Dirty Little Mistake (Dirty #2) Page 8

  “Make an exception,” I ordered.

  “Let me get this straight. You want me to buy Brenna dinner, fuck her, and set her loose?”

  My heart bottomed out for a long second before my temper flared.

  “If you so much as touch her, I’ll kill you.” I spoke the words slowly and coldly.

  “Fuck, man. Relax. I already told you before. I’m not even interested in her.”

  “She’s going to call you again.”

  “Again?”

  Shit.

  I’d momentarily forgotten that I’d intercepted the last call.

  “I took the last call because you left your damned phone in my room,” I stated.

  Ian’s eyes widened a little, understanding clear on his face. “You want her.”

  “No,” I lied. “I just think you’re no good for her.”

  “So you don’t want her but you also don’t want me to have her? What are we? Ten years old? Give me a break. You totally want to bang her.”

  “Just tell me whether or not you’ll do it.”

  “If it’ll get you off my ass and get me out of debt.”

  “You don’t touch her, you don’t hurt…You don’t go near another girl from now until she tells you to go fuck yourself. And we’re even.”

  “You want me to go, like, a whole week without getting any?”

  I rolled my eyes in disgust. “When it’s done, I’ll toss in a voucher for the hotel. Grab Jennifer and take her there. She’ll probably appreciate seeing something other than the ceiling in your room?”

  Ian frowned. “Who the hell is Jennifer?”

  “For the love of God,” I muttered. “I have to go back to work. When Brenna calls you, invite her for dinner. Tomorrow. And make it in a public place.”

  “Whatever floats your boat, dude.”

  I didn’t stay any longer because I knew if I did, my cousin would wind up with a black eye and I’d wind up with a broken hand and then Brenna wouldn’t be impressed with either of us.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brenna

  I knew I was dreaming because Ridley was in my room.

  In real life, I would never have allowed a topless, oiled-up piece of man candy to lounge around in my big, fuzzy, purple chair like he owned it.

  And of course in real life, I didn’t have a big, fuzzy, purple chair.

  I opened my mouth to tell him he didn’t exist, but Ridley spoke first.

  “Do it again,” he commanded.

  At first, I didn’t think I knew what he meant, but my body was a step ahead of my mind.

  I did a slow, sexy turn that made the lace hem of my dress rise up, exposing a little more skin with each spin.

  “Very nice,” Ridley said.

  I stopped to scold him, but I stumbled a bit and laughed softly. Then I recovered and strutted toward him purposefully.

  I paused right in front of him and I shot him a very un-me wink before I leaned in to dart my tongue along his bottom lip.

  I slipped my hand down and settled it just above the waistband of his jeans. Only his jeans weren’t jeans anymore. They were snug-fitting boxer-briefs.

  “Tricky, tricky,” I whispered against his mouth.

  “You have no idea,” he murmured back.

  Ridley’s fingers covered mine and guided them to the perfectly hard, perfectly huge, perfectly waiting thickness between his legs. When my hand closed over it, we both moaned. I tried to move my attentions to underneath his underwear, but he stopped me.

  “Not so fast, Pancake. This is about you, not me. Your needs, not mine.”

  I knew what he meant. I knew what he was planning because it was my dream. But I still shook a little as he drew our hands away from his body to my own.

  I wasn’t wearing the dress any longer. In fact, I wasn’t wearing anything.

  “Let me show you this trick,” Ridley said in an undeniably sexy voice.

  He slid our palms down my stomach to the warm, wet spot between my thighs. I gasped at how quickly the heat – more sweltering than the hottest fever and burning stronger than the wildest fire – coursed through my body.

  And then he was beneath me, his head resting on the chair that didn’t really exist.

  His tongue licked along, just away from my clit, tasting the folds around it. He kept our hands in place, framing the path he traced with his mouth. On his second time around, my hips thrust in response, driving me into our fingers.

  Again and again, his lips sucked and teased while our fingers played against me.

  A scorching need for release built up inside me, climbing higher and higher.

  So fast. Too fast.

  But I had no control.

  “Now!” I cried out. “Please!”

  Ridley’s thumb pushed mine into my swollen sex and in a searing burst, I came against our mutual attentions. He slid back up to a sitting position and pulled me with him so he could cradle me against his chest.

  “How was that, Pancake?” he wanted to know.

  I moved my mouth down his throat, prepared to show him exactly how good it was. But I paused at his collarbone.

  “It wasn’t…real,” I stated softly.

  “Does it matter?” Ridley replied.

  “Kind of.”

  He brushed my hair back from my face and I reached up to grab his wrist, but when my hand got there, Ridley had disappeared.

  With a thick sigh, I dragged myself out of the dream and opened my eyes.

  I was covered in sweat and unsurprisingly, my hand was resting between my legs.

  Dear God. I need to get Ridley out of my head.

  Which was easy enough to know. Consciously. Except my subconscious clearly had other ideas.

  I rolled over in my bed and opened my eyes. My clock radio blinked angrily at me, flashing twelve o’clock. I fumbled for my phone.

  4:18pm.

  Shit!

  I flew from bed.

  After Ian’s text last night inviting me on a dinner date – which made me both excited and apprehensive – my sleep had been fitful. I’d woken up far too early, battling my first bout of morning sickness. I’d ended up at the doctor’s office, and after an assurance that everything was totally normal, I’d come home for a rest.

  Somehow, I’d managed to sleep the whole day away.

  Ian was expecting me for our date in forty-two minutes.

  The clock flipped.

  Make that forty-one minutes.

  I came to my feet and was confronted by my horrendous appearance in the mirror. My face was red and blotchy and my hair had that just got dream-laid look. If Ian saw me like this, he was going to run in the other direction for sure.

  I glanced at my closet, at my brush, and my reflection once more.

  Then I did the only logical thing left.

  “Risa!” I yelled. “Help!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ridley

  I opened the fridge to grab some orange juice and ran a tired hand through my hair.

  Right at the end of my shift the night before, one of the junior chefs had sliced open his finger and been rushed to the hospital. As a result, my boss had demanded that I stay for a double shift. I was now mind-numbingly exhausted and pissed-off cranky. I’d spent the day in bed, plagued by dreams of Brenna wrapped in Ian’s arms.

  I need to shake this shit off.

  I tipped the carton to my mouth, then froze as I became aware of what my kitchen actually looked like.

  Pots and pans filled the sink, blackened sauce spattered the stove, and my cousin stood in front of it all, a guilty grin on his face.

  “Evening, Rid,” he greeted. “How’d ya sleep?”

  “What the hell is this?”

  “Dinner.”

  “Dinner? You’re supposed to be getting ready for your date with Brenna.”

  “I am ready.”

  “You’re wearing sweaty shorts and a T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off.”

  “I’ll get changed as soon as I get
the water boiling.”

  “Back it up, Ian,” I commanded. “Your reservations are for five-thirty. And they’re at a nice restaurant that requires you to put on pants.”

  “They cancelled.”

  I felt momentarily elated. “Brenna cancelled?”

  My cousin shook his head. “No, man. The fancy restaurant did. Power went out, kitchen flooded or some shit.”

  “So make a reservation somewhere else.”

  “Tried. Everything’s booked up. So I’m cooking here.”

  “No. No way. I told you to take her somewhere public.”

  Ian grinned. “That’s why I invited Shay to come along.”

  On cue, the toilet in our two-piece, main floor restroom flushed. Two seconds later, a pretty redhead in a pink sundress came strolling into the kitchen.

  “Shay, meet Ridley,” Ian said. “Ridley, meet Shay. Your date.”

  “My…What the fuck, Ian?”

  Ian laughed. “Well, cuz. That’s not a very nice way to greet your date.”

  I eyed the redhead once more. Her legs were impossibly long – she had to be nearly six feet tall – and the dress barely made it to mid-thigh. The top three buttons of it were undone, exposing cleavage that was practically nipple.

  “Well, cuz. She doesn’t look like a very nice girl, does she?” I countered sarcastically.

  The girl – Shay – pouted and put a manicured hand on Ian’s arm.

  “You said he might be boring,” she said. “You didn’t say he might be mean.”

  I willed myself to be patient. “Ian?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I talk to you?”

  “Like…Alone?”

  “Yes, Ian. Like, alone.”

  My cousin gave my “date” a kiss on the cheek and followed me to our living room. I rounded on him immediately, and he put up a defensive hand.

  “Before you rip me a new one,” he said. “I honestly tried to find a place to eat. Apparently there was a massive power outage downtown. A ton of restaurants had to shut down so everybody got bumped. Hence, no possibility of a reservation anywhere remotely close to home.”

  “Did you just say hence?”

  Ian shrugged. “Yeah. Hence…I had to improvise. Compromise. All that shit.”

  “And you thought this was a compromise? Burning the hell out of the kitchen while you’re cooking something that’s barely recognizable as food? And forcing me to go out with some girl?”

  “Technically, we’re not going out,” he pointed out. “And I kinda thought I was I was doing you a favor.”

  “You weren’t,” I muttered.

  “I texted your girl and told her to be here at five, which is only ten minutes away, but I can still try to cancel.”

  “She’s not my girl,” I growled. “Shay is my girl. Apparently.”

  Ian finally relented. “All right. You’re not happy. But if I’d tried to reschedule, what would you have done? Assumed I was making an excuse?”

  “Maybe,” I admitted grudgingly. “But setting me up with some chick in a skanky dress is hardly the way to make sure I don’t give you a black eye.”

  A flash of pink behind Ian alerted me to the fact that Shay had chosen to ignore my request for privacy. I gritted my teeth, torn between apologizing for the skanky dress comment and demanding a little bit of respect. I didn’t get a chance to figure out which would’ve won.

  It wasn’t Shay at all, but Brenna. Wearing the exact same dress as Shay. Minus the undone buttons, and too-shortness, of course. On Brenna, the dress looked sweet and fresh.

  “I was going for slutty,” she told me coolly. “But I’ll take skanky as an acceptable alternative.”

  Shay appeared behind Brenna, a smile on her overly made-up face.

  “Isn’t this hilarious?” she asked. “Like high school besties who called each other ahead of time to put on a twin fantasy for their men!”

  “It’s the best,” Brenna agreed, heavy on the girlie squeal and heavier still on the sarcasm. “Nice outfit you’ve got on, by the way, Ridley.”

  I looked down.

  Shit.

  I’d mocked Ian’s attire but mine was no better. I’d fallen asleep in my dirty work pants and the undershirt I had on had seen better days, too.

  Ian clapped me on the back. “Speaking of which. I’m gonna go change.”

  “Great,” I replied with an amount of sarcasm that rivalled Brenna’s. “I’ll just get the dishes cleaned up and put on some mac and cheese.”

  “Mac and cheese?” Brenna repeated.

  “Oh. Didn’t Ian give you the good news? We’re all eating here. Together.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Brenna

  For five very long minutes, I watched Ridley work, wallowing in my own silent anger.

  I was being unreasonable.

  A big part of me thought I ought to walk away. An almost-as-big part preferred the idea of throat-punching him.

  Or maybe Shay. I wouldn’t mind giving her a slap.

  I eyed her from across the table. She was sipping a glass of wine while she texted away. She giggled to herself every few seconds. Which irritated me almost as much as the fact that she was wearing my dress.

  Or maybe it’s not that fact that she’s wearing it. Maybe it’s the way she’s wearing it.

  I resisted an urge to look down at my own chest. It wasn’t small by any stretch. And for obvious reasons, it was looking even more ample than usual.

  Hers though…Her boobs were enormous. And unrealistically perky. Were they fake? They looked like freckled balloons. My snide mind insisted they had to be fake.

  “You staring at my pussy?”

  My eyes snapped to Shay’s, and I knew my face was as pink as my – no, wait our dresses.

  “I wasn’t—”

  She cut me off with a wave of her hand. “People want to see it. I totally understand. It’s big and it stands out.”

  “What?”

  Shay laughed. “Here. Have a look.”

  I pushed away from the table. “It’s okay. Really.”

  She waved off my horror. “I insist. I’m not exactly bashful.”

  Then she reached up and undid the fourth and final button on her – our – dress and pulled it down and I saw that she had a tattoo covering the side of her left breast. It was a cartoon tabby cat.

  Her pussy.

  “That’s…Cute,” I said.

  But Shay was already back at her phone. And she hadn’t bothered to re-button the dress either.

  So my eyes went back to Ridley.

  His jaw was stiff as he emptied pots and slammed down the dishes in jerky, angry movements.

  What was his deal, anyway? What right did he have to be mad?

  I narrowed my eyes, came to my feet, and positioned myself beside him. He went still for a long moment.

  I reached across him to grab the drying towel and whispered, “Is this your idea of helping me?”

  “This wasn’t my idea at all,” he muttered back.

  We worked side-by-side silently for several minutes before I gave in and spoke again. And when I did, I said something totally different than what I was planning on.

  “Do you like her?”

  Ridley’s hands paused inside the soapy water.

  “I don’t know her.”

  “So what’s she doing here?”

  “Ian asked her.”

  “You expect me to believe that Ian asked her to come on his date with me?”

  He started scrubbing again. “I don’t expect you to believe anything.”

  “Well what are you expecting?” I demanded, my voice rising a little too high.

  “Oh, I don’t know. A little bit of gratitude for getting you the date you so desperately desired?”

  Ridley smacked down a pot, right in front of me, and I jumped.

  Shay yelped. “Hey! You got me all sudsy.”

  Ridley turned to her and smiled a slow, wolfish grin that didn’t touch his eyes. “I thoug
ht maybe you wanted to be a little wetter, sugar.”

  Sugar? Really?

  But Shay’s face lit up. “The wetter the better, I always say!”

  Ridley shot her wink. “You should get that tattooed somewhere. Maybe beside that cute pussy of yours?”

  My face flamed as I realized he’d been listening to our conversation. I fought for a clever comeback but couldn’t come up with one fast enough.

  “Good news, Shay,” Ridley added, ignoring me and the way I was sputtering. “Brenna doesn’t particularly like to get wet. So she’s all done here. But I do need someone to help me put this stuff away and boil some water.”

  The other girl practically pushed me out of her way to get to Ridley.

  With a sigh that I would insist wasn’t a huff, I stepped away from the two of them and sank down at the table.

  Their antics were almost too hard to watch.

  Shay giggled more than any girl I’d ever met. She also touched Ridley at every opportunity and on any body part she could reach. An arm here, a leg there. It wouldn’t have surprised me to see her reach between his legs and help herself to a handful.

  When Ridley slipped behind, and he started doing whatever it was he was passing off as cooking, I had to look away.

  This shouldn’t be bothering you, I reminded myself.

  Except there was no denying that it was bothering me. My heart hurt while my mind seethed.

  It was ridiculous. I knew it was ridiculous. But I couldn’t seem to control it.

  “Hey, Rid. Where’s my eats?”

  I glanced up at the sound of Ian’s voice. He stood in the doorway in a pair of crisp jeans and a dress shirt that squeezed his oversized biceps. On any other occasion, I might’ve been appreciative of the fact that he filled out the clothes nicely. At that moment all I could do was compare him to Ridley.

  Ian had gelled his hair into perfect spikes. Ridley’s was a sexy, just-rolled-out-of-bed mess. Cologne wafted from Ian’s body. It wasn’t a particularly bad scent, but Ridley…The way he smelled was more subtle. Manly. Understated. Natural. Ian’s face had an easygoing look to it. Ridley’s was guarded. Like he needed to carefully weigh everything before giving away anything.