Dirty Talk

by Lauren Landish

  Her words shook me to my core, and now, looking across the garage at my brother, who’d taken my lost feelings and my laundry lists of mental issues with a simple decision that I was working in the garage with him, and that was that . . . I just don’t have the energy to deal with him right now.

  “She didn’t go to the cops. Doesn’t want to make a big deal. I’m thinking me and Earl can handle it anyway.” I give him a pointed look and hope he keeps his big mouth shut.

  TJ, who went to the cops last year when he found some wannabe gang graffiti on the rolling door, shrugs in that way he has that says he doesn’t understand but doesn’t really care. “Fine, whatever. Besides the camera guy, don’t you want to talk to her about other stuff? Like, you know, you and McKayla? What’s going on there?”

  My eyes dip down to my boots, and I really wish TJ would just get to the part where he says he wants me to get one of the jobs done tonight while I’m watching the salon. “Earl says I need to take her to dinner. But I’m not exactly the guy who picks a girl up with flowers to go to some fancy restaurant in a four-door sedan.”

  TJ grins wolfishly, laughing softly. “Well damn, you don’t say? I’d have never known that, asshole. Bet she doesn’t either. She probably thinks you’re some sweetheart who’s gonna wine and dine her, romance her like a chick flick. That’s totally the vibe you give off. You’re all The Notebook, you know.”

  I grin in slightly shocked surprise—TJ getting one over on me is rare—and laugh at the image of me in some twisted rom-com movie as the anti-hero type, and give him a push on the shoulder. “Fuck you, man.”

  We end up wrestling back and forth like when we were boys, goofing and pushing and laughing. I finally wrap his head with my arm in a loose chokehold, rubbing my knuckles through his hair. After it’s standing up with static, I release him, our laughing breaths echoing loudly in the garage.

  He smooths his hair back and hops up on a big drum of solvent that we use for cleaning tools. “Man, you may not be some wine and dine type, but everybody eats. Get your scaredy-cat ass over there and invite the woman to dinner. I don’t care if it’s a fucking pizza. Take her on a date. Hell, you can double with me and Alice if you want—wait, on second thought, scratch that. You’d probably scare the shit out of her. Maybe I can introduce you to her in stages. One minute here, ten minutes there . . . it’ll probably take a few months to build up to an entire dinner with your grumpy ass.”

  I laugh out loud, and I see TJ’s moment of hesitation as he wonders if he took it too far before he relaxes and laughs fully along with me. It hurts when I realize I did that to him. He has to think about every word he says to me and is always waiting for the other shoe to drop at the most unexpected time. McKayla was right. I gotta fix that. That’s not the guy I want to be.

  TJ’s been the one hanging with me through some dark days and even darker nights, and he deserves to have a brother who’s there for him too. Hell, just two minutes ago, I was ready to get defensive and accuse him of being an asshole. Instead, maybe I need to open up to him too.

  “Hey . . .” TJ looks up at me, a question in his eyes, and I don’t even know what I was gonna say, so I don’t think about it. I just grab him in a hug, patting harshly on his back a few times.

  “Thanks, Bro.”

  He squeezes me back, and when he answers, his voice is a little raspy. “Hey, Bro, it’s good. You okay?”

  I step back, nodding. “Guess I need to go see a girl about dinner. Wish me luck, because I damn sure fucking need it.”

  He nods as I turn, wishing me good luck behind my back as I start heading for the street. My eyes are laser focused on the salon door, but I swear I see a reflection in my periphery of TJ wiping a single stray tear from his eye.

  Chapter 23

  McKayla

  My heart goes into thundering pitty-pats when I look up from my tea to see Evan coming across the street, his eyes on fire. He’s walking with a purpose and I can’t decide if it’s a good one or not.

  Maybe he’s coming over to tell me to leave him alone, that I’m too much trouble. He did ghost me the other day, after all. I agreed to go grab some breakfast with him down at the diner, and when I saw Brad, I went over to talk to him for a second. I turn around, and Evan had pulled a ninja act worthy of a Batman movie. And he’s been totally radio-silent for days now.

  Hell, I never know with him, so maybe he’s coming over to ask me on another ride. I certainly could go for one. Today’s dragged on like nobody’s business.

  I smooth the nonexistent wrinkles in my jeans and press my lips together to make sure my lipstick is perfect as Evan mounts the curb and strides across the parking lot, trying to calm the tremble in my fingers. I can’t help it, even if he does piss me off. There’s something about Evan that’s just . . . I need him.

  So whatever the reason, I’m gonna look good while Evan says his piece. Maybe then I’ll get to say mine too. I’ll get to explain to him that I don’t care about his being broken. That I don’t care about the attitude or his fears. That I understand his biggest fear—he blames himself for surviving when so many others died. But all I care about is how he makes me feel when I’m in his arms.

  He pulls the door open, steps inside, and all conversation stops. Hell, the whole world might as well have stopped turning. Brad, who’s giving Rose a facial with some sample product our supplier wants us to try, snaps his jaw shut so fast I swear he’s chipped one of his tooth caps.

  I see Evan’s eyes light on me, then over to Brad and Rose. Rose, whose face is covered in cerulean blue ‘vita-mud’ from supposedly Arctic Canada, just stares at him open-mouthed like he’s the last person she expected to walk in.

  “Hey . . . guys.”

  “Guess you didn’t tell him what the third B stands for in the name,” Rose says to Brad, who giggles. Evan flushes, and his lips thin out to nearly knife-edge lines. Rose quickly fills in the gap. “Brad said that Triple B stands for Beautiful Badass Bitches, so you’ve gotta greet us that way.”

  I decide to help Evan out before he can spin on his heel and storm back across the street. I don’t know what’s brought him over here, but something’s got his short hairs up and I don’t want to pass this up. “Ignore them, Evan. What’s up?”

  He clears his throat, locking eyes with me, and I feel my heart stop at the desire and fear burning within them. Coming across the street has to be the most courageous thing he’s ever done, I bet. “Wanna get dinner tonight?”

  I can’t help it. The grin that spreads across my face is a clear answer of what I want to say, but before the word comes out, Brad interrupts. “Erk . . . back that bus up, Johnny Motorcycle. Nice try, sweet even for you, but try again. I think McKayla here deserves a little more than ‘hey, wanna get dinner tonight?’ delivered in a sexy but slightly caveman grumble. Hint, start further back in the story.”

  I glare at Brad, who’d better be glad that I’m nowhere near my station or else he might find out just how far I can jam a curling iron up his ass, but Brad isn’t going to be discouraged. “Look here, Evan, you think we don’t know about the growly sex, the cameraman, and then how you snuck out? Girls share, especially when it’s the best they’ve ever had.”

  “Brad!” I shriek in embarrassment. “I didn’t say that!”

  Brad just looks at me, then back at Evan. “I think you missed a step here, bucko.”

  Evan nods and steps closer to me, almost towering over me, daring me to step away. But I can’t. I’m pulled toward him with an inexorable draw, like a moth to the flame. I swallow my fear and stare back up at him, letting him know I’m stronger than he realizes.

  Evan clears his throat, finally nodding. “Princess . . . I’m sorry. For being too rough, for not protecting you, for bailing. You deserve better and I damn well know it. I don’t know if I can give you better or more than what I currently am, but I’m fucking trying to be that guy. Will you go to dinner with me?”

  I analyze him and can see the unease as I pret
end to decide whether to give him another chance, as if I wouldn’t. Finally, I decide to let him a bit off the hook. “So this is your attempt at playing nice? To ask me out to dinner like some regular Joe?”

  He barely dips his chin in answer, as if that’s all I get out of him. Oh, hell no.

  “Fucking hell, Evan!” I yell, shoving him in the chest. “Have you been paying attention at all? Did I ever say I wanted some dinner and a movie date? Do I seem like that girl any more than you’re that guy? I appreciate the apology, because you damn sure owed me one. But only for that fucking ninja act. The rest? You had no way of knowing that guy was there, and as soon as you did, you jumped into action. And I wasn’t complaining about some angry sex! Lovey dovey works, angry works, hard and rough works, soft and sweet works . . . variety is the spice of life, and I’m open to trying every damn flavor you’ve got. You got some duct tape. I’ve got some ideas I’d be willing to try. Understood?”

  He’s speechless, struck stupid by my rant. Rose suddenly breaks into giggles, and I look over to see her, tears rolling down her face, leaving tracks in the blue mud as she looks at Brad. “Did she just say duct tape?”

  “She said duct tape,” Brad confirms. “But shh . . . I think McKayla’s about to get all My Little Pony Lovey Dovey.”

  “So yeah,” I continue, trying not to think about how much I want to kick Brad’s ass, “let’s eat. But you’d better bring your bike.”

  He seems shocked I’m actually doing it, giving him another shot. His control snaps, and he roughly grabs my waist to yank me toward him, covering my mouth in a deep kiss as he leans me back a bit.

  He thrusts his tongue in, and I taste him, that combination of mint and the tang of his caffeine habit that makes me moan, the vibration rolling through my throat. I notice the cigarette smell is gone . . . and part of me says that’s because of me.

  He pulls back, grabbing my hand to drag me toward the door. Over my shoulder, I call out to Brad. “Bye, bitch. Early dinner, apparently.”

  I think Rose squeals in delight at the whole scene, but that could just be the door needing oil. In moments, we’re on his bike, flying down Main Street and heading west toward the open, sparsely populated areas in that direction.

  We ride for a while, the wind the only sound as we lean and sway with the road. It’s a beautiful dance and relaxes both of us. My hair whips around my face, but I don’t care. I have Evan, I feel better, and as the sunset turns the sky blood red . . . I feel good.

  We pull over at a Mexican food place and settle into a booth, Evan beside me, blocking me in. I douse the chips in salt as per usual, Evan practically gasping at me. “What the hell are you doing? How can you eat them with all that salt?”

  I grip a chip daintily between two fingers and dip it into the salsa. “Just made them more delicious.” With a hearty chomp down on the chip, I enjoy the treat, sneaking my tongue out to lick the crystal remains from my fingers.

  The salsa isn’t that great, way too mild for a girl who grew up eating real habanero salsa, but I don’t care. What I care about is how Evan groans at the sight of me sucking my fingers, and I smirk, knowing exactly what I’m doing to him and rather enjoying it.

  I let Evan order pork enchiladas for both of us, and as we eat our meals, I swear the man blushes. “This is the first date I’ve been on since before I enlisted.”

  “No shit?” I ask. “Well, I hope I’m a good re-introduction to dating life then. So . . . I already know all the basic shit. Tell me about work.”

  “It’s good. I enjoy the challenge, even Fast Eddie’s ‘Stang.”

  “Fast Eddie?” I ask as I try the enchilada. Damn, that’s pretty good.

  “The town’s local gearhead,” Evan says with a laugh. “He calls himself a racer, but he’s not very good. With the amount of money he sinks into that ‘Stang, he should be doing a lot better. He’s just . . . well, he likes that ‘Stang at least, and he’ll admit that it’s not the car, it’s the driver. So, what’s it like at the salon?”

  I’m careful as I talk about the salon’s future, walking on eggshells to keep from putting pressure or expectations on Evan. “I’d like to see us get a solid reputation,” I admit, “but also I really want to get to the point where I’m not having to do all the cutting myself. Not saying I don’t like cutting hair, but I’d like to turn the regular cuts over to someone who doesn’t have my experience.”

  “I can get that,” Evan admits. “I don’t know if I’m insane, but I’d like to grow past where I am too. I’d like to think . . . well, you help me see a future that I didn’t think was available for me.”

  “If you mean a future with days like this, we can keep discussing things,” I tease, making him smile. We continue, and it seems I’m front and center in just about everything he says. We relax, joking and making me feel at home with him. Like a real couple. My heart melts and fires up all at the same time to think that this powerful monster of a man wants me, and I know that as long as he does, I’m his.

  The ride home blinks by in a rush, and as he pulls the bike into the garage and closes the door, I think for a second that he’s going to walk me home like some nice guy and settle for a sweet kiss goodnight. “So, I had a nice time.”

  Instead, Evan steps closer, taking my hand. “Me too. But I don’t want it to be over.”

  I laugh, stepping closer. “Me either. Wanna know what I’m thinking? Well, first off . . . crazy idea here, but why don’t we try a bed? And I know it’s cliché, but perhaps slow and soft is just what we need.”

  He growls, scooping me into his arms and heading for the stairs. “I can do a bed,” he says as he kicks open the door. “I don’t know about soft and slow though.”

  “Why’s that?”

  His voice thick with desire, he growls deeply, “I need to kiss and worship every inch of your fucking perfect sexy body, Princess.”

  We reach the bedroom up top, which looks more lived in than the last time I was here. There’s a footlocker with clothes piled neatly on top of it in the corner. He sets me down in the middle of his bed, his eyes roving over me, making me squirm in anticipation. “Stop,” he commands. “Be still.”

  “What are you doing?”

  Evan steps back, then nods to himself. “I’m taking a mental snapshot of you right now. The way your hair fans out like a halo of cotton candy, the sweet smile on your lips, your chest heaving with need. It’s something I’ll remember forever.”

  He leans over me, resting some of his weight onto me carefully, pinning me down. He traces a fingertip along my jawline, following it with little nibbling kisses. I gasp, pulling at his t-shirt to trace his muscles and scratch his skin lightly, making him nip my skin and adding to my cries. “Yesss . . .”

  He continues, outlining the contours of my collarbone and the line of my cleavage peeking out the top of my shirt. His fingers work to undo every button as I untie the knot at my waist, and when he pulls the shirt open, exposing me to his eyes, my skin instantly covers in raised bumps. “Every time . . . flawless.”

  I reach down, undoing the clasp on my bra and opening myself to him. “You deserve every inch.”

  Diving in, Evan covers the upper curve of my breasts with sucking kisses and nips until I arch toward him, silently begging for more. Teasing me, he moves around, under and over the soft mounds, never touching my nipple but occasionally teasing the peaked nub with his warm breath, making me whimper. “Fuck, Evan . . . I thought you said you couldn’t go slow?”

  “I wanted to do the best I could,” he says softly before bending down and capturing my right nipple with his tongue and teeth, pulling back until my breast is tugged and delicious pain mixes with the electric pleasure of his touch and I cry out, arching my back.

  My cries seem to ignite him and he lets go long enough to rip my jeans and panties off and strip himself, laying back onto me so that we are skin to skin. The feeling of him pressed against me is better than anything, and when he reaches down to cup my pussy, I’m
ready for him. “Please, Evan.”

  He brushes my hair back from my forehead, not moving his other hand but not entering me as he looks into my eyes. “Slow down, my Princess. We’re trying new flavors, remember?”

  I can’t. I’m already on edge just from his cock being so close to filling me. But the way he said ‘my Princess’ gives me the strength, and I nod slightly, panting as he smiles down at me.

  “Speaking of flavors,” he continues, “I want to taste you.”

  I cry out in argument as he moves away from me, feeling cold without his body covering mine, but the instant his tongue touches my pussy, fire runs through my veins. I reach down, grabbing the backs of my knees and offering myself wantonly to him, giving him total and complete access.

  He licks my clit in broad circles with his tongue, using his fingers to massage my pussy lips, tormenting me till, with a scream, I shatter. “Evan!”

  As I come back to reality, he leaves love bites along my inner thighs, and the thought of him marking me excites me. He moves back up my body, stopping to kiss my hips and dip his tongue into my belly button, which makes me giggle, and finally, gather my hands into his, our fingers interwoven as he presses them to the bed above my head.

  “I don’t know what you see in me, but let me in, Princess.”

  “I know exactly what I see,” I say as obey him. The feeling of his cock sliding into me with slippery ease to fill me so full of cock is so overwhelming, I tense up in pleasure. “Oh, fuck, Evan . . . I’m yours.”

  Slowly and steadily, he moves in and out, staring into my eyes and letting me see what I’ve only had hints of before, the man he could be. “Don’t move. Let me fuck you so sweetly, Princess. I can feel every inch of your tight pussy sucking me in, squeezing me tightly. Just. Don’t. Move.”

  I do my best, trying to be still for him, but it’s so hard. Every stroke of his cock sets my body on fire again, and I’m glad that I’ve already come once, or else I’d be on the edge again already. I’m rewarded for my efforts when I hear his breathing change, short, harsh pants escaping with a little hiss as he works to maintain his torturous pace.