Dirty Talk

by Lauren Landish

  “The boutique isn’t quite as popular as this place. And while I’m not worried about living the high life, I’d like to be able to afford to eat more than ramen noodles and box mac ‘n’ cheese.”

  “Good point,” I joke. “All that MSG and shit’ll kill you.”

  Rose sighs, looking a little forlorn. “I’m probably gonna end up the cat lady who yells at customers to close the door when they try to come in and shop so my horde of cats doesn’t escape.”

  I start with the obvious, wanting to cheer her up. She’s the closest thing I’ve made to a new friend in this town, and I hate seeing her looking this way. “If you have so many cats that they’re gonna escape, your store is gonna close in a hot flash of a minute, Spinster Rose. So there, then you’ll have time to date. Problem solved.” I give her a pointed look. “Or, you know, you could date now and bypass the cat scratch fever and Fancy Feast.”

  Rose nods her agreement. “I know. It’s just hard, even in a town this size and with tourists coming through. I thought I’d be a successful entrepreneur with a husband and a kid or two by now. But that’s just not in the cards, so my boutique is my baby, and I’m so hard up that I listen to pirate porn instead of dating a decent guy with an actual cock. And no, I won’t let you look at my browser history.”

  I chuckle and start rinsing out her conditioner. “It’s okay, honey. Maybe your ship will come in. Hell, maybe he’ll be the one who likes pegging.”

  “Huh?”

  I shake my head, remembering that I’m not in Hollywood anymore and things aren’t quite as adventurous. “Never mind. Just one word of caution, Rose. If that boat’s named Titanic, don’t get on the damn thing.”

  She giggles at me, finally relaxing some again. “How about you? New in town—anybody caught your attention?”

  I sigh dreamily and resist the urge to look through the front window again. “Maybe. Do you know Evan Hardwick, across the street at the garage?”

  She recoils in horror, jerking so hard she nearly bonks her head on the porcelain edge of the rinse sink, but I manage to catch her with quick hands. “The asshole who barely speaks, just grunts at people and revs his death machine motorcycle up and down the street at all hours of the night? That Evan Hardwick?”

  I nod, feeling a light blush creep up my neck. “That’s the one. What can I say? I’ve got good taste in men. You gotta admit, it’s a hopeful last name.” I purse my lips as I turn her head and get more of the conditioner. “And it’s not a death machine. It’s a pretty sweet bike.”

  Rose sighs. “Have you actually talked to him? I think the boutique was open for almost a year before he said one word to me, and that was only because I took my car in for service and TJ wasn’t working that day. I told him what I needed and he grunted, said ‘three o’clock’ and walked off. Customer service at its finest.”

  I shrug. She’s dead on even to the way she drops her voice to make it rumble a little. “Sounds about right. First thing he ever said to me was at volume ten as he charged me like a damn bull . . .” I lower my voice into an imitation of Evan, growling. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Rose’s eyes widen and her jaw drops, and she sits up, gaping at me while I work on drying her hair. “And then what?”

  I smile, working the towel through her hair before squeezing it out. I spin her chair around and pick up my scissors, knowing Rose doesn’t need much, but I do want to even her out in the back. “Well, after that great introduction, we had a big screaming match in the middle of Main Street. And a week later, I kissed the shit out of him before he ran. But he won’t be scared for long. He’ll be back.”

  “How do you know?”

  I grin, catching Rose’s eyes in the mirror. “Because now I’m a fear he has to conquer.” I kiss the air, smacking my lips, certain I know how this is going to play out. “And he might find that in conquering me . . . well, I like to conquer myself.”

  Rose chuckles. “Is that so?”

  “Shiver me timbers.”

  Chapter 8

  Evan

  Lunchtime in the shop is always a bit awkward as TJ and I try to make conversation like I’m not a bastard thorn in his side. We don’t even eat the same things. He’s all about the burgers and enjoying his food while I seem to take bitter comfort in eating shit that would make more sense as field rations.

  So here we sit, day after day unless he escapes to the diner, making small talk about the various cars we’re working on or flipping through the car magazines scattered across the table. I don’t even think we’re keeping track of what we’re saying. I know at least twice a week, one of us will go to the other about something we just talked about at lunch and it devolves into a shouting match because we’ve already discussed it, but we keep doing it. I guess it’s what brothers do. Or at least it’s what we do . . . now

  I’m damn grateful he’s willing to even work with me, but that doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable to chit-chat with a guy who knew me before I was fucked in the head with an alphabet diagnosis of PTSD that basically just warns folks that I’m always a breath away from losing it.

  I can see it in TJ’s face too sometimes. He remembers when we’d spend hours tinkering with our dad’s car or with the bikes and cars our friends brought us. Hell, our wrench skills are how we paid for the most epic Spring Break trip ever, a four-day trip to Lake Havasu in Arizona. I don’t think TJ and I slept in the same bed twice those whole four days, and I know for damn sure that I never woke up with the same bedmate I did the night before. Thank God for condoms and Lady Luck favoring the young and foolish.

  Maybe that’s what TJ is looking for, the big brother who was fun-loving and maybe a bit crazy but was the rock who helped him out when our parents died soon afterward. TJ was ready to give up his dream for this shop and just get a regular job when I, on leave before my first deployment, pulled him aside and told him that in no way, shape, or form was I going to let him do that. Instead, I made him sign up at tech college so he’d have the business skills to go with being a grease monkey, and then I sent him a big chunk of my paycheck each month to make sure he was taken care of.

  He doesn’t know where that guy’s gone, or why. Sometimes, I wonder too. Lots of guys from my unit are doing well, settled stateside with wives and kids, and I always wonder if they’re stronger than me for being able to handle the shit we saw overseas better than I can. Or maybe they’re less affected because there’s something wrong with them and I’m the normal one.

  I don’t know. I just know that there’s always a little kernel of something black at my core, and it swirls, rising and falling outside my control sometimes, no matter how many stupid fucking breathing exercises I try from the VA doc. Maybe it’s just what the one guy told me—there are people who are made for war and people who aren’t. Sometimes, the people who aren’t are forced into war, and it changes them or it breaks them.

  I feel eyes on me and look up from the new bike magazine spread out in front of my microwaved tray of Salisbury steak, grainy mashed potatoes, and dark greenish shit that’s supposed to be either spinach or beans, I’m not sure which. I look up to see TJ giving me a look. My mouth’s full, so I just grunt. “What?”

  He leans over from his lunch of a club sandwich on whole wheat to slap me on the shoulder. Guess he’s trying to clean up for some reason he’s not telling me. “How you doin’, brother?”

  I give him a what the fuck look. Normally, if TJ has something he wants to ask me or to offer me, he just comes out and says it. This is something new, and new tends to make me put my guard up. New hurts or at least has the potential to hurt more than the old. “Same as always, just eating my damn lunch.”

  I don’t ask what he’s up to. Like I said, I really don’t want to know. But he is in full-on fairy flew up his ass mode, so he keeps going. “Well, I’m doing well. Very well, in fact. Thanks for asking.” He gives me a shit-eating grin, and I growl lightly. Great, fairy dust and unicorn rainbows. Someone get him a My Little Pony. �
�Ask me why.”

  I set my spoon down, wiping my greasy fingers on my jeans, and rock the chair back on two legs as I look at him, trying to see if there’s something different I’m missing. Not seeing anything, I decide the easiest way to get through this is to just let him talk. “All right, fucker, why are you doing so damn well today?”

  I see the excitement behind his eyes and I flash back again to when we were boys, both whole and happy and full of life. He still looks the same, a wholesome innocence grown into a man who is solid, a brother in every sense of the word. For him, danger is the spice of life, like chili salsa on top of your tacos. You decide how much you get.

  I, on the other hand, lost that shine a long time ago. I know that sometimes, the world will pry your jaws open, jam a funnel in between your lips, and pour fiery hot habanero salsa down your throat and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it. I don’t want to piss on his parade, though, and let him enjoy his innocence.

  He claps his hands once, nice and loud, the grin on his face spreading. “I met the one, man. Remember that car I delivered up to the resort for that tourist? Well, I’m sitting in the lobby waiting for him to come down for his keys and pay the bill when a vision walks in front of me. Her name’s Alice and she works at the resort.”

  “Why haven’t you seen her before?”

  “She’s not a local,” TJ explains. “She just wrapped up a degree in hotel and hospitality management and moved up here. The resort’s nice enough to let her stay there. She said she’s got an apartment.”

  “She said, huh? So she actually talked to your ugly ass?” I ask, feeling a hint of amusement. “Does she happen to be blind?”

  “Fuck you, man.” TJ laughs. “We got to talking, I waited for her break time, we got coffee, and I asked her out. She said yes, and we’re going to dinner this weekend. That’s it, I’m done for, Bro.”

  He flops back in his chair, a fascinated, dreamy look on his face as he stares at the ceiling. Yep, I can see the kittens, unicorns, and rainbows falling out of his ears.

  I laugh a little, full of sarcasm. I’m not trying to be an asshole here, but still, I think TJ needs a reality check. “Lemme get this straight. You met this chick, had coffee for a few minutes, and you’re already planning the wedding? Yeah, sounds serious.” I snort through my nose, picking up my spoon again. “And everyone says I’m the crazy one.”

  TJ gives me a dirty look, and I swear he’s about to stick his tongue out at me like we’re six years old again, but he reels it in. “Nah, man, when you know, you know. And this one, I just know. She’s it. You’ll see.”

  He goes on, telling me practically verbatim every word they said while they drank coffee, and I can feel his excitement and joy at the happy road spread out before him. As he does, I’m torn between darkness and light, which just makes me more miserable.

  I’m happy for my kid brother. Truly, I am. He’s a good guy, and while I harass him about it, he’s not ugly or anything. He keeps his shit together. But somewhere deep inside, in a place I don’t want to admit even exists, I’m fucking jealous.

  How come he gets the happily ever after and I’m stuck in purgatory, paying for sins I committed long ago on someone else’s orders? How come he gets to smile and sleep through the night and look out on the morning with hope, while I only look at the sunrise and wonder if it’s the last one I’ll see before I go over the edge and get myself killed?

  I’d love for just a minute of the peace he feels, but that’s not my path. I’m never gonna have a happily ever after. There’s no woman who would put up with my shit, and I know why. It’s hard to love a monster like me, and honestly, I don’t want to inflict my damage on anyone else. I just need to keep the lid on the Pandora’s Box inside me and hope that motherfucker stays shut tight.

  I push back from the table, offering a hand to TJ as I school my face into a smile I know is only mildly reminiscent of my real one.

  “I’m happy for you. Make sure you invite me to the wedding. I’m uh . . . I’m gonna go for a ride. I’ll be back later this afternoon, but I’ll finish that brake realignment before I head out tonight.”

  I keep the smile just long enough for him to inspect me, make sure I’m okay and not about to crumble. I hate it when he does that. He makes me feel like he’s just waiting for the moment I can’t take it anymore.

  Finally, he nods. “Sure, Bro. It’s a beautiful day, and they said they wouldn’t be back to pick it up until Wednesday anyway. Get out there and ride a few miles for me too.”

  I know he’s full of shit now. He’s never ridden a motorcycle in his life. It’s another one of the differences between us. I’ve always been the one who pushed the line from the time we were kids. He was the one who kept his bicycle on the sidewalk while I was the one seeing if that rocky hill was really as dangerous as the other kids said it was. When I built my bike, I offered TJ a ride. His comment was that he had no need to strap himself to a death trap.

  But maybe that’s exactly why I do it. I’m not the suicidal type, but maybe there’s a part of me that wants to be taken out of this whole equation that is the world. Tempt fate a little bit, dare the Grim Reaper to catch me. After all, if he does it, I didn’t really do anything wrong.

  I stalk out to my bike, throwing a leg over the seat and settling my old combat boots on the ground on either side, straddling the machine as I start her up and listen to the grumbling purr. It’s another one of the things I can’t let go of. I always wear combat boots for work or riding.

  I look left and right, pulling a big turn across Main Street and pointing my bike toward the mountains. Right as I’m about to twist the throttle and blare out of town, I hear a piercing, loud-ass whistle. I jerk my head around, looking for the source, and see McKayla standing outside the salon, her eyes locked on me.

  I pull over to the curb, pissed at myself for doing it like I’m some damn taxi she just beckoned with that eardrum-busting shrillness. Still, I’ve heard Drill Sergeants who were quieter than that whistle. That’s impressive.

  She pops a hip out, one hand shading her eyes from the afternoon sun. “Where you heading, cowboy?”

  I don’t know why, but I answer her. “Out. Away. I don’t know. Just away from here.”

  She gives me a sassy grin and raises an eyebrow. “Well, which is it? You going out or running away? Ah, I know. Maybe it’s a little bit of both.” She nods like she has me all figured out.

  I relent. Maybe she has an angle on me here. “Maybe so.”

  “Need a chaperone to make sure you do something stupid?” she asks. “I’ve busted my ass six days a week since getting here, and I’m taking an afternoon off.”

  I chuckle, leaning back on my bike. “Isn’t a chaperone to make sure you don’t do something stupid?”

  She gives me a smirk and runs a hand seductively over my handlebar mirror. “I think we’ve established that I’m not that kind of chaperone. Besides, I can see you need to break some rules right now. So come on, Evan. Let’s go on an adventure.”

  She waits, and I realize that she’s willing to go after what she wants, but only so far. She’s not throwing herself at me with no self-esteem. Instead, she’s somehow offering to share her excitement at the things life can offer, even if just for a moment. It’s different from the few women I’ve actually spent time with since getting home. This one is wild but has standards. Sassy, but classy too.

  I think back to TJ and how happy he was about his new girl and look at the one in front of me. Yeah, this is a bad fucking idea, but the darkness inside me needs it, needs just a little spark of her light to quell the shadows for a little bit. I’ll never be a happily ever after guy like TJ, but for a minute, it’d be nice to pretend.

  Resigned, I turn and pop open my saddlebag, where I keep the helmet I never wear. “Safety first.”

  “But you—”

  “Helmet up, or no ride.” Holding it out, I can’t help but lighten the growl in my voice as she takes the brain bucket and pulls
it onto her pink head. “Now get on.”

  Chapter 9

  McKayla

  Fucking Hell! He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I don’t know what changed today to make him open to a bit of crazy, but I’m not gonna question it. I snatch the half-helmet from his hands, pulling the silk scarf from around my neck and tying it around my hair bandana-style to lessen the mess this damn thing is sure to bring. I’m slightly surprised he’s got a helmet at all. I’d rather just go without, but Mr. Grumpy insists. I slide onto the bike, noticing that he looks so fucking sexy right now in just his sweaty, grease-streaked tank top, jeans, and sunglasses that I can practically feel my pussy quivering.

  It only takes a momentary look down at my mini-skirt to overcome any worries I might have about looking like a tramp. Fuck it. I hike the damn thing up a little higher than is decent to straddle the seat behind him. I adjust to make sure I’m not flashing anyone, but before I get really settled, he twists the throttle, startling me. “What—whoa!”

  Evan glances over his shoulder, a sexy taunting smirk on his lips. “Good? Got your helmet on?”

  “Go!” I holler as I grab around his waist right as he takes off, offering a huge grin to Brad as I see him glaring open-mouthed at me through the salon window.

  Sorry, Brad, but when an opportunity like this presents itself, I gotta roll with it. I know I said I’d answer phones while you see clients, but you’ll understand!

  Besides, I wouldn’t hold it against him if he ditched me for a little fun. Well . . . not too much, at least, and I know I’d get over it! So, oopsie, babe. He’ll forgive me, though, because a hot guy on a bike is always a priority.

  We thunder down Main Street, passing by Rose’s boutique, a ranch supply store with an older white-haired guy sitting outside in a rocking chair, and several other little storefronts. Once you hit the northern part of town, there’s a lot of tourist trap-looking little places that try and soak up as many tourist dollars from the resort hotel people as they can.