Dirty Talk

by Megan Erickson

  “She never grew out of the tomboy stage,” Ivy said, grinning at her sister.

  “We can’t all be girly like you.”

  “I’m not girly.”

  “You birthed that,” Alex said, pointing to Violet, who wore a pink dress and her tiara.

  Ivy rolled her eyes and bent down to where Violet was patting Honeybear on the head. “Mommy will be gone for a little, so you have fun with Aunt Alex, okay?”

  “Can we keep Honeybear here?” Violet asked.

  “No, honey. Honeybear is going off with her friend Davis. Remember him?”

  Violet nodded.

  Ivy wrapped her daughter in a hug. “One four three,” she whispered in her ear.

  “One four three,” Violet said back. Then she hugged Brent’s leg and took off down the hallway toward the kitchen, yelling about mac-and-cheese.

  Alex saluted them and followed her niece.

  Ivy turned to Brent as butterflies beginning to buzz around in her belly.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  She wasn’t sure. But she couldn’t back out now.

  AT THE FIRE station, she waited in the truck while Brent led Honeybear inside. She watched him as he gazed at the fire engine and ladder truck in the bay. He ran a hand over a drying hose, and she wondered what he was thinking about. When he hopped into the truck, she turned to him. “What did you want to be when you grew up?”

  He kept the car in park and looked at her. “Well, I wanted to be like my dad, I guess. A mechanic.”

  “Oh, so then you’re doing what you want to do. Not many people can say that.”

  He bit his lip and looked at the station and then back at her. “I wanted to be a firefighter too.”

  “Really?”

  He didn’t speak for a minute. “Really.”

  “When did you stop wanting to be a firefighter?”

  He ran his hands over the steering wheel. “Uh, never, I guess.”

  “You mean you still want to be one?”

  “Yeah, I looked into what I had to do to volunteer but . . . ” His voice trailed off, and he shrugged.

  She bent a knee on the bench of the truck and faced him. “But what?” He didn’t answer. “You seem great in emergency situations. The bus accident—”

  “That was one time; it didn’t really mean anything—”

  “Don’t say it didn’t mean anything.” Her voice was firmer than she meant it to be, and Brent snapped his gaze to her face. “It meant a lot. To those kids, to that bus driver . . . to me. And you’re good with Violet. You’d probably be the guy they sent to schools to show them the fire engines.”

  He smiled then. “I’d love that.”

  “So what do you need to do to volunteer? You’re a fit guy. I’m sure your dad would let you work it into your schedule at the garage.”

  He did that nervous head-scratch thing again. “I’m pretty sure if I told my brother and my dad that I wanted to be a volunteer firefighter, they’d laugh at me.”

  She frowned. “Why?”

  He blew out a breath. “Because . . . because I’m Brent. You know, the not-serious Payton.”

  “But that’s not really true, is it? And if they laugh at you, then I’ll . . . I’ll . . . ” She struggled for words and finally pounded a fist on her thigh. “I’ll be really mad at them.”

  Brent threw back his head and laughed. “Wow. I’ll tell them to watch out.”

  “Don’t mock me!”

  “I’m not; you’re actually kinda scaring me right now. Damn, you’re like a pint-sized wildcat.”

  “I’m just saying—”

  He reached across and hooked a hand around the back of her neck, drawing her forward so their faces were close. “I know what you’re saying. And I appreciate it. More than you know. How about this: you tell Alex we’re dating, and I’ll tell my brother and dad I want to fight fires. How’s that?”

  She hadn’t expected that. Not at all. Why did she think she could do this with Brent? Not fall for him and not tell Alex? There was no way. She licked her lips. “Who goes first?”

  He clucked his tongue. “I’ll go first. I trust you.”

  He pressed a kiss to her lips and pulled away with a chuckle, putting the truck in gear to pull out of the parking lot.

  Ivy didn’t know what she’d done to earn his trust. But she knew that somehow, some way, she needed to hold up her end of the bargain.

  THEY DROVE FOR forty-five minutes. Brent hadn’t told her where they were going, just that he planned to feed her dinner, and she was going to love it.

  When he finally pulled the truck into a restaurant, the sun was beginning to dip into the tree line.

  Ivy squinted at the sign over the rather ramshackle-looking building. “Tad’s Seafood?”

  Brent was bobbing his head, bouncing in his seat, clearly excited for what they were about to walk into. “Have you ever had crabs?”

  “Um—”

  “I’m talking Maryland blue-shell crabs. With Old Bay.”

  “What’s Old Bay?”

  Brent gasped and grabbed his chest, staring at her like she was an abomination. “Did you just ask me what Old Bay is?” he whispered in a tortured voice.

  She smacked his arm. “Will you knock it off? What are you going on about?”

  He dropped the act and opened the truck door. “I will be educating you on all things crab and Old Bay, and babe, you are gonna love me after this. Or maybe you’ll go mermaid and leave me for some crabs. I dunno. Now get out of the truck so you can be enlightened.”

  She rolled her eyes but did what he said.

  When she walked into Tad’s Seafood, she immediately smelled seafood and spice. Strong spice. The place was small, the floor rubber, and the wooden picnic tables were covered in butcher paper. In the middle of each table was a round hole in which sat a bucket.

  “This place is weird,” she said.

  “This place is heaven,” Brent replied.

  The hostess, who wore a shirt with big letters on the back that read “You’ll Love Tad’s Crabs,” sat them at a table and pointed to the menus sitting between a grubby-looking set of salt and pepper shakers. Ivy peered in the bucket in the center of their table, half expecting a live crab to pop out and pinch her nose.

  “Is beer okay?” Brent asked.

  “Yeah, light, please,” Ivy said, still distracted by the bucket and the yellow tin of seasoning that said Old Bay in blue letters.

  The waitress disappeared, and Ivy picked up the seasoning, popping the top so she could smell it. She reared back her head as the scent burned her nostrils a bit. “What’s in here?”

  “Delicious stuff,” Brent said. “So have you ever eaten crabs out of the shell?”

  She shook her head. “Only the meat in some type of dish.”

  Brent picked up something off the table and tied it around his neck. It was . . . a bib. An honest-to-God plastic bib. He grinned at her as he held a wooden mallet in one hand and a silver nutcracker-looking thing in the other. He looked one part ridiculous, one part cute, and all parts sexy. In a plastic bib.

  She started laughing. A full-on, tear-inducing belly laugh that caused a major cramp and the running of her mascara.

  “Do I look that ridiculous?” Brent asked. He didn’t look embarrassed. Not one bit. He wore that damn bib with pride, which read in big red letters, “Always wear protection from Ted’s crabs.”

  She shook her head, unable to talk. Then she picked up her bib, tied it around her neck, and smoothed it over her chest. She brandished her mallet proudly in front of her. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Brent’s brilliant smile in return was worth looking like an idiot.

  SHE’D WORN THE bib.

  Ivy had actually put on the bib over her nice dress and was currently staring at the crab in front of her with equal parts disgust and interest.

  Her little nose was wrinkled, yet she tilted her head to take in the hard-shell crab at all angles. “I thought you said they were blue
-shells. This is red.”

  “They’re blue until you cook them; then they turn red.”

  She held a plastic knife and poked at the crab. “Are those . . . are those its eyes?”

  Brent grabbed a big crab by both of its claws from the platter the waiter had delivered. “Yep.”

  “Oh gross! At least when you get shrimp, they tear off the heads.”

  “That doesn’t really work with crabs.”

  She whimpered a little. He ignored it, because he knew she’d get over it. And really, he wasn’t sure he could date a girl who couldn’t eat crabs with him. Then he remembered how her hand felt around his dick and figured, well, if it was Ivy, he could forgive the crab thing. “So you said my burger was messy, and I decided I needed to show you what messy really was. This is my favorite place to get crabs, so I’m really opening up to you here, babe.”

  She lifted her gaze to him. “Oh really?” she said drily.

  “Really. This is baring my soul right here.”

  “Your soul is full of crab meat and Old Bay?”

  “And beer.”

  She snorted.

  He held up his crab and waved the claw at Ivy, speaking in falsetto. “Are you ready to learn how to eat me, Ivy?”

  She pointed her knife at him. “Do not make your crab talk to me, or I swear I will get up right now.”

  He placed his crab back on the table. “Okay, fine. Damn. So testy.”

  “Brent—”

  “So first we gotta take the legs off. I always start with the claw because that has the best meat.”

  She glanced at his hands as he held the body in one and the base of the claw leg in the other. She mimicked his position, and her tongue peeked out of her mouth in concentration. Fucking cute.

  “Okay, now you kinda pull and twist at the same time, because you can get meat this way. If not, we’ll just dig it out of the body when we crack this sucker open.”

  She frowned but followed his lead. When he pulled the leg off, he cursed because he hadn’t pulled out any meat, but when he looked over at Ivy, she’d gotten a nice chunk, which she held up in triumph. “Look at that!” she squealed. Two men at the table beside them stared at her, which Ivy didn’t even notice.

  “Perfect; now stick that in your mouth, bite down on that clear bone-looking thing, and strip the meat off with your teeth.”

  Eating hard-shell crabs was messy and kinda gross, but Brent found himself getting hard in his jeans, watching Ivy eat her crab. Goddamn. And they’d only pulled off one leg. This was going to be a long date.

  Next, he showed her how to crack the claw open. “This is a delicate process. You gotta crack the shell on the claw just a little, so you can break it open but not split the big hunk o’ claw meat inside. It’s best if you can pull it out in one chunk.”

  Her tongue was in the corner of her mouth again, her little fingers applying slight pressure with the claw cracker.

  “Some people use a knife and a mallet,” Brent explained, focusing on his own claw while keeping an eye on her, “but I think the cracker is—”

  “Look at that meat!” She screamed like a banshee as she pulled out one of the biggest solid pieces of claw meat Brent had ever seen.

  The men at the table next to them were outright staring now as Ivy held up the meat in front of her face. She turned to them, her blue eyes wide. “Look! My first claw!”

  “Looking good, sweetheart,” one man said with a little bit of a leer.

  Brent glared at him, but Ivy wasn’t even paying attention. She dropped her head back, held her hand above her head, and dropped the piece of meat in her mouth. Then she looked at Brent as she chewed with a grin on her face. And as her eyes rolled back in her head, she mumbled, “Holy shit. This is delicious.”

  And he honest-to-God didn’t know how he was going to get through this meal if she kept making little moans like that. She was so proud of herself, so goddamn triumphant. He’d never seen Ivy quite like this.

  She was mumbling to herself as she focused on the rest of the legs. “Twist and pull. Oh, just like that. I see. Huh. Cool. Wow, I love this seasoning. Going to have to get some. Alex would love it.”

  And Brent didn’t interrupt her. She was in her own little crab world, and he let her do her own thing. Experiencing the joys of crab for the first time—because crab wasn’t crab unless it was fresh from the shell—was a holy experience to Brent, so he was treating it as such.

  Next, he showed her how to crack open the whole crab to get to the good stuff inside. Ivy looked genuinely horrified as she stared at the guts of the crab. “What is that yellow stuff? It looks like mustard.”

  He stuck his finger in the center of her crab to root out the innards. “Nah, it’s just its intestines and stuff.”

  She poked at the white, feathery-looking gills, which squished under her finger. “What are those?”

  “The gills. Just tear ’em off.”

  She eyed him from under her lashes. “It’s a good thing I know how delicious this is, or I would not be continuing the desecration of this corpse.”

  He laughed. “I always wonder who took a look at one of these things and thought it would be tasty.”

  Ivy didn’t answer, instead transferring her poking finger to the guts he’d smeared on the butcher paper. When she was focused back on her crab, he continued the tutorial.

  She listened intently, cracking open each side of the body and digging the meat out. Her hands were smaller than his, so she did a better job of slipping her fingers between the cartilage webbing and digging out the meat. By the time she was done, her crab was picked clean.

  He tossed the remains of his crab in the bucket in the center of their table, and she did the same. In a flash, their waiter was there, emptying the bucket in a bin he held propped against his waist. Then he dropped the bucket back into their table.

  Ivy watched him with wide eyes and then blinked at Brent. “This seems like a lot of work for a little bit of crab meat.”

  Brent grabbed another crab for himself and plopped one in front of Ivy. “But it’s fun work, yeah?”

  She smiled, a blush staining her cheeks. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  BY THE TIME they finished eating, her lips burned from the Old Bay spice, and her fingers were sore from the hard shell of the crab. But her belly was full, and her head was fuzzed a little from the beer.

  Brent leaned back, his arms behind his head, elbows cocked. “So was this mess enough for you?”

  “But we had protection.” She pointed to the bib that now sat on the stained butcher paper.

  “So I should always take you out where we can wear bibs?” he asked, with a grin teasing his lips.

  “I’m not really a wine-and-dine kind of girl, to be honest.”

  He cocked his head and then leaned forward on the table. “Yeah? What’s your ideal date, then?”

  Anywhere with you. “I guess . . . casual. Sandwiches at a park. Beers on the beach at dusk.” As long as you’re there.

  “We can do that next,” he said softly.

  His eyes were soft, his grin relaxed, and a surge of lust warmed her belly. She didn’t want to fight this anymore. She was tired of fighting. At one time, Ivy had loved men. She’d loved kissing and sex, and while she was always safe, it hadn’t been that hard to get her between the sheets.

  Maybe she could be that woman again, the one who allowed herself pleasure. Brent sure made her want to be. After Mike, she’d mostly relegated her relationships to casual. Brent had shown that he deserved more than casual. And she wanted to give that to him.

  “Okay,” she answered, finishing off her beer and letting that last bit of alcohol take away her reservations. “So what’s your plan for the rest of the evening?”

  Brent blinked at her. Slowly. For once, he didn’t open his mouth and blurt out the first thing that came to his mind. He ran his tongue over his teeth and studied her face before he spoke. “I’d planned to take you home t
o your place. But that’s not what I really want to do. And that’s not what you want to do, is it?”

  She could take the plunge; she really could . . . and she was shaking her head before her mind could catch up, as if her body was fed up with her hesitation. “No, it’s not.”

  Brent looked out the window beside their table and then back at her. When he spoke, his voice held a tinge of cautious hope. “Would you want to see my place?”

  “I’d like that,” she said. “I’d like that very much.”

  THE AIR IN Brent’s truck was thick with tension and lust and a heavy dose of anticipation. Ivy texted her sister, letting her know she’d planned to crash at Brent’s. Alex didn’t ask questions, which Ivy found surprising, but she took the boon for what it was.

  She was going home with Brent. And neither of them unaware of what exactly would go on once they got there. She’d already had her hand down Brent’s pants, and his hand had been down hers. And this was going to happen. Them. Together.

  And Ivy wanted it. She wanted it so badly because everything else between them was right. She wanted to know if having sex would cure them of each other or only stoke the fire. She assumed the latter.

  Brent drove with one hand on top of the wheel, the other propped up on his door, fingers rubbing his lips. “Everything okay at home?”

  She nodded. “They’re watching a movie.”

  “Oh yeah? What movie?”

  “Well, I know Violet is into pink and tiaras, but she’s pretty much a die-hard Avengers fan. I would be sad I’m missing Chris Evans, but you kind of look like him, and I can actually touch you.”

  He barked out a laugh, and she flushed when she realized what she’d said.

  “So when I kiss you, you’re going to close your eyes and think of Captain America?” He raised his eyebrows. “I’m not sure whether to be offended or flattered.”

  “Flattered?”

  “Well, I guess I know what I’m dressing up as for Halloween now.”

  She widened her eyes. “If you fulfill my Captain America fantasy, I just might marry you.”

  He laughed harder. “Well damn, it’s on now.”

  When they pulled into the driveway of his townhouse, Ivy thought she would come out of her skin. Her scalp tingled, and her heart thumped in her chest. Her legs were a little weak when Brent helped her out of the truck.