Dirty Boy (12 page)

At all costs, she had to keep her wits for whatever he dished out.

Fatigue settled into her. Tomorrow would be soon enough for her to remind herself that Max was as meaningless to her as she was to him. With that in mind, she grabbed a T-shirt and a fresh pair of panties, then headed to her private bathroom to rush through a shower so she could hit the sack.

Hours later, a noise awakened her. Sitting up, she glanced around the room, bathed in a dim glow from the small lamp she kept on the dresser. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Shoving the covers aside, she got out of bed, then tipped to the window, the sound of silence deafening. Outside, halogen lights combined with the pitch black sky and rising ground fog to create an eerie scene. A shadowy figure moved and she jumped back, afraid she’d been seen. She peeped out again. The body cut into the dense fog, an aura of light surrounding it. But this was a very
real
person. He stepped closer to Max’s condo, looking toward her window, before turning and disappearing into the creepiness.

Gasping, Story stumbled back and stared at the curtains, as if the material could provide the answers she needed.

A panicked cry shattered the quietness. Story jumped, and spun around, realizing this was what she’d heard. Running to the door, she threw it open, forgetting about whoever had been outside. In the hallway, she looked over the balcony to the room below, able to make out a few shapes in the darkness.

Her room sat at the edge of the second floor, the small space in front of her door curving into the steps. Feeling along the wall, she found a light switch, breathing a sigh of relief when the walkway and staircase lit up. She looked toward the end of the hall at the closed door. She was sure that was Max’s room, but she wouldn’t have heard—

Another shout, this one more of an anguished moan, travelled up to Story from below.

“No! Don’t!” Max called.

“Max?” Not waiting for him to answer, she raced down the stairs. She made her way to the light switch near the door and flipped it on.

Max lay sprawled on the couch, an empty scotch bottle propped against him. The light glistened off his wet cheeks. Story rushed to him.

“Please,” he croaked out. “Don’t do this.”

“Max!” Story cried, her heart breaking for him. She shook him. “Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

“Stop!” he gritted, still caught in the grip of his dream.

“Max!”

He started at her yell and his eyes flew open. Bolting upright, he ignored the bottle that fell on to the area rug. He squinted.

“It’s me,” she said, wanting to touch him and wipe away his tears. She’d never seen him look so vulnerable. His air of arrogance was completely stripped away, leaving his soul bare to her. “It’s Story.”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“You were having a bad dream.”

Swinging his legs to the floor, he blinked, then dropped his head into his hands.

Uncertain, she sat next to him, studying his defeated posture. She wanted to ask what was the matter, but felt he wouldn’t answer her. She’d follow his lead.

“What’s on your playlist?” he asked her after a few minutes of silence.

“What?”

Max shifted and leaned his head on the back of the sofa, staring at the ceiling. “Do you know I listened to
Rocky Raccoon
a million times after the time we talked about it?”

She’d kept the playlist she’d shared with Max separate from her main one, naming it
Ours
. It was juvenile and silly, but for a moment, it had been theirs.

“Have you designed anything lately?”

“No. My designs never got past my croquis book,” she admitted shyly.

“What the fuck is that?”

“It’s French, meaning to sketch. What you saw were my sketches, freehand,” she explained. “Croquis drawings are usually done with live models. They are completed in a few minutes as the model changes poses. I never had the money for actual models, so I’d stand in my cheval mirror in my room at your dad’s estate and draw myself. They are elongated versions of the human body with little details.”

He went silent and, for a moment, she thought she’d made a mistake by mentioning the mansion. That would remind him of Babs’ stupid thievery.

“You seem to know a lot,” he told her, breaking the silence.

“I read a lot online. Watched a lot of videos on YouTube.” She stopped herself from admitting how she’d sneak in her mother’s closet when Babs and Winston were out of town and put together outfits that she’d try on.

“I’m most inspired by the designers of the 20s, 30s, and 40s. Women were being liberated and fashion reflected that. Then there’s that Hollywood glamour and soft romantic pieces.”

“Fashion is always influenced by the times,” Max said. “Look at the designs of an earlier time, when the wealthy needed assistance to dress. It served as a clear line between the rich and the poor.”

His knowledge surprised and impressed her. Max didn’t appear to be a man interested in fashion history. She nodded. “Yes, the leisurely class they were called.”

“I’d like to see your sketches again.”

Nerves consumed her and she was suddenly happy she hadn’t packed her designs with her. She wouldn’t have denied Max’s request, even though she’d never shown her croquis drawings to anyone. Outside of Max, only Babs had seen her sketches and that was one time. “I don’t have them with me.”

His gaze fell on her mouth and Story flushed. “Too bad,” he murmured, and it was her turn to watch him.

He had full lips that he used like a weapon. Story shivered.

Standing, Max swayed, and his erection pressed against his shorts. He hadn’t changed into his bedclothes. Suddenly, it hit her that her legs were exposed. She wore only a T-shirt and panties.

He stumbled toward the staircase. Until then, Max seemed sober and of sound mind, but he was drunk.

Story got to her feet and rushed behind him. “Wait! You’re going to fall down the stairs and kill yourself.”

He stiffened. Stilled. Didn’t move a muscle for a long moment. Then he turned. His expression held nothing but contempt but his eyes burned with anger and pain. “What a fitting way to go,” he slurred.

“What do you mean?” she asked, stunned to hear those words from him, considering how his wife and son had died. It was as if he wished for the same manner of death.

He turned toward her and she backed away. “If you don’t know, you don’t need to know,” he said flatly.

Of course she knew. Who didn’t know of the tragedies that had almost ruined his life?

Story lifted her hands, imploring him. “I want to help you.”

“I’m beyond help,” he snapped. “I’m a lost cause. The only way you’ll make me feel better is if you fuck me.”

“Sex doesn’t solve everything,” she countered, a little turned on by his rough tone. “Once we’re done, your problem will still be there. Sometimes, talking helps.”

“What do you know?” he grouched. “You’re new to fucking.”

“That should be common sense,” she charged.

He rubbed his bloodshot eyes and swayed again, then grabbed the bannister and crooked his finger at her with his other hand. “Come here.”

Her legs seemed to have a mind of their own and started moving toward him.

She stopped in front of him, caught up in his tumultuous gaze. He slid to the third step, then grabbed her hand and pulled her onto his lap. Straddling him, she wrapped her legs around his waist. He buried his nose against her neck.

“Do you like children?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered, goosebumps traveling through her blood and igniting a flame. “I want a bunch someday.”

“So you say now,” he growled, tugging her earlobe into his mouth and sucking. He licked the curve of her ear, his erection pressing against the core of her. He rocked against her. Her panties rubbing against her clit created a delicious friction.

Finally, he kissed her and she tasted the alcohol on his mouth. Vaguely, she wondered if he’d eaten, but then his tongued twined with hers and she didn’t care.

He was using sex to soothe whatever plagued him. It
should
be common sense that it was only a temporary balm, but Story couldn’t think beyond the passion of Max’s kiss and the movement of his hips.

Their mouths still fused together, he freed his cock and pushed the seat of her panties aside, plunging into her. They both sighed, Max gripped Story’s ass and thrust into her.

“Move with me,” he instructed. “Follow your instinct.”

Story laid her head on his shoulder and bounced to his tempo, slow and gentle before turning fast and hard. She moved with him, grinding against him, not thinking, only feeling.

He grunted and nosed her hair, still pumping into her with hard strokes.

“I want you to come for me, Story,” he told her on a groan. “Come for me.”

Not giving her the chance to follow his instructions, Max fingered her clit and Story shook again, her breathing labored.

“Come for me,” he demanded, the pressure on her heat making it easy to comply.

“Max!” she cried, and felt as if she was floating before crashing back to earth in a haze of white hot pleasure, collapsing against his chest.

“Feel me when I fill you with my cum,” he told her.

Story’s heartbeat rang in her ears, but she nodded.

Grabbing her hair, he yanked her head back and guided her mouth to his. The punishing kiss rivaled his brutal pounding. He groaned against her lips, then trembled, his body jerking beneath hers.

“Up,” he said a moment later. He gripped her waist with both hands and lifted her himself, then plopped her next to him.

He made himself decent and stood. So he wouldn’t tower over her any more than necessary, Story got to her feet, too.

“I’m going to bed,” he said after a moment.

“Do you want me to come with you? Having someone next to you might help your nightmares.”

“You read to many romance novels.”

Story sniffed. “This isn’t fiction. This is real life.”

“Exactly, so you should know a warm body won’t kill horrific memories.”

“I said nothing about memories. I said…night…mares…” The words fell slowly from her mouth as it dawned on her. Max’s dreams were based in reality. He was reliving what had happened at Point Fermin.

Max scowled at her. “Google what you want to know.”

“I don’t have my laptop. It couldn’t fit it my backpack.” Besides, the old thing wasn’t worth lugging across the country. “I have looked up Richard Head when I was home, though. I saw nothing of note.”

“Wrong person. Google
me
.”

“You can always tell me,” she countered, frowning as he started up the stairs. She wanted to hear the details from him because she believed nothing of the accusations against him.
Her
Max wasn’t a cruel monster.

She went behind him. If he fell back, she had a slim chance of saving him and herself.

“One fuck doesn’t change anything,” he told her, pointedly ignoring her comment. “If you want to stay, ask me or leave.”

For years, Story had pretended Babs’ antics didn’t affect her. She could ignore her hurt feelings and overlook Max’s words.

“Max, why won’t you tell me?” she asked, using his tactic and not responding to his words.

Max headed to the door at the end of the hall. There, he stopped and sighed, tipping his head back. “It’s not that I won’t tell you,” he said quietly. “I can’t.”

Without another word, he entered his room and slammed the door behind him.

Several hours later, Max poured himself a cup of coffee. He’d already taken ibuprofen for his massive headache. Something greasy would soak up the remainder of the alcohol and the coffee would give him a shot of adrenaline.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Story walking toward him. She wore the same clothes she’d had on yesterday. He kept his opinions about her attire to himself. He’d invested as much concern toward her as he would. As much passion yesterday as he could.

The circles ringing her eyes were darker and more noticeable this morning. He guessed she hadn’t slept a wink after their encounter. He shouldn’t have touched her, but he’d been lonely, caught in his nightmare. Usually, when they came, he had no one around to witness them. He’d either awaken on his own or they’d morph into something else.

“Hey, Max.” Her greeting was wary. The downturn of her mouth reminded him of how soft her lips had been around his hard cock. “How are you?”

Unhappiness clung to her, turning her beauty into a tragic fragility. The type of girl some men thrived on. They’d become her knight-in-shining-armor and she’d be forever grateful, a simpering little princess that needed rescuing time and again.

No fucking thank you.

“In a clearer frame of mind,” he said with his usual coolness, determined to keep distance between them. “How are you? Are you ready to give in to my demands?”

He waited for her to offer an answer of due gratefulness. They both knew he not only could’ve sent her packing yesterday, but had her arrested.

“Come to a decision?” he asked into the silence, his annoyance rising at her refusal to talk.

“Um, yeah.”

She said nothing more. Fuck, these bitches and their games. “Care to tell me?”

“If there’s some type of shelter nearby, I can go there and find a short term job to earn bus fare and money for meals.”

Not the words he wanted to hear. Nor had he expected them. Fuck, but she was stubborn. No wonder she’d been her mother’s accomplice. Where Barbra was flighty, Story was determined. But he had the upper hand in this situation, not her. The sooner she recognized that, the better for both of them. He pointed to a stool. “Sit.”

She complied.

“I’m looking for a female to recast for the movie’s lead role and a new woman to screw off-screen.”

Fuck-buddying with Natalia had to be reevaluated after her words last night. He’d already warned Story that the cost of living with him was also fucking him, so he’d make it easy on himself. Why find a new ass call to replace Natalia with the convenience of Story’s proximity?

“I’ve chosen you for both. Tell me what I need to secure your agreement.”

“Wh-what?”

“You heard me. I’m done with Greta. Natalia is becoming too clingy for my tastes. I do film with other girls, but you’re perfect for the role, with a little grooming.”

“How can you tell that with the major mess-up I did on screen yesterday?”

“I know a star when I see one.” Yesterday, she’d been overwhelmed and nervous, so he couldn’t judge her future by those reactions.

She rolled her eyes, not falling for his words. “I…you were right. I panicked and didn’t think this through. But doing this would ruin my future. While it would work for now, long-term I’d have nothing.”

If he were another man, he might fall for her high-road determination and weaken at the vulnerability in her eyes. Luckily, he
wasn’t
another man, so he wouldn’t be lured by her lies.

“Except your ability to con unsuspecting men,” he scoffed.

“I’m going to make you eat those words one day,” she swore.

“Unlikely.”

“I’m done, Max. As tempting as your offer is…”

“You want me as much as I want you,” he ventured, “so stop being so fucking stubborn.”

“How about…how about you make me your mistress, or whatever, for the duration of what the contract would be?”

Not good enough. That still left him in a bind for the movie unless he went to Greta. But Max hated relying on anyone. If he convinced Story to take Greta’s place, then his problems were solved. He could always use one of the new company girls but their contracts would have to be backdated to include this movie. That seemed more of a headache than just hiring a one-and-done actress.

“I don’t do mistresses.”

“Isn’t that what you’re asking me to be?” she asked in sheer confusion.

“No. My company’s female star was my girlfriend off-screen, too.”

“You want me to be your girlfriend?”

The words came out monotone, as unreadable as her expression, leaving him clueless and uncertain to her feelings about the idea. Although he hadn’t meant he wanted
her
for his girlfriend, the idea had merit. He wasn’t beneath pretending they were a couple. “The fans loved it. It worked well for us—Dirty Boys, me and her,” he clarified. “Until she decided to quit and asked me to do the same. I’m not interested in giving up my career. I don’t want a wife. Or kids. I’m happy being footloose and fancy-free.”

“She lived here with you, too?”

“Jesus, you have so many fucking questions! No,” he shouted in frustration, gritting his teeth at her unchanged expression. “She didn’t. I’m making an exception for you.”

“If I take one part, I have to take the other part and I can’t…I mean you and Natalia…” Her voice trailed off and she frowned.

“Me and Natalia will still fuck, if that’s what you’re asking.” Once he got her back to where he wanted her. “I’ll still film with other women.”

“Are you so insistent with me because you need me to do this? If I hadn’t arrived when I did yesterday, filming would’ve been a bust.”

“I don’t need anyone, sweetheart.”

“I disagree.” Of course she did. He expected no less from such a frustrating and maddening creature. “We all need someone.”

“You think?”

She nodded. “For instance, I need you to help me. I’m not ashamed to say that because it’s the truth. Help me by dropping me off at a shelter. By lending me money. Or by employing me. I need you to believe that I had nothing to do with whatever went on with my mom and your dad. I need a friend, Max, and I think you do, too.”

Nasty, vicious words hovered on the tip of his tongue. Her guard had dropped and he saw it all. Hope. Curiosity. But, most of all, longing. For him or his usefulness, he wasn’t sure. Left up to him to guess, he’d pick the latter. Very few people had ever longed merely for him. He wanted to verbally destroy her for being so open and honest. So vulnerable. But one look into her wide green eyes almost undid him.

He swore she didn’t only see a man who’d do something for her. Perhaps, because in their past encounters, she’d never attempted to impress him. She’d just wanted to befriend him.

“Fine, Story,” he gritted out, due to temporary insanity. “Dirty Boys needs a girl to do this movie as soon as possible. I need you to film scenes with me today so we can stay on schedule. I need to sell a relationship to the fucking voyeuristic public. If they think we’re together, they’ll believe they’re glimpsing our private sex life.”

“If I do this, what’s my pay?”

He glared at her, annoyed that she was so persistent. Instead of accepting his evasiveness, she constantly asked him to clarify her compensation. He should allow it to be the amount she’d agreed upon with her signature. She was fucking lucky to be getting a penny from them. However, Max had the feeling she’d walk out rather than earn anything less than the minimum amount needed. Therefore, he’d bait her with what she wanted most.

“Your tuition for a year.”

A pleased smile lit her face.

“What else?” Without second thought, the question flew from his mouth.

Already calculating the hit to his bank account, he waited while she considered the question.

“Hear me out,” she started.

“Just tell me.”

“Can you not flaunt Natalia around? I mean to pretend I’m your girlfriend, I’ll have to get into the role and the only way I can do that is to act like we have feelings. I can act like we have feelings for each other, if I pretend we’re exclusive. Outside of your job,” she muttered as he narrowed his eyes.

“Natalia and I are fuck buddies.”

“Were you hooking up with her while you were with Greta?”

“If she needed a screw, I saw no harm.”

Story looked appalled at his explanation and he smiled. “Do you know anything about women?”

His humor evaporated. “I know women are conniving, heartless cunts who only think of themselves. I know that women will trample a man’s heart when they’re at their lowest point. I know women want me for my money, my connections, and my cock. So, yes, I know women.”

He hadn’t meant to go into so much detail, but her question angered him. He knew more than he fucking wanted to about women.

“What happened to you?” she whispered. “I-I mean I know, but…but I’m here for you. I know you didn’t do it.”

Fuck her pity and concern.

“This doesn’t pertain to you. It happened. Meaning it’s in the past. Meaning I don’t talk about it.”

She fell silent, uncertainty and a small amount of fear marching across her face. If she dug deep enough, she’d discover the skewered version of whatever she wanted to know. He wouldn’t rehash anything to satisfy her morbid curiosity.

“I’ll stop Natalia from visiting here for the duration of your stay, Story,” he promised, to remove her uneasiness. Her words and expressions had thrown him off-balance. “That’s as much as I’ll do.”

“Can I have it in writing that you’ll pay my tuition?”

“Yes,” he snapped. His annoyance had nothing to do with what he knew of her character. It was
her.
“If you want anything else forget it.”

Instead of being intimidated, she asked, “Did I miss something?”

An allowance for clothes, or a car, and any of the other things she might need.

“Not a thing,” he told her with a straight face.

If she didn’t have sense enough to think about her other needs, he wouldn’t inform her. Negotiations were over. One day, her tunnel vision would land her into a heap of trouble. She couldn’t see beyond fucking tuition. She’d fuck for it. She suck for it. She’d go without another penny to her name for it.

Her single-mindedness opened her up to all sorts of ways to be taken advantage of. That idea should’ve made him so fucking happy he could leap over the goddamn moon. But it irked and worried him. And made him want to protect her. When he hadn’t wanted to protect anyone in years.