Dare to be Dirty (The Dirty Girls Book Club #2) (8 page)

She glided closer to the bed, having to look now, to find her blouse.

The tangle of sheets was down past Ty’s waist, leaving his torso naked, a sculpted work of art in the dim light. And there—she pressed her fist against her mouth to stifle a groan—there was her top, under his head, anchored against the pillow. No way could she possibly slide it out.

Fine. It would only be a reminder, and she wanted to forget that this night had happened.

She hurried toward the cabin door. Hand on the knob, something made her pause. Had he awakened? Would he try to stop her? She turned slowly, feeling like a fugitive ready to flee.

But he slept, oblivious. He wouldn’t be stopping her.

Even if he had woken up, he likely wouldn’t try to stop her. He’d gotten what he wanted.

* * *

W
hen she woke for the second time Sunday morning, this time safely in her own bed, Kim’s hangover had pretty much gone. Now she just felt stupid and embarrassed and slutty.

She put coffee on to brew, and took her cell out of her yellow bag. She’d had it turned off all day yesterday. There were texts from friends, which she’d respond to later. One from Marielle too.

Guess what, I’m still in the Valley! Hot, hot night!!! Coming to the rodeo? Let’s meet up.

Kim ground her teeth and texted,
Not coming. Have fun.
And Marielle would. How damned easy things were for her.

There was a voice mail from Henry, calling from the office yesterday afternoon to ask if she wanted to go for dinner.

He’d been a good boyfriend, attentive and considerate. Smart and ambitious. Good-looking, in the cosmopolitan way she liked—or at least, had liked until yesterday—with his great haircut and beautifully styled clothes. He was a city boy just as much as she was a city girl, though his taste was conventional and hers was anything but. They shared common values, and their only real disagreement had been over her art. He had taken her parents’ side, saying she must be loyal to her family and could still pursue art as a hobby.

He’d taken their breakup with his usual lack of visible emotion, saying he hoped they could remain friends. She did care for him and was glad not to lose him.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and sipped gratefully. What time was it? Eleven. She should call Henry, apologize for not e-mailing him back. Tell him they’d have dinner soon. Not tonight. She couldn’t face him yet. Not that she’d tell him about Ty. Yes, she and Henry were free to date other people, but what she’d done was over the top. He’d think she was a slut.

Which she was, kind of.

Why did it seem fun when Marielle hooked up with Blake Longfeather, but slutty when Kim had sex with Ty?

She settled at the table with her coffee and checked e-mail. There was a message from her mom, which immediately sent a twinge of guilt through her. If her parents had the slightest idea what Kim had done last night . . .

Eight

B
ut her parents didn’t know. And they wouldn’t. It was done, over, would never happen again. She would put it out of her mind. If she’d been home with them in Hong Kong, she’d never have gone crazy like that.

She and her parents had flown back and forth a few times since she’d moved to Vancouver, but it was four months since she’d seen either of them. Despite their occasional differences, she missed them like crazy. She read her mom’s message, smiling nostalgically. Her mother was completely fluent in English, but had a staccato style of writing that reminded Kim of the dazzling pace of life back home, the bustle, the energy, the vibrant colors, the constant noise.

Her mom filled her in on what was going on with the company and with various family members, a gush of news and commentary that made Kim feel lonely.

Not as lonely as almost two years ago, when she’d moved here at the age of twenty-two. Now she not only had her old childhood friends but new ones at school, she had book club, she had Henry. She’d explored Vancouver as an adult, and loved her second home. Yet, as the treasured only child of forty-something parents who’d given up hope of a baby, she’d never lived alone until now. It still took getting used to.

Her parents felt the same. They never failed to remind her that they’d much prefer she had stayed home, joining the company and working with them, living at home until she found the right man and married. Preferably, a man they chose for her. Which, at the moment, didn’t sound like all that bad an idea.

Now, her mother wrote:

Your time in Vancouver is almost up. You must now realize that your proper place is with the company. Just say the word, and we’ll buy you a ticket home. Your father and I want only what’s best for you: a good career in the family business, and a good marriage. Art is fine as a hobby, but now it is time to take your place with us in CPM.

A shiver of anxiety rippled across Kim’s shoulders. Yes, her time had almost run out. It had taken all her persuasive skills to convince her parents to allow her this time to study art, but finally they had agreed to support her for two years and not a moment longer. They’d said it was a waste of time, that an artist couldn’t make a living. She told them she’d find a way, and return to Hong Kong with a viable business plan. She wasn’t flaky; she was businesslike and wanted financial security, but she also wanted to pursue her passion.

Her parents loved her. They had agreed that, if she convinced them she could make a living from her art, they would let her do it. She’d die if she was stifled in an office all day, managing the ever-growing number of commercial and residential properties her parents kept amassing, some as owner-managers and some as managers. Her mom and dad had come from the country; they’d been entrepreneurs and built their empire. How could they and those ancestors they kept invoking fail to be proud if she displayed her own entrepreneurial spirit and started her own business?

She should think seriously about designing clothing. She had a flair for it and enjoyed it. And yet, so many other people did that. She wanted something more uniquely her own—and she had to find it soon.

Frowning, she turned back to the e-mail, and promptly groaned. Her mom had moved from one guilt trip to another.

On the subject of marriage, Peter and his girlfriend Lin have announced their engagement. As I’ve told you, she’s a clever, charming young woman who is studying engineering.

She couldn’t be all that clever if she didn’t see that Kim’s cousin was an arrogant, not terribly bright, bore.

How is Henry? I saw his parents on the weekend. We hope the two of you will have an announcement of your own before long.

No, no, no.
Kim shook her head, feeling her spiky hair flick back and forth.

When her mom was in Vancouver four months ago, Henry’d had dinner with them. As far as both sets of parents knew, Kim and Henry were still a couple. “Henry and I are cowards,” she muttered. But they both hated disappointing their parents. Easier to let their folks assume they were still dating, then reveal the breakup when they returned to Hong Kong.

She really did have to call Henry.

When he picked up, she tried to banish all thoughts of Ty. “I’m sorry I didn’t return your call,” she said. “I was out with my book club friends and had my cell turned off.”

“I understand. I stayed at the office until late.”

“You work so hard.” His family’s company was hi-tech. He was getting international experience, then would return to Hong Kong and ascend the corporate ladder. Henry was a diligent guy and put in long hours, learning everything he could.

“Of course. I will work this afternoon as well.” His English was excellent, but not as informal and colloquial as her own. “How are you today, Kim?”

She swallowed. “Oh, I’m fine.” As fine as a hungover slut could be. Quickly, she changed the subject. “Mom e-mailed. My cousin Peter’s engaged.”

“Now she puts more pressure on you?”

She knew he’d understand. “You bet. There’d be even more if she knew we broke up.”

“She would perhaps look for someone else in Vancouver to match you with.” His tone was neutral, so she couldn’t tell if that idea upset him.

“Not likely, with me heading home so soon. That’s when the matchmaking will start. The same with your parents, right?”

“I have no interest in that,” he said softly.

What did that mean? That he didn’t want to be matchmade, or did he perhaps hope she’d change her mind? She and Henry had both been raised to be reserved about sharing their feelings, and to respect other people’s privacy. So, curious as she was, she didn’t push. “You still plan to go back to Hong Kong in two months too?”

“Of course. I look forward to this.”

“You won’t miss Vancouver?” Much as she loved Hong Kong, it was going to be hard to leave this city.

“No. Why would I?”

Because it was an incredible, vibrant, cosmopolitan place. But then, Henry hadn’t seen much of that. Kim had explored, on her own and with old and new friends, making the city her own. Henry spent most of his time at work, only coming out for business dinners or meals with her. He wasn’t interested in long walks, sightseeing, visiting galleries or museums, clubbing, or any of the other activities she so enjoyed. In fact, now that she thought about it, his entire time in Vancouver—both his work and dating her—had been oriented toward his return to Hong Kong. Toward meeting his parents’ expectations.

Home. Parental expectations.
She’d be home herself in less than two months. If she didn’t want to join CPM, she had to get serious. Pouring a second cup of coffee, Kim vowed to forget about last night and concentrate her energy on a business plan for a clothing design business. Perhaps she could turn it into something she’d be excited about.

As for Ty Ronan, he was the past. Done, gone, never to be thought of again.

* * *

K
im trudged down Burrard Street toward Cactus Club, this Monday’s meeting place. The club members had such busy lives, they’d quickly realized they could never find one whole evening when they were all free. Instead, they met late every Monday afternoon for an hour. They had set a rule: to read only one-third of the book each week, and not go further. But they were supposed to read that third, and for the first time Kim hadn’t done her homework. Last night, she picked up
Ride Her, Cowboy
, and the stupid book reminded her of Ty. She didn’t even open it.

She probably wouldn’t open it again. Bad enough that Sunday night’s sleep had been plagued by erotic dreams about Ty. Reading about Marty’s affair with Dirk Zamora would only fuel those stupid fantasies. How ironic and frustrating that, at the rodeo, she’d reveled in imagining sexy fantasies featuring cowboy Ty. Now, the last thing she wanted was a reminder of what she’d done Saturday night.

If she wasn’t going to read the book or attend meetings, maybe she should drop out of the club. Except, she liked Marielle, George, and Lily. The women, the books they read, the discussions, all made her think.

If it wasn’t for the club, she’d still be with Henry, stuck in a rut that could have turned into a lifetime sentence to mediocrity. On the other hand, the club was the reason she’d met Ty. It was their fault. Marielle’s, mostly. Maybe Kim should go to the meeting and vent.

Not that she ever vented. She wasn’t the type. But then, she wasn’t the type to go at it on the hood of a truck either.

She eyed Cactus Club, across the street. Marielle had picked a place where they could sit outside. Too bad. Normally Kim loved being outside in Vancouver’s fresh air, but today it reminded her of those hours in the sun at the rodeo. If it had been her turn to choose, she’d have picked the darkest bar in town; she could lurk in a hidden corner and nurse her shame and guilt. The dark corner would match up with her plain old jeans and navy tee, and the black hair she hadn’t felt like color-streaking.

She trudged across the street. Though the Ty thing made her feel shitty, it wasn’t the only thing that had her depressed. She’d spent hours working on a business plan and didn’t feel the slightest spark of enthusiasm. Maybe she should skip book club and get back to work on it.

But no, she owed it to the others to show up, then she’d decide whether she would stay with the club.

Lily and George were already there, seated at high chairs around a tall table for four, with the typical martini and glass of white wine. Kim hoisted herself up into a chair—trying not to remember Ty lifting her onto the hood of his truck. When the stylish black-clad waitress asked what she’d like to drink, she said grimly, “Cranberry and soda.”

Lily, her fair skin complemented by a thin rose-colored sweater, raised her delicate blond eyebrows. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Sure. I don’t always have to drink booze, you know.”

Lily and George, who wore a gold-colored jersey that made her hair look especially fiery, exchanged glances.

Kim pretended not to notice.

“How did . . .” George started cautiously, then broke off as Marielle, in white capris and a vivid orange top, rushed in. A quick scan of the drink list, and she ordered something called a Brazilian. It sounded like a wax job, but must be one of the colorful, boozy drinks she loved.

The brunette looked as happy as Kim felt miserable. The moment the waiter left, Marielle leaned forward, eyes flashing. “Wasn’t Saturday the best day ever?”

George said, “It was fun, but I’m dying of curiosity. What happened with you and Blake?”

“What didn’t happen?” She gave a burbly, smirky laugh. “That man is amazing! Believe me, that Dirk dude in our book doesn’t hold a candle to Blake.” Elbows on the table, she leaned forward eagerly. “And yes, I stayed over, and went to the rodeo Sunday too. They had afternoon events, then the finals in the evening. Blake was amazing in the bull riding, and he won saddle bronc with a score of 89. He got fifteen thousand dollars! I think I inspired him. And last night, oh man, he took me for one wild ride.”

She turned to Kim. “I thought you’d come see Ty compete. He was in the finals too, and he—”

“Stop!” Kim almost yelled. “I don’t want to hear about it.”

Oops.
Was that an overreaction? Three faces stared at her curiously.

“The two of you seemed to be hitting it off,” Lily said. “Was it okay that George and I left? If we’d thought there was any problem—”

“No!” Kim rarely interrupted people, but now did it for the second time in twenty seconds. “There was no problem. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself in a bar.”

“You had to look after yourself?” George’s eyes narrowed. “Did Ty Ronan try something?”

Kim stifled a moan. What hadn’t he tried? Sex this way, that way, every fabulous way she could imagine. Well, not quite every way; they’d fallen asleep before they could— She dragged her mind away. “He was fine. We danced.”

She’d been raised to be honest, which she interpreted as not straight-out lying. Omitting an occasional detail wasn’t a lie. Like the way she and Henry hadn’t told their parents they were just friends now. Let their parents be happy—and not bug her and Henry—for a little while longer.

“And I drove home,” she added. “And I really have no desire to hear about him again. Are we going to eat? Has anyone ordered appies?”

After a moment’s silence, everyone picked up a menu. They decided on tuna tataki, crispy dry ribs, and edamame.

“All right then,” Lily said crisply. “Let’s talk about the book.” She turned to Kim. “Did you like it?”

“Actually, I didn’t manage to finish the first part,” she confessed. At their surprised looks, she said, “I was busy. I’m sorry.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Lily said with concern. “It’s not like you to not finish.”

“Stop playing mom,” Kim snapped. “I’m fine.”

The wounded look on Lily’s face gave Kim an immediate case of the guilts. “I’m sorry.” She grabbed her friend’s hand. “So sorry. I’m a bitch. It’s PMS or something.”
Something
being Ty Ronan.

“It’s all right,” Lily said quietly. She squeezed Kim’s hand then released it and picked up her martini. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about the book. There’d be spoilers for Kim.”

“How far did you get, Kim?” George asked. “We could discuss it to that point.”

Kim deliberated. Maybe she was a little curious about how the others saw Marty’s fling with Dirk. She waited until their server had put platters of appetizers on the table, then said, “The last part I read was the sex scene at the river.”

“Under the canopy of stars?” George took a dry rib. “Wasn’t that incredible? Can you imagine sex outside, under the stars?”

Yeah. It’d be like fireworks.
Kim took an edamame pod, though she didn’t have much appetite.

“George, George,” Marielle chided. “You haven’t done that? Woody’s slipping.”

“No, he’s not,” George returned, a satisfied gleam in her eye. “But it’s a good idea. Where, though? We don’t want to get arrested.”

“Spanish Banks, Queen Elizabeth Park, Second Beach,” Marielle said promptly. “There are loads of places.” She glanced around. “Kim, Lily, do you have any suggestions?”