So Trashy (Bad Boy Next Door Book 2) (4 page)

Embarrassed? Buck?

His mouth worked for a moment, as though he might say
something. Then it snapped shut. His eyes roamed my face.

I’d never even considered kissing Buck. But, right then,
it’s
all
I could think about as I stared at his mouth, imagining what it
might feel like on mine.

I grabbed his shirt, yanking him close again, and pressed
my lips to his.

He was so still. Oh, God. I was wrong. He wasn’t going to
kiss me.

But then he did.

His tongue slipped along the seam between my lips. His
arms came around me, pulling me in tight against his muscled frame. His scent
filled my head and his strength filled my heart.

He sucked in my lower lip, and the sensation rocked me to
my core. I opened my mouth to him and…

And everything changed.

That was the moment I fell—no, I plummeted—in love with my
best friend.

Thing is, I didn’t know it then, but
that
was the
beginning of the end.

I throw myself backward on my bed, the butterflies in my belly
the product of stubborn memories that
should
be forgotten.

I crawl under the covers and switch off the lamp.

Buck kissed me by the roadside that day, but stopped before
his hands went below my waist. Once he broke that kiss, he backed away and
refused to discuss it for so long that I finally gave up. I decided I needed
him as my friend more than I needed to understand what happened. I mean, it
wasn’t like I could cut him out of my life for not talking about that scorching
kiss. Buck meant too much to me.

After all these years—it seems like an eternity—the memories
are as crisp and clear as if it were yesterday. Unfortunately, the feelings
Buck evoked in the teenaged me seem to simmer right beneath the surface in the
adult me.

My fingers trip over my belly, slipping between my legs. I
pinch my clit, thinking of the first time Buck did the same.

His big fingers grazed my nub, sending a thrill through
me as he nipped my bottom lip, his tongue delving into my mouth. I held onto
his shoulders as he sank his finger into my slit, circling until I arched to
him, my body thrumming.

I slide my other hand beneath the blanket, dipping into my
entrance to smooth the moisture over my clit. Imagining it’s Buck, I push my
finger inside, trying to imitate how he brought me to the edge with just his
touch, before moving down to kiss my pussy like he was kissing my mouth, until
I crashed over the precipice.

My hands are a poor substitute for the real thing, but I rub
my bud and thrust my fingers as deep as I can. I recall every touch, every dip
of his tongue, every pounding plunge of his cock, until my pussy pulses with
the memory and gives me a fraction of the release Buck evoked.

Some release is better than nothing. It’ll have to do,
because getting involved with Buck again is the path to ruin, and I’ve been
down that road.

I’ll have to avoid him until one of us leaves.

Shouldn’t be too hard. His camera crew will keep him
occupied. And I’ve got this house to contend with. All I need to do is figure
out where we’ll get the money to finish all the projects Uncle Manny didn’t get
to complete.

Unfortunately, separating from the military doesn’t come
with a golden parachute. It didn’t come with much, really. A DD-214, a military
education in munitions and ordnance assembly, and a nice piece of paper with a
shiny gold seal and scrolled writing declaring my honorable discharge.

Whooptie-fucking-do.

My door bursts open. I crack an eyelid. Oh joy, Sadie, Aunt
Delores’s
real
niece, is here. Fabulous. I raise my head just enough to
pull the pillow from under it and yank it over my eyes.

I whisper, “Go away.”

“Time to get up, Sleepyhead. Aunt Delores tells me you’re going
to town later. I need a ride.”

I wave her out the door. “Later doesn’t mean to wake my ass
up at unreasonable hours of the day.”

“Unreasonable? It’s ten-thirty.”

I sit bolt upright. “Ten-thirty?”

Damn Buck. I left his ass downstairs last night, but he
didn’t leave my mind all night long. Thoughts of him—of us together—kept me
awake until almost dawn.

Shit. I’m supposed to meet the lady at the temp agency in less
than an hour. And why do I have to cart Sadie around anyway?

Actually, Sadie’s not that bad. She’s always treated me like
I’m real family, and not just an honorary niece, who was taken in for a few
months after my world shattered, while I finished high school and waited to
start college.

Of course, I decided to blow this podunk town and see the
world, knowing I’d never leave behind my past as long as I lived here. I’d also
never rid myself of the mantle of depression weighing on my shoulders when Buck
walked away that last morning, saying goodbye as if I should be happy to see
him go.

I shake off the clingy hands of memories that push so close
to the surface these days, waiting to climb from the hole I’ve crammed them
into. Not today.

I squirt toothpaste onto my toothbrush and stuff it into my
mouth while I turn on the shower. As I pull away from the faucet, I knock all four
of my travel sized bottles onto the floor. They roll to the side of the tub.

I grab the shampoo. “What the hell?”

Warm air seeps in from the seam where the tub meets the
floor. I get to my hands and knees, sliding the tips of my fingers along the
edge of the linoleum. It’s pulled away from the place where it should be
attached. I bend to inspect what surely can’t be right.

I peel back the linoleum. The wood beneath is soft and
squishy, the edge of the tub sinking into it so much that the particle board is
fraying. The subfloor’s coming apart. This whole house is falling apart at the
seams.

I drop to my ass, rubbing the ache between my eyes.

Nice. Really fucking nice.

I forgo the shower. Falling through the floor would put a
crimp in my plans for the day. A job is a top priority, rather than just
helping clear things out and clean up. I need to make some money to help fix
this house before it falls apart around Aunt Delores’s ears.

I hurry through my abbreviated morning routine. I grab the list
of places I need to stop today, shoving it into the side pocket of my tote bag.
Hiking it over my shoulder, I head to the kitchen.

With one shoe on and the other in my hand, I slosh some
coffee into a cup. As I slip the other ballet flat onto my foot, Sadie shakes
her head and covers her mouth, not at all concealing her giggle.

“What’s so funny?”

Sadie points at me. “Think you forgot something, Cuz.”

“Ah, fucking hell.”

I drop the tote on the counter and rush to my suitcase. I
dig until I find the one piece of clothing I have that never wrinkles. The job
search might take a strange turn if I do it with no bottoms on. I wiggle into
the black skirt as I slide back into the kitchen.

Sadie drinks the milk from her cereal bowl. She plops it on
the table with a thud and wipes her white mustache with the corner of the
tablecloth.

I frown. “Really?”

She smoothes the edge of the cloth. “It worked, didn’t it? I
can’t be going out in public with that shit dribbling down my chin.”

“The word
napkin
mean anything to you?”

She crosses her eyes and pushes the end of her nose up, her
snarl dissolving into another giggle.

Good Lord. Was I ever that ridiculous at eighteen? A flash
of a memory of Buck and I rolling on the ground, arms over our bellies,
laughing our asses off at some stupid thing one of us said reminds me that I
was just that silly.

“Aunt Delores still sleeping?”

Sadie hops up from her chair. “Yup. You finally ready?”

As I turn the key in the ignition, Sadie flips the visor
down and glosses her lips.

“So…”

I wait for her to finish, but after a few seconds I prompt,
“So?”

“Buck’s home. You know, I was only like thirteen the last
time I saw him. You think you could introduce me?”

“Introduce you? Why?”

“Because he’s fucking gorgeous, and famous, and I want him
to autograph my tits so I can show them off to my friends.”

Her tits
? Oh, good Lord.

Of course she wants him to sign her boobs. He’s famous—not
as famous as some, but definitely getting there.

“Do you ever go see his movies? Is that just the weirdest
thing? You know, seeing him kiss other girls?”

My fingers flex on the wheel.

“I’ve seen a couple of his movies.”
All
of them, but
I won’t tell Sadie that, or anyone else.

“And no, it doesn’t bother me. We haven’t dated in years. So
what if he kisses other women?”
Lots
of other women.

I’m not just going to hell for all the lying I’ve done since
I got home—I’m driving the fucking liar-liar bus straight to the fiery gates.

Time to change the subject.

“I’ll be out most of the day. Are you going to need a ride
home?”

She pops her gum. “No, thanks. If you can drop me at
Johnny’s house, he’ll take me to work around six-thirty.”

“Where do you work?”

She turns in her seat and flips her platinum hair over her
shoulder. A sly smile plays at her lips, her eyes alight. “Can you keep a
secret?”

“Jesus, Bob. Can’t we tell them I grew up living with my
grandparents from the start?”

“As your manager, it’s my job to advise you on the best
course. The curious public wants to know the nitty-gritty. They want the sob
story, the hard-knock life parts. It’s in your best interest to let them have
it. Fuck, man—you don’t even have to make this shit up.”

“But—”

“Look, it’s your decision, Buck. But I’m telling you, this
is the shit fans love. And they
need
to love you after that scene at Roddenberry’s
Restaurant. Give them a reason to understand why you’d show your ass like
that.”

Show my ass. Yeah, I guess I did sorta do that. But fuck,
that old waiter dude was acting like a douche. All hoity-toity with his tray
full of fucking wine and caviar, looking down his nose at me like I was
something the fucking skunk dragged in. He deserved it.

So what if I stood up in the middle of the restaurant and
announced who I am and that I wanted the most expensive of everything on the
menu just because I could?

Fuck, that cost me a mint, but the look on that old
bastard’s face was worth it—almost.

The videos that showed up online were a little side effect that
I didn’t think of in the moment. “I guess I
did
come out looking like a
pretentious fuck who thinks he’s better than everyone else.”

“That you did, my friend.” Bob always has a way of saying
my
friend
in such a way that you believe it’s true, but you somehow also get
the feeling that he’s being a jackass.

“Yeah, well, so be it. It’s done.”

“That’s why you need to give the public a reason to
understand why you might feel the need to show off a bit. Tell the world you
have some money in the bank now. Especially if you want that part with Razor
Wire.”

The mention of Razor Wire sends a thrill through me. It
could be the role that propels my career into the stratosphere, to the place
where real stars live.

“Buck, you need this part with Razor Wire. I can’t stress
that enough. So let the world see where you really come from. They’ll want you
to be successful when they know what you’ve been through. Everyone loves the
underdog.”

Underdog, my ass.

I may have started out in a shithole, but I only stayed as
long as I had to.

“Fine. Whatever. I’ll do the segment like you want. Just get
me a script from Razor Wire.”

I end the call.

I’m a dumbass. If I hadn’t been a dick at Roddenberry’s I
wouldn’t be doing this fucking reality show. Before three months ago, I could
get almost any part I wanted. I’ve either worked with, or I’m under contract to
work with all the best directors and producers—unless they yank the contracts…then
I’m fucked.

But, Celebrity Homecoming is supposed to save the fucking
day. And even if I hadn’t fucked up, I might’ve done the show anyway. Building
a fan base is always a positive. And I
would
love to win an Oscar.

What is it with that little, shiny man that makes all of us
want to take a ride on his tiny, golden cock?

I step up into the bus, and Thug Two closes the door. Every
pair of eyes turns to me. The crew’s been cooling their heels while I hashed
things out with Bob.

I run my fingers through my hair. “Fine. I’ll show you guys
where I grew up until I was eight. But you have to promise I don’t come out of
this looking pathetic.”

Trudi salutes. “Yes, sir. No worries. You’ll come out
looking like the champ you are.”

An image of Lou pops into my head.

Champ or
chump
?

* * *

The closer we get to the sad excuse for a neighborhood where
I lived until my dad ran off, the more my chest tightens and the memories of
that time flood back.

It’s late afternoon by the time we pull up at the crumbling
curb in front of the small house. A screen slaps the peeling siding, barely
hanging on by a piece of baling wire. Overgrown weeds swallow the lawn and the
stepping stones that lead to the sagging front porch.

Trudi wrinkles her nose. “Needs a bit of sprucing up, eh?”

I expel the breath trapped in my over-tight lungs. “It needs
a case of TNT.”

My gaze lands on the area under the massive pecan tree at the
side of the house. The swing set Nan and Pops gave me for my fifth birthday
used to sit under those limbs. But it’s long gone; Dad sold it only a month or
so before he dropped me at their house with the ridiculous excuse that he was
going grocery shopping—he never returned.

The camera crew dons their gear and follows me as I make my
way through the dilapidated house, stripped of all furniture and devoid of the
remnants of occupation. My footsteps echo off the buckling wood floor and
scarred walls.

Trudi asks, “So, tell us what you remember about this place,
Buck.”

I stand in the doorway of what used to be my dad’s room. The
black sheet he kept nailed over the window is gone, letting light into a place
that was as dark and frightening as a dungeon to the five-year-old me.

I swallow hard and force open the hall closet’s door. “This was
my hiding place. I kept a pillow in the corner, under my dad’s old duffle bag
from when he was in the Army.”