Dirty Talk

by Megan Erickson

  Delilah threw back her head and laughed. Ivy leaned forward, anticipating a story. Jenna turned to Ivy and Alex, her eyes sparkling. “So our prom was on a boat.”

  “A boat?” Alex asked.

  “A boat. Our class size was small, like less than two hundred people. We took a bus to Baltimore and got on this boat that floated around the Inner Harbor. I must add in here that you, my dear, looked stunning that night,” Delilah pointed out.

  Jenna flushed. “So did Cal.”

  “No boy talk!” Ivy hollered and then clapped her hands over her mouth, realizing the alcohol was getting to her.

  Delilah stared at her with wide eyes and then held up her hand for a high-five, which Ivy heartily slapped.

  Jenna waved a hand and rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine, carry on about how your boobs ruined prom.”

  “My boobs didn’t ruin prom.”

  “Tell Ivy and Alex, and they’ll help judge.”

  Delilah sighed. “So, my date—”

  “Was obsessed with you.”

  “Had a crush on me. I wore a red sheath dress and a pushup bra that cost one hundred and seventy-five dollars, and that was with a coupon I stole from my mom’s purse.”

  “That bra was like a fabric breast implant,” Jenna explained.

  “So anyway, my boobs were plump and delicious, and poor Gregory, who clearly had never seen tits in person, stared at my boobs all goddamn night.”

  “So how did this ruin prom?” Alex asked.

  “I’m getting there.” Delilah held up a finger. “So we’re on this boat, right? And it’s, you know, a boat, and apparently Gregory got motion sick.”

  “Oh no . . . ” Ivy muttered.

  “Oh yes.” Delilah nodded emphatically. “We were dancing, and he was staring at my boobs, which were pretty close to his chin because he was short as hell. I thought he looked pale, but he insisted he was fine—”

  “Because he refused to relinquish his proximity to her boobs,” Jenna cut in.

  “And then he threw up. On the dance floor. Cleared it. And again, we’re on a fucking boat. There really wasn’t anywhere else to go. By the time they cleaned it up, prom was over.” Delilah wiped her hands together. “And that’s the story of how Delilah’s boobs ruined prom.”

  Alex had her hand over her mouth, with tears of laughter streaming down her face as she slapped her hand on the table. “That might be the best story I’ve ever heard.”

  “I want my boobs to ruin something!” Ivy cried.

  Delilah held her hands out, palms up. “Ladies, ladies. I know we all aspire to make history like my boobs, but I’m sorry; it just can’t happen for everyone.”

  Alex took a drink and then eyed Ivy. Ivy widened her eyes and opened her mouth to shut this story down, but Alex beat her to it. “Ivy’s ass sold a car.”

  “Alex!” Ivy hissed and then turned to the other girls. “This story is completely exaggerated.

  Delilah cocked her head like a puppy, her gaze on Alex. “Spill it, sister. Ivy’s ass is quite magnificent, and that skirt is doing it tons of favors, not that it needs any.”

  “Well, thank you,” Ivy said.

  “So,” Alex began, interlacing her fingers and then extending them in front of her to crack her knuckles, “back in our hometown, Ivy had a boyfriend who was a car salesman. His dad owned the dealership, and after Ivy graduated high school, she worked there as a secretary.”

  “You know, I can tell my own story,” Ivy said, pouting.

  Alex ignored her. “So they had this guy who came in every week. Cocky asshole who had a lot of money, and everyone knew it. So all the salesmen fought to help him and get that sale. But he never bought a car. Led those salesmen around on a leash, taking up all their time, but he never pulled the trigger and bought a car.”

  “He test drove a lot too,” Ivy said. “And they all said the guy had bad breath.”

  “But he flirted with Ivy.”

  “He didn’t flirt with me.”

  “I was in there one time; he totally flirted with you.”

  Ivy rolled her eyes. The guy was probably thirty years older than she was, with a potbelly and a bad comb-over. At first, she thought he treated her like a daughter, but then she did start to notice he didn’t eye her body like he would his daughter. Or at least she hoped not.

  “So Ivy’s boyfriend, Mike, was a dick.”

  Ivy made a sound in her throat.

  “I know he’s Vi’s father, so I thank him for his contribution, but he’s still a dick. And it’s not like I can pick them any better,” Alex added under her breath. “Anyway, so Mike noticed the guy’s attention and figured he’d use it to his advantage. One day, Cocky Asshole shows up and Mike gets Ivy to dig around in the glove box of a Mercedes.”

  “He told me there was change in there, and it rattled when the car was driven,” Ivy chimed in.

  “So Ivy’s wearing these tight jeans, and she’s bent over, and Mike is telling the guy all about the car. And the guy couldn’t care less because he’s staring at Ivy’s ass. But he’s nodding and agreeing to what Mike said. Before he realized it, he’d agreed to buy the car, and because he didn’t want to look like an asshole and go back on his word, he bought it. Mike got the commission.”

  Jenna’s mouth dropped open. “No way. I hope he bought you something really awesome with that.”

  Ivy scowled. “He bought me a grocery store bouquet of flowers—I don’t even really like flowers—and himself a brand new sound system for his car.”

  “Dick!” Delilah yelled. “Total dickbag. Your ass sold a car. Damn, that might be better than my boobs ruining prom.”

  Ivy giggled and turned to Alex, who was smiling at her. “You had to tell that story, didn’t you?” she asked.

  Alex smiled wider. “I love that story.”

  “You have the same ass, you know.” They’d be mistaken for twins if they dressed at all alike, which was rare. “How about you put your ass to work, and go to the bar and get me another drink?”

  Alex laughed and then leaned in, giving Ivy a peck on the cheek. “Sure thing, beloved sister.”

  Ivy shoved her off the stool, and Alex sauntered to the bar, shooting Ivy a look over her shoulder.

  Ivy’s skin warmed at the smile on Alex’s face, the sound of her laughter. It’d been too long since they had this—a night where they could let go and forget about men who’d screwed them over and money that wasn’t there.

  Because at the end of the day, they were strong women who’d survived. They loved each other, and that was what mattered.

  So when Delilah grabbed Ivy’s hand and asked her to dance on the small, crowded dance floor, Ivy didn’t resist. Asher and Julian were watching Violet, and Ivy could have fun.

  Really, she could. So when Jenna and Alex joined them on the dance floor, the four of them created a little cocoon of female empowerment, and Ivy let the music take control—and she shook that ass that had, indeed, sold a car.

  IT WAS AN hour and another martini later, and the other girls weren’t on the dance floor anymore. Ivy swayed to the beat by herself. She’d let her hair down, figuratively and literally, so it fell around her shoulders and down her back. She stretched her arms in the air, enjoying the music and the freedom and one freaking night of not thinking about the shitty men of her past—and the wonderful man of her present and the future that looked increasingly complicated.

  A set of hands fell on her waist, and she stiffened immediately, whirling around in the strong hold. Then she looked up into the shining slate eyes of Brent Payton.

  He was smiling, but it wasn’t his smirk; this was the one he reserved for her, it seemed, when he wanted her to really listen to him. “Hey there, babe.”

  She placed her hands on his biceps. “Hey.”

  He lifted a hand and fingered a lock of her hair. “Stunning,” he said quietly, so quietly she barely heard him over the music.

  He wore a pair of dark jeans, boots, and a button-down gray shirt with
sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked . . . “Handsome.”

  When his eyes widened, she realized she’d said it out loud.

  Stupid martinis. Alcohol was like a truth serum with her, which meant she should probably get away from Brent.

  But he wasn’t letting go. His arms closed around her, and he tugged her against his body. It was awkward because she was so much shorter than he was. Her face was in his chest, but she relaxed there, laying her cheek against the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t speak, just rocked his hips to the music, taking her with him.

  A new song came on, a slower one, and she snuggled closer, wrapping her arms around his back, fisting his shirt. He was warm—so warm—like a furnace against her front, and he sang softly above her, his breath in her hair. He kept a hand on her hip and the other under her hair on the nape of her neck, rubbing his fingers in a soothing way that made her want to melt.

  She pulled back, looking up at him. “What are you doing here?”

  He gestured behind him. “Cal came to pick up Jenna and Delilah.”

  “Oh.” She squinted into the bar. “Where’s Alex?”

  “Talking to some lumberjack at the bar.”

  Ivy giggled. “He does look like a lumberjack! I thought the same thing.”

  “Timberrrrr!” Brent shouted, and Ivy laughed harder. “Come on,” he said, tugging on her waist. “I drove separately, if you need a ride home.”

  Ivy allowed herself to be led off the dance floor. “That’s okay. Alex didn’t drink.”

  But when they reached the bar, Alex looked like she had no intention of driving Ivy home. Not because she was drunk, but because she was plastered against the front of Lumberjack, his mouth feasting on her neck.

  Ivy stopped and stared.

  Alex met her gaze, and then said something to Lumberjack. She motioned for Ivy to follow her down the hallway that led to the restrooms.

  “I’ll be here waiting,” Brent said in Ivy’s ear, and she nodded, then followed her sister.

  In the hallway, Alex was twisting her fingers together. “Ivy.”

  “What’s going on? Did you just meet that guy?”

  Alex shook her head. “He’s been in the shop a couple of times. I, uh, think I’m going to go home with him.”

  Ivy widened her eyes.

  Alex spread her hands out. “I know we’ve talked about this. I just . . . dammit, Ivy. I haven’t been with a man in so long. I want . . . I want to be touched. And by a man who isn’t . . . him.”

  Ivy knew that him referred to Robby. And oh God, Alex didn’t cry, like not ever, but her eyes looked wet. Ivy reached out her hands and gripped her sister’s. “I know, honey, I know. You don’t have to ask my permission—”

  “But we’re a team,” Alex whispered. “I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.”

  Ivy’s heart cracked. “Alex,” she whispered.

  “So it’s just a night. He’s not looking for anything but a night, and neither am I. I want to make sure it’s okay with you.”

  Ivy wanted to speak up, to mention Brent and what was forming between them, but Alex looked so fragile right now. And Ivy was fucking tired of seeing her big sister so damn fragile. “It’s fine with me. Brent said he can drive me home.”

  Alex nodded, her shoulders lowering. “Thank you.”

  Ivy smiled tentatively. “Your guy is sort of cute in a chopping-wood-in-flannel kind of way.”

  Alex pretended to swing an ax, and Ivy grabbed her so they hugged, chuckling in each other’s necks, while the music in the bar pounded in their heads.

  Chapter Twelve

  BRENT THOUGHT AFTER Alex left that Ivy would want to leave too. Jenna and Delilah had stumbled to Cal’s truck, giggling, while Cal looked alternately irritated and doting.

  Now, Brent was standing at the bar, unsure what to do, because Ivy had ordered a shot. She leaned with her elbows on the bar and her heeled feet on the metal pole running along the bottom edge of the bar. She was bent forward, so her already short skirt skimmed the top of her thighs.

  Brent swallowed. Because of her size, there already wasn’t much fabric there, and he could easily skim his fingers up her skin, slip them under her skirt . . .

  No. No. Because Ivy was already a little tipsy, and this shot was going to put her over for sure. And no way in hell was he going to take advantage.

  She turned around, her cheeks flushed, her lips wet and red from the shot, and smiled at him. A heart-stopping, white-toothed smile that held a promise behind it. One that would make him feel damn good. Even more so than he had when she wrapped her little hand around his dick and stroked him off in the back of Delilah’s store.

  That had fueled his fantasies all week.

  After her shot, she hopped down and danced in front of him, wiggling that pert ass, her big breasts bouncing as she hopped around to face him.

  He wanted to bury his hands in that dark hair as she writhed below him in bed, wide blue eyes full of lust.

  And . . . he was hard.

  It hadn’t taken much. Although it didn’t around Ivy. And he hadn’t even thought of another woman since he saw her that first day in his garage.

  He reached out and gripped her wrist. “You want me to take you home?”

  She bit her lip and glanced at the dance floor and then back at him. “Dance with me for one more song?”

  “I’m not a great dancer, babe.”

  “You did okay. Just, sway to the beat. Or just stand there, and I’ll dance on you like you’re a pole.”

  And he got harder. Fuck.

  He pulled Ivy onto the dance floor and tugged her against him. He could do this. He could think about that dead squirrel he cleaned out of the Rogers’ station wagon this week and not think about how Ivy’s body felt on his. How she didn’t have much farther to go to get onto her knees and zip open his jeans.

  He wanted to know what she looked like while he was inside of her just as much as he wanted to know what she looked like when she woke up in the morning.

  He wanted to know how well her lips would fit around his cock just as much as he wanted to know how well she could play catch with Honeybear.

  This was trouble—and more serious than he realized.

  Her breath was hot on his shirt as she wriggled to the beat. Her eyes were closed, lips parted, as they moved every so often to the lyrics of the song.

  He took a chance and reached out, gathering her hair in his fist. She popped open her eyes, the blue of her irises glowing in the dim light of the bar. He leaned down and brushed his lips over her neck, smiling when the skin pebbled with goose bumps in the wake of his touch. He let his other hand rest on the top of her ass in a proprietary way he hoped she understood. “You’re driving me crazy; you know that? I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  When he pulled back, her gaze was on his face. Slowly, she licked her lips. “God, me too. I’ve tried but . . . I can’t stop thinking about you too.”

  He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear those words until she said them. “You ready for me to take you home now?”

  She nodded, and he led them off the dance floor and toward the door. “Your tab paid up at the bar?”

  “Yup.”

  She was weaving a little as she walked, and he figured that last shot was hitting her just about now. She probably could have done without it, but who was he to tell her what to do?

  He wrapped her coat around her shoulders once they got outside, because the fall night was a little chilly, and walked toward his truck. He held her hand to help her along. She mumbled something behind him and he turned around. “What?”

  “I like your hands.” She was . . . petting his hand. There was really no other way to describe it.

  “My hands?”

  “Yeah, they’re big and all argh, check out my calluses and scars for I am man.”

  He barked out a laugh. “I am man?”

  “And your butt.” She ceased petting his hand and clapped her hand over
her mouth, like she hadn’t mean to say that.

  “What about my butt?”

  She dropped her hand and sighed. “It’s a really great butt. I can’t be the only person who’s told you that.”

  He honestly couldn’t remember anyone flat-out saying anything about his ass. “Um . . . ”

  “And this.” She pointed to his face. “That’s nice too.”

  “My face?”

  “It’s a good face. I like it.”

  Drunk Ivy was hilarious. And complimentary. Did she really mean all these things? They reached his truck, and he helped her into the passenger seat, making sure she was buckled in. She rolled her head to the side to face him as he stood next to the door. “And that.” She pointed to his chest.

  He looked down. “My chest?”

  She shook her head and pointed again. “Your heart. That’s nice too.” Her voice dropped, down to a whisper. “I think I like that the best.”

  That heart beat so hard he was surprised the whole town couldn’t hear it. “Ivy,” he said softly.

  She yawned and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Drive, my prince. Before the carriage turns into a pumpkin.”

  “It’s already after midnight.”

  She frowned. “Oh well, we’re on borrowed time, then.” She clapped rather sloppily. “Chop. Chop.”

  He pressed a kiss to her temple before she could protest, and then he shut the door. As he walked around the front of the truck, he kept his gaze on her, and she didn’t look away, following him as he made his way to the driver’s side door and then settled into his seat.

  He started the truck. “You ready?”

  “Ready, Freddy,” she quipped after another yawn.

  Ivy fell asleep on the way home. He figured she would, so he kept the radio low and glanced at her to make sure her neck wasn’t at an awkward angle. She curled up with her head against the door, one of her legs tucked under her.

  When he got to her house, she was still asleep. She stayed asleep when he opened up her door and unbuckled her seatbelt and didn’t wake up as he hefted her in his arms and carried her into the house.