Dirty Disaster (Low Down & Dirty Book 2)

by Addison Moore

  Then just past noon, my phone bounces over the very bed I used to cry rivers for that boy, and it’s a text from Jaxson Stade himself.

  Headed out. Snowmobiling, deep country. New toy. Wanna come?

  Jax always did text like he had suddenly morphed into a robot.

  I text right back. Deep country? Are the fine residents of Oak Grove populating the backwoods these days? If not, whoever shall we entertain? All of the other excursions we’ve partaken in have, in some roundabout fashion, involved our mothers. Even if our mothers weren’t around for the show, there was someone from this one cow town who would surely report back to the devious duo. As fun as trekking through the woods at a hundred miles an hour while my ponytail freezes solid sounds, I’m pretty sure a jaunt through a nice warm bookstore on Main Street would be far more beneficial to the cause.

  If we’re lucky, a deer. Unlucky, a bear. You in?

  Wait a minute. Jaxson is a smart boy. Surely, he realizes we’ll be knee deep in privacy. Maybe…

  He texts back as if reading my mind. Let’s take a break from the Jax and Pop’s Show and get some serious fun in before you head home.

  Home, as in L.A. Of course. Jax knows I’m not hanging around. This is all for show. It says so right here in blue and white.

  Oh hell. What’s a little fun between friends?

  I’m in.

  Not shockingly, Jaxson Stade stuns in a bright red ski jacket as much as he does in a custom Italian suit.

  I park in his ridiculously grand circular driveway better suited for Beverly Hills than Oak Grove, but I would totally rock the circular driveway in Oak Grove if given half the money the Stade’s have.

  Jaxson comes over and offers me a platonic high five. “Let’s do this!” he shouts with all the excitement of a NASCAR driver. Speaking of high speed shenanigans…

  “I haven’t driven one of these in years!” I give a little hop when I say it because it just so happens I’m equally as psyched as he is. Jax and I spent our formative years on the backs of a demonic motorized sleigh. And later, after the great divide in our relationship, Conner took my place on those backcountry snow rides. I resented Jax for not inviting me, but I got it. And today, I got an invitation as well.

  “Cool.” He walks us over to a large orange contraption. “We’ll take turns.”

  I’ve never seen a snowmobile beast of this stature and nature. New toy indeed. It looks as if it could glide straight to the North Pole without any effort.

  “Is this what happens when a tractor and a snowmobile have babies?”

  “That would be it.” He laughs while helping me with a helmet complete with a face shield.

  “Are you kidding? I don’t want to wear this,” I say, plucking it right off. “I won’t look cool. And is this our one and only ride? Were you being literal with the whole ‘we’ll take turns’ thing?” Back in the day, we didn’t wear helmets, and we never shared a vehicle. We were stupid and greedy that way.

  “Yes, I’m being literal.” He frowns as he presses the helmet back on my head. “And you know what’s cool? Keeping your brain in your skull. Besides, no one is going to see us, remember?” A devilish grin spreads to those freshly stubbled cheeks. “Unless, of course, it’s me you’re trying to impress. And if so, you’ll have to try harder because you look like a total helmet head right now.”

  “Very funny.”

  Jax helps me onto the oversized snowmobile and hops in front donning his own horrific helmet. He takes my arms and wraps them around his chest, and I don’t protest the fact. Jax feels stable and rock solid even stuffed inside his toasty down jacket. I’d say a day of holding on to Jax is a day well spent.

  He starts up the beast, and we head out slow. Soon, we’re off gliding on the mounds of freshly fallen snow that’s gracing the Stade property. The Stade’s own so much land, I doubt we’ll even venture off the estate.

  We bypass the old guesthouse, which now belongs to Jules and Jensen. Just seeing the way Jaxson is around his nephew makes me want to fall to my knees and beg him to plant beautiful Stade babies inside me. He was so sweet and loving, not to mention positive and supportive, and I gleaned all that in the small window Jensen knocked over his ice cream cone the other day after we picked him up from daycare. I can imagine that one day, when the right girl comes around, Jax will be an amazing father.

  Soon enough, we’re in the hill country, so far away from Casa Stade that the magnificent menace of a house is merely a speck on the horizon. It’s just Jax and I, having fun, being ourselves. I tap him over the shoulder, and he slows it down.

  “Let’s switch!” I shout up over the roar of the motor and fog up my mask.

  Without putting up a fight, Jax trades places with me. He gives me a quick tutorial on all things stop and go, and just like that, we’re off. I take it slow, like really slow, like field mice are walking back and laughing slow, but there are a crap ton of trees, and like Jax suggested, my brain looks far better in my uncracked skull.

  “Speed it up,” he shouts from behind. Damn backseat driver. “What are you—a chicken?”

  I suck in a quick breath. He knows that nobody but nobody is ever allowed to call me a chicken. It’s practically a command for making me do the very thing I loathed to try. I’m very Arthur Fonzarelli that way. And for those of you too young to remember the reference, you should totally look up Happy Days and watch it sometime. I promise there’s not a hair pulling skank in sight, and the worst putdown they have to offer is sit on it. It really puts things into perspective when my mother references today’s trash TV.

  “I’m no chicken, Stade. But soon, you will be.” I rev the engine for a moment before we take off at a neck-jerking pace. I traverse low and high terrain alike, dodging oversized tree trunks and brambling oaks alike. I spot a clearing up ahead that looks like snowmobile heaven, and I start in that direction, but an entire thicket of evergreens stands in our way of snow speed nirvana. The only option left is a steep incline to our right, and I pull forward a bit to make sure there’s a decline that follows. I’m not about to plunge us to our death by way of trying to jump the shark to get there. See? That’s another Happy Days’ reference you probably didn’t get. Go watch it. Really, you won’t regret it.

  “I don’t know about this,” Jaxson grumbles, but I rev the engine once again and spin us in a neat circle before building the speed we need as we crest the—

  “Oh shit!” We hit the top of the ridge so fast the back of the snowmobile catches and jackknifes all the way down the embankment because it’s clear the idiot driver has no clue what in the hell she’s doing.

  Jaxson and I are ejected, falling within feet of one another in a jumble of limbs.

  “Poppy!” A muffled cry comes from my left before Jaxson appears before me, flipping off his helmet only to reveal the rife look of worry on his face. “Are you okay?” He falls to his knees and unbuckles my helmet from under my chin, and I flick it right off.

  “I think I’m dead.” I hike up on my elbows in time to see him frown.

  “Shit. You could have killed us.”

  “Says the moron who let me drive.” I try to execute a smartass grin, but it hurts to navigate my face in that direction.

  He falls next to me in the snow, his arm partially over my body. “That’s because I can’t say no to you. Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine.” And apparently, I like to lie, too. “Hey—how come I can’t wiggle my toes anymore?”

  “Stop.” A slow chuckle comes from him. “I think I’ll take over all driving duties from here on out. I guess there aren’t too many places to keep up your snowmobile game in L.A.”

  “Not that I’m aware of. I haven’t been keeping too many of my games up.” I settle back into the snow. Not sure why I’m confessing this to Jaxson of all people. The truth is, I’m still in a funk after that conversation I had yesterday with Sadie and Mack.

  “But I bet you’re hitting it big with the boys, right?”

  “Nope. I
’m not really. But no worries. Sadie says she’s getting me a battery-operated boyfriend to take back home with me.”

  “What?” He looks simultaneously turned on and disgusted by the idea.

  I swat him over the arm. “Don’t judge me. A girl can’t get away with having carnal fever like you and Conner. And would you slow down already? Your future wife is going to be really bummed when your penis falls off one day.”

  He makes a face. “It’s not going to fall off. I’m slowing my roll.”

  “So I see. I’ve totally put a damper on your girl game, but, like all things in life, this too shall pass. I bet you’ll celebrate after the big reveal and plunge your joystick into every socket you find.”

  He winces. “Sounds deadly. I think I’ll pass.” Jax exhales, and his minty fresh breath warms me. He cups my cheek in his palm a moment before rubbing his thumb over my lips soft as a snowflake.

  “What is this, a dress rehearsal?” My cheeks burst into flames as they rival the sun. My heart starts panic-kicking its way out of my chest as if something very bad were about to ensue. My heart has never been a good barometer of things to come. It’s untrustworthy and fickle, and most of all, fragile as hell.

  “How did you enjoy that kiss the other night?” he says it soft. His eyes latch onto mine like life rafts, and I can’t seem to let go. His dark hair contrasts the crisp white background, demanding that I pay it attention, those eyes, those deep red lips, every last part of Jax demands that I focus in on him.

  “I enjoyed the hell out of it.” There’s the understatement of the century.

  “Good”—he whispers—“because I’m going to do it again.” Jax leans in ever so close, waiting until the very last second to close his eyes, that sexy grin building on his face. He grazes his lips over mine and pulls back gauging my reaction, his lids still low and heavy. But I’ve seen that twitching grin on his face before. Jax is not waiting for permission to enter. He knows he already has that. It’s the same twitchy smile he used to give when we were kids and I’d want him to get on with whatever he was doing. Once, we were trekking down a snow-covered hill, much like the suicide slope we just endured, and I begged him to push my sled. Of course, he rocket-launched me in an attempt to perfect the first lunar landing, but that’s beside the point. Those lips are coming at me again—and oh my God, here they come!

  Jax presses his lips over mine and lingers in a slow circular fashion before pulling away once more.

  “How’s that feel, Eight Ball?” he whispers through his unsteady panting.

  I swallow hard, looking up at eyes that rival the sky for that precious hue. “It feels like you forgot how to slip one in the pocket.”

  “What?” He inches back a notch, and just like that, I’ve broken the dreamy spell that had him pecking at my lips.

  “Um”—a weird choking sound emits from me—“never mind. I was just.”

  “You were just hoping I’d do this.” He pumps out a dry laugh, no smile as he comes in for the kill once again. Jax lands his mouth over mine and pries my lips open with the flick of his tongue. He swims in and meets me there, soft and slow, so achingly deliberate, it’s as if he’s taking the time to introduce himself. The real him. Today, there is no Jax and Pop’s Show. It’s just the two of us in the snow—kissing.

  He pulls back, and that smirk he wore a moment ago has completely dissolved to nothing.

  “How was that?”

  I can’t help but shed a crooked grin. “Are you using me to sharpen your skills? Because I’m a mean as hell instructor. And I don’t grade on a curve.” God, I’m such an idiot! Why does my jaw keep flapping? Any other girl would have shut the eff up and let him have his way with her—but no, I have to beat down every situation with the baseball bat of sarcasm.

  A dull laugh huffs through his chest. “Nope. I just wondered if you wanted more from the other night—like I did.”

  Like he did?

  “Here, let me help you up.” He offers me a hand, but I pull him down to me by the back of his neck.

  “Not so fast.” My chest pumps violently. My panting grows wild. I’m more than afraid I might pass out. “I didn’t get my fill.” I pull his mouth down over mine, and it’s a clash of dull laughter, of teeth, of untamable frenzied kisses. It’s quite possibly the sloppiest, most delicious, sweetest, most heavenly kiss of my entire life.

  I pull his body over mine, welcoming him onboard with a squeeze. Jaxson moans as his tongue-lashing intensifies. His mouth slips down as he gently takes a bite of my lower lip, and I die the death of a thousand mini orgasms. Bliss. Lying in the frozen tundra in the backwoods of Oak Grove with the prince of the county himself lying on top of me is heaven personified.

  His hands move down my jacket as he tries to gain entry to any living part of me, but I couldn’t be more hermetically sealed if I tried. A tank top, a turtleneck, a thermal, a sweater, and a down jacket that may as well come with a barbed wire fence. This boy isn’t getting anywhere near my lady goods. And don’t get me started on the double yoga pant debacle going on underneath my snow pants. I’m already resigned to the fact I’ll be losing fingernails when it’s time to peel all of these formidable layers off. Leave it to me to don an outfit that requires security clearance and a panty access code that neither of us can conquer.

  Jaxson pulls up on his elbow, panting a warm storm over me. “Did your father dress you?”

  “No. Conner did.”

  We share a small laugh at my brother’s expense. Honest to God, if given half the chance, Conner would have dressed me exactly this way. Okay—so he might have included a combination lock, but it so would not have been needed. The elastic, latex, spandex, Lycra nightmare combo is enough.

  “All right.” He winces. “Maybe we should get back before I get in a really hard situation there’s no getting out of.”

  I glance down to his jeans and spot a cucumber-like growth already presenting a problem.

  “We can have a snowball fight.” I bite down over my bottom lip to keep from laughing. “I can throw snow at your crotch in an effort to scare it away.”

  “Poppy.” His dimples dig in, but you can see the pain in his eyes at the thought.

  “Come here.” I pull him in close and laugh right over his mouth as I work his jeans open.

  “What are you doing?” Those dark brows twitch, and something in me loosens. For so long Jaxson has owned me, and for just one moment I’d love to own him.

  “I’m an expert at getting boys out of hard situations.”

  “Are you trying to make me vomit?”

  “Okay, so that was a lie.” My hands hit flesh, and I dive-bomb into his boxers and pay dirt. Holy cow, Jaxson Stade really does have a cucumber in his pants. “Wow, this is a really, really big problem.” My panting hits its zenith as I carefully wrap my hands around his rather impressive girth. Then it hits me. I’m touching Jaxson Stade’s penis. His willy, wiener, wanker, love wand—is presently throbbing in a granite-like fashion, safe in my palms. And just like that, the sarcastic bitch in me douses her flame, and the moment grows serious, beautiful in the strangest sense.

  “Shit,” he hisses. Jax closes his eyes as his mouth falls over mine, bouncing over my cheek with unsteady kisses. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Once I commit to something, you can’t stop me.”

  A dry laugh pushes from him. He leans up to get a good look at me. “What are we doing?”

  “I’m helping a friend out of a hard situation.” My eyes lock with his, and there’s sadness mirrored between us.

  “Helping a friend,” he whispers as his mouth falls over mine in a fury.

  My hands ride up over the length of him, taking in his ridges, the tender tip.

  Jaxson unleashes a frenzy of fevered kisses, and I meet him right there. Here we are, just the two of us. No voyeurs, no pretenses.

  Just—friends.

  Jaxson

  There have been times in my life that I have not been proud of my actio
ns. There have been times in my life that I have questioned what in the hell I was thinking. But that moment in the snow with Poppy wasn’t one of them.

  The rational part of me suggested it should be. The irrational part of me suggested it was perfect and right—and that if I were at all honest, I would own up to the fact that it was a moment we had been barreling toward for a very long time.

  Yes, I should have stopped with the kiss. But damn—Poppy’s kisses are addictive as hell. As soon as I had one hit, I knew there was no going back. And then things got difficult, and she agreed to help out—as a friend. I think we both know that wasn’t a friendly gesture, not on her part, not on mine. Not any of it. What I don’t get is, what’s with the wall? What is this invisible force that’s constantly trying to keep us from happening?

  I get it, though. A long distance deal would be tough. Plus, this is new. We’ve gone from never speaking to one another to picking up right where we left off and then some. I take the blame for that. Once I noticed she was freezing me out after graduation, I should have stepped up and given her a call—encouraged her to come out for the holidays—especially those that my mother hosted. She missed all of those, and, in turn, missed out on her own family because of me. She wasn’t avoiding my mother. She was avoiding seeing my face at the table.

  As far as I can recall, there were three major events that wedged a divide between us. The first and foremost damning would be our mothers. Their constant, incessant, nagging while trying to meld us together since birth had eroded the landscape for anything that could have ever been. They managed to cast a pall on our relationship before it ever had a chance to get started. The second—as ridiculous as it sounds—would be Poppy’s unrequited crush on Miles Frampton. It’s childish in hindsight, but having the hottest girl you know, the one you want to be with more than anyone else, tell you that she has it bad for the center on our mediocre basketball team was a blow that my fifteen-year-old ego couldn’t quite handle. And the third quake that took us down went down right after our senior year culminated. It involved an alcohol-soaked graduation party—one I don’t care to think about.