Down & Dirty

by Ashley Johnson

  He’s lucky he has a hold of my foot right now.

  “Fine, you’ll get first hand interaction with my major bitchy side and I’ll show you that you should have left when I gave you the opportunity about five minutes ago. Now you have to stay and endure it,” I give him my sweetest smile.

  “Bring it on, sugar,” he mutters.

  “Quit calling me that fucking stupid nickname,” I grumble, actually attempting to reign in my anger. Nixon only smiles at my words and uses his foot that is still planted on the ground to sway us back and forth slowly.

  We both lay our heads on the hammock and before I know it, the slow swaying of our makeshift bed has put me to sleep.

  * *

  I wake up after what feels like the best sleep of my entire life to find that I’m still in the hammock and Nixon is asleep at the other end, his grip loose on my bare foot.

  I feel a small smile spread across my face, wondering why I like having him here with me so much. I have never liked having a guy in my space as much as I’ve liked him being here. Normally they can come over, have sex or something similar, and then I want them gone.

  Physical closeness is perfectly fine but when it comes to emotional attachment, I want none of it. These are ways to get hurt and I don’t have enough room for that kind of hurt anymore.

  I sit up in the hammock slowly, trying not to rock us too much, so that I can get a better look at him. His brown hair is longer than when I first met him but still looks sexy. It goes in all different directions, framing his high cheek bones and making the bump on the bridge of his nose more noticeable.

  I’ve fully sat up, trying to get a better look at the beautiful man in front of me, thinking he’s still asleep.

  “What are you staring at?” he mumbles, scaring the shit out of me.

  I let out a slight scream and feel my body tilt to the left. Unfortunately for me the hammock tilts to the side, dumping me out.

  Making things more uncomfortable is the fact that Nixon has now grabbed tightly to my right foot, thinking he could save me from falling out.

  The reality is that he now has my foot held sturdy on the hammock while the rest of my body is upside down and my left cheek is pressed against a patch of grass and pine needles.

  I get my hands under my body and do a push up, getting my face off the ground, and then try to pull my foot out of Nixon’s hand, to no avail.

  He’s still propped in the hammock laughing his ass off.

  “What the hell was that?” he roars out in between breaths of hysterical laughter.

  “That was you scaring the shit out of me while we’re laying in a fucking hammock you dick,” I holler back, making him laugh harder.

  “This shit isn’t funny Nixon,” I shout, giving him the death stare.

  He clamps his mouth shut and tries to quell the laughter that is bubbling up, but it doesn’t work. Now he’s spitting out chuckles through puffed out cheeks and, even though he looks super hot when he’s smiling or laughing, I really want to kick him in the head.

  After he lets go of my foot and my body is firmly planted on the ground, he calms down and decides to make things better.

  “Okay Em, I’m sorry that I laughed at you. Do you want to go back to the house and watch some lame ass chick movie and eat some ice cream, or whatever the hell you women do when you’re on the rag?”

  Alright, that actually doesn’t sound like a bad idea. I nod at him, but do so with an angry look on my face.

  He chuckles again and gets out of the hammock gracefully, nothing like my one star dismount, and reaches a hand out to me to help me off the ground.

  “Come on beautiful, let’s go relax inside.”

  Nixon drives us back to the house on my bike. He tells me to go in while he puts the bike away and makes sure that the back gate is closed up so that Otis doesn’t have free reign to use my track as his own personal bathroom.

  When I walk through the sliding glass door and turn toward the kitchen, I notice that there is a plastic bag left on the counter that wasn’t there before I went out.

  Nixon must have bought himself a drink or something and stuck it in the fridge. At least he isn’t drinking all of mine anymore.

  Then the mouthwatering scent of pizza hits my nostrils, but that’s impossible because I haven’t had pizza in the house for weeks.

  “Can you grab the pizza out of the oven babe? I’ll make us some root beer floats while you serve up the food,” he says nonchalantly.

  “Huh?” is all I can get out. I’m so confused as to who this person standing in my kitchen is. Is this the same guy that told me he didn’t want anything to do with relationships and only wanted sex from me? Because this seems a bit relationship-y to me, and I’m not so sure I want it to go there.

  “Oh Jesus, come on sugar. Grab the pizza from the oven and put slices on plates for us,” he says slowly, using hand gestures like I’m stupid.

  I think about arguing with him, but then my stomach grumbles and I realize that I haven’t eaten all day. Plus, a root beer float sounds really freaking good right now, so I nod and go about completing my task.

  When we’re both sitting on my living room couch with food in front of us, Nixon grabs the remote and turns the TV on, shuffling through my dvr.

  He finds some sappy ass romantic comedy about two people that start off as friends who then end up falling in love with each other. I roll my eyes at the stupidity of the entire story line. Who comes up with this shit?

  Then it clicks that I didn’t record this.

  “I never set this to record on my dvr,” I say dryly as I point to my TV.

  “I know. I saw it on the guide last time I was here and set it to record in case we ever needed it. Looks like that day is today,” he mumbles and I narrow my eyes at him.

  “I’d actually like to watch a movie with some action, you know where the woman is kicking the shit out of a bunch of guys or something,” I say, making him chuckle when his eyes come to mine.

  “Okay, no sappy ass movie. Anything come to mind when you think of some woman kicking a bunch of guys’ asses then?”

  I smile and decide to take a cheap shot. He did laugh at me when I fell out of the hammock, after all. “Well, we could watch last year’s whip competition where I kicked yours and six other men’s asses and came in first,” I smirk and it’s his turn to narrow his eyes at me.

  “Hardy fuckin’ har,” he grumbles, making me smile wider.

  I remember the competition very clearly. I had not formally met Nixon and since he didn’t even place, we had no reason to be near each other. To think that we could have met and hooked up last year instead of right now is crazy.

  “What, I thought it was a great one. Especially that part when I smoked your ass in the first round.” I can tell I’m pissing him off big time.

  That’s one of the things I really like about Nixon. He’s super easy to be around and joke with, but he’s very serious when it comes to his job. He wants to be the best and it makes him all the more sexy that he’s so intense about what he does.

  Just when I think we’re done with our stare off, Nixon attacks and starts tickling me. I’m giggling and thrashing back and forth on the couch, trying to get away from his merciless hands with no success.

  “Tell me that I’m the best, Emmie. Say ‘Nixon King is a motocross god’ and I will stop tickling,” he growls, his hands never relenting.

  “Never,” I shout and his fingers dig deeper into my sides, causing me to laugh harder.

  “Nixon, if you don’t stop now I’m going to pee,” I tell him, trying to be serious through my laughter.

  “Oh, now that I’ve gotta see,” he says, continuing his assault.

  “Okay okay, Nixon King is a motocross god! I said it, now please stop,” I get out through my giggling fit and Nixon immediately stops.

  When I catch my breath, I tilt my head up from the cushion of the couch and narrow my eyes at him, making him smirk.

  “I’m glad
we both know who the motocross god is here, sugar. Now go to the bathroom so you don’t piss all over yourself and I’ll find us a movie for the night,” he says like he wasn’t just tickling the shit out of me.

  When I just glare at him longer, he grabs the front of my pink t-shirt and pulls me closer to him. As soon as my face is close enough to his he places a few small pecks on my lips and helps me to my feet.

  “Damn it I hate this time of the month,” he murmurs.

  I giggle as I walk toward the bathroom. “You and me both, buddy,” I call over my shoulder.

  Chapter 13

  “You’d better be ready to fuck my brains out, King,” I shout as I walk through Nixon’s front door.

  Aunt Flo packed up from her five day sleep over and has left me almost three whole months of blissful, uninterrupted sexy time with Nixon.

  I texted him earlier today to make sure he was up to getting together and he basically jumped through my phone to personally drag me to his house for a sex marathon.

  When I walk into his kitchen, however, there is an older woman, in her late forties or early fifties, staring at me with wide eyes and an open mouth.

  I stop short and stare back. I have no idea who this woman is or why she’s sitting in Nixon’s kitchen, but my guess is that they know each other well. Then she gets up from her perch at the kitchen island and makes her way toward me.

  “Hello. I’m June King, Nixon’s mom,” she states and gives me a weak smile.

  I feel my stomach fall to my feet. I suck both of my lips into my mouth, biting down hard, and close my eyes tightly, way beyond embarrassed.

  “Please tell me you didn’t hear what I said when I came in the door,” I whisper in horror and open one eye so I can see her answer.

  Her smile reaches her eyes and I can finally see the resemblance between this woman and Nixon. They have the same sweet smile that lights up their whole face, but other than that and their brownish hair color they don’t look a lot alike.

  June is shorter than I am and a bit on the heavier side, but has bright green eyes that draw your attention immediately.

  “I’m sorry to tell you dear, but I think the neighbors heard what you said when you came in the door,” she giggles, then puts her hand up to her mouth to try and hide the sound.

  I close my eye again and cover my face with both hands, hoping I that if I stand this way long enough, she’ll forget that I’m here and I can sneak out quickly.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry about that, more sorry than you’ll ever know. I thought Nixon was here alone. I never would have said that if I knew you would have been here,” I explain.

  She reaches out and rubs one of my shoulders to comfort me and then pulls my hands away from my face, holding them in her own.

  “Don’t worry about it dear. I know how my son operates and this isn’t the first, or even the fifth, time I’ve heard something like that from a woman Nixon knows.”

  That doesn’t make me feel any better about this situation. Then I remember that I never introduced myself and I wonder if I can just turn and run out the front door without her ever finding out who the hell I am.

  “What’s your name, dear?” she asks, putting the kibosh on my escape attempt.

  “Um, I’m Emmie,” I mutter and reach my hand out toward her. She takes it immediately and gives me a dainty hand shake, reminding me of my own mother and how soft she was with everything she did.

  “Emmie, wow that’s a beautiful name. I’ve never heard that before. Does it mean anything?” she asks.

  Just before I answer her, Nixon comes into the room, pulling a black shirt down over his exposed abs.

  “Ready ma?” he says before spotting me in the room. “Em, what are you doing here? Didn’t you get my text?” he asks accusingly.

  Just then my phone starts chiming in the purse at my hip. I pull it out and find a text from Nixon that just came through.

  Nixon: My mom just showed up at the house from out of town so we need to cancel sexy time today but let your body rest now. You’ll need the energy for all the dirty things I’m going to do to you.

  I turn it from my face toward Nixon to show him that I just got it.

  “Answer my question dear. Does Emmie mean anything?” his mom questions softly, bringing my attention back to her.

  I clear my throat as an attempt to get rid of the embarrassment from my entrance before I speak, but it doesn’t work. I’m still mortified.

  “Well, my dad’s name is Mark and my mom’s name was Elizabeth. When my parents were first married, my mom would write ‘M+E’ on pieces of paper or paint them on the walls in a darker shade than the rest of the room, just to show that their love was forever. So when she found out she was pregnant with a girl, I was another example of their love, and I became Emmie, symbolizing their initials together.” I smile, remembering all the different places around my dad’s house that still have my parents’ initials in corners of the room.

  “You never told me that, sugar,” Nixon states quietly, walking toward us.

  “Yeah, well you never asked,” I answer him and shrug. Then I remember that his mother is standing in front of me.

  “Okay, well I’m going to go so you can spend some time with your mom. I’ll talk to you-“

  “We’re just going out to lunch. Come with us, Emmie,” June offers, but I’m shaking my head before she can finish her sentence.

  “Oh no, I couldn’t intrude. Please just spend time with your son and I’m sure I’ll see you around,” I spit out quickly, but send out a silent prayer that I don’t have to see her and have her remember what I said in the doorway ever again.

  I look to Nixon for a little help in getting out of this situation. We both agreed that we wouldn’t get into each other’s personal lives and meeting his mother is definitely too personal for me. Just as Nixon opens his mouth to, hopefully, tell his mom that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea, she grabs me by the elbow and ushers me toward the front door, scooping up her purse along the way.

  “Nonsense dear, you’re going to join us for lunch and that’s that. I’m here for the next three days and I’d like to get to know a little bit more about you. Plus, you owe me after what I heard when you walked in,” she whispers loudly into my ear.

  I crane my head around to look at Nixon who has a sexy smirk on his face, and then he lifts his shoulders as if this situation is out of his hands and follows us toward the front door.

  * *

  Lunch with Nixon’s mom went so much better than I thought it was going to. In fact, as soon as we were finished eating lunch, Nixon left us to chat.

  He left because all we were talking about were stories of him as a young boy and he was tired of his mom giving away embarrassing moments.

  When she pulled out her cell phone and showed me the picture of a five year old Nixon on his pedal bike with a cape, super hero underwear, and his rain boots that was set as her background, he got pissed and told us we could get a cab home. We just laughed and told him we’d see him in a few hours.

  We have had so much fun sitting around, laughing about silly stories from when Nixon was younger that the awkwardness I felt at our terrible introduction and also not having an acceptable label to give his mom when she asked what I was to him is now gone.

  It just feels like two girlfriends sitting at lunch sharing silly stories and it makes me want to cry. I haven’t had this with any woman, much less someone’s mother, in so long. I’ve missed it.

  “So dear, what’s really going on with you and my son?” she deadpans.

  I can physically feel my face pale at the question. I bite my lower lip and look at a spot over her shoulder so I can avoid her penetrating gaze.

  “We’re just friends,” I tell her but feel my voice shake when I say it.

  “You don’t have to lie to me Emmie. I know you aren’t his girlfriend, so are you two sleeping together or is it strictly a friend thing?”

  I don’t get a chance to hide the smal
l grimace that takes over my face when she asks if we are sleeping together. I don’t know if Nixon is one of those guys that never lies to his mom, so if I don’t tell her the truth he might, and that will make me look really bad. So instead of June finding out from Nixon, I decide to lay it all out on the table.

  “Okay, we are sleeping together,” I grumble out under my breath.

  “What was that dear? I couldn’t hear you,” she teases through a smile.

  “We’re sleeping together,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “One more time,” she tells me, cupping her palm around her ear.

  “Holy crap, we’re sleeping together,” I say, a little louder than I’d intended for it to be. I’m met not only with June’s raised eyebrows, but also other patrons within a fifteen foot radius.

  I look down at the table and clear my throat to announce to everyone who heard me that I’m done spilling all the details.

  Then I hear June’s quiet laughter across the table.

  “You think this is funny you slave driver? You’re the reason that half of this restaurant knows that I’m sleeping with your son, you know.”

  This causes her laughter to get louder and her laugh is contagious, causing me to giggle along with her.

  After a few minutes of cackling like little hens we get our fit under control and June gives me a solemn look before she speaks.

  “You know, I don’t want to sound like a bad mother but I wish that my sweet boy would stop being so selfish. He refuses to be in a relationship of any kind and I’d like to say that I support his decision but I’m not getting any younger and I want grand babies.”

  I think about it for a second and remember why he told me he didn’t want a relationship, and as much as I don’t want to, I support his choice to enjoy single life while he’s still young. I’m doing the same thing.

  “Well June, he told me that he was young and wanted to live his younger years having fun without being tied down to someone and I support that decision.” I’m very surprised when she rolls her eyes after I say it.

  “What,” I deadpan, wondering why she would have that reaction.