Dirty Boy (4 page)

“Daddy!” Simon wailed.

“Begging me?” she cried over their son’s tears. “Begging
me
?”

Max nodded, wanting desperately to look at Simon but knowing that would be a mistake. Kayleigh wanted his attention on her.

“Stand up,” she ordered.

Not questioning her, he followed her orders. They stared at each other. For a moment, Max thought he’d gotten through to her. She took a step forward, as if she’d come to him. Allow Simon to come to him.

She smiled. “I win,” she said, then swept Simon into her arms, backed up and flung off the cliff.

Four Years Later

Adventurous Girls Only. Are you bold?

Daring?

Sexy?

Swallowing her trepidation, Story scrolled down the list, the last two words having their own line, as if they were the most relevant qualifications. She went to the next line.

Eighteen to twenty-four?

Requirement met. She was twenty.

Attractive and in-shape?

Still in the running. People commented all the time about her fitness. And, yes, she considered herself attractive. She’d inherited her mother’s green eyes and brown hair.

Story roamed back to the words that made the idea worth considering.

Do you need money for college?

Did she ever! She’d reached a point of no return, code for: Situation Critical.

Sitting on her sofa with taped-up cushions, she heaved in a breath and read the ad three times. In spite of her dire circumstances, her skin prickled as she skipped to the request that made the idea cringe-worthy.

If you’re interested, please send a headshot, full frontal nude shot, and rear nude shot.

This wasn’t an ad for mainstream modeling. Urban legends created the ultimate fantasy. Or, in her case, the wishful thinking that mattered the most. Tuition money earned after becoming a porn star.

Those types of tales had prompted Story to Google the adult entertainment industry and search for similar opportunities. The Sherwood brothers always appeared at the top of most lists. More than once, she’d considered emailing Dirty Boys Studios. Then, she always chickened out.

It had been years since she’d seen Max. After the scandal of his wife and son’s deaths, his studio released him. He’d gone on and founded his own company, Dirty Boys Studios. His brother, Eric, went into business with him. From what Story gathered, they were doing well. The last time she’d Googled Max, she learned the cloud of suspicion regarding Kayleigh and Simon’s deaths still hung over him, though he maintained his innocence and insisted it had been murder-suicide carried out by his wife.

Long ago, Story had stopped watching him. She didn’t want to think of all that he’d endured in the aftermath of his family’s deaths. Besides,
Richard Head
was the porn star. When she looked at
him,
she saw only sex.
Max Sherwood
was the man who mattered to her, the real flesh-and blood person with feelings, who loved music and who’d noticed her when everyone else forgot about her.

Maybe, she should contact Max and ask him to hire her at his studio. She could work behind the scenes in some capacity, even if it was as a maid. The Max she remembered would offer her a position so she could do what needed to be done.

Story chewed on her lower lip. The side of Max she’d seen might’ve been an illusion. After all, she’d been young and his new stepsister. He might’ve just wanted to put her at ease at that time. Perhaps, he wouldn’t have any other job but an on-camera one.

What then?

For weeks, long before she saw this ad that seemed like an omen, she’d wrestled back and forth. Should she? Could she do porn to stay in school? She’d lost her scholarship due to bad grades, obtained after attempting to hold down two jobs and maintain her required grade point.

The first year of school had been a breeze. She’d had a full academic scholarship, money from her part-time job and a room waiting for her in her stepfather’s house. That had been
then. Now
, she had to take finals that were useless unless she received perfect scores. Attempting to make ends meet in a rundown economy-sized Dallas apartment with her credit in disarray diminished those chances. Too late, she’d quit her cleaning job. Once she realized she couldn’t save her grades, she’d gone back for her old job, but someone had already been hired in her place.

Perturbed, Story slammed her laptop closed, not properly shutting it down. She groaned. The thing was old, bought from a pawnshop after her mother sold off Story’s brand new one.

Tapping her foot on the cold wooden floor, she glanced at her dinette table, stacked with statements marked past due, overdue or ‘in collections’.

She heaved in a breath and jumped to her feet, grabbing her prepaid cell phone off the rickety coffee table and speed dialing her mother.

Babs answered on the second ring. “Hi, hon.”

Story snapped her brows together, shocked her mom answered. “Mom?”

“Who else would it be, Story?” Exasperation sharpened the retort.

“I’ve called you two thousand times over the past week. It shocked me that you answered.”

“Closer to five thousand,” Babs responded with a sniff.

Between the texting and the inordinate amount of messages, her mother might’ve been correct. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Her persistence paid off. Babs stopped avoiding Story. Maybe, Babs was ready to take some responsibility in Story’s current predicament.

“I’m tired of my phone ringing.”

“I need money.” Story dived straight to the point. “You promised me you’d help me this month, Mom.”

“I haven’t found a way to get money. If I had, you’d have it.”

Maybe. “Mom—“

“You need to grow up. Your name is on the credit cards. Remember?”

Identity theft at its lowest. Story’s problems seemed almost unsolvable. Turn in her mother, who’d endured so much over the years, for herself and Story. Or struggle to pay the debts herself and hope her mom helped her out of the mess
she’d
created in the first place.

“You opened those accounts without my permission.”

“And?”

“I prefer cash.”

“You don’t know how to splurge and indulge.”

“Exactly, Mom. I didn’t want the accounts. They’re your bills.”

“With your name on them.” Babs huffed. “The key word is
didn’t
. You
didn’t
want the accounts. You learned pretty quick how to use one of those cards. You did the crime, now you do the time.”

She had, which mitigated some of her anger that her mom had had the audacity to use her name to open accounts she hadn’t wanted, since dirt had more worth than Babs’s credit. “Mom, I used that card to buy food and needed personal items.”

With Story’s savings gone, this was the sixth month she and her mom had had this same discussion. She could almost repeat them by rote. Every month, Story clung to the hope that Babs would offer a new script.

Story licked her lips. “I’ve been pulling double-shifts at The Burger Den. I need rent money and food and tuition and—“

The list was long and varied.

“Is it my fault Winston left?” Babs asked. He’d kicked her out last year on Story’s nineteenth birthday, almost thirteen months to the day.

Her mother collected husbands like Story had once collected
Hello Kitty
stuff. Winston Sherwood had been married to Babs the longest. He was older, with his own collection of ex-wives. Although Story liked Winston, he dismissed girls, so he’d ignored her. On the other hand, he’d spoiled Babs and showed her the patience of a saint.

What her mother had done to piss him so thoroughly off, Story couldn’t imagine. But Babs caused the end of the marriage. Of that, Story had no doubt.

So, yeah, the separation probably was Babs’s fault, but Story refrained from blurting that. She chose not to respond at all. “Mom, why don’t you get a job? Give up your apartment and you and I could find a small place together. It wouldn’t be as luxurious as you’ve become accustomed to.” Neither would it be as ratty as Story’s current home.

“Absolutely not! I was born poor, but I wasn’t meant to be poor,” Babs spat. “I refuse to lower my standards.
Or
risk homelessness again. Or
any
of what I endured.”

Story rubbed her forehead, her frustration mounting. She was the idiot who held out the hope that her mother woke up and saw the bank account. While Story understood her mother’s fears, it didn’t help right now. All the struggling Babs had endured in the past allowed Story to eventually accept her mom’s actions.

Unfortunately, the two of them had differing views on how to prevent history from repeating itself.

“You shouldn’t lower yours either,” Babs continued. “Have you learned nothing from living on the streets?”

No, since they’d found a place to stay when Story was three. But she’d learned depending on a man for money wasn’t always the best way. “Actually, I’ve learned a lot,” she said, without going into detail.

“No, you haven’t.”

“Mom! Listen to me. Please…”

“I have been listening to you.
You
need to heed
me
.”

“If you don’t help me,
I’m
going to end up on the street. I’ve burned through my savings. My grades have suffered so much I’ve already lost my scholarship and may have to drop out.”

Out of all her mother’s previous escapades, she’d never expected Babs to hurt her purposely in any way.

“Your entire life has been about responsibility. You were determined to make straight ‘A’s, so you didn’t date.”

That was
one
reason she hadn’t dated. The other being the crush she’d had on her soon-to-be-former stepbrother, Max. She’d measured every date she had against him. Eyes weren’t blue enough. Hair not black enough. Body not tall and hard enough. But her not getting into guys went deeper than a shallow attraction to her elusive stepbrother. While her mother partied and shopped her life away, Story had been focused on carving out a future for herself.

“You were determined to be independent,” Babs complained as if she read Story’s mind. “To be your own woman, so you didn’t have fun, though I almost ordered you to sleep with a boy. You accepted Winston’s allowance because you like
jeans.
He was willing to buy you designer clothes, diamonds and cars. Anything. He was ready to offer me anything, too,” she added in a small voice that broke Story’s heart.

“Mom, it’s okay,” she soothed. “We can get through this. You and me. We don’t have to find a smaller place. I can move in with you and—”

“If only you could. My lease states one tenant. Winston was generous enough to set me up here. I can’t anger him and end up on the streets.”

Finally, Story understood how Babs could afford her luxury apartment. “That’s great.” She forced back a grimace and whispered, “I’m going to end up homeless if I don’t turn my situation around. We have difficult choices ahead. We’ll be in this together and—”

“I can’t, Story,” she sniffled out. “I can’t go back to having no food to eat and…and no idea where we’ll sleep for the night. I’m so sorry. I know I’ve let you down. Winston and I were married four years, and he walked away because of one lapse in judgment on my part. Came home from the office one night and asked me to leave. Said it was over.” She drew in a sharp breath, indicating the change in commentary. “I can barely make the car payments of my Benz. Do you know the cost of my upkeep? And you’re after me for bills in
your
name that you
helped to create? I tell you what. Ignore them and ruin your credit. Don’t come to me when you can’t get a job or a house or a car.”

“Mom—”

“No, Story! No. You’re the thrift-shop-wearing, straight-A-student-making-I’m-too-busy-to-lose-my-virginity-independent college student. You had more than enough opportunities as Winston’s stepdaughter. Get in with the social scene. Find a Sugar Daddy!”

Oh, the irony, considering the ad she’d been contemplating.

“I have nothing against girls who have sugar daddies. But I saw what you went through with your wealthy husbands. I wanted different for myself. Not better,” she added. “Just different.”

She’d also wanted real feelings involved. Outside of Winston, her mother’s feelings for her other husbands had been as superficial as Story’s crush on Max. However, Story knew that his wife and son had been killed, causing a scandal that lingered to this day. 

“Come over tonight. I have a nice young man I can introduce you to. His father is into oil, gas, and God knows what else. They have a huge cattle ranch in the country. You can negotiate an arrangement with him.”