him drily.

  “You are.” He nudges me with his elbow. “Okay, a burger, then. How do you want it?”

  “Medium. Extra fries. Lots of ketchup.” Oh god, ketchup sounds so good right now. Actually, so do pickles. “Ask them for extra pickles, too. Lots and lots of pickles.”

  “Dessert? Cookies? Cake? Ice cream?”

  My stomach growls in response. “That sounds amazing. You pick. We can split it.”

  He studies me for a moment, then eases off the floor and moves to the phone on a nearby table. I pretend to check the camera on my phone while he calls in food. I notice he calls in two burgers, extra fries, extra pickles, ketchup, and one of each of the desserts on the menu. Oh god, this man is going to be the death of me. Clearly he wants me to gain a hundred pounds while pregnant.

  It takes forever for the food to get here, but it finally arrives just before I’m ready to chew my own arm off out of hunger. There’s an enormous chocolate-dipped cookie on the tray, and I can’t help but wonder what it’d taste like on my ketchupy, pickley burger. On a whim, I throw it under the bun and take a huge bite. Yup, it’s bizarre and delicious.

  We eat in silence, and if there’s a ghost around, it’s clear they’re waiting for us to finish our meal before showing up. That’s fine. I’m in no particular hurry. I demolish my food and some of Knox’s fries, then take bites out of a few desserts before I’m done. I close my eyes and lean back against the bed, sighing happily. “That was probably the most disgustingly yummy thing I’ve ever eaten.”

  “It did look . . . interesting.”

  “I’m going to blame it on pregnancy.” Like so many other things.

  It gets quiet in the room, and then Knox gives me another gentle nudge with his elbow. “So . . . what happened exactly? With the baby?”

  Maybe it’s the food coma, but I’m not following him. “What do you mean?”

  “You said you were on the pill. Did something happen?”

  Oh. I cross my arms over my chest, feeling a little defensive. I know I shouldn’t. Hell, if it were me in his position, I’d be using a lot of cuss words to figure out what the hell happened. He was the one that had brought up condoms and I shot him down. He has a right to know. I think of Keith and his violence, and feel a little ashamed, though. Like it’s my fault he’s a psycho. “I was. Someone stole my purse the morning after, and . . . my pills were in there.” It’s most of the truth, while glossing over the scary, stalkery parts. “I didn’t have the cash to get a morning-after pill or my refills for a few days, and I guess by then it was too late. My doctor says the pill’s never a hundred percent effective anyhow.” I grimace. “I guess it’s my fault for seducing you and insisting that there be no condoms involved.”

  He puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it, and then rubs the back of my neck. “I ain’t blamin’, Lexi. I was just curious what happened is all. You don’t need to justify it to me. I understand. And if I was so morally opposed, I could have said no, right? I was
all too happy to say yes.”

  His grin is making my stomach flutter. That, and the big hand that’s kneading my neck is doing all kinds of crazy things to me. “Pretty fucked, timing-wise, isn’t it?” I say lightly, trying to play things off.

  “It is. You shoulda texted me. I would have wired you some money.”

  “Like a hooker?”

  “More like someone that just didn’t wanna get knocked up.”

  “Oooh, burn.” I poke his leg with one finger. “You got me there. I made a bad choice. Sorry. Are you mad at me?”

  “Mad?” Knox looks surprised. The hand on the back of my neck pauses for a moment, and then begins rubbing once more. “Naw. I ain’t mad. Shit happens, you know? I didn’t think I was going to be a dad at twenty-three, but the more I think about it, the more I like the idea.” He glances over at me. “And I really like the idea of bein’ your partner. Gettin’ married.”

  Oh god, I should hate that he even throws that out there. He’s so casual about it. Marriage is a shit-show for someone like me, but the thumb that’s so casually grazing the skin on my neck is distracting me. That has to be why I’ve got that wild flutter in my belly at the thought of marriage. Has to be. I’m not thinking clearly due to his nearness and my pregnancy horniness. That has to be it.

  I’m very antimarriage. Very. It might be good for some people, but it’s terrible for me. I should tell Knox this, but the words stick in my throat. It seems to be important to him, and I don’t want him to hate me. The thought fills me with despair. For some reason, the idea of Knox hating me feels like a gut punch.

  I can’t be attached to him. I can’t. That’s such a bad idea. I’ve got enough stress in my life.

  “How does it feel?” Knox murmurs, and his thumb slides along the cords of my neck.