Dirty Disaster

by Addison Moore

  A soft rock instrumental floats through the speakers, and I bob my head to the rhythm. “May I have this dance?” I hold out a hand, old school style, and a couple of audible sighs go off about ten feet behind me. It’s clear my moves are mother approved.

  “You may.” Poppy wraps an arm around my waist before setting her tiny hand in mine. Her hips snuggle up against me, and we move as if our bodies were a single entity. “I bet you’re a regular at the POTS fundraisers with moves like this.”

  “Not true, but after the donation I make tonight, I might be bumped up to the official invite list.”

  She belts out a laugh. “So it’s not your moves they’re after.” She wrinkles her nose and looks cute as hell. “It must be tough navigating your way through life never knowing who’s really there for you as a person rather than an extraordinarily built ATM machine.”

  “So you’re saying I have a good body.”

  “I’m saying you qualify as a bank. You said you have a good body. By the way, you have an ego to match that bank account.”

  I let out a barking laugh and catch my mother and Char whispering to one another from the corner of my eye.

  Without putting too much thought into it, I dance Poppy over to the other end of the room.

  “Hey, we’re losing our audience.” She tries to navigate us back, but I prove to be stubborn.

  “Maybe you’re all the audience I need tonight.” I swallow down the unexpected lump in my throat. “Don’t worry. They’re still watching.”

  “Oh—good.” Her breathing picks up as if we just danced a lap around the building.

  Our bodies slow to a hip-grinding crawl, and soon enough we’re hardly breathing, let alone moving to the music.

  My thumb brushes over her lips ever so softly. For so long I’ve thought of Poppy as a work of art that demands to be worshiped. I’d love to do just that—worship every last part of her beautiful body with my mouth, her perfect lips, those tits that haven’t stopped quivering for me the second she landed in my arms, those perfect stems she walks over my heart with, all of her. My mouth demands to cover every creamy inch. I’d love nothing more than to carry her into my truck and drive us anywhere but here.

  My mouth finds a home against her beautiful neck as I take in her perfume and press soft kisses all the way up to her ear. “Why didn’t you let me pick you up?” My voice shakes. I’ve never been so aroused, so thoroughly aching to have somebody.

  Poppy leans back as those velvet eyes of her press into mine. “Because I knew that I’d want to go home with you.”

  And there it is. Poppy would come home with me. She wants me, and she doesn’t. In typical Poppy fashion, she’s sending me both signals all at once.

  A thousand questions beg to surface, and yet not one escapes my vocal cords. Instead, I lean in, and she meets me there with a slight nod as if letting me know it’s okay to cross that invisible line we’ve adhered to like a promise.

  My mouth crashes over hers, and I lose it. My tongue meets with hers as I slip into her mouth, and a deep guttural groan that’s been working its way up for years is finally unleashed. Poppy meets me right there with her own hungry kisses that only seem to grow in urgency as we swim in one another’s mouths. This is Poppy I’m kissing, Eight Ball, the girl I’ve claimed as my own for as far back as I can remember. How have we never done this before? And why in God’s name is it finally happening to a roaring applause bustling from behind? We deserve it, though. This kiss deserves every applause, every whoop and holler anyone wants to offer. Poppy tastes sweet like peppermint as if she went out of her way to welcome me tonight. At least that’s what I’d like to believe.

  I’d like to believe Poppy wants something more than just a few make-believe kisses. That she’s in this to do more than impress the living hell out of our mothers before we pull the rug out from under them. But she’s L.A. and I’m Oak Grove. She’s always been the forbidden one, and I’ve always accepted the fact she could never be mine.

  But this kiss…

  Something is about to change between us. Something has already changed between us, and I’m loving it.

  I’m hoping she’s loving it, too.

  Chapter 3 * Sexcapades

  Poppy

  Jaxson Stade kissed me!

  Dies. I can officially cross that off my bucket list of quasi-sexual things to do—not that I want to stifle it from ever happening again.

  God. I knew once he stepped into that room, suit to die for, long silver tie that dripped down like a leash laden with dirty promises, that he was trouble incarnate—but that face. He shaved for me. Shaved! I’m not sure why the hell he thought it was something I needed, but in a strange way it was exactly what I needed to push me over the sexual edge. I bet he knows that.

  Who am I kidding? This is Jaxson Stade. Of course, he knows all of the right sexual buttons to push to land a girl horizontal. And horizontal is exactly where every last cell in my body wanted to be. I knew that I knew that I knew I was weak. That’s precisely why I opted to drive with my parents down to the fancy shindig. If I was looking hotter than a firecracker in Sadie’s borrowed red dress, how could Jaxson Stade not look like a million dollars? Scratch that. Jaxson Stade looks his worth at a billion on an average day. Last night was gold.

  And if Jax had picked me up, that would mean he would be taking me home, and the way my hormones have been exploding all over Oak Grove as of late, I was too afraid I’d beg for him to take me in the carnal sense. Not that it would be the first time—just the first time outside of my oversexed imagination.

  Mack and Sadie are meeting me for lunch, so I head into the Starry Nights Bar and Grill and find a seat in the back. I’m chronically early everywhere I go, which is typically a good thing. Except for in L.A.—in a world where people are chronically late, it’s been a disservice to me. I’m also chronically overdressed, which explains the knee-high boots with three-inch heels, my black Seven jeans, and knee-length black pea coat. Back in L.A., nobody blinks if you wear black twenty-four seven. In fact, it’s the official uniform of the entire design business. But in Oak Grove, you get looks for sporting such a hue-deficient ensemble, and everyone assumes you’re going to a funeral.

  Jax comes to mind, and just as quick as that exuberance overtook me, an oppressive sadness weighs me down. A group of girls comes in, laughing, talking a mile a minute as they make their way to a table nearby. They’re all exceptionally beautiful with their perfect curls, faces that scream ode to Ulta, but for the most part they come in all shapes and sizes. When I was in high school, I used to lament the fact that I wasn’t Jaxson Stade’s type.

  It had never even occurred to me that this might be the case until Conner casually mentioned it one day. I was having one of my many existential crises—this particular one revolving around the fact I couldn’t get guys to notice me, not even the formidable Jaxson Stade. And that’s when my brother came to the existential rescue and assured me that there wasn’t a lip-gloss on Earth that would make that boy blink my way. By that time, Conner and Jax were pretty tight, so I took his word as gospel.

  But many years later, and now that I’m older and wiser, I’ve come to find out Jaxson doesn’t quite have a type—more of a gender specific orifice—and in that sense, I do meet the bare minimum requirements. Back in the day, and apparently, this translates to the present, Jax wanted to rub his nub against everything with a hole in it, and for the most part he found plenty of girls willing to drop trou. Of course, he never made the offer to me, and last night I feared a proposition as much as I feared anything else.

  Sadie and Mack storm in together, all bundled up for the snow apocalypse with scarves to their noses, their winter parkas ready for a day on the slopes.

  “Aren’t you Miss Sexy?” Mack gives me a quick kiss to the cheek before disrobing.

  Sadie grunts, “She’s hot to trot, and according to reliable sources, set the Grand Hotel on fire last night.” She strips down as well and falls into the seat acr
oss from me. “Spill.”

  “He kissed me.”

  Mack thumps her glittering silver nails over the table. “Was the mommy patrol aware of this mistletoe miracle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it doesn’t count.”

  “Mack!” Sadie cries it out for me. “Everything counts.” She turns back to me. “Tongue or no tongue?”

  “Tongue. First time, and it was sensational! That boy has a two-foot appendage he’s harboring in that mouth of his. And the precision that tip offered assured me of prehensile things to come.”

  “Meaning you.” Sadie has always been a genius when it comes to finishing my slutty sentences.

  “Eww.” Mack swats us both with a menu. “You do realize I’m still your sister. This was never about getting you laid. This was about getting even. Jaxson Stade is a player. He’s not the boy for you.”

  Sadie gags as she tries to get her words out. “That may be so, but he’s the boy for her right now.”

  Mack shakes her head as if this were an impossibility. “She’s heading back to L.A. in a couple of weeks. Poppy doesn’t have the talent of shutting off her emotions like some people.” She sneers at my old friend before redirecting her gaze my way. “Do not give your heart away, and do not sleep with him. This is a direct order from your big sister. Don’t force me to have Conner write up a cease and desist to Jaxson’s dick.”

  “Would you stop with the penile legal threats?” I scan the vicinity in the event, God forbid, Jax or Conner crops up and ruins our good time, or at least what would have been if not for this spontaneous Mack attack.

  “Speaking of Conner.” Mack leans in with that naughty look in her eye, and you can bet a juicy morsel of gossip is about to drip from her mouth. “Word on the Stade Steel streets is, he’s dating again.”

  “Who?” Our brother doesn’t date by definition. He’s more of a mattress wrestler who likes to pin them down and release his captive audience by morning. He’s a manwhore personified right along with Jax.

  The waitress comes by, and we put in our orders. Two Chinese chicken salads for Mack and me, and coffee and a scone for Sadie. I wait until the waitress takes off to judge my good friend properly.

  “Coffee and a scone?”

  “What?” Sadie makes a face. “That’s what I wanted.”

  Mack groans, “The fact you’re forced to have coffee at a bar and grill amplifies the sad state of Oak Grove’s slim eatery pickings.”

  “I know, right?” Sadie gets that familiar gleam in her eye that usually spells out trouble. “The only other option is Pine Crest Bakery, and it’s disgusting in there. Every time I go in, there’s a fly hanging around those depressing looking confections. The floor is a toasted linoleum from the fifties that actually offends me, and the enamel furniture is chipped and rusting. God forbid you cut yourself while pulling out a chair. You can get lockjaw and never enjoy a real fresh cup of coffee again.”

  “Why are we analyzing the sad state of java in Oak Grove and not focusing in on the fact Conner found someone to eat a steak with?” I’m thoroughly confused.

  “Because.” Sadie bounces her shoulders to her ears. “The ink just dried on my divorce, and I get my lump sum settlement—50K.”

  Sadie is perhaps the one and only person in Oak Grove who’s ever signed a prenup. Peter Hervy, her official first ex-husband, is a land baron she met in Denver. Apparently, the payout of a one-year gig, in which she used him for little more than a personal sit and spin, garnered her a nifty lump sum.

  “Fifty thousand?” I clasp my chest. “Geez. Why did I move to L.A. when I should have run to Denver and landed the first Perv I saw horizontal?” I give a little wink. “What are you going to do with the money, honey?”

  “Invest.” Sadie does sparkle when she’s getting her green on. “In myself. I’m going to open Oak Grove’s first coffee shop and usher us into the new millennium—roasted espresso style.”

  “Sweet.” Mack gives her a high five. “Now that the kids are in school, I’d be happy to be your first barista.”

  Sadie and Mack whoop it up like they just won the latte lottery, and in a way they did. Oak Grove really can use a nice cup of fresh brewed heaven.

  I tap the back of my fork to the table. “So back to Conner.” My brother has had his fair share of women. He’s a less sexually aggressive version of his BFF Jax, but just as appealing to the ladies because he’s handsome, if I don’t say so myself, and he touts a mean legal degree. “Who is this hussy?” I suck in a breath at my bestie. “Is it you? Are you the hussy that’s dating my brother?” The words practically burst from me with pride. I know that Sadie and me will always be close, but to have her as my official sister-in-law one day would be magic.

  The waitress brings our food and Sadie’s less than lackluster mug of coffee, and we all frown knowingly at the desperate state of java in our small town.

  “It’s not Sadie.” Mack shakes her head. “Conner’s shiny new toy is Larissa Debeers.”

  “Larissa?” All of those feel-good vibes I was sending Sadie’s way hit a brick wall. “But she’s Jaxson’s ho. In fact, she’s probably waiting in the wings for me to fly back to L.A. so she can latch onto his ankle and beg him for another ride on that pogo stick he’s got in his boxers.”

  “Jaxson’s ho?” Mack looks disgusted at the thought, as she should. “It’s one thing to share your toys and a whole other to share your bedmates. He can’t sleep with her if she slept with Jax.”

  Sadie nearly blows her coffee out of her nose. “That crosses out ninety percent of the eligible girls in Oak Grove.”

  Mack gets squirrely at the thought. “Maybe we should ship Conner off to L.A. for a while?”

  “Maybe you should stop playing matchmaker.” I stab my fork in her direction before taking a bite of the best Chinese chicken salad this side of Los Angeles. Starry Nights really is a culinary treasure.

  Her phone buzzes, and she groans into it. “I gotta run. Ben has a fever, and I need to pick him up from school. Would you box this up for me and drop it by the house?”

  “Not a problem.”

  She throws on her jacket before leaning in to kiss me goodbye. “Perfect! And no getting M.C. Hammered with Jaxson Stade. I bet his mattress is harboring something far more exotic than bedbugs. And, honey, I’m a damn good matchmaker. And per my matchmaking rules, no sleeping with anyone until he puts a ring on it. It only leads to broken hearts and prenups.”

  “Amen to that,” Sadie shouts as we wave my sister off.

  I needle my gaze at my longtime friend. “You really believe that?”

  “Darn right.” Sadie salutes me with her stale coffee. “But a girl’s got needs.” She sinks in her seat as she cradles that sad looking mug, and suddenly we’re both lost in thought, seemingly equally depressed over said needs.

  “Confession.” I blow the hair out of my face. “My vagina hasn’t had a gentleman caller in nearly a year. If I don’t find a willing penis soon, I’ll have to scale down to a silicone model.”

  “Trust me, they’re so lifelike you won’t know the difference.”

  “My heart will.”

  “If you’re looking to satisfy your heart, then Mack is right—you risk getting it broken.”

  Tears come, and I’m quick to blink them away. I shake my head in lieu of words because there’s a painful heart-shaped knot sitting at the base of my throat.

  I hate that Jaxson still has the power to take my emotions, my will, my better judgment for a ride without any consideration for my beating heart. That’s always been our downfall. I care too much, and he seems to care too little.

  “Hey”—Sadie pulls my entire seat closer to hers—“maybe Mack is right. Maybe sleeping with Jax is a bad idea. Your head is a little too much into this whole thing. It’s still a joke, right?”

  I open my mouth, but not a word comes out.

  “Oh, hon”—Sadie wraps an arm around me—“It’s not a joke anymore, is it?”

  I sha
ke my head. “I don’t think it ever was.”

  “Do everyone involved a favor and hold off finding a willing penis. Jaxson might be ready and willing, but if he knew how you felt, he’d never want to hurt you. You’re not some dime a dozen Oak Grove backseat debutante. You used to be his entire world. And when that good time ended, I still had to listen to you drool over him. I get it. He’s always been your world, too.” Her hot pink lips quiver. “But I don’t think Jaxson Stade is the person you built him up to be in your mind, Pops. Have fun with him for the allotted time you have left. But maybe use this as a way to say goodbye to that monstrous image you have of him in your mind. He’s just a person. A human. A man.” She makes the word man sound as disparaging as possible. “Have a little fun but not too much. Draw a line in the sexual sand and stay on your side of the perverted sand.”

  “I’ll have fun all right. Then I’ll get back to L.A. and resume my celibate lifestyle. I’m going to be a spinster.”

  Sadie belts out a laugh. “That went from hero to zero, real quick. You’re not going to be a spinster. You’re too pretty and smart for that. A battery-operated boyfriend can only take you so far. And by the way, I’ll get on the horn and get one sent out to you asap.”

  “Thanks. You’re a real friend, Sadie Richards.” I pull her in, and we take a moment to hold each other like a couple of lost children. Mack is right. I shouldn’t give my heart away, but it’s too late for that. I plucked it out of my chest when I had barely crested kindergarten and handed it to the only boy I would ever truly love.

  This isn’t a joke anymore.

  It never was to begin with.

  An entire day drifts by and no word from Jaxson. Not that I made an effort to stalk him down at his office once again either, but still. He’s the one that probed my mouth with his tongue. He drew first member. It should be him making the effort.

  Then just past noon, my phone bounces over the very bed I used to cry rivers for that boy, and it’s a text from Jaxson Stade himself.