Dirty Little Secret (Dirty #1) (11 page)

“What’s the matter, Brandy?”

My question was impulsive, and the second it was out of my mouth, I regretted it. 

Like I give a shit how Brandy’s doing.

When Melissa drew in a sharp breath, then caught my eye, I cursed myself for the pussy-whipped, caring way I sounded.  Melissa looked puzzled, and more importantly, she looked pretty fucking hurt.  Which – for a reason I wasn’t prepared to dwell on yet – cut like a goddamned knife.

I couldn’t exactly retract the question without seeming like even more of douche, so I just stood there, looking like a half-wit
instead.  My ex took advantage of the situation and shot Melissa a predatory smile.  She looked like a blood thirsty vampire.

When she spoke, she sounded like one, too. “She’s a pretty one, Cutter. Another for your personal collection? Or one you want to share?”

“Fuck you, Brandy,” I replied.

“Later,” my ex purred.

My heart dropped like ton of bricks.  Of all the fucking things she could’ve said, it had to be that.  Why, goddamn it?  I turned to Melissa, desperate to give her some sign that I hadn’t breathed of word of our encounters to Brandy, but it was too late.  Melissa’s face was red, from anger or embarrassment or a combo of the two, and her eyes were dark.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” she announced.

I reached for her, but she sidestepped me.

“I wanted to make sure you got home safely. Mission accomplished. Maybe we’ll talk later,” she said coolly, and stalked away.

If Brandy and my pride hadn’t been standing in my way, I would’ve chased her down and begged her to come back.  Instead, I just turned to the bitch in the raincoat.

“Get in the fucking house,” I commanded. “You better have a good goddamned reason for trying to destroy my life. Again.”

MELISSA

I’d never experienced anything quite like the roiling anger that coursed through my body at that moment.  I tore through the streets blindly, mad at myself, and mad at him.

I thought – because of what? A few days of living outside my tiny box of a life? – that I’d changed?  I thought I was this new woman, with caution-to-the-wind morals and the capability of following through on a temptation to lose my virginity to a near stranger?

My heart thrummed anxiously in my chest.

Good lord. I just about slept with a guy whose regular visitors included super model caliber women in sweats and flips flops.

Obvious
ly, shit like that was a common occurrence in his life.

But who the hell
was
she?

It shouldn’t even have mattered to me.
I knew what kind of guy he was from the second his big, stupid truck crossed my path.  But dammit.  It
did
matter to me.  Because for one naïve second, I believed that there was more to him than the redneck attitude.

By the time I got home, the tears I’d been fighting came pouring out.  Which is probably why I didn’t notice that all the lights were on, or that Danny’s car was parked out front.  So I didn’t have time to prepare myself mentally.  I didn’t ha
ve time to form a plausible lie.

And as I let myself in and kicked off my slippers, I wasn’t expecting to find my roommate and my boyfriend –
fiancé,
I corrected myself with a wince - in a panicked state in my living room.

“Dear God!” Strong language, coming from Shelby.

“We were about to call the police,” Danny added.

“Don’t,” I replied weakly. “I’m okay.”

In spite of my bedraggled, pajama-wearing appearance, Shelby accepted my statement.  Because why wouldn’t she?  Even though I’d never disappeared in the night before, and even though I so clearly
wasn’t
okay, I’d said it, and that was enough to make it true.  We were friends, and we didn’t lie to each other.

Danny, though…Something pass
ed across his face that made my heart skip an uncomfortable beat.

“Whose coat is that?” he asked.

I looked down.

Shit.

I’d totally forgotten I was wearing it.  Quickly, I stripped it off and tossed it on the floor.

“It’s his
,” I whispered.

“Who
se?” Shelby asked, puzzled.

But my fiancé knew.  I saw it in his eyes, and for the first time, it occurred to me that maybe he wasn’t as oblivious as I thought.

I avoided his gaze as I answered. “The man with the truck.  I don’t really know what happened.  I just…I wanted to be alone, and I went up to the all-night gas station for a coffee, and…There he was.”

“And he gave you his coat?” Danny asked.

There was the tiniest bit of an edge to his voice.  It was something I’d never heard from him before, and for some reason, it made me want to run and hide. 

“I think he was trying to trick me into sleeping with him.”

Well. At least that was a partial-truth.

Danny’s face was still skeptical.

“I just got out of there as fast as I could.”

“With his coat,” Danny stated doubtfully.

In a last ditch effort to protect myself, I tossed a pleading glance toward Shelby.  And thank God I did.  Because while Shelby was a lot of useless, pretty things – naïve, too-good-to-be-true, and overly fond of kittens, for example - she was a loyal friend, ready to defend me at any second.

“Danny!” she scolded. “This isn’t
her
fault.”

If I hadn’t been looking right at him that second, breath held as I waited for him to agree, I wouldn’t have noticed his quick look at my hands.

Shit.

I clasped them together, but it was too late.  The pinched look around Danny’s eyes told me he saw my empty ring finger.

“What were you doing out by yourself, this early in the morning?” he asked.

“
I told you. Coffee.”

Shelby jumped in again. “Mel is upset. She’s still in her pjs for goodness sake. She doesn’t need an interrogation.”

No,
I thought.
I sure as hell don’t. Because I’m too tired to come up with a believable explanation.

As my roommate escorted him out, I realized Danny couldn’t quite let it go.  I heard bits and pieces of their conversation from my spot on the couch.

“Yeah, but Shel,
why
was she out in her pajamas?”

“She’s been a little off ever since that day.”

“Do you think she…” The rest of Danny’s words were muffled, and I closed my eyes.

If I wanted to convince them I was my normal self, I was going to have to work an awful lot harder.  The only problem was, I couldn’t quite remember what that looked like.

The door clicked, and my roommate came back into the living room, all smiles.

Shelby has it down. Shelby wouldn’t even be able to look at Cutter without cringing,
I thought.
I don’t have to be the old me. I just have to be
her
.

So f
or three days, I made myself watch Shelby, emulating her pleasant disposition and demure mannerisms.

And I thought I had it down pat.

Until the lunch date.

M
y mom - I couldn’t think of her as my grandmother no matter how I tried - wanted to discuss the guest list for the wedding, and I brought Shelby along to shield me from her too-perceptive eyes.

Everything went well right up to the second my mother excused herself to use the restroom, and Shelby leaned over to whisper to me.

“Don’t look now, but the creep outside is staring at you.” She shivered dramatically.

I laughed,
using the little giggle I’d been perfecting for the last few days. “Maybe he’s checking
you
out, Shel. That shirt you have on is
so
cute.”

I expected her to blush, or look down to check which top she was wearing, but she fixed her gaze on me.

“No, Mel. This guy has been watching you for twenty minutes. I didn’t want to upset your mom, but I noticed him right after we came in.”

I glanced out the window.  And froze.

Cutter, back in his shaggy beard and dressed in blue coveralls, met my gaze through the window.  His eyes pierced through me, dark and knowing, and I understood why Shelby had shivered.  He lifted up his hand in greeting.  When I saw what he held between his thumb and forefinger, I couldn’t fight the flush that crept up my cheeks.

A paintbrush.

“Mel?”

I blinked at my roommate, then snuck another peek outside.  Cutter was no longer in view.  I knew, without a doubt, that he was coming
inside
.  And that meant
I
needed to get out.  I jumped to my feet.

“Are you all right?” Shelby asked.

“I just remembered I left my wallet in the car,” I lied.

“You’re going out there? Where the creep is?”

I forced a light laugh. “Have a look. He’s gone.”

My roommate obliged, and as she did, I darted away from the table.

I’ll go out the back way,
I decided.
When he gets to the table and sees I’m gone…He’ll either leave, or Shelby will call the cops.

Three steps into the back hall, just past the washrooms, a rough hand closed around my upper arm.  I took a breath and forced myself to speak calmly.

“Can I help you?”

“I guess you meant it then.”

I turned to face him, ashamed that the sight of his face, even scruffier than usual, tugged at my heart.  Even more humiliating was the fact that his touch lit up my body.

Quickly, and without analyzing the why, I tucked my left hand into my pocket and slid off my ring.

“Meant what?” I asked in a cool voice that I hoped masked the fire under my skin.

“That if you saw me in public, you wouldn’t admit you knew me.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“What
is
it about, then? Because when I approach a girl in a restaurant, and she
runs
in the other direction, I think it’s safe to assume she’s embarrassed to be seen with me. Especially if that same girl has been dodging my calls for almost a week.”

“I
unplugged my land line,” I told him. “And for the record, I’m not embarrassed, I’m mad.”

“About?”

“That little thing you left off your list of incompatibilities.”

“Which is?”

Was he serious?  Or was he just trying to force me to say it?  I rolled my eyes and refused to give in to the heat blooming in my cheeks.

“She’s about five foot ten and looks like she just fell out of the pages of porn magazine,” I stated. “Oh, and she was on your doorstep.”

“If you hadn’t been avoiding me, I would’ve explained that by now.”

“Don’t bother. The last few days have given me a chance to
gain some perspective. You were right. We’re just too different. So please. Let go of my arm, Cutter.”

He released me, but as I moved to walk away, his words held me.

“So you’re a phony after all,” he said.

“I’m not a phony.”

“A liar, then.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you going to tell
me exactly what it is I lied about, or just leave it hanging over my head?”

“You said we would talk.”

“To be accurate, I said
maybe
we could talk. And my maybe has become a no.”

I turned away again, determined to make a clean break, and not to be baited into further argument.  As I took a step, though, the washroom door swung open, and my mother shouldered her way out.  Her back was to us, but in seconds she’d turn around and see me an
d Cutter - in his hulking blue jumpsuit – standing together in the hallway.  I couldn’t handle the thought of having to explain myself to her.  I could barely explain myself to
me.

In a spontaneous and desperate move, I flung open the door to what I assumed was the handicap stall, and dragged Cutter in.

“Melissa, what’re you
doing
?” he near-yelled.

“Shh!”

“What –“

I sighed irritably, and reached up to cover his mouth with my hand.

“Could you at least whisper?” I hissed.

He mumbled something against my palm.  It was incomprehensible, but at least he said whatever it was in a hushed voice.  I took my hand away slowly, just in case he decided to get loud again.  When I was satisfied that he wasn’t going to holler, I tried to back away from him.  Emphasis on the word tried.  My rear end hit a shelf, and it was at that moment that I realized we weren’t in a restroom at all, but a tiny storage closet.

Shit.

There was barely enough room for the supplies, let alone
them
plus
me
,
plus
an oversized man
like Cutter.  But I didn’t dare open the door.  I needed to give my mom time to get to the table, and for her to grab an explanation in regards to my whereabouts from Shelby.  I wanted her to grow worried enough about how long I was taking that she popped out to the parking lot to look for me.  That would give me enough time to sneak back to the table myself.

“At least two or three minutes,” I murmured.

“You wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?” Cutter grumbled.

“That lady coming out of the bathroom was my mother.”

“Well. At least now I see where you get your perfect ass.”

“Shut up.”

“I admit that I’m probably somewhat more blue-collar than your average dates, but don’t you think shoving me into a closet is going a bit far?”

His voice lacked bite, and in the dark, without his ferocious eyes staring me down, it was easy to believe he was actually offended.  I pushed down an urge to comfort him.

“This isn’t a date,” I said. “And for your information I shoved you in here for your own good.”

“Thanks for caring.”

“Listen,” I whispered irritably. “You think
I’m
uptight? I’ve got nothing on that woman out there. She never has to iron her clothes because they’re too scared to wrinkle.”

He chuckled, an
d the low sound somehow added intimacy to our already cramped situation.

“So,” Cutter said, still sounding amused. “Two minutes in the closet. Very high school. What would like to do with our two minutes, Melissa?”

My name on his lips, soft and suggestive, made me shiver.  Stupid, treacherous body.