But I did. I went straight to Maggie’s door, and I opened it.
Naked.
A Dirty Lie
Author’s Note
The night of Jesse and Katie’s wedding in Dirty Like Brody (Dirty #2), we see Jessa Mayes’ friend and wedding date, Roni, hauling (naked) ass into the woods after a midnight skinny dip in the frigid waters of Cathedral Cove, accompanied by (naked) Dylan and Ash.
Lucky girl.
Shortly thereafter, Brody thinks he hears Roni “entertaining” both men (loudly) through the wall of Jessa’s cabin room.
So, what actually happens when sexy “wild card” Roni disappears into the dark with two hot, naked rock stars?
Not what you think…
Jaine
Chapter 1
Roni
“Co—condoms,” I wheezed.
My lungs hurt, bad. Well, everything hurt. Because about five minutes ago, a midnight skinny dip seemed like a great idea.
Now? Not so much.
I’d just reached the door to my cabin, but turned around to face Ash and Dylan, who were right behind me, shivering. Both of them watched my naked boobs jiggle as I jumped up and down, trying to get warm. “You’ve got… condoms?” Shit. My teeth were chattering.
“Uh…” Ash glanced at Dylan, then down at his naked self. “Not on me.” They were both naked, so where they’d carry a condom, I had no idea. But that really wasn’t my problem.
All three of us were completely naked, and fucking freezing. The guys were cupping their balls against the cold and dancing from foot-to-foot like some badly-choreographed strip routine. Dylan, big and burly and auburn-haired, and Ash, sleek and edgy and black-haired, muscles and tattoos gleaming in the moonlight. Hot drummer. Hot lead singer.
The stuff girlhood fantasies were made of, right in my face.
Didn’t matter. They weren’t stepping foot in my room without condoms.
Just because they were crazy-hot rock stars and I’d been flirting with them mercilessly—and them with me—ever since I’d arrived here at the resort, yesterday, for the wedding of Dylan’s Dirty bandmate Jesse Mayes, didn’t mean I owed them shit. Besides, I learned years ago never to provide the condoms. If a man couldn’t make the effort to rustle one up himself, he wasn’t worth my fucking time, much less a place in my bed.
If two of them couldn’t do it…
“Kinda fucking cold here, Roni,” Dylan offered jovially. “Maybe we come in and warm up, then we figure out the condom situation?”
“No dice,” I said. “No cover, no lover.”
“Hey—ho. Sorry.”
We all glanced over in unison as Dirty’s bass player, Elle, materialized out of the dark, her platinum-blonde hair flashing in the shadows between the trees. She walked right past us, up the boardwalk that connected the various cabins, a tote bag slung over one shoulder, holding up a hand to block her view of the naked guys.
She nodded briefly at me, wearing a small smirk. “Didn’t see a thing.” She continued on, waving at us over her head, her back to us. “Have a good one, boys and girl.”
“Damn,” Dylan muttered, totally unfazed by the interruption, but slowly absorbing that I was serious. “I’ll get the condoms.” He gave me a super-quick kiss on the cheek, then dashed off, presumably in the direction of his cabin.
I looked at Ash. Our eyes met, and even in the near-dark, I could see the conflicted expression flicker across his features. A kind of distracted look I’d glimpsed on his face throughout the night. He swiped a hand through his jet-black hair as he bounced on the balls of his feet. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking about but, oddly, it didn’t seem to be me. Odd since I was standing right in front of him, naked, and presumably, he was about to fuck me.
I opened my mouth to speak but didn’t get the chance.
“Me too.” He took my hand and kissed it. Then he backed away and took off up the boardwalk.
Okay…?
I hurried into my cabin and straight into the shower, got it scalding hot, and thawed myself out. While I did that, I got a strange feeling. The kind of feeling you had no reason to feel, about things you had no reason to know, and yet you did know.
Ash wasn’t coming back.
Pity.
Guess I’ll just have to do Dylan twice.
As I got dressed in a flimsy, filmy nightie—with knit leg warmers and a sweater, at least until Dylan got back—I blow-dried my hair on the hottest setting. I’d washed off my wedding makeup in the shower, so I reapplied just a little. Natural yet polished. Fuck-ready.
Then I waited.
As I did, that look on Ash’s face came back to me; like he was looking through me, rather than at me. And it started to bother me.
Like really bother me.
Five minutes into waiting, I decided Fuck waiting.
When had I ever waited around for a man? Even a hot one?
Even two hot ones?
Well, there was a time… But that was years ago. And totally didn’t count. Everyone was allowed to be a little stupid when they were eighteen.
I was no longer eighteen or stupid when it came to men.
I was more than aware that these ones, in particular, didn’t exactly take me seriously; to the boys of Dirty, I was just the wild card. The party girl. That’s what they’d called me, ever since I was sixteen, when I met Jesse’s sister, Jessa, in high school and we became friends. Roni “Wild Card” Webber. Translation: easy lay. So it hardly surprised me if Dylan, Dirty’s drummer, and his best friend, Ash, lead singer of the Penny Pushers, were blowing me off.
Hot as they both were, it was fine by me.
I could blow them off, too.
Dylan was beautiful but really not my thing. Too clean. Too whole. Too… undamaged.
And Ash? I’d met him for the first time at the wedding. I knew who he was, but I’d never really taken notice, per se, until I met him. Smoldering blue eyes, tattoos and piercings and an angsty restlessness just under the skin. Hard to peg. Probably more my style, but I had no idea what his deal was. The guy was hot and cold. Last night at Katie’s stagette he was all over me, but then he’d up and disappeared, and Jessa had been so rough—in other words, hard up for Brody, Dirty’s manager, but too stubborn to admit it—that she and I had ended up staying up together, drinking until dawn.
And tonight, at the wedding reception… Ash and his general air of distraction had barely even seemed to notice me in my sexy red dress.
Well, fuck it. Waste of time.
And we only got so much time, right? Personally, I had none to waste.
So I got up and I got dressed. I slipped on a g-string and a pair of my skinny, sexy cargo pants, fawn color, with woolly socks and my little hiking boots; totally outdoorsy-chic. I hoisted up the girls in one of my most gravity-defying push-up bras, because I never did anything halfway. Even if no other man laid eyes on me tonight, I had to see me, and that totally counted.
People who took one look at me and assumed I dressed the way I did for men assumed wrong. I did not need a man—or a hard dick—to make me feel good about myself.
So why did I feel so crappy?
I decided, immediately, not to dwell on that. Evasive action was what was needed here. The frigid cold of that skinny dip had shocked away the totally decent buzz I had going on, and it was time to remedy that. And I just so happened to know where I could find myself a drink.
I layered on a super-low-cut T-shirt, a super-low-cut cashmere sweater, my cute down-filled satin bomber jacket, and walked out the door—and straight into Dylan. All six-and-a-half feet of him. Actually, I plowed face-first into his hard chest.
“Hey,” I said, bouncing back.
His wavy auburn hair had mostly dried and he’d gotten dressed. Jeans, cozy sweater, green plaid lumber jacket. Outdoorsy-chic-fucking-delicious.
“Sorry that took so fucking long,” he said. “Had no booze left at my cabin. Thought I’d find some in the lodge, struck out. Bar’s locked. Ended up raidin
g a party up at Jude’s cabin.” He held up two fists, one with a bottle of vodka and the other with a jug of orange juice. “Screwdriver?” He cocked an eyebrow at me and his green-eyed gaze drifted to my mouth as I put on a smile. “Also brought condoms. Studded… for your pleasure.”
“I do like a man who’s resourceful,” I said.
But… Jude’s cabin…?
I noticed the throb of music in the distance now, muffled through the dense trees, echoing the strange throb of my heart. Unmistakably, it was Nine Inch Nails. “Closer.” Heavy, aggressive, fucking sexy song. Yeah; that sounded about right.
Dylan’s eyes flicked past me, into my cabin, through the door I was about to close. “Where’s Ash?” Then his gaze scanned slowly down my body, the unspoken question in them: And why the fuck are you dressed?
“No idea. But… hey, sorry it didn’t work out.” I shut the door behind me, firmly.
Dylan lowered the bottles.
“I mean, look, you’re sweet…”
His lips quirked in a half-smile. “Ah, shit. Not the ‘you’re sweet’ talk…”
I laughed a little. “Okay. How about this. I like you. Let’s be friends?”
“Right. ’Cause I’m sure neither of us have enough of those.”
I smiled back, genuinely this time. Dylan Cope had an easy, relaxed charm that was impossible not to smile at. Add to that a killer body he tended to show off in a kilt; I’d even heard he was about to add “underwear model” to his incredibly long list of talents.
So what the fuck was I doing?
Why did it bother me so much that Ash had bailed? Because yeah, it really did.
And not because of Ash.
Because I was on a mission to prove something to myself at this wedding. Well, to myself… and to someone else. Because when Jessa invited me to come as her date, I saw a golden opportunity to indulge my baser self.
Revenge: a dish best served cold…
But apparently, my feelings hadn’t run as cold as I’d thought. And now, thanks to Ash bailing on our little threesome, I’d failed to prove shit to anyone, including myself.
Either way, not Dylan’s fault.
“No need for sarcasm,” I said, cocking my head and flirting just a little. “It’s the lowest form of humor, you know.”
“Guess I’m just not that funny.” With a hooked smile, he hit me with his gorgeous green eyes again. “Anything I can do to change your mind?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Got it.”
He was still standing there, blocking my way. If he was any other guy, I might’ve just told him to get over it and left him there in the dark. But he really was sweet. And gorgeous.
I wasn’t about to tell him that, though. Give him the wrong idea. I’d said the f-word, and if we were gonna be friendly, I couldn’t play it both ways.
Nobody liked a tease.
His eyes darkened, like maybe he was reading my mind. Then he leaned in, slowly enough that I could dodge if I wanted to, and kissed me. Slow, and a bit heady-hot, but no tongue. I kissed back, but I held back, too. Way the hell back.
When it ended, he growled a little in his throat, his lips hovering close to mine. “You’re a dangerous woman, Roni.”
“So I’ve been told,” I whispered.
Then he leaned back, and the moment passed.
“Thanks for not breaking my heart,” he added, in what I’d noticed was his lighthearted, easygoing way of handling pretty much everything. Even getting turned down by a potential lover.
“Please.” I smoothed out his sweater like a proud mom about to send him off to school. I felt his solid muscles under my hands, his pecs flexing… responsive, willing… eager to please. He watched me do it with hooded eyes.
So maybe the moment hadn’t totally passed…
Fuck… he’d be a good lay. Dirty’s drummer just had that certain vibe. Pure. Full-steam. All stops pulled.
Like a thoroughbred.
“Think I’m gonna head up to Jude’s,” he murmured. “You wanna come with?”
“No. Thank you.” No fucking way was I going to that party. I patted him on the cheek. “Go get laid.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His eyes sparked with amusement. Then his expression grew serious.
He stepped back and nodded at me, once. It was a nod I’d seen before. The one a guy gave you just before he walked away, to make sure you knew what you’d missed out on. And I did, more or less.
Then he turned and walked away. Just as the darkness was about to swallow him, he paused and held up the vodka. “You wanna keep the drink? Kinda look like you could use it.”
“No, thanks. You save it for the girl who’s about to blow your mind.”
He shook his head. “’Night, Roni,” he said, and disappeared.
Well, fuck.
That kinda sucked. And yet…
I just wasn’t in the mood for a convenience fuck.
And that’s all Dylan Cope would’ve been to me. And me to him.
A wild threesome with two hot rock stars was one thing. Memorable—even to those who weren’t involved in it. The kind of thing that got around, even at an event like this. Sure, people were probably hooking up all over this place tonight; what else did you get when you stranded a bunch of hot rock stars and a bunch of women at a remote wedding with an open bar?
But who cared about that?
You wanted people to talk in the morning—you wanted that certain someone from your past to hear about your sexploits—you didn’t bang a hot rock star. You banged a hot rock star and his best friend, another hot rock star, at the same time. Then at least you got an honorable mention over morning brunch.
Shit. Was that really what this was all about?
And if so… when had I become so lame?
I could see now, since the buzz had worn off and the hot, naked distractions had evaporated into the night, that that was a really stupid reason to fuck someone. Or two someones.
But truth be told, I’d fucked a man for stupider reasons. Like, for instance, thinking I was in love with him. Or worse…
Thinking he was in love with me.
I took a breath of the amazingly fresh night air and told myself to let it go. Just forget about it.
Nobody cares.
Neither should you.
I started around the deck, heading away from the music that surely led to Jude’s cabin. Away from the direction both Ash and Dylan had disappeared. Just trying to get present in the moment and absorb my surroundings, because this place deserved nothing less.
Rainforest on the Pacific coast, with ancient, towering trees and water crashing on the rocks below. It was crisp-cold tonight, the resort notched into a cove off the dark ocean, secluded. No snow. Just riding that edge of frozen, everything chilled and green and ready to unfurl in spring.
Winter paradise.
The sun would be up in a few hours; I could probably just wander around all night, fall asleep under the stars. Maybe curl up on one of the couches on the wraparound deck of the lodge with a couple of blankets.
And a nightcap. A toast to me and my lack of any need for a man. Just enjoy my own company for a while.
Because it really didn’t matter what anyone else thought or said about me, good or bad, in the morning.
Since when the hell did I care what anyone had to say about my sex life anyway?
Chapter 2
Roni
As I walked past Jessa’s room, I noticed her light was on and I stopped. I thought about knocking on her door, maybe staying up all night chatting like we did last night, but decided against it. Tonight, I really didn’t mind being alone.
But just then, the door opened.
And Brody stormed out.
Tall, dark and broody Brody Mason, Dirty’s manager and the guy Jessa, apparently, had it super fucking bad for. Not that she’d said as much to me. She didn’t have to.
“Roni,” he growled as he shut the door behind himself. He looked frazzled as
he clawed a hand through his hair; wound up.
Recently fucked?
No. Definitely not. Way too much tension rolling off him for that.
“Hey,” I said, wondering if I should check on Jessa after he left.
“I was just gonna knock on your door,” he said abruptly. “Jessa’s in the bath. Can you look in on her? She’s drunk.”
“Oh. Sure.”
“Good.” Then he stormed off, just like that.
Hmmm…
I went in and knocked on the bathroom door. I could hear what sounded like weeping. Great. I’d never been good with weepers. And Jessa Mayes had always been one. Lucky for me, she didn’t often get weepy with me. “Babe. You okay?”
“Roni?” Sniffles and a little splash. She was still in the tub.
“Yup. Should I come in?” Please say no.
“No. I’m okay. I’ll be out in a bit. Can you stay?”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “I can stay.”
I grabbed a tiny bottle of Baileys from her mini fridge, opened it and sipped. Then I flopped onto her couch, zoning out to the tunes she had playing. Arctic Monkeys. Some depressing thing about crawling back to someone when you’ve had too much to drink…
Just a little too fucking fitting for my liking.
I turned it off.
A few minutes later Brody stormed back in, tossed some black fabric thing at the couch, and left again. It hit my boot and plopped on the floor.
What the hell was that about?
I picked it up. Some old Led Zeppelin T-shirt.
When Jessa finally emerged from the bathroom, she looked a wreck. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot from boozing and crying.
“Wow,” I remarked. “Good thing you don’t have a photo shoot tomorrow. You’d be incredibly fired.”
Despite her current appearance, Jessa was a model, but she’d never been stuck up about it. She giggled all bubbly, like baby Dumbo after he’d gotten smashed in a bucket of booze in that old Disney cartoon. “Thanks.” Then she blinked at the Zeppelin shirt I’d draped on the back of the couch, seeming to sober a bit, and glanced forlornly at the door. “Is he gone?”
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