Down & Dirty

by Ashley Johnson

  When finished, I wrap a towel around myself and walk out of the bathroom expecting Nixon to have walked out to my living room, or anywhere else in my house. I expected wrong.

  He’s sitting on the edge of my unmade bed, arms folded and a huge smirk on his face.

  “Did you want me to leave, sugar?” he jokes.

  I cross my arms over my chest in an attempt to keep my towel firmly in place, which it doesn’t do, and speed walk toward my closet before it falls out of my grasp.

  “What do you think? Do you think I really want you to keep calling me that stupid nickname and watch me get dressed?” I put as much sarcasm into my voice as I can and raise my brow at him before I disappear into the closet and grab a purple tank top and white shorts.

  After a second of silence I walk out of the closet, sure that Nixon has taken the hint and left the room after my last comment.

  Nope.

  He’s still sitting in the same place on my bed with an enormous smile plastered on his face.

  “Why are you still in here, Nixon?”

  “Because I think that you do want me to keep calling you that adorable nickname I thought up just for you and you also want me to watch you get dressed. So go right ahead, I’m watching,” he waves his hand in front of him, telling me I can continue.

  Fine, if this is the way he wants to play it, I’ll play right along. I have nothing to be ashamed of and Nixon being an ass isn’t going to make me want to sleep with him, so I may as well give him a glimpse at something that he’ll never get a piece of.

  I mentally cross my fingers, hoping that I can keep him from getting a piece. Men like Nixon like to talk about their conquests and while I’m all for casual hookups, I’m not all about having my sexual experiences spread around to people I work with.

  This doesn’t mean I can’t tease him a bit.

  I turn so my back it’s to Nixon and, after slipping into a pair of white boy shorts while my towel is still in place, I unravel the gray terry cloth from around my torso and let it fall to the ground.

  I turn my head in time to see Nixon’s eyes widen as they descend my body and his tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip. I giggle and his eyes snap back up to my face.

  “What’s the matter, Nixon? Didn’t think that I’d get dressed with you in the room when you told me to?” I joke. Nixon shakes his head slowly and then shifts on the edge of my bed like he is trying to discreetly adjust himself.

  I reach into my dresser drawer and pull out a white bra that does wonders for my cleavage. After securing it and throwing my tank top on I turn around to face Nixon as I pull my white shorts on.

  His hands are now gripping my grey quilt and his fingers are white, like he’s trying to pop the stuffing out of it with his hands alone. His eyes are firmly secured to my breasts that are barely contained in my top and his mouth is now slightly ajar.

  Nice to know he’s affected by me.

  I giggle and shake my head when his eyes come back up to my face before I make my way back into my bathroom. After brushing my teeth and downing two pills to try and kill my hangover, I throw my hair into a messy bun and have to basically push Nixon out of the room.

  He protests as he throws on his own shirt and tells me that we could just do another naked house day. I laugh in an attempt to cover up the fact that I’m actually considering the idea and walk out my front door toward my truck, hoping that he’s following me and not stripping his clothes off in my living room.

  * *

  Nixon’s house is only fifteen minutes away from me, but it might as well be a totally different country from looking at his home compared to mine. I live in an older home with a lot of land and space between me and my neighbors while Nixon lives in an upscale community with cookie cutter houses that are spread about ten yards apart.

  “Wow Nixon, you must be making a lot of cheddar if you can afford a house like this,” I tell him as I gaze at his tan two-story colonial that looks exactly like the one to the left of it.

  Nixon looks through the windshield at his house and shrugs. “It was the first big purchase I made after I signed with Black Bear. I moved out here so that I was closer to their facilities and as an opportunity to gain more big name sponsors. I kind of wish I would have put more thought into my house, but I was a stupid twenty year old kid with a wad of cash burning a hole in my pocket.”

  “What do you mean you wish you would have put more thought into it?” I ask, lowering my brow at him.

  “Well if I would have thought about it I would have bought a house that was much more suited for me, like yours. Your house is perfect. You have a ton of room in your back yard where your dog can play and you can have parties that don’t get broken up in an hour because your neighbors think you’re being too loud,” Nixon says, scowling at the house to his right.

  It sounds like he had a bit of experience with pissing off his neighbors. I’ve never had to worry about that. I always warn my closest neighbors when I plan to have a party before hand, but even when I tell them, I never worry that they’ll here. Each of my neighbors is at least half a mile away and they’re all older people who need the help of hearing aids. They would never hear my parties.

  “Well, I do love where I live but it’s nowhere near perfect. The house was built in the late seventies and has had a lot of plumbing and electrical problems. I’ve lived there for nearly two years and I think every pipe in that house has been replaced at least once,” I laugh remembering all the times I’ve had to call my dad to come help me out because my house was leaking.

  “What about the track in the back? Was that there when you moved in?” he asks.

  I shake my head and think about how long it took for my idea to become a reality. “No, I had that put in a few months after I bought it. My dad and I designed it and then I had some local guy bring in all the dirt and mold it out. It took about a month or so to complete all the jumps and whoops once they started.”

  “I would love a track in my backyard. If I get frustrated or bored and want to ride I have to pack up my bike and go over to Black Bear and, even though it’s a well kept track, I hate that it’s indoors. I would love to have the real thing close all the time like you do,” he tells me.

  I give him a small smile and remember that even though he stole my dog and has already seen me naked even though it was without any of the fun that comes with being naked, he did take care of me while I was drunk last night. Plus he’s super hot, so I open my mouth and do something I am damned sure I’ll regret sooner or later.

  “Well, if you want to ride outside you’re welcome over at my track. Just call or text me before you come over,” I point at him.

  Then, something that has escaped my still sloshed up mind finally clicks. He still hasn’t told me how he got my address. Did I somehow give it to him at the Black Bear track the other day? I know I didn’t give him my phone number.

  I turn my body toward his and clear my throat. “Nixon, how did you get my phone number? I didn’t give it to you. And did I tell you my address at the Black Bear track?”

  Nixon chuckles and shakes his head slowly before turning back to me. “No sugar, I got your phone number and address from Otis Black’s tags,” he tells me, calling Otis by the name I had put on the tag around his neck. After his double crossing maneuver the other day, I might have that changed.

  “I see. Can I get him back and be on my way now?” I ask, ready to get back home and sleep the rest of my day, along with my hangover, away. Actually talking to Nixon about everyday stuff is making me kind of like him, and I can’t have that happen.

  “Yeah, follow me inside,” Nixon offers while getting out of my truck.

  We’re silent as we walk to his front door, but both start laughing when we hear Otis barking at the sound of Nixon’s key sliding into the lock.

  As soon as the door swings open Otis bypasses Nixon and jumps onto me, standing taller than me on his hind legs. I have to hook my hands under his front legs and brace one of
my legs behind me to keep from toppling over.

  “Hello there betrayer, I’ve missed you, too,” I smile then scrunch my face up as Otis licks my cheek. He jumps off of me and trots back to the living room sitting on the ground by another dog. A fat, brown and white Old English bulldog wearing a pink collar is sitting on the tan couch in the center of the living room while Nixon pets the top of its head.

  “This is Lola. She and Otis are now best friends,” he tells me.

  I walk slowly toward Lola, holding my hand out so she can sniff me before I pat her on the head.

  “Hello Lola,” I tell her and smile when she acknowledges me with a grunt. Then turn my attention back to Nixon. I realize my mistake when my eyes lock with his. He’s staring intently at me, like he’s debating on whether or not he should throw me on the floor and fuck me into oblivion.

  On that thought, I swallow hard and decide it’s best if I leave now.

  “Thanks for taking care of my dog for me, even though you stole him in the first place,” I raise my brows at him when he chuckles.

  “In fairness sugar he willingly jumped into my truck. I didn’t think he’d actually do it,” Nixon smiles when I scowl down at my dog. Otis gives me innocent puppy dog eyes.

  “Yeah well I don’t think he’ll be coming with me to the track anymore if he’s going to be getting into random cars. Didn’t you listen to anything I taught you about stranger danger, dummy?” I point a finger at Otis and try not to laugh as he wags his enormous tail at me.

  “Hey, I’m not a stranger,” Nixon scoffs. “And Otis had better get used to me because I plan on being around a lot more. This is just the beginning of something very beautiful, Emmie Black.”

  I look up at Nixon to see the sly smirk plastered on his face. I have to physically bite down on my lip to keep a sigh from escaping. Damn it he’s good looking.

  My eyes must have gotten glassy because Nixon lets out a small chuckle.

  I have to get out of here before I tackle him to the ground or something.

  I grab a hold of Otis’ thick black skull and bones collar and start leading him to the front door.

  “I have to get going, but I’ll talk to you later,” I tell Nixon and walk out without looking back, feeling like an idiot for rushing out the door but having no other choice. If I’d stayed any longer my clothes would have disintegrated into an ashy pile on the floor.

  Can’t have that happening.

  Chapter 8

  I spent most of yesterday in bed trying to thwart my hangover by drinking ginger ale and eating crackers, so I am feeling very refreshed today. I hop out of bed with a renewed sense of happiness with the world knowing that I’ve become closer with some girls I could consider friends and I have an insanely hot guy hitting on me.

  I take Otis for a long walk and let him play at the dog park for almost an hour before I decide that I need to get home and get some riding in today. Even though it’s the off season and I still have two months before the new season begins, I still have charity rides and events that I’m obligated to attend before then.

  I’ll need all the practice I can get seeing as I was out for almost two months to heal.

  After getting Otis situated with a huge bowl of water and going to my room to throw on some of my riding gear, I grab my iPod and headphones that I wear under my helmet while I’m practicing on the track and make my way toward the back of the house.

  When I open the sliding glass door I automatically hear the gun of a dirt bike engine in the distance.

  That’s weird. I live in an older area and I’m the youngest person by twenty years within a ten mile radius. I normally can’t hear any of my neighbors and I didn’t think that any of them rode. Thinking of Old Man Wilkins doing a back flip off a jump, his ratty black slippers hanging off his seventy year old feet, makes me snicker.

  Then my eyes see dirt lifting from my track and all humor is wiped from my mind.

  Someone is riding on my track.

  Well, some asshole is about to get an earful because this is private property and I won’t cover their medical bills if they get hurt on my field.

  I jog the half mile from my back porch to the track with Otis running ahead of me and barking loudly, prepared to scream at whoever is in my backyard. That’s when I see the rider in a black jumpsuit, covered in different sponsor logos, and white helmet fly off my tabletop jump and, while in the air, perform a can can, where both legs are on the same side of the bike, before gracefully landing.

  I make it to the edge of my track and start flailing my arms all over in the air, trying to get this douche’s attention. When they finally make it to the soft turn I’m standing by, they slow to a complete stop and rev the gas one last time before killing the bike’s engine.

  While this person is working on the strap of their helmet I decide to start laying into them while Otis pants and wags his tail. Some guard dog he is.

  “Listen dude, I don’t know who the fuck you are but this is private property and you can’t be on my track. It’s closed to the pub-“ I don’t get to finish my sentence because Nixon has removed his helmet and is smiling widely at me.

  I should have already known that it would be him on my track.

  “Nixon, what the hell are you doing here?” I growl and throw my arms out to my sides quickly before letting them limp and slap my thighs, making him smile wider.

  “You told me I could ride on your track, so I decided to take advantage of your offer and practice today,” he shrugs and lifts his hand to pat Otis on the head when he trots closer.

  I shake my head slowly and look to the dirt because I don’t want the lasers I’m sure are shooting out of my eyes to damage his good looks. I’d have a million moto hoes chasing me with pitchforks and hairbrushes if anything bad ever happened to their sexy poster boy.

  “Dude, I did tell you that you could use the track, but I also told you that you need to call me and let me know you’re coming. I didn’t say come over whenever you want and use my house as your own personal playground.”

  He tucks his helmet under one of his arms and runs his gloved hand through his long hair before leveling me with his light brown eyes. He looks tired and, if I’m not mistaken, a bit sad underneath his sex on a stick stare.

  I have to look away because he’s working some funky sex voodoo with the looks he’s been giving me lately. He’s breaking down the walls I built and making it impossible for me to resist all that is Nixon King.

  “I’m sorry sugar. I just had a rough night last night on the phone with my dad and wanted to go riding this morning. You have an awesome track laid down and I wanted to test it out. Please don’t be mad at me,” he pouts like a little kid, causing me to chuckle and him to break into a huge smile.

  I roll my eyes and turn around to grab my dirt bike out of the shed off the side of my track. Once I’ve slowly pushed it over to where Nixon is still waiting and mounted my bike, I pop in one ear bud and tell Nixon “alright King, if you really want to test out my track then I need to be here to observe and properly kick your ass. You ready?”

  Nixon gives me a genuine smile, one I haven’t seen from him before, and puts his helmet on his head once more.

  “You know it babe,” he tells me and kick starts his bike. Otis runs to the shed where a dog bed is set up for him and lays down.

  I smile, put in my other ear bud, slide on my helmet, and adjust my goggles before I kick start my own bike and we both take off.

  * *

  Nixon and I ride the track for what seems like hours. We keep riding even when the weather turns sour and it starts to rain, turning my track into a mini mud pit. But we both seem to be having too much fun to want to quit riding.

  This is when motocross riding is at its peak for me. When everything is muddy and you really have to focus on how you jump and exactly how you land, riding is much more challenging and therefore rewarding when you execute it properly.

  Plus it’s really fun to get super dirty once in a whi
le.

  With mud, not in the bedroom. Although, that is fun almost all the time.

  After almost an hour of light rain the clouds get mad and it starts to really pour, making it almost impossible to ride safely through the jumps, so Nixon and I call it quits for the day.

  After we’ve both parked our bikes in my shed and stripped off our muddy suits and protective gear, me now standing in the shed in a pink Roxy t-shirt and a pair of black leggings and Nixon wearing a white Black Bear t-shirt and black boxer briefs, we lock it all up and bolt the half mile from the track to my back door.

  We’re both drenched and laughing by the time we make it to the sliding glass door where Otis is waiting under the deck canopy that my dad and I built last summer. Nixon and I have matching mud stains from the bridge of our nose where our goggles end to our upper lip where the mouth guard of our helmet sits.

  “Let’s get inside. We can each take a shower and then I’ll make us some lunch if you don’t have any plans,” I tell him through my smile, actually enjoying his company when he isn’t laying his stupid, cocky pickup lines on me.

  “Lunch sounds great, sugar. And since it’s eco-friendly, may I suggest that we shower together to save water?” he jokes, licking his lips and then sinking his upper teeth into his lower lip probably in an attempt to hold in his chuckle.

  “Really, Nixon? It’s raining hard enough outside that I could hand you some shampoo and a bar of soap and you could shower out here,” I chuck my thumb toward the middle of the yard where we can see puddles of standing water in the grass.

  Nixon holds his hands out in front of him like I’m holding him at gun point and raises his brows.

  “Okay, okay, I get it, you want us to both go shower out in the rain, but it’ll be cold,” he smiles again and I take a step forward and lightly smack him in the arm, causing both of us to laugh as we head into the house.

  I start walking toward the hallway where the guest room with attached bathroom is two doors down from my master bedroom.

  I had the house renovated a bit after I bought it. It was a five bedroom, two bath home and I had two of the rooms knocked in to make a bigger guest bed and attach the bathroom to it and then another bathroom built alongside the rooms. I knocked down the other extra room to widen the master a bit and add a big bathroom for myself. Now it’s a three bedroom three bath home, with the third bedroom being my office.