Dirty Exes

  “Smart woman.”

  And then he was pulling me onto the dance floor.

  I had my right hand on his shoulder to brace my body, and my left hand holding the fabric of my dress together.

  He looked down.

  I gripped his chin and tilted it back up, like a freak. “You gonna show me your moves, Mr. 300?”

  His stunned expression freaked me out a bit. “I can’t believe you remembered my old football nickname.” He’d been given it after he shoved a defensive lineman who weighed over three hundred pounds, then ran in for a touchdown his first rookie game.

  Oh, poor guy. It was almost too easy. The wide-eyed shock gave me insight to a whole bunch of fun little secrets.

  Jessie Beckett needed more attention, didn’t he? He craved it. Mr. 300 was . . . not only surprised.

  He was . . . smitten.

  I found myself smiling as the music pumped up and we moved against each other. He was an incredible dancer for someone so tall, and I had trouble focusing on his face, damn, those hips knew how to roll.

  “I love football.” I did a little turn in front of him, giving him my ass a bit, before I called over my shoulder, “You’d have to be an idiot not to know your stats.”

  “I don’t even know all my stats,” he lied with a wink.

  I threw my head back and laughed, a real laugh, one that felt free. “Sure you don’t . . . Mr. Arrogant. Don’t make me replace your nickname so soon.”

  “Only the sports announcers call me Mr. 300.”

  “And me,” I added, facing him again.

  His eyes locked on mine as something pulled my body closer to him. “And you.”

  I forgot about the slit in my dress and pressed my left hand against his chest.

  He grinned down at me, lower, lower, and then his eyes bulged before he turned me to my side and whispered in my ear, “Rip your dress?”

  “Shit!” Very ladylike.

  His chuckle was warm against my neck before he stiffened and pulled back, like he was remembering someone—maybe her. Damn it. What was I doing? This wasn’t a date, it was a recon mission!

  “Did you get all the free champagne you needed?” he asked next.

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Did you need more before I take you home?”

  “Home? Why are you taking me home?”

  “I can see ass cheek,” he said in a serious voice. “And if one of my old teammates or any breathing human male sees it in the next five minutes, you’re bailing me out of jail.”

  I told my heart not to react to the sentiment.

  I told my stupid brain that he was just being a possessive guy and that possessive guys couldn’t be trusted.

  He was being controlling.

  And I would never let myself be controlled by anyone.

  Never again.

  No repeats.

  I pried myself away from him. “I’ll call an Uber.”

  “But what about the champagne?”

  “Why are you so concerned about me getting champagne?”

  He opened his mouth and closed it. “Because that’s why you came . . . right?”

  It was like he was challenging me to admit that I was there for him.

  “That and”—I winked—“I heard Russell Wilson was going to be here.”

  He groaned, his face turning a bit murderous before he bit out, “Yeah, we’re leaving, now.”

  “You don’t even know where I live,” I said lamely as I pulled my dress together again.

  “This all you have?” He held up my pathetic burrito purse.

  “Yup,” I breathed out just as he tugged me through the entrance of the building.

  And into a crowd of paparazzi.

  He dropped my hand like he’d just been caught.

  And I was once again reminded what my job was.

  And it didn’t include Jessie driving me home.

  Reporters started questioning him about his retirement, and I knew I could easily disappear. I wasn’t memorable. Not like him.

  The idea opened up old wounds.

  Insecurity.

  The fact that last time I’d heard from Jason he was engaged to my best friend.

  He’d lost weight.

  And gotten a promotion.

  So basically she made him a better man somehow.

  And we’d nearly killed one another.

  It’s like he forgot about all the years we had together. All the promises we made to try and be better, to start over, to have a family. I frowned and kept walking.

  “Fancy seeing you here!” A male voice interrupted my thoughts as a car door slammed beside me.

  I gritted my teeth and looked to the side. “People really need to find a new phrase.”

  “Whoa!” Colin hit the key fob to his sleek car and nodded toward the building. “You leaving?”

  I glanced behind me, Jessie was turning in a 360 like he was looking for me in the crowd. “Um, yeah, I ripped my dress.”

  Colin’s eyes widened a bit as they lingered on the skin of my thigh. “And that’s a problem because?”

  I glared. “Because it’s . . . indecent.”

  “It’s sexy as hell,” he said, quickly setting my pulse soaring. “Were you Jessie’s date?”

  “Listen, Basement Dweller—”

  “We already established I don’t live in my parents’ basement and have more money than Malibu sand—why you gotta hurt me like that?” He pressed a hand to his chest like I was breaking his heart—yeah, I just bet he’d never been on the hurting end of that scenario. He was the breaker of hearts, not the broken.

  “Two words.” I held up two fingers. “Snake. Tattoo.”

  He smiled and took a step forward, crowding me with his space, and if I was being totally honest, a ton of muscle. “If I’m Basement Dweller, you’re Spy Girl.”

  “Shhh!” I charged toward him the rest of the way and slapped a hand over his mouth. “Don’t say . . . spy.”

  “Oh shit, is the CIA going to hear?” he whispered against my palm before winking.

  “You’re . . . not helpful.” I jerked my hand away as a million butterflies took flight across my stomach. “And no, I wasn’t his date, I had an invite from my—brother.”

  “Ian?”

  “What the hell? Did you do a background search?” I snapped.

  Colin looked away briefly before smiling harder. “Nah, after I got all the details from you, I got the rest of your story from Jessie.”

  “Well, that’s . . . manipulative.”

  “Eh, I wanted a date.”

  “No date.” Jessie’s booming voice had me jumping a foot into the air. “Sorry, I lost you in the crowd.”

  I raised my hand. “Easily lost.”

  Both guys snorted before Jessie wrapped an arm around me. “The car’s around this way.”

  “What about Colin?”

  “Colin”—Colin repeated—“is going to be in a room full of beautiful people to schmooze on Jessie’s behalf, he’ll be just fine.” The words didn’t match his piercing gaze or the possessive way his eyes swept over my body.

  “Thanks, man,” Jessie sighed. “I owe you.”

  I almost missed Colin’s flinch.

  “You always do.” Colin saluted and walked off.

  I frowned after him. “What was that about?”

  “That?” Jessie shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Colin’s my second.”

  “Your second?” I repeated dumbly.

  “Yeah, my second.”

  “What the hell is a second?”

  He grinned at me like Aw, how cute, she doesn’t know caveman speak. “I make an appearance for about an hour so people know I’m there, right? They can’t say shit about me not staying for contractual stuff, and since Colin knows everybody who’s anybody, he shows up and people get so damn excited to talk to him that they forget all about me. He’s my second.”

  My mouth dropped open. “You prostitute your best friend!”
br />   “He doesn’t mind, trust me.”

  “Is it because of his money? The hotel? God knows it’s not the snake tattoo.”

  Jessie threw his head back and laughed. “He may have dated Beyoncé.”

  “That?” I scrunched up my nose. “That’s his claim to fame?”

  “I was screwing with you.” Jessie winked, and then I was being pinned against a nice sexy car door. “He’s old money and involved in loads of projects, and in Hollywood it pays to know people.”

  “Huh.” I couldn’t help but lick my lips. He stared down and then leaned in. I waited, even though I told myself I was the worst sort of human, but all he did was kiss my cheek then whisper.

  “You’re going to have to move so you can get in the car, sweetheart.”

  I jerked toward him, nearly knocking his teeth out. Luckily he had fast reflexes, so no black eyes in either of our futures. “Sorry.”

  “No problem.” His lips twitched as I scrambled into the car and buckled my seat belt, painfully aware that the slit in my dress was facing Jessie as he got in and started the engine.

  He looked to the right, then grabbed my purse and very slowly shoved it between the console and my thigh. “Distracted driving and all,” he said by way of explanation.

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s not like I’m naked.”

  His foot tapped the brake, causing my body to jolt as he continued backing away. “Sorry.”

  “No problem.”

  Chapter Ten

  COLIN

  Jealousy slammed into my chest as I turned and watched the car peel away. He had no fucking right to take her away. No right whatsoever. I’d never been jealous of my best friend in my entire life. I’d always felt sorry for him, sorry that the pressure of fame made him feel like he couldn’t be himself, sorry that I shared in the responsibility for the clusterfuck that was the drama that surrounded us.

  I was just sorry.

  Not now.

  Now I was jealous.

  And pissed.

  Blaire wasn’t his to claim, wasn’t his to ruin. If she was smart she’d run away. I didn’t care what the hell kind of PI business she had going on—it wasn’t worth her getting hurt.

  I wiped my face with my hands.

  Was I worried about her getting hurt?

  Or that he already had a leg up on me and I couldn’t even get a date with her?

  I hated being intrigued by eyes a man wanted to get lost in and a body that promised a night full of pleasure, and a morning where she wouldn’t bail. She’s the type who would stay, I’d want her to stay.

  Because women like that were the ones you kept forever.

  A thriving relationship with my equal was something I’d always wanted.

  But had given up on.

  I was good for a quick screw.

  I knew how all my dates would end, with nudity and several orgasms.

  But with her? Well, she tempted a man, didn’t she?

  I turned on my heel and walked into the party. Immediately, eyes fell on me, women whispered, winked, and gave me “come fuck me” looks.

  I grinned and tried to embrace the moment like I always did.

  My eyes scanned the room as two girls wearing short gold dresses hooked arms and started sashaying toward me.

  “Twins?” I said smoothly as I grabbed a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter.

  The one on the right giggled. “And you must be Colin—”

  “I know my name,” I interrupted. I also knew exactly how this conversation was going to go. They’d ask about my hotel empire, ask about the penthouses in general, ask if they could see a room sometime, and suggest now.

  I’d say yes.

  And I’d walk away feeling better about seeing Blaire get in Jessie’s car and not once turning around to glance at me a second time.

  Hell, I wasn’t just not in the running for her.

  I wasn’t even in the fucking game.

  “Let’s go.” I tossed back my champagne and held out my arms.

  Chapter Eleven

  JESSIE

  It was physically impossible to keep my gaze on the road. After several attempts, I finally just gave in and eyed her left thigh at the stoplight.

  “How did you do that again?”

  She sighed, her cheeks flushed a bit. I’d missed her innocence so much, the way she shyly touched me the first time we kissed, like she was afraid to touch too much of my chest, afraid the moment would shatter. It was attractive as hell that she felt as strongly as I did. There had been something special between us, something I had never experienced before. And she’d always been so careful with the moments we were given, like at any minute they could disappear.

  “I bent over.” The words rushed out.

  I blinked as the light turned green. “I’m sorry, did you say you bent over?”

  She pointed her chunky purse at me. “In my defense, the dress is really tight, alright? And apparently wine has calories that stick to your ass, because I know I used to be this exact size.”

  I tried not to smile. And failed. “What gave you the impression alcohol had no calories? Just curious.”

  She smacked me lightly with her purse. “Clear alcohol looks like water.”

  “Okaaay . . .” I drew the word out. “So?”

  “So water has no calories, neither should vodka.”

  “Thought we were talking about wine.”

  “Oh, well, that’s a fruit. Fruit doesn’t count either.”

  “I’m suddenly starting to think you can justify anything, can’t you?” I teased.

  Her smile faded and then she was looking out the window while I was trying like hell to concentrate on the drive to her apartment.

  But damn, those legs.

  Athletic.

  Gorgeous.

  I tried not to stiffen at the thought of them wrapped around me, or the thought of me ripping the other side of her dress to match.

  I shuddered.

  “You alright?” Her voice was bright. Nothing like Vanessa, nothing nasal about the husky sound filling the car.

  “Yeah.” I gave a little nod. “Sorry, long day.”

  “You and me both.” She yawned behind her hand and leaned over to adjust the air conditioning, her arm brushing mine. It seemed intended, but maybe I was just being hopeful.

  “Are you hot?”

  “Scorching,” she said as she raised her hands above her head and stretched.

  Did I miss the part where she went from blushing innocent to seductress sexpot with way too much skin showing?

  I gripped the steering wheel harder as rain started to pelt the windshield.

  “So, catch me up, what are you doing now that you’re retired? You married with two kids, a dog, and a shelter cat?”

  “Two cats, both hate me,” I admitted. “My ex doesn’t like dogs.”

  “Ex?” She seemed intrigued. “So you’re divorced.”

  I licked my lips. “Something like that.”

  Was it my imagination, or did she scowl? “She break your heart? Cheat on you? Turn your cats against you?”

  “The cats have always hated me, I think because I refuse to feed them in the crystal bowl like all the rest of the humans who take care of them.” I gritted my teeth. “And you have to give someone your heart for them to break it.”

  She gasped a bit.

  Silence filled the car.

  I pulled up to the curb. Her apartment was in a nicer Hollywood neighborhood. It had a doorman, and the building seemed new.

  “What did you say you do again?” I asked, eyeing the modern building a few times before gazing back at Blaire and that damn slit. “For a job?”

  “Oh”—Blaire winked—“I’m a prostitute.”

  I grinned. “Really?”

  “Yeah, but I’m super expensive.”

  I played along. “How expensive?”

  “Too expensive for a retired NFL quarterback with no heart.”

  I placed a hand on my chest. “O
uch. Oh, and I call bullshit.”

  She seemed offended. “What? Like I couldn’t be a prostitute if I wanted to?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “You’re more likely to accidentally shank a guy than sleep with him. The Blaire I used to know would always get herself into impossible and sometimes violent situations.”

  “Hey!” She thrust that giant purse at me again. “It’s not my fault that I attract the negative from the universe.”

  We both stared at the rip in her dress.

  “I rest my case,” I said. “So no, I can’t imagine you exchanging sex for money, not now, not ever.”

  “Don’t throw down the gauntlet, Jessie, I may take you up on it and claim my own street corner.”

  “I dare you,” I said with a wink. “I’ll even find you your first customer.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “So you’d whore me out?”

  “No, I was volunteering as tribute.”

  Her face paled a bit.

  What the hell did I say that was so wrong?

  “What do you really do? No lies this time.”

  She licked her lips as a pained expression crossed her face. “What do you think I do?”

  I raised my eyebrows and thought about it—really thought about it. “Teacher.” It was safe. It was the old Blaire. She would have been a great teacher, unlike Vanessa.

  She burst out laughing. “Wrong. Try again.”

  “Waitress?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “It’s like you don’t know how to stop being insulting.”

  “My gift. My burden.” I shrugged. “Model?”

  “That’s better.” She winked. “But sorry, I don’t have all night.” She started to pull away, I reached for her hand and grabbed her purse instead.

  It was fluffy.

  Large.

  Like a crocodile that tried to eat a human and forgot it needed to digest first.

  “Seriously, what’s in here?”

  I started unzipping it.

  She leaned over, her face bright red. “You don’t just search a woman’s purse! What if you find a tampon!”

  I laughed. “I have two sisters. I’ll survive.”

  She jerked the purse.

  I let go.

  Something spilled over the top.

  I bit my lip and picked up a pair of black underwear that I knew were most likely Spanx. “Does this mean you’re not wearing any panties?”