Dirty Exes

  Isla looked between them, her face pensive before she forced a smile, shook his hand, and elbowed Blaire. Good. At least I had one person on my side.

  I tipped back my glass of whiskey and sauntered over, feigning interest in all the guests around me so I wouldn’t look desperate to talk to the only woman in the room who held my attention.

  “Jessie.” I slapped him on the back. Hard. “You’re alone?”

  “Of course not.” He grinned. “I’ve got these young ladies as dates.” He winked. Smooth, man.

  Isla looked ready to roll her eyes, instead she clenched her teeth into a terrifying smile that spoke of ripping men’s balls off on a daily basis—and liking it.

  I slapped him one more time on the back and whispered under my breath, “What’d you do? Drug her?”

  “Very funny.” His smile fell. “She said she had a headache.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “My sister said that?”

  He nodded.

  “Vanessa?” I confirmed. “Vanessa never misses a party.”

  Jessie’s look told me to drop it.

  But the last thing I wanted to do was drop it.

  The man shot me a glare before offering his arms to Isla and Blaire.

  “Actually”—I winked at Blaire—“this one’s already taken.”

  It was Jessie’s turn to look pissed and mine to look possessive.

  “I did promise to be your date . . .” I reminded Blaire. “Remember? After drinks yesterday afternoon?”

  “Drinks, huh?” Jessie licked his lips. “I didn’t know you two were—”

  Blaire’s eyes widened. “We’re, um—”

  “Dating.” Isla clasped her hands together. “But of course you are, I heard all about the six-pack conversation and nakedness.”

  Blaire groaned and Jessie looked ready to murder me—slowly, the kind of murder that’s premeditated and hard to clean up.

  “You told her about my six-pack?” I grinned over at a blushing Blaire. “And here I thought you said you didn’t care, yet I’m involved in pillow talk.”

  Blaire poked me in the chest. “You”—she shoved me back—“we should, um, talk about that . . . see you guys soon!”

  I laughed as Blaire shoved me down the hall, I wouldn’t even put it past her to grab my ear and give a little tug.

  She reached the first door, which just so happened to be one of the bathrooms, and pushed me inside, then locked the door behind us.

  “So . . . how’s your evening? Everything you hoped for? More?” I teased.

  She threw her hands in the air. “What were you thinking!”

  “Hey, I’m not the one who said we were dating, that’s on your high-heeled friend, and if you want me to help plot her murder I’ll have to turn off all the cameras in the house.”

  Blaire looked up. “You sick freak, you have cameras in here?”

  “Everywhere but the bathroom, so don’t worry, you can get naked and nobody has to know.” I shrugged and leaned back against the sink, gripping the cold marble countertop while she eyed me with fury.

  “What’s with you and nakedness?”

  “It’s how we’re born.” I smirked. “Easy.”

  She laughed and took a confident step toward me, her eyes roaming the massive bathroom before landing on me again. “I was also born with crooked teeth and no hair, so I should revert to that?”

  “Actually”—I licked my lips—“you were born without teeth, unless God made you extra special.” I pushed away from the counter. “Did he?”

  She took a few steps back, plastered her ass against the door, and looked up at me. “Did he what?”

  “Make you extra special?”

  She cocked her head. “Why are we in the bathroom?”

  “I think it was a power move on your part, lock me in here, tell me how things are going to be, maybe add in a spanking and teach me my lesson—”

  “Why do I even talk to you?” Blaire wondered out loud in a hoarse whisper as I moved closer, my body nearly touching hers. God, I wanted to kiss her again so bad.

  “Because I’m not boring. Like some football players . . .”

  “You never played football?” She seemed genuinely confused by this.

  “Guilty. I was more of a rugby sort of guy. What prick wears padding?”

  She eyed me skeptically. “No offense, but don’t rugby players have a bit more . . .” She gulped and looked down past my waist. “Okay, this is coming out wrong, but . . . thicker—”

  The more she talked, the redder she got, like she couldn’t bring her eyes up any higher without doing permanent damage to her retinas.

  I grinned so hard my face hurt. “Thicker?”

  “Um”—she pressed a hand to her forehead—“legs, damn it, legs!”

  “Totally thought you were going somewhere else with that, Spy Girl.”

  She made a face and crossed her arms. “Stop calling me that, it makes me feel young, stupid, and inexperienced.”

  “Like a virgin?” I said helpfully. “Touched for the very first time?”

  She muttered, “Dear God, what did I do in a past life to deserve him?”

  I took it as a compliment. I pressed my hands against the door on either side of her head and stared at her luscious mouth a few beats before whispering. Her body language said she wanted to stay, while her words said the opposite. “I think you’re asking yourself the wrong question.”

  She frowned. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “No, but you’re thinking it,” I whispered. “You’re wondering what the hell you’re doing in here instead of out there.”

  She swallowed and looked away.

  I tilted her face toward mine, my finger and thumb cradling her chin. “The past always looks better through I-got-fucked-over glasses.” I moved a bit closer, so close I could taste the mint from her gum. “You think you still want him. You’re wrong.”

  She inhaled sharply. “You don’t know me.”

  “I know you blush from here”—I tapped her chin then ran my hand down the slim column of her neck until it pressed against her chest—“to here, when you get embarrassed.” I leaned in and whispered, “Or turned on.”

  She blushed immediately.

  I kissed her neck and said, “Told you so.”

  She shoved me away so fast I almost got whiplash. “This”—she took another deep breath—“this is business.”

  “This”—I pointed between her and me—“is more than business, but whatever helps you sleep at night, Spy Girl . . . just be sure to let me know when you want it to get more personal, because I’d love to see every inch of blush-infused skin, and I’d love to eat my way—”

  “No.” She jammed her finger at me. “When I called you, you literally had to kick a woman out of bed.”

  “Two, actually.” I shrugged casually. “Not that it matters.”

  “See!”

  “So? I like women,” I explained slowly. “What’s wrong with that?”

  She shook her head as fear quickly passed over her face. “I’m not them.”

  “No. You’re not,” I said confidently. “If you were, this would already be finished.”

  She gave me a pointed look. “There is no . . . this, or us, beyond you helping me get info on Jessie and Vanessa.”

  “Sure.” I nodded, not the least bit deflated. “Fine.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “Because I just lied,” I admitted with a grin. “But at least you know where I stand.”

  “Oh yeah? Where’s that?”

  “In front of you.” I smirked. “Obviously.” I walked toward her and reached for the doorknob. “Look, I’m just a guy, standing in front of a girl, asking her to—”

  “Finish that sentence and I’m going to show you my kung fu.”

  “Don’t tempt me, I’d just wrestle you down with some MMA move.”

  “Kung fu always trumps MMA!”

  I laughed. Hard. “Yeah, okay, you need a drink.”
br />   “Stop telling me what to do,” she grumbled, then nodded. “But you do have whiskey, right?”

  I chuckled. “I’ll show you the bar. Also, side note for that little folder you’re bulking up on my best friend. He hates whiskey, only pretends to like it.”

  She scoffed.

  I nodded.

  Her gaze turned confused.

  “Exactly,” I huffed.

  “What man doesn’t like whiskey?”

  “The beer-drinking kind,” I offered.

  “Beer?” she repeated. “Over aged whiskey? And why pretend?”

  “You have no idea how many times I lose sleep over this very thought. Now let’s go before someone assumes we’ve been in here making out and dry humping like teenagers.”

  The blush was back.

  I threw my head back and laughed.

  And I suddenly realized it had been months since I’d laughed that hard.

  With a woman.

  If ever.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  BLAIRE

  “This is so good,” I said between sips. “It’s not too oaky, like I thought it would be?”

  Colin’s smile spread across his face. It was starting to become addictive. His voice had a slight rasp to it that gave me chills. It was deep. Thick.

  I was such a moron.

  I’d been having a seminormal conversation and then bam, I looked down, and for some reason I wondered about his nakedness and then once the thought had been planted . . .

  I watered the damn seed.

  At least things were back to normal.

  If normal was sipping whiskey with Colin while the Hollywood elite shuffled around us.

  “So, what’s this party for, anyway?” I asked, taking another sip.

  “Oh, it’s my birthday.” Colin shrugged.

  Whiskey spewed out of my mouth, all over the fancy bar he’d had built in the middle of his living room.

  It was nicer than most restaurants.

  And I had some very graphic daydreams of living inside it with a cot and a sign that asked for free refills.

  I covered my mouth with my hands.

  Colin handed me a napkin.

  Then wiped up my whiskey-laced spit and offered me a confident smile. “Small sips.”

  “Right,” I croaked. “How old are you?”

  “Oh, now she wants to know . . .” He was so damn easy to talk to. I could almost forget I was there to work. Then again, Isla had been glued to Jessie all night, probably doing my job as bait since I’d disappeared. Wouldn’t surprise me at all if she put a bug in his pocket. He seemed eager to get rid of her.

  Which just encouraged her all the more.

  Every time he walked toward us, she’d drag him in the opposite direction.

  She was good at making people feel important.

  Bad at asking permission to do so.

  “If I tell you, promise to keep all fluids on the inside?” Colin teased. His smile fell a bit, like he was about to disappoint me.

  “Scout’s honor.” I held up my hand and even took a small sip to prove him wrong.

  “Twenty-nine.”

  I choked.

  The whiskey moved past my teeth, lodging itself in my throat as it awkwardly burned down my trachea and set my stomach on fire.

  “Ah, keep it in,” he laughed.

  I nodded, my eyes watering.

  “And she’s trying so hard.” Colin leaned in. “Almost done swallowing?”

  I blushed at the double entendre, making him laugh that much harder.

  “You’re a baby!” I croaked. “I kissed a baby!”

  He rolled his eyes. “We all kiss babies, they’re cute, what’s not to like?” He motioned to the bartender. “Besides, you’re only what . . . two years younger than me?”

  “Hah-hah, but at least you know never to guess older.”

  “You’re not old,” he said in a serious voice. “And I heard the forties are the new thirties, so you’re safe for at least another ten years, making you thirty-five now.”

  “What? You stalked me?”

  “I may have asked Jessie,” he admitted shyly. “Can’t kill a guy for being curious about the prettiest girl in the room.”

  “You mean the room filled with A-list actresses, that room?”

  “Hate actresses,” he grumbled.

  The woman next to us sent a seething glare our way. She looked . . . expensive, and pissed.

  “Point made.” He held up his glass to her. “Cheers, Robin.” Out of the side of his mouth he whispered, “She hates all men though, so I don’t take it personal.”

  “Noted,” I said into my glass.

  “Finally!” Jessie blurted from behind me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and grabbing my whiskey, taking a huge gulp like he actually appreciated everything about it.

  One does not gulp whiskey.

  Ever.

  Unless one is in college and wants to get drunk.

  Or unless your husband cheats on you with your best friend. If that is the case, gulp away.

  I could see the irritation burn Colin’s eyes before he flashed a smile. “Hey, man, you having fun?”

  “Fun.” Jessie tasted the word and then pointed behind him. “I feel like I’m getting stalked by a super fan who refuses to let me drink or eat too much and will most likely give me a curfew of eleven if I keep hanging around.”

  “Isla.” I nodded. “She mother-hens.”

  “I’ve known her an hour and I—”

  “You what?” Isla said behind him. “Can’t believe how much we have in common? Then again, you were just getting to the good parts.”

  “I was getting to the bathroom,” Jessie said through clenched teeth. “You followed.”

  She shrugged. “I thought there would be more than one stall.”

  “Stall?” Jessie choked. “It’s a house, not a fucking restaurant!”

  “Whoa, kids, easy.” I spread my hands between them while Isla checked out the bar.

  “Actually,” she said, “this looks better than a restaurant. Good job, Colin.”

  He held up his drink. “Cheers. What can I get you?”

  “Whiskey on the rocks, make it a double.”

  I waited for Jessie to say something.

  He blinked down at his phone then said, “Same.”

  It irritated me that he just went with it. That he was drinking something based on what he thought others would say about his choices. Just order the damn beer! Eat the damn cereal! I didn’t understand the type of person who cared that much about what others thought—his best friend included. He already had so much going for him, why didn’t he realize that?

  I was ready to blurt out that he was a liar when Colin met my eyes and gave a slow shake of his head.

  Fine. I’d give him a hard pass.

  But it was weird, Colin had to know that was weird.

  I wanted to ask Isla if I was crazy for thinking it was strange, but she wasn’t standing close enough and Jessie would hear.

  Which left me mentally ready to burst.

  I talked things out.

  If I didn’t, I tended to overthink, overanalyze, I mean I was already under the impression that if Jessie lied about the whiskey he’d easily lie about another woman.

  And he was texting.

  My phone wasn’t buzzing.

  The more I thought about it.

  The more it bothered me.

  “Looks like I’m going to have to call it a night.” He yawned. Totally fake. What? Was he going to say next that he forgot about a late-night meeting? Or had bowling practice in the morning? It was ten thirty. And it was his best friend’s birthday. The dots didn’t connect.

  Maybe I really was that untrusting.

  Men like Jessie Beckett did not go home at ten thirty.

  My suspicion grew until I started feeling itchy.

  Jessie gave Colin a side hug.

  He shook his head at Isla. “It was a pleasure, when you weren’t trying to w
atch me pee.”

  “Likewise.” She took a sip and winked.

  “Blaire.” Jessie licked his lips then made a very big show of eyeing me up and down before pulling me in for a full-frontal hug and whispering in my ear, “I’ll text you.”

  I nodded.

  I wasn’t sure what else to do.

  But I suddenly felt dirty.

  Very. Very. Dirty.

  Like the cheaters we dealt with on a daily basis.

  Like my ex-very-best-friend who wanted my husband’s babies for herself and threw her ovaries at his face in desperation.

  I never realized how much another person could make you hate yourself. Until that moment.

  After Jessie walked off, I said, “He’s up to something.”

  “Spy sense.” Colin nodded seriously. “Are your hackles up? Blood pressure rising?”

  Isla chuckled. “I like you.”

  “Everyone likes me,” he fired back. “I give them alcohol.”

  She lifted her glass. “Well, I just sat down. If you want to investigate, I won’t stop you, Blaire.”

  “Bond.” Colin tipped back the rest of his glass. “James Bond.”

  “You’re not coming!” I jabbed a finger at him.

  “Have a little fun, just leave him in the car and roll down the window a bit so he can get some fresh air,” Isla said before I could argue. “Besides, you did get trapped in a pantry, you losing your touch?”

  “One time!” I argued. “And it wasn’t my fault.”

  “Never is.” Colin took my side. “Plus, Jessie and I have the Find My Friends app, and something tells me you don’t . . .”

  “Wow, the man’s got your catnip,” Isla said. “Seriously, go. I’m just going to make myself at home at this bar, if I’m still here when you get back toss a blanket at me.”

  I had to go on a stakeout with a younger man who was hell-bent on becoming my new partner, and she got to live at the bar with all the whiskey. It only bothered me because it meant just one more situation where I was being forced to be alone with him. And I wasn’t so sure my self-control was at its strongest, not when it came to his smiles, not when it came to the way he looked at me. Add that to the fact that I was stalking his best friend, and all of it just felt weird, wrong.