Dirty Kisses (16 page)

“I’m in!” She slaps me five. “Thank you.” Daisy presses a lingering kiss to my lips, and my chest pounds, demanding so much more. “Hey”—she pulls back, her eyes growing serious again—“can I ask what happened to your parents? I think you mentioned something about your dad once.”

“Yes.” I set my gaze on those stars in the sky, same ones my father and I used to gaze at before he went feral. “My dad was a sloppy drunk. He drank until he passed out on most occasions. My mom”—a heavy sigh expels from me—“she died several years later. Some said of a broken heart, but, believe me, she didn’t miss him. She had an infection that went septic.”

“Jet, that’s terrible.” She buries her face in my chest a moment, and I savor the sensation of her breath warming me. “And your dad?” Tears cling to the tips of her lashes, and it makes her that much more magical. “Did the alcohol kill him?”

“No, I did.”

J
et Madden is
the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on—black hair, blue eyes, heart of solid gold. But a murdering felon? I don’t think so. At least I pray not. I may not have entered into law school just yet, but I know all too well that guilt by association is a very real thing.

I clear my throat. “Don’t talk like that. You didn’t drive him to drinking. Some people just can’t cope without a crutch in their life—and it sounds like alcohol was his.”

Jet’s somber expression melts to something far more peaceable. “You’re sweet. That’s what I love about you.” He pulls me so close, his hot breath searing my neck. “But I’m not talking in metaphors. This is real.” His eyes hook to mine. “It’s true. The night my father died he was rip-roaring drunk. He had just finished laying out my mother, and it tortured me to see her banged up like that. I was about ten. He was twice my size. I knew I couldn’t go against him, so I devised a plan. I stood at the base of the stairs, and when he came bounding down, I shoved my baseball bat into the landing. He flew like a bird without feathers, landing face first on the tile. He didn’t move.” Jet’s eyes swell with tears, but he doesn’t let them fall. “My mother was too injured to see what the commotion was about—not that there was one after that. It was the first time the house had a moment of silence, a sense of peace.” He shakes his head, looking just past me at some unknowable horizon. “I waited an hour, called a neighbor for help. My dad was dead on arrival.” Jet glances down at our conjoined chests as one lone tear burns a hole in my flesh. “That’s my story, Daisy.” The idea of a smile pulses on his lips. “So you see, I know a little about secrets myself.”

“Jet.” I wrap my arms around him tight, pushing my face over his shoulder as I struggle to hold it together. “I will never tell.”

“You don’t have to keep my secret.” He pulls back and gives my thigh a gentle tap. “I ratted myself out to the cops a long time ago.”

“What?” My heart pulsates in a clap of thunder strong enough to kill me. I wasn’t expecting this wild ride into the past. Jet’s truths are far more painful than any of the lies that are circulating about me.

“I did. The cops weren’t as scary as I thought they would be. One in particular spoke with my mother. It was evident she was beaten up pretty bad. He asked if I loved her.” He shakes his head. “He was just setting me up. He dragged the truth out of me in less than fifteen minutes. My whole life flashed before my eyes as the gravity of what I did hit me.”

My fingers float to my lips. “Then what happened?” Even though this was years ago, a part of me still fears for that frightened little boy.

“He gave my shoulder a firm squeeze—said it’s a tragedy when accidents like that strike. He told me to keep my stuff off the stairs so my mother and sister wouldn’t get hurt, and then he looked me in the eye and said I was the man of the house now—it was up to me to make sure they were taken care of. And that’s what I did up until the day my mother died. That’s what I plan on doing for Lucky until my dying breath.”

My arms squeeze tight around him one more time. “He gave you great mercy.”

“He did.” Jet’s warm tears drench my shoulder. “I understand if I’m not the person you thought I was. You might even think I’m a monster.”

“No way.” I inch back until our eyes are locked once again. “You are my man. I am not going anywhere. What happened back then—you were operating on instinct, trying to protect your mother the only way you knew how.”

“That’s true. Honestly, I was shooting for a broken leg at most and got a hell of a lot more than I bargained for. Toxicology came back, and he was lethal that night, but I know the truth. My mother was wrong. It wasn’t the alcohol that killed him.”

“In a way it did. Life wouldn’t have played out that way if he had never touched a bottle.”

“Maybe so.”

“You’re a wonderful big brother to Lucky. Your parents are proud of you—both of them. I know they are.”

“That’s the strangest thing I’ve heard in a long time.” He gives a dull chuckle as we settle back and watch the night sky in all its splendor.

“Maybe so, but Lucky sure is
lucky
to have you.”

Before he can respond, a brilliant white explosion sears across the sky.

“Shooting star!” My voice shrills into the night as I point up at the long silver tail.

Jet and I marvel as the cosmic wonder dissipates to nothing.

“That was amazing.” I twist until I’m looking up at his gorgeous face once again. “Someone up there agrees with what I said. Lucky is very
lucky
to have you.” My fingers graze against his stubble. “And I am, too.”

Jet blesses me with a kiss that erases all of the heartache and pain from both of our lives. It rinses out the sins of the pasts and trades them for something pure and right. Jet and I are pure and right. There’s not a man in this world I’d rather have by my side during this hurricane that’s overtaken my life.

It will all work out. And if none of this nonsense goes away, it’ll still work out because I have Jet with me every step of the way.

It’s all good.

T
here is
one thing that doesn’t feel very good at the moment, and that’s this new and improved circus that’s taken over my life. Jet’s front lawn is a nest of vipers. Whitney Briggs is flooded once again with reporters posing as students. Scarlett suggested I stay away, but I can’t afford to flunk out, and if I stay away until this scandal dissipates, I might just do that. Jet walks me to each of my classes and waits for me outside as if he were my personal body guard. Once the last of them is through, we head for his truck.

“Where to?” he asks, squirting washer fluid into the eyes of a couple of nosy bodies trying to get a picture of me through the windshield.

“Downtown Jepson.” I hand him an address I’ve been itching to get to all the livelong day.

He stares down at the name scrawled up at the top. “You sure you want to do this?”

“Oh, honey, I was born to do this.”

Jet speeds us all the way down to the shiny, glossy skyscraper that needles into the stratosphere. We take the elevator up to the fifteenth floor and walk into a sprawling reception area ensconced in dark wood. It’s fitting. My world feels rather dark at the moment.

Once my name is called, I take Jet with me as we follow the receptionist behind a set of immense double doors where we see the woman herself—Dorma Morano.

I have admired a lot of people in my life, but this woman has held a place of special honor. This petite-framed brunette with the rather no-nonsense, bullish look on her face is the living, breathing reason I wanted to go into law in the first place.

“What an honor to meet you!” I stumble forward until an awkward handshake ensues. “All my life I’ve wanted to meet you—
be
you! I have such admiration and respect, and I think—”

“That’s very kind.” The impression of a forced smile comes and goes as she nods for us to take our seats. “Daisy Pembrooke.” She searches my features. “I’ve been waiting days for this visit.”

“You know me?”

“Who doesn’t know you?” Her penciled-in brows rise to the ceiling. “I think we can both cut to the chase. I specialize in reversing the exploitation of women, and you’re the poster child of an exploited woman. Tell me what happened—the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the damn truth.” Her dark eyes narrow to slits. “I want every last detail no matter how dirty.”

I glance to Jet and sniff into the air. “There’s not a single dirty detail in the bunch.” Then I spell it all out for her, every last little chaste detail.

An hour later, Dorma Morano lays out a plan of attack that will leave Senator Charles Danberry’s shriveled up man parts begging for mercy.

“That’s a masterpiece if I’ve ever heard it.” I blink back the tears that came to the party because deep down I realize this is all a bit too good to be true. “How much will I owe you for this?” I’ve learned that it’s best to be upfront with the monetary end of any relationship, but it hadn’t occurred to me until my feet were planted in this office that services rendered would probably be a whole lot more than I can afford. And, considering I don’t have a thin dime to my name, that almost guarantees this is all too good to ever happen to me.

“Nothing. Consider this pro bono. Trust me, this will pay off in spades in other ways. It always does.”

“Wow, thank you, but I have to do something in return. It’s just not my nature to take something for nothing. I’m not looking for a handout.”

Dorma leans into her seat, the sunlight slices over half her face, leaving the rest lost in a shadow. It’s an intimidating effect that makes me that much more confident in her ability to teach that dingleberry of a senator one hell of a lesson.

“Very well. You’ll be my guest at an event that I’m invited to tomorrow night. And you’ll tell your story.”

W
hen Dorma Morano
invites you to an event, you don’t decline. When Dorma Morano invites you to speak at said event, you may shake in your hot pink Kate Spade heels—your matching Kate Spade handbag may tremble a bit, too—but you will not decline. Imagine my surprise when the directions to the venue sound all too familiar.

Bovary Auditorium is brimming with law students and prospective law students alike as the brightest and the best of Whitney Briggs gather to hear the master share her genius. I peer out from behind the curtain and inspect the crowd for one redhead in particular, Scarlett Kent. There she is, third row from the front, center. She always did prefer the suck-up section. I’d wave or text, but I want this to be a complete surprise.

My eyes do a quick scan of the back, and Jet gives a tiny wave. He’s right where he said he’d be.

My phone bleats in my hand.
You’ll do great. Love you.

I peek back out at the audience and blow him a kiss.
Love you, too.

Within minutes, Tiffany Ikeman introduces the esteemed attorney, Dorma Morano, and the crowd goes wild, jumping to their feet in adulation, adoration,
admiration
—as they should. I spy Scarlett’s face light up as pink as my shoes, and I wish I were right there with her, and I will be soon.

Dorma bestows her fountain of knowledge on the crowd for forty minutes straight and, I, like everyone else, remain riveted on each and every word.

“And now”—she glances toward me, hiding in the wings like a frightened child—“I’d like to have you hear a firsthand account regarding female exploitation while living in a male-centric society. The woman you’re about to listen to is a brave soul prepared to tell you her side of the story for the very first time. She is not selling her story to the tabloids for millions—”

Dear God, why didn’t I think of that? I shake the idea off. This whole I-do-things-for-principle-not-a-dirty-dollar thing is new to me. Besides, the tabloids are totally incapable of teaching the slimy senator a lesson.

I come to just in time to see Dorma extending an arm my way. “And now I give you Daisy Pembrooke.”

A light applause breaks out amidst a circle of gasps. My feet freeze for a moment before they do their thing, and before I know it, I’m standing in the white-hot spotlight, staring out at a sea of hazy faces.

My eyes go straight for Scarlett. Her face is white with shock, her mouth opened wide as if I had just been resurrected from the dead, and in a way it feels like just that. I’ve been persona non grata around campus for so long it feels as if I’ve just stepped into my skin, first time in weeks. Somewhere between the stage at Stilettos and the not-so-good senator’s lap, I lost myself. And now, here I am, frozen like a deer in the headlights of a Mack truck ready to give it a kiss goodnight.

“Go ahead,” Dorma whispers. “Tell them everything.”

“Everything,” I say dully into the microphone, and a titter of snickers breaks out in the crowd. Tiffany Ikeman runs up to the podium, slitting her neck with her finger along with a threat in her eyes geared just for me. “Um—” I clear my throat and listen as the sound of my voice echoes throughout the assembly hall.