Talk Dirty to Me

by Dakota Cassidy

  “Forget Louella. Who’s this man?”

  “I only heard his first name. He was here lookin’ at real estate, of all things. Lawd knows there isn’t much of that to be had in the PO. He’s some kind of software developer or something smart. Like I said, I was just fringing the conversation like some kind of stalker right there in front of Brugsby’s. But we did make eye contact....”

  As Em’s words trailed off, her smile became a little like Dixie’s once had over a particular Backstreet Boy. “So I’m guessing you thought he was handsome?”

  She shook her head in absolute, alcoholically infused disagreement. “Oh, no.”

  Dixie kept her response relaxed as she looked up at the twinkling clusters of stars and watched the palm fronds from the surrounding trees sway with the warm air. “Explain?”

  “He wasn’t handsome. To say as much would be to deny his very essence. He was hot, Dixie. So very, very hot,” she whispered, licking her index finger and making a sizzling sound. “Handsome is meant for a more distinguished man, in my humble opinion. This man—ohhhh, this man made me think all sorts of dirty things. The kinds of things the girls talk about on the phone with their clients.”

  Dixie gave her shoulder a playful nudge, thrilled Em was beginning to feel comfortable enough to admire someone of the opposite sex. It meant she was considering moving forward. “Wow, huh?”

  “Wow-wow, for sure.”

  “So he’s why you’re out here drinking?” Dixie clucked her tongue. “Because if it was me, and I saw a man who was wow-wow hot, I’d be out there givin’ Louella Palmer a run for her money.”

  “That’s because you’re a shameless flirt. Not a well-mannered lady like me,” Em said on another inebriated giggle.

  “Reformed shameless flirt, thank you.” She tipped an imaginary hat at Em and smiled.

  Em let her head drop. “I have no place thinkin’ about other men when I couldn’t manage to keep the one I had.”

  The mention of Clifton reminded Dixie of something she needed to clear up. “Speaking of the one you had, why did I hear Nanette telling Essie Guthrie that you were the one responsible for the breakup of your marriage the other day?”

  Em made a face. “Because I’ve done nothing to right that wrong, and why’re you listenin’ in on someone else’s conversation, oh thee of the reformation?”

  Dixie gazed at her with astonishment. “Oh, no, person, I was not listening in. I couldn’t help but hear her. I was in Madge’s, picking up some of those yummy lattes for you and the girls before my shift. She doesn’t hide the fact that she loves to gossip, and I reminded her of that on my way out the door.”

  Em sighed. “Better that go ’round town instead of the truth then.”

  “Hold on there. Why are you taking the blame for Clifton’s misdeeds? While I admire you taking one for the team, I absolutely do not agree with him shifting the blame. Where’s that spine of yours you’re always shoving in my face?”

  “What else was I supposed to do, Dixie?” she hissed, pressing a finger to Dixie’s lips. “Tell my children and his parents that Clifton moved off to Atlanta because he wants to wear makeup and high heels and live with the most understandin’ female this side of the galaxy? He’s a descendant of one of Plum Orchard’s founding fathers, for heaven’s sake. You know how much pride Clifton’s parents, Harlow and Idalee, take in that. How could I let them be humiliated that way? And Harlow’s health isn’t good. I won’t have his heart attack on my hands.”

  No, damn it. This wasn’t okay. How dare Clifton leave Em to clean his mess? “Will it be any better if Harlow ever learns the truth, Emmaline?”

  “For now, this is the way it’s gonna be, Dixie. It’s better everyone think I was a terrible homemaker and wife than know the truth. Now, I won’t hear any more of it.”

  “Fine,” Dixie said between clenched teeth. “But for the record, Clifton’s no kind of man if he’d let you take responsibility for his dirty pool. It’s wrong to make you keep his secret and take the blame, too. I don’t like it, Emmaline Amos.”

  Em’s face relaxed again, the fiery anger in her eyes subsiding. “Well, I appreciate your concern. It’s over and almost done now, and all that matters is everyone stay out of the line of fire. Which means I shouldn’t be thinkin’ about other men or Nanette and the senior Mags will surely have something to gossip about then.”

  Dixie leaned back on the palms of her hands, swirling the water with her feet. “Wanna know what I think?”

  “About Nanette’s gossip?”

  “No, about how you’re feeling when you think about this man and starting new relationships.”

  “Because relationships are your specialty—yours with Caine bein’ so successful and everything.” She stuck her tongue out at Dixie playfully.

  “Here’s what I think. Maybe you weren’t meant to keep the man you had, Em. The one you had just wasn’t good enough for you, in my opinion. So maybe there’s someone else you’re supposed to be keepin’?”

  Em’s gaze was faraway, full of guilt mixed with excitement. “His name is Jax. The hot-hot man, that is. I heard him say it to Louella while she was makin’ those big round moon-eyes at him. How ridiculously soap opera, melt-your-knees sexy, is that?”

  A lot like ridiculously soap opera, melt-your-knees sexy as Walker was. “Look at my knees—all melty,” Dixie teased.

  Em took another long swig of the now almost empty wine bottle and laughed. “Hah! Your knees don’t count. They’re just scarred from sittin’ on ’em so much while you begged the man upstairs for forgiveness.”

  “Touché. So is this Jax why you’re drinking?”

  “No,” she said on a sniff. “Though maybe he’s just a small part of it. He just made me really think. I’m at a crossroads, one foot in my old world and the other somewhere undefined. I’m still stuck in the confines of marriage to Clifton—on paper anyway. Still sad I couldn’t keep the promises I made the day I married him, but I’m itchin’ to move on, too, you know? I feel so dirty bein’ cheated on. I know it’s absolutely ridiculous, but I feel like once we have a piece of paper that says it’s over, I’ll be clean again. Like I’ll have a fresh start, and his sins won’t be the boys’ or mine anymore.”

  Dixie grabbed her shoulders and gave her a light shake. “Listen up. As your person, it’s my responsibility to tell you, you didn’t break those promises, Em. You did not. Clifton did. This was about Clifton’s insecurities, not yours. It was easier to find another woman who already knew all his secrets than be man enough to tell you about them.”

  “He never even gave me a chance to decide how I’d feel about him wearing women’s clothes, Dixie. But the truth is,” she whispered, low and ragged, “I just don’t know how I feel. The only thing I’m sure of is I don’t know what I know anymore.”

  Dixie squeezed her arm then patted her shoulder, lifting it up and pointing to it. Em laid her head there. “I know, honey. But you know what else I know? I know that you’re loyal, and generous, and probably the kindest human being I’ve ever met. I also know you won’t always feel like this—so lost, so sad. It sounds meaningless right now, but this, too, shall pass.”

  “Like it did for you?” she asked in a whisper.

  Dixie nodded in agreement because it soothed Em, not because she really believed anything would ever pass for her. “You bet,” she whispered back against her hair. “Just like me.”

  Seventeen

  Dixie sat on a bench under a big maple whose leaves were just beginning to turn while Caine watched her from behind a real-estate magazine like some kind of town-square voyeur.

  She chatted with some of the senior men of Plum Orchard as they played chess and she ate her dinner out of a take-out box from Madge’s. The sunlight danced on her hair, casting golden highlights on her long, loose curls and leaving her cheeks duste
d a pretty pink. Her words were filling the air, and her laughter filled his head.

  The days were finally cooling off a bit, allowing her to wear jeans and a light pink button-up sweater that made his mouth water for the way it hugged her curves and his fingers burn to pop the small pearl buttons right off it.

  His mother had ordered him to locate and escort Dixie back to her house for a date they’d set to indulge in some pecan pie, coffee and girl talk. Because he couldn’t resist, knowing she’d be here in the park with the seniors like she was most evenings lately, he’d arrived twenty minutes early to get his fix of her.

  Since the night she’d decked Louella, she’d been purposely avoiding him again. This time, he knew why. Their relationship, the complexities and reasons they were at each other’s throats all the time, had changed.

  He’d apologized to Dixie for his crappy treatment of her, and now neither of them knew what to say if they weren’t searching for an available artery or a bed while they said it. It was crystal clear neither of them knew what the hell to do with this fragile declaration of peace.

  So neither of them said anything.

  Add to that, Dixie’s new vulnerability. She’d been vulnerable in that shower with him—to him—and it scared the shit out of her.

  It scared the shit out of him more. She was no longer just the flirty, sexy woman he’d fallen in love with. She was ten times more. She had depth—scars he didn’t understand—regrets she actually felt. He wanted to know them, hear them, soothe them.

  “Candy Caine?” A phone with a text message was shoved beneath his nose followed by the sweet scent of fresh pear and Dixie’s husky voice in his ears. “I’ve been ordered by your mother to find you and come directly to her house for pecan pie.”

  He rolled the magazine up and tucked it into his back pocket, glancing up at her with a smile. “I curse the damn day I taught her how to text. There’s no hiding from her, ever.”

  Dixie’s giggle, light and easy, drifted to his ears on the soft breeze as the shadows of the trees in the square played across her face. She hiked the strap of her purse over her shoulder and tucked it under her arm. “Well, it is homemade pecan pie. Seriously, what’s more text-worthy?”

  He rose, tearing his eyes from the swell of the tops of her breasts, just barely skimming her sweater’s opening. “You ready? Or do you have more men left to charm the pants off?”

  She tossed her empty dinner carton in a trash can as they began to walk. “Don’t be ridiculous, do you really believe I left a crowd of men uncharmed and with pants on? Impossible,” she said on a flirty giggle.

  The bruises Louella had left on her eye were finally beginning to fade, but it still made him wince to see it. “How’s the eye?”

  “Still in my head.”

  “Phew. Good thing. One-eyed Southern belles are a hard sell these days, I hear.” She let him slip his hand under her arm as they crossed the street, the temptation to place it at her waist stronger than ever.

  She cocked her head in his direction and raised an eyebrow. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not for sale. Sadly, my reputation precedes me.”

  Caine heard the teasing lilt to her voice, but that underlying hint of seriousness, the one that continually self-deprecated and punished, remained, and it was becoming like a kidney punch every time she used it. “Reputations can change. Or should I say perceptions can?” Why he couldn’t just tell her his perception of her changing was a testament to his own damn insecurities. He didn’t want to fall into another trap.

  She gave him a strange look before saying, “Uh-huh. Just like a leopard’s spots and a Kardashian’s love of publicity. But let’s not talk about me. We do that a lot. It’s overrated. How about we talk about you?”

  “Okay, floor’s yours.”

  “How’s the real-estate business in Miami? Yours in particular.”

  Mostly flailing due to his lack of on-site management for over a month now. “It’s been good to me, despite the economy.”

  Dixie shook her finger along with her head. “I don’t mean overall. I mean now, as in right now. Because I heard you just the other day talking to someone named Geraldo about escrow and all sorts of big words simple girls like me don’t understand. And when I say talking, I mean you were sort of yelling. Which leads me to believe Miami’s finest golden boy turned real-estate agent should be back home, managing the empire he built from scratch. You sounded pretty stressed.”

  She was right. Things were slipping back in Miami while he was in Plum Orchard, trying to figure out where the hell to go from here.

  The realization that he wasn’t ready to leave yet was unsettling. That he wasn’t ready to leave because Dixie was here left his brain all kinds of shit-wrecked. But he had a feeling there was still much more to discover about her, and he wanted to do that.

  “The big words are just a front for the real problem, which is that I’m not there to micromanage everything. They’ll get over it. I pay them a lot of money to figure it out.”

  Dixie slowed a bit, the rhythm of her heels clicking against the sidewalk changing. She stopped at the cross section where his mother’s street met the old dirt road they used to race bikes on.

  This was the road where he’d threatened to take out Dixie’s first boyfriend, Wayne Hicks, for getting her drunk and trying to take advantage of her. Little had he known Dixie was anything but drunk, and no one, least of all poor Wayne Hicks, took advantage of her.

  The memory, vivid and in living color, made him smile.

  It was also the road where they’d first made love in the back of his father’s old pickup truck. And where he’d proposed to her.

  Dixie tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, where’d you go?”

  Obviously to a place she didn’t remember quite the way he did. He spun around on his heel and began walking back toward the intersection. “Sorry. What was the question?”

  “Do you like living in Miami, Caine?”

  He stopped again. Did he? He liked the money. He liked the challenge of selling high-end real estate in a less than desirable market. “Do you like Chicago?”

  She smiled up at him, her dimples deepening in that enticing way she had of using their innocence only to later nail you with her sexy. “I asked first.”

  Caine shrugged, unsure of what she was getting at. “At first, I was in culture shock. It’s very unlike Plum Orchard, but it grew on me.” He’d forced himself to adjust because no way in hell was he going back to a place where Dixie lived in every nook and cranny.

  Dixie wiggled a finger into his belt loop and tugged at it before letting go, a familiar gesture from their past when she’d wanted his attention. “But do you like it? Really like it? Do you think of it as home? Lately I’m discovering it’s important to like the place you’re going to set up shop with your life.”

  When he’d moved to Miami to follow up on a job offer from a college friend’s father, it had been the answer to getting the hell out of Plum Orchard and away from the memory of Dixie, but did Florida feel like home?

  Did he look forward to going back to his ultra swanky town house after a long day? Did it make him feel comfortable and welcomed like his mother’s kitchen with its hardwood floors, antiqued white cabinets and woodburning stove did?

  No. It was just a place to hang his hat—a place to grab some sleep, have the occasional beer, and watch a game on a flat-screen TV he almost never had the time to turn on. “I have a nice town house,” he replied, almost defensively.

  “I bet you do. You deserve a nice town house. Town homes are what make life worth living,” she teased.

  Caine squared his shoulders. “So, Chicago?”

  Dixie rubbed her arms. “Cold. Brrr.”

  Caine’s eyes zeroed in on hers, trying to read where this was leading. “Did you like it?” Had she missed home as mu
ch as he was discovering he did?

  Her eyes darkened momentarily then clouded over to hide whatever it was she was hiding. “It served a purpose. Did I love it? Sometimes, if I’m honest. The shopping was great, the nightlife even better. But mostly, not so much as I got older.”

  And? There was something beyond her getting older and her financial struggles that made Chicago not so likeable, and he wanted to know what. Yet, the way her eyes avoided his told him she wasn’t ready to tell him what it was.

  In fact, her eyes said she especially didn’t want to tell him. He kept his next question as casual as possible. “So, you thinking about staying here in the PO?”

  “Well, of course I am. Who’s going to run Call Girls when I beat you senseless and win this whole thing?” she asked on a laugh, sticking her hands in the pockets of her jeans as her feet began to move again.

  “Tsk-tsk,” he chided with amusement. “That has yet to be determined, Mistress Taboo. We still have a couple of weeks left. Don’t pack your stilettos just yet.”

  She slowed as they neared the white rose-covered front gate to his mother’s. “Can I ask you something?”

  “You can always ask.”

  “If you win will you stay here, Caine? Move back?”

  Would he? It was damn good to be home, to see his mother more often than holidays. It was good to walk down the center of town and be greeted with smiles that were familiar. It was good to share a beer or two and chicken wings with some of his old high school buddies at Cooters while they watched the game.

  He’d missed the hell out of Landon the second he’d left this earth. Yet he’d thought it would be painful to return home and remember his friend as vividly as he did Dixie. Instead, he found it comforting to be surrounded by the things both he and Landon had once loved.

  Was he ready to admit that? Not yet. So he avoided the answer to her question much the way he was internally avoiding it, too. “I don’t need to be here to run things, Dixie.”