Talk Dirty To Me Read online

  “Only if you’ll let me work you in the limo before we go in.” He licked his teeth.

  Horror rolled over me. Work me?

  “Like work me out? At a gym?” I officially choked on my tongue.

  He laughed. “Scoot on out of here, innocent little sweetheart. I was hitting on your friend. You’re good for a lay, but that’s about it. Curves feel good, but they don’t look good.”

  He got back on his machine and resumed his previous pace. I watched his back as my brain struggled to find something to say other than thank you for your time. Why was my impulse to feel instantly apologetic for wasting someone’s time who was a complete and total ass to me? I turned and walked slowly back to the locker room, my stomach ill but my resolve set. No more hitting on guys with something stupid out of a romance novel.

  Those things weren’t real anyway.

  W. Parker was for sure a man. No woman would write something so silly and contrite.

  I shouldered past a heavyset woman coming out of the locker room. She offered me a brief apology before putting her second earbud in. I could hear her screamo music as I rounded the corner and came face to face with Kim, who was still sitting on the bench. She’d stripped out of her shirt and was sitting in just her sports bra and leggings, each a matching shade of royal blue.

  “Well? Did you get your prize package?” Kim smiled and reached for me, pulling me into a hug. “You did, didn’t you? What did he say? You look ill. He said yes, right?”

  “Yeah. Sort of.” I shook my head. It was always about my weight, and I would always be second best. Until I found the right guy.

  As if that were ever going to happen.

  “I’ll pay up. Promise.” She hopped up to her feet. “I’m going to shower and then head out. You want to hang out tomorrow?”

  “I have something going on at my parents’ house.”

  “Nannie going?” She grimaced.

  I worked to avoid looking at her half-naked body. Never a fun thing to do when she out-hotted me ten to one. “Yep. Good times.”

  Kim threw her head back and laughed as she made her way over to the showers. “What do you always say about Nannie? She’s about as what?”

  I sighed and rested my elbows on my knees and my chin—or chins—in my palms. Kim pulled the shower curtain closed and I lifted my voice so she could hear me over the spray of the shower as she turned it on. “She’s about as fun as a snake bite to the cooter.”

  Chapter 5

  Vanessa

  “Vanny! You look so cute.” My mother’s eyes, big and brown just like mine, swept up and down the length of my body, taking in my family-dinner ensemble: a knee-length cherry-red dress covered in tiny black flowers and tied at the waist with a thick belt. The belt helped create the illusion that I had a waist at all, and I’d thrown a three-quarter sleeve black cardigan over top to hide my arms and the tiny red bumps that had covered my skin since high school. My mother pinched the light fabric of the dress skirt in her thumb and forefinger. “It’s really lovely. Like it was made for you.”

  If I had one fan in the world, it was my momma.

  “She gets her looks from her daddy’s side of the family.” My father moved around my mom and pulled me into a quick hug. A whisker-tickling kiss was placed upon my cheek and he was off to welcome more company that had just pulled up.

  “Hi, Mom.” I moved into her arms and closed my eyes. She smelled like she always did, like her lilac perfume Daddy bought her every year for her birthday. There was something so special about my folks. I’d never grow up in their eyes, and where that might have driven most people nuts, I loved it.

  The world was happy to kick me around, but in my childhood home, I was safe. Save for my grandmother, who was a rather ruthless hag in general. But she made me appreciate what I had with my parents. It was not lost on me how rare our relationship was.

  “Is this a new outfit? I love it.” Mom moved back but kept a grip on my shoulders as she checked out my new attire a second time over. She was always gushing about my clothes.

  “Yeah. I picked it up at a sale we were having at the dress shop last week. You should pop in when you get the chance. We have a lot of new inventory and I pulled some things out of some boxes I think you’d like.” I slipped out from my mother’s grip on my shoulders and sniffed at the air like a bloodhound. “Is that your world-famous artichoke dip I smell?”

  Nannie’s voice rose up as if from a creaky casket from beyond the grave. “That’s full of cheese and mayo. It’s not good for you, and you don’t need any more help with your weight, child.”

  Nannie emerged through the archway into the foyer. She was dressed in her usual pastel colors, yellows and purples and blues. A ring of pearls sat around her throat—the same she’d worn every day since I was born that Pappie gave her on their wedding day, bless his soul—and they bobbed up and down as she spoke. Her white permed hair sat high upon her head, giving her the illusion of a rooster always ready to scream orders at someone. She eyed my dress and said nothing.

  Mom rolled her eyes. “Mom, leave her be. Not today.”

  “Or ever?” I squeaked.

  Mom gave me a sympathetic smile and tipped her head over her shoulder, motioning for me to go give my Nannie a hug. I did as silently requested and met my Nannie under the archway. She was thin but not frail and I hated how big she made me feel as I wrapped my arms around her. When I pulled away, I gave her a chipper smile that she did not return. Instead, she glowered at me from beneath a pair of rather bushy white brows.

  I tried not to laugh at her expense. “You’re looking happy as ever, Nannie. Did someone die?”

  “Funny, kiddo. Very funny.” Nannie still looked so much like my mom, with her clear brown eyes, rosy cheeks, and heart-shaped lips, and yet the depressing parts of her life had wiped away the places her smile lines once sat. Now they were what Mom and I referred to in whispered voices as karma wrinkles.

  “I’m a regular comedian.” I pressed a kiss to each of Nannie’s soft, wrinkled, over-blushed cheeks. “Happy birthday, Nannie.”

  I turned and walked to the kitchen, ready for the evening to end before it began. Nannie was only one crack at my weight into what was sure to be half a dozen, and I’d hardly set foot into the house.

  The delicious burn of the spicy dip hit me in the face and dove down into my lungs as I paced around the center island in the kitchen. Mom and Dad had refinished the cabinets since I moved out. What was once all cherry dark wood was now pristine white with elegant black marble counters.

  I breathed in deeper and smiled. Diet or no diet, it was my grandmother’s eightieth birthday, and the evening promised to be full of celebration, friends, and excellent food. Especially with Momma in the kitchen. The rich cheesy dip in the crockpot on the island was merely a prelude to the smorgasbord of tasty delights my mother’s cooking always promised.

  “How’s that show of yours going?” My father walked up beside me and lifted the lid off the pot. Steam rose up and fogged his glasses. He pulled them off his nose, where they left little indents on the sides of the bridge, and then he sniffed at the dip as unabashedly as I had. Begrudgingly, he put the lid back on.

  “Good, but don’t bring that up today, Dad. You know you and Momma are the only ones that know about my show.”

  “Not even your brother? I thought you were going to tell him, Vanny.” He rubbed the lenses of his glasses with the hem of his powder-blue polo shirt.

  “He’s going to be upset if he ever finds out.”

  Dad held his glasses up to the pot lights above the island and squinted at them. Deeming them clean enough, he slid them back on and peered down at me. “Why would he be upset?”

  “Because,” I said, fidgeting with a loose thread at the hem of my cardigan sleeve. “He won’t like that I’m giving advice without any experience of my own. I just don’t need the criticism, okay? Nannie is enough.”

  Dad smiled. “All right, Vanny. It’s your call. But I think you s
hould tell him. Either he’s going to find out from you or from someone else.”

  “Find out what?” Chris walked in, his blond hair a hot mess. He stopped on the opposite end of the island from me and cocked his head to the side. His classic Hampton-family brown eyes narrowed on me. “You keeping secrets from your big brother, Vanny?”

  “No,” I said quickly.

  Chris moved around the island. I held my ground. The playful smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips—full and heart-shaped just like Momma and Nannie’s but not like mine—reminded me of the days when we were children and Momma used to yell at us for fooling around in the kitchen.

  I let out a sharp yelp when Chris lunged for me. He was quick and powerful, as a pro football player should be, and I had no chance of escape as he wrapped his arms around me and picked me up before spinning in an eye-crossing circle. “Chris! Put me down, damn it! I’m not six anymore!”

  “No cursing in the house please.” My mom poked her head into the kitchen and scowled at the pair of us as Chris gave me a tight squeeze. I felt like I was going to burst apart in his bear grip. “And Chris, fix Sandi a grilled cheese please?”

  “In the toaster?” my brother asked before setting me down.

  I tugged my dress and cardigan back into place and smoothed the fabric of my skirt a little self-consciously. Damn older brothers.

  The look on our mother’s face said she was less than amused. “In a frying pan. Like a normal person. You brute.”

  My father lifted his hands and flashed his palms at my mother in a gesture of innocence. “I’m out of here. I know that look all too well.”

  Mom snorted and she and Dad left me and Chris in the kitchen. My brother began opening cupboards in search of a frying pan. “Dinner is in an hour. The kid can’t wait until then? I’m home for what, a week, and I’m put to the task of making grilled cheese? And my agent told me I’d never have to lift a finger again after I went pro. Go figure.” He shot me a smirk. “Don’t have kids, Vanny. They always need something.”

  Chris wasn’t as entitled as he sometimes made himself sound. I watched, bemused, as he sought out the cheese grater and bread and butter. He would complain all he wanted, but the truth of the matter was he was going to take his grilled-cheese task very seriously. Sandi was the apple of his eye and he was a good father. His lifestyle had just sort of gotten away from him when his career took off. There was a reason Mom and Dad were able to renovate their house and pay off their mortgage all within an eight-month period, and that reason was my brother.

  “I’ve missed you.” Chris turned the element on the stove on. The blue flame flickered and turned orange at the tips. “How are you, sis, like really?”

  “I’m good. Life is still letting me live it, so I guess I’m better than the alternative?”

  He chuckled. “I know that feeling.”

  A sadness ran through me like it always did when I was around Chris. His little girl, Sandi, had no clue that she had the best father in the world. Well, at least the best behind my own.

  Nor would she.

  The memory of the night we’d found out that Chris was a daddy and his ex-girlfriend had died in labor stayed with me like a bad dream I couldn’t shake. I couldn’t fathom how badly it must have haunted him. Sometimes, in quiet moments when he was alone with his thoughts, he’d get this far-off look in his eyes and I’d be compelled to interrupt him with a light touch on the shoulder, hoping to spare him from whatever spiraling nightmare his mind was wandering. The gratitude in his eyes told me everything that I needed to know. He was remembering the worst and best day of his life.

  It had been eight years since then.

  I licked my lips and stepped up beside him in front of the stove. “Do you want help with the grilled cheese? We both know I’m better at it than you are.”

  “Yeah. You teach me how to do it this once, and I’ll do it myself next time. Deal?” Chris flashed me a cocky smile. He and I both knew he was fully aware of how to make grilled cheese. But that wasn’t the point.

  Nannie walked into the kitchen. “Don’t fall for that, kiddo. All the boys in this family need to learn how to do shit on their own.”

  “Momma. No cursing in the house.” My mother walked by, her voice ringing out.

  “It’s my birthday. I’ll curse if I want to.” Nannie walked to the fridge and got out the butter and cheese. “I’ll help make the sandwich. You go help with Sandi, Christopher. It’s your right and responsibility.”

  And just like that, the fun was over.

  Chris put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Thanks anyway, Vanny. Don’t burn it, all right?”

  “Bite me,” I scowled playfully.

  Chris left the kitchen with a pep in his step. Lucky bastard. The last person in the world I wanted to be caught in the kitchen with was my grandmother.

  “I got this, Nannie. Go enjoy yourself.” I bent over and got a small frying pan.

  “I’m good. Besides, as much as you love butter, you’ll probably put too much on the bread. It makes it soggy, if you didn’t know.” She put a hand on her hip and stared me down with a critical eye.

  “I’m happy with my weight, okay?” I said as evenly as I could manage so she wouldn’t hear the bold-faced lie in my voice. I slid the butter, cheese, and bread to Nannie. “You butter it and assemble. I’ll fry. Deal?” That way, she couldn’t criticize my portions of butter or cheese.

  Someone darkened the door to the kitchen. I assumed it was Chris or Daddy.

  “You’re not happy with your weight, kiddo.” My grandmother’s voice grew deep and dominant. “You can’t be. You’re fifty, sixty, seventy pounds overweight? No way you’re okay with that. You’re not even dating, child.”

  Every vein in my body burned with anger and frustration—and shame. I was tempted to storm out, grab my keys, and make a hasty emergency exit. But I knew my path was blocked by Daddy or Chris and they would try to stop me. I took a deep, steadying breath, and turned to the door to leave as calmly as I could manage.

  But it wasn’t Daddy or Chris in the doorway. It was Chris’s best friend, the hottest guy in our high school back when I was a child.

  Rhys fucking Daniels.

  Rhys let out what I pinpointed as a nervous chuckle. “Sorry to interrupt. I was looking for Chris. I’m Rhys.”

  Something about his voice caught my attention, and had I not been completely mortified with him overhearing my grandmother berate me for being fat, I’d have had the mental capacity to maybe connect the dots. At this present moment, all I had the capacity to do was stand there like a big dumb idiot gaping at the god hovering at the threshold to the kitchen. His broad shoulders nearly filled the doorway and he had that oh-so-sickening V-shaped torso that made my knees feel like putty.

  If Nannie was a mind reader, she would have told me my weak knees were because of that extra seventy pounds of weight. I grimaced.

  “We know who you are, boy,” Nannie chirped. “Chris is in the back.”

  Rhys offered my grandmother a polite nod, and then he flashed me a bright smile. “Nice dress.” Without another word, he turned and took his leave from the kitchen. I figured him for a smarter man than he looked for wanting to get as far away from Nannie as he possibly could. Had she been anybody else’s grandmother but mine, I would have fled with him.

  Chapter 6

  Vanessa

  I watched his back as he went and tried to collect my jaw and my brain from where it had apparently gotten lost on the kitchen floor.

  Nannie cleared her throat. “Back to what we were talking about.”

  “I’m good with me.” I handed her the frying pan. “You make Sandi something to eat. I’m going to go brush the shit sandwich you keep feeding me out of my teeth.”

  “Vanessa.” Nannie’s voice was sharp with disapproval.

  I didn’t care. I couldn’t keep it together any longer in the face of her relentless torment. Tears burned my gaze as I rushed out of the kitchen
and down the hall to my old bedroom. I pushed through the door, closed it behind me, and pressed my shoulder blades to the wood as the tears overtook me.

  My room still looked as I’d left it. The walls were a muted periwinkle blue. Boy-band posters covered the walls, along with magazine clippings and Polaroid photos of me and my family and our old dog, Peanut. I pushed off the door and walked a lap around the room, pausing at some of the pictures and then at my dresser, which held all my old nail polishes and notebooks and hair ties.

  Then I moved to the bed.

  “Why does she have to be so damn mean?” I mumbled and dropped down onto the floral-patterned duvet.

  I looked tearfully around at my preserved teenage bedroom. There was still glitter glue stuck to the nightstand from where I’d had the bright idea when I was twelve to try to DIY it My Little Pony style. My mom had always encouraged self-expression for me and Chris, and she’d cringed at the suggestion to turn my room into an at-home gym. She hated the idea of letting any of us grow up. She swore up and down that I would always be her little girl and she would do anything for me.

  But why didn’t she defend me when it came to Nannie, her own mother? She saw how much it hurt me. She knew the scars I bore from years and years of cruel comments.

  A soft knock at the door had me getting up and wiping my eyes. “I’ll be right out.”

  “It’s just me.” My brother stuck his head in the room. “Nannie is an old crow. You know she does that shit to you because she’s lonely and has gang-green on her cankles.”

  I sniffled and smiled. “Liar.”

  “But I’m funny. Does that redeem me?” He opened the door a little wider. It creaked softly in invitation. “Do you remember my best friend from school, Rhys?”

  I laughed in spite of myself and the tears running down my pudgy cheeks. “Of course, I remember Rhys Daniels. Who couldn’t? He was—”