Dirty Kisses (10 page)

“You ready for the game this Friday?” I ask, leading us to the dismal back of the establishment. No use in ruining Scarlett’s reputation anymore than I already may have. I’m a social plague of my own making. Not even my own parents want anything to do with me—at least not on campus.

“Are you kidding?” Her cheeks flush just thinking about her star quarterback boy toy. “I’m totally psyched. How are things going with you? How did the melter work out?” She wrinkles her nose because deep down she knows it was a very bad idea.

“It sucked big ones.” I sink my face into my palms. “Actually, it did its job, but I managed to botch up the entire event and turn it into a quasi-triage situation like I do everything else. Jet had to bust the door down and ended up cutting me lose from about a thousand foreign objects I managed to adhere to myself. It was so humiliating I couldn’t look at him this morning.” Nor did I pay him my routine nightly visit. I’m sure he feels like he got the short end of the waxing stick. Certainly had I not scalded and attempted to scalp my fun zone, he would have been rewarded handsomely for doing seemingly nothing.

I glance up to find Scarlett’s lips frozen in a silent open-mouthed scream.

“You let him do what?”

“Don’t judge. I was in a waxed pickle. It was scary as hell thinking I’d have to go to the ER. I had no faith in getting that sludge off me on my own. Not to mention the more frightened I became the more I needed to use the bathroom. Just knowing that the facilities were welded shut sent me into a tailspin. Besides, it was all sort of clinical for him. He went on and on about how he pierces girls’ privates for a living. He’s seen more labia than we will penises.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“We’re talking variety here.”

Scarlett only has one penis in mind, but in this case semantics can be damning.

“So, what’s on the board for tonight? Can we see a movie? Rex has a workout, and I’m itching to get out of Cutler for a few hours.”

“No can do.” I duck a little. “I’ve got a new job—sort of.” I wince because I can feel the truth wanting to bubble up out of me. I can’t help it, though. Scarlett has been my go-to girl for just about everything this past year, and now that I’m out in the boonies with Jet, it feels a bit lonely—well, emotionally so. Jet and I don’t verbalize as much as we grunt.

“Spill.” Her jade eyes sharpen over mine.

So I do just that. I spill every strange deranged detail about my new employment opportunity and accidentally on purpose out Caila as my capitalistic organizer.

Scarlett’s jaw rests soundly on the table. “God, she’s like your pimp.” Her eyes widen with the epiphany. “Hey! She’s the one who set you up with what’s his face!” She hisses it out so fast and acrid you’d think she just discovered a serial killer.

Crap. I glance around. The last person I want listening in on this confessional of a conversation is Cassidy. I promised Caila I wouldn’t drag her into this.

I get Caila’s need to protect her sister. It’s almost as fierce as Jet’s need to protect his—which I find totally adorable by the way.

“Why are you smiling?”

“I’m not smiling.” My fingers touch over my lips reflexively. “Besides, Caila is harmless.”

“No, she’s not.” Scarlett shakes her head wildly as if she knows something I’m not privy to.

“She totally is.” My life in these past few, aggressively hateful weeks flashes before my eyes, and a part of me concurs with Scarlett’s line of thinking. “Okay, so maybe she’s a little bit of a free thinker.”

“More like an entrepreneurial thinker, and I don’t mean that in any good way. She’s the kind of girl who will do whatever it takes to get the job done. She’s determined to get Cassidy through school while supporting herself
and
her daughter. There’s a bit of dangerous desperation there. That’s not you. You don’t have to do anything to survive.”

“My credit card debt begs to differ.”

“Then get creative.” She slams her palm down on the table. “This whole sushi thing sounds fishy to me—pun intended. Come on, Daisy. Push yourself in the other direction. If Caila can dance herself out of a hole, you can think yourself out of one.”

“Are you saying she’s less than we are because she doesn’t happen to hold a student ID in her possession?”

“No, I’m saying she’s different than we are. Everything you see happening in her life
is
her life. She’s realized her dreams. She’s not determined to be the best damn female defense attorney North Carolina has ever seen.”

I wince. “Totally not the kind of law I want to go into. I was thinking more entertainment or family law.”

“I would have pegged you for something to do with Cyberspace law. Something to do with
bullying
since you’re living out everyone’s worst nightmare.” She leans in, and her hardened stance begins to soften. There’s something special about a moment when your best friend is willing to reach into your chest and rattle your heart around just to talk some sense into you. “Daisy, I am
sick
of watching the world bully you. I know you feel the same.”

We finish up and end our coffee klatch the same way it began with a nice firm hug.

The crisp fall air envelops me as I scoot off to get ready for my big moment as Geisha Grill’s sushi girl extraordinaire.

Scarlett is right. I need to think my way out of this hole before I end up at the pinnacle of my nonexistent career covered in fish guts with nothing but a fig leaf to hide my shame.

I
head
straight to Stilettos where Caila herself covers every last inch of my body with an entire palate of cosmetics. It turns out the fig leaf was indeed provided by Mother Nature. The hand-shaped blade is unbearably scratchy, although counterintuitive to incite an orgasm in me, and for that I’m forever grateful. I arrived at the Jepson Inn at six o’clock. It took nearly an hour for the Geisha Grill team—all men mind you, to find the perfect spot in the center of the convention hall to lay me prone and decorate my body with a myriad of sushi. That was the easy part. I’m to lie still for the duration of forty-five minutes to an hour when they’ll wheel me away on this gurney-like contraption as not to upset the illusion. What illusion that might be I haven’t a clue. Are there sushi girls in nature that I’m to emulate? Are the patrons of this fine establishment meant to believe that girls like me exist in some tropical oriental forest where both fig leaves and rolls of raw fish abound? I think not. More like no one wants to see my boobs flapping as two-hour old tuna trails down my legs while I scamper the hell out of Dodge.

“No speaking to guests. Look straight at the ceiling no matter what. Okay, you’re on.” The man who’s spent the last forty minutes piling me with sushi adjusts my pasties. Words and actions that I never thought would cross my mind.

“Hey, what’s this convention for anyway?” I’m sort of its main attraction. I may as well know the nature of the beast.

“Actors and producers. Some Hollywood bigwigs who specialize in reality television are showing up. You know, all the junk that’s on TV these days.” He leaves without so much as a thumbs-up.

Reality TV? I live for that junk. God, what if I get discovered? This is going to be totally exciting—other than the fact it’s going to be totally horrific watching people gawk at me while trying to decide between the crunchy salmon or the California roll.

A mob of humanity presses in all at once, and while a small handful meander toward the traditional buffet, the majority head my way to
ooh
and
ahh
and load up on some serious sushi. It’s a dark cloud of business suits for the most part, decent looking men and a sprinkling of women all look on with morbid delight at the sight of my quasi-naked body.

It’s an entire slew of
no shit, she’s real! Look at the size of those tits! I’d like to see what she’s hiding under that fig leaf. Hey, sweetie, what’s your name? You busy after this?

To my surprise, I’m feeling a bit Zen about the whole thing. Staring at the ceiling, zoning out while about thirty different men discover their new favorite meal—me, isn’t at all as perverse as I thought it would be.

“I don’t know,” a deep male voice rumbles from behind. “My sister’s not into it. She thinks I should stay away.”

Something about the way he cares for his sister reminds me of Jet. I’ll admit, it gets me every time when Jet bears his big brother prowess. I’m a sucker for a guy who knows how to take care of a girl. Jet sure knows how to take care of a girl, and I don’t mean in a sisterly way.

The murmurs of their conversation ebb and flow from earshot, but as soon as their voices grow closer, my stomach clenches. I know that deep throated, sexy as all hell, graveled male bass. The familiar scent of his cologne reaches me before he does.

“You like sushi?” his female companion asks with a giggle. “My God, would you look at this? I think she’s real!” The chortling continues as she makes her way into my line of vision, but it’s not her or her perky bombshell bosom I’m interested in gawking at. I’m just waiting for that voice to make himself known, to prove me wrong.

Jet cannot be here. Why in the hell would
he
be here?

A dark head of hair comes around and flanks her on the side—his eyes meet up with mine.

Jet Madden and I meet again.

Figures.

“
S
hit
,” I hiss under my breath without meaning to.

I’ve seen plenty of naked women in plenty of compromising positions—mostly having to do with the line of business I’m in—but at this moment they have everything to do with the wildflower I’m staring at.

I give a long, hard blink before doing another visual sweep. Lying naked, save for strategically placed wadded up rolls of fish, is beautiful, well-endowed, blessed by God Daisy Pembrooke. Her gaze is set straight ahead, staring at the ceiling as if her life depended on it. Her muscles are tense. I know those thighs more than I know my own, and right about now, she’s ready to turn to stone.

Jody waves a hand in front of my face. “Everything okay?”

I take a moment just soaking in Daisy’s unblemished skin, the untouched canvas I’m beginning to salivate over. The fact her gorgeous body is on display for everyone to see stirs me to anger. No, I am most certainly not okay.

“You know—” I turn to the short redhead who’s been chatting my ear off for the last twenty minutes about a documentary I’m pretty sure I have no interest in. But something brought me here tonight, and that was the future growth of the store. If I’m ever going to expand, a little exposure couldn’t hurt. “I think I need a minute. I’m on the verge of making a decision.”

“You need a minute alone!” Her entire face lights up like a Christmas tree. She’s made no secret about how badly she wants Think Ink as a part of her production. You’d think it were a lottery win the way she salivates over it. “I can take a lot of things, and a hint is one of them. I’ll be at the bar. You want a cold one? It’s on me!” She trots off, hopeful that she cinched the deal.

A few malingerers gather rolls off Daisy’s thighs before wandering off, leaving us alone for a moment—a small miracle in and of itself.

I step in close to that beautiful face and lean over fully, blocking her line of vision.

Her eyes widen with fright before squeezing shut.

“What the hell is going on?” I whisper.

“I can’t talk,” she grits it through her teeth.

An entire herd of dudes dressed in monkey suits head over, each with a beer in hand, laughing their asses off before they ever get here, and I glare at them before they hit ground zero.

“Get up,” I growl, unsure if I’ve said the words out loud, but I damn well meant it.

Daisy shakes her head ever so slightly as the dudes gather around, hungry for a bite, but it’s not the sushi they’re looking at. Nope. The entire male mob is momentarily hypnotized by Daisy’s upper torso. It’s true. Daisy has a set of tits that can make a grown man cry. Hell, I’m about to cry, or flip a table. Not this one. I’d like to hurt someone right about now, and it’s sure not Daisy.

“You think they’re real?” One of the suits bumps elbows with the douche next to him.

“My bet’s on plastic.” His buddy shakes his head. “All the beautiful ones are.”

I know for a fact Daisy’s rack is anything but manufactured in some silicone warehouse. I’ve seen those girls bumping and jumping like jackhammers when she’s sitting on my lap, riding me like she’s doling out a punishment. It was far from that. In fact, my balls missed the hell out of her last night. What was that about? I thought she’d be a little grateful for the fact I freed her from her wax prison. I’ll admit, a part of me wanted to run when I saw that clotted up mess. But another, far more aroused part of me, wanted to free her so she could make her way onto my face once again. It’s her favorite seat in the house. I don’t blame her. It’s the one that suits her best. I freeze solid for a moment. The idea of me suiting her best somehow crosses that invisible line I’ve drawn in the sexual sand.

What the hell am I doing here hovering over her like some white knight? Daisy is a strong woman, emotionally and physically. I can attest to both. She doesn’t need me to babysit. If she wants perfect strangers fondling her while they feast off questionably raw fish, then, that’s her business.

I turn to walk away, but my feet have screwed themselves into the floorboards.

“Hey”—one suit says to the next with a shit-eating gleam in his eye—“I dare you to flick her nipple.”

“Are you kidding?” The trained monkey balks at the idea.

Good move, dude.
I offer him a curt nod.
I’d hate to knife your balls off. It’d pain me as much as it would you.

“I can’t flick her tit. It’s covered in a freaking doily.” He knocks his buddy in the shoulder, and the idiot sloshes his drink onto Daisy’s stomach.

Lava courses through my veins in a visceral manner that I haven’t felt since that night so long ago.

“Hey, man, watch it.” I nod over to the suit with the beer.

“Sure thing.” He pulls the glass back while studying his buddy intently.

Suit number two does a quick glance around—little does he know the only person who matters is standing right in front of him. Daisy doesn’t need security. She’s got me.

“Don’t try anything, dude. ’Kay?” I grunt it out low, infused with a threat, but the suit just giggles to himself like a schoolgirl and snatches the leaf off Daisy’s crotch before I can process it.

“Fucker!” I lunge over Daisy’s body and pull him to the side where I knee him in the stomach time and time again.

Daisy bolts up and screams, sending food off all four limbs like a sea of flying leeches.

“Come here.” I whip off my jacket and cover her, helping her to the exit as a crowd amasses from nowhere.

“What’s the matter with you?” she shrieks in my face. “This was my job.” Those last few words dissolve in a whimper. Her eyes harden over the dickhead who saw fit to expose her more than needed. “And
you
!” She stomps over to him with my jacket cinched to her chest. “You are a ridiculous human being who obviously never left the seventh grade!” She snatches the leaf from his hand. “I believe this belongs to me.” Daisy heads toward the door before backtracking. “And as for you, Jet”—her eyes circle over my features with such fury I brace myself for the slap—“thank you.” She takes off, leaving a trail of sushi rolls to the door.

Jody comes up, breathless, with a beer in each hand. “Talk about your psychos. What was that about?”

“She’s not a psycho. Some idiot was about to assault her.”

Jody cuts a hard look around. “No offense, but men can be pigs.”

Does Daisy think I’m a pig?

“I’d better go.” I take off after her like I should have ten seconds ago.

“Wait!” Jody calls out after me. “I didn’t mean it! You’re totally not a pig!”

The jury is still out on that one.

But it’s not her opinion that counts.

A
ll the way
home I wonder where the heck Daisy could have gone. There wasn’t a sign of her car by the time I hit the parking lot, but in my defense, the lot was huge. I could’ve missed it. As soon as I see that silver Honda parked in front of the house, my entire body exhales. It’s as if a weight has been lifted off my chest, and it has. I’m glad to know she’s safe and sound—where she’s supposed to be. For whatever reason, it feels right having her here. When I saw her taking care of Lucky that night in the bar, it warmed me. I hadn’t felt that much affection for another person outside of my family for as long as I can remember.

The house is dark when I enter, save for the seam of light coming from under her door. I flick on every lamp from the front door to my bedroom just to let her know I’m here. Electricity, or the lack thereof, has been our subliminal language. Daisy and I haven’t exactly sought out a conversation with one another. I head down the hall, and my breathing picks up as if I’ve just run a marathon. I can feel her weight behind that door, pressing against my chest like a boulder. The only way to alleviate the pressure is to open it up, make sure she’s all right.

I give a gentle knock without thinking twice. “Everything okay in there?”

“Yes. Go away.” She might have intended for it to come out hostile, but it came out wounded, and it tears me up to hear it.

“If you need anything, you know where to find me.” My hand finds a home over the door, and I pat it softly as if I’m touching her skin. “You know”—I swallow hard—“I may not look like it, but I’m a good listener.”

An entire eternity of silence drifts by before I head into my bedroom. I flick on the TV, landing it on my favorite reality show about a bunch of dudes who create custom bikes and try my hardest to veg out.

A gentle knock comes over the door before it opens and in walks Daisy wrapped in a pink fuzzy robe, frilly PJs peeking out from underneath. She looks sweet, innocent, and judging by that injured look on her face, her ego took a major blow tonight.

“What are we watching?” She climbs up next to me and sits close enough to where our thighs touch, but far enough for me to know that anything else is up for negotiation. I’m fine with it. Just having her here, next to me in any capacity, feels like more than enough.

“Anything you want.” I toss her the remote. It might as well have been my heart. I’ve never given up the remote before, and that meager act of surrender stuns me to the core. I’d ask why the hell am I being so nice. Why the hell do I feel lighter than air when she’s in the room with me and heavier than the planet when she’s not—but I think I know. I shake the pseudo psychoanalysis out of my head for now.

A soft laugh strums through her, and she snuggles up to my arm. “I’m not here to change your world.” She plants the remote carefully back into my hand.

“You need me to listen?”

She shakes her head, her chest heaves with the faintest sniffle. “Just thought it’d be nice to sit here a while. You smell good.”

“I do?” The thirteen-year-old in me gets the urge to sniff my pits, but I wisely resist. “You smell good.” I lean into her playfully. “Like strawberries and vanilla.”

“That sounds like a smoothie.”

I run my hand down the length of her thigh. “You are pretty smoothie.”

“Very funny.” She smacks me over the chest lightly. “You were pretty smoothie yourself tonight. Can I ask what you were doing there?”

“Only if I can ask the same.” I’m not trying to pigeonhole her. I just can’t wrap my head around why she would keep putting herself in these compromising situations.

“Deal.” She gives my arm a firm squeeze, and a jolt of electricity presses in with each of her fingers. “You first.”

“Some production company wants me to participate in a documentary. Hometown boy lifts himself up from the bootstraps kind of a thing.”

“Really?” Daisy backs up to get a better look at me, but I’m the one who’s drinking in her features, especially those cherry-stained lips. I miss them. I miss those long legs wrapped around me—her mouth over the most eager part of me, my face buried in her chest. But here we are, having a conversation, and a part of me feels like this is the missing puzzle piece—as if just chilling out with a girl was what I was wanting all along. At least some of the time.

“Yes, really. That chick’s been hounding me for weeks. Lucky doesn’t think I should do it.” I lean my head against the wall and roll the back of my head against it. “I don’t know. I don’t like people digging into my shit. I’m pretty private.”

“I can kill that for you if you like.” She wrinkles her nose, and my dick twitches as if that’s all it takes. And with Daisy, that might be all it takes. “I’m an expert at taking a good thing and burning it to cinder. I sort of have the Midas touch but backward. What’s the opposite of gold?”

“Mold.”

“There you go.” She tosses her hand into the air. “Everything I touch turns to mold.”

We share a quiet laugh.

“That’s not true. I can promise you that.”

“Oh, yeah?” Daisy threads her fingers in the back of my hair and gives a little tug. “How can you be so sure?”

I tug the lip of my jeans and pretend to inspect the goods. “Still gold.”

Daisy belts out a laugh that reverberates off the ceiling, her chest ripples as she throws her body into it.

Something in me loosens, as if I’ve let go of a breath I’ve been holding for years. The simple act of making Daisy happy has my adrenaline pumping. There’s something. Just knowing that I’ve evoked that belly laugh in her makes me feel as if I’ve won an Olympian feat.

Her fingers slip over my chest, dipping under my T-shirt as she curls up against me. Daisy sighs as she wraps her arm over my chest and nestles her head into the crook of my arm.

“You really should do it—the documentary.” She glances up with those butterfly wings she calls lashes.

In all honesty, I’m not sure what’s happening. I’ve had dozens,
hundreds
of girls in my bed, and not one of them has donned a pink fuzzy robe, holding me as if it were the most natural thing in the world. My dick keeps perking with hope, but I’m pretty sure that’s not where this is headed. Surprisingly, I’m fine with it, more than fine. This is almost as good. Hell, it is.

“Oh, hey!” She scratches her nails over my chest with the epiphany. “You should do something like that.” She blinks toward the television. “God knows I love me some reality TV. If you had those bustling biceps jumping while inflicting pain in people, you’d have them hooked by the millions.”