Dirty Little Mistake (Dirty #2) (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Brenna

“Bren!”

“I’m coming!” I called back, hearing the raw, cried-out tremor in my voice.

I’d spent nearly twenty-four hours locked in my room in a self-pitying huddle.  Twenty minutes earlier, my roommate had given me an ultimatum.  Eat.  Pee.  Get out of bed.  Or she would force me to do all three in an extremely unpleasant manner.

I shuffled out of my room, knowing full well she’d follow through
on her threat.

“Bren!”
she called again.

I found her standing in front of the partly opened front door.

“What’s going on?”

Risa stepped back. “Him.”

Shit. Our date.

Ian stood on our stoop, a
handful of daisies in his fingers. 

Well,
I thought.
At least he got the flowers right.

But his hand dropped to his side, the daisies forgotten as h
is eyes travelled the length of my body.

For the first time, I felt like he was truly interested in me.  And I didn’t like it at all.

My haze of self-pity had made getting dressed low on my list of priorities.  But the look on Ian’s face made me wish I was wearing something – anything – but a skimpy, tear-stained nightgown. 

“I guess
we’re staying in?” he asked, not sounding at all like he was kidding and not taking his eyes off my cleavage.

With a quick glance at Risa, who mouthed
go for it
at me, I stepped onto the porch and closed the front door.  I crossed my arms over my chest, blocking his view. 

“Ian,” I started.
“Have we had a good time this week?”

“Sure.”

“Are you serious?”

He shrugged without looking at my face.  Instead, his gaze moved down to my legs.  I had to resist an urge to tap him on the chest and remind him that I was more than a sex toy.

“I bit you,” I reminded him. “And you made me walk for ten miles in heels.”

“So?”

“Those are good dates in your books?”

“We don’t need good dates. We’ve got something more.”

“What is it?”

“Chemistry, darlin’.”

I wondered if this kind of stuff normally worked for him.  If girls fell over themselves trying to get a piece of cheeseball Ian-action. 

He
reached up to smooth a piece of hair away from my forehead and he started to say something else.  As he spoke, though, his football ring got stuck in my hair. 

“Shit,” he muttered.

Ian tried to pull his finger away, but it just made the snag worse.  He pursed his lips and gave me a helpless look.

For the first time in what seemed like years, a
laugh burst through my lips. 

“Try winding your finger up closer to my head, then unwinding it,” I suggested.

He followed my instructions, twisting the hair up slowly.  He reached my ear, then reversed direction.  The ring came free easily and Ian grinned.

“I don’t know how you girls deal with this shit every day,” he said.

“Ponytails,” I joked.

“No shit.”

I took a breath.

Now or never.

“Ian…I’m going to kiss you, okay?”

Before he could reply, I stood on my tiptoes and pushed my lips to his.  I waited for the explosion of fireworks I’d felt a month and a half ago
during the bout of drunken-ninja sex.  I waited for my knees to go weak or my head to spin. 

But I didn’t feel a thing. 

Except for Ian’s sudden erection, pushing into my hip.

And that made me want to giggle, throw up, and burst into tears all at once.

I pulled away.

“This isn’t going to work,” I said softly.

Ian glanced down at the evidence to the contrary.

“For me,” I amended.

He shrugged. “Sorry. Automatic reaction. Nothing personal.”

And that was the problem.

There
was
nothing personal between us.  Not only could I not make myself do the insta-love thing with Ian, I couldn’t even make myself like him a bit.

The only thing we had in common was the baby.  And Ian didn’t even know about it yet.  He didn’t know a damned thing about me.

My heart dropped.

I’d spent the last week pouring out the sludgy liquid of my past.  I’d shared parts of myself I never thought I would.  And none of it had been with this man.

It was time to stop playing games.  It was time to tell Ian the truth and let him decide whether or not he wanted to be a part of my life and a part of his baby’s life.

Man up,
said a voice in my head and it sounded enough like Ridley’s that my eyes welled up again.

“Are you crying?” he asked.

“No,” I lied.

“Ridley is going to fucking kill me.”

My eyes came up in surprise. “For what?”

Ian shot a worried look toward his house.  Ridley’s truck was in the driveway, but the windows were all dark.  Ian relaxed marginally.

“That guy has a serious hard-on for your feelings,” he told me. “If he finds out I made you cry…”

Colo
r touched my cheeks and I was glad it was dark enough to cover my embarrassment.

“I think Ridley’s washed his hands of me,” I admitted in a small voice that I hoped didn’t give away how much the idea hurt.

Ian laughed. “No fucking way has he walked away from you. He gave me a lecture right before I picked you up.”

“A lecture on what?”

“On how to treat you. And what he was going to do to me if I didn’t obey him. So please don’t tell him I made you cry.”

My mouth opened and closed silently.
  I knew I’d have to tell Ian about the baby. Sooner rather than later.  If he decided he didn’t want to be a part of his or her life, I was okay with that.  And I would never keep him away from the baby if he chose to be involved.

But I needed to tell Ridley first.  I owed him that.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ridley

I was accustomed to coming home exhausted, even after a
slow day shift like the one today, but as I had pulled my truck into the driveway at twenty past five, I’d been oddly energized. 

It wasn’t until I got into the door that I realized why.

Three dates.

The
limit I had given Brenna was about to expire.

No more Ian.

In spite of her denial, I knew I’d gotten to her last night.

She
had to realize she deserved so much more than my cousin could give her. 

I tossed my keys onto the table
, unbuttoned my jacket and took two steps into the room before I saw them through our back window. 

Ian and Brenna. 

The light from her patio showcased them in a perfect silhouette.  His thick arms around her soft waist and her sweet-scented head pressed into his chest.

What the hell?

He was supposed to be ending it.  He was supposed to be picking up some girl in a bar and using the hotel pass I’d given him to bang himself into oblivion.  What had gone wrong?

From where I stood, I watched her tip up her face.  He reached down to grab a strand of her dark hair and then wound it around one of his fingers.  It was a tender gesture.  Something I would do myself.  It ripped my heart from my ribcage, tossed it to the ground, and stomped all over it.

Goddamn Ian and his over-the-top charm.

Except it wasn’t him. It was me. I fucked it up,
I realized.

I thought she’d get to know him and hate him.  I thought he’d be eager to rid himself of her.  I’d been so sure of it that I’d shoved her straight into his lap.

My hand closed into a fist and I drew it back, then slammed it forward into the wall.  It tore through both the drywall and my skin and I felt nothing.  The emotional pain far outweighed the physical.

I desperately wanted to rush out the door, to draw Brenna into my arms and to beg her to pick me instead of him.  I moved to do it.

And then she kissed him.

I had to let it go.  I had to let
her
go.

Ian deserved a break.  The benefit of the doubt.  He deserved the respect and love I had promised his mother I would provide.  Brenna could be his chance.  Like Aunt
Penelope had been mine.  There was no way I could take that away from him.

I turned away from the window forcefully, shoved my keys back in my pocket, and strode out the front door.

For two hours I walked the streets blindly.  My stride was purposeful, but my heart was aimless.  Without her, I was nothing.

I didn’t realize I’d come as far as I had until I spotted the flickering sign, froze, and then took five deliberate, slow steps backward until I reached the stoop.  Then I turned toward it and stepped closer.

It was the exact kind of place I frequented years ago with my fake ID and my shitty-ass attitude and my not-giving-two-fucks lifestyle.

The dirty little bar was the exact kind of place I shouldn’t be.  I knew it the second I walked past its big wooden doors and its soaped windows set inside its brick exterior.

That didn’t stop me from going in.

Fuck you, current self,
I snarled internally.
Fuck you and your go-home-to-bed-after-work and your keep-your-nose-clean plan. Fuck everything about you.

I stalked through the doors and straight up to the bar.  I ordered two shots of Jack, drank them in succession, and looked to the bartender for a third.  He gave me the kind of look that let me know he recognized my mood and lined up five glasses, raised an eyebrow, then filled them all with the hellish liquid.

“Thanks,” I muttered and slapped down a hundred dollar bill.

A waft of spicy perfume alerted me to the girl’s presence before her dry laugh.  Instinctively, I turned to tell her I wasn’t interested.  At the last second, I remembered I had no reason to
not
be interested.  In fact, what I needed was a good, old-fashioned reminder that I was a man.  So I drew my gaze to the girl.

She wasn’t unpleasant to look at.  She was pretty in that punk rock revival way.  Just enough black eye makeup and just the right number of chains hanging from just the right number of body parts.  Huge tits squished into a black corset and a plaid skirt held together by safety pins.

All I had to do was convince myself that she was an acceptable alternative to Brenna.

Not an alternative,
I corrected.
An upgrade.

I pulled back another shot and did my best to shoot her a lascivious grin.

“You look like you’re going to kill someone.”

I refused to let my smile slip. “Only in the most pleasant way possible.”

“Does that line work for you, usually?”

“I don’t use a line, usually,” I replied.

“Because you’re so damned hot that you don’t need to?”

I managed another smile. “Because I don’t pick up girls in bars.”

“Ah,” she said, and slid onto the stool beside me. “Cutting through the bullshit. That I can dig. I’m Thea.”

“Ridley,” I announced.

“Real name?”

I nodded. “If I was gonna make one up, it sure as shit wouldn’t be Ridley.”

“What would it be?” she teased.

“Anything but Ian,” I replied before I could stop myself.

The girl laughed again, the same dry snort as before. “That’s pretty fucking weird.”

“You have no idea,” I agreed.

Shot number five went down smoothly.  The heat in my throat reached my head and I pushed the Jack toward the girl.

“Want one?” I offered.

“Not particularly.”

“Hmm. So. You don’t want a line and you don’t want a drink,” I stated.

“Nope.”

“What the fuck do you want then, Thea?”

One pierced eyebrow went up. “Funny you should use the word
fuck
, Ridley.”

My eyes found her face.  She looked serious.  It couldn’t be that easy, could it?  I wanted to drown my sorrows in drink.  I wanted to bury
my hurt in some stranger.  And here they both were in an untidy package.

Of course it can be that easy. It’s that easy for Ian all the time and he’s the biggest asshole you know,
I reminded myself.

I moved
my stare from her face to her feet and dragged it up, slowly taking inventory of her assets.  Dragon tattoo wrapped around the right ankle.  Scar on her left knee.  Smooth, muscled thighs and a narrow waist.  I paused at her chest for a long moment before I finally went back to meeting her eyes.

“I don’t play games,” I warned her.

“Neither do I.”

“I want to know why you picked me, Thea.” I made sure my statement was slow and my voice balanced so she wouldn’t mistake it for insecurity. “There’s a hundred guys in here who’d eat a girl like you up.”

“Maybe I’m tired of being eaten up,” she countered.

Shot six. “I’m going to lay my cards on the table. Right this second.”

“Go for it.”

“I’m well on my way to being pissed drunk. I have no intention of having anything but the vaguest of memories of whatever I’m about to do. I’ll take you home but it won’t go past more than tonight. If you’re on board with that, I’ll call us a cab.”

She met my gaze steadily. “How about I take you on my bike instead?”

“Motorcycle? Or am I riding in a basket?”

She laughed. “Follow me and find out.”

I swung my legs off the stool.

“Keep the change,” I said to the bartender.

“You serious?” he said.

I shot him a drunken wink. “I don’t wanna be the only one getting lucky tonight.”

Behind me, the girl – whose name I’d already forgotten – laughed her dry laugh again, then threaded her ringed fingers through mine and dragged me outside.

I raised an eyebrow at the sight of her bike.

“You even big enough to straddle that thing?” I asked.

She handed me a helmet and raised an eyebrow right back. “I’ve ridden bigger.”

I waited for her suggestive comment to take a hold of me or to spark some kind of excitement.  It didn’t.

How the fuck am I going to do this?

The embarrassing, despair-filled thought clouded my mind for long enough to make the girl jab me in the side with her elbow.

“Hey. You getting on?”

Her challenging tone spurred me to toss aside my hesitation. 

“Yeah. I am. And so are you.”

I wrapped my hands around her waist and tossed her to the back of the bike a little more roughly than necessary.  I shoved the helmet onto my head, leaped up behind her, and growled out my address.

She revved the engine and tore through the streets until we reached my house.  She parked on the road and I didn’t give either of us a chance to change our minds.

I grabbed her and twisted her so she had little choice but to wrap her legs around me.  I grabbed her ass and she squealed loudly.  Briefly, the thought that Brenna might hear or even see crossed my mind.  I shoved the worry down, and carried the girl up the walkway to the doorstep.  I slammed her against the door.  I drove my hips into her, but I still didn’t feel a damned thing.  So I kissed her.  I explored her mouth with my tongue and bit down on her lip.

Nothing.

With a frustrated snarl, I forced the front door open.  Once we were inside, I kicked it shut and set her down on the floor.  Then I breathed.

The girl put her hands on her hips.

“All right. Who was that show for?” she demanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied.

“I’m not an idiot. I can tell when a guy I’m with isn’t i
nto it. And I can tell even more when he’s trying to seem like he is. I don’t want to be used to hurt someone. So who’s watching? Is it a wife? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

I shuffled forward and slumped onto the couch. “None of the above.”

“And?”

“And she’s just a friend.”

“But you want her to be more.”

“It’s complicated.”

“If you keep giving such taciturn answers, this is going to take all night. And not in the way I was hoping.”

“You don’t have to stay.”

She looked to the clock on the TV. “It’s two in the morning. You’re going to tell me about your ‘friend’ and I’m going to listen politely, tell you to get your ass in gear, then I’m going to sleep in your bed while you sleep here on this couch. Now talk. What’s her name?”

For the first time all night, I smiled a genuine smile. “I call her Pancake. And I’m pretty sure I’m in love with her.”