Dirty Boy (18 page)

Story remained silent as Max turned his car into his allotted space. For the entire sixty-minute ride from the studio to his condo, they hadn’t spoken a single word to one another. Max had taken all of twenty minutes to write out Greta’s check and iron out the agreement that she never contact him again. Although Story didn’t like the woman and would’ve blasted her if Max hadn’t stepped in, she felt sorry for her.

Max had hurt her, so she looked for ways to return the favor and insult anyone else in her way. Story didn’t have all of life’s answers—no one did—but she didn’t think Greta’s methods were productive. There were more ways to make a point than resorting to anger, bitterness or revenge.

Exactly what she’d told herself when she’d fled Max after the threesome. Hurt and confused, she hadn’t wanted to see anyone. She hadn’t wanted to face herself in the mirror. Looking at herself meant coming to terms with a harsh truth. Her crush on Max was morphing into an unwelcome attachment. In the name of self-preservation, she had to fight whatever she felt for him.

Max slammed the car door shut. Story sighed as she got out of the car and followed Max up the stairs to his landing. The area was exclusive, situated on a private stretch of beach. The crash and roar of the ocean filled the breezy night. Not much existed in the neighborhood besides these eight elite residences and a café at the end of the block.

Inside the apartment, Story leaned against the closed door, while Max’s long strides brought him to the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, he cursed.

She walked forward. “Problem?”

He slammed the refrigerator door shut and opened the freezer. “There’s nothing to eat,” he grumbled, glancing over his shoulder.

Seeing a pack of frozen meat and a bag of vegetables, Story begged to differ. “You mean there’s nothing cooked.”

“Exactly.”

“If you don’t mind me invading your kitchen, I can prepare a meal.”

He snorted. “So you can poison me?”

“Do you think I have grounds to poison you?” she countered.

“Some would say so.” The honesty in his quiet answer surprised her.

“You deserve a kick in the balls sometimes, but no one deserves poisoning.”

“Says you.”

“Yes.” An uncomfortable silence passed between them. “Do you want me to cook or not?”

Hands in pockets, he considered the question, then stepped aside. “Cook. I’m fucking starving.”

“Me, too.” Story opened various cabinets, until she found a pot and a pack of spaghetti. By the time she had water on the stove to boil, Max had poured white wine for both of them. He sat at the breakfast bar, watching her every move.

Pretending not to notice his intense observation, Story grabbed a bag of frozen vegetables. It was difficult to ignore him. Max was a hard man not to notice.

“Company’s coming over,” he announced. “Will there be enough for three portions?”

“Yeah, sure,” she said as breezy as possible, tension seeping in to her.

“It isn’t a woman, Story.”

She wanted to lie and say it wouldn’t matter. Since she couldn’t, she kept her mouth shut.

“It’s my best friend.”

“You have one of those?”

“Funny.”

“I thought so.”

“Kelan is…you’ll like him.”

“Does it matter if I do?”

“Yes.” He gulped from his glass. “I’ve invited him over for
you
.”

“What do you mean? For me?”

Agitated, he swirled the bit of wine left in his glass before downing it. “He’s coming so you two can fuck.”

“I…What…
Excuse me
?”

“I enjoyed fucking Addie with and without you,” he admitted. “But you didn’t like it. Not even when I tried to make it up to you with our group sex. The only way I can make it up to you is to bring in a man for you to fuck in my presence.”

Speechless at his logic, Story stared at him in incredulity, before she dissolved into peals of laughter.

“What the fuck is so funny?”

“You!” she said, wrestling her humor under control. “You’re insane. Let’s forget all the other issues with that reasoning. Even if I agreed, which I don’t, you seeing me with another man wouldn’t have the same effect as me seeing you with other women.”

Curiosity lit his eyes. “Why’s that?”

“You don’t like me, Max,” she reminded him.

Another moment of silence passed between them, filled with awareness and a silent acknowledgment of Story’s statement.

A muscle ticked in his jaw and he nodded. “Addie wraps up her scenes tomorrow.”

Disappointed at his noted change of subject, Story moved to her boiling water and began adding in spaghetti. He spoke the truth, but she’d overheard Eric saying Addie was one of the new girls for the company. Max would still see Addie after the movie wrapped, something Story wouldn’t point out, since it wouldn’t matter to him, anyway.

Max poured himself another glass of wine. “The day after that you do a DP scene.”

She’d seen that in the script. “What’s that?”

“Double penetration. Me and another man fucking you,” he clarified with both challenge and warning.

At the ringing of the doorbell, Max called, “Come in. It seems as if your fuck buddy is here.”

“It would seem so,” a smooth, amused voice agreed.

Story turned to refute both of them, her head still whirling from Max’s explanation of DP. Instead of speaking, her mouth dropped open.

Holy fucking shit.

The newcomer was of similar height to Max, and just as stunning. He reminded her of a California surfer, with sun-kissed hair, tanned skin, and pretty blue eyes that twinkled with mischief. Dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt, Story felt a blush rising to her cheeks at the way he gave her the once-over. But she lifted her chin and returned the favor.

Max watched Story take in every inch of Kelan. He wondered what feature of his friend had her mouth hanging open. Kelan’s scrubs? His easy smile? His angelic good looks concealing what a sonofabitch he was?

At least Max didn’t hide his behavior.

As at home at Max’s place as Max was at his, Kelan grabbed a glass and poured himself some wine.

“Story, this is Kelan Phillips. My best friend. Kelan, this is Story.” He cleared his throat. “My stepsister,” he added at the last minute.

Kelan smirked at him. “That’s the claim you have on her?”

“No,” Story broke in, focused on his friend. “Max has no claim on me.”

Hearing those words from her irritated the fuck out of Max. “I beg to differ.”

“Me, too, Store.”

She raised her head from watching the pot long enough to scowl at Kelan. “Story is bad enough, thank you very much. Do
not
shorten my name to Store.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, glancing between them.

Careful to keep his expression blank, Max forced a smile. “She’s your date for the evening.”

“Are you that desperate that you need Max to set you up?”

“Ouch,” Kelan said. “You’ve insulted both of us with one question.”

“He isn’t desperate,” Max offered, his irritation turning into anger at Kelan’s and Story’s banter. “He likes to fuck.”

“You’ve just explained how you managed to find a best friend,” she muttered, still staring into that fucking pot.

At Kelan’s bark of laughter, Max glowered. He doubted Story saw the spaghetti or the water. By now, the pasta must be mush.

“Have a seat and enjoy a glass of wine with us,” Kelan suggested.

She pursed her mouth, still focused on Kelan. Not once in the time his friend arrived had she glanced
at Max.

Turning off the burner, Story seated herself on the other side of the breakfast bar and sipped from her glass that, until then, was untouched.

“I don’t know if I want you to watch us, Maxwell,” Kelan said blandly, disengaging from the staring contest between him and Story long enough to impart that. “I think we’ll do fine on our own.”

“Tough,” Max growled, gulping his wine and setting the glass aside. Fuck wine. He needed a stronger drink to suffer through making up being with Addie to Story. “I’m in the room or you don’t fuck.”

Story cleared her throat. “I’m not having sex with you.” She finally graced Max with a look. “I’m not having sex with him.”

“Why the hell not?” Max asked, confused.

“Max, your sense of fair play is…” She hedged for a word. “
Different
,” she concluded. “It’s almost sweet if you weren’t so dumb.”

“Dumb?” Max echoed, lost to her meaning.

“Yes.
Dumb
. Here’s the thing. I live with my eye to the future most of the time. And, well, spite takes a lot of energy. It keeps you tied to the past. You have to be rooted to something that has happened as opposed to something that will happen, to hold onto anger. My time is too important to waste on pettiness. While I appreciate your introduction, I’m not having sex with him for the reasons you want me to.”

“Give me the reasons you
will
have sex with me and I’ll deliver, Story,” Kelan offered.

“Another reason you two are best friends,” she sniped. “You two are both dicks.”

Max had heard enough. After he’d gotten rid of Greta, he’d sat in his office for a few minutes, uncertain of why he’d felt so fucking alone. Story’s face had come to him. She didn’t mince words with him and he liked that. He’d even smiled as he remembered some of her comments to him. Then, it hit him. In a moment of weakness, he’d softened toward her. He still
liked
Story. In spite of her actions. His weakening had disgusted him and, as he thought about Story’s words to him over the course of the day, he knew what he had to do, so he’d called Kelan. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Kelan fucked Dirty Boys’ girls all the time. Now, Story declining Kelan sent a fuckload of relief through Max.

He stiffened. “I’m not
asking
you to sleep with him. I’m telling you that you will.”

Story froze, her eyes widening. “You want me to sleep with him so bad that you’re making this mandatory?”

No, he wanted to stay in control. He wanted to thwart the fear he had that watching another man put his hands on her wouldn’t blind him with jealousy. He wanted to preempt
her
need to repay him for Addie. Losing control of this situation, his feelings, and her wasn’t an option.

He nodded. “Yes. I want to watch you fuck him.”

Disappointment dragged her features down. Instead of answering, she got to her feet and saw to the spaghetti, not bothering to cool the steaming pasta with water once she strained it. She leaned against the sink for a moment, then turned to face them, wiping her hands on her shorts.

“You need clothes,” he said absently.

She threw him a dirty glare but didn’t reply. “Do you have condoms?” she asked Kelan.

Kelan dug in his pockets and held two up. “I don’t risk my cock falling off like bozo here does.”

As if Story needed reminding of that. But it didn’t seem to matter. She’d forgotten about him again, keeping her attention on Kelan.