Dirty Talk

by Lauren Landish

  The walls are a bare white, no decoration or even marks on them to say that someone stays here. Everything just looks disposable, and I only see one other door, which I presume leads to a bathroom.

  On second thought, I see one discrepancy underneath the ‘table’ that Evan’s set up. Books. I don’t know how many, but the table is longer than his bed, at least ten feet long and low to the ground, but the space underneath is filled with books. They’re all lined up neatly, spines flush with each other and arranged in height order except for a few on the end, which I guess are too tall for the short space under the table. It’s impressive. Meanwhile, I’m a little ashamed to admit that other than style books and school books, I haven’t read this much in my entire life.

  I smile at him, trying to find some sort of balance in this stark, Spartan area. “So, minimalist chic, huh? Very late nineties dot-com style.”

  He looks around like he’s never seen the place, then shrugs. “Yeah, it’s not much, but it’s mine. Just the basics I need when I don’t want to go home. Probably not like your fancy, cushy place.”

  It feels like there’s some venom in the words, and I don’t know why. I don’t want to shoot back that my place isn’t exactly filled with Versace either, but instead, I decide to try again. “What were you up to tonight? Movies, video games, reading?”

  Evan leans against the wall, shaking his head. “Nothing much, just lying down to try to catch some sleep. I gotta be up early to finish rebuilding a Ford with a cracked engine block, so I decided to stay here.”

  My hands go up to my face, and I can feel the heat creeping up my cheeks. “Oh, God, I totally woke you up, didn’t I? Sorry.”

  “It’s fine. I just try to catch some Zs when I can because sleep is hard to come by.”

  There’s a prolonged silence, drawing out like a blade in the quiet of the night. It’s worse than pulling teeth to get him to talk, and I don’t know why there’s this awkwardness because it hasn’t been there before. But I can certainly feel a fuck off vibe coming from him. Maybe he’s regretting what happened the other day? One surefire way to know.

  ”So, I was thinking about the other day, thought maybe we could finish what we started?”

  What can I say? I’m a forward woman.

  Evan looks at me and blinks. I can see thoughts swirling through his mind but the emotions flicker across his face too fast for me to read.

  He runs a calloused hand across his scruffy jaw and looks at me with shadowed eyes, his hair swept back from his face, but still, there’s nearly nothing I can read about him. “Yeah, um, sorry . . . tonight’s just not a good night.”

  He doesn’t offer a raincheck, no softness of maybe some other time, so I guess that answers that. Damn it. Guess it’s time for that maneuver that everyone has to do at some time or another, even if we don’t like it—the retreat while maintaining dignity. “No worries. I’ll talk to you later, maybe.”

  I move toward the door, and he doesn’t stop me, just follows me down the steps and out the door. He doesn’t even stand in the doorway to watch me go across the street, closing the door and clicking the lock almost as soon as I’m through.

  I sigh and look both ways—even though the street is deserted at this hour—and walk to the Triple B. I walk to a little door beside the salon’s main entrance that leads to my apartment’s private stairs, and I’m tempted to go back and drag Evan’s ass over to show him the reality of my living space too. About the only difference is that my bed actually has a box spring and mattress, and I’ve got a poster of Dita Von Teese on the wall, all curves and corset and sexiness. She understands, I bet.

  As I bend down to undo the lock at the bottom of the door, I feel eyes on me and a cold shiver runs through my body. I hold my head high and pop my ass out just a little more. If the asshole wants to look but not even talk to me, well . . . get a damn eyeful. Because I’m gonna go upstairs and I’m gonna be just fine, Mr. Evan Hotness On A Fucking Motorcycle Hardwick.

  Just fine.

  Asshole.

  Chapter 12

  Evan

  It’s been a few days since McKayla’s late-night visit when I gave her the brushoff for her own good. I try to remind myself of that as my brain loops on the disappointment in her eyes when I turned her down and watched her go.

  But that was a bad night. I’d lied when I told her that I had a job to do the next morning, I was up there because of a major flashback. It started simply enough. Someone brought in their old pickup truck to the garage. The area is filled with these old beaters, cars and trucks that were built before I was born and are only still street legal because people seem to give zero fucks about car inspections around here.

  So when John Englebert brought his seventy-seven Ford in, I should have been ready, but I was underneath another car when he put the truck in neutral. It backfired three times quickly.

  Three backfires, so similar to a three-shot burst from an AK-47 that I nearly lost it right there. John, of course, was laughing about his old truck having gas and telling TJ that he needed to give the thing some damn prunes, but one glance at me and TJ sent me upstairs.

  It was hours later that McKayla came by, and it was for her own good that I sent her away. The room is sparse because I made it that way on purpose. In that room, there’s not much I can smash or use to smash things with beyond an extra-thick copy of Children of Dune. I wanted to talk to her, but I could feel it coming on again, so I sent her away.

  No, it’s for her own good and she can do better. I’ll just tarnish her shine, and lord knows, she’s fucking sparkly outside, but more importantly, on the inside. She tries to pretend that she isn’t, but I can see it. She’s the sort of woman that comes around once in a man’s life, a woman so good that you’re left in awe when she looks at you.

  She’s that sort of good. And maybe once upon a time, I was that sort of guy. I’d like to think I was better than the average schlep working a nine to five. But I’m definitely not now. Now I’m just full of mud and filth and scars that go straight to my very core. I need to remember that when I catch myself staring across into the salon, trying to catch a peek of her.

  I don’t even know why I torture myself with looking over at her any longer. I gave up standing at the bay door to watch her when I realized that everyone up and down that side of the street could see me staring. Earl thought it was damn funny that every time he came up the street from his store, he could see me, watching me as I watched her. He told me I looked like I wanted to kill her or fuck her, and he ‘wasn’t right sure which one.’

  I had raised one eyebrow as I looked back at him, and he broke out in laughter. “Oh, boy, you’re done gone for that girl. Fuck her or marry her because that’s about all you can do when it hits you like that.”

  There was always a third option. Run away. But I’m not one for that, not yet, anyway. I’d moved inside to watch instead, even though TJ bitched about the smoke in the office when I lit up. Fuck it, that’s what exhaust fans are for.

  Once, I’d been in the shop leaned over an engine, and when I stood up, I caught her watching me. In that moment, a tiny piece of me wanted to puff up my chest and show off a bit for her, but I held back. Instead of entertaining the stupid fantasy, I just growled and shut the bay door.

  Even I get the symbolism there, cutting her off like that. But it’s for her own good, even if she’s stubborn as an old mule about her interest in me. I gotta shut myself away. The more I repeat it to myself, the easier it’ll become. That’s what I’m going to believe.

  Fucked up pep talk complete, I get off my bike and walk into the diner to grab lunch for TJ and myself, a little apology for his having to put up with my extra grouchy self lately. The bell chimes as I push through the door, beelining for the counter to order. I lean against the cold Formica and scan, a habit I can’t help as I count exits and look for customers that seem out of place, even if I have yet to ever see one here.

  I see a few of the town regulars, those good old
boys who think that since they served in ‘Nam or maybe Desert Storm that they’re the only ones who understand what war is like. They can kiss my ass, and if they want to bitch about my haircut . . . fuck them. I continue scanning, cataloging moms with sugar-high kids bouncing in their chairs and an old couple sharing a slice of pie, when I see her.

  McKayla is sitting at a booth, right up front, with a burger and fries in front of her that’s barely been touched. I stare, taking her in. She’s like a full-on Technicolor painting in a room full of bland black and white. Her hair’s been teased up into some poufy beehive looking hairstyle today with a yellow bandana tied around it and dangling cherry earrings hugging her lobes.

  All I can think is that she’s made it easy for me to kiss her neck and lick the curve of her ear. My eyes track down to her top, little puffs at the shoulders and a sexy line of cleavage. I’m so struck that it takes me a moment to realize that she looks a bit frustrated, tension clearly evident in the scrunch of her brow, and I follow her attention across the table to . . . Jaxson. The son of a bitch is sitting on the other side of the booth, proud as a motherfucker in his work suit, grinning like he’s the king of the fucking city.

  Inside, I growl. Hell, maybe it’s out loud, I don’t know. But I see him talking to her, what’s probably supposed to be a nice smile on his face. But I’ve been reading people for a lot of years, and that smile he’s got going on right now is just a practiced façade, not genuine. I saw the same smile on his face that first day I came to town and he gave me the ‘welcome to town, now when the fuck are you leaving?’ talk.

  So while I don’t like him, he’s mostly ignored me the way I have him the past few years. I figured most of my recent bad thoughts about the man were honestly more about his flirting with McKayla. Maybe Earl is right, though, and he’s a little worse than just a sleaze.

  I keep an eye on them, wondering if I should stick my nose in and part of me not wanting to.

  “Hey, Evan, what’s the order?” the waitress asks me.

  Without even taking my eyes off McKayla and Jaxson, I half turn my head. “Double burger with onion rings, TJ style. Turkey club sandwich, double cheese and double turkey,” I toss over my shoulder without even looking at her.

  She’s used to my rudeness and it probably doesn’t even hit on her radar that I’m a bit more rude than usual. “You want something with that club?”

  I peek back and lower my voice, trying to be nice. “Hey, how long have they been here?” I nod over to McKayla and Jaxson.

  I see her eyes dart over, and she shrugs. “McKayla? She came in about fifteen minutes ago. Then the suit came in and sat down. Didn’t seem like she was expecting him.”

  I harrumph, looking back over my shoulder. “Someone should teach that fucker some manners.”

  I look back and realize that the waitress is still there, a scared look on her face. “Is that all, Evan?”

  I take a deep breath. I didn’t mean to scare the shit outta the poor girl. “Yeah, yeah, thanks. To go. Please.”

  I add the last bit a beat late, but it’s more manners than I usually have, so score one for me. I slide a step over and try to tune in to McKayla and Jaxson, trying to hear what they’re saying without looking like I’m obviously eavesdropping.

  Jaxson’s got that wheedling yet somehow bullying tone in his voice I’ve heard before, the one that says hey, come on, buddy, do what I want . . . or else. “Let me show you the town. You’ll have a great time, I promise. I know all the best-kept secret spots around here . . .”

  He trails off, and I’m pleased to hear McKayla shoot back with more than a hint of steel in her voice, “Thanks again, Jaxson. But I’m just settling in, and I told you before, I’m not looking to date.” She’s abrupt, blunt but not rude, just to the point, and it sounds like she’s getting tired of telling him the same thing over and over.

  Maybe that’s his shtick, wear her down until she says yes. I’ve heard he’s the same way on the city council. He’ll grind down his opponents until they give him what he wants just to shut him the fuck up.

  I have a moment of good-heartedness, thinking maybe I can help her with this at least. I strut over to the table, her eyes going wide and her mouth opening in surprise as she sees my imposing form appear over Jaxson’s shoulder. Jaxson sees her reaction and half turns just as I step past and sit down beside her, one arm going around her shoulders and reaching for a fry with my other hand.

  I place a quick kiss on her cheek, taking a moment to savor her scent. She even smells sexy. “Hey, Princess. Didn’t know you were lunching here today. Could’ve saved one of us a trip and ordered together. We could have split the load back.”

  Her mouth is still open in shock, and I wink as I place the fry in her mouth and she starts chewing automatically. Watching her lips wrapping around the fry for a split second before it disappears, I regret, for what’s probably the ten thousandth time since she offered, not accepting the blowjob she wanted to give me.

  I pull my eyes away to look across at Jaxson, a cold smile on my face. I see you, motherfucker. He’s glaring at me in fury, that same tight smile on his face while his eyes are screaming bloody murder. I swear he’s acting like someone just took away his favorite toy.

  I offer a hand across the table, giving his hand a tight squeeze as we shake. You can tell a lot about a man by his handshake, and Jaxson attempts to use a paralyzing grip. Too bad he’s run into someone who isn’t going to wilt. When he tries to crush me, I crush right back, my forearm powered by a lot of hard, real work.

  Taking control of the situation, I drop my voice. “Jaxson, a pleasure to see you here. What brings you to the diner?”

  He doesn’t even flinch, which surprises me. I have always taken Jaxson to be a bully, but maybe he has just a little bit of steel in his spine. “Just grabbing lunch, but saw McKayla sitting here all alone and thought I’d be gracious enough to show her around town.”

  I eyeball him. Last time, I backed down a little because I didn’t want to start shit for my brother. But McKayla isn’t TJ, and she can’t protect herself the way he can. “Sounds nice. Gotta tell you, though, I showed her a fair amount of town the other day, didn’t I, McKayla?”

  McKayla’s head is ping-ponging between the two of us, the tension palpable. I’m not normally the type to go all hound dog, pissing on what isn’t my territory, but while I might not be good for McKayla, Jaxson damn sure isn’t either.

  His voice is tight with strain when he finally replies, looking not at me but at McKayla with a slight sneer in his voice. “Really? McKayla was just telling me that she isn’t looking to date quite yet.”

  That wakes her up like a fire alarm shock, and she puts both of her hands flat on the table, not quite smacking but damn near. “You’re right, I did say that. And I’m not dating. Anyone.”

  She’s looking at Jaxson, but her words are for me and I know it. Dammit. Sure, I shouldn’t, but I do want her. And I didn’t want to hurt her. I fucked it up pretty badly with her, but since we’re not going any further than this savior moment, it won’t matter in the long run, I guess.

  Jaxson slides out of the booth, leaning forward along the edge, almost draping himself across the table to get closer to McKayla. As he does, his voice is smooth and silky like it always is. “I’ll see you around, McKayla.”

  He smirks as his eyes trail from her eyes down to her cleavage. My hand curls into a fist against the cold tabletop, and McKayla lays a gentle hand on my thigh. It’s intimate, and as she intended, it stops me instantly, giving me something much better to focus on.

  Jaxson sees the gesture too and his jaw clenches. Wordlessly, he stands tall, but his eyes speak plenty. I’ll be seeing him around town, and I’d better watch my ass. I go twenty-six in a twenty-five and the police are going to be pulling me over.

  Nobody in the diner seems to move for a second, then McKayla and I watch as Jaxson buttons his suit coat before walking out the door and into the parking lot. I see him pause by my b
ike, and for split second, I think he’s gonna fuck with it. I follow his sight line and realize he’s staring at my left handlebar, with McKayla’s red panties still wrapped around it.

  Technically, they could be anyone’s, but I can tell by the rage on his face that he knows exactly who they belong to. The instant he pulls out of the lot, Mckayla scoots away from me, putting a foot of space between us. “What the fuck was that? Next time, we’ll just pull out a damn tape measure so y’all can compare dicks.”

  I shrug, getting out of the booth. “I was just trying to help. Seemed like he wouldn’t leave you alone.”

  McKayla rolls her eyes and I can see it. She knows he’s a fuckhead, but she doesn’t realize just how big of a fuckhead he is. “He’s definitely overly persistent, but I’m not some shrinking wallflower that needs a big, strong stud to save her. I was just trying to be nice about it since I still have to live here after I crush his hope that I’ll eventually say yes.”

  I huff, replying just a bit too forcefully. “You are definitely no wallflower. You’re a whole damn bouquet of fucking wildflowers.”

  I say it without even thinking about how it sounds as it tumbles out of my mouth, but her gasp is instantaneous. Her lip quivers, and her eyes shine as she reaches out, grabbing my wrist. “That is probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, but you make it sound like an insult.”

  The corners of my lips turn up. I had meant it as a compliment. “You’re too good for that asshat and way too good for a fucker like me.”