Dirty Boy (27 page)

Story listened as Max made his way up the stairs and past her door, heading to the room at the end of the hall. Something had triggered a very distressing change in Max’s entire demeanor. She hadn’t brought up Kayleigh or anything related to her, so she couldn’t imagine what had happened. She could spend the rest of the evening in the house, trying to figure Max out, but the dress she’d wear to the dinner at Winston’s house was laid out on the bed. Figuring out how to get the easy banter that had existed between them for the briefest moments would have to wait.

Story hadn’t intended to tell Max about her confrontation with Erin. Once she’d been set straight, the woman had treated her with cool professionalism. Story recognized a jealous bitch when she saw one and wouldn’t allow Erin’s bad attitude to ruin her day. She had so many other things to accomplish that feat, if she’d allow it.

The shutting of a door captured her attention. Going to her own door, she peeped into the hall, just as Max directed his steps toward the staircase, minus his shirt.

Drawing in a deep breath, Story dogged Max’s steps all the way down to the kitchen. She waited as he went to his freezer and retrieved a bottle of Stoli. Removing the cap, he guzzled the liquor, then held it out.

“Want some?”

She took the vodka from him and swigged, before holding the bottle out again.

Instead of taking it, he wrapped his hand around hers and drew her closer. Leaning his head against the cold bottle, he heaved his shoulders then pinned her with the look of dark torment roiling inside of him.

“I want to fuck, Story, and if you don’t want me to fuck you hard,
leave
. Go to your room and dress for the dinner.”

Hearing the dark need in his voice, she laid her hand against his chest before placing a kiss on his bare chest. He snatched the bottle from her, reached around her and set it down. Then, he unfastened her shorts, hooked his fingers inside her waistband and slid them, along with her panties, to her ankles. She stepped out of them, squeaking in surprise when he swept her into his arms, turned and braced her against the nearest wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he swiveled his hips against her center.

Pulling his cock out of his shorts, he guided it to Story’s entrance, pushing into her. He drilled into her, stretching and filling her. Hard and deep, he slammed into her, leaving her struggling for breath. She’d wanted to help him to forget whatever demons he battled, but she was in danger of forgetting why she needed to keep distance between them.

He slammed into her again and she cried out, the pain of his brutal thrust morphing into pleasure, until she couldn’t think or care or anything other than feel him. His mouth descended to hers and he took her lips in a ruthless kiss. She groaned, clinging to him as she gave into her release.

Drenched in sweat, she trembled. Max continued to thrust into her until he stiffened and flooded her with his cum. He allowed a minute to pass before he pulled out of her and set her on her feet. Stuffing his cock back into his pants, he turned to the bottle of Stoli and drank from it again.

“Be ready to leave in forty-five minutes.”

“You know I might be able to help you better if you told me why you’re so upset.” Voicing his grief in him own way would help him best.

He lifted a brow, distant once more, as if he hadn’t just fucked her brains out. “Do you have a degree in psychology?”

“No, but—“

“Psychiatry?”

“Max, you know I do—“

“Social work?”

“Damn it, man, stop being such a raging ass. You know I have none of those degrees.”

“You have
no
degree. Isn’t that why you’re fucking me?”

Despite the truth of his words, she recoiled. Besides, he was forgetting the jail time hanging over her head. “You’re right. On the other hand, you’re allowing yourself to
be
fucked so I can obtain my degree. It’s either a lose-lose or a win-win. You choose how you’d like to view it.”

“Go upstairs, clean yourself up, and be ready to leave in forty-five minutes
now
or I won’t be responsible for anything I might say to you.”

“Sticks and stones. Remember? Not words.”

“Believe that if you will, Story. Sometimes, words linger as long as actions. Longer, if the delivery is right. So you see, Story, any attempt on your part to analyze me or rescue me or
save
me is futile. Outside of pussy, I have no other use for you.
Ever
. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” she said, and then left him standing alone and angry in his kitchen.

At precisely 7PM, Story descended the staircase, a ray of sunshine glimmering in his dark world. She wore a bright yellow, long-sleeved, lace mini dress. The plunging neckline drew his eyes to her rounds tits, and further down to her incredible pair of legs, perfect to wrap around his back.

Max thought about peeling her little dress away, while she kept on her black platform stilettoes, so he could fuck her brains out. However, judging by the scowl on her face, if he approached her, she’d deck him.

“My money was well-spent,” he said to jump-start the conversation. “You’re gorgeous.”

Sniffing, she lifted her chin. “Thank you,” she said through tight lips.

He’d been unnecessarily harsh with her and searched for a way to explain himself but came up empty. Since Kayleigh, he hadn’t had to explain himself to anyone. In his life, she’d been the only one who’d ever tried to hold him accountable.

Thinking of Kayleigh would only bring his anger back. “Do you have your music player?” he asked instead.

She nodded.

“Bring it. We can listen to it on the drive over to my father’s.”

Story turned and raced back up the stairs, allowing Max a perfect view of her open back and the way the dress hugged her ass. Before Max made up his mind to follow her up, she was back, right in front of him, smelling fresh and sweet.

She raised her black clutch. “It’s in here.”

Shoving a hand in his pocket, he touched her hair, wanting to do so much more. Wanting just to talk to her.

“Ready?”

She nodded again. Unable to stop himself, he kissed her forehead. She didn’t resist but she didn’t thaw either.

In the car, the first song Story played after hooking her device to his stereo, was
Tainted Love
by Marilyn Manson. If she hadn’t sidled him with a glare as the song started, Max wouldn’t have found any significance in the words.

“Interesting choice.”

She ignored him, so he shut up and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

He didn’t comment at her next five choices being Melanie Martinez songs, deciding the woman was Story’s favorite artist. When
Sucker for Love
blasted through the speaker, Max could no longer keep his mouth shut. He lowered the volume.

“Is this your passive-aggressive way of sending me a message?” He kept his tone light. If he wanted an answer from her, he couldn’t make demands. With her so angry, she’d clam up.

“I have no message I’m trying to send you, Max,” she hissed. “I’m perfectly capable of telling you what’s on my mind.”

“Stop being difficult. Let’s enjoy our evening.”

“Do I have a choice in the matter.”

“You do,” he said, wanting to pull to the side of the road and show her who had control. The challenge in her tone turned him on. “You always have a choice,” he lied.

“How shocking,” she said sarcastically.

“What are you expecting from me?” Maybe, if he knew that, they’d get passed this.

“Fairness. I expect you to treat me as I treat you.”

That sounded wonderful in theory. In practice, it didn’t work. “That isn’t my style. I don’t follow. I make my own rules.”

“Rules you expect everyone to follow.” She glared at him. “Even world leaders have advisors.”

It annoyed him that she was right, so he changed the subject. “We should start shooting the promo shots next week. We’ll purchase wigs for you. I’ll also come up with your stage name.”

“I already have one.”

He hadn’t realized she’d put that much thought into her career. “Really? Let’s hear it.”

“Flossie Dick.”

She made the announcement casually, as if the suggestive moniker was normal. “Absolutely not. Where the fuck did you come up with that?”

“My mother suggested it.”

It figured, though it made it even worse. Furthermore, it reminded him of Story’s role in Babs’ deed, something he pushed to the back of his mind as much as possible.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said quickly.

“Doubtful.” The cold word should’ve warned her away but she went on, deciding to talk
now
when he wanted her to shut up.

“My mom had me interview with a guy who owned a strip club. She suggested that as my stage name.

Babs.

That was the only word crossing his mind. In all honesty, that was enough.
Babs
said it all. It equaled bad mother, horrible wife, and insane thief.

“Jimmy said the name Flossie Dick would work just as well for a porn name.”

“Who the fuck is Jimmy?” And how fucking dare he suggest such a thing to Story.

“Jimmy’s the owner of the club. Mom wanted me to be his Sugar Baby. He didn’t want me to go to school, so he decided I wouldn’t work out in such an arrangement.”

Max reminded himself he was driving, that if he fucking exploded in anger, he’d crash and kill Story. “You agreed to meet with Jimmy?”

“Yeah, Max,” she said with a sigh. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

He glowered at the dark road ahead of him. “For money, of course.”

“Yeah,” she said in a quiet voice. “For my future. Can’t you understand that? Stop judging me.”

Her remark surprised him. Considering his profession, he would’ve thought she’d have a different outlook. “I’m in no position to judge you. That would be hypocritical of me.”

“I disagree. It doesn’t matter what you do, you still have an opinion. Your work doesn’t invalidate your feelings.”

Kayleigh had never felt that way. She wanted her outlook on matters to be his, too. Fuck, even after all the months—years—he still measured his life by what Kayleigh felt. He couldn’t understand the power she continued to have over him. By the time of her suicide, he’d been happy to be separated from her. He hadn’t wanted her dead. Now, years after they’d first met, he couldn’t say he’d ever loved her.

Since her death, there wasn’t a day that went by where she didn’t affect him.

Simon’s little face rose in his head. Running toward him the day he’d gone to Point Fermin. The fear of his last moments. His own horror as his father and brothers held him back. More than likely, he would’ve plunged over too, in some desperate, misguided attempt to catch his son.

The small sense of peace he’d gotten since Story bounded down the staircase evaporated.

His thoughts ended his desire to talk, and they drove the rest of the way in silence.