DIRTY TALKER

by Mira Lyn Kelly

  “I know she is.” With a short laugh, he angles his body, giving me a quick glimpse of the house before moving back into my space. It was just long enough to see the silhouette of a woman at the window.

  “I feel bad for her but, Wade, that’s kind of creepy.”

  “Try waking up to her slipping into your bed. Naked. And I’m not talking about back in high school.”

  “What? Here?” I try to peek past him again, only this time it’s outrage more than curiosity.

  He shakes his head, nudging me back against the truck. “You see why I needed the date?”

  “I guess I do. But, Wade, that’s not okay. Did you tell your mom?”

  The smacked expression on his face is… I don’t even know what to make of it.

  “Seriously, the fact that you think I’m tattling to my mother—” He rubs a big hand over his jaw. “Where did I go wrong with you? Was it something I said? Something I did? My shirt, my hair?”

  “What?” My hands fly up between us. “Grace just seems like a really good mom. And she’s the one who invited Kelsey to move in. I don’t know.”

  “I was twenty-four years old!” He’s half yelling at me, half laughing, and I can’t tear my eyes away from that openmouthed smile. His head drops forward for a beat. “Harlow, I’ve never met a woman so completely underwhelmed by me. And I know this whole ‘body business’ doesn’t do it for you, but what the heck? Pro-athlete. Graduated with honors from a well-respected school—and because I know you’re thinking, as an athlete, I didn’t have to earn those grades the way the real students did, let me tell you you’re wrong. I busted my ass for every one.”

  I believe him.

  I might have been harboring some unfair stereotypes about jocks when we met, but it didn’t take more than one conversation to set me straight. This is a man who tries.

  Though why he tries so hard with me, I don’t know.

  “What do you care what I think, anyway?”

  He considers and then gives me an easy shrug. “Don’t know. But I do.”

  That easy admission warms my chest more than it probably should, and I don’t quite know how to respond, so I circle back to the issue at hand.

  “Kelsey. Assuming she’s still watching—” Again I go for a peek, and again Wade reins me back in.

  “Trust me. She is.”

  “Okay, so what do I do here?”

  He stares at me through the darkness. “Maybe put your hands on my shoulders or, hell, you don’t have to do anything, really. Just let me lean into your personal space for a minute, if that’s okay.”

  My hands move to his shoulders, resting lightly over the hard, layered muscles. “It is.”

  Then, slowly, he lowers his head, bringing his brow to touch mine as he gently cups my cheek.

  Staring up into the shadows of his face while he’s touching me feels different. And even though we’ve been faking our way through this whole day, right now I feel inexplicably nervous.

  “That’s a nice touch with your hand.”

  Another short laugh, but this one is warm against my cheek. “My grandma used to watch soaps when I was a kid. I remember her saying the actors put their hands up like that so you couldn’t see if they were really kissing.”

  This time the laugh is mine, and I pull back to meet his eyes. “You’re soap-opera kissing me?”

  “Only a little.” He winks, that panty-melting smile flashing through the darkness. “If I were giving you the serious soap treatment, it would be hands roaming all over the PG parts of your body. Lots of back, arms, neck, and hair.”

  “Wade… are you sure it was your grandma watching?”

  “Sorry, Good Girl,” he murmurs so close to my ear, chills streak down my skin. “That information is above your paygrade.”

  “Mmm… saving the good stuff for a real girlfriend. I see how it is.”

  Wade starts to step back, an affectionate smile on his face when I catch him by the shirt and pull him back in for one more fake kiss. “Like we can’t quite get enough, right?”

  He grins down at me. “You’re a pretty great fake date, Harlow.”

  “Told you I would be.”

  “Yeah, you did. Let’s get back to the hotel.”

  Chapter 8

  Wade

  It’s barely after six and I’m pretty sure my back is never going to forgive me if I don’t get out of this crappy pull-out bed. Not the best night’s sleep ever, and I’m kicking myself for not making plans before we knocked off. We aren’t due back at my parents’ until lunch, but I have no idea what that means for the woman in the next room.

  If she’s the kind to sleep in, I feel like I owe it to her to let her.

  That said, the quarter-inch I moved had the springs groaning beneath me. Shit.

  I try again, going for a quick roll, thinking if I move fast there’ll only be the one noise and then I can creep out quietly. Not the case. This fucker wails like some jungle animal being dragged to its death, and I’ve barely swung my feet to the floor.

  A soft laugh comes from the next room. “I’m awake. Just put it out of its misery and get up.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Rubbing a hand over my face, I push to my feet.

  Jesus, it’s loud.

  I walk into Harlow’s room where she’s sitting up in bed with the sheet covering her legs. She’s wearing a pink, short-sleeved pajama set with white piping and buttons down the front that really shouldn’t be as sexy as it is. But maybe it’s her slightly rumpled hair or how she’s even prettier without a lick of makeup.

  Whatever it is, I need to forget about it before she notices that I’m standing like a creeper at the end of her bed. I clear my throat. “Give me two minutes and I’ll be out of here and you can sleep as long as you like.”

  She waves me off. “I’m good. Early riser. I was texting with Nettie.”

  “Letting her know I’m not a serial killer? Maybe we should snap a proof-of-life selfie.”

  “I was actually thinking about sneaking out for a run. I can get one then.”

  I perk up. “You run? That’s what I was heading out for. We could go together if you want? I can do an easy one today. Maybe show you around?”

  Her sleepy eyes light, and I have a wholly inappropriate flash of what it would be like to see her peering up at me from the pillow.

  Not cool, creeper.

  Thankfully, Harlow doesn’t follow my train of thought and bounces out of bed, ducking into the bathroom before I have a chance to beat her there. Through the paper-thin door, she calls out, “Don’t blow off your workout on my account. I don’t want to slow you down.”

  “It’s one day,” I assure her. “It’ll be a nice break. Fun.”

  “No, really, Wade, don’t hold back on my account,” Harlow teases, jogging backward in front of me as we close out the sixth mile of a run I was expecting to be more about leisure and less about this ego-crushing good girl giving me a lesson.

  “Ha-ha,” I say, chasing her down the path through the wooded park. Yeah, I could take her in a race… I think. I could outlast her… probably. But it wouldn’t be easy. And not only is that unexpected, but it’s pretty damn hot too.

  As hot as the black running shorts and matching tank that’s cut like the white sports bra she’s wearing beneath. As hot as the long braid that’s draped over her shoulder and dipping into the valley between her breasts.

  Don’t gawk, perv.

  I clear my throat, watching her face and not the sweat-slicked expanse of her golden-brown skin. “You got me. I’m the dickhead underestimating you. Again. You’re a badass.”

  Her smile cranks up, and I find my own rising to match it.

  “You’ll learn. I’d like to think, eventually, everyone will.”

  The way she says it, quietly, more to herself than to me, makes me wonder how often and how badly she’s sold short.

  It’s a mistake I won’t make again.

  The path splits ahead, but we bypass th
e loop around the lake for the one leading down to a pebble beach. Slowing to a walk, I wipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my arm.

  “And your reward for spanking me on this morning’s run. Behold, Lake Ridley.”

  “It’s beautiful here,” she says, her skin flushed from exertion, those burnt-umber eyes lighting up as she takes in one of Enderson’s best views.

  “It is.”

  She is. She’s beautiful. Sharp. Driven. Funny. Competitive. And unexpected.

  So unexpected.

  I think that’s my favorite part.

  “Is this where you ran when you were growing up?” She puts her hands on her hips and bends at the waist before straightening up and balancing on one leg to stretch out the toned muscles of the other.

  I laugh, shaking my head. “Nah. I ran for football, but only where they told me to. How long, how far. Never anything more. Same with hockey. It wasn’t until I was coming home on breaks from college that I started running out here.”

  When I started needing excuse after excuse to get out of the house.

  Harlow cuts me one of her sidelong looks, and I have to remind myself that we’re not in public so pulling her into my chest isn’t on the table. And my T-shirt’s soaked through with sweat, so… gross.

  “What?”

  “Tell me about the football. What happened there?”

  I grin and grab her hand, leading her down to the shore where the water laps gently against the stretch of small stones nestled between piled boulders at either side. Guiding her around the rocky bend, we come to the sheared-off slab of a boulder high-schoolers have been calling “the bed” since my parents were kids. Probably longer.

  I help her up and then hoist myself onto the level top, leaving a few inches between us. The sun glitters gold on the lake in front of us, and I lean back on my arms, letting the stone cool my overheated body.

  “So basically, no one saw the hockey thing happening. It was sort of an accident and one I’m pretty sure my dad hasn’t forgiven himself for yet.”

  Harlow laughs and leans back, mirroring my pose. “This sounds good.”

  “Yeah, local football legend raises hockey pro. Family can’t live down the shame.”

  “Okay, so tell me about it. But keep in mind I don’t speak jock, so you’ll have to dumb it down for me.”

  “Ha, pretty sure I don’t have to dumb down anything for you.” But I do need to keep my eyes off that bare stretch of skin between her shorts and tank. Damn. “Here’s the short version. I was athletic, energetic. You know how it is with kids. They do all those tyke-level sports, getting a taste of everything.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “My father isn’t really into sports. I played the piano and clarinet.”

  And her mom passed away when she was young. I feel like an ass.

  “Well, I was a kid who took to all of it. Mostly because I had an overload of energy and my mom was willing to run all over Enderson to help me burn it off. But the expectation was always that I’d play football like my dad. Only problem was, football’s a fall sport and once it ended, I was climbing the walls.”

  “Hockey’s a winter sport?”

  I smile. “Yeah, it is. There are other winter sports too. Thing is, the basketball coach made the mistake of asking my mom out in high school.”

  Harlow’s eyes go wide. “He didn’t dare!”

  “Right? Needless to say, there was no way in hell William Grady’s kid was shooting hoops.”

  “Why not something else?”

  “Mom’s favorite cousin played hockey. So, I hit the ice.”

  “And that was the day the football died?”

  “Hardly. I played both sports into high school. My dad still thinks I could have gone all the way with football.”

  She turns to me, squinting in the morning light. “You don’t think so?”

  “Nah. I didn’t want it with football the way I did with hockey. I had a lot of the components you need to win. But if it’s more than the win you’re after, you have to want it. You have to want it more than anything else, because there’s a cost to getting it, and there’s only the one way that payoff works out.”

  I can see her absorbing what I just told her. Weighing it in a way I don’t see with most people.

  “Was it hard to choose?” Her voice is quiet, thoughtful. “Knowing what your dad wanted for you wasn’t what you wanted?”

  “It was brutal. Before I told him was the worst. There were months of that gnawing ache in my gut when I knew I was going to let him down.”

  She nods, looking off into the distance. “I know that feeling.”

  “I hung on to that longer than I should have. And then one night after a meatloaf dinner, I finally sacked up and spit it out. He just stared at me for what felt like an eternity. My mom let out this horrified squeak and, yeah. That was a rough summer.”

  She’s watching me intently now. Her eyes soft and curious. “But it was worth it? You’re happy? No regrets?”

  It takes me a minute to answer. No one asks me that. Ever.

  I’m playing in the NHL. It’s a dream not many realize. But it comes with sacrifices that start the second you realize you have to put it before everything else, and that might continue well past the last time you step off the ice.

  But none of that changes my answer.

  “I’m happy. It’s been a long time coming, but I’m finally where I wanted to be.” Or I will be once the contracts are signed. “And as to regrets? Only that I wish my dream hadn’t come at the cost of my dad’s.”

  “I get it.” She smiles again. “But even if he was disappointed at first, that man is so proud of you now. No matter how he teases you, I don’t think even he would change a thing.”

  I like that she sees it. That she understands. I like that she’s sitting on “the bed” with me in one of my favorite spots in my hometown.

  Hell, I like her. Period.

  Chapter 9

  Harlow

  I wasn’t sure about crashing my second bachelorette party in as many weeks, but Janie wouldn’t hear of me skipping out. And now that I’m back at the hotel, tipsy from too many sugary drinks and still giggling thinking about the “police officer” who showed up at her sister’s house during dinner, I am so glad I went.

  Wade and I texted a few times early on in the evening, but then Grace caught me and commandeered my phone, texting her son in no uncertain terms that this was a girls’ night and he could have me back when the party was over. She’s feisty and so much fun.

  Dressed for bed but still a little wound up, I check my phone wondering if Walt had as much fun at his party as his bride-to-be had at hers and if all Wade’s plans for the night turned out the way he’d hoped.

  I wonder if he’ll be back before I go to sleep.

  If we’ll talk through the wall the way we did the night before. I kind of hope so, because it was surprisingly nice getting drowsy to the sound of his voice.

  He has a really nice voice.

  Okay, definitely still tipsy.

  The door to our suite unlocks and I sit up, a frisson of excitement sweeping over me. After a quick knock, Wade lets himself in and—

  “Whoa, are you okay?” I ask, stumbling out of bed as I take in the train wreck that is my fake boyfriend. His hair is standing in total disarray, there are lipstick smudges on his face, and his button-down shirt is hanging open… no buttons to be found.

  Wade throws the slide lock and slumps back against the door with a long breath. Tired eyes meet mine, and when he brings up his hand in the universal stop signal, I see his sleeve is literally torn at the cuff.

  “I swear, it’s not what it looks like.”

  “It looks like…” Like maybe someone needs to call the real police.

  “Someone told the dancer at the club I was a hockey player.”

  Huh? And then it hits me.

  Ooh… The “sports celebrity” thing is real.

  “She’s a Slayers fan? Or just a really h
ardcore Wade Grady fan?” I whisper, trying to shut down the pinch of jealousy I’m experiencing at the sight of all that lipstick.

  Wade lets out a dry laugh. “She’d probably never even heard my name before. I only started getting real ice time in the games this past season. But knowing I’m a pro, sometimes people get caught up in it.” His eyes cut to mine, his smile coming back online. “Present company excluded.”

  “No, I’m impressed. I am.” Fine, not so much about the sports. But in other ways.

  “You’re killing me, Harlow.” He pushes off the door and walks through to my room with a weary laugh. “I want you to know, this isn’t what I was going for. I asked her to back off. Tried to be nice. Told her I had a girlfriend.”

  At my shocked cough, he shakes his head. “What? For the purposes of this week, I do. And so we’re clear, I would never disrespect the woman I was with by flirting up or encouraging this kind of crazy shit.” He holds up his arm, examining the torn fabric, and mutters a curse.

  Then he’s shouldering out of his shirt, and I’m trying not to notice the muscles across his chest flexing and shifting as he frees one powerful arm and then the other.

  “I really appreciate that.” I do. “But, um…”

  His head comes up. “Yeah.”

  I can barely say it out loud. “I put… twenty dollars in Officer Johnson’s man thong thing.”

  Wade blinks. Shakes his head and blinks again before barking out a laugh so loud I’m afraid he’ll wake the whole hotel.

  “I feel bad,” I gasp, laughing too. Okay, not that bad. “You were such a good fake boyfriend while I’m this, this tart.”

  When he finally catches his breath, he sits back on the desk across from the bed. “Hey, how’d it go with the bachelorette party anyway? You girls have fun?”

  I start to answer but, with the way his arms are braced at his sides with those massive legs stretched out in front of him, I’m getting lost in the deep-cut ridges of his abdominal muscles.