Dirty Bad Boys Box Set: Forbidden Romance Collection

by Kat T. Masen

  “You spoke to him last night?” My slight annoyance with Flynn prompts me to sit up. He never tells me a thing. In fact, he storms out of the apartment in his usual dramatic way every time I see him lately. “He’s quite busy. We don’t get much time to chat.”

  I hate that I’ve just lied to Mama.

  “He called me, same time he calls me every night.”

  “He calls you every night?”

  “Honey, what’s going on? You sound upset.” Mama softens her voice, worried.

  “Nothing. I mean, he’s just a lot of work. I don’t know how you deal with him.”

  Mama laughs, soft and angelic, easing my frustration. I miss her terribly. I’m never shy about telling her this.

  “Give him time. The two of you never see eye to eye on much. Let him be, and it will work out. There was a time when you were a handful. A parent’s job never ends.”

  “Again, I’m sorry. I don’t think I understood the magnitude of being responsible for someone until we came here. He got a piercing, Mama.”

  “I know. He told me, actually showed me a picture.”

  Flynn’s secret phone calls with Mama are getting on my nerves. “Nice, so what else is new?”

  We spoke for a few more minutes until the ‘Jenga’ crew called Mama for their Monday game. I hang up, grabbing my pillow and staring at the wall.

  It has been three days since that night with Wesley. I haven’t heard a peep from him, resorting to Googling his whereabouts only to find out he’s in Louisiana filming a movie. I feel pathetic for doing it, even more pathetic for ignoring him because I think giving him a taste of his own medicine will be fun.

  I promise myself I won’t think about him. I don’t need that complication in my life. It isn’t like I’m in love with him or anything, I’m just looking for someone to have fun with. I am deprived of that bad-boy interaction, at least, that’s how I sell it to myself.

  Phoebe would have given me the exact advice, though this time, I purposely hold this from her.

  We talk almost every day, mainly about people back home or her love life. She’s intrigued with my job, begging me to tell her who my boss is. I also choose to withhold that information. If Phoebe knew anything that went on, she’d book herself a one-way ticket and be permanently crashing on my couch.

  It’s easy to busy myself with work, though every time I’m alone with Emerson, I want to ask her questions about Wesley and them. My mind burns with curiosity, but I know we have a professional relationship and don’t want her to think that anything is going on because it isn’t.

  We are nothing and whatever went on in our few encounters is just that—nothing. A momentary lapse of judgment on both our ends seeking something from a stranger.

  By day five, I’m able to catch a few more hours of sleep, which improves my mood. The more I distance myself from Wesley, the easier it has become. After lying in bed for an hour and watching the sunrise, I make the executive decision to completely forget about him, full stop. A combination of ‘in the too-hard basket’ and my late-night call with Liam.

  Liam wasn’t shy in telling me how much he missed me, suggesting that we FaceTime. It was fun, a walk down memory lane until he wanted to take it a step further.

  “I miss you, all of you.”

  His words, sweet, full of honesty, made it difficult for me to lie to him. I missed him, but the guilt will overcome me, and I struggled to say the words back.

  “You’d hate it here. Too many people and the traffic is on another level. Would you believe I got stuck on the freeway from the beach to my place for almost two hours? It’s normally a thirty-minute drive.”

  “I wouldn’t hate it if I were with you.” He slows down his words, heavy breathing following. “Milly, take off your shirt.”

  Liam is lying in bed, wife beater on, and his bed hair sitting on his pillow so messily. He looks good. I miss him. I miss his touch, the way that everything about him is so comfortable.

  “Liam,” I offer a smile. “I can’t do that. Flynn is home. Maybe when he’s not home?”

  I tried my best not to offend him, but I could see by the way he struggled to maintain eye contact he was offended and he shifted the conversation to a quick goodbye, and that was that.

  I think about calling him now, but instead, chicken out and send him a quick text.

  Me: I miss you too. I’ll call you tonight when Flynn is out xx

  No longer wanting to be alone in the confinement of my room, I grab a tee and place it over my tank, exiting my room and leaving my cell behind. The bathroom is between Flynn’s and my room, and when I open the door, I jump with shock screaming as a stranger stands before me.

  “Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me.” I clutch my chest, riding through the pain.

  “Sorry.” The woman smiles sweetly. “I just needed to pee, or I’ll get a UTI.”

  “What?”

  “You know, after you have sex, you need to pee, or you’ll get a UTI.”

  I walk away and straight to Flynn’s bedroom, banging on the door with a vengeance until I open it myself. The room reeks of sex and testosterone. He sees me, ignores my presence, and closes his eyes.

  “Are you kidding me with all this right now?”

  His eyes open, tired and uninterested in what I have to say. “Just because you ain’t getting any doesn’t mean everyone else has to suffer.”

  “How do you know I’m not getting any? Not that this is about me.” I shake my head, confused by how the conversation turned. “You can’t bring random girls to our place. And why didn’t you tell me you speak to Mama every day?”

  “Because it’s none of your fucking business.”

  I raise my finger, pointing it with anger. “You know, this emo phase is so 2002. As for the women, they better not steal any of my shit…” I turn to leave, but fling the words back over my shoulder, “Oh… and use protection!”

  It feels like Flynn is a lost cause. I’ve failed at being a good big sister. The more time I spend with him alone, the more respect I have for Mama. With that thought in mind, I lock myself in the bathroom for an hour and decide to use my day off to hit the beach. I need out of here and time to process my lingering anger toward my own flesh and blood of a brother.

  Back in my room, I gather my things into a beach bag, careful not to forget the sunscreen since I’m known for turning into a lobster. My cell vibrates on the bed, perfect timing since I almost forgot to pack it. There’s a text from Wesley, the first time I’ve heard from him in five days.

  Wesley: Did you know there are 10 alligators to every human in Louisiana?

  My lips curve upward in a smile, but I’m quick to stop it as if he can see me, and I don’t want him to think a simple message will bring me so much joy. I can respond instantly, fall at the mercy of his charm, but instead, I hop in my car and crank up Alanis Morissette and channel some angry-girl music in hopes it will give me much-needed strength.

  I settle on hitting Venice Beach, a popular tourist destination with so much to see and quirky entertainment right on the boardwalk. I welcome the bustling atmosphere, my thoughts need a good distraction and less time to ponder and think.

  There is a group of young performers doing some dance that I watch for half an hour until it ends. The performers walk around the crowd, requesting a donation be given. I threw in a five—the young guy thanking then asking me for a date at the same time.

  Despite the large crowds and busy sights to take in, my mind struggles to rid itself of the unanswered text that sits in my inbox. As if the cell gods are talking to me, it rings in my purse as I fumble for it in a mad rush to answer, only to be greeted by Emerson.

  “Hey, a friend and I are heading to the beach. Do you wanna come with?”

  “Actually, I’m kinda at the beach already.”

  “Even better. We’ll come to you.”

  I give her exact directions where I’ll be waiting, deciding to walk further to a less busy part of the beach wher
e Emerson won’t be photographed. She’s quick to let me know she’ll be here soon and what she’ll be wearing since she wants to go unnoticed. Twenty minutes later, the sunflower hat that looks like it belongs in the nineties is right in front of me.

  “Wow, you weren’t wrong when you said it was ugly.” I laugh, curious as to who would design a large straw hat with sunflowers all over it, and wait… are those ladybugs?

  “If ugly were a person, even it would be offended. It’s the most hideous thing ever. My mom found it at a yard sale and bought it for Halloween one year. I wasn’t sure who she was supposed to be, though. Anyway, I look like a tourist, so no one will pay attention to me.”

  The friend standing beside Emerson is Charlie, her lawyer, the very attractive woman who sat on the right of the panel when I was being interviewed.

  “You remember Charlie?” Emerson asks, motioning for us to follow her toward the sand.

  “I do. Nice to see you again.”

  “And you.” Charlie smiles, leaning in for a quick hug which catches me off guard. “So, did Emerson tell you this was our kid-free day? I’m so excited.”

  “Oh, you have kids?” I ask, trying not to be rude but admiring her youthful skin. “You look so young and fresh.”

  Charlie and Emerson laugh in unison. “I don’t feel it. Yes, three girls.”

  We find a spot in an almost-secluded section, setting up our towels and laying with our view facing the ocean. The water is gentle, not the normally rough waves that crash along the shoreline.

  My towel is laid flat, and with my butt firmly in place, I lather up to avoid the scorching sun and its deathly rays. Both Emerson and Charlie have great bodies. It’s impossible not to admire their nicely tanned skin, curves in all the right places, and bikinis that show off their toned physiques.

  I can’t be any paler. My bikini isn’t even a bikini. It’s a halter crop-top and little shorts. I bought it eight years ago when Phoebe and I planned a trip to Miami for spring break which fell through because we both got mono the day before.

  “I really love your swimsuit. In fact, I love the dresses you wear.” Emerson compliments me, passing a bottle of iced tea which she retrieved from a cooler. “Not to sound ungrateful, I love getting free clothes, but I wish they would have me wear some different styles.”

  I can’t relate. Emerson has a different life. Designers throw themselves at her, and she’s somewhat obliged to wear their designs. I shop at Target. Occasionally, Walmart. It wasn’t a problem until I arrived here. Emerson loves to talk about clothes, telling us about her fitness line and what new items will be on the racks in Australia.

  I crave the girl-time, grateful that Emerson wants to hang out. We talk about life, their kids, Emerson’s current dilemma with Logan wanting another kid.

  Charlie’s quick to give her two cents. “See, this is the problem with men. They have no concept of how difficult being pregnant is. Nine months of uncomfortable swelling, not to mention indigestion and heartburn,” Charlie complains.

  “And gas. Do you know how embarrassing it is when you can’t control a fart in public?” Emerson adds, scowling behind her oversized shades.

  I clutch my stomach, giggling at the thought. They both laugh as well, Emerson continuing her story of the time she accidentally silent-farted during a live taping on a show only to have the crew complain later about how much something stunk.

  “Sorry, Milana. It’s not like we’re trying to put you off but just be warned.” Charlie giggles.

  “Nah, all good. Don’t think that’s in the cards for me.”

  “As in kids?” Emerson questions, propping herself up on her elbows.

  “Yeah, kids, babies. Aside from my brother, I’ve never spent much time around them. They’re cute, but I don’t have this yearn for them like most women.”

  “And this guy back home?” Emerson asks. “Haven’t you guys been together for a bit?”

  “Oh.” Charlie grins. “There’s a guy back home? I always pictured that whole ‘guy back home’ to be this wholesome unbelievably gorgeous man with light eyes and messy hair. He wears a white tee and ripped jeans. Calls you some adorable nickname because he’s known you forever.”

  “I think you just described Brad Pitt in Thelma and Louise. Does he wear a cowboy hat, too?” Emerson chuckles.

  Charlie sits herself up, grinning. “Oh, and he’s a mechanic. A little rough but so sweet.”

  I can barely contain my laughter. “That’s Liam all right. Everything but the cowboy hat.”

  “Oh, do tell.” Charlie moves in closer to me. “Let me live vicariously through you.”

  “Charlie!” Emerson scolds. “If Lex heard you say that, you’d be in the dog house forever. Charlie’s husband is one of those alpha possessive males. The kind you read about in books.”

  “Um… hello? And you think Logan is not? Please, Logan is equally as bad as Lex. At least Lex can tolerate Julian being around. Whenever Wesley is anywhere around you, Logan turns into a creature of jealousy.”

  A lump forms in my throat, my ability to swallow crippled by the mention of his name. I don’t want to show how much it affects me, trying to hold onto the part of the conversation that doesn’t quite make sense.

  “You look confused.” Charlie laughs, taking a deep breath afterward. “Julian is kind of my ex.”

  “Fiancé,” Emerson chimes in. “Married to Lex’s sister.”

  “Oh, okay, wow. That’s, um… confusing, and awkward to be around him?” I raise my brows, curious to her response.

  “Yes and no. I’m not awkward around him. Julian is mature and such a great guy. It just wasn’t right between us. He loves Lex’s sister. It’s just that Lex had a hard time adjusting. They’re much better now. They don’t exactly hang out alone, but can be in the same space and hold a conversation.”

  She bumps her shoulder against Emerson, laughing at a private joke. “Unlike this one here. So, how much do you know about Wesley?”

  Emerson rolls her eyes, falling back onto the towel and throwing the large sunflower hat over her face. “She doesn’t need to know about him. Trust me, you don’t.”

  “I’ve met him twice. He’s a little, um—”

  “Moronic?” Charlie adds with a grievance. “Immature? Still hopelessly in love with Emerson which is why he’s holding onto the business?”

  “Twice?” Emerson questions, sitting up. “I thought you only met him once at that meeting?”

  Shit.

  “I ran into him one day before that. I had no clue who he was. Accident at the coffee house. It kinda didn’t register until after that meeting with him and Jeff.”

  “Oh, thank God.” She holds her chest, letting out a sigh of relief. “I thought he was trying to sway you into seeing him. He’s such a manipulator. Though don’t believe anything Charlie says about him being in love with me. That boat has long since sailed.”

  “Um… excuse me,” Charlie interrupts. “Give me one other reason why Wesley would hold onto the business? He has money. That can’t be it.”

  “He does it to piss Logan off. He’s competitive. It doesn’t mean he’s still in love with me. He just likes to be a pain in the ass. Anyway, can we change the subject, please?”

  And just like that, we start talking about books.

  I’m halfway into the conversation, still thinking about what Charlie said. Maybe Wesley is using me to get to Emerson. It makes sense. But then my mind wanders back to the last time I saw him, telling me how he can’t stay away from me. The more I try to analyze the situation, the more my head begins to hurt.

  The two of them stop talking, both telling me to wake them in ten minutes. Ten minutes later, I hear both of them snoring. Motherhood looks exhausting, and I don’t dare wake them, giving them some extra time to nap.

  I read Wesley’s text again, also thinking about what the media says about him. Mama will have a heart attack if I tell her I was alone with such a man.

  I know I shouldn’t be enterta
ining this.

  Or even be typing what my fingers so desperately do.

  Me: No clue about alligators but now that you’ve informed me, I’ll cross it off my bucket list. So, you’re in Louisiana, I had no idea. I thought you fell off the face of the earth and landed in Narnia where cell reception doesn’t exist.

  I hit send faster than you can say idiot. I instantly regret it until he responds seconds later, and my heart does this nervous beat like an adrenaline rush of some sort.

  Wesley: I’m filming. Still around. Though, I thought you were in Narnia since you didn’t respond from the morning or my text from last week.

  So, he’s waiting for me to respond? This guy is so hot and cold. One minute he’s telling me he can’t stay away and the next minute he creates this distance without even telling me. I’m not going to let him off easy.

  Me: 6 hours is COMPLETELY different than 5 days.

  I hit send, take a large drink from my iced tea bottle which instantly cools me down. My skin feels extremely hot, and I know I shouldn’t be in the sun for much longer. I wonder if Emerson minds if I borrow her hat?

  Wesley: Remember, you didn’t respond. You sound a little worked up? I’ll be back next Friday.

  The nerve of him! I’m typing faster than the speed of light, desperate to relay my wit and prove to him that he means nothing though everything inside of me begs to differ.

  Me: That’s nice. I’m sure your housekeeper would love to know that. I, on the other hand, find that information irrelevant.

  The bubble appears on the screen, longer than it should have. I find myself tapping my knee impatiently. This is the most annoying thing ever.

  Wesley: Don’t start. I’m alone and nothing can come of this. Excuse the pun.