Dirty Love & Filthy Lies

by C. Shell

  Conner shakes his head, his hackles still raised. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he gripes. “We were good. Life was good. I made one mistake, and you hung me out to dry for it,” Conner fumes, through clenched teeth.

  I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck in the back of my head. “Not only are you delusional, but you sound like a spoiled brat,” I tell him.

  Conner’s gaze darkens. “Are you seriously calling me a brat?” he scoffs. “Need I remind you -”

  A sound off to the side catches our attention and whatever insult Conner was about to throw my way is forgotten. Turning in my seat, I spot Ashton. He leans against a tree with his hands pushed deep into his pockets. He appears calm and collected with a mask of indifference on his face. I worry my bottom lip with my teeth, not knowing how long he’s been there or how much he’s heard. It isn’t until he meets my stare dead-on, and that’s when I see the truth of what lies beneath his calm facade.

  Ashton is pissed off.

  I stare, not even bothering to hide my obvious ogling. It’s so painfully wrong, how beautiful Ashton is. The anger written across his face does nothing to diminish the strength in his jaw or the confident way he holds himself.

  Goosebumps pepper my arms. Is he upset with me? I bristle at that thought. It’s not as if I have control over my ex’s actions. The two men stare each other down while I wait with bated breath to see which will break the tension first. This moment reminds me of an old western show I saw once when I was little, where the sheriff and the bad guy meet at noon for a duel. Of course, this isn’t a movie. But if it were, Ashton would be the handsome sheriff.

  My eyes dart back and forth while my heart stumbles and trips over itself.

  Conner puffs out his chest and with a sneer asks, “Who the hell are you and why are you talking to my fiancé?”

  “Ex-fiancé,” I correct.

  Ashton doesn’t acknowledge Conner. He dismisses him altogether as if he isn’t worth his time and focuses his full attention on me. “I had to park around the corner. You ready to go?” he asks, and I shiver at the sound of his deep-seated voice.

  Conner pushes off the tree, his body tensing for a fight that I don’t think he could win. Not for a million dollars. Where he is toned from football workouts and carefully prepared meals, Ashton is built from the streets. Rough and rugged, he has a body carved from long hours in the gym. Conner isn’t one to handle problems on his own. He doesn’t like to get his hands dirty and instead lets others fight his fights for him.

  Conner’s gaze swings my way, and a growl like sound emits from his clenched jaws. “Emma, who the fuck is this?”

  A small part of me wants to throw myself at Ashton and kiss him like a starved woman just so Conner can get a taste of his own medicine. Unfortunately, that’s childish and no matter how much he hurt me; I refuse to sink to his level. And there’s still that unresolved issue with my sister that needs my attention. Without Conner’s help, I won’t be able to talk his father into giving me more time to come up with tuition money.

  So, until that’s done, I need to play nice.

  Lips pressed into a hard line; I force a smile. “Conner, we’ll finish this up later. Talk your father into waiting two weeks before talking with the school. You owe me that much, at least.”

  Standing on wooden legs, I walk over to Ashton and take his outstretched hand. “Let’s go,” I reply my nerves, turning my voice sound soft. I wish I could figure out what he’s thinking, but Ashton’s got his emotions locked down, leaving me with nothing but his turbulent gaze.

  With my hand entwined with his, I follow Ashton up the winding walkway and out to the parking lot. An uncomfortable tension hangs heavy between us. It isn’t until we’re standing before a decked-out matte black-on-black jeep with huge tires that he finally speaks.

  Leaning down, he gets right into my face and watches me in a way that makes my pulse race. “You need to level with me. Who was that guy?”

  I grimace. There’s no easy way to describe my warped relationship with Conner without making me look like a fool. Leaning my upper body toward him, I clear my throat I shoot him what I hope to be a reassuring smile. “That was my ex. His name is Conner Thompson. We broke up recently and are still working through some family stuff. Sorry if he was an ass, but that’s par for him.”

  Ashton makes a humming noise in the back of this throat. Tucking his hands in his pockets, he regards me with a critical eye. “Is Conner going to be a problem?”

  A pit of worry sits heavy in my belly. I feel like we’re on the edge of a cliff and one wrong answer from me with send us plummeting over. “Not at all.” God, I hope I’m right. “Conner holds the title of ex for a reason. There’s some financial and family stuff we’re still sorting through. That’s all. There is no chance of us getting back together.”

  Ashton looks pleased with that answer. “Good to hear it.” I blink up at him, my pulse tumbling along at a fast pace. Even with his shoulders slumped, Ashton easily towers over me. “Then you won’t mind me teaching him a hard lesson if I ever catch him raising his voice at you again.”

  My mouth opens, and then snaps closed.

  I don’t know how to respond to that. Instead of answering him, I retreat from his warmth and slip into Jeep where I stare out of the window waiting for my cheeks to cool and the throb between my legs to go away.

  I’ve always taken care of my own problems, but hearing Ashton threaten Conner on my behalf makes me a little lightheaded. I like it. Probably more than I should.

  Ashton’s manly scent and possessive streak might just be the death of me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  My grin ratchets up a notch. “Are you ready to wave your little white flag yet?"

  “You wish,” Ashton answers in a smooth tone. “I’m just warming up.”

  Seeing Ashton flustered is amusing. Golf is not his sport, not even the miniature variety. He’s been trying to force his green golf ball into the opened lion’s mouth for the last fifteen minutes. His cursing gets more creative with every miss. At the rate he’s going, it’ll take the rest of the day for us to finish one course.

  I plop my butt down on a fake boulder to rest my tired legs. The park we’re at is one I’ve been meaning to try out for a while. Becca and I used to try out new activities all the time, but Conner was always a spoiled sport and refused to join in saying he might pull a muscle and ruin his time on the football field. It always sounded like bullshit to me. From rock climbing to laser tag, they’ve got a bit of everything here, including some amazing food trucks. The friend Oreos are my favorite.

  The sun hides behind the clouds, only peeking out every so often while making the air feel cool and crisp. It’s nice out here. A group behind us has three little boys no older than five in it and I laugh seeing them squabble over who’s the best while their parents appear haggard and worn out from chasing them all around.

  Bella and I were just as competitive growing up. We would argue over the color of the sky just to outdo the other. I miss my sister something fierce. I know it can’t be easier on her dealing with our momma on her own. It’s just another reason why it’s important for me to get her out of that house and that stupid one-minded town. That place will crush her. Bella is smart, driven, and deserves more than what momma can or would ever give her.

  The clinking sound of a golf ball smacking against concrete draws me out of my thoughts. I glance over just in time to see Ashton fist-pumping the air, all too excited over his golf ball, making it into the lion’s mouth. I bite back my smile. I don’t want to be affected by this mountain of a man celebrating the completion of a game children play, but I can’t help myself. It’s adorable.

  I lift my chin and meet his gaze. “How good are you with a bat?”

  Ashton gives me a crooked smile in response. Standing to his full height, he throws me a panty-dropping grin that sends tingles throughout my whole body. No man in their right mind should be that goo
d looking. My eyes drift down the column of his neck and onto his chest as I admire the way his t-shirt hugs his torso, showing off the hard work he puts into his body. I take a deep breath and look away as my body throbs in want.

  His palm reaches between us and cups my neck, bringing my gaze back to his. “Is that your subtle way of telling me I suck at put-put?”

  I bat my eyelashes innocently. “Never. You’re a boss at it. That concrete lion was truly scared,” I joke. One corner of my mouth curls up. “I was just thinking that the batting cages might be more of a challenge.”

  Ashton gives a noise of exasperation. Rolling his shoulders, he states, “I can beat this game.” Confidence drifts off him in waves and I don’t doubt for one minute that given some time he could. I don’t think there is anything Ashton couldn’t accomplish if he put his mind to it. “This is me warming up. It’s been a long time since I played.”

  I rub at the bridge of my nose and sigh. Men and their fragile egos. I don’t have the heart to tell him it’s just a game of miniature golf. It’s for fun. There won’t be any trophies given to the winner. “Okay Tiger Woods,” I tease. “Show me how it’s done.” Leaning back, I kick up my feet and get comfy as I settle in for a long afternoon.

  Our so-called friendly game continues for another hour and a half, with five holes left until we reach the end. By hole 18, we’ve gained a crowd of onlookers.

  A few cheers us on, a handful are practically begging Ashton to throw in the towel, while others are busy taking bets on what his ending score will be.

  It’s no surprise that I won. And not by a small amount either. Wiping the floor with Ashton’s fine ass was glorious. If I was a better woman, I would try to tamp down my smirk, but I’m not, and I don’t. Ashton tried talking me into another game, but I swiftly declined. I’m tired. I had fun today, but I can’t endure another three hours of put-put.

  After turning in our gear, we head over to a local diner to meet up with Patrick and Becca for an early dinner. I’m a little nervous about Ashton meeting Becca again. It’s not that I don’t think they will get along, because I’m sure they will, it’s that I never know what will come out of Becca’s mouth. She has no filter, and that’s on a good day. Hopefully, Patrick can step in and help keep any craziness from spewing from her mouth.

  My heart is beating a mile a minute as we enter the retro-style diner that Becca and I like to frequent. It’s the only place we’ve found that makes crispy fried okra, something we both enjoy eating after too much studying. With my hand nestled snuggly in his, I lead him to the back of the diner where my friends are occupying their normal booth near the jukebox.

  “Becca can be a lot to handle,” I warn, my voice low so only he can hear. “If she says anything to offend you, please know she doesn’t mean it. She’s a loyal friend with a sweet soul and a mouth that would make any sailor blush.”

  His responding deep chuckle strokes me from head to toe. I glance over at him and the look he gives me is scorching. There is no denying the chemistry between us, it’s a dangerous thing capable of burning us both to the ground. My panties will be ruined before this date is over.

  “Hey Guys,” I say, slipping into the booth opposite my friends. “How’s it going?”

  “You’re here,” she squeals, a little too loudly. Becca leaves over and wraps me up in a big bear hug, her strawberry scented shampoo tickling my nose. Pulling back, she is quick to make introductions between the two men before getting right down to business.

  “How was your day?”

  “We had fun,” I tell her, unrolling my napkin and placing it in my lap. “

  “Did you knock any of Ashton’s balls in a hole?” she asks, giving me a wink that isn’t lost on anyone at the table.

  Thank goodness we haven’t ordered yet because if I had anything in my mouth, I would be in need of the Heimlich maneuver. I glower in her direction, saying with my eyes all the things I won’t don’t dare say in front of the guys.

  Patrick doesn’t look fazed. He’s used to Becca’s crass mouth and although he would never say such things himself, he loves that she doesn’t hold back. Her free spirit calls to his refined ways. They’re proof that opposites attract.

  I peak a glance at Ashton, expecting to find him mortified. I’m shocked when I see him fighting back a laugh. His eyes sparkle with amusement. “She handled my balls just fine,” he volleys back. “So well, that she beat me by a good ten points.”

  Becca’s eyebrows rise dramatically. “You beat him?”

  I nod and she laughs, the pink streaks in her hair swishing back and forth with the movement. The pride on her face makes my heart melt. “That’s my girl,” she says, giving me a high five.

  “You two are ruthless,” Ashton admonishes in mock horror. “I can’t believe you would kick a guy when he’s down. Such savages.”

  “You have no idea,” Patrick agrees with pure seriousness. “These two are pure trouble. If you think this is bad, wait until the end of semester tests begin. There isn’t enough coffee in the world to turn their horns into halos.”

  I laugh along with the table, but something has changed in their air and I can’t put my finger on what it is. An ominous feeling has the little hair on the back of my neck standing to attention. My eyes dart back and forth between Becca and Patrick as I search for subtle clues as to what’s amiss.

  Everyone is smiling, talking amiably, and after several more minutes of the same, I relax back in my seat and chalk it up to my overactive imagination. Our waitress makes an appearance and after looking over the menu we all settle for burgers and a bucket of beer to share. It isn’t until Becca opens her mouth and drops a bomb the size of Texas on everyone that my uneasy feeling becomes justified.

  “Emma, I forgot to tell you that my parents are dropping in for a visit next week.”

  I shake my head marginally, knowing this news will not sit well with Patrick. Swallowing heavily, I ask with eyebrows low in thought, “Is there any special reason for this visit?”

  “Nope. It was unexpected. Completely out of the blue,” Patrick says, his voice holding a hint of a growl. “They didn’t think it necessary to inform us of their visit until late this afternoon. Not that it should come as a surprise. They don’t understand that most of the population runs on a schedule that can’t be altered at free will.”

  Becca scoffs. “You need to get your underwear out of a twist. It’s not that big of a deal.”

  I’ve met Becca's family once, and it was memorable. As wild and carefree as my best friend is, she’s like a nun compared to her parents. Her mom Terri is a throwback hippie with long curly red hair that hangs down to her ass. When she isn’t busy making organic soaps and lotions that she sells online, she is teaching meditation. No matter what time of the day it is, you will find her stoned out of her mind thanks to the marijuana plants she proudly grows herself right behind Becca’s childhood home in Colorado.

  Bob, or Dice, as everyone calls him, is Becca’s father. He’s a small man with wiry glasses and the sweetest smile. Dice is a numbers guy. From looking at him you would think he was an accountant or bookkeeper, but you would be so wrong. Dice is a bookie and a damn good one from what I hear. His reputation is not one to be taken lightly. He runs an assortment of underground gambling operations and although he looks like a pushover; he has enough muscled hire to keep those who dare cross him in-line.

  Becca loves her family but can only handle them in small bursts. Too much time with them and she’ll start climbing the walls. The last time they popped in, her mom secretly changed out Becca’s entire wardrobe with clothing she deemed breathable and earth friendly. I’ve never laughed so hard in my life. They replaced all her leggings with hemp trousers and lots of moo-moo dresses.

  “Any clue how long they plan on staying for?”

  “It could be two days or two weeks. You’ve seen firsthand how flighty my parents are.” Becca bites her lip and fiddles with the napkin in her lap, twisting it until it’s almost
unrecognizable. “They think plans are for the devil.”

  Patrick crosses his arms over his chest and frowns. He’s not happy. The situation is not ideal, but it is what it is. If he wants to continue being Becca’s man, then he needs to get on board with her parents and their crazy lifestyle.

  With a new heaviness weighing over the table, it’s a welcome treat when the waitress brings us our drinks. Nothing like a cold beer to cheer everyone up. The rest of our conversation is light and airy. Becca talks Ashton’s ear off over 3D tattoos while Patrick picks his brain on all-things motorcycles. Ashton tells the table about his extensive collection of antique bikes he’s restored, something his dad taught him how to do as a kid. I sit riveted, listening to his tales of growing up. His family sounds amazing.

  My friends do an outstanding job at vetting Ashton for me. By the time we’re finished eating and heading out the door, I can tell you all about his childhood back in Chicago, his parents who have been married for over thirty years, his fear of spiders, and how he started tattooing at the ripe old age of seventeen.

  Ashton’s gruff neighbor had a tattoo shop down the street from where they lived and took Ashton under his wing. The man taught him everything he knew and when it came time for Ashton to go out on his own; he loaned him enough money to put down a deposit on a small place to get him started.

  Ashton has a true rag to riches story.

  His childhood reminds me of one of those damn Hallmark movies that always makes me cry. I’m a little embarrassed over how sweet it all sounds compared to the shit hole I grew up in. I divulge just enough information about myself to make Ashton content.

  I like Ashton and don’t want to do anything to scare him off. I want to take this slow and see where it goes. Conner’s little stunt this morning did not help me set a good impression. From here on out, I need to do what I can to keep the drama at a minimum. Unfortunately, I’m afraid that might be easier said than done.

  After hugging my friends’ goodbye, we exit the diner and I take Ashton’s hand in mine when he offers to help me into the Jeep. Why men enjoy owning toys that reach for the sky is beyond me. I would say it’s to compensate for a small dick, but I don’t believe that to be Ashton’s problem. Not that I’ve seen his dick or anything, but I got a nice feel of what’s to come when he pulled me into his lap while we waited for a couple ahead of us to finish their turn on hole 9. Lord help me, there was nothing small about the erection pressing against my ass. It felt glorious.