Real Dirty (Real Dirty #1)

by Meghan March

  I’m not walking into this blind, though, and there’s no way I’m dropping my guard completely, but I think it’s time I take a risk on something that feels right, regardless of the consequences. Because when Boone tells me he’s going to take care of things, I actually believe him, and something about that is incredibly seductive.

  Maybe I should go back to not thinking about why I’m going against my hard-and-fast rule. That’s easier than trying to justify it to myself.

  Boone interrupts my thoughts with a question as we get closer to the Fishbowl.

  “You got a plan for how you want this birdnapping to go down?”

  I shoot him a sidelong glance. “Birdnapping? Really?”

  “Just callin’ it what it is. The bird ain’t yours, but we’re taking it whether they like it or not. What else do you want to call it?”

  “Bird rescue.” To my own ears, I sound determined and defiant.

  “Still can’t believe you talked me into this.” Boone’s tone carries a hint of exasperation.

  I shift in my seat again as I remember what I promised him in return.

  “You help me get Esteban out of the bar, and I’ll let you do whatever kind of opening you want on my back door.”

  I’m not even sure what to call that. I officially offered up my anal virginity to a guy for helping me steal a bird.

  Desperate times.

  My brain smacks me down. Quit lying to yourself, girl. You’d let him conquer your virgin territory without any kind of bargain at all.

  And that’s probably the truth. Boone is different, and something about him makes me want to experience all the things I’ve been missing out on for years by being trapped in the Fishbowl.

  “Whatever you want to call it, we gotta talk about the plan. I need to know what I’m walking into.”

  We’re a few blocks away from the bar, and I glance at the clock on my phone. It’s only a few minutes after ten in the morning, but that means Esteban is probably going to be pissed because I doubt Brandy got her lazy ass out of bed—if she even slept there last night—to make sure he has fresh water and food. Esteban is a demanding feathered diva when it comes to his schedule.

  “Don’t listen to whatever he says to you. Just grab the cage and get out of there.”

  We’d already argued about me helping. Boone forbade me from getting out of the car, even though my ankle is feeling a lot better this morning and the swelling has gone down. Maybe it’s the painkillers talking, but I think it was a whole lot of fuss over nothing too serious.

  “Why would I worry about what the bird says? I’m more concerned about someone taking a swing at my head from behind with that baseball bat you kept behind the bar.”

  “Brandy shouldn’t be awake, if she’s even there. You’ve got keys, and it’s not like there’s an alarm that’s going to go off. Dad stopped paying for the monitoring before I took over managing the place.”

  “And no one else is going to be there?”

  “No. Unless . . .”

  “What?”

  “When I lived above the bar and Brandy crashed there, I had a rule that she couldn’t bring anyone home. If she wanted to bang some dude, she had to do it somewhere else.”

  “So she and her latest fuck might be upstairs.”

  I nod. “And Esteban isn’t going to be quiet, so that could definitely wake the dead.”

  Boone pulls up behind the bar and shifts the car into park. “No cars here, though.”

  “Brandy doesn’t have a car. Got repo’d a few months ago.”

  He just shakes his head and holds out his hand. “Keys?”

  I drop the ring into his palm with the six keys to various locks in the building. “Let me help. Seriously. I’m fine. I can walk—”

  Boone gives me a hard look. “Not happening. And when we get back home, your ass is going on the couch with that ankle up for the rest of the day. Get me?”

  It takes everything I have not to bare my teeth at him in frustration. But I manage.

  “Fine. Be a stubborn ass. Clearly, you’re good at it.”

  He shoots me a wink. “It’s your ass I’m more worried about. Got plans for that sweet peach, and I need you in full working order for them.”

  My mouth drops open, but Boone is out of the truck and heading for the back door of the bar before I can pull it together to respond.

  That man . . .

  He frustrates me and excites me in equal measure. I want to slap the smirk off his face and then kiss the crap out of him. Yeah, I’m screwed.

  When he reaches the door, I realize I didn’t tell him which key it was, but on the third try, he gets it right and the door opens.

  Boone disappears inside, and now . . . I wait.

  43

  Boone

  At ten o’clock this morning, I was supposed to be giving a radio interview, but I canceled it after breakfast when Ripley told me she needed to go to her friend Hope’s to borrow her truck and stage a rescue operation.

  Fast forward through a lot of arguing and what was probably the sexiest bargaining of my life, and here I am instead.

  The bar is dark and quiet when I walk inside. The only light comes from a couple of fluorescents that I assume they keep on to deter intruders.

  Didn’t work on this guy.

  The bird’s cage is in the corner, shielded with the purple zipped cover. It’s about five feet tall, three feet wide, and two feet deep. In other words, way too big for me to easily steal by myself, but whatever. I’ll make it work.

  When I bear-hug the cage to lift it off the stand, the bird flips out.

  “Red alert. Red alert. Danger, Will Robinson.” The tone of his screeching changes. “Gonna kill you, mothafucka.”

  Yeah, anyone upstairs is going to be wide awake now. I turn with the cage, glad it’s not as heavy as I anticipated, and move toward the exit.

  “Sorry, buddy.” I use the cage to push open the door.

  “Red alert. Dead man walking.”

  As soon as I’m outside, thinking this went way more smoothly than I planned, Ripley hops out of the passenger side of the truck and hurries around to open the door to the back of the cab.

  I’m cursing at her in my head as the bird swears at me to anyone who will listen.

  I put the seats down in the crew cab before attempting this shit, so with the door open, all I have to do is slide the cage inside. Thank fuck it fits.

  “Get your ass back in the car, woman. I told you—”

  “You needed help.”

  She’s more stubborn than I am, and that’s saying something. I slam the door and pick Ripley up, her body pressed to mine as I walk her around the truck and heft her higher to sit her in the seat.

  The bird is squawking, but I can’t make out what it’s saying. Either way, that’s not important.

  “Next time I’m kidnapping a bird for you, your ass stays in the truck. Got it?”

  “Fine,” she huffs. “Now we just need the stand and we can get out of here.” A certain sadness shrouds her features. Probably thinking about how the life she had only days ago is nonexistent thanks to a good-for-nothing dad and a piece-of-shit cousin.

  “Give me two minutes and we’ll be gone. Hold tight, sugar.”

  I shut her door and head back into the bar. Bird-cage stand in one hand and a bag of bird food in the other, I’m ready to get out of this bar when footsteps pound down the stairs from Ripley’s old apartment.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  It’s the cousin, Brandy. She’s wearing some kind of lacy number that looks like what you’d see a stripper walk around in after she finishes dancing onstage. Not a single trace of modesty in that one, because I can see both her nipples clearly.

  “Getting out of here.”

  She looks at the stand and the bag in my hands and then to the corner where the bird cage used to sit. Then her face twists into an ugly scowl.

  “I shoulda known she’d come back for that pain-in-the-ass bir
d. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you walk out of here with it, though.”

  “Already did, so what you gonna do about it?”

  “I could call the cops on you. You’d be arrested for breaking and entering and stealing my shit. I bet those reporters would be plenty happy to pony up cash for this story too.”

  With one hand on the door to shove it open, I’m ready to get my ass out of this place, but when she says pony up cash for this story too, I still.

  “What the fuck did you say?”

  “That the reporters would probably be happy to pay for this story.”

  I drop my hand from the door and take a step toward Brandy. She might not be the brightest bulb in the box, but even she recognizes over two hundred pounds of pissed-off man when she sees it.

  “No, you said too. Like you’ve already sold them a story.”

  The look that flashes across her face is the epitome of oh shit, I got caught. But because she’s the type of woman she is, Brandy decides to lie.

  “I didn’t do shit. You can’t prove nothin’. My bitch cousin is brainwashing you.”

  “Shut your mouth. You don’t say her name. You forget she exists. Understand? Because I can already guess what you did. You sold the story that I spent the night. Makes perfect sense now. After you shook me down for a grand and probably blew it on stupid shit, you stooped even lower to make a buck.” I take another step toward her, and Brandy shrinks back instinctively before squaring her shoulders and jutting out her chin.

  She drops the innocent act real quick.

  “I’m not scared of you. You can’t touch me. I got the number of a guy that’ll pay for anything I bring him, and if you lay one hand on me, I guarantee he’s gonna get the story of a lifetime.” She sneers, and it’s clear she feels like she has the upper hand in this situation. She’s wrong.

  “You think you’re the first skank to threaten me with bad publicity and bullshit stories? I don’t give a shit what you say about me. Go ahead and try it. I will bury you.”

  I don’t know where she finds the balls, but she says, “You might not care about your reputation, but I guarantee Ripley will. You want more stories out there about how you made her your whore just like Gil Green did with her mama? Good luck gettin’ her to spread her legs for you after that, Boone.”

  My temper turns my vision red. I’ve never put my hands on a woman in anger, and I won’t start today, but I’ve never met someone who pushed me this close to the limit.

  “You’re lucky you’re not a man. I’d knock your teeth down your throat for that.”

  “And then I’d own your ass. Watch your step, big shot. You don’t want to piss me off again.” Then she decides to change her tactic. “Besides, if you’re nice to me, I just might show you how much better I am than my cousin. If you want a woman who knows what she’s doing, then you picked the wrong one.”

  Between her threats and talking shit about Ripley, I’m done holding back. “You’re just a cheap slut looking for a free ride. You know how many girls like you I’ve met in this town? Hundreds. You’re a dime a dozen. Easy come, easy go. Not worth the price of a condom I’d have to slide on my dick to make sure I don’t catch whatever crotch rot you came home with last night.” I lower the stand to the floor and reach into my back pocket to yank out a few hundreds before tossing them in her direction.

  “That’s for the bird. It’s more than you’d get for a fuck, and the last cash you’ll ever get out of me.”

  She sucks in an outraged breath, but I’m done with this bitch. I shove open the door and I’m gone.

  Try selling that to the tabloids.

  I work on calming my temper down, but with only fifteen feet from the back door of the bar to my truck, it ain’t happening.

  I yank the truck door open, shove the stand inside next to the bird who is still squawking nonsense, and slam it before climbing into the driver’s seat.

  “Everything okay? You were in there for longer than I thought you’d be.”

  “Ran into your cousin. She’s fuckin’ delightful. And when I say delightful, I mean I’d rather slam my dick in a door than talk to her again.”

  Ripley’s face pales as I throw the truck in reverse. “Oh shit. What’d she say?”

  “A whole lot of bullshit that ain’t worth repeating.”

  “So it was bad? That doesn’t surprise me when it comes to Brandy.” Ripley’s hands curl into two balled-up fists, and the bird also chimes in.

  “Dirty whore.”

  I shift into drive and pull forward. “For once, that bird has it completely right.”

  Ripley’s gaze cuts to mine. “What do you mean? Did she . . . did she—”

  “Offer to fuck me? Not exactly.”

  Another sharp inhale from the passenger side of the truck. “That bitch.”

  “We’ll give her two more minutes of our time, and then we’re done talking about her because she ain’t worth it.” Ripley nods and I continue. “What the hell happened between you two for her to be so damned bitter and vicious?”

  Ripley’s shoulders hunch forward and she wraps both arms around herself. “I wish I knew. Her dad walked out a few months after she was born, and her mom, my aunt on my mama’s side, wasn’t exactly a model parent. She had the same attitude—that life owed her something and didn’t deliver.”

  “Fair enough. Subject closed.” I glance in the rearview mirror and add, “Time to get this bird home.”

  44

  Ripley

  After we returned to Boone’s following the Great Bird Rescue, or at least that’s what I was calling it in my head, Boone put my ass on the couch, and then got Esteban settled in his huge family room.

  When I told him I needed to get the bird, I hadn’t really considered exactly what I was asking for. I just moved my bird into Boone Thrasher’s house. Where I’m staying temporarily. As in, maybe for another night or two.

  Hope called on the way home from the Fishbowl, but given the fact that I didn’t want Boone to overhear any of the conversation we were guaranteed to have, I silenced the call and texted her to let her know I’d get back with her as soon as I could. And then I’ll have to ask her if I can move Esteban to her place when I go back to crashing on the futon.

  I really hope she doesn’t have a problem with it. Otherwise, I’m going to be out of luck.

  When Boone finishes feeding Esteban, and avoids getting pecked in the process, he pulls his phone from his pocket. “I’ve got about five calls to return and a radio station interview I’m two hours late for.” He walks to the table, grabs the remote, and hands it to me. “I gotta handle this shit before I do anything else.”

  My stomach twists. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I never would’ve—”

  Boone leans down and silences me with a kiss. “I do what I want, and there’s nothing else I would’ve rather done this morning, so don’t apologize. It ain’t the first time I’ve missed something, and it won’t be the last.” He stands again, but tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Although I gotta say, this is the best excuse I’ve ever had. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

  He strides from the room, and I’m left alone with Esteban as he crows, “Don’t apologize.”

  “There’s nothing else I would’ve rather done this morning.”

  Boone Thrasher feels like he’s almost too good to be true.

  I lean back on the couch and stare up at the TV screen. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I have absolutely nothing to do. I mean, I could be looking online for another part-time job, or even trying to figure out where I could possibly rent an apartment that will let me have a bird . . . but instead, I flip on the TV and cuddle into the comfortable couch, letting myself drift for a few minutes.

  Maybe my life is finally turning around.

  In a not-so-shocking turn of events, I discover I’m not really good at doing nothing.

  When someone opens the door an hour later, I’m sitting cross-legged on a bar stool, organi
zing Boone’s spice cupboard. I’ve already done the fridge and the pantry.

  Call me crazy, but when I got hungry and carefully made my way over to the pantry to find something to eat, I was horrified at the disorganization. First, Boone has a ton of food. Probably enough to feed an army, but it was all just shoved onto the shelves in a mishmash.

  My OCD tendency reared its ugly head, and while I devoured an entire bag of Lay’s potato chips, I rearranged every shelf. It felt good to be somewhat useful instead of just taking up space on the couch, so I moved on to his fridge. That was a complete disaster.

  Now, I’ve got paprika in one hand and peppercorns in the other when I hear the garage door shut and a man’s footsteps coming down the hallway. He stops when he enters the kitchen carrying two giant takeout bags with a familiar yellow circle around a winged buffalo.

  “What the fuck?” That’s his first question when he sees my arm cocked, ready to bean him in the head with the paprika.

  “Who are you?”

  He’s got to be at least six foot four, three hundred pounds. Basically, he’s built like a linebacker, and no amount of spices would stop him if he decided to squash me like a bug.

  But I’m scrappy, so I won’t go down without a fight.

  His eyebrows go up. “You gonna throw that at me? ’Cause my hands are kinda full right now with your lunch, Ms. Fischer.”

  “How do you know my name?” My mind races to recall if I’ve seen this guy before, and I come up empty. “Who are you?”

  “Anthony Prentiss, head of Boone’s security team. And for the record, the only spice that really scares me is dill weed. Don’t know what it is, but I don’t want any weed in my food unless it’s the good kind.”

  His deadpan answer knocks a chuckle loose from me. “Then you’re lucky dill weed is already in the proper alphabetical order and I’m on the Ps now.”

  “You’re a weird chick. Boone didn’t mention that.” He continues past me to the table where this morning we . . .