Dirty Work: A Bad Boy Romance

by Sophie Brooks

  AT WORK ON Monday, all I could think about was Jake. How good his body had felt under mine. We’d felt so right together. But also about how damn smug he’d been. Why did guys with such good bodies always know it? Why did they always know how to drive a girl crazy with it? It wasn’t fair.

  The good thing about working at a library was that it was quiet and gave me time to think. But today that counted as a bad thing. While I was working on the electronic catalog, I wished I were allowed to slip my earphones in, use music to overpower my thoughts.

  Again and again, my mind returned to Stacie, Jake’s possible girlfriend. I’d met her a few times. She’d been on the fringes of the group Jake and I used to hang out with. It was mostly couples. Stacie was single, but she sometimes hung out with us at clubs. She’d usually worn a microscopic skirt and a tank top that barely covered her breasts. Her huge wavy hair screamed ‘bottle blonde.’ Good thing Jake preferred redheads—or at least he used to.

  I refocused, refusing to follow that train of thought. Instead, I wondered how our old group was doing. I hadn’t seen them very much in the months since the breakup. I kept up with Alison and her fiancé, Drew, on Facebook. And I’d had lunch with Lisa a few weeks ago. But I hadn’t seen her husband Mike or any of the others for quite some time. I missed them. I wondered if Jake and Stacie went out with them now. It was a painful thought.

  That evening, I turned on the music the minute I walked through my door. Though I couldn’t drown out my thoughts at work, I certainly could at home. After a few hours of loud music, I was feeling much better. Maybe it was the way I’d danced my ass off while making dinner. Or maybe it was the fact that dinner had been a sinfully delicious Caesar salad and half a calzone.

  The only trouble was, by bedtime I was still revved up. Good music did that to me, so I decided to take a bath before trying to sleep. I placed some candles around the tub and dimmed the lights. I stepped out of my clothes and turned the tap all the way to hot. Five minutes later, when the water filling the tub was still ice cold, I knew I had a problem.

  * * *

  I tried to fix it. I really did. For the first time in my life, I attempted to tackle a home repair project on my own. I went online. I read articles. I got some DIY home repair books from work. I located the pilot light, determined it was off, and after watching many videos online, tried to re-light it myself. But it wouldn’t stay lit up. After another round of research, I tried adjusting the gas valve, but that didn’t seem to be the problem. Damn.

  Bathing was a nightmare. On Tuesday morning, I heated some water on the stove and did a sort of sponge-bath. On Wednesday morning, I took a ninety-second cold shower that was pure agony. On Thursday morning, I went over to Lisa’s house to shower and wash my hair. And on Thursday night, I made the call.

  Or, well, I didn’t quite have the nerve to make an actual phone call. Texting was a reasonable alternative in this day and age, right? I sent the message and then sat on the sofa and turned on the TV. But instead of focusing on it, my mind went straight to the issue I’d been avoiding all week. I knew Jake would demand more as payment this time. The question was, did I want to do more with him?

  It’d been so hot last time. One of the best Fiona’s Finests we’d ever shared. If it had happened when we were living together, we would’ve been all over each other for hours after that. But now everything was different. He wasn’t mine anymore.

  That made me think of Stacie. Was he with her? Although that thought had haunted me for months, it was seeming less and less likely. Jake was many things: a cocky bastard, a guy fully capable of forgetting his mom’s birthday, and a man completely unable to lower the toilet seat after using it. But he wasn’t a cheater. I knew that as well as I knew my own name. So if he had been with her, and I still hoped he hadn’t, I very much doubted that he was with her now.

  The phone rang in my hand. “Hey, Jake. Thanks for calling back,” I said, a little amazed at how calm my voice sounded. Mind over hormones, I supposed.

  “Calling back implies that you were brave enough to call me instead of texting in the first place,” he said, sounding amused.

  His being a jerk made it easier to talk to him. “I was trying to be polite. You did have a point about me calling you about this stuff a lot. I didn’t want to bother you.”

  “More like you were afraid to find out what my going rates are this time.”

  “I’m not afraid,” I said, which was only half a lie. I was afraid, but also a little excited. “It’s like you said, you set the rates, and I decide if I want to pay them.”

  “How long has the hot water been out?”

  “Since Monday night.”

  He laughed. “So, if you weren’t afraid to find out what the price is, you must’ve been afraid that you’d like it too much. Like you did last time.”

  “Jake, just tell me what you want.”

  “Right, this is a business phone call,” he said, trying to sound like a professional businessman. He might have pulled it off, too, if his voice hadn’t had such a sexy rumble to it.

  “Let’s see … the price for fixing a water heater … and allowing a lovely lady to soak her smokin’ hot body in equally hot water is …”

  “Jake!”

  “An orgasm.”

  “What?”

  “I’m fairly certain you heard me,” he said, maddeningly smug.

  “I … yeah I heard, but … what, I mean … given how?” Again, I was apprehensive about what he was going to say next, but my body was betraying me. It wanted to know.

  “That would be up to you. Once a contractor sets his price, it’s up the client to decide how to make the payment. Cash, check, credit card, etc. Although, if you want me to choose, I can think of something good. Let’s see … first, I think I’d have you take off all your clothes, and then I’d want you to—”

  “A hand job,” I interrupted.

  “C’mon, Red, we’re not in middle school anymore.”

  “You said the customer got to choose how to pay.”

  “All right,” he said, and I was pretty sure I could hear him roll his eyes. “But it’d better be a good one.”

  When Jake arrived, I hoped he couldn’t tell how many times I’d changed. I’d finally settled on something decidedly unsexy—though if he’d gotten here two minutes later, I would’ve been in nicer clothes. But maybe this was best. My sweats and oversized t-shirt might be enough to keep the ‘payment’ from going further than it was supposed to.

  Jake greeted me, raising an eyebrow at my attire, but not saying anything. He was dressed casually, too. He wore faded blue jeans, a flannel button down, and a white undershirt underneath. And he still managed to look hot.

  He took his toolbox down to the basement. There wasn’t much down there besides old furniture and boxes of his belongings he’d never gotten around to moving out.

  He tried lighting the pilot light, just as I had, and then he checked the gas valve. I didn’t tell him I’d tried both those things.

  “This may be a while, in case you have something else you need to do,” he said as he crouched down by the base of the water heater. Then he looked up at me over his shoulder. “Like trimming your nails or moisturizing your hands.”

  I threw him a nasty look that may or may not have distracted him from the blush I knew was forming across my face. It wasn’t fair that redheads with light skin couldn’t hide things like that.

  I went upstairs and moved nervously from task to task, never quite settling on one. I straightened the throw pillows on the couch. I dusted. I threw out old magazines. Then I curled up on the couch with a book. I couldn’t focus enough to read it, but I had it nearby in case Jake suddenly appeared.

  Half an hour later, I heard him coming up the stairs. I picked up the book, opened it, and hastily checked to make sure I was holding it right side up.

  “All fixed,” he said. “You should have some hot water in half an hour.”

  “Thanks, Jake. I really appreciate it.
”

  “Don’t mention it. Your payment is thanks enough.”

  I rolled my eyes. My eyeballs sure got a workout when he was around. “What, no small talk first?”

  “This is a business transaction, Red, not a first date. So why don't you go change?”

  I looked up at him in alarm. “It’s only a hand job.”

  He grinned. “I’m well aware. But those sweats, that tee—I don’t want an orgasm administered by someone dressed like my old Uncle Bob.”

  “You don’t have an Uncle Bob.”

  “You got me. But what would it hurt to change into something nice?”

  He words were reasonable, but he was using a sexy, commanding tone that always got to me. And his deep blue eyes were staring me down, making rational thought leave my brain. “All right,” I said. “Wait here.”

  "Okay,” he said, following me into the bedroom.

  I gritted my teeth and slid open my closet door, trying to choose from the outfits I’d tried on earlier. A noise made me turn. Jake was rooting around my dresser drawer, the one where I kept my lingerie. “Get out of there!”

  He took another moment and then turned, his hands full of silky emerald green. “Will you wear this?”

  Still irritated, I snatched it from him. He had a lot of nerve. But I softened when I saw what he’d picked. It was a teddy with a matching robe that he’d bought me just before we’d broken up. I’d never actually gotten to wear it for him. After our last big fight, I’d shoved it into the drawer and hadn’t given it much thought since. I doubted I’d even opened that drawer since he left.

  “When I bought it, I thought it would go so well with your hair. I know we’re not together anymore, but I’d really like to see you in it once. Please?”

  I stared at him for a long moment and then nodded.

  When I emerged from the bathroom, the bedroom was nearly dark. Jake had lit two candles, one on each nightstand on either side of the bed. “As you said earlier, this isn’t a date,” I informed him.

  “I know,” he said. “But I figured you’d feel more comfortable with the lights off.”

  Oh. Well, yeah, maybe. "Okay,” I said.

  “Thanks for wearing that. You look beautiful.”

  I’d put on the robe, but I hadn't tied it. Aside from the plunging neckline, the teddy kept me fairly covered from my chest to the tops of my thighs which was good because the matching panties were little more than two small triangles attached by strings.

  I moved to my side of the bed. He was already at his. How easy it was to fall into old patterns.

  Jake kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed, on top of the covers. He put two pillows under his head and laid on his back, looking up at me. He patted the space next to him with his right hand.

  Gingerly, I climbed onto to the bed, sitting next to him awkwardly. I looked at the fly of the jeans. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure I could do this.

  “Relax, Fiona. Just lay here next to me for me a while.”

  Since the alternative was to be bold enough to unzip his fly, I did what he asked. I lowered myself down next to him, my body facing him. His arm went around me, and we fit perfectly in that very familiar position. I’d laid at his side like this countless times, his arm around me, my hand on his chest. We’d often talked well into the night in this position—though most of those times those intimate conversations had turned into hot sex.

  “Just relax,” Jake said again. His head shifted, and I felt his lips brush the top of my head. It wasn’t a kiss, not really. Just slight pressure that made me feel wanted. Safe. Cherished. Or at least it used to make me feel that way. Now I had to actively remind myself that he was not mine, and I was not his.

  “Do you remember when we bought this bed?” he asked.

  I did. I’d had an old double bed when Jake first started sleeping over. It’d been rather cramped. When he’d moved in with me, we’d celebrated by purchasing a queen-sized bed together. It had been hell on earth to get into the bedroom, but it had been worth it.

  “Yeah.” I smiled against his chest. “Remember how much Mike cursed when he helped us move it in?”

  “I remember you blushing for two solid hours.”

  “That’s because you kept teasing me about what you were going to do to me as soon as Mike left. By the end, even he was blushing.”

  “Sorry,” Jake said, not sounding sorry at all. “I couldn’t wait to get you alone on that bed. On this bed.”

  I looked up at him, my hand settling on his chest. “You always did like to make me blush.”

  “It was just so easy to do,” Jake said. “In public, all I had to do was look at you, and you’d turn red.”

  “That’s because I knew you were thinking naughty thoughts,” I protested.

  “It wasn’t always just me. Remember that bar downtown with the pool table in the back? How you squirmed with embarrassment the entire time we were there? I thought you’d caught poison ivy until I got you back home and tortured the truth out of you.”

  I buried my face in his shirt. I couldn’t believe he’d brought that up. We’d been at a bar, and Jake had looked so hot in his leather jacket, tight black jeans, a deep blue shirt that brought out the color in his eyes. We’d gone into a back room to play pool, and I’d started fantasizing about Jake taking me right there on the pool table. I didn’t want anything like that to happen for real, not in public, but the thought took hold of me and got me all hot and bothered. When Jake took me home, he’d tickled me until I told him my fantasy. Then we’d had incredible sex that had been fantasy-worthy in its own right.

  “Tell me that fantasy again.”

  Now I brought my head up to look at him. He couldn’t be serious. It’d been embarrassing enough to tell him when we’d been together. I couldn’t talk about it again. Not in a candlelit room on a bed we used to share. “I can’t do that.”

  “It’s just a fantasy, Red. I know it doesn’t mean that you’d actually want to do that in a public place. I know it doesn’t mean that we’re together. But tell it to me anyway.”

  He met my eyes, and I held his gaze, even though part of me wanted to curl up in his shirt again. “Please,” he said.

  “All right,” I said. If I were being honest—not that I planned to be with him—I’d felt my panties dampen the moment he first mentioned that bar. It had been a sports bar, but an older one. As there were no big games on that night, there’d been a small crowd. It had been a Tuesday. I’d gotten bored watching whatever ballgame was on TV and wandered to the back room. When I saw the pool table, I pulled Jake away from the big screen, ordered us two fresh beers, and made him play pool with me.

  That’s what really happened. But as soon as we were in the back room, my brain started going in naughty directions. We could still hear the guys from the main room, and for some reason I kept thinking how wicked it would feel if we were misbehaving and no one up front knew about it. The whole time we played pool, I kept adding details to the fantasy, getting more and more turned on. Consequently, I lost every game in a spectacular fashion. Not that I’d cared.

  "Okay,” I said, closing my eyes. “We went in the back room with our beers. We played one game, teasing each other, flirting with each other. We felt safe being naughty in public because no one could see the pool table unless they poked their heads in the door. So we knew we probably wouldn’t be seen, and we got bolder.”

  I was moving my hand in circles across his chest now. His flannel shirt had fallen open, and I could feel his warm skin through his undershirt. His arm was still around me, and his fingers were tracing matching circles on my arm.

  “I was wearing a button-down white shirt, tied under my breasts, and a short skirt,” I continued.

  “Wait, weren’t you wearing—”

  I put my finger up to his lips. “It’s a fantasy, Jake.”

  “Right,” he grinned. “Go on.”

  “And you were looking at me so hungrily that I couldn’t help teasing you. Leaning o
ver to take a shot, letting you see the red lace bra I had on. Arching my back so my little skirt barely covered my panties. I remember you coming up behind me, pressing against me as I sunk the eight ball in the corner pocket.”

  “Only way you’d ever beat me in pool is in a fantasy,” Jake chuckled.

  Absentmindedly, I slipped my hand lower, rubbing over his abs above his jeans. “Do you want to hear what happens next or not?” I asked.

  “Absolutely,” he said, pressing his hips up against my hand.

  “You asked me if I wanted to keep playing, and I said yes. But then you grabbed me around the waist and lifted me onto the edge of the table, and I knew that you had a different kind of playing in mind.

  “We’d never done anything like that in public, and I was scared we’d get caught, but at the same time, I was excited. Excited to know that at any moment, someone might come in. Then I felt your hands on my thighs as you spread my knees apart and stepped between them, pressing against me, holding me. And then kissing me.”

  My fingers were at his waist now, trying to undo his belt buckle. His free hand joined mine, deftly unfastening the belt while I worked at the button and zipper.

  “You had one hand in my hair, squeezing handfuls of it as you kissed me deeply. Then your other hand snaked between our bodies and untied the knot of my shirt. I wrapped my arms and legs around your torso, pulling you in closer.”

  My fingers slipped into the slit in his boxers now, finding his hardening length. He groaned with pleasure. I looked up at his face. He had his eyes closed, which made it easier.

  “You left my shirt open but on. You pulled the cups of my bra down under my breasts, pushing them up. Then you leaned forward, put one hand behind my back, and lowered me onto the table. You climbed on top of me, hovering over me, kissing down my neck, and then to one of my trapped breasts.”

  I eased his cock out now, and it was fully erect. I began stroking it the way he’d always liked.

  “You moved your mouth to my nipple, and it felt so good. I wanted to cry out, but I was afraid someone from up front would hear. We could hear them, hear the noise from several different games on TV, hear the clink of glasses, hear the cheers of fans.”