Filfthy (51 page)

D
erek

I
hear
the TV before I unlock the door, and by the time I step inside, I find Serena laid up on the couch, mindlessly flipping stations and eyes glued to the screen like a transfixed zombie.

“Hey,” I say.

She shakes her head, blinking her eyes and refocusing them on me.

“You been watching TV ever since I left?” I ask.

She stands up, rising on her toes and stretching. At some point, she changed into something more comfortable—fancy, lace-trimmed pajamas, it appears—and the little cotton top she wears lifts as she stretches, showing off a patch of soft belly above her waistband.

“Shameful, I know.” She clicks the TV off. “It was either that or go snooping through your off-limits bedroom.”

“I hope you’re joking.” I drop my bag on the kitchen island and yank the door to the fridge, fishing out a Heineken.

Seriously. She wouldn’t like what she finds in there. I’ve got a whole drawer full of condoms in my bathroom, and an assortment of handcuffs and silk ties and blindfolds in my nightstand. I’m not saying I’m a manwhore, but I am a red-blooded, American man with working plumbing, and I go through spells from time to time. And during those spells, nothing seems to remedy me better than some good, old-fashioned, no-strings fucking.

“Of course I am. What kind of guest would I be if I invaded your privacy like that?” She steps toward the island.

“You a beer drinker?” I ask.

She eyes the green bottle in my hand, and I twist the cap off until it hisses.

“Not really.”

I shove it toward her. “You are tonight.”

She brings it to her nose, taking a sniff, then tasting it. Her face puckers. It’s bitter to her, but she’ll get used to it.

I grab myself another and take a seat on a barstool.

“So is this what you do after work?” She takes the seat beside me.

“Sometimes . . .”

“What do you do when you’re not drinking alone?”

“I see friends. Family.” I shoulder-check her. “Just because I work, doesn’t mean I don’t have a life.”

“They say drinking alone is the sign of a problem.”

“I say they’re full of shit.” I take a swig of beer. “Nothing better than a cold beer after a long day.”

“It is stressful?” she asks. “Being a lawyer?”

I take another drink and shrug. “Sometimes.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I do?”

I angle myself toward her, head tilted and feeling guilty for assuming she was a full-time Park Avenue princess.

“And what is it you do, Serena?” I ask.

“I’m the CEO and founder of a not-for-profit organization that raises awareness for boat safety,” I say. “Things have been on hold the last couple of months, but before that, we were quite active. It’s more work than people think, and most of the time, people would laugh when I told them I had a job. It’s just as much of a job as any other job anyone else has. I was putting in forty, sometimes fifty hours a week.”

“You miss it?”

She nods. “I miss helping people. Spreading awareness. My mother died in a boating accident.”

“I’m sorry.”

She takes a long sip and doesn’t flinch or pucker this time. “It was a really long time ago.”

“You want that tour?” I ask. “Want to get out of the apartment? I couldn’t stay cooped up in here all day.”

“Sure,” she says.

I pour the rest of my drink in the sink. “There’s a restaurant down the street. Let’s eat first, and then I’ll show you what you’ve been missing your whole life.”

I offer her a wink, and she pads away softly, heading down the hall toward her room to get ready, and I’m left standing here like some schmuck, wondering what the fuck this smile is doing on my face and why the hell, after dedicating my love life to no one but myself for the last two years, am I standing here with a stomach full of goddamned butterflies over some woman I hardly know.

I stuff it all down and remind myself to be professional. To not think about how fuckable those heart-shaped lips are. To not focus on how soft her skin would be pressed against mine. The way it would feel to run my fingers through those glossy scarlet locks.

This. Is. Not. A. Date.

And in honor of this not being a date, I change out of my suit and into a pair of ripped jeans and a faded Aerosmith t-shirt I bought in a thrift shop five years ago.

“Ready?” Minutes later, Serena treks down the hall in heels, her legs wrapped in leather and a sheer ivory blouse hanging off her shoulders. Her hair is twisted into a loose braid down one shoulder, and her lips are slicked in red.

It hadn’t been more than five minutes, and now
she’s
dressed like we’re going on a date.

“Yeah. Okay.” I try not to trip over my words, try not to stare too long, and try my best to keep my cock from expanding. But I think it may be too late. “Let’s go.”

* * *

S
he smells like a department store
. In a good way. Like perfume and new clothes and fancy candles.

Like new
everything
.

And that’s exactly what she is.

On any given day, Rixton Falls smells like water. Surrounded by waterfalls, fishing streams, and an inlet sourced by the Atlantic, we’re at the mercy of the direction of the wind. Sometimes, the breeze is fresh and reminds me of vacation. Of fishing with my grandfather. Of his musty, nostalgic lake house. Other times, the breeze is rank, carrying the sickening scent of dead, dried fish and human waste from the water treatment plant north of town.

But tonight, Rixton Falls smells like a million bucks.

But it could also be because I’m half a step behind her. Those legs of hers take elongated strides, and although we have all the time in the world, she moves like she’s in a hurry to get somewhere.

“Hey, slow down.” I place my hand on her shoulder like a makeshift brake, pulling her back toward me.

“Sorry.” She turns back to me, brushing a wisp of hair away from her face. “In the city, I walk fast. I guess I forgot where I was for a second.”

“Yeah. Happens all the time. People are constantly confusing Rixton Falls and Manhattan.”

Serena’s lips spread wide and she gently punches my arm.

“This is us.” I point to a green awning above a quaint café four windows wide. It’s not swanky, and it’s not the kind of place I’d take a date or someone I’m trying to impress, but that’s the point. It’s neutral.

I hold the door and follow her in. The hostess seats us next to a front window with a sweeping view of the Vine street passersby. Serena asks if I’d mind if she drinks wine tonight, and I offer to split the bottle with her. It’d be rude to let her drink alone.

A TV over the bar area flashes to some emergency presidential address, and the café grows quiet. While President Montgomery rambles on about a devastating earthquake in Indonesia taking six-figures worth of lives, my heart sinks. We’re dispatching troops, he tells us. They’re calling on relief workers, volunteers, supplies. Anything we can give, they’ll take over there.

Serena places her fork on the side of her plate and folds her hands in front of her mouth. “You think we could free up some money from my trust? I’d like to donate something.”

“Absolutely. We’ll figure something out. I’d like to donate too.”

“So tragic.” She shakes her head, staring at her half-eaten food like she doesn’t have the heart to finish it now. “And we’re just sitting here, eating this lovely meal and fretting about our first world problems.”

“We’ll do what we can from here,” I assure her.

Serena watches the TV screen once more, glued to every word the president speaks.

“You were engaged to his son, Keir, isn’t that right?” I ask.

Her eyes snap to mine. “Really? You’re going to bring him up?
Now
?”

I reach for my wine and pull in a sip to buy time. “I guess I felt comfortable enough to ask you about him. My apologies.”

She refuses to look at me as she crosses and uncrosses her legs, and she carelessly flips through a drink menu as I finish my dinner. When our server finally brings our bill, I slip some cash inside. She’s said fewer than two words to me since I mentioned Keir.

“Ready?” I ask.

Serena gathers her purse and stands, pushing her chair in. Her full lips are puckered, her brows meeting. At this point, I’m unsure if she’s still mad at me or if she’s thinking about her ex. Regardless, I never should’ve said anything, and this serves as a reminder as to why I don’t fucking date.

I don’t get women.

I can only appreciate them. There’s nothing I love more than to run my hands along their curves, devour the hot sweetness between their thighs, and revel in the dig of their nails against the flesh of my back.

But that’s where it ends.

Women bring drama. And complications. And most of the time, they’re more trouble than they’re worth.

And I can say that because I grew up with three sisters. Their love lives were filled with more drama and angst than a Lifetime movie. I’m expecting the same for Haven’s teenage years, given that she’s half-Rosewood and all girl. Thank God, I’ve got plenty of time before those days are here.

We exit out the front. The moment fresh air hits our faces, Serena reaches for my arm and pulls me aside.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you in there.” Her eyes rest on my lips, as if looking into my eyes is to be avoided at all costs. She tucks her chin against her chest, folding her arms. “I don’t want to talk about Keir. I don’t like thinking about him. I don’t need any casual reminders, okay?”

“Serena, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have brought him up. It was insensitive.” I rub my hand along her arm, despite the fact that I’m not normally the comforting type. It kind of just . . . happens. She lifts her gaze to mine. “But please, if you ever have an issue with me, don’t wall off. I can’t fucking handle the radio silence bullshit. My ex-wife . . .”

I don’t finish my sentence. I don’t need to. I shouldn’t have said anything, and it’s really none of her business.

“Just . . . don’t do that again.” I let my arm fall to my side, and she nods. “As your attorney, there can be no bullshit between us. You need to be honest and open with me, and I’ll do the same. Let’s keep this professional. Save the drama for the courtroom.”

“Absolutely.” The wind whips her hair across her face, framing her sparkling blues for a fraction of a second.

“Is this night a bust or do you still want your official tour?” We walk back toward my apartment.

“A tour would still be nice.”

I slip my hands into my pocket and pull out my key fob. The walk to the parking garage is at least fifteen minutes, and I’m more than fine to drive.

“All right. Let’s do this.” We forge ahead, and my phone buzzes from my pocket. A quick check, and I find myself the lucky recipient of yet another topless selfie from Amanda, only this time she’s sitting spread eagle on her bathroom counter, her fingers three knuckles deep inside a slick pussy. Lovely. I shoot back a quick text, reminding her that sending naked photos via text messaging is a misdemeanor in most states. A felony in some.

She responds with a quick, “Fuck you.”

And that should take care of that.

Putting my phone away, I slide my hands in my pockets and watch the way Serena moves. She glides. Floats. Glancing at the awnings and street signs, the night sky rains warm light on her red locks.

When I’m least expecting it, she whips around, stopping and waiting for me to catch up.

“Am I walking too fast again?” she asks.

I place my hand on the small of her back, and we press ahead. “No, Serena. You’re perfect.”

S
erena

T
his town is quaint
. Picturesque. Humble more than anything else. Like most places, it has good parts and bad. Streets filled with historical charm and newly-developed neighborhoods with identical, three-car garages. Business and entertainment districts. It’s hillier than I expected, and the streets are wide and tree-lined. I’ve yet to hear sirens or see so much as a rogue Starbucks cup skidding down the sidewalk.

It’s the kind of place where a person could raise a family and not think twice. The kind of place I always wished I knew as a child, though I’ve never exactly shared that with anyone before.

“This is where I grew up.” Derek stops in front of a large blue house with a sweeping front porch that spans the front.

The front window glows warm with lamplight and the flicker of a TV.

“Dad’s probably watching the nine o’clock news. Mom’s probably finishing today’s crossword. Don’t see that little slice of Americana too much in this day and age.”

“That’s adorable.” I breathe in a soft sigh and try to picture his parents. “Have they been married a long time?”

“Almost thirty years.”

“Good for them.” I can’t take my eyes off his house. I want to see it all.
Experience
it. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted. The antithesis of the childhood I knew. “This looks like a beautiful place to grow up.”

“I mean, it’s not Belcourt Manor, but we had a treehouse. And you can’t tell in the dark, but our backyard butts up to a baseball diamond, which was always nice in the summer.”

“No, it’s lovely.” I turn to him and catch him watching me. “You’re very fortunate to have grown up here.”

Derek laughs. He doesn’t take me seriously. And how could he? Days ago, I was asking for a thirty-grand-a-month entertainment allowance like some out-of-touch moron.

He shifts into drive and presses his foot on the gas. The big blue house fades in the distance as I watch from my side mirror. Derek takes me past every park he ever hit a home run in as a kid, he takes me past the water tower that tipped over in 1995 after being struck by lightning, and then he shows me the dog park and where his childhood best friend, Royal, used to live when they first met.

“I’m grasping at straws here,” he admits after an hour. “I think I’ve shown you literally everything there is to see in Rixton Falls. And I may have overshared a few details, so for that, I sincerely apologize.”

“It was quite the extensive tour,” I say. “I appreciate service that goes above and beyond, counselor. Well done.”

“Ready to go back?”

“I am.” I fold my hands across my thighs as we approach a red light, and Derek messes with the radio volume. And the rearview mirror. And the temperature settings. The light turns green and we speed ahead, riding in silence until we reach his parking garage.

A phone call rings over his speakers, and he takes it.

“Hey, what are you doing?” A woman’s voice fills the car.

“In the car.” His voice is low, even-keeled. Like he’s trying to be cool and calm. Like he didn’t just give me a tour of his childhood like some adorable dork. Like he hasn’t noticed me checking out how great his ass looks in those ripped jeans. Like he hasn’t been staring at my lips like he wants to devour them since the second I stepped out of the guest room.

I stare out the window and attempt to focus on anything else. There’s a jewelry store sign. A green trash can. A mailbox. A cupcake shop.

“What do you need, Demi?” he asks.

Demi.

His sister.

I exhale, politely pretending not to listen—as if that’s even possible when her voice is blasting from the speakers.

“You texted me earlier about running Haven to school Friday morning, and I was calling to tell you that Royal has Friday morning off from class, and he could take her if that’s okay,” she says. “I have to work. Mom has a doctor’s appointment at ten. Royal’s your only option.”

“Yeah, I’m fine with that. He’s going to stay at the preschool for two and a half hours and wait, right?” Derek asks. “He won’t go anywhere?”

Demi’s breathy laugh fills the speakers. “He will
not
leave the premises. Not even if some man in a van outside says he has puppies.”

Derek rolls his eyes, his full lips twisting up.

“Royal will protect Haven with his life. You know that,” Demi says. “He’ll take her, wait there, and bring her home. Mom’s watching her afterward, right?”

“Right.” Derek slicks his palm along the steering wheel, his chest expanding and falling as he breathes deeply and lets it go.

“Don’t worry. We’ve got this. Don’t stress, okay?” Demi consoles her brother. “Haven’s in good hands. I’m pretty sure we love her more than we love you, and we kind of love you a lot.”

Derek’s perfect mouth widens for a quick second. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. Tell Royal thanks.”

“Will do.” Demi ends the call.

“So.” He turns to me. “That was Demi, the rightful owner of the
Us Weekly
under your seat.”

I can smile about it now. I like her. She seems down to earth, and I love watching her razz her brother, because I get the impression that there aren’t a lot of people who regularly give him crap.

And he’s always so serious, which is why I call him “counselor.” He needs to lighten up.

Growing up, I always wanted a sibling. Someone to fight with. Someone to love unconditionally. Someone to share the good and the bad with.

But it was always just me.

All by my lonesome.

“She seems nice,” I say.

“She’s been through some stuff the last six months.” He switches on his turn signal and pulls into the parking garage. “Was engaged to this guy. He was seeing someone else. Got the other girl pregnant, unbeknownst to my sister. Called off the engagement. Got into a car accident on his way to see the other woman . . .”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. He was in a coma for a couple of weeks. Apparently, he’d done some horrible things and hidden them from my sister.” Derek shakes his head. “I mean, it was like everything just bubbled up to the surface all at once. And then her ex showed up out of nowhere.”

“Is that . . . Royal?”

“Yes,” Derek says. “They’re together now. The other guy is long gone. Last I knew, he was under house arrest and preparing for his trial. He’ll be going away for a long time.”

“What did he do?”

“Stole a lot of money from a lot of people.” He pulls into his reserved spot and shifts into park before shutting off the engine. “Ponzi schemes. Credit card fraud. That sort of thing.”

“How awful.”

“Don’t let this sleepy little town fool you. We have just as much drama as the next town.”

We climb out of his car and head toward the building, and I swear I feel the trace of his fingertips on the small of my back when he gets the door. But when the wind catches my blouse, I’m convinced I’m only imagining it.

By the time we reach his apartment, my feet ache, the heels cutting into my flesh, but my heart is pounding so fast, I hardly notice. The realization that I had a great evening with Derek slams into me as I watch him punch his code to unlock the door.

For the first time in a long time, I was able to focus on something other than my despondent situation.

But none of that matters. I’m not looking for a place to hang my heart, and I’m sure as hell not looking to give it away anytime soon. Besides, the
idea
of being with someone is always better than the
reality
.

Derek pushes the door open and ushers me through. He steps out of his dress shoes and leaves them neatly on a navy blue rug in the entrance. Based on the afternoon I spent alone in his place, I can tell he likes his things a certain way. I’m almost positive he’d notice if I put the salt and pepper back in the cupboard in the wrong order or if the magazines on his coffee table were shuffled.

We stand in the entryway like two awkward teenagers attempting to wrap up a first date. Laughing through our noses. Intermittent eye contact. A fake yawn.

“Thanks for showing me around tonight,” I say.

“I just want you to feel comfortable. I know you’re out of your element here.”

“Do you give all your clients the VIP treatment? Or just me?” I’m half-joking, half-not. I want his answer more than I can admit out loud.

“No. Just you.” He doesn’t hesitate, but his benign expression fades into seriousness as our eyes lock.

“Why me?” My voice breaks. My stare doesn’t.

“I don’t know.” He glances to the side.

“Come on.” I laugh, my head falling to the side. “You can do better than that. Why are you so good to me? I wasn’t the nicest to you those first couple of days. You must think I’m spoiled and completely delusional. I don’t imagine there’s much you find appealing about me. So why do this? Why take me in?”

My father’s words echo in my mind. My entire life, he convinced me that any man with “less than us” would only ever love me for my money. And I can just imagine Eudora if she saw us right now. Steaming mad. Foot-stomping mad. She’d give me an earful and tell me he has something up his sleeve.

“Kindness doesn’t always require ulterior motives, Serena. At least not where I come from.” His mouth hardens, and I concentrate on the dark lashes framing his even darker eyes. He has pretty eyes, especially for a man. Maybe that’s what makes him seem so nonthreatening and trustworthy. “I was enlisted to protect your estate, but I can’t, in good faith, leave you there when I’ve witnessed the way those people treat you.”

“I’m a big girl, Derek. You could have left me there. And you didn’t. I’m just wondering why.” I shrug, like my question is no big deal. But it is.

“It’s just the way I was raised. If you see someone in trouble, you help them.” The center of his cheek hollows, and his hands rest at his narrow hips.

“Right, but I’m the first client you’ve invited to come
live
with you. That kind of takes helping to a whole new level, don’t you think?”

Somehow, the space between us has tightened. I’m not sure if he moved my way or I moved his, but here we are, sharing air, breathing each other in. My heart hammers in my chest, and my eyes are locked hard on his.

“What do you want me to say?” He shakes his head. He’s annoyed with me. He doesn’t like where this conversation is headed.

“What happened to no bullshit between us?” I slip a hand on my hip. “Your words.”

“There’s no bullshit between us.”

“But you’re not being honest with me. You’re walling yourself off.”

“Because you’re fishing for answers to questions that I couldn’t possibly give you right now.”

“And why is that?”

“They’re answers I don’t have.”

“Answers you don’t have? Or answers you don’t want to give?” I take a step toward him, and he doesn’t bat a lash. He studies my face. I study his. Mentally, I retrace all the steps that led us to this moment tonight.

Our dinner and drive were benign enough. Conversation was easy. I was comfortable. We both handled ourselves as adults, ignoring the touches and glances and whatever the hell was in the air tonight that made it impossible to deny that something was shifting.

But somehow, we ended up here anyway, swimming in a sea of tension, asking ourselves things we never expected to need to know.

Derek groans, his lips tight and chocolate eyes focused. “Don’t do this, Serena.”

I offer a sarcastic “ha” and cock my head. “Don’t do
what
, Derek?”

“Don’t steer the conversation this way,” he says. “You know damn well where it’s heading.”

I play dumb. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Play with fire all you want, but I refuse to take advantage of you. I’m not going to explore anything remotely inappropriate with you because you are my
client
. That violates the
Moral Code
. Messing around with you could land me in scorching hot water. I won’t risk it.” He leans in, and I close my eyes, feeling his lips brush against the side of my cheek. “As tempting as it is.”

He pulls away.

“So I regret to inform you that I’m
not
going to kiss you,” he says, “despite the fact that it’s been all I could think about since the moment you walked out of your room tonight.”

My stomach flips, and I bite my lower lip.

I
knew
it.

“I really wish you hadn’t said that.” I glance up at him.

“And why is that?”

“Because it changes things.” I slink a shoulder to my ear and let it drop. “Now every time I look at you, I’m going to be thinking about how you want to kiss me. And how I would probably let you.”

Derek’s tongue grazes his lower lip for a fraction of a second, and my heart freefalls.

“You’re nice, Derek,” I say. “You’ve shown more kindness to me than I deserve. I’m comfortable around you. I’m myself around you, and I can’t say that I’ve ever really been myself around anyone. It’s like the walls, the façade . . . none of it is necessary with you. You’re real and genuine. I don’t know anyone like that. Not personally.”

“I’m sorry they don’t make them like me where you’re from,” he says. “But before you so much as attempt to craft me into some fantasy boyfriend in your pretty little head, let me strongly advise you to save yourself the hassle and let it go.”

“I don’t want to date you.” My lips curl up at the corners. He has this all wrong. “I don’t want anything. I just like how I feel around you. That’s all. Is that some kind of crime, counselor?”

My high school history teacher always told me my mouth would get me in trouble someday. I was too honest, he would tell me. Of course, that was after I called him out for checking out my best friend’s ass in the hall between first and second period. Amongst other things.

I can’t help it. I call things as I see them, and I always have. I’m not good at pretending. I’m horrible at being something I’m not. It’s physically painful to swallow the very words that sometimes sit on the tip of my tongue.

“Look.” He takes a step away from me, and I feel my insides deflating. “It’s been an intense week. We’ve had some drinks tonight. We had a nice time together. You’re feeling better about your situation and you’re redirecting those feelings toward me. But I can
assure
you, I’m not what you need.”