Dirty Talk

by S. L. Scott

  Why didn’t she show up?

  I get in the shower, letting the water run down over my head. With my face under the spray I realize I’ve thought more about her, about our past in the last twenty-four hours than I have since I saw her back in Nebraska.

  We were different people back then. Clearly I didn’t know her at all. In this life, the one I created after her, I don’t utter her name. I don’t dwell on our history. I don’t look at the photos I’ve got in that Nike shoebox buried in the back of my closet. She doesn’t exist in my life, in this world that was born from our breakup.

  But now I have to. She’s come back into my life demanding me to see her because of this campaign, to smell her, to think about her, to touch her because I can’t be that close to her and not do any of those things.

  The scale feels suspiciously balanced in her favor. How long was she planning this reintroduction into my life? And if she plotted this all along, why was she so distant during the meeting? Why are we pretending we don’t know each other—for her benefit, mine, or both?

  She had time to prepare, to plan for this reunion, but I got no heads-up or warning at all. What does she really want from me? What does she hope to gain beyond using my name and reputation I’ve built in this industry?

  I’m so fucking confused. Maybe I don’t want to play this game. Or, maybe it’s time I take the control back. Maybe I’ll start making demands of my own.

  CHAPTER 9

  ~Danny~

  FUCK, SHE LOOKS hot!

  Damn, look at her.

  I push off the Jeep and go to her. Her eyes are down as she pulls her suitcase behind her. When they lift up to meet mine, a small smile, one that reveals more than she probably wants appears. That girl likes what she sees and I like that she likes it… that she likes me, even if it is just the package she likes—my package.

  Chuckling when I reach her, she asks, “What are you laughing about?”

  “You don’t even want to know.” I cover her hand over the handle of her suitcase and don’t move.

  Concern colors her eyes as she looks into mine. “What?”

  I lean forward and kiss her cheek. She doesn’t see me close my eyes, or notice that I stay longer than I should. She stands there with my forehead touching her temple. When I straighten back up, I confess, “It’s good to see you.”

  A softer side seeps into her tone, the emotion reaching her eyes. “It’s good to see you too.” She starts to move again, but when I don’t budge, she stops. Her voice is softer this time. “Danny?”

  “Say it again.”

  “It’s good to see you?”

  “No.”

  “Danny?”

  I don’t know what’s come over me… or maybe I’m not ready to admit what has. “Yes. One more time.”

  “Danny,” she says with a smirk.

  “I missed hearing you say it.”

  She rocks back. “You’re being silly.”

  “I’m being serious, Reese.”

  A glance in my direction reveals my charms are working on her. When her cheeks pink, I know they are. The ridiculous part is I’m being honest with her. I’ll play it safe and keep under the guise of flirting to protect the innocent—Reese.

  She slips her hand out from under mine and nods toward the Jeep. “We should go.” When she looks back at me, she looks like she’s up to no good. When she adds, “Danny,” I know she is.

  I walk to the vehicle and watch her climb in as I load her suitcase into the back. When I get in, she says, “Did you put the top on for me?”

  “I sure did.” I start the engine and we pull away from the hotel.

  Leaning her head back, she watches me. I see her in my peripheral, and I can feel her gaze on me. “Where are you taking me for lunch?”

  “The beach.”

  She sits up. “The beach? Are you serious?”

  “I am,” I say, looking over and catching her wide grin.

  The rest of the ride is filled with talk of the bad traffic, the LA scene, and apparently there are too many tanned people in her opinion. I volley back that Manhattan has too many gray days. She rests her case by saying, “Maybe it’s good we live where we live then.”

  “Ah, don’t judge us so fast. If I got a chance to show you the real LA, I bet you’d enjoy the city more.”

  “What if I gave you that chance?”

  “When you say stuff like that I’m not sure how to reply.”

  “It’s better if you don’t. Sometimes I speak before thinking.”

  “That’s your heart speaking for you.”

  “When you say stuff like that I’m not sure how to reply.” She rests her head on her hand, elbow firmly set on the door. After exhaling a deep breath, she says, “We’re going to be working together. I think we should keep it as easy as we can.”

  “Easy? I don’t believe anything worth having comes easy. My mission is to make you miss me by the time you land in New York.” She stares, her dark-pink lips parted, her blues in awe as she sits next to me. I pull into the beach lot and put the car in park. “You hungry?”

  “Danny,” she starts.

  Here it comes…

  “We need to talk.”

  I step out of the Jeep, but stand there. “That’s why we’re here.”

  The door shuts and I walk around and help her out. She walks toward the sand, stops, takes off her shoes and carries them in her hand. I grab the box lunches, the blanket, and two bottles of water, and follow her toward the water. While she stands letting the water coat her feet, I set up and sit down.

  She stands there a minute longer, the skirt of her dress blowing in the breeze, her hair whirling around her head. When she turns to come back, her happiness is contagious. “I didn’t think I’d get to come to the beach on this trip. I love it here so much.”

  “So maybe you’re a little more LA than you thought.”

  “Maybe,” she replies sitting down and then lying back. With her hand cupped above her eyes to block the sun, she looks at me. “Can we do this?”

  “By this, you mean make out? Sure,” I say, shrugging and smiling. “If you insist.” I roll over and pretend I’m about to kiss her.

  And I kind of want to.

  More than I probably should.

  She sits up and huffs, but I can tell by her own smile that she’s entertained. Until she’s not and something else comes over her, flattening the joy that was in her eyes. She doesn’t push me away, her hands doing the opposite. The tips of her fingers touch the hem of my shirt. “You make this hard.” I think she knows what I’m going to say, so she playfully warns, “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what, pretty?”

  Laughing, she relents. “Fine. Say it.”

  “You make this hard,” I reply, eyeing lower than my abs that are now exposed from her toying with my shirt.

  “You never could resist.”

  “One of the many reasons you loved me.”

  This time she doesn’t respond. She just agrees nodding silently. I don’t kiss her. This time. And unless I’m reading her all wrong, she’s disappointed. I sit up, both of us wrapping our arms around our knees as we stare ahead. Keeping my attention on the distant horizon, I ask, “Were you married?”

  Resting her head on her knees, she faces me. “No. You?”

  “No.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Didn’t meet the one, I guess. You?” Her pause is too long, so I look at her. She’s facing forward, this time with her chin on her knees. I ask, “Have I crossed a line by asking?”

  “No.” She doesn’t look at me. “I’m just not sure how to answer that.”

  That’s when I realize what I said. “I wasn’t talking about you.”

  She straightens up, stretching her legs in front of her. “Be careful, Danny, or I might think you’re saying you would have married me,” she jokes.

  “I would have.”

  The laughter stops. While her eyes search mine I can see panic rising. “What are you
saying?”

  She doesn’t know. How can she not know? I told her I loved her, that I was coming back for her, to her, that I had something special to tell her. I had the ring. The scenario was all planned out. But she didn’t show. She broke my heart and then never talked to me again. How can she really not know? “I’m saying I would’ve married you. So when I said I hadn’t met the one, I was referring to after you. No one since then that I would have married.” Tears fill her eyes. I didn’t expect that reaction and suddenly my hurt heart doesn’t matter. I just want to make her feel better. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  She takes the box of food next to her and opens it. “You didn’t.” When she stops messing with the box, she looks me in the eyes. “I am, but I shouldn’t be. I have no right to be upset about anything regarding us.” She laughs. “This is heavy, not easy at all.”

  “It used to be. We used to be easy.”

  “Many years have passed—”

  “Water under the bridge?”

  “Oceans”

  I nod, but I don’t know why. Oceans. She’s right. Maybe I need to just ask the questions I want to ask and stop all the other BS I’ve gotten caught up in with her. But as I sit next to her, I realize I’m doing what feels right. I like flirting with her. I like hearing her laugh and seeing her smile. I like that perfect pink that covers her face when I do push her sexual buttons. I like it all. I like her—sober and tipsy.

  “Can we set work aside, and I ask you something personal?”

  She bursts out laughing. “Everything has been personal, so why stop now?”

  “What’s in New York?”

  “Are you really asking what or who?”

  “You know me well.”

  “My job is based in New York.”

  I wait to see if she’ll add to that. When she doesn’t, I ask, “Why rush back?”

  “What do you suggest? That I stay an extra day or two?”

  “Is that idea so crazy?”

  “Your campaign is the biggest of my career. I don’t want to screw it up and lose this account. I have a lot of details to oversee. We’re thinking two cities at least, maybe one more. There’s planning involved that can be done from New York easier than from a hotel room.”

  “I understand the logistics, but what do you want to do?”

  “Danny, my job is a sixty-hour-a-week job. It’s not frivolous. I can’t just take off spontaneously. My boss has been breathing down my neck. He really doesn’t want to lose this account.”

  I’ve heard the word frivolous thrown around about models many times. It’s a misnomer, but it’s not worth fighting with her. Appearances can be deceiving. We just make it look carefree. “We should eat. We’ll need to leave soon.”

  We’re eating strawberries when she says, “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t think what you do is frivolous. I envy your freedom of choice and your ability to travel like you do.”

  “Don’t envy it. It’s lonely. I’m always leaving.” I hear the catch in her breath and look into her eyes. Words from years earlier still haunt my memories. “You’re always leaving me, Danny.” She hated being left behind, but never realized how hard it was for me.

  Looking back out to the ocean, a thoughtful expression softens her features. “You make it look exciting.” She says this so quietly, I feel as though I need to repair unseen damage.

  “It is, and isn’t. It’s hard to explain.” Sounding much like a rehearsed pageant response. “I’m grateful for the opportunities I’m given. But I also work my ass off to get them. I’m lucky I don’t have a sweet tooth and like to exercise.”

  “So are we,” she deadpans, pushing against me playfully.

  “A-ha! I knew you liked the view.”

  “I do and I’m not talking about the beach.”

  “Be careful or you might make me kiss you for real this time.”

  “Would that be so bad?” She licks her lips and suddenly all I want to do is follow in her tongue’s tracks. I lean over, but my lips land on her cheek. She’s looking down. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, I am,” I reply, sitting back and losing my appetite. Looking at my watch, I pack the lunch back into the box. “We should go. LAX is a nightmare. You’ll need the time if you’re gonna make your flight.”

  She doesn’t argue. It’s going to take us hours to fight traffic and get her up to the terminal. I think we talk about everything other than what happened back there or even what happened in our past.

  Avoidance.

  We both seem to be masters at it.

  As we get closer, I say, “Thanks for Vittori.”

  “You were my choice from the beginning. I knew he’d love you.”

  “What about you? Any soft spots still in there for me?”

  “Danny.” Her response is a warning mixed with resolve. “Please don’t make this harder than it is.”

  I nod. We had all the time in the world and now time’s run out. “How does this between us go from here?”

  “We’ve met,” she replies, looking at me. “Here, this week. So we know each other, but I think that’s as far as it goes for us.”

  The button has been located. “You sure about that, pretty?” And now pushed.

  “Please don’t call me that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you know what it does to me.”

  “What does it do to you, pretty? Tell me.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “I refuse to fall in love with you, so you can just turn those eyes on someone else. I’m not falling for it. Again.”

  “Who said anything about falling? I’m not here to make you fall.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “To help you remember.”

  She looks out at the curb. “Professional,” she whispers as if she’s now reminding herself.

  I keep my expression neutral and my emotions in check. The ignorance I’ve been living in for the last ten years is working. There’s no point in changing what’s good. If only this beating organ in my chest agreed with me. “Got it.”

  She picks right back up like most of our conversation never happened. “Most of our communication will be through Mark, but if you need anything, you can call me.” She’s holding out a business card.

  I take it and drop it into the cup holder. “Don’t worry, we’ll be purely professional around each other. If that’s what you want.”

  “Thank you,” she says, her chin raising a bit; her stiff upper lip in place. “I think it’s best.”

  When I pull over to drop her off, she stays in the Jeep until I have her luggage on the sidewalk. With the door open, I lean against the top. To make it easier on her, I’ll take the blow to the heart again. “I think of you often.”

  She doesn’t pause this time, giving me this one thing easily. “I do too.”

  As I back up, she gets out, coming face to neck with me. “If I didn’t have a meeting with potential clients in the morning, I would stay an extra day.”

  I smile. I know just what she means. The storm brewing in her eyes gives her away. The emotional turmoil I feel inside, she feels it too. Pushing professional out the window, I slide my arms around her and she embraces me. With her head tucked into my shoulder, she whispers, “I look forward to seeing you again. Already, and I haven’t left yet.”

  “I feel the same about you.” I take one deep breath, inhaling her into my system and memorizing the notes that make up her perfume, that make up her, and how she still fits so perfectly in my arms after all of these years.

  We part and suddenly a lump forms in my throat. By how quiet she is, I’m thinking she’s at a loss as well. She takes hold of her suitcase and walks away from me. I shove my hands into my pockets and watch her leave… me.

  Other than the lump and the sappy feeling I’ve got from her leaving me, Reese Carmichael is amazing. It didn’t take long for me to see what I’ve been missing.

  A few days
. Maybe it’s not about the past, but the future.

  A second chance at love… is that what this is?

  I look back once more as she disappears inside.

  That’s exactly what this is.

  I’m going to have a hard time keeping things professional when she is so incredibly clever, beautiful, and driven… a woman I can easily fall for, just like I did with the girl. A girl who was once wholly mine. It only took a few days for me to see what I’ve been missing all these years. I admire the woman she’s become.

  Fuck!

  I more than admire her. I already want her to be mine again. You’ll always be mine, Reese. Mine. Just like I was hers.

  Walking around the Jeep, I get in and glance back again. Reese Carmichael is back. Destiny has a funny way of working. I smile to myself as I start the engine. And by the looks of her, she’s back better than ever.

  Her strength is one to envy, but her heart is what I’m after.

  CHAPTER 10

  ~Danny~

  DAYS PASS AND I think of Reese, too much. With no word from Mark, I’m not sure what’s happening with the campaign. Things sometimes move fast and I’m on a flight that night. Others crawl until the actual gig. Vittori is a multi-million dollar ad campaign, hence why I was hired, so it being slow to progress doesn’t surprise me.

  This might be the first time I’ve felt anxious, and it’s not the shoot that’s done this to me. I have the Vargo shoot in two days, so I’ve been putting my nervous energy into working out.

  Running back home, uphill, I try to maintain the same hard pace I ran the last four miles. A distracting little blonde is up ahead—ass sticking out of her car, ponytail high on her head, a crap load of bags around her ankles. I suddenly feel a little more motivated to finish up strong.

  Who am I kidding? I always finish strong.

  “Hey there, stranger.”

  She ducks out of the car and a big smile slides across that beautiful face when she sees me. With her hand on her hip, my part-time neighbor—successful entrepreneur, one of the hottest bods in Hollywood, and very taken, Holli Hughes, says “Hey there, back at ya.”

  Even though my breath hasn’t caught up, I ask, “What brings you around?”