Talk Dirty To Me Read online

  Kim put her hand on my back, right between my shoulder blades. “Posture makes a big difference when it comes to liking an outfit.” Her tone was matter of fact and simple, like she was suggesting a straight back and squared hips would erase my tummy. She straightened me out and nodded confidently at my reflection. “See? That already looks better. Like you were born to wear this.”

  “The only thing this dress makes me look like I was born to do is eat.”

  “Vanny. Please. Don’t make jokes like that. You know I don’t know what to say and I hate how mean you can be to yourself. You look great. Would I lie to you?”

  Yes. “No.” I shrugged. The hemline lifted. I pulled it back down.

  “Exactly. You’re wearing it. And we’re going to go to the club and have a couple of drinks to take the edge off. You’ll be laughing and dancing before you know it. I need this. And so do you. You’ve been so—so—”

  “So what?”

  “Pent up lately.”

  “Pent up?” I arched an eyebrow and went to her bed. She had a beautiful four-poster bed with white sheets. I sat down on the edge and resented the way the frame creaked, like it too was calling me out for squeezing into a dress that did not fit.

  Kim rolled open her closet before snatching out a little red number. I groaned internally when she dropped her towel in front of me. I’d seen her naked a thousand times over. It never made me feel very good. She had those sexy back dimples and a line cut down the middle of her stomach that I’d always envied, and envy was not a healthy feeling in a friendship.

  “Yes. Pent up.” Kim pulled the strapless red dress over her shoulders and pulled it down. No bra. No panties. Just a short tube dress. “I think this whole Nessa Night thing is starting to get to you. You need to live your real life for a bit. You know?”

  “Sure.”

  I didn’t really understand what she was getting at. Just because I had an alter ego for my radio show didn’t mean I wasn’t living my real life.

  Kim pulled off her shower cap and let her long locks tumble free. She shook them out, fluffed them up, and hurried over to her vanity near the bedroom window, where she doused her head with hairspray. Then she plucked a red lipstick from its holder and swiped it on. She stood back and held the tube up to me as if it was a sacrificial offering. “Come here. A red lip makes everything better.”

  I obliged.

  Kim painted my lips red and finished them off with a swipe of gloss. Then, clearly pleased with herself, she picked up our clutch bags from the foot of the bed and shoved mine into my hands. Then she grabbed her thigh-high black boots and pulled them on while I stepped into my two-inch pumps. I knew Kim hated them but she didn’t say a word about my grandma looking heels. I didn’t like getting sore feet, especially at a night club, and I could already tell this was going to be a long night.

  Kim straightened once her boots were on. There was plenty of space between the leather of the boot and her thigh. “You ready, bitch?” She grinned.

  I slapped on a smile and gave her what I hoped was a confident nod. “Yeah. Ready.” I followed her out of the bedroom, pausing for the briefest moment to check my lipstick. She was right about the red lip rule.

  I couldn’t pronounce the name of the club Kim took me to. It had a massive line stretching down the sidewalk, sectioned off by a purple rope and gold posts. The people in said line were dressed similarly to Kim, short dresses on model-esque bodies. They looked like they belonged there, like they were part of the club’s appeal.

  So when Kim pulled me straight to the front of the line and sidled up to the bouncer who was roughly the size of a garage, I was horrified.

  “Hey, sugar,” Kim chimed. The bouncer looked her up and down. She leaned into it and put a hand on his elbow. “I hate to be a bother, but my girl and I have had a really rough week. We need to blow off some steam and have a drink. Please. Do you think there’s anything you could do to help us out and let us in? The line is so long.” She pouted her full bottom lip.

  His eyes fell to the lip. Classic. Then he cleared his throat and peered down the line. “Not a word to anyone inside, yeah?”

  Kim nodded. “Promise.”

  He stepped aside. “Have a good night.”

  Kim gave his arm a squeeze before slipping past him and pulling me along behind her. The bouncer never even glanced at me, and when I looked over my shoulder, his eyes were glued to Kim’s ass. Go figure.

  We pushed through the doors and plunged into the darkness of the nightclub. My vision didn’t adjust until we arrived at the coat and ID check. Kim and I flashed our cards, and we were waved through, where a final bouncer looked us over and gestured for us to enter.

  The club was three-tiered levels. I stopped in the entranceway and gazed up at the grandeur, amazed by the glass ceiling high above that reflected the heads and shoulders of those dancing on the first floor down below. The dance floor was mirrored tiles as well, creating a dazzling effect of lights and colors under people’s feet.

  “Holy shit,” I breathed.

  Kim’s laugh floated around me as she guided me through the throngs of people toward the bar, which was also a glorious display of backlit mirrors that faded between shades of pink and blue. Each bottle of liquor sat upon a light that made the bottles themselves appear to glow.

  When we reached the bar, Kim leaned on it and held up a hand, calling for the bartender. He spotted her instantly. That was the perk of coming to a place like this with a girl like Kim. She was always noticed. Waiting for a drink—or anything for that matter—was not her reality. She ordered us each a drink special, which was some variation of a Manhattan, and when the bartender slid the drinks to us and she offered him a twenty, he told her to keep it.

  He winked. “On the house.”

  Kim flashed him an appreciative smile before turning to me and giving me my drink. “For you.”

  “Thank you.” I pursed my lips to the edge of the glass and sipped. Praise the lords. It was a stiff drink. I slurped a little more eagerly. I needed the booze to sink in. I was acutely aware of all the thin, beautiful women around me and how tight my spanx were. A couple more drinks would take care of that.

  Kim put her back to the bar and draped herself against it like a predatory cat as she scanned the room. Her gaze swept upward, where she scanned the balconies of the top two floors. On the third level was what appeared to be VIP access only. Men and women sat at stools against the railings, looking down at the peasants below while sipping cocktails that probably cost upwards of seventy-five dollars.

  I scoffed into my Manhattan.

  “What?” Kim asked.

  “Oh. Nothing. Just thinking about the asshats on the top floor.”

  Kim crossed one ankle over the other. From predatory cat to graceful gazelle. “Just because they have money doesn’t automatically make them an asshat.”

  “Au contraire.”

  “You’re such a pessimist.”

  “Realist. There’s a difference.”

  “Sure there is.”

  I took another steady sip of my drink. I was about to offer a snarky retort when two men brushed past me and closed in on Kim. One of them wore a dark gray suit. His shoes looked freshly shined and the watch on his wrist was most definitely a Rolex. I sighed.

  Here we go.

  Kim batted her lashes at the guy in the gray suit. “Hi there, handsome.”

  “Hey, baby. What brings a pretty girl like you to a place like this?”

  Kim tipped her chin toward the dance floor and then smiled at me. “My bestie and I had a rough week. And I’m usually out of town. So we thought we would come out for some dancing. I know Caprizee has the best dance floor in Nashville.”

  Buddy in the gray suit looked over his shoulder at me. Then he turned back to Kim. “Where’s your friend at?”

  Kim giggled innocently, took him by the shoulder, and turned him all the way around to face me. “Right here, silly. This is my girl Vanessa.”

 
He didn’t even bother looking me up and down. Instead, he leaned into Kim. “Can I buy you a drink, sweetheart?”

  It only stung a little when she said yes and he turned back around, blocking me out with his broad shoulders.

  Good-looking rich asshole? One.

  Chubby Vanny? Zero.

  Chapter 11

  Rhys

  The club smelled like smoke machines.

  I swirled my Old Fashioned and braced myself against the railing on the uppermost level of the Caprizee nightclub in downtown Nashville. The place had a decent vibe to it. I’d been a handful of times but not since things ended with Trish. Back before she and I were a thing, this had been my hunting ground.

  The women here knew what they wanted and so did the men. Being the guy with his face plastered all over magazine covers and online articles made it pretty easy for me to take women home. Of course, that wasn’t all that much fun. Knowing the girl you were taking home only wanted to see where you lived with her own two eyes and claim to all her friends that she’d fucked Rhys Daniels kind of took the air out of a man’s sails.

  At least it did mine.

  Clay shouldered up beside me. He tilted his head down at my drink, noting the curled orange peel clinging to the edge for dear life. “Are you still only on your second?”

  I wasn’t there to get drunk. Not really. Hell, I didn’t know why I was there.

  Oh. Yes. To blow off steam after my run-in with my father.

  I tilted my head back and drained the glass. Then I set it down hard on the bar lip rimming the railing around the third-floor balcony. It was trimmed in a thin strip of glass that was just as reflective as the mirrored dance floor and ceiling. I caught a reflection of my cufflinks as I let my wrists rest upon it. “Better?”

  Clay grinned. It was a boyish smile. “A bit.”

  A waitress in a tight black dress popped up, swept my empty glass off the ledge, and replaced it with a fresh one, with a kind smile and a flirty brush of her fingers along my shoulder.

  Clay watched her go with a longing sigh before slumping heavily against the railing. “How do I get a girl to look at me like that, man?”

  “She makes money off looking at dudes like that.”

  Clay shrugged dismissively. “Yeah. Well, I don’t get the luxury of those either. How pathetic.”

  I glanced at him and looked him up and down. “You could tailor your suit.”

  “What?”

  “Tailor your suit.”

  “I heard what you said.” Clay turned back around to face the dance floor with me. The strobing lights above lit his face up in multiple flashing colors and he ran his fingers through his thick black hair. He pursed his lips and frowned, which looked unnatural on his usually joyful face. “I hardly think a tailored suit is going to make girls notice me, man. I’m always the Asian friend. Half the time, they’re surprised I speak English.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.” He tugged at his suit jacket. It was a nice jacket. Not the best. But not the worst either. I couldn’t tell in the dim light what material it was—something light for certain. Like linen. It was a cool oatmeal color that paired well with the crisp white shirt he wore underneath and his dark blue jeans. “Well, sort of seriously. It’s happened maybe once or twice. And they were really drunk.”

  I nodded at his jacket. “Try the tailoring tip. It will make your suit look expensive. Women like expensive.”

  “Isn’t that a stereotype?”

  “Just like them assuming you don’t speak English?”

  He shrugged. “Like I said, it only happened once or twice.”

  “I’m just saying.” I sipped my new drink. It was definitely stronger than the first two. “Make an impression. Don’t hang back. Take initiative. Surprise them with your confidence. Be the guy who doesn’t leave room for doubt in their minds.”

  “Doubt about what?”

  I grinned in earnest. “That going home with you isn’t a mistake.”

  He let out a nervous chuckle and stared into his drink, a rum and coke. I let him ponder my words as I leaned on the railing and peered down at the dance floor. It swayed and rolled like an ocean. The bodies moved uniquely yet organically, their movements tied together in a single show none of them knew about. A show for me and the other VIPs.

  I spied a woman in a neon-yellow dress in the middle of the floor. Her hair was cut short. Blonde. She wore earrings bigger than my balls and heels higher than the bumper on my Porsche. She rolled her hips and arched her back and danced with her arms over her head. I was considering making my way down to her when I spotted a familiar smile near the bar.

  “No fucking way.” I stretched to the balls of my feet to get a better look.

  Clay cleared his throat. “What’s up, boss? You recognize someone down there?”

  “Yeah.”

  It was her. I was sure of it. I’d have recognized that smile anywhere. And those hips. And those legs. Damn. She was all curves and elegant velvet. Vanny Hampton.

  “The one in yellow?” Clay asked.

  I shook my head. “No. You go try your luck with her. She might be into ill-fitted jackets and pussy cocktails.”

  “I—wait. What did you just say?”

  Clay’s voice was swallowed up by the club music as I wove through the other VIP members to make my way to the top of the stairs. I descended to the second level, brushing shoulders on the steps and receiving numerous compliments from women as I went. I was used to the batting of eyelashes, the soft sexy giggles, and the not so subtle pushing together of breasts with a well-placed drink tucked into their side. Normal distractions that would have caught my eye and stopped me to indulge a conversation or two did nothing to slow my path to Chris’s baby sister.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off her as I began making my way down the second set of stairs. She’d amused me at her Nannie’s eightieth, and she was still capable of making me smile from across a crowded club as she shot the tall slender girl she was with a temperamental glance which was followed by a prompt and very obvious eye roll.

  She was unimpressed.

  There were two men standing with her tall slender friend. One of the men had his back slightly to Vanny, while the other was man-spreading against the bar, his arms draped out on either side of him. I noticed just before I hit the main floor that Vanny was tapping her heel.

  She wanted out of there and she needed a savior.

  Lucky for her, I was on the way.

  I cut through the crowds and closed in on the girl in velvet. The closer I got, the more drawn to her I was. Her lips were ruby red and dewy. It was a criminal thing for her to do. Her lips were already so damn tempting. This did not make it easier. Neither did her dress. It fit her perfectly, outlining the curves of her hips and thighs and hugging her in all the right places.

  I tried to ignore the tightness in my chest.

  And my pants.

  Their conversation reached my ears as I approached. The man draped lazily on the bar was speaking to the tall girl and then glanced at Vanny. “You know,” he was saying, “you’ve got a really pretty face. I mean. Look at those eyes. And those lips.”

  Vanny’s eyes narrowed like she knew this wasn’t going to end well.

  He ran his hand down his face and added a careless afterthought. “You ever looked into those diet pills the celebs are using? You could get trim like J Lo and be an absolute babe.”

  Why the hell was everyone on this girl for her weight?

  She already was an absolute babe.

  Somebody needed to teach this jackass a lesson.

  I moved between him and a stranger, clipping his shoulder. A curse left his lips as I approached Vanny, who saw me coming at the last second. She turned, lips parted in silent surprise, and I draped an arm over her shoulders as I turned back to face Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb.

  “Making friends, babe?” I asked casually.

  Vanny stammered. “Erm. I—we—”

  I chuckl
ed and pressed a kiss to the side of her head, which sufficiently shut her up in order for me to proceed with the charade. “Always so tongue-tied after one Manhattan. So adorable.” My gaze slid to the two men who were looking back and forth between me and Vanny. “Gentlemen, I couldn’t help but overhear you giving unsolicited advice to a girl who did not ask for it. Please tell me. What makes you feel qualified to do such a thing?”

  They stared blankly at me.

  One of them, the one at the bar, stood up straighter. “Dude, hold up. Are you Rhys Daniels? No way!” He slapped his knee and stumbled forward a bit, extending a hand for me to shake. “You make good moonshine, dude. Real solid shit. You know? The stuff that fucks you up if you ain’t careful.”

  I ignored his hand as it hovered between us. “That’s me.”

  He let his hand fall. “No shit. That’s wild. David. Hey, David! Check this guy out. He’s fucking loaded. Could buy this whole place if he wanted.”

  His friend, who was clearly more liquored up than he was, offered me a slurred hello.

  “I asked you a question.” I pulled Vanessa in a little closer to my side. She didn’t resist. Instead, she sort of fell into me, bracing herself with a hand against my chest. The warmth of her palm was a maddening, wild distraction. “Were you telling my girl to start popping diet pills?”

  “What? No. Not really. I mean. I thought I was helping her out and all and—”

  “You weren’t. Fuck off.”

  He blinked at me, and his friend straightened.

  I’d been here before, caught in the midst of two completely dimwitted dill holes who truly believed that their wisdom—or lack thereof—needed to be spread around the world to women everywhere. A woman like Vanny Hampton did not need the advice of two bozos like this. What she needed was a getaway car.

  “Why are you still standing here with your cocks in your hands?” I barked. “Get the fuck out of my club.”