Dirty Boys: Bad Boy Rock Star Romance Box Set

by Jade C. Jamison

  Her temper flared, but she didn’t raise her voice. “You know what? I thought so a long time ago. I guess maybe I do still care deep down.” She took a step in my direction but paused near the table. “But I think you should know, as one friend to another, that if you get involved with Scott, you get involved with Jim, too. And believe me, honey, it’s not worth it.”

  God, I hoped my expression wasn’t betraying what was brewing inside. “What does that even mean?”

  “That means Jim is a sick motherfucker…and he seems to think what belongs to Scott belongs to him.”

  While I wasn’t a Jim fan and didn’t like the vibes I got from the guy, Scott seemed to be pretty much his own man. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “If you don’t believe me, ask Julie.” Raising an eyebrow, she added, “Jim’s wife. Hell, ask Jim himself. Ask anybody.” She lowered her voice for emphasis. “But don’t ask Scott. He’ll say anything to get in your pants.” Before I could grill her more, she said, “I need to get back inside before they come searching for me.” And then she stomped through the door, a smug look on her face like she’d done the entire world a huge favor.

  Wendy was no closer to being my friend after that exchange, but I wondered if anything she’d said was true or if it was her way of putting a wedge between me and Scott before we even had a chance to get started.

  And how could I find out the truth?

  One thing was certain—I would not ask Scott…and not because Wendy told me not to.

  * * *

  The next day, I came in for my scheduled shift to work at lunch. I was putting on one of the black bib aprons, tying it around my waist as I headed from the prep area to the kitchen. Jim was at the grill and Scott at the sous station talking. Fortunately, Jim was usually loud and boisterous, so I didn’t have to strain to overhear what he was saying.

  “Just do it. Here.” Jim reached in his back pocket for his phone and handed it to Scott. “Just come by the house and say I left my phone here.”

  Scott held it out to Jim. “I’m not gonna do that. It’s stupid.”

  “No, it’s not. Julie’s no dummy—so if you bring my cell by, it’s legit.”

  “Take your damn phone.”

  Jim did, but he said, “Six-thirty, man.” I walked over to the fry station but didn’t say a word. “I’m telling you, man, she’s tight.” Spatula still in hand, Jim held up both hands in front of his pecs, cupping the left one. “Bam. Out to hear and fucking luscious.”

  Scott saw me even though he hadn’t acknowledged me yet. But he raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in my direction, causing Jim to look over at me. “Oh, hey, Casey. How’s it going?”

  “Fine.” I had no idea what Jim had been talking about, but it wouldn’t take a genius to know he’d been talking about a woman’s breasts. And, ordinarily, I wouldn’t have thought twice about the situation except to think that Jim was being his usual piggy self. But, of course, Wendy’s words from the day before were still reverberating in my head.

  Work and lunch seemed normal, even though once in a while Jim would say something to Scott I couldn’t hear or understand, which was probably better. Then again, my imagination was going to run with what I’d heard earlier, thanks to Wendy.

  One thing was certain—I was pretty sure Jim hadn’t been talking about his wife when he’d been acting like a pig. That alone made me disgusted. It would be even worse if he had been. But maybe he’d been talking about a TV show or something. Really, it wasn’t any of my business and I was pissed that Wendy had poisoned my brain.

  The truth was I’d let her.

  So I tried not to think about the conversation. At the end of the rush after we’d all taken our breaks, I was restocking the fry station—which meant I had to leave the kitchen to fetch food out of the large walk-in freezer. I was bringing bags of fries to the little freezer in my station when I saw that Jim was talking to Scott again. This time his voice was lower, but I could still hear his loud mouth over the vents.

  “You will never have this opportunity again.”

  “I don’t fucking want this opportunity.”

  “You’re a dumb ass.” Jim pulled off his apron as he left the kitchen. “I’m out.” Walking past me, he said, “Laters, Casey.”

  “See ya.” And off I went to get onion rings and chicken fried steak.

  When I returned again, Scott was cleaning the grill with the wire brush. “Sorry you had to hear all that shit.”

  I tried to act casual and unaffected. “Nah. No big deal.”

  Scott didn’t look at me, instead focusing on his task. “Jim seems to think I need to date their babysitter.” I nodded, wishing I too had something to do with my hands, thanks to the awkwardness of this conversation. I did not want to get in between Jim and Scott, and not because of what Wendy had said. “She’s underage.”

  Why the hell was he telling me this? Would he have considered it if she’d been over eighteen? And what did that mean about him and me—was our kiss last week meaningless?

  I was pissed—but I didn’t want to show how hurt I was. Apparently, I was nothing to this man, and here I’d been giving him my heart. So I took a deep breath, resolving to be strong. “Maybe you should—because somebody needs to tell her she’s babysitting for a fucking perv.” And off I went to the big freezer again.

  Until I left ten minutes later, I gave Scott one-word answers until he gave up and got the hint. It wasn’t until I got in my car and drove a couple of blocks that I felt the tears dropping down my cheeks.

  Goddammit.

  * * *

  The good thing about man problems was that they always drove me to my art. Some of the best sketches I’d ever drawn were after Barry and I had started fighting constantly. I’d leave the house, drawing supplies and cigarettes in hand, and walk furiously to a nearby park. My drawings were skewed reality, with angry pigeons, pissed off ducks, and homicidal robins. But I’d gotten really good at expressing emotion through simple objects and creatures. Cloud drawings became poetry; trees learned to say something through my hand.

  I decided that this was the best time for me to put my all into my art. Remembering the Arts Center show coming up in the fall, I began trying my hand at sketching tattoo drawings. I figured that, if nothing else, maybe I could sell them to a tattoo shop downtown. If the right person saw my art during the show, they might decide they wanted me to sketch their next body painting.

  I also made a list of all the ways I could get seen, because that was the first step to becoming known and selling my art. A place like Bob’s wouldn’t hang my stuff, whether or not the pieces had a tag that let people know they were for sale, because my style was nothing like the western image reflected in the dining room. Even Georgia O’Keeffe would have worked on those walls, but my stuff? No way. But maybe there were other restaurants in town where my art could work. And why not tattoo shops?

  So I had a plan.

  A couple of nights later, I was taking a break outside at Bob’s, enjoying a few sprinkles from the cloud overhead when the waitress Carla sat at the table next to me. I’d never seen her outside before, because she wasn’t a smoker, but it was cooler outside than in. Of course, the dining room was cooler, thanks to the AC that kept diners comfortable, but the kitchen was hell.

  I said hi but left it at that.

  She had other plans. “Casey, can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  She ran her fingers along her hairline at the temple, pulling back the short stray blonde strands to tuck them behind her ear. “David said you’re an artist—a paid artist.”

  I couldn’t help the smile forming on my face. “Yeah—but it’s not like I’ve made tons of money.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve made more than me. I’m attending the community college and I took an elective art class. We just had an art show the beginning of this month.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry I missed it.”

  “No biggie. It’s not like I’m a huge artist or an
ything, but I’ve discovered a new love, you know? Anyway, David said you sold a painting at an art gallery? I just wanted to ask you about that.”

  I told her about Sens Gallery and Isabel, and I also told her about the Arts Center, admitting that I hadn’t done much with them yet. But then I saw this as an opportunity for me, too. The cooks and waitresses didn’t mingle much, but I wasn’t going to lose this chance. “Can I ask you a weird question, Carla?”

  “Sure.”

  “What do you know about Wendy?”

  “She’s an okay waitress. Honestly, though? She’s a bit of a drama queen. Why do you ask?”

  I was taking a risk here. For all I knew, Carla and Wendy were actually friends—but I’d always gotten a good vibe from Carla, so I was going to take the chance. “Because of some things she said about Jim and Scott last week.”

  “Ohhh…” Her face looked like she’d just stepped in dog shit. “There’s some history there.”

  “So I gathered.”

  “Let me guess. Wendy sensed you were getting close to her man, and she told you a bunch of stuff you didn’t want to hear.”

  Her man?

  But I couldn’t even touch that. “How’d you know?”

  “‘Cause Wendy’s like a zebra. She might put on a fur coat, but she still has stripes.” I nodded. “She’s like an animal. She could sense Scott was interested in you just like an animal can sense when the weather’s changing.”

  I felt a little giddy hearing that Scott was interested in me, but how the hell did Carla or even Wendy know that? “Did you hear from someone that Scott was interested in me?”

  Carla smiled and shook her head. “No. Maybe I’m wrong. I just see you guys flirting in the kitchen—and if she’s seen what I’ve seen, she might be feeling jealous. For no good reason, apparently.”

  I wasn’t going to touch that. Unless and until Scott and I decided to pursue something, there was no need to confirm or deny what appeared to be flirting. But now I had to worry about Wendy and Jim, and I wondered if Scott would be worth all the bullshit I was going to have to wade through…

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next day, as David and I were clocking in at work, he practically accosted me. He was the most excited I’d ever seen him. “Casey,” he said, “we are going to have the biggest party ever next Saturday night. You have to be there.”

  “Are you kidding? Remember how fucked up I was after your last party?”

  “What if I promise to make sure you don’t do that again?”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, buddy.”

  “Still…you have to be there.”

  If Scott would be there, so would I—but I wasn’t going to give up that info, so I held my cards close to my vest. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a party.”

  David’s eyes grew wide and he feigned a gasp. “Just a party? Bite your tongue! I want you to meet a friend of mine.”

  “Ooh. Well, then I guess I can’t say no.” I put my purse away and we walked to the kitchen together. “What time?”

  “Whenever you get off work. Around five or six…or eleven, whatever. I’m going to get a keg that morning, so I’ll just need to go home and open the doors. But you have to be there.”

  “Why?”

  “‘Cause everybody will be there. This is the party you don’t want to miss.”

  “Well…we’ll just have to see, mister.” I talked a good game, but I already knew it fit in my schedule. I got off work at four on Saturday. It sucked that I had to open the next day—meaning I needed to go easy on the alcohol at the party—but I could attend and have fun anyway. Every day that week, David reminded me…as if I’d forget.

  I didn’t see Scott until Thursday. When I came to work that day, though, that was the first thing he asked me. “David invited you to the party, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Why? Are you gonna disappear again if I show up?”

  He laughed. “I’ll roll the red carpet out for you if you’re not too busy being a famous artist.”

  I started checking my station to make sure I was ready for the dinner rush, but I wasn’t done teasing. “Maybe. I’ll have to check with my assistant to see if I can pencil you in.” I turned around and asked, “What kind of music will you be playing?”

  “Oh…very good stuff, even by your standards.” He smirked.

  “That remains to be seen. I wanted to check with you about something, though. David said he was getting a keg, but then yesterday he told me BYOB. So which is it?”

  “Both. If you like beer, we’ve got you covered. Anything else, though, you’re on your own.” He took a ticket from a waitress who’d come up to the counter. “But I’ll share whatever I’m drinking with you.” He winked and then called the order.

  “Thanks.” As we got the order underway, I said, “I think I’m turning out to be a lightweight, though. I think I’d better stick with just beer.”

  “Actually, I think you should stick with coffee.”

  I stuck my tongue out at him while he laughed. The dinner crowd picked up, effectively ending conversation and Jim joined us a while later, ensuring I’d say nothing more.

  But I started thinking about the possibilities two nights from now. Should I become more aggressive or just let our relationship take its leisure goddamn time like it had been?

  I got nervous just thinking about it…but I was going to that party, come hell or high water.

  * * *

  On Saturday, I went in to work at eight o’clock. I hardly ate all day, I was so excited. I felt like I was sweet sixteen getting ready for the prom. Both David and Scott had the entire day off, but I worked with Jim during lunch, and it took everything in me to not act giddy and silly. Of all people I didn’t want knowing my emotional state, Jim was at the top of my list.

  Really, I had no right to be so damned thrilled. There was no guarantee anything would happen between me and Scott. But I was going to enjoy him outside of work and that alone kept my excitement fueled.

  I was drained when Ed let me leave work at four. My feet hurt and I was tired and sweaty, but I rushed home and jumped in the shower, letting the water roll down my back, warm and invigorating. It was blazing hot outside when I’d come home from work, but I suspected the night would be chilly like the evenings had been, so I enjoyed the warm water while I could. I was pruney when I stepped out of the shower, but I felt loads better.

  I spent extra time primping and preening, more than I’d even done for the art gallery exhibition, with one goal in mind: I wanted Scott to notice me. Tonight, I was going to make that man mine—or die trying. While my toenails were drying, my hair cooling in hot rollers, I agonized over the decision of what to wear. I figured I’d want to look pretty without being obvious. I wanted it to look effortless. So I settled on a pair of snug jeans, a pink t-shirt, and sneakers—but pink ones, not the black ones I wore to work every day.

  When I was satisfied—and when I felt like I’d waited long enough that I wouldn’t look too eager or desperate—I hopped in my little Versa and sped off to Scott and David’s place, arriving a little after seven o’clock.

  The place was already packed. I knew a lot of people from work, but just like their last party, there were dozens of people I didn’t know. I recognized a few faces from the last party they’d had but knew no names. I spied Carla the waitress and talked with her and her date for a few minutes before asking if they knew where the keg was.

  Heading to the kitchen, I vowed to stick with beer tonight.

  Maneuvering through all the happy, boisterous bodies, I arrived at the kitchen to find David minding the tap. “Hey, Case. Would you like a cold one?”

  “I’d love that.” He held the tap, and the beer foamed up inside the blue plastic cup. I dug my cigarettes out of my jacket. “Do you have somewhere I could hang my jacket, and can you tell me where the smokers are hanging out?”

  “Give me your jacket. I can throw it on my bed. And if you go through there,”
he said, pointing to a door just off the kitchen, “that goes to the backyard—but, since it’s starting to rain, the smokers are hanging on the back porch.” He got close to me so he could quit shouting over the party noise. “And, by the way, I think someone’s been looking for you.”

  Feeling coy, I raised my eyebrows in feigned disbelief. “Really? Who?”

  Smirking, he winked and said, “Living room.” Then he walked upstairs with my jacket.

  A cigarette could wait.

  I made my way through groups of people talking in clusters, saying an obligatory hi here and there when I made eye contact. I spotted Lee, the singer in Scott’s band, as I made my way to the living room, and there I spied Scott sitting next to Jim on the couch.

  Scott looked…delicious, which probably said more about my appetite than his actual appearance. He wore a white t-shirt with a skull design on it, his short brown hair mussy in a sexy way, a sparkle in his dark green eyes I could spot from feet away.

  Even though the loud music drowned out most sounds, the two men were watching a video on the television and didn’t notice me at first. Jim said hi and nodded his head my way as his elbow met with Scott’s ribs. Scott looked up and beamed, standing when he saw me. “I didn’t know if you were coming.”

  “I promised, didn’t I?” The two of them made room for me on the couch.

  Scott held up a bottle, shouting to be heard. “We’re drinking schnapps. You game?”

  So much for sticking with just beer. “I’ll take a shot.” One shot, I promised myself.

  I picked up the tiny glass and downed it in one gulp, chasing it with a swallow of beer. The warm liquid flowed down into my chest, spreading, tingling. Almost instantly, I felt my mind and muscles relax.

  Jim said, “Nice. But can you keep up with us?”

  “Remains to be seen.” I took a sip of my beer, pondering stepping outside for a smoke. Then I lifted up my cup for a toast. “Here’s to not working!”

  Jim and Scott touched their cups to mine, and we all downed another gulp. Jim started pouring us each another shot of schnapps that I didn’t ask for, and Julie, his wife, came and sat next to him. I waved at her, and then Scott held a full shot glass up to my face that I drank it without hesitation, breaking my promise to myself.