So Trashy (Bad Boy Next Door Book 2) (2 page)

The window draws me to it. Even though I shouldn’t, I want
to catch another glimpse of Buck.

I should keep busy, especially if I want to keep my mind off
him. Even though Buck’s lived just hours up the road from me for the past few
years, right now he’s minutes away and only a few yards lay between us.

Well, that’s not strictly true. Way more than physical
distance separates us. Time. Emotional baggage. Water under the bridge that
rose up and washed the fucking road away.

There was a time when Buck was my hero, always saving me
from the shitty hand life dealt me.

Momma stumbled into the living room, knocking into the
half wall that divided the kitchen from the den. I curled into the corner of
the couch, pulling a little pillow in front of me, hoping she wouldn’t notice I
was there.

When she bumped into the folding table, the small
television sitting on it teetered. The picture flickered and went out as the
thing crashed to the floor.

Momma fell and grabbed her foot, screaming. I covered my
ears and squeezed my eyes shut.

Bony fingers closed over my shin and dug into my muscle.
“What’s wrong with you? Get help!”

I tried to pull out of her grasp, but her hold tightened.
She drew back, smacking my thigh. Pain shot through my leg. I squealed and
squirmed as she hit me again and again, wherever she could land a blow. My
calf. My knee. My hip.

“I’ll get someone. Let go,” I begged as she pulled me off
the sofa, my butt thumping hard onto the floor.

“What good are you? You can’t even help someone when they’re
hurt?”

I kicked and twisted until I escaped her hold. Scrambling
to my feet, I retreated down the darkened hallway to the back door. It opened
just as my foot landed on the square of peeling linoleum that served as the
back entry to our trailer.

A hand reached through the opening, took my arm, and yanked
me outside. I let out a high-pitched squeak, and a warm hand covered my mouth.

“Shush. C’mon.” Buck whispered into my ear.

Rain pattered onto the overgrown grass, soaking my thread
bare t-shirt, as he gently pushed me down the back steps. He silently closed
the door and put his finger to his lips.

He took my hand and pulled me toward his grandparents’
house. I looked over my shoulder, expecting Momma to burst out the door to call
me back.

“How’d you know to come save me?” I asked, wide-eyed.

He shrugged. “I was on Nan’s front porch. I could hear
you two all the way from over there.”

I swallowed as heat crept up to my cheeks.

“Don’t worry about it; everyone’s parents yell at them.
My dad yelled at me all the time.”

“Yeah, maybe.” My stomach growled.

Buck wrapped an arm around my hunched shoulders. “Yup,
they do. Let’s get some lunch. Nan made stew.”

Though the rain was cold, my heart warmed in his embrace. Buck
always made me feel safe back then, even if it was only an illusion.

I pull my hand from the window, straightening. I might’ve
been eight or nine when that happened. Buck was a year or so older and my best
friend in the world. My
only
friend.

I brush off the memory.

He’s a scab inside my soul, I can’t stop picking at it and
opening the wound. The pain’s still sharp enough to remind me why I
shouldn’t
want to see him. I should avoid him at all cost. Yet, I keep coming back to it,
drawing fresh blood every time it starts to show signs of healing.

It’s been like this for years.

When he first took off to California, chasing his dream of
being a Hollywood stuntman, it crushed the eighteen-year-old me. Eventually, I
ran from the memories waiting around every corner. Every tree we climbed. Every
blanket I took with us to our fort in the woods for picnic lunches. Every creek
bed we waded through, with our jeans rolled to our knees and fishing poles over
our shoulders.

Joining the Marines was a good decision. It got me away from
pointing fingers and whispers as I walked through town, away from the stigma of
being my mother’s
half-breed
daughter, and away from memories of Buck—

A string of curses pulls me out of my daydream. I follow
Aunt Delores’s profanity outside, down the stairs, and under the house. The
heat of the day wafts around me, even in the shade it’s carried on humid air. A
trail of water runs out of the storage room and across the concrete floor of
the parking space beneath the house.

Great. What now?

As I approach the enclosed space, moisture seeps into my
tennis shoes.

Aunt Delores’s voice raises another octave. “Damn it! Now,
Lord, you know you didn’t give me a dick. How do you expect me to do the things
a man should do with no dick? If you wanted me to fix this house you shoulda
given me a pecker!”

Oh my.

I wade into the room, prepared to duck out if she starts
throwing shit.

My heart lurches.

She’s on the top step of the four-foot ladder, with one hand
steadying herself against the ceiling. She rips out sopping, filthy insulation
from the hole in the crumbling sheetrock above her head.

I rush to the ladder, taking hold of one of her calves.
“What are you doing up there?”

She looks down at me over the rim of her glasses. “There’s a
leak. That man, I swear, I’m gonna piss in his ashes when I get upstairs. Why
is it that every time I turn around, I have to fix something he did halfway?”

I pat her leg. “Come on down from there before you hurt
yourself. Let’s get someone else to fix it.”

I can almost hear her eyes rolling as she says, “Well,
Missy, unless that coochie you’ve got spits out gold, we’re screwed. I can’t
afford it, and neither can you.”

With a small giggle and a shake of my head, I say, “No. No
gold from this coochie. But you’re going to fall and break your neck, so get
down. I’ll fix it.”

Aunt Delores lets out a sigh, exasperation clear in her
tone. “You—fix it? Like you fixed the plumbing under the sink last fall? No.
Thank you, Dearest. Go find someone with a dick to fix this thing.”

“A dick?”

Her one eyebrow quirks, as though she thinks I’m dense. “You
know—a man.”

“I’ll look up a plumber. But, for the moment, get down. I
can’t leave you here on this sad ass excuse for a ladder. You’re gonna fall.”

“Girl, I’ve been taking care of myself since long before you
were born, I’m fine. Now, be gone—go next door and fetch Buck. He should be
able to fix this.”

Buck?

No.

No way. No how.

“Why don’t I call Frank?” I can handle Buck’s granddaddy.
But Buck? Not ready to see him again so soon.

She steps down one rung. “Selma told me Frank threw his back
out three days ago. He can’t do it. Go get Buck. I’m pretty sure God gave him a
dick. You can ask him.”

I don’t have to ask. I know all about it. And that’s one
reason I don’t want to go fetch him.

Aunt Delores holds my shoulder, and I grasp her arm, as she steps
into the standing water.

She shakes me off and turns me around, pushing me toward the
door. “Go on. Find Buck. Tell him to bring tools.”

A knock pulls everyone’s attention from the pile of sandwich
makings in the middle of the table. I add more shrimp to my po' boy as Nan gets
up to answer the door.

The show’s field producer, Trudi, grins over the top of her
sandwich as she takes a big bite. The little pixie can eat more than most men I
know. Not sure where the hell she puts it, but—

“Buck, it’s for you.” Nan takes her seat, a small smile
playing at her lips.

“Yeah? Who?” I ask.

She waves to the door. “Just go see. Don’t be rude and make
her wait. She declined my invitation to join us.”

Her.

My groin tightens. Please let it be Lou. Maybe she changed
her mind.

It’s Lou all right. But from the scowl on her face, I’m
fairly certain she hasn’t decided to give me a suck or a fuck. Damn.

Doesn’t matter what expression she wears—with her caramel
skin, long, dark curls, and those sage green eyes, she’s the most beautiful
girl I’ve ever seen.

I step outside and close the door behind me. No sense in
letting the camera crew know there might be something worth filming here. The
last thing I want is them figuring out that Lou and I have more than just a
passing connection.

“Hello, Loula Mae. Imagine you showing up on my doorstep
looking for lil’old me.”

She crosses her arms over those full tits and lifts one eyebrow,
giving me the once-over.

She glances at the bodyguard blocking the stairs to the
front porch. “What’s with the muscle?”

“Just there to keep the photographers at bay. Paparazzi can
be a real pain in the nads.”

“Oh, yeah…I forgot that you’re a rising star these days.
Well, they almost didn’t let me near the door.”

I turn to Thug One and Thug Two. “Hey, can you guys take a
walk around the perimeter or something? I need a couple of minutes.”

Thug Two nods. “Sure thing, Boss.”

Thug One tips the bill of his ball cap to Lou.

She rolls her eyes. “
Boss
? That’s just fucking
weird.”

“What’s weird is that beautiful mouth dropping cusswords
like that. The Loula Mae I remember didn’t curse much.”

“
That
Loula Mae is buried in the dirt at Paris
Island. Sweated and bled out during thirteen weeks of hell, which is exactly
what I wanted. I left on a mission to reinvent myself.” She lifts her chin a
notch or two. “The new and improved Lou stands before you.”

“Well, I liked the original Lou.” Everything about her.

She narrows her eyes. “Sure you did. That’s why you left her
here while you ran off to California to chase your dreams and never looked
back, or called—not once.”

I cringe. “Not fair—you and I agreed, and that was the
plan—”

She throws up her hand. “Just forget it. I came over because
Aunt Delores wants to know if you’ve got a dick. I told her you
are
one,
but I’m not really sure if you still
have
one.”

“Is that right?” The humor of Delores wanting to know what
I’ve got tucked into my jeans takes me by surprise, and a chuckle bursts out.

I flick open the button at my waistband. “You can assure
her, I’m well equipped for whatever task may be necessary.”

“Don’t bother. I’ve seen it; I don’t need to see it again.”

Her mouth says she doesn’t want it, but her eyes can’t seem
to leave my open fly. I zip up and push the button back through the hole. “You
change your mind, just let me know. Until then, what does sweet Delores need?”

Lou turns to leave, calling over her shoulder, “She wants
some help with a plumbing problem and won’t let me call an actual plumber. So,
if you wouldn’t mind bringing some tools over and helping her out, she’d
appreciate it.”

Plumbing. Tools. Lou.

God bless Delores Dubois.

Back at the table, I settle in to finish my sandwich.

Nan pats my arm. “So, what did Loula Mae want?”

Trudi and the crew turn their attention to me.

Fuck.

I’m an actor. Okay, so act damn it. Be nonchalant. “Apparently
Delores has a plumbing issue she needs help with. I’ll go over after lunch.”

Trudi perks up. “Oh, that’ll be perfect. We can get footage
of you doing some manly work, helping out your neighbor. That’ll be great
stuff. You think this Delores lady will sign a release?”

My stomach plummets to my ass.

Pops pipes up. “Oh, I bet Delores would be tickled.”

I throw him a look. He shrugs.

I shake my head. “No, y’all can stay here and interview Nan
and Pops while I’m next door. It probably won’t take long. Delores is a
live-wire, you may not even be able to use the footage. No telling what’ll come
out of that mouth.”

Trudi’s eyes practically sparkle. “Even better. I’ll head
over after I eat and see if I can get her to sign a waiver.”

Fucking great. Just what I need, them getting Loula Mae on
camera. Who knows what she’ll say, or do? Especially after her little suck or
fuck speech earlier. It’s obvious she’s still pissed.

What the fuck was I thinking? I can’t believe I let Bob talk
me into doing this Celebrity Homecoming show. Managers. What the hell do they
know anyway?

This was supposed to be easy. A reality show to help people
see the
real me
and increase my fan base. A few weeks at home, visiting
old hangouts, talking with some high school buddies, seeing my elementary
teachers. Maybe even checking in on a couple of old girlfriends. Let them meet
the family, see where I came from.

Lou wasn’t supposed to be in town. She was safely in California
when I signed that fucking contract. Maybe she’s not staying long. That would
be best.

Yeah, Fucktard. That’s what’s best, but it’s the last thing
you want.

Trudi all but inhales her lunch and darts out the door before
I can talk her out of this.

Fuck. My. Life.

I gather some tools. By the time I’m ready to head across
the field, she’s back, all happy and waiving a piece of paper.

“I got it! She’s agreed to let us film. You guys need to
prepare your gear though, there’s a lot of water over there.”

Well, hell. Maybe I’ll get lucky and Lou will be gone.
Running errands, getting her nails done, picking out lipstick…well, probably
not nails or lipstick, but who knows? She could be gone, off doing something.
Anything.

When we arrive next door, Delores calls to Lou from inside her
downstairs storage room. The guys scramble to shoulder their cameras and follow
me into the depths of the flooding space.

I prop my hands at my sides and shake my head.

Delores stands on a death trap of a rusted-out ladder,
banging on a pipe with a wrench.

Lou’s nowhere in sight.

Delores wipes her eyes with the back of her arm. Looking up to
the ceiling, she yells, “We’re leaking like the Titanic down here. Damn that
dick. When’s he going to get here?”

That dick?

I can’t help but smile. “The Dick has arrived.”

Delores grins as she turns. “What the hell took you so
long?”

I cup my crotch. “Had to pack my dick. It’s big, so, you
know, that takes a while.”

Delores laughs. “You cocky bastard, get over here and fix
this mess.”

I give her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

An hour and a half, two beers, and about a thousand curse
words later, I step off the ladder.

Lou pokes her head around the corner. “Why’s it still so
wet?”

Delores looks to me and back to Lou.

I answer, “We just got the water stopped. You’re welcome.”

Lou blows a stray curl from her face. “Why didn’t you cut
the water supply to the house?”

She’s the most beautiful smart-girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. And
I hate it when she’s all logical and shit.

Fuck.

Delores smacks my arm. “Well, that would’ve made things too
easy, wouldn’t it, Buck? We like to do things the hard way; shows how talented
we are.”

Lou’s smirk fades as her gaze bounces from Joe to Rick to
Landry, each with their camera pointed at her.

She frowns. “What’s all this?”

Trudi steps around Landry and shoves her hand toward Lou.
“I’m Trudi Parks, field producer of Celebrity Homecoming. We’re here with Buck.
And
you
are?”

Lou stares at Trudi’s hand as though it’s a five foot cottonmouth
snake. “I’m Lou. Hey, you’re not filming, are you?”

Trudi giggles. “No, of course not. These guys just carry
those around to get laid.”

Lou does a perfect about-face and walks out.

Trudi follows, waving a release form. “Wait, Ms. Lou—or
whatever your name is—I need you to sign this.”

Ten seconds later, Lou’s voice carries, “Hell no!”

I pull my shirt from where it hangs on a nail by the door as
I head out of the musty room. From the yard, Delores glances up to the deck,
where Trudi tries to convince Lou to sign the paper.

“Your girl’s tenacious, I’ll give her that.”

I shrug. “Not really my girl.”

“Well, Lou’s not like she was before, when
she
was
your girl. She might just lay that little girly out.”

“Lay her out? As in
punch
her?” No fucking way.

Delores looks to the heavens. Then she shoots a glare at me.
“Only the good Lord knows
what
happened to her, but she’s changed. She’s
not the same sweet girl you chased around all those years ago.”

A frustrated growl comes from above, and Lou leans over the
rail. “Buck, call off your fucking terrier before I hurt her!”

Trudi gasps. She stomps down the stairs, jaw set, eyes
narrowed. “She threatened me. I’m done here. I’ll meet you at your grandparents’,
Buck. Thank you, Mrs. Dubois, we appreciate your hospitality. Good day.”

“Well, her panties crawled up her crack, didn’t they?”
Delores winks.

“Apparently.”

Three seconds later, Lou rushes down the steps, not slowing
until she’s two feet from me. Close enough to stir my cock. Close enough to
grab, but I don’t.

“You make sure they trash any film they have me on. I don’t
have any desire to show up on television. You got me?”

I draw a deep breath, taking in her scent. Magnolias
and—vanilla? Whatever it is, it’s beautiful. I cross my arms over my bare
chest, studying her. She’s not changed much. Her body is more defined, maybe,
but not unrecognizable. My body sure enough recognizes her.

Her eyebrows arch. “You got me, Wylder?”

“Not yet. But soon.”

Her mouth drops open a fraction of an inch. She snaps her
jaw closed, and her eyes narrow.

I’m not sure what’s gotten into me, but I might like it. “I’ll
see you around, Lou.”

I toss her a wink and throw my wet shirt over my shoulder,
sauntering off, formulating a plan.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket.

Shit. Arianne.

I’ve got more pussy than I can shake my dick at. Why the
fuck did I bother banging this one more than once? Because, it was slim
pickings on location in remote parts of Italy. Turned out to be nothing but
trouble. And, it’s a pot of trouble I can’t seem to un-brew.

I swipe my finger over the screen. “What do you want?”

“God, Buck. Don’t you ever call?” Her voice grates on my
eardrum.

“We’re not an actual couple, Arianne. I thought we
established that.”

“Your pool guy didn’t show up yesterday. There’s all this
stuff floating on the water. I can’t even get in. And Gretchen didn’t fold my
laundry the way I showed her. I swear that girl is dense. The worst domestic
help I’ve ever encountered. And—”

What the hell? “Hold the fuck up. You were supposed to be
gone by last Sunday. What the hell are you still doing at my place?”

“Things came up. I haven’t found an apartment yet.”

I close my eyes, massaging the crease forming between my
brows. “Arianne, I’ve been gone for the last eight fucking weeks. Enough is
enough.”

“Now, Bucky, you know you miss me. I’d hate to have to tell
Daddy you were ugly to me.”

She tires me. No piece of ass is worth this shit.