Dirty Talk

by Lauren Landish

Before she can respond, the waitress calls my name for my order. McKayla looks like she’s going to say something else, but I need to get out of here before I do something I’ll regret, like ask her to go for another ride. And not on my bike this time. It’s for her own good, I remind myself again like a record on repeat. I drop a kiss to McKayla’s forehead, memorizing the floral spiciness of her shampoo. Jesus, she smells good. “Bye, Princess.”

  Chapter 13

  McKayla

  That’s it! I can’t handle this shit anymore!

  I swear I’m going on a man freeze. For the next few decades, the only boyfriend I’m going to have is made by Hitachi and has five speeds.

  Since the showdown at the diner, the guy I don’t like keeps doggedly pursing me, sending me a Good Morning, Beautiful text almost every day, and the one I do like has some issues and hasn’t spoken to me since rolling out of the parking lot like Sir Fucking Lancelot on a chromed-out steed.

  It’s enough to make a girl crazy. Which is exactly how I’m feeling after another long day at work, where I got to glance out the window at one point to blissfully observe Evan push an SUV into the garage from the street. Watching those broad back and shoulder muscles glisten in the sun while his ass flexed in his tight jeans as he pushed and grunted his way up the slight incline to the garage left my pulse racing.

  Thank God my vibrator is as reliable as the sunrise and sunset because that’s about as often as I’ve been using it these days. Invariably during these long, body shaking sessions, my mind wanders to that bike ride with Evan and how he slipped his fingers inside me, nipping at my breasts. It’s probably not the wildest thing I’ve ever done, but with him, it was damn sure the hottest.

  Lying on my sofa after stripping out of my blouse and skirt, I replay the two scenes in my mind as my fingers caress my body, sliding across my collarbones to dip down and around my breasts. My nipples harden, ready for more, and I arch into my own touch as my palms graze the sensitive tips. I’ve already stripped off my panties. They’ve been damn-near soaked since seeing Evan today . . . and now the tingle is turning into a flame.

  I run a hand down my belly, through the trimmed tuft at the juncture of my legs to cup my needy, puffy pussy lips. Reaching over, I grab the vibrator from its place on my coffee table and spread my bent legs wide. After that show today, I could shatter myself if I don’t take it slow, and I’ve spent enough nights over the past week vibrating myself into a temporary coma.

  I turn the vibe on low and immediately gasp, my back bowing at the sensation. Fuck, it’s gonna be fast this time, and I can’t help it. I find a rhythm, pressing the pulsing vibrator inside, then retreating to do a loop higher across my clit and back down to start again. It’s driving me quickly insane as the fantasy of Evan finger fucking me plays out in my mind. Instead of the side of the road, though, it’d be in the garage, a dark, sexy streak of dirt gleaming oily as he shows the whole fucking world how hot he makes me. I’m helpless, clutching at his shoulders while he growls in my ear, ‘You’re a whole damn bouquet of fucking wildflowers’ as I buck, my hips lifting off the couch to crash down again and again. I flip the vibe all the way up for a second as in my mind, I beg him to fuck me. With a naughty grin, in my vision, Evan smiles. “When I want you . . . I’m going to make you mine.”

  Unable to resist the truth, I come, my orgasm throbbing in pulses as I thrash on my sofa, glad that I don’t share a wall with anyone.

  Brad and I step out of my car as the valet holds the door open. I hand him my keys with a distracted ‘thank you’ because my focus is entirely taken up by the scene in front of me. The huge double doors to the new Mountain Spirit Resort Hotel lobby open wide, letting people move through. Most of them are smiling and relaxed and looking every bit the wealthy tourists this place is becoming known for. In winter, it’ll be slightly different as more snow bunnies show up. But for now, they’re here to enjoy the views and the weather.

  I squeal a little bit, reaching out to grab Brad’s hand as we walk inside. Stepping up to the front desk, I give my name to the receptionist, explaining that we have a meeting with Brianna Adams. While she’s not the most famous person in the area, it’s one of those names that still commands respect and gets people to give you just that extra bit of ass kissing.

  As we wait, Brad and I sink into the luxurious chairs sprinkled throughout the lobby in little groups. “This place is quite the sight, isn’t it?” Brad asks, relaxing into the leather seat. “Kinda reminds me of being back home, one of those posh type places that we didn’t get invited to all that often.”

  I laugh, nodding. Being a hairdresser to the stars meant that I got to see a lot of the backstage and got to nab some pretty damn fine catering from time to time, but when it came to the VIP after parties . . . yeah, no getting past the velvet rope for me. “It is. Getting this contract with the resort’s event planning services will be a huge deal for us.” I hold my pinkie finger up toward Brad, leaning forward. “All right, we’re promising here . . . we are going to do whatever it takes to get this contract.”

  He smiles, linking his pinky with mine. “Obviously. But relax, I know this woman. Well, kind of. So no pinkie promise needed. Save that for the secret shit. This is a for-sure, make us or break us gig, and we’re to do whatever they need. Within reason.”

  He smirks, and we giggle a bit, both of us knowing that he’s the one with reason and I’m the one who will just go full-throttle if it’s something I want to do, regardless of the deal. That’s why we work so well together. I make him take risks and he makes me plan things out. He’s the Yin to my Yang, not to mention that we can dish about guys 24/7/365. Actually, although I’d never admit it, he’s pulled more hot guys than I ever have.

  I see a gorgeous woman crossing the lobby, headed directly for us. Maybe ten years older than me, she’s got long, luxurious brown hair that makes the stylist in me want to weep. It’s so fucking perfect for just about anything, and she has a body that’s perhaps curvier than mine. I’ve never seen her before, but something tells me she’s our woman. “Heads up, incoming.”

  Brianna Adams gives us a big smile as she comes up, exchanging hugs with Brad as if they were long lost friends. “Brad, it’s been too damn long.”

  “I know, I’m missed by all who have even touched my divine presence,” Brad jokes. “How’s Mindy? I haven’t had a chance to even go down to her place since getting to town.”

  “For which she owes you a butt kicking,” Brianna jokes. “But I get it. And you must be McKayla.”

  “It’s a pleasure. Brad’s told me . . . stuff.”

  Brianna chuckles, shaking her head. “I’m just the quiet one of the group. Right now, my husband and I are co-owners of this resort, and I’m taking on the task of being the events manager as well. Let’s say it’s our chance to try and make a family business.” She offers her hand as she speaks, and we each shake with her.

  “I see when you say family business, you swing for the fences,” I quip, looking around. “Most people would start . . . smaller.”

  “Gavin and I never do things small,” Brianna says with a little smile that makes Brad chuckle. I’m confused, but I’ll get the story later, I’m sure. “I’ve heard about your new salon in town. I’m glad you called. Let’s head back to my office.”

  We reach the office and settle onto the couches in the gorgeous space. It’s almost like a hotel room in itself, and I can understand why in all the TV shows they just have the characters live at the hotel. I wish I could live in a space like this.

  “Okay,” Brianna says, offering us two coffees that are divine. “Let’s get to the good stuff! Can I see your portfolios?” Brad reaches into his bag and pulls out our ‘dick stroker’ book, as he calls it. Brianna flips through, oohing and ahhing over details about my hair work and Brad’s makeup work.

  After several minutes of scanning, she looks up, grinning. “Very nice. So, I’ve got two things. One, I’d love to contract with the Triple B Salon to be our go-to se
rvice providers for our events. We have our own spa and space that you can use if you’d like, but our spa employees are already stretched thin, and when we have large wedding parties come in, it can be a bit overloaded. It doesn’t make business sense to staff continuously for the events when they’re a few days here and there on the calendar. And let’s be honest, if a bride is getting married here and there are Hollywood stylists in town, she’s gonna book you two. So this will just make it a smoother offering that is automatically available. We do quite a few events, typically one every week, but not all of those are hair- and makeup-type things. Some are conferences and such. But the weddings? Just go ahead and block your entire May, June, and July for them because we’re going to be slammed. You can determine your own fee schedule rates, and the hotel will add a ten percent fee to the top for our take. What do you think?”

  Brad and I look at each other, trying not to squeal like the little bitches we currently are. This will be it for us. Our ticket to making sure we make it. Yes, we’ll need regular clients in town to stay busy, but having this contract and volume of work will keep us floating throughout the year, happy as larks. Well, if larks got paid!

  Brad finally stops grinning enough to make words. “I think that sounds perfect. The only thing I’d say we should consider is that having us take over your spa space that frequently might be an issue for your appointments there.”

  Brianna nods, tapping her well-manicured finger on the desktop. “You’re right. Okay, we’ll see how that works. McKayla, you haven’t said anything yet. Any input?”

  I’m still smiling like a loon and just shake my head. “Oh, I’m totally in. I was just wondering how many extra hands Brad and I are going to have to hire if things keep going like this. So I’m in like sin! Sounds like a great deal for both of us, and I’m excited to work with you. My only question is, you said you had two things and that was one. What’s the other?”

  Brianna laughs lightly, teasing her long locks. “Oh yes, the other thing is, I’m gonna need you to do my hair! I’ve never had a real Hollywood stylist doll me up. My anniversary is coming up, so I want to really go all out, so you two can do my hair and makeup. Gavin won’t know what hit him!”

  As if her talking about him triggered his appearance, there’s a knock on the door. “Bri, you in here?”

  A mountain of a man in a custom-made suit comes strutting into the room. I know it’s custom-made because I’ve never seen a suit with that extreme a taper from the shoulders to the waist before. Well, I take that back. One time, I saw one of the Venice Beach bodybuilder guys in a suit in Beverly Hills . . . but this man’s a lot more handsome. He walks straight up to Brianna, picking her up in a bear hug as he plants a big kiss on her lips.

  The kiss goes on for a beat longer than is comfortable for us to witness, and I turn to grin at Brad. Brianna and the man, who I’m hoping is her husband after that hot kiss, separate and turn toward us.

  “Sorry. I’d say we got carried away, but we’re always like this. McKayla, this is my husband. Honey, this is McKayla, the stylist who opened up a salon in town. And you know Brad, right?”

  “Sure do,” Gavin says. “How can I forget the worst dancer at your best friend’s wedding?”

  Brad blushes, then glowers at Gavin as they shake hands. “You know, Anaconda, if it wasn’t for the fact that I know you’re lying . . . I’d be tempted to show off a little.”

  Gavin laughs before offering a handshake. I think he might squeeze my hand hard enough to accidentally break bones, but he’s surprisingly gentle for his size. “Gavin Adams. It’s a pleasure. I really don’t mean to run out on you guys, but I have to go pick up our son from practice. Takes after his dad, and I gotta admit I’m enjoying it. Honey, you want us to nab anything on the way home?” he says, turning to Brianna.

  “No, it’s okay,” Brianna says, giving her husband another hug and a kiss on the cheek. “See you at home.”

  Gavin leaves, and a few minutes later, Brad and I leave Brianna after jotting down a few more details. As we walk out, I elbow Brad in the ribs. “Okay, spill it. What’s with the name Anaconda? What, does he hug like one?”

  “Hug? No . . . you’re missing a letter in there,” Brad says with a chuckle. We get to my car and get in. “That was Gavin ‘Anaconda’ Adams. He used to be a football star. I haven’t seen a lick of that man playing, but everyone’s seen his accidental wardrobe malfunction. I’ll just put it this way. If there were ever a snake that I wanted to pet, it’s his.”

  Chapter 14

  Evan

  “Come on, you son of a bitch,” I grunt as I try to get the spark plug to seat properly in the engine of ‘Fast’ Eddie Ambrose’s customized Mustang. I gotta admit, he’s done a great job of turning the kit job classic ‘Stang and making it bust out of its pony car seams . . . but that means that underneath the hood, there’s not a spare goddamn inch, and sometimes, the arrangement is difficult. Which is why I only work on Eddie’s car at night or in the early morning, when nobody’s around to piss me off.

  I finally get my plug socket seated on the head properly when I hear a scream from across the street. It pierces the darkness of near-midnight and makes me drop my wrench, forgotten instantaneously. My heart pounds in my chest as I forget everything, running across the street.

  I see McKayla in front of the Triple B, dressed in just a denim skirt and a t-shirt and looking like she’s ready for a late-night run to the supermarket.

  I jump the curb, approaching McKayla, who’s wiping her hands on her skirt like she’s got something burning on her palms. “What is it?” I ask, grabbing her hands. “What the fuck is going on?”

  McKayla is staring at her hands, her eyes wide and her skin pale, only two big spots of intense color in her cheeks. “Oh, my God, oh, my God!” she yells, looking like she’s about ready to puke. “Eww!”

  “McKayla, calm down!” I say firmly as I hold her cheeks in my hands, trying to get her to snap out of whatever the fuck she’s going through. Her eyes focus on me, and I lower my voice, almost dropping to a whisper. “Tell me what’s going on so I can understand you.”

  McKayla takes a deep breath and closes her eyes for a moment before speaking again in a shaky voice. “I was coming out to get in the car. I was feenin’ for a burger and . . .” Mckayla pauses mid-sentence, her control wavering as she points at the car, her chest hitching. “I found that. Look at that shit!”

  I let go of her hands to peer at the black handle of her car, noticing the thick, slightly pale liquid glopped on it. My stomach curls. I know jiz when I see it.

  Anger burns through me. What sort of sick fuck does something like this? My hands tremble in rage as I turn and take her hands again. She’s pissed, but also scared, and I totally agree with both. “When did you last see your car?”

  “I . . .” she says, still staring at her car, but I lead her away, toward the door of the salon. Away from the disgusting display, she calms a little. “I made a bank run at the end of the night at the salon. That was about eight or so. It’s a short drive. I mean, the bank’s just up the street. Today was a lot of cash, so I didn’t want to walk it up there.”

  “Did you see anyone around the car before or when you got back?” I ask. McKayla shakes her head, and I nod. McKayla’s smart. She wouldn’t have let anyone near her car like that. “What about the cops?”

  “No,” McKayla says with a strong finality. “I don’t want the local cops getting involved. They’d call it some kid’s prank or something. I’ve already seen the way a couple of them look at me and Brad, like we’re new in town and they don’t really care for us.”

  I’d like to disagree with her, but she might be right. I’ve noticed that some people around here seem a little jealous they’ve come into town and hit it off right away. “Okay, we’ll handle it ourselves,” I say. “Gimme your keys.”

  “What?” McKayla asks, instantly concerned. “Why?”

  “I’m going to get this cleaned up. We’ve got a steam cle
an unit over at the shop,” I explain.

  McKayla nods absently, a tiny smile tipping her mouth up. “Can you drive a car? I’ve only ever seen you on a bike.”

  “Cars are easy,” I reply with a easy smirk. “Tanks . . . now those fuckers were hard.”

  McKayla gives me a raised eyebrow, seeing whether I’m joking, but hands me her keys. I go around to her car, peeling off my sweaty t-shirt to grab the handle and opening it before sliding behind the wheel and opening the passenger side. “Hop in!”

  McKayla gets in and shuts her door, and I quickly drive us into the bay, pulling into the slot closest to the pressure washer. I get out and go around to open her door and help her out. “It’ll take a few minutes for the steam to build up in the washer,” I tell her, flipping the switch. “You want some coffee?”

  “No, thanks. God it sounds ridiculous, but I still want that fucking burger,” McKayla says with a dark chuckle. “Think you might be willing to split an order of fries?”

  “As tempting as it sounds, I don’t think I’d make a very good date,” I reply. McKayla crosses her arms across her chest and leans against the workbench near her, looking so hot I’m not so sure the steam cleaner needs that much more time to get to pressure.

  “What is it with you?” McKayla asks me. “You’ve got this rep around town for being this gigantic asshole. But you’re not. You even try to pretend to be one, but I know assholes. Remember where I’m from. Some people say Hollywood is the asshole of America.”

  “They might be right, but I’ve put in my time in the asshole of the world,” I reply, shaking my head. “McKayla, it’s not that I didn’t try to go back to normal after the Army. I just can’t. And I won’t inflict my damage on someone else.”

  “What happened?” McKayla asks. “Not over there. I don’t think I’ve earned that right yet, even if I am curious. But what happened when you came back?”