Dirty Bad Boys Box Set: Forbidden Romance Collection Page 4

  “Jealousy?” I laugh. “I know what it’s like to be with a real man so don’t for a second think you’re worth my time.”

  “So tell me then, Presley, if you know what it’s like to be with a real man, why did you break it off with him?”

  He catches me off guard. “Excuse me? How did you know I broke it off?”

  “Office gossip. Helps that I’m sleeping with her.”

  I am at a loss for words; the subject of Jason and I no longer being together is still very raw, especially in my current state of mind with lack of sleep and morning coffee. It overwhelms me.

  He isn’t worth a single second more, so I walk past him.

  Ignorance is bliss.

  For the rest of the day he is smart enough to avoid me. It doesn’t stop him from canoodling with Dee, and because I am exhausted, my hearing is impaired and I accidentally find myself asleep for a few minutes at my desk.

  “Pres . . . Presley.” A hand shakes my shoulder. Dazed, I focus in on Vicky’s face.

  “Did I fall asleep?” I mumble.

  Vicky laughs, handing me a cup of coffee. “Uh yeah. Rough night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You know what you need? A girls’ night out. Drinks, dancing, and just some good clean fun.”

  “Clean fun?”

  “Well I could have said dirty fun but one step at a time, honey.”

  “Thanks, Vicky, but I just want to head home and—”

  “And what? Wallow in self-pity and cry yourself to sleep?”

  “No,” I lie. “I’m exhausted. Maybe next weekend?”

  She raises her eyebrows at me. “Okay, next weekend, but call me if you change your mind.”

  With only an hour left, I speed-read through some work, and the second it turns five I’m packed up and ready to go home. It has been a long time since I have felt so drained, and boy does it take me back to my early twenties when I would party all night.

  I enter the already-cramped elevator and squish myself into the wall. Just when I think we’ve maxed the people in it, another body mashes against mine. I look up to be met by the Jerk’s reflection. Ignoring him wouldn’t be difficult, but the more people enter the elevator, the more appropriate he feels it is to practically rub his body against mine. Act cool, pretend you’re not bothered one bit, and totally ignore how good he smells. Check, check, and fucking check!

  It may seem silly but holding my breath helps, even though I look like a complete idiot. Thankfully, I find myself distracted by the buzz of my cell. It’s a message from my hairdresser, Chantelle.

  Chantelle: Pres, what’s going on? I saw Jason today at a restaurant.

  There is an attachment, and I open it to be met with a photo of Jase locking lips with another woman. I stare in disbelief; this cannot be him, and just to try and prove myself wrong, I zoom in on the photo.

  It’s him alright.

  My hands start to shake and the confined space in the elevator starts to claw at me. Suddenly I feel like I’m suffocating, my body overheating as a result of the jealousy boiling up inside me. If I cried, here, now, everyone would see how pathetic I was.

  “Nice picture. You stalking other couples?”

  “It’s my fiancé,” I say without thinking.

  I quickly put the cell back into my bag, praying for the elevator to hit the ground floor. Staring at the numbers, the second the door opens I am out of there so fast I give myself whiplash, desperately trying to escape the sound of my name being called behind me.

  The tight grip on my arm startles me, and on first instinct, I wrestle my arm out of his grip.

  “Hey. Jesus, Malone, would you just stop for a second?”

  I turn to face him and surprisingly, he looks concerned.

  “What, Haden? You want to point out how funny that picture was? Or how I mustn’t be any good at sex which is why he strayed?”

  “Calm down, will you?”

  “I’m sorry. Someone sent me a photo of my fiancé practically fucking another woman a week after we broke up. Excuse me for thinking that the word calm does not belong in my vocabulary right now!”

  “Ex, Presley. Ex-fiancé. Plus he wasn’t fucking her. Woman, you need a reality check. Men don’t huddle with their pals eating bowls of ice cream as they watch The Notebook. They go find some new pussy and fuck it like a jackrabbit.”

  He said what?!

  A thousand shades of red are flashing before me, and for a split second, I wonder what it’s like to do time in jail for murdering someone with your bare hands. The nerve of the prick! The worst part is, I’m scared there is some truth to it and the ass is me, living in a world of denial. Stop telling yourself Jason is, was, the perfect guy.

  “Wouldn’t hurt you to follow in his footsteps,” the Jerk chides.

  I lift my hand to strike him but he catches me just in time, strengthening his grip on my wrist. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “I tell you what, you leave me the fuck alone and I promise I won’t smash that pretty boy face of yours,” I fire back.

  “Pretty? C’mon Pres, you can do better than that.”

  “I’m not your friend, so cut the nickname bullshit. Honestly Haden, let me go. Despite what Jason’s done, I need to go home.”

  He lets me go and, defeated, I straighten my arm.

  “I’m not surprised he strayed. You need to pull that stick out of your ass and put something else in there instead, Ice Queen.”

  What did he just call me? I’d heard a rumor that someone in the office had dubbed me Ice Queen but it never occurred to me that it would be him. I let out a fake laugh as I watch his cocky grin quickly disappear.

  “It will be a cold day in hell before you are attached to the end of any stick coming near me.”

  He closes the gap between our bodies. I never paid attention to how tall he is until he stands head-to-head, facing me. Running his finger along my chin, he leans in and whispers in the softest voice, “Frigid little Presley couldn’t please her man. . . . Small Dick probably got fed up with you.”

  And with that, there is no holding back. I step away to gain some distance and swing my fist in his face to connect with his jaw.

  Bam.

  Game over.

  Chapter Four

  I run so fast from him, still reeling from the fact I had punched him in the mouth. The adrenaline is coursing through my veins at a rapid rate, and when I make it home I slam the door hard, terrified yet somehow exhilarated from the excitement of it all. Collapsing onto my bed, my knuckles begin to throb in pain; seeking comfort in an ice pack and bottle of red will do the trick.

  What was I thinking?

  Somehow, I had allowed the anger and uncertainty to build up so that it was only a matter of time before I flew off the handle. How stupid was I to think Jason would sit around and not look for another woman? The hurt and jealousy was so much more painful than I anticipated, to the point that I was driven to punch Haden after his tactless comment.

  Did he have a point though?

  No, the Jerk was just clutching onto straws and had no sense of decency. He had it in for me (God knows why) and the bottom line is I have to watch my back. The cunning bastard was probably used to getting his way no matter who he stepped on. Well, take that, dipshit! I doubt he’ll be able to get laid with a face like that, especially when he admits a girl hit him.

  Nothing sounds more appealing than a quiet night in, but Vicky rushes over the second I call her to tell her what happened. Before I know it, the bottle of wine is empty, and Vicky will be my savior tonight.

  “Pres, what were you thinking?”

  “I wasn’t, that’s the big fucking problem. I don’t think about the consequences anymore.” I shake my head at myself, staring at the wall, trying to figure out where the Presley Malone I had known my whole life disappeared to. “When I was with Jason, everything was so easy. I didn’t have to think. We had a routine, life was simple.”

  “How boring. Be honest, for a split s
econd—wasn’t this a tad bit exciting?”

  Vicky is my best friend; I can’t lie to her face. “Even if it was, I can’t go around punching every man in the city. I’ll end up in jail and fed to the lesbians.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.” Vicky winks.

  That catches my attention, but I’m not going to delve into Vicky’s wild sexual history . . . not tonight anyway. Plus, I would probably need more than a night.

  “I’m going to end up an old lady surrounded by cats.” I nestle my head against her arm. “Promise me you’ll stop me when there’s too many cats?”

  Vicky chuckles. “Honey, the only pussy you got is the one filling up with cobwebs. I’m glad you decided to go out tonight, although you may need to sober up a little or we won’t be able to get in anywhere.”

  “I’m fineee,” I slur.

  “I’ll whip up something to eat. Go have a shower and by then you will be fineee,” Vicky mimics.

  Two hours later, I am fed and dressed and we are standing at the bar, ordering shots. Vicky’s omelet had some magic ingredient to sober me up enough that I was able to put on a tight red dress and apply some makeup without looking like a circus freak. Vicky looks gorgeous, dressed in a short white number that enhances her olive skin. Being tall, she doesn’t need pumps and when she wears them she is a goddess on legs. Curves in all the right places. Men are naturally drawn to her which makes me feel like the third wheel.

  “Slippery nipples?” she asks.

  “What the hell, Vicky?”

  She laughs, placing her arm around me. “It’s a drink.”

  “Oh.”

  The bartender, cute as he may be, serves us drinks but does not stick around to chat. A little bummed, I swivel my chair to be faced by a tall man dressed in a fitted white shirt and black denim jeans. He is very broad, and with a sly grin he flashes his pearly whites. Wow, are they white! I mean, it’s dark in here and those bad boys are glowing enough that you can make out the footprints on the floor.

  Remember what your mother once told you—it’s rude to stare.

  He introduces himself as Ian, a gym junkie from California. As Vicky turns to face us, she almost falls off her chair whispering in my ear, “He’d make your beaver glow with the amount of bleach he’s sporting.”

  I look at her, confused. Then the penny drops. Vicky apologizes to Ian, then drags me to the dance floor in an effort to save me.

  “You’re welcome!” she yells over the music.

  “What was wrong with him?”

  “Oh honey, you got to up the ante now. Jason was great and a real looker, but hey, you could have done better.”

  Offended, I stop dancing and stare at my friend. “What do you mean I could have done better?”

  Vicky continues to sway her body, oblivious that her comment struck a nerve.

  “Jason was everything you wanted on paper but he wasn’t the guy for you. You need someone who will challenge you, and most importantly, make your toes curl in the bedroom.”

  “Jason was great. Maybe I’m the problem, I’m the one who didn’t challenge him and maybe I’m the dud in the bedroom.”

  Vicky stops dancing mid-song and her green eyes appear agitated. Her long golden brown locks stop swaying and rest nicely against her chest. With no warning, she latches onto my arm and drags me back to the bar. She motions for the bartender, ordering two rounds of shots. Without saying a word just yet, she waits till the glasses are placed before us, then turns to face me with a stern look on her face.

  “Now, you listen to me, Presley Malone. I never, ever, want to hear you say you are the problem. Any fucking guy in this club would be lucky to have you and don’t you dare let that stupid photo of Jason make you feel any less. You hear me?”

  I nod like a child being scolded, then Vicky gives me a tight embrace, reassuring me that we are going to have the greatest night. She slides the shots closer to me and I down them in one go each.

  We giggle uncontrollably as the alcohol sets in, until Vicky abandons me to use the restroom, claiming she has some tampon emergency that has dampened her chances of hooking up.

  I sway to the music, the band playing a recent pop song, and all the while I am forgetting that Jason ever existed and I’m feeling as free as a bird. Vicky’s right, Jason was great on paper. He was your typical six-foot, blond hair, blue-eyed hottie. He had a great job, great family, and loved his sports. In the bedroom, he was great. Well, great compared to what I had experienced in the past. He knew how to make me come, but even then, it was routine. Kind of like playing a piano; once you know the notes, you can play with your eyes closed.

  When I think back to the last year of having sex, it was dull. Same old positions, me on top, and once in a blue moon he would take me from behind. Foreplay was ancient history. The reality was we were both busy, knew how to get each other off, and did it within five minutes.

  I was equally to blame.

  The question now weighing heavily on my mind was, Is it possible to have a relationship with someone and still keep those butterflies and the foreplay alive? I need someone who can crawl under my skin and plant that seed of lust, where all I can think about is our bodies banging together in perfect harmony.

  You’re horny and need to get laid.

  Oh, and tequila, please stop talking now.

  The night was not supposed to be spent thinking about Jason, so I divert my eyes to a group of people in their mid to late twenties that are huddled in the corner. The guy with the jet-black hair is smokin’ hot, and even in my intoxicated state, I am not immune to my kitty getting down and dirty.

  He is wearing only a khaki wife beater; every inch of his arms are covered in tattoos and boy, oh boy, does he have a set of arms on him! The way he is standing against the wall shows off his tall muscular build. C’mon, would I really screw a guy I didn’t know? Probably not, God only knows where he has been and for all I know, he could be part of some underground drug ring willing to kidnap me and hold me ransom.

  Seriously, I need to get laid and not read so many books.

  I am happily sipping away at my drink when Vicky returns, and I’m quick to point out Mr. Smokin’ Hot. Of course, she agrees that he is one fine specimen, but her enthusiasm is short-lived when she abandons me for some dude wearing a bowtie. Way to go Vicky, you sure know how to pick them! She promises to return in a few minutes. Yeah whatever. She totally broke the girl code.

  Keeping myself entertained, I continue to watch Mr. Smokin’ Hot and happen to catch a glimpse of the female beside him. She is wearing the tackiest gold dress that drops low, exposing her very fake, ample bosom. On closer inspection, the lady beside her looks strikingly similar, and as I focus in I realize they are twins and one of them is Dee Simmons from work. Totally explains the skankiness I was smelling in here. Honestly, her sister looks no better. Why, oh why, are the hot men attracted to such tramps? He just lost five points on my scale of one-to-ten—ten being the kind of man I could see myself bending my five-month-rule for.

  Just when I am about to turn away, bored by the sleaziness, a very dark and mysterious guy beside Mr. Smokin’ Hot catches my attention. Perhaps all is not lost, so I prepare my flirtatious smile only for my stomach to do a backflip as I realize it’s none other than the Jerk himself.

  Oh shit.

  I swivel back around, almost causing myself whiplash, and pretend to be waiting for the bartender, praying to the lord he didn’t notice me. Vicky is standing at the opposite side of the bar and amid the heavy noise. I attempt to gain her attention so she can ditch bowtie dude and we can blow this pop stand before the angry wolf hunts me down.

  No such luck of course, so what’s a girl to do? I pull my hair forward to remain inconspicuous and strategically cover my eyes. The bartender is looking at me like I’m some crazed weirdo, so I slip him a twenty and order another drink. He appears again moments later with some harder liquor and I down it in one go, much to his amusement.

  The room is spinning, flas
hing colors and lights blurring as they speed past me. Everyone at the bar looks distorted which only adds to the hilarity, and so I find myself laughing at absolutely nothing. I definitely am not in the mood for another confrontation, but given that minutes have passed, I assume he has the sense to stay away from me. An unfamiliar cold hand is placed on my shoulder; I jump at the touch and turn to be met by Haden.

  Oh . . . fuck. Here we go; no good can come of this.

  Looking supremely pissed off, his lip is swollen from the smack in the face and there is a slight cut on his cheek from the costume ring I was wearing at the time. Behind his glasses, his eyes have narrowed, and beneath his lips I see a puff of air followed by a grunt. He looks different from his usual self, and I figure it’s because he’s wearing tight black pants and a denim, collared shirt rather than his corporate attire.

  Gee, he smells nice, and look at the way his forearms flex when he is angry.

  My shoulders begin to move up and down and I start to laugh again, unable to control myself.

  “You think this is funny?”

  I don’t, but it is. God knows my sense of humor was swept away with my will to live the past couple of days. Is it so wrong that I am getting off on his pure hatred for me right now? The way his brows furrow and the death stare that follows makes it all the funnier.

  “You got punched in the face by a girl.” I chuckle.

  “It’s kinda funny.”

  The bartender overhears me, and with a grin he pours me another drink. What a swell fella! I give him my best wink.

  “Don’t you think you should stop drinking now?” Haden growls, holding back the glass from my lips.

  “What are you, my dad? I’m thirty fucking two. I can do whatever the hell I want. Presley Malone is wearing her big-girl panties,” I slur, followed by more laughter.

  I could swear, even in my intoxicated state, that he is smirking and his eyes have wandered down my body. Maybe I need to stop drinking. My imagination is off with the fairies. Wasn’t it only minutes ago you thought he was mysteriously handsome? Someone please splash cold water on me now!