Dirty Talk: A Bad Boy Romance (Bluefield Bad Boys Book 2)

by Tess Oliver

  “You’re sure in a jovial mood.” Gary smiled and walked over to me. He fingered the red dress in my hand. “Can’t wait to see you in this.” He pulled me against him and dropped his towel. “But first I thought we’d fall in the sack for a quickie.”

  Another laugh. This one seemed to irritate him. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing. Not that a fall in the sack isn’t titillating dirty talk and all, but I’ve had a headache since I left work. We had more than our share of crying kids in the ER today. I think I’d rather just jump in the shower and get ready for the party.”

  “Dirty talk? Christ, Andi, the things you say sometimes. What would you like me to titillate you with? Come on, baby, let’s fuck?”

  “Yes and in just that robotic sounding tone. Makes me want to just rip my clothes off.” I walked past him. “I’ll get ready. Maybe after a few cocktails and boring, boastful stories from your colleagues, that line might sound a little hotter.”

  “Sometimes I don’t know what the hell you want from me,” he said angrily to my back.

  I stopped in the doorway. “I don’t know either, Gary.” I closed the bathroom door behind me.

  Chapter 13

  Andi

  Slinky dress or not, the icy cold vibes drifting over from Gary on the ride to the cocktail party assured me he was upset. I wasn’t even completely sure why I’d started the fight, except that more and more I’d been unenthusiastic about sleeping with him. I knew it wasn’t a good sign for our relationship. It sometimes seemed that I’d built up in my head that dating a doctor was such a big deal that I’d actually been ignoring my heart and my true feelings.

  I looked over at him as he focused intently on the road in front of him as if a deer might jump out from behind the bushes at any moment, a far-fetched notion in an upper class city neighborhood. He looked handsome but unhappy in his suit and tie. I wanted to kick myself for being so difficult. He’d been looking forward to the party, and I’d dampened his mood with my comment about his vanilla version of dirty talk.

  Sadly, sex with Gary was sort of sterile, logical and predictable. It was disappointing in too many ways for me to count, especially considering the man knew everything there was to know about the human body. Indeed, that might have been why he was so methodical about it all. Textbook sex. That’s what it was, I thought wryly. Maybe I’d figure out a way to spice it up. On second thought, my quick critique of his dirty talk had already brought me the cold shoulder. He definitely didn’t care for criticism or to be told how to do something.

  “Gary, I’m sorry about earlier. I really did have a trying day at the hospital. A couple of drinks, and I’ll be my cheery self. I promise.”

  He nodded, letting me know that he hadn’t forgiven me yet. I was done apologizing.

  There was a maze of shiny, sparkly six figure cars parked in front of Martin’s house, some architect’s proud achievement, no doubt. It was a sprawling modern house with more glass than walls and had a spectacular view of the city below. Gary’s friend, Martin, was the head of neurology at the hospital. And he was a bit of a weasel. But considering my date was already not talking to me, I decided to keep that opinion to myself.

  Gary was polite enough to open the giant leaded glass front door for me, but he made little eye contact. I decided that was my cue to head straight to the bar. Hopefully a little expensive booze would lighten up my mood and make him seem less angry. Plus, I found that at these snooty parties, it was much easier to keep my lips tight around the rim of a martini glass than out and about where they might be expected to participate in conversation.

  The bartender, an extremely nice-looking young man, who looked hardly old enough to drink legally let alone tend bar, shook up a delicious Cosmopolitan. With any luck, I’d have a nice fruit punch style moustache to go with my red dress, an annoying fashion choice that kept inching up my thighs, despite my tugging at it.

  I searched the crowd for Gary. He was standing in a circle of doctors that included the beautiful cardiac specialist, Dr. Uber or Ober or something with a beginning vowel. She really was a stunning woman, and clearly, she had the brilliant brains to go with the stellar looks. Some people really did have it all. Oddly enough, I should have felt jealous about the gregarious way he always spoke to her, almost like a giddy teenage boy talking to a supermodel, but I wasn’t. Not even a twinge of resentment.

  “If you don’t mind me saying this, you look as if you fit in here as well as me,” the cute bartender said from behind.

  I turned around. He was chopping up limes as he peered up at me with a grin.

  “Not really my cup of tea, I’m afraid.” I lifted my glass. “But the drink is delicious. Why don’t you set me up with a second one?”

  He laughed. “That’s the spirit. If you can’t join them, then just get plastered.”

  “Good plan.”

  “A vodka on the rocks,” a familiar voice said next to me. Dr. Yates was an orthopedic surgeon, and a good one, from what I’d heard, but he always had the absolute worst breath. Could never figure out how a doctor wouldn’t realize he had a halitosis problem.

  “Nurse Sullivan.”

  “Dr. Yates.”

  His thick gray-flecked brows did a little dance as he glanced down at my dress. “Red’s your color.”

  “Perhaps we should order some red scrubs.”

  His hearty laugh produced a cloud of sour breath. I discretely leaned away from him. He took his drink and raised it for a quick toast. “Here’s to nurses wearing red.”

  I clinked my glass against his. “Indeed. Of course, I’m sure the hospital laundry workers might not be too keen on the idea. Pink sheets aren’t exactly hospital regulation.”

  He laughed again as he walked away. I gulped down the first drink and winked a thank you to the handsome bartender for the second one. Then, with a deep breath, I made my way across to where Gary was standing.

  I knew my brave attempt to venture out into the party had been a mistake the second I reached the circle of doctors. Keep your lips sealed on the drink, I reminded myself.

  A doctor whose name I could never remember but who occasionally traipsed through the ER when a urologist was needed was telling a story as I walked up.

  “And when I walked into the patient’s room, the nurse was explaining the diagnosis to the patient, as if she was an expert. I cut her short, of course, to let her know that I was the doctor and not her.” The man knew, without doubt, that I was a nurse. But that didn’t stop his wry narrative.

  The others had a good laugh over his comment.

  “I mean the confidence of some of the support staff is astounding,” he continued.

  I wondered briefly how my pink drink would look splashed on his khaki slacks.

  He still held center stage, and he wasn’t ready to give it up. His peers, the people who he considered his equals, other than the woman with the pink martini, listened with amusement. “The really surprising thing was that the patient was listening raptly to her as if she was the doctor.”

  “That’s because the patients tend to trust us, and they feel more comfortable talking to us than to the doctors.” Turns out tossing my drink would have been less shocking. They all turned toward me, including the man who’d just asked me to get into the sack with him. Gary’s mouth pulled tight, letting me know I should shut up. But I wasn’t in the mood. The Cosmopolitan was doing its magic.

  “Is that right?” the doctor who I’d just interrupted asked with a lift of his brow.

  “I’m not saying they trust us because we know more. Although, plenty of us on that floor know a helluva a lot. Which, of course, we learn from all of you,” I added quickly, realizing the heated looks were getting hotter. “The patients connect with us more because, frankly, we show more empathy. Patients tend to think you’re all on a different level of the evolutionary chain, which in some ways you are.” I was frosting my insults with compliments, a little trick that seemed to be working. They were paying atten
tion, and it seemed a few less invisible daggers were flying. “It’s a scary thing being in that hospital bed. People are worried and panicked and more than just a little freaked out when they enter a hospital. And while they look to all of you for answers, sometimes there is a disconnect. Bedside manner. It’s a big part of the healing process. People can’t get better if they’re scared. That’s where we nurses come in. That’s where our expertise trumps yours. I’m not saying there aren’t doctors with good bedside manner. There are. Just like there are nurses who don’t have it. But for the most part, we’re there not just to provide medical care. We provide human care.”

  A tense silence followed.

  “Well said,” Dr. Uber winked at me across the circle of men. Sometimes the gender connection was stronger than the professional connection. And now I could add nice and likable to her list of attributes.

  Gary, however, was shooting me a much darker look. I decided to return to my original plan and seal my lips back on my drink. First, I lifted it in a silent toast before walking away. Gary’s fingers wrapped around my arm, nearly spilling what was left of my drink.

  “What the hell was that about, Andi?” Before I could answer, he walked me quickly through the glass doors leading to the yard where heating lamps were set up like glowing trees around the perimeter of the cozy deck. There were several people mingling beneath a row of twinkling lights, sharing stories and sipping cocktails. Gary led me past them. We stopped in one of the darker corners of the patio.

  He turned to me. Ridiculously, it dawned on me that he looked most handsome when he was angry. There was something about the harsh scowl that was just more appealing than his usual bland or thoughtful expression.

  “Generally, you say nothing at all at these parties, but tonight you choose to lecture all of us on bedside manner? You are a puzzle, Andi.”

  “A puzzle? I thought I was quite clear. And I stand by what I said. Even your lovely friend, Dr. Uber, was in agreement.”

  “Her name is Dr. Oder.”

  “Really?” I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh. “O.K., there’s the one non-fabulous thing about the woman then. Her name is terrible.”

  “You’re acting like a teenager, Andi. Maybe you should slow down on the drinks.”

  “That goes completely against my plan to get drunk tonight.” I held out my arms. “And how many teenagers do you know who look like this in a skimpy red dress? Actually, don’t answer that. It would be creepy.” I tapped him on the shoulder with my fist. “Come on, Gary, it’s a damn party. Lighten up.” I leaned closer to him and rubbed lightly against him. It had no impact. I was wearing a teensy red dress, the one he’d wanted to see me in, and I was already just tipsy enough to be taken easily advantage of, something that I was sure didn’t escape his notice. Yet, he stayed tight jawed. He even added a slight flare to his nostrils.

  “Shit, Gary, do you always have to be so damn serious? Life’s short. The Earth will still keep spinning even if you kick off your conservative black loafers and throw caution and propriety to the wind.”

  He stared down at me, and I wondered just how we’d ended up together in the first place.

  “If you insist on acting like this—”

  “Then you might drag me off to a dark corner and have your way with me?” I asked teasingly. But I’d meant it. I was giving him a suggestion for some wild spontaneity, which, of course, made the whole thing no longer spontaneous. But I was desperate. I needed to see a new side of him, the side my silly romantic heart yearned for. Otherwise, it seemed this relationship was doomed to a dull, uneventful end. Tumult, tears and heartbreak only came with the end of a passion filled, meaningful relationship. This just wasn’t turning out to be one.

  “This is hardly the place for that, Andi.”

  “No? Too bad. Guess I’ll head back to the bar for another drink.”

  “Fine. Just stay there and sip your martinis. Might be better than you stepping into conversations.”

  I blinked up at him for several seconds. “No, on second thought, I don’t want another drink. I just want away from this place and from you.”

  I pushed past him. He grabbed my hand but let it slip out of his grip with little effort. “Where are you going, Andi?”

  “Walking to the nearest bus stop. Have a nice night, Dr. Hughes.”

  “Andi, you can’t walk around town in that red dress, you look like a—” He stopped short, but he might as well have finished the whole, ugly sentiment.

  I spun back around. “A whore? Funny because you asked me to wear this. So, here at this stupid gathering of pretentious people, it’s a slinky red dress, but on the street, it’s hooker garb? Nice. Again, Dr. Hughes. Good night.”

  I hurried out Cinderella style but managed to keep both my shoes. Unfortunately, there was no coach or even a giant pumpkin waiting for me out front. I was cold and my shoes weren’t exactly practical for a hike to the nearest bus stop, but I was glad to be away from the party . . . and from Gary.

  Chapter 14

  Tommy

  The man standing across from me in the ring was a giant mass of muscle, blubber and ugly.

  “Damn,” Dawson muttered next to me, “his fists are as big as your head, Huck.”

  “Not helping, Dawz. And, yep, I noticed the Hulk-sized fists.”

  Dawson reached around and rubbed my shoulders, thinking it would help loosen me up. It was only making me more tense. I shrugged off his hands.

  Dawson crossed his arms and stared at the beast swallowing up the tiny corner stool with his big ass. “So, what’s your plan?”

  The bell to start the round clanged overhead. “The plan is to stay alive.”

  I walked toward the center of the mat. Kellan had just pushed his way ringside. He cast me a supportive chin lift before looking across to get his first look at my opponent. I could see him mouth the words ‘oh fuck’ before his face shot back toward me. I shrugged. I’d been waiting for an opponent for a month. Few people wanted to fight me. This was my chance. Even if it seemed I might end up face down on the mat, I was still happy to have someone to fight.

  Scott placed a hand on my shoulder and leaned close. “You could make a bundle on this one. The money’s all on that monster, Buckley. Good luck.”

  “Buckley?” I asked. “How fierce can a guy named Buckley be?”

  “He only just got out of jail for nearly killing a man who spilled his beer.” With that stunning comment, Scott backed up and blew his whistle. He barely got out of the way as Buckley thundered toward me.

  Might just have been my heartbeat or the din of the crowd, but I was sure I heard the room vibrate with his footsteps. I was focused on his rock fists, but it was his giant, flat foot that struck the first blow. He was going for my knee, but the ball of his foot jammed hard against my thigh, knocking me off balance just long enough to miss the jab he sent my way next.

  I managed to return one. It was like hitting a side of beef in a butcher’s shop. He was strong and big as a fucking ox. He fought, not like a skilled fighter, but like a fucking street thug. I blocked elbows and knees and was just waiting for him to use his teeth.

  I managed one effective counter punch, a direct strike to his nose, that sent him stumbling back. I landed a round of jabs before he could recover. He dropped to the mat like a beached whale, but on his descent, he managed to hook my leg. I fell back hard. With a roar, like a felled beast about to turn on his hunter, the meaty blob of a man threw himself on me. Air squeezed out of my lungs, and during my struggle to get it back, he pounded me good.

  I sucked in a gulp of air and cleared my head long enough to drive an uppercut into his chin. His tongue must have been exactly where I needed it to be. Blood dripped from his mouth and gave me enough time throw another fist at his chin. He pushed up to his knees. I reached for his ankle and gave his leg a sharp twist. He groaned and fell sideways.

  Blood was pouring from my nose. The lights overhead seemed to be spinning out of control. The whistle blew
to end the round. I scooted back and got to my feet fast, not completely convinced my opponent would pay attention to any rules.

  I stumbled to my corner and dropped onto the stool. Dawson handed over my water and held the bucket to catch my spit.

  Kellan crouched down next to me. “This guy is playing dirty. What the hell are you waiting for? He’s like that rotten tooth that keeps giving you pain. Just take him out, Huck. One good right hook.”

  The next round started. As I headed to the middle, I caught a glimpse of Rylan as she pushed through the crowd with Becky at her side. A flash of red kept my attention that direction. That’s when I saw Andi’s face peering toward the ring. Her gaze caught mine and trapped it. A solid left hook from my opponent followed.

  My head buzzed as if it had been used as the clapper on a church bell. I stumbled around toward the outside of the ring trying to regain my bearings before he hit me again. I swung back toward my opponent. Buckley’s elbow came down on my shoulder. The sharp pain knocked me breathless. My blurry gaze swept around the circle of faces. Kellan reached up and mimed yanking out a tooth. He was right. I was done with this toothache.

  Buckley’s big footsteps pounded behind me. I twisted around and threw a perfectly placed right hook. It landed directly in his blubbery face. Buckley’s eyes rolled up in his head. He fell backward like a cut tree. He was out.

  A small portion of the crowd, the few people who had bet on me, cheered. The rest were left stunned and plenty pissed.

  Scott blew his whistle and yanked up my arm in victory. “Now get to the locker room, Huck. I’m not sure what this guy is going to be like when he wakes up, but I’m guessing he won’t be inviting you to tea. Make yourself scarce.”

  Dawson heard the gist of what Scott had told me through the clamor in the crowded room. I’d laid my opponent out, but I still had stars as thick as the Milky Way circling my head. Dawson took hold of my arm and led me through the chaos to the locker room door.