Dirty Deeds (Mechanics of Love #3)

by Megan Erickson

  She threw back her head and roared until tears streamed down her face.

  Spencer gripped her face, running his hands down her body, testing to make sure her limbs were all in working order while she lost her mind. “Are you okay?” He gripped her face, and she blinked at a bleeding cut on one of his sharp cheekbones. “Alex? Answer me, dammit. Are you crying or laughing or what is this noise you’re making?”

  Which made her laugh harder, until her stomach cramped and she couldn’t breathe. He must have figured out she wasn’t dying because he rolled off her, muttering curses and blaming faulty American hardware.

  She lifted a hand to his face and swiped at the cut, sobering. “Posh, you’re bloody bleeding.”

  He frowned and looked at her finger, which was now stained with his blood. “I’m what? Oh, hell.” He waved a hand, dismissing his injury. “You okay?”

  She nodded, then winced as her back protested. “I’m okay. A little sore maybe from hitting the railing.”

  He stood up, his nice clothes covered in leaves. “Let’s get you up.”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  Alex looked up to see Cal stomping toward them with Brent on his heels. Following them were Jenna, Delilah, and Ivy. Violet was on Asher’s shoulders, while Davis rolled along beside them. And they were all looking at Alex and Spencer with a mix of reactions, ranging from pissed off, to amused, to confused.

  Cal was glaring. “What the hell did you two do to my porch?”

  Alex groaned and placed her hands over her eyes, waiting for her sluggish brain to catch up to the situation. It’s not that she necessarily needed to keep Spencer a secret, but she certainly didn’t want to confess to everyone here that they’d been making out like teenagers and broken the railing. That would lead to more questions and some raised eyebrows and a few dirty jokes from Brent.

  She wasn’t in the mood and could really use some Advil.

  Spencer scratched the back of his head, glancing at the remains of the porch railing, then down at the debris on the ground. “We . . . I . . . I, uh—”

  Alex rolled onto her hands and knees and rose to her feet with Spencer’s help. “Spencer was standing at the railing and I came out to heckle him about how much he sucks at washers. I think we were both leaning on it too hard and it . . . uh . . . broke.”

  “What do you mean, you were leaning on it too hard? I lean on the damn thing every day.”

  “I guess it just got weak over time?” Alex offered.

  Brent stood with his arms across his chest, head cocked. “I think we need a reenactment. Why don’t you show us exactly what happened?”

  Alex glared at him. “I’m not reenacting it, you dumbass.”

  “Aunt Alex swore!” Violet crooned.

  Alex pointed to Cal. “He swore first!”

  “But your word was badder,” Violet said.

  “Worse,” Asher corrected.

  Alex heaved a sigh.

  Cal’s eyes were narrowed as he gazed between Alex and Spencer. “That’s the story you’re going with?”

  “There is no other story,” Alex said.

  “She’s right,” Spencer added. “That’s, uh, the story, all right. That’s all there is to it.”

  Alex turned to him with big eyes so he’d stop talking. He got the message and clamped his lips shut.

  Penny and Nick rounded the corner of the house next, and she stopped suddenly when she saw the mess, so that Nick ran into her back. “What happened?”

  “The railing broke and two grown-ups are swearing,” Violet said.

  Penny nodded, as if that was all the explanation she needed. Her gaze went to Spencer. “Oh, you’re bleeding, Spence.”

  He lifted a hand to his face. “Oh, it’s just a scratch.”

  “Yeah,” Alex said. “You need to weed, Cal. Just saying. If I get poison ivy on my ass, I’m putting laxatives in your coffee.”

  “What are laxatives?” Violet asked.

  Penny was walking toward Spencer. “You sure it’s just a scratch? Maybe you need stitches.”

  “I don’t need stitches,” he growled, maybe a little harsher than necessary, because Penny looked stunned.

  “Okay, no need to snap at me.”

  The man wanted to get out of the situation. That was clear. Alex knew that feeling. “Okay, so is everyone done gawking now?”

  Spencer cleared his throat. “Cal, I’ll pay to replace what I broke.”

  Cal’s eyes flashed a little. “I can afford to fix my own porch.”

  Jenna laid a hand on his arm and whispered something in his ear. A muscle in Cal’s jaw jumped, but then he nodded shortly. “Okay, well, uh, if you’re offering, then I guess that’d be nice.” His face was twisted up painfully.

  Spencer stuck his hands in his pockets. “I’d love to take care of it for you. It was my fault, after all.”

  That wasn’t entirely true, but Alex didn’t speak up for fear of blowing their already flimsy cover.

  Cal and Brent began to pick up the pieces of the shattered railing out of the garden. Nick and Spencer tried to help, but the Paytons waved them off.

  It took a half hour for the yard to be cleaned up and the broken section of the porch to be roped off. Alex stood in the bathroom, checking out the scrapes on her arms. When Spencer left, she’d merely lifted her arm in a wave. No one needed to know their business. Not when she barely knew what was going on.

  And this new tentative relationship with Spencer felt private. Between them. Her family was nosy enough, she didn’t need them prying and asking questions and spreading gossip around town about Alex and her Brit.

  The door to the bathroom swung open suddenly and Alex only had time to say, “Hey,” before a mouth crashed down on hers and she was wrapped in strong arms surrounded by the smell of Spencer.

  He pulled back and gripped her face, a grin splitting his. “I . . . forgot to do that before I left.”

  She laughed. “I’m glad I didn’t miss out then, because that was good.”

  He stuck his hand in her back pocket and pulled out her cell phone. He tapped away at it, then a chime came from one of his pockets. He handed her phone back to her. “I needed your number.”

  She stared dumbly at her phone. “Oh. Oh yeah.”

  He kissed her forehead. “I told them I left my phone here so we had to come back. I have to go.”

  “Okay.”

  He cupped her face. “Until our date, Sprite.”

  “Until then, Posh,” she said.

  He smiled and then was gone.

  Chapter Nine

  ALEX HAD CHANGED lipstick three times.

  Because she’d bought three new lipsticks to add to her already ridiculous collection in anticipation of this date.

  She’d also bought four dresses, two pairs of shoes, and three bracelets. She’d also endured some snootiness at the lingerie store when she’d stomped in there smelling like car oil after work to purchase a new bra-and-panty set.

  She was wearing her new underwear and nothing else, because she hadn’t decided what to wear among her four new dresses and the rest of the stuff in her closet. Rubbing off her third lipstick application, she glared at herself in the mirror.

  A hand on her shoulder made her jump, and Alex turned to see Ivy in the doorway. She’d told Ivy about the date, and she knew her sister enough to know Ivy had made some excuse to come over when Alex had to get ready. She’d been there for the past hour puttering around while Alex fretted.

  When she’d shown up, Alex was annoyed.

  Now, she was grateful.

  Alex blew out a breath, fluttering the loose hair around her face. “Can I just wear this?”

  Ivy’s gaze slid down Alex’s near-naked body. “Um, your Brit probably wouldn’t mind actually, but the public might.”

  Alex bent to apply the glue to her fake eyelashes. “He’s not my Brit,” she muttered.

  “Well—”

  “It’s really not a big deal. I don’t know wh
y we’re even doing this”—she fluttered a hand and blew on the glue stripe on the eyelashes—“this date thing.”

  “Because he wants to get to know you?”

  “Dumb.” Alex blinked and then placed the eyelashes on her lid, pressing so the glue would adhere. Then she leaned back to check out her appearance in the mirror. “I always feel very Clockwork Orange with one fake eyelash on.”

  Ivy laughed. “Well, that’s a great movie to think about to get you in the mood for a date.”

  “I heard the book was better.” Alex ran the glue over her second eyelash.

  “Never read it.”

  “I prefer your romances.”

  Ivy waited until Alex had pressed the eyelashes to her lid before hugging her from behind. “I want you to prefer your own romance.”

  Alex snorted. “That shit doesn’t exist in real life.” Their eyes met in the mirror, and Alex shrugged. “Well, I guess it did for you. It won’t for me, though. Which is fine. I don’t need it.” She slid out of Ivy’s embrace and tossed her makeup in her bin, blinking quickly because that dumb burning in her eyes let her know tears could fall if she wasn’t careful.

  “Alex—” Ivy began, but Alex shook her head and brushed past her, walking toward her bedroom. On her bed were no fewer than ten outfits.

  Alex hated them all on sight. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered as Ivy came into the room behind her.

  “Alex—” her sister began again.

  “Just tell me what to wear. I can’t decide.”

  “Alex.” Ivy turned her so they faced each other. “Come on, talk to me.”

  “I am talking.”

  “What was that in the bathroom?”

  “Me putting on my makeup?”

  Ivy was losing patience. “Look, if I believed for one second that you meant what you said, that you don’t want romance, I’d leave you alone. But I don’t believe you. Not at all. Because you love to love, Alex. And you love to be loved. And you deserve it. You deserve it all.”

  Shit, the burning in her eyes was starting again. Alex didn’t have another pair of fake eyelashes, so she was going to be pissed if her sister made her ruin them. She lifted her chin. “You love me. Violet loves me.”

  “Everyone loves you,” Ivy shot back. “That’s not the point.”

  Alex looked away, her voice dropping with her bravado. “Can we please not talk about this right now?”

  “I hate him,” Ivy said viciously, and now Alex’s nose started to tingle. “I hate him so much and if he was here right now, I think I’d castrate him.”

  That made Alex smile. Because although Robby was a big man, hell hath no fury like a pissed-off Dawn. She met her sister’s gaze. “I love you.”

  “I love you too. Now promise me you’ll take this seriously, that you’ll have a good time.”

  “I will.”

  “And that you . . . let yourself be open to more.”

  Alex shook her head. “I can’t do that. He doesn’t live here, Ivy. This isn’t . . . this isn’t what this is. We both know, and we’re both okay with that. Someday, Ivy, someday maybe I’ll find someone.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “But it won’t be this man.” Even as she said the words, she could hear Spencer’s voice in her ear, his hands on her skin. She could feel his eyes on her body, his surly tone in her ear when she teased him about washers.

  “Okay, you go ahead and believe that while smiling that dopey grin while you’re thinking about him.” Ivy crossed her arms over her chest.

  Alex immediately slackened her face muscles. “I did not have a dopey grin!”

  “You totally did.”

  “I have never done anything that could be described as dopey in my life, and that includes grinning,” Alex huffed.

  A laugh burst out of Ivy’s lips and then they were both doubled over bracing themselves on the bed and sufficiently wrinkling several of Alex’s outfits. When they composed themselves, Alex gestured to the bed. “Seriously, will you please just tell me what to wear?”

  Ivy glanced at the bed and shook her head. “None of those.”

  “What? I don’t have—”

  “I work at a damn consignment store that has tons of high-ticket dresses, you dumbass.” She led Alex out of the bathroom. “Please step into my—um, your—living room to select your clothing for the evening.”

  While Alex had been applying her makeup, Ivy must have brought in clothes, because they were draped all over her living room, hanging from the trim on the doorways, off doorknobs—dresses and skirts and tops in fabrics and styles Alex had never worn in her life.

  She stood in her living room in her underwear, turning as she took in all that Ivy had brought. “Wow.”

  “By the way, I’m liking the, uh . . . ” Ivy gestured toward Alex’s black lace set.

  “Yeah? I like it too.”

  “But you still have to wear clothes.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  It took a good hour, but they settled on the simplest dress Ivy had brought. It was a dark purple—aubergine, Ivy had said—and it fit Alex perfectly. The top was tight and low cut, showing a substantial amount of cleavage, and the way it flared out from her hips down to her midthighs made her waist look tiny.

  They tied a thin black belt around her waist, and Ivy pulled a pair of black peep-toe heels from one of the new pairs Alex had bought.

  Alex turned slowly, eyeing herself in the full-length mirror that Ivy had dragged out into the living room. “Wow, I look . . . ”

  “Beautiful,” Ivy whispered.

  Alex bit her lip. “But it’s so different from me.”

  “You said you wanted different, right?” Ivy frowned.

  “Yes, I know that’s what I said, but . . . ”

  “Do you want to try on something else?”

  Alex shook her head and took a deep breath. It was okay. What was wrong with dressing a little differently? She was still Alex.

  As Ivy gathered the clothes she’d brought to take back with her, Alex fiddled with the hem of her dress, wondering if she actually knew who the real Alex was anymore.

  She wanted to rip off her clothes and put on her jeans and a stained T-shirt and boots. But Spencer had asked for a date, and surely he’d take her out somewhere ultra fancy and posh, and hell if she was going to embarrass him.

  By the time Ivy left, after ensuring a phone call from Alex after the date, Alex had beat herself up so completely, she wondered if the bruises were visible on the outside.

  She’d never cared before how she dressed for a date. She was who she was and screw any man who didn’t like it. So why was she trying so hard to impress this one? And why the hell did that mean dressing like some other woman?

  Someone like Penny.

  But then the doorbell rang and she didn’t have time to change. She pulled out her lucky lipstick, the one she wore every day, and slicked it on her lips. At least when she looked in the mirror, she’d recognize her face.

  And then she walked to the door, wobbling a little on the heels and cursing herself for not practicing walking in these damn things.

  Because the last thing she needed was to fall flat on her face on this date.

  Then she took a deep breath, placed her hand on the doorknob, and turned it.

  AT FIRST, SPENCER thought he had the wrong apartment.

  The woman in front of him was a vision in high heels and purple.

  But then those blue eyes blinked at him, the ones he couldn’t get out of his head. And those full red lips parted, the ones he couldn’t forget kissing.

  The woman in front of him was Alex but . . . not. She was in a dress that accentuated every single curve—and she had a lot—and her heels made her legs look longer than normal.

  He wanted to say fuck the date, grab her and wrap those legs around his waist, feel those heels digging into his ass—

  “Spencer?”

  He snapped out of it, realizing he hadn’t said a word to her as she stood in front of him
, her hands fidgeting with the fabric of her dress. He cleared his throat. “Alex, you look . . . gorgeous.”

  She shook her head and looked away, and without thought, he reached out and grabbed her hand, tugging it so she took a step toward him. Her breasts brushed the front of his shirt as she blinked up at him.

  He cupped her neck. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

  Her cheeks reddened and she licked her lips. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

  Compared with her, he was way underdressed. He glanced down at his jeans and plain button-down shirt. “Um, maybe I should change . . . ”

  She rolled her eyes. “No, I just”—more fidgeting—“don’t dress up much so I thought, why not?”

  “Erm, yes,” he stammered. “Well, you should dress up more, because it suits you.” Her eyes widened and he held out his hands. “I mean, no, that came out wrong. You don’t have to dress up. Or dress, um, any differently than you want to. You look gorgeous in your jeans and shirts too.”

  Alex’s face was tight. “Well, thank you.”

  This date was going to hell already. “Uh, well, how about we get going?”

  She nodded and grabbed a purse, then shut the door behind her.

  They stood awkwardly outside her door and he wondered what he should do. Hug her? Kiss her? But this was a date and he was trying to be a gentleman.

  So instead he placed a hand on her shoulder and led her to his car.

  The same car they’d screwed on.

  Bloody hell.

  He went to open the door for her, but she pulled on the handle before he could get there, so he stopped short and watched her fold herself into the car. Then he sat in the driver’s side and turned the ignition. “So, I had to ask around for a place to take you. I thought . . . I thought of some place I thought you’d like. So, um, I hope you do.”

  She was watching him, her hands gripping her thighs. “Okay.”

  The car ride was silent except for the radio. There was no playful conversation or smiles or lustful looks. Hell, Spencer didn’t remember how to make small talk anymore. He knew how to talk business and he knew how to fuck, and right now neither was appropriate.