Spectacular Rascal: A Sexy Flirty Dirty Standalone Romance (11 page)

I nod. “I open this confessional in the name of the fox, the hound, and the brew that never lets them down. Let the truth be spilled, but never the beer. Hoo ha, hoo ha ha.”

“Hoo ha, hoo ha ha,” she echoes, reaching for her beer.

I reach for mine and we tilt our frosted mugs back. I take several deep pulls, until the cold starts to make my head ache, before dropping my half-empty glass back to the marble counter. Neither of us has eaten anything since the bag of pretzels we snagged on the way between trains earlier, and drinking on an empty stomach is never a wise idea. But a buzz sounds good right now. I need something to take the edge off, to make me forget that I’m breaking all the rules and risking my life for a woman who drives me crazy.

Apparently Cat feels the same way. By the time she emerges from her beer with a deep breath, only a couple inches of amber liquid remain at the bottom of her glass. “Remember that last night, before you left for Japan?”

“I remember,” I say, grateful for the buzz I can feel creeping in to dull the sharp edges of her words. If we’re going to talk about that night in the woods, I’m going to need all three shots of tequila and then some.

She swipes a hand across her upper lip before bracing both palms on the counter. “After you left to go put out the bonfire, I went for a walk around the lake with the joint you left behind. I smoked the entire thing. All by myself.”

“Probably not the best idea. It was your first time, right?”

She nods. “Yes, and it was a completely shitty idea. I ended up wandering around the student union, high as a kite, shouting quotes from
The Art of War
at the owl statues on top of the building. I was caught by a city cop doing his campus rounds and spent the night in the drunk tank, crying my eyes out because it felt like my intestines were trying to crawl out of my throat.”

I wince. “That wasn’t good pot. I’m sorry your first experience sucked so hard.”

“It really did suck hard. It sucked so hard I thought I was going to die. And if I’d known your real name, I would have given you up to the po po in a heartbeat. Because by two in the morning I was so high I was seeing gremlins on the ceiling and convinced you were trying to kill me.” She reaches for the first shot of tequila. “Forgive me, friend, for I have sinned.”

Following her lead—and the rules of our bastardized religious ceremony—I reach for my own shot. “I absolve you in the name of the fox and the hound and the brew that never lets them down.”

We lick the salt from our hands, pound our shot, and reach for the tray of lime slices at the same time, our fingers brushing. Cat flinches away, watching as I pop my lime between my lips before reaching for hers.

“Anything to say?” she asks, sucking the wedge.

“Nope. Just that I’m sorry, and I’m sure that wasn’t a great way to end your sophomore year.”

“No, it wasn’t.” She shakes her head loosely, her body language already more relaxed than I’ve seen it all day. I don’t know if the confession or the alcohol is responsible, but it’s good to see her shoulders drop away from her ears. “And it only got worse from there. My dad found out—because of course he did; he always knew exactly what I was up to, especially when I was doing something I wasn’t supposed to be doing it—and he acted like I’d murdered a flock of baby sheep for fun.”

I snort, but Cat doesn’t crack a smile.

“I had enough money saved to pay for my own rehabilitation class to get back in good graces with the school,” she continues, “but Dad knew arrest for pot possession could keep me from getting into the FBI training academy. That had always been his dream, not mine, but he mourned the death of my career as a federal agent hard enough for the both of us.”

“Sorry again. Truly. I feel you.” I consider telling her that I know all about killing your father’s dreams, but this isn’t my confession.

“He never forgave me,” she continues. “Not even on his deathbed. His last words to me were a depressing plea for me not to fuck my life up anymore than I had already.”

I curse, and she finally smiles, though it’s more rueful than amused.

“Not to fuck up any more than I had already,” she repeats softly. “Even though I hadn’t taken a single step from the straight and narrow for eleven years. Not one single step. I never even lied about my weight on my driver’s license.” She laughs. “But one mistake was all it took to make me a fuck-up for life. At least as far as Dad was concerned.”

I reach for the second shot, but she holds out a hand. “Sorry, that wasn’t my second confession. That was just additional information, stuff I left out of the story this afternoon when I told you things didn’t end well with Dad.”

I nod. “You left out the fact that it was my fault your relationship with your father was destroyed forever.”

She shakes her head, sending her silky hair sliding around her shoulders. I have the sudden, powerful urge to drive my hand into all the red and let it slip through my fingers. I know it will feel like silk, but more alive, an entity with a will of its own that wants to touch and be touched.

Touch would be a lot less painful than hearing how one stupid night when we were practically kids wrecked her life for over a decade.

“No, it wasn’t your fault,” she says. “It was Dad’s fault, but all the shit with him complicated the way I felt about you for a while.”

“You were angry,” I supply.

She skims her fingertips through the salt spilled on the counter. “I was. That’s why I didn’t email, even though we said we were going to keep in touch.” She tips her head toward her shoulder with a lopsided grin. “Well, that and the fact that you never emailed. Or messaged. Or anything else. That was kind of a clue, you know, and I’m good with clues.”

“At first I didn’t have internet access. And by the time I did…” I shrug, not wanting to say more, but feeling like I owe her the truth, especially while we’re under Religious Advice. “I thought a clean break would be for the best. For both of us. By that point, I’d had some time to think about things and felt like maybe I’d sent you some…conflicting signals over the years.”

A huff of laughter escapes her lips. “You think? With all the flirty notes and texts and staring at my ass like it was your job every time we ran?”

I fight a smile. “Yeah, well, your ass was—and is—a hard thing to look away from. I’m only mortal.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well, you definitely sent conflicting signals, and a clean break probably
was
for the best.” Her smile fades as she reaches out to spin her next shot in a slow circle on the counter. “But it was also weird. And sad. You were such a big part of my life, and then suddenly you were gone. Like you’d never really been there to begin with.”

“I was there,” I say, feeling like shit. “But I was also twenty-two and full of myself and dying to get out in the world and do things.”

She spins the glass faster. “And I was just another girl.”

“No. You weren’t.” I want to reach out and take her hand, to still her fingers and thread them through mine, but I haven’t earned the right to touch her like that. Not in private, when it would mean something more than a show put on to make another man jealous.

“You were just…complicated, and I wanted simple. I needed it,” I continue in a firmer voice, as her lips twist in a knowing smirk. “Things weren’t great with me and my dad at that point, either. He was really fucking disappointed in me, and every time I called to check in, he let me know it. So I stopped calling him or anyone else. I tossed my cell and travelled around Asia studying with artists I respected, and by the time I came back home, college seemed like another world. One I remembered with a smile, but…”

I chew my bottom lip, hunting for the right words. “By that time I’d learned to give fewer fucks about everything, and that meant not wallowing in regret over shit I couldn’t change.”

“So you regretted how things ended?” Her fingers pause in their relentless spinning.

“I did.” I lay my hands on the counter near hers, almost close enough to touch. “I should have called. Or texted. Or at least written an email to let you know that my decision that night truly had nothing to do with you. It was all me.”

She laughs, a breezy giggle that surprises me after the heavy tone of the conversation so far. “Well, shit. That sucks, Aidan. I’m glad you didn’t call, then.”

“Thanks,” I say, scratching my beard.

“Seriously, that’s the worst. The one time a guy said that to me, I almost punched him in the face. I settled for dumping a glass of wine in his lap and telling him my decision to do so had
everything
to do with him.”

I shrug. “Then I guess it all worked out for the best.”

“I guess it did.” She lifts her chin, meeting my cool gaze with an even cooler one. “But I’m going to make my second confession anyway. There was never any Mr. Unattainable. Well, there was, but he wasn’t a friend from boarding school. He was you. You were my Archie of the Covenant.” She presses her lips together, turning her laughter into a wry hum. “I had it so bad for you, dude. So, so bad. It was fucking ridiculous.”

“Why was it—”

“Forgive me, friend, for I have sinned.” She plucks her shot from the counter, holding it between us.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” I say, my gut twisting. I feel bad for my part in leading her on when we were younger, but that’s not why I feel like I swallowed a pound of buckshot. There’s something more, something that lingers in the air between us as she brings the glass to her lips, something that reminds me of good food going to waste and kids being diagnosed with cancer.

“Say your part,” she says in a husky voice. “And drink.”

I take my glass, meeting her gaze over the rim. “I absolve you in the name of the fox and the hound and the brew that never lets them down.” We drink, neither of us looking away, even when we set the glasses down hard on the counter.

This time, we don’t reach for a lime.

“Seriously, Red, I’m not as dumb as I look. After the stuff in the woods, I figured out that you’d had a thing for me. Though, yes, I should have caught on a lot sooner.”

“You should have.” Her smile is hard, heavy. “You were a dumb boy, but I was dumb, too. I should have given up and dated someone who was interested instead of carrying a torch for you for two years.”

She rolls her neck, a sensuous movement that’s so sexy all I can think about is how much I want my lips on her throat, feeling the pulse of her blood beneath her pale skin. But between the fucked-up past and the fucked-up present, this island between us might as well be an ocean.

“But I’m still glad I confessed.” She brushes her hair over her shoulder with a graceful flick of her wrist. “That’s information I wanted to be sure you had in your possession before you started talking to me about my panties again.”

Fuck.

Fuck me. Fuck me somewhere it hurts without lube.

“I’m sorry,” I say, though I know it’s not enough. “I’m an asshole. I didn’t even think about—”

“No you’re not an asshole. You were right.” She blinks, her green eyes clear and focused. “My panties were wet,” she says in a voice that goes straight to my dick, sending my flagging erection surging back to life. “One kiss and I was ready to go at it against my ex-boyfriend’s limo.”

“Cat…” Her name is a warning, though I don’t know if the warning is meant for her or me or both of us.

Or what I’m going to do if she ignores it.

“I wanted you to fuck me as much as I ever did,” she continues, bracing her palms on the counter. She leans forward, granting me a view down the front of her dress and a glimpse of creamy lace against creamier skin, sending my blood pressure skyrocketing. “Maybe more. You were always good with your hands and your mouth, but you’re even better now. You make me feel like I’m on fire. All over. In the best way.”

I clench my jaw and fight the urge to sweep my hand across the counter and send the glasses shattering to the floor as I drag Cat across the marble and take her right here on the kitchen island.

“So yes, Aidan, I was wet this morning.” The gleam in her eyes is diabolical, making me suspect she might be deliberately trying to give me a heart attack. “And I was wet when you were talking dirty to me a few minutes ago. And I could be wet again in a hot second if you said you wanted to take your next shot off my tits and fuck me on the floor.”

I fist my hands so tight my knuckles ache. Sweat breaks out between my shoulder blades and a vein in my neck starts to throb. I am so fucking close to losing control, but I force my hands to remain on the counter.

She’s not done torturing me yet—I can tell by the lilt in her voice. And, glutton for punishment that I am, I have to hear what she’s going to say next.

“But I know that’s a conflict of interest for you.” Her gaze scans my face, honing in on my mouth, making me think she wants to be kissed as much as I want to be kissing her. “Though, you haven’t seemed too stressed about keeping things professional thus far. So maybe all that ‘no more than a kiss’ stuff is just a front to keep on the right side of the law. Maybe you always fuck your clients.”

“Never. Not a single time,” I say in a voice too thick with lust to be convincing, even though I’m telling the truth.

I want to open a second location of my shop badly enough to play Knight With Scary Tattoos to deserving women in need, but not enough to fuck people for money. I’m as shameless as the next confirmed bachelor when it comes to getting laid, but I fuck who I want, when I want. Because sex should be about what two people want to do to each other, not what one of them has bought and paid for.