Talk Dirty to Me

by Lulu Wright

  “Fuck you,” he hisses in my ear as he slaps my back hard in return.

  “Fuck you too, man,” I reply, still grinning from ear-to-ear as we break apart.

  Tommy walks away toward Rose. True to form, the kid hocks a loogie onto the park grass as he passes her and Rose grimaces in disgust. My eyes catch hers and I mouth “What the fuck.” Scowling, she shrugs. At least one other person is seeing this asshole for what he really is.

  With the little friendship show over with, I finally get to work with the kids. I’m at home plate coaching on swings and Tommy Pizza, the bastard, is pitching from ten feet away. Before each kid steps up to home plate, Rose hooks them up with a W-ALT T-shirt, a Yankees baseball cap and a pretty smile. The latter distracts me more often than I’d care to admit.

  A kid I met earlier, Eric, accepts a hat from Rose next. He’s my favorite Little Slugger. “You look like a pro,” Rose tells him as she tugs the hat onto his head. She looks over at me and winks. “You are ready to bat?”

  Eric nods a big yes and runs over to me. As I high-five him, I give Rose a grin. Can’t help it. I like how she was with him, natural and friendly. It was like she didn’t even notice the surgery scars that cover his face and hands.

  I shoot his cute mom a reassuring wink as I guide him to the plate. She warned me earlier to be super gentle with the little guy, since he’s still got a lot of pain in his fingers. I reach around him and hold the bat for him, though I keep my grip loose enough that he controls the motion.

  Tommy Pizza has the fucking nerve to roll his eyes, but at least he pitches a softball I can swing at without hurting Eric. I pop it Tommy’s way…and what does the punk do? Catches it!

  Behind me Rose makes an angry sound, half gasp and half snarl. I couldn’t agree more.

  “Let’s try that one more time,” I call to Tommy, giving him the same death glare I gave him before I punched his smug face. He rolls his eyes again, but at least he listens and tosses another soft one our way.

  Eric and I give it a good bop, hard enough to sail over Tommy’s head. One of the volunteers behind him does a nice pratfall and Eric laughs. “Run, winner,” I call as he sprints toward first. Little dude runs his heart out, and skids across first base as everyone including me bursts into cheers.

  Rose stands behind us, grinning ear-to-ear and snapping photos of the run. She catches me staring, and for a long second, we just watch each other, smiles on our faces, sharing the moment. Then she tucks the phone in her front pocket. “Time to egg on your diehards again.”

  Gotta love the way she’s all business, even at a time like this. I bow to the inevitable, and step away from the plate to record my next radio call.

  All too soon, the event comes to an end. Rose hoists the bags I helped lug from the car, much lighter now, since we’ve given away almost all the merch she brought.

  “Need a hand?” I offer, before she can rag on me for not offering to help again.

  But she just shakes her head. “I got this.” Her eyes catch mine, a spark of heat in them. “By the way…” She leans in close, and I catch a whiff of her perfume, something light and airy that makes my head swim. Or maybe it’s just her proximity, the way I can see her lips part in minute detail, and her pupils dilate as they catch mine.

  Suddenly, I am very aware that only a couple of inches stand between us. One shift of my head and I could dip down to kiss those pert, smirking lips of hers. I could step closer, wrap my arm around her tiny waist and crush her against my body, feel those curves of hers, the curves I couldn’t get over back in high school, the ones I wanted to memorize with my fingertips every time we touched.

  An almost painful throb of desire pulses through me, and of course, it zooms straight to my crotch. Fuck. I want her so fucking bad right now.

  She leans up on tiptoe, and I think, this is it. We’re doing this.

  She stops an inch shy of my lips, hers still curved in a smile. “You owe Little Sluggers a whole lot of money,” she purrs.

  Then she’s off, sashaying toward the parking lot, her ass wiggling with every step, and I’m left burning hot. I would be glad we reached our funding goal, and excited for the charity group I love so much, except that all I can think about right now is watching that delicious, pert little ass of hers march toward the parking lot.

  Fuck.

  I spend another half an hour shaking hands and signing leftovers. A baseball some diehard claims he caught in Baltimore. The Sports Illustrated magazine with me and my ex Amber on the cover. The kid who brings me that one looks way too young to be able to read the articles, but he taps on Amber’s photo and grins up at me like he’s thinking nice one, and I can’t help laughing as I scrawl my signature across that cover for him.

  I’m grabbing my shit, finally ready to head out, when Tommy Pizza slides up next to me. “That bitch from the station. You banging her?”

  I jab my finger straight into his oversized pecs. “Shut. Up.”

  He laughs. “Fine, whatever, bruh.” He pulls on his coat, shaking his head as he does. “Man, I hate these gigs,” I hear him mutter in the general direction of his nearest PR lackey. “These kids creep me out.”

  I feel the lava start to build inside me. Rein it the fuck in, Mark. The paps are still here. I suffered through that reconciliation with Pizza once already. I cannot blow this.

  100, 99, 98…

  I don’t even reach 95. I just walk away from the punk, eyes on the sky. He’s not worth it.

  Out in the parking lot, I’m surprised to notice Rose’s car (though “car” is putting it politely) still there. Sure enough, when I round the trunk, she’s bent under the hood, her curvy ass sticking straight up in the air.

  Last time I checked, Rose doesn’t know a damn thing about cars. But who knows? People change.

  Still, I can’t resist the opportunity. Or, frankly, the excuse to linger near that ass a little longer. “Need some help, little lady?”

  Rose pops up from the guts of the car just long enough to glare at me.

  “Seriously,” I amend. “You stalled out?”

  “Do you know anything about cars?” she asks with a sigh. “If I call a tow, I’m afraid they’ll just condemn her.”

  I peek under the hood. Those car parts are older than us combined. I test a couple of hoses and one bursts in my hand, squirting grease across my coat. “You don’t need a mechanic. You need a priest.”

  “Fuck.” Rose groans and leans her forehead on the hood. “But I love her.”

  “Well then, I hope you’re willing to put in a whole lot of work.” I wipe away grease from my hands on my ruined coat. “She’ll be fine here for the night. I’ll send over my mechanic in the morning.”

  “I’ve got places to be, Mark,” she chides.

  “So let me give you ride.”

  Her eyes dart to mine, and I recognize that look. She’s tempted. Then she shakes her head and stares back at the Meadowlands. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s getting cold. Cabs out here take a century to show. Not to mention they charge about three times the toll rate to get back into the city.” I offer her an arm. “Let me play the gallant knight and save you from the serial killers.”

  She bites her lip to hold back a giggle. Her dimples are cute. “Ah yes, ye olde serial killers of New Jersey.”

  “You know the Meadowlands are like, the number one dumping ground for bodies the mafia needs to hide, right?”

  She purses her lips, but I can tell I’m winning her over.

  “Besides, you haven’t seen my new ride.” I jerk a thumb over my shoulder. “I’ve gotten better taste in cars since high school. This baby’s got a leather interior. Top of the line stereo. And of course my Jeter bobblehead on the dash, thanks to yours truly.”

  She snorts. “So that’s what that was for? Car decoration?”

  “It’s a very important element of the truck, Rose. You’ll see.”

  And just like that, I win. S
he drops her shoulders in surrender, and bends to snatch up her bags. “Fine. If it’ll make you stop pestering me.”

  I try not to grin too triumphantly, though I can’t resist a small smile. If I can get her in my truck, I’m halfway to home base.

  She’s quiet till we hit the 17. “Can I turn on the radio?” she asks, her hand hovering by the knob.

  After I nod, she switches it on. W-ALT blares through the speakers, and she blinks over at me with a surprised smile.

  I shrug. “What can I say? I’m a team player.”

  I fucking live for the blush that creeps over her cheeks right then.

  The drive passes faster than I’d like. All I can think about is how I want to pull over onto the shoulder and pull that T-shirt over her head. Kiss my way down her neck and uncross those arms of hers, hold them over her head as I slide into the passenger seat on top of her.

  But she just stares out the window, her arms and legs crossed, silent. Every now and then I catch her eye in the reflection of the window glass, studying me when she thinks I won’t notice. The only encouraging thing is that her gaze drops down to my chest more often than not, lingering on the line of my pecs and abs, visible through my tight T-shirt.

  “Left here,” she says, and I follow her directions. The silence feels electric. I can’t take it anymore.

  “Look, Rose,” I say, just as she says, “Mark.” We both pause, then laugh softly. “You first,” I tell her.

  Those round, wide eyes of hers catch mine again. She runs a hand through her honey-colored hair, a habit she’s had since high school. “This all feels really, dangerously…familiar.”

  I raise my eyebrows, inviting her to go on, but she takes a break to point me down another road. Shit. We must be getting close. “You mean me driving you home after a long night of mutual frustration?” I dare to say.

  That, at least, earns a soft laugh. Though her expression remains a little sad. Longing. “Well, for starters, yeah. You and me in general, Mark, it just feels like we’re…slipping into old patterns. Like it’d be so easy to just pick up where we…”

  “Where you,” I clarify, and her expression shifts to a glare.

  “Where you, if I recall, left off,” she finishes, chin high. That’s a challenge. But I don’t want to rise to it.

  For once, I don’t want to fight with her. Well, not unless that fight is going to end in some seriously fiery make-up sex. “Rose…”

  “I’m right here,” she interrupts, pointing to a three story building on a dark street.

  I kill the engine, and the truck goes dark. In the new silence, I can hear every breath she takes. See her lips part, as she leans toward me. I mirror her, reach a hand up to cup her cheek. She blinks in surprise when I touch her, but she doesn’t pull away. I let my thumb trace the outline of her luscious, full lips. “Rose,” I say again, and this time it’s not the start of a conversation but the end of one.

  She closes her eyes and tilts her chin up and my lips collide with hers. For a second, I forget everything else. The car, the cold outside, the dark street. It’s just me and her and that sexy, perfect body of hers. My hand slides down her cheek to cup the back of her neck, and my other hand crosses the gear shift to wrap around her hip, tugging her toward me.

  But that seems to wake her up. She jerks back, away, and we both gasp as she breaks the kiss.

  Fucking hell.

  She leans back in her seat, eyes shut, both of us breathing a little harder than usual. “I don’t think we should do this,” she finally says, though her voice wavers.

  “What is it you want to do, Rose?” I try to catch her eye, but she stares firmly out the window now, her jaw set.

  “I want my radio show to succeed. I want to make this station the biggest thing since sliced bread. I want to be respected for my career choices, not the guy I’m banging.”

  “Last time I checked, no banging is happening,” I point out.

  “Exactly,” she snaps, then shakes her head. “It’s just…it’s too much right now, Mark.”

  Typical Rose. Hot then cold. On then off. She loves playing hard to get, but she plays so hard that she convinces herself sometimes. But she’s done this before. Although I’m dying right now as my pants strain tighter, I can wait her out. “All right.” I catch her eye again and just gaze at her until I see her jaw tremble. I want to restart that kiss right fucking now. I want to kiss her longer, harder. I want to pin her beneath me, and make the whole rest of her body tremble like her jawline right now.

  Instead, I force a relaxed, nonchalant smile. “But I don’t want to spend the next three weeks working in the tundra. Can we agree to be friendly?”

  She rubs her forehead, but nods. “Yeah. Of course.”

  “Thank you, Rose.”

  “Good night, Mark.” She opens the door and climbs out. Leaning back in my seat, I drum my steering wheel and watch until she opens her front door. Half of me watches because I want to memorize her stride, her gait, the sexy flash of her long legs. The other half wants to make absolutely sure she’s home safe before I leave her alone.

  OK, I think. A ceasefire. My dick and balls ache the whole drive home, but this is better than constant fighting, right?

  But somehow, when I walk through the front door of my cabin, the emptiness of the place hits me hard. I feel…lonely.

  My land line rings a few minutes later. A distraction, perhaps. But when I see on the caller ID that it’s one of my old fuck buddies, Deborah, the one with a JLo ass and a mouth like a hoover, I drop the call to voicemail without even knowing why. For some reason, right now, that doesn’t feel like enough.

  9

  Rose

  I have fans!

  I have real live people who want to have their picture taken with me. They squeal when they see me and shout after me about how awesome I am.

  I discovered my newfound fan base when I arrived at the studio this morning (in an Uber since my poor baby is in the shop now). Usually when I get to the station I park in the back to avoid Mark’s fans—the diehards, the groupies and the autograph hounds—but the Uber left me out front, and I stepped from its confines to discover a gaggle of girls holding up W-ALT banners and begging for my signature.

  For a second, I just stood there gaping. Then a couple other people among the gaggle of thirty-odd Mark fans shouted, “Hey, it’s Rose!” and suddenly the whole group migrated over to me.

  I’m still signing W-ALT banners and Yankees posters, slightly confused, when Mark pulls up.

  Of course, as he arrives, most of the fans drift over to surround his truck. But I still have a few stragglers, clearly just here for me.

  “Enjoying the perks of fandom?” he asks as he strides over to me, wearing his usual T-shirt and smirk combo. Damn him. Why does he look sexy as hell even when he clearly just rolled out of bed? His hair is a mess, yet it only accentuates his sharp cheekbones and the sparkle in his crazy blue eyes.

  “What is going on?” I ask him as I wave away the last autograph, and jog across to meet him at the station door.

  “The fans have been asking for you,” he says.

  “Huh?”

  “Rose with the sexy voice,” he murmurs in my ear as I reach his side. He loops a protective arm around my waist, and most of the fans back off.

  Of course, the two of us so close together and him embracing me starts a whole new explosion of photos being taken.

  “Sexy voice?” I repeat like an idiot.

  “You really think nobody noticed how hot you are on our show?”

  “Well, I…” A couple more fans are arriving, and the cameras flash more often now. I want to pull away from him, stop any rumors right now, but I’m kind of nervous about facing this crowd alone. “Should I be afraid here?” I whisper under my breath.

  “You’ll be fine.” He tightens his arm around me, though, and looks up to catch the eye of a guy near the station door—security, I realize, which we must have hired when Mark’s show started to build in
popularity. Sure enough, the guard starts right over toward us. “You got this,” Mark tells me, and somehow, I believe him.

  We walk across the parking lot, security parting the crowd like Moses and the Red Sea. Mark pats my side, and my whole body tingles, tingles, tingles.

  Fuck. I thought I had erased the memory of our kiss last night, but my lips burn now just to think of it.

  Just as we are almost in the building, a guy dressed in a Mets jersey in a sea of Yankees garb steps between us and the doors. “You’re going to blow this season, Carrington,” the guy sneers. I recognize his voice from his calls. I’m not sure how exactly I pictured Mack, but I certainly thought he would have had more teeth.

  “Ok, wanker,” Mark laughs.

  When we finally get into the building, I almost knock Doc Bing over. “Good morning.” He hands me his little dog. Robert E. Lee gives me a thousand licks in three seconds as he squirms in my arms.

  “I didn’t realize you were in today,” I manage to say between licks.

  “I need to have a quick chat with the Yankee here before your show.”

  Doc Bing collects his pup and I feel a sting as I watch them walk off to my office for their private meeting. I’m the show runner here. Shouldn’t I be involved in that conversation?

  I stomp to the studio all butt-hurt, but feel the immediate calming effect of Night Vixen’s voice. My heart rate slows and I sip at my coffee to speed it up. Maybe Night Vixen really is a vampire. She’s on the mic reading copy about a VFW Hall show next weekend, and even just hearing something boring like that makes me calmer. I let her sneak in these unpaid boosts for the local scene like VFW because her devotion to the real scene touches me. She pushes the next track and waves me in.

  “How did you like your fans?” Vixen winks.

  I stifle a groan. “How did you know?”

  She thumbs at the parking lot. “Some of them have been out there since last night.”

  I perch on the table next to her, shaking my head. “It’s pretty weird, I’ve gotta admit.”

  “Pretty cool, Rose.” She adjusts her mic and lays out her final two tracks, then turns to me. He face is blank and serious. “Be careful though.”