Dirty Little Secret (Dirty #1)

by Amber Rides

  My hormonal reaction pissed me off even more. It wasn’t like I couldn’t get some on a regular basis. I was exactly the kind of guy bored soccer moms eyed up while their husbands were picking out two-by-fours.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Maybe I could just use her for a revenge fuck. I nearly turned the truck around before reminding myself that a girl like that wouldn’t glance twice at a guy like me. Hadn’t glanced twice at me, even when I’d dumped an entire cup of tea onto her cotton-candy sweater.

  Besides that, it would only make me feel better for a while, and what I needed was a long term solution to my frustration.

  Like celebrating the fact that it was my goddamned day.

  I slammed my hand down on the dash in my truck, trying to figure out exactly what the fuck had happened. I couldn’t decide if I’d schooled the girl, or if she’d schooled me.

  Normally, I had no problem admitting I’m not exactly peaches and cream to deal with. As I said before, it’s a hell of a lot better than catering to people’s whims, living up to expectations, and generally being a huge-ass phony. So why did I feel so fucking guilty about cussing the girl out?

  Fuck you, later, she’d said. What a closing line.

  Finally the humor of the situation hit me, and I swallowed a loud laugh as I pulled into the parking lot at my place. It made me almost regretful of the fact that I’d likely never see her again. I hadn't had that much of a visceral reaction to a girl for a long time. Or had that much fun with one, either. Of course, my idea of fun was probably a little different than hers.

  I grinned as I parked in front of my apartment, using two, shit-disturbing spots, knowing full well that no matter who complained, the building manager was too scared of me to ask me to move.

  Then the alarm on my watch went off, reminding that I had about five minutes to get my ass inside before a half dozen cops found a pretty good excuse to come calling. I shoved down thoughts of the blue-balling, blonde bitch aside and climbed out.

  “Fuck her and her fucking mud,” I muttered. “I should just be glad she’s someone else’s problem.”

  I took the stairs, two at a time, reaching my door just as my watch alarmed again.

  “One minute to spare,” I announced to the air, daring my phone to ring and tell me I’d broken the terms.

  I was rewarded by silence.

  MELISSA

  So I was left doing that dumbfounded thing you see people in movies do, where they're totally shocked by what they've just witnessed and are rooted to the spot, and want to sputter out something, anything. But can't.

  And all I could think was…Why didn't I ask him his name?

  In fact, I was still standing there, two minutes later when Danny finally pulled up in that foreign car of his.

  Did they pass each other in the parking lot? Did Danny give Tiny Testicles' dirty truck an even dirtier look and swerve over to avoid being contaminated?

  Oh, God.

  Danny guided his car into one of the fifteen-minute, drop-off/pick-up spots. On his first try, he didn't get it exactly between the lines, so he backed up, straightened out, and adjusted until the parking job was spot on. At last, he opened his door carefully, pausing to wipe the handle as he climbed out.

  One day, I am going to wake up married to that man, I thought. I am going to make his breakfast, pour his coffee and kiss him goodbye when he leaves for the office. I am going to drop my kids off at school on my way to work at the half-time job I took so I could still go on ice skating field trips. I am going to realize I forgot something (probably the aforementioned ice skates) and I am going to come back home and find him in bed with another man.

  Danny adjusted his argyle sweater vest. He patted the sides of his man-do and stepped around the mud puddle.

  Oh, God. I wanted to smile at him. Smiling at loved ones is important. I read a study somewhere that explained how new moms smiled every time they see their newborns, and this lets the babies know they’re loved. I applied this same principle to Danny.

  I’d never thought before about how weird it was that I treated him like a newborn. At that moment, it didn’t even matter. Because I couldn't do it.

  The closer he got, the harder I tried. He was smiling at me, and when his lips parted to show his perfectly straight teeth, all I could think about was how his mouth would look, wrapped around some other dude's enormous penis.

  When he got about two feet away, he really saw me. His mouth opened in a round 'O' of surprise, and I couldn't hold it in any longer. A cackling laugh exploded from my chest.

  "Mel?"

  "Shit, Danny," I gasped. "I'm sorry."

  "What?"

  I had no clue which part he needed clarification on. My swearing, which was undeniably out of character. Or my hysterical, wicked-witch giggles, which were so unlike my usual muted chuckles. And I didn’t really care.

  Okay. So I know that at this point, I don't sound like a good girl. Hell, I don't even sound like a nice person. It's hard, looking back, to reconcile the pre-truck-splattering me with the post-truck-splattering me. I'm not even sure I could identify the way my mind worked then. Was I superficial? Not at all. I volunteered at a hospice, read at an inner city elementary school, and wore an anti-bullying bracelet. And I liked doing it all.

  You might be thinking the real me was always there, under the surface. Either purposely hidden, or buried so deep I didn't even know about her myself. I can say for sure the former isn't true. I didn't need to work at keeping nasty thoughts to myself. I don't recall thinking badly at all. As far as the latter...Maybe it's the most plausible explanation for all that happened.

  Anyway, to properly explain the before me, the best thing I can do is introduce my best friend, Shelby. Which is pretty easy, since she showed up just then.

  "Oh my goodness, Melissa!"

  I spun to face her. My foot stuck in the mud, and down I went.

  "Fu-uh-uh-uh-ck!" I dragged the word out into five syllables.

  Shelby jumped back, stumbling into Danny. They stood over me, pristinely preppy, pristinely pretty, and pristinely...pristine.

  I wanted to shriek, Help me up, you tools!

  But as I watched them, watching me, I realized I couldn't. These people were my life. Had been my life since senior year in high school, when Shelby and I formed the Good Cheer Club. Back then, we spearheaded the Sing-O-Gram, a classroom-to-classroom service for students to share their well wishes with others. Our program grabbed the attention of local media, spread to the high school in the next town over, and introduced us to Danny, who wanted to start a similar club in his high school. The rest was history. And I didn't want to mess with history.

  "Melissa?" Shelby's voice was worried, probably genuinely so.

  I took a deep breath and told my very first Big Lie, designed to cleverly hide my very first brush with Something More.

  "I'm so sorry! I just had the worst thing happen to me. A thug in a truck assaulted me." I shuddered as I made the confession.

  Shelby's eyes widened with horror. "Oh, no! Did he...fondle you?"

  Fondle me? What the hell?

  Danny stepped back. His gaze found my cleavage, skipped over it, then focused on something in the distance.

  I suppressed an eye roll. "He did more than touch me."

  Why weren't they helping me up, for Christ's sake?

  "Oh no!" Shelby placed her hand over her mouth dramatically.

  "I know, Shelby." I put a sob into my reply. "He pulled up in his truck and splashed me with mud. He got out. I thought he was going to help me. Even when he got closer and reached for me, I assumed he was just going to wipe off the dirt or something. Instead, he pinched my nipple."

  Ha. Danny's face went beet red when I said the word nipple. How was he ever going to deal with his buggery-filled future if he was that prudish?

  "That's just awful," Shelby exclaimed.

  "I know,” I agreed. “I was so scared. I couldn't move. Then he ran his hand over both
of my breasts, then my bum, and he unsnapped my pants, and - "

  I cut myself off, not because I couldn't keep it going, but because I wanted to. Keep going that is. Shit. I was getting damp, and it wasn't just because I was seated in a pool of water.

  "And what, Melissa?" my best friend prodded in a gentle voice.

  I shook my head. "And then he took off."

  Before I got off, I added mentally. Asshole.

  "What did he look like?" Shelby asked.

  "Dirty hot," I blurted.

  Danny finally looked at me again. "What?"

  "I said he was dirty."

  "Dirty what?"

  Double shit.

  "Just dirty. Literally. Totally covered in dirt." I burst into tears. "This is my fault! I shouldn't have come out here wearing this shirt. He probably thought I was asking for it. It's just that I was covered in chai and my angora was ruined and I - I - Oh, God. Why me?"

  And Shelby came to my rescue, just as I knew she would.

  "Geez, Danny." As close to a swear word as she would get. "Maybe you should leave us alone for a bit. Melissa needs a shower to wash that creep's cooties off. And a frappe, to cleanse her insides."

  Because when somebody gets fake-assaulted, nothing cures her ailment like a frappe.

  “Danny?”

  He turned an apologetic smile my way. “Yeah, Mel?”

  “Give me your fucking keys.”

  “What?”

  I repeated my words slowly, like I was speaking to a small child. “Give. Me. Your. Fucking. Keys.”

  Danny frowned. “Why?”

  “I’m following him.”

  Shelby gasped. “The guy who fondled you?”

  “Yes,” I replied angrily. “Hurry up, Danny, before I lose him.”

  He held them out hesitantly. I wasn’t in the habit of handing out orders, or chasing down fake assaulters, or real assholes, or anything that was much beyond smiling and nodding.

  I grabbed the keys and dove for the Beemer before anyone could talk me out of it. I knew the asshole wouldn’t get far. There was one main way off the campus, and he would’ve taken it. With the afternoon rush of students trying to get from there to anywhere else, he’d be jammed up. But I knew a way to cut through the parking lots that would take me right to the main exit. I’d beat him there for sure. And I had no problem with the idea of lying in wait to tell him exactly what I thought of him.

  I grinned as I shifted Danny’s car into drive.

  Fuck you, you slow-witted tool. Right now.

  CUTTER

  It was really unfortunate that I’d let myself be so distracted.

  All those girls were the same. I’d learned that lesson with Brandy, the first time around. Bitchy teases who told you what you wanted to hear, told themselves what they needed to hear, then went ahead and opened their legs for the next guy in line. He with the biggest bank account and tiniest dick wins. No matter how good they looked on the surface. I had been avoiding her type like the plague ever since the queen bitch herself slept with Billy.

  What a fucking cliché.

  Jesus, I hated just thinking about them.

  I cracked a root beer and cursed the fact that it wasn’t a regular beer. Even if I’d been allowed to leave my house to retrieve real beer, I wouldn’t be permitted to drink it. Then I reminded myself – again - that it was supposed to be my fucking day. I took a swig and glanced toward the fold-down stairs that my ex had so astutely noticed earlier in the week.

  This was the only beautiful thing about my place. For all its puny, man-cave appearance, it had an amazing space above.

  Maybe it wouldn’t have appealed to anyone else. It was perfect for me. The angled windows above provided ideal light during the day. The rows of pot lights that lined the ceiling were a fantastic contrast at night.

  Dusk and dawn were my favorite, though.

  Warm light filtered through the skylights, and through the sliding glass door that led out to the patio. It basked the whole space in an eerie glow, perfect for the dark scenes I preferred to paint.

  Oh, yeah. About that.

  Judge me all you want. Think of it as a shtick to get girls. Or think of me as a tortured fucking artist, taking out my rage at the world. I don’t care. I mean, really, truly don’t give a shit. The only place I felt at home was with a paintbrush in my fingers, letting everything in my head flow out through my hand and onto the blank space.

  I need some time up there now.

  I was so busy feeling sorry for myself that I almost missed the insistent knocking downstairs. I was also so sure it was Brandy, back for round two, that I got my sneer ready before I even opened the door. My readymade expression froze, then shattered. My jaw dropped open as a petite, mud-covered tornado flew through my door.

  What the fuck.

  I leaped back as she shook her tiny fist in my direction. Shock melted into amusement. Watching her was as funny as it was hot. Like someone melted together a blow-up-sex-doll and a delicate china-doll and then turned the evil thing loose.

  I wanted to press my mouth against that angry, self-satisfied twist in her lips, and suck it right off.

  Use your words, Cutter, I cautioned myself. She’d probably just bite you. And not in a good way.

  “Did you follow me home?” I asked.

  “It wasn’t hard to spot your truck-for-brains self. Especially since you were driving like the absolute douchebag you are.”

  I glanced at my watch, then at her face, then back at my watch.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded.

  “I just didn’t realize when you said later, you meant like, later today.”

  “You really are an asshole, aren’t you?”

  She took an angry step toward me, and I could immediately smell the soft, clean scent of her hair. It wasn’t that overpowering, perfumed shit a lot of girls wear - that Brandy had been wearing.

  It’s better.

  She was close enough to touch, and my hands itched to do it. Maybe to bury themselves in that mess of sweet-as-hell hair.

  My pants suddenly felt very fucking tight

  If she noticed my uncomfortable shift, she didn’t say. Instead, she put her hands on her hips and glared at me. She was maybe five foot four, and had to crane her neck up to do it.

  “Should I sit down for this?” I teased.

  “You can wipe that my-mom-dropped-me-on-my-head-when-I-was-a-baby smile off your face. I’m not here to entertain you.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  She ignored my comment. “I’m going to give you a choice. You can either give me the twelve hundred dollars it’s going cost to replace my purse, my shoes, and to dry-clean my clothes, or I can call the police, and see how they want to deal with you.”

  “You want money?” I scoffed. “What a fucking surprise.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “No, you twit. It’s about the principle. The money is symbolic.”

  “Money is never symbolic.”

  “Make your choice! Cash. Or cops.”

  I suppressed a grin. “I’m going to give you a choice. You can leave. Now. Or I can call the police and see how they deal with you and your home invasion tactics.”

  “Go for it. I’m pretty sure the evidence of what you did to me is still all over your truck. You don’t exactly strike me as a neat freak.”

  I glanced guiltily at the pull out couch and the empty take-out containers on my counters.

  “Well. Maybe call first next time. I wasn’t expecting company,” I told her.

  “Laugh it up,” she replied. “But when they match the dirt on your truck to the dirt all over me, I’m sure you won’t find it so funny anymore.”

  She tapped my chest both times she said the word dirt, making it impossible for me to ignore my primal response to her. Each poke shot straight to my groin. The bitch was pretty good at this little game.

  I planted a smirk on my face to cover my lust. “I somehow doubt they’re going to send a forensic
team out here to investigate a drive-by mudding.”

  I flopped down onto my couch-slash-bed, conveniently already in the bed position, ignored the way my body wanted to cringe away from the spot where Brandy had been, and closed my eyes.

  I counted to thirty, then asked, “You still here?”

  “I’m not leaving until I get what I want.”

  “I kinda had a shitty day, so I’m not in the mood.”

  “In the mood for what?” she snapped.

  Was she fucking kidding?

  My eyes flew open.

  Nope. Not kidding.

  Or, if she was kidding, she was hiding it really well under that unamused glare.

  I propped myself up on my elbow and ran my gaze from her feet to her face. Twice. Though to be honest, the second time was for me, rather than to drive home my innuendo. Those white pants of her really left little to the imagination. The tank top was as sparkly as ever, and the spattered chunks of mud weighed it down, exposing those beautiful tits even more.

  What would they look like free, and pressed into my hands?

  She finally figured out what I meant, and her face went pink. “You’re a pig.”

  “Yep.”

  “Don’t try to sound embarrassed about it or anything.”

  “I’m not. And you know why? Because as far as I’m concerned, you’re fucking worse.”

  “I don’t have a clue what could possibly bring me down to your level,” she retorted. “But from the excited look on my face I bet you’re about to tell me what makes us even.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Even? Don’t kid yourself. Pigs are smart. Hungry consumers, yes, but full of brains, too. You’re so far below pig on the evolutionary scale that it’s not even funny.”

  “What, exactly, do you think I am?”

  “A mouse.”

  “I’m not a goddamned mouse!”

  “Fine. I’ll put it another way.”

  She stuck her chin out defiantly. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

  “Plain and simple? You’re nothing more than an everyday, run-of-the-mill cock-tease.”

  MELISSA

  His words hung in the air. And they pissed me off. I couldn’t deny them without sounding slutty. I couldn’t affirm them without sounding like a prude. So I went for the only other option – complete denial.