Dirty Boy (22 page)

“I-I will. I promise. I’m sorry.”

“You are,” he agreed, changing the meaning completely.

Ryker got to his feet slowly. “Are you telling dad?”

“Only if I have to kill you. He’ll want to know why. I’ll tell him it was my life or yours.”

“I’m going to straighten this out.”

Max nodded. “Do that. Whose drugs are you using?”

“They’re mine,” Addie admitted.

Ryker wanted to get back to them. Max saw it in his eyes and the twitch of his hands. “You’re a grown man. If you want to go back in that room, that’s up to you.”

Nodding, Ryker stumbled away.

Max looked at Addie. “Stay away from Story.”

“I wouldn’t turn her on to drugs,” she said quietly.

“So you say. I’m sure you didn’t expect to become addicted.”

She hung her head.

Max sighed. “I pop pills from time-to-time. I even snort on occasion, but I can take it or leave it. I don’t need it to get through a scene or for any other reason than my enjoyment.”

“I need it to get through my scenes,” she admitted.

It was as he expected, but he wouldn’t hold that against her, so he nodded. “Does he owe you money?”

“No. I always share with the guys I fuck.” Addie wrinkled her nose. “I like him.”

“You’ve only spent an afternoon with him.”

“In between sex, he took time and talked to me. Like he really cared. I know I’m nothing but an adult actress and he must have all kinds of heiresses after him.”

Max grabbed her hand and kissed it. From her information, he knew she was twenty-three-years old and preferred speaking parts because she wanted to go into legitimate acting. He twisted his hand through her hair, dampened because Ryker had splashed water everywhere. “Don’t sell yourself short, sweetheart. You deserve the same shot at love as everyone else.”

She let that sink in and then nodded, before returning the favor and kissing his hand. “So do you, Max,” she said, and left him standing there.

Nursing the fucking hangover from hell, Max backed out of his parking space, sidling an aggravated scowl to Story. She sat in her seat, staring straight ahead, refusing to look at him. Since she’d seen him earlier, she’d only spoken two phrases to him: “Good morning,” over coffee, and, “Ready to leave,” after she’d gotten dressed.

He hadn’t been too inclined to speak to her either, but her attitude pissed him off.
He
hadn’t come into her life and turned her world upside down as she’d done to him. After Addie walked away from him, Max had intended to party the night away with two or three girls. Instead, he’d drank a fuck-ton and ignored all advances.

All because of
her
.

Miss Prim-and-Proper-Schoolmarm-to be. Didn’t she know her career plans were already fucked?

Max tightened his grip on the steering wheel. She did know what her future held thanks to her temporary profession. That’s the reason she’d requested wigs and makeup. Fuck her. She’d come unprepared. It wasn’t his fucking responsibility to offer her disguises. The reckless little cunt deserved whatever downfall her decisions warranted.

Fuck her. Fuck her. Fuck.
Her
.

Max’s vow to revel in her humiliation went up in smoke as he raced passed his usual exit.

“Where are we going?” Story asked, deciding to break her silence and annoying Max all the more.

“You’ll see when we get there,” he growled.

“There are all kinds of demands you’ve forced me to endure, but bringing me some place I don’t want to go, isn’t something I’ll stand for. Take me home!”

She had some fucking nerve. “Gladly,” he sneered. “Direct me to this “home” you own, or shut the fuck up.”

Her expression crumpled and a moment of satisfaction ran through Max, until her green eyes misted and she clamped her mouth shut.

Fuck. He was being a bastard and a first-class dickhead. She was a hair’s breadth from crying, but he admired her strength. She refused to let a tear fall.

He could put her mind at ease about where he was taking her by simply telling her. But, no. She didn’t deserve the consideration. He’d just let her sweat until they got to where he was taking her. His concern over her anxiety regarding her identity, angered him. He understood her predicament, and that pissed him off a little more. Left up to him, he’d pretend ignorance. Or better yet, he’d tell her he didn’t give a flying fuck.

Protecting Story seemed to be a separate life force, however. No matter how he wanted to keep his distance, another being invaded him where she was concerned. That Max knew Story didn’t need her ID plastered all over the internet, with her pussy taking front and center.
He
didn’t need that.
He
didn’t
WANT
that for her.

Except it shouldn’t fucking matter to him!

That it did, galled the fuck out of him.

Whether or not she successfully hid her true identity was beside the fucking point. The images of her pussy that would be out there for all to see was a privilege that should be exclusively his. That was one reason he was giving in to her—for his own benefit. The other reason he gave into her demand…no! She didn’t get to make demands. It was a request. He was honoring her
request
to put her at ease, for when they were filming. If she was comfortable, she’d be at her best.

For the next few miles, there was no conversation between them. Story never once turned to look at him, staring out of the window, looking away from him like her fucking neck was screwed on that way. He was being royally ignored. The little bitch had a lot of fucking nerve. He should turn the fucking car around and bring her to the studio to get filming started, without considering
her
.

In no time, he pulled up in front of an exclusive wig shop, then killed the engine. Story continued to look away from him and stare out of the window. His temper spiked again. He was going against his better judgment to grant her wishes and she was still snubbing him? Fuck no!

“We’re here, Story,” he said in harsh tones.

She still refused to look his way, sitting like stone.

“What the fuck’s your problem?” he gritted out.

“You are!” she yelled, finally facing him with tear-stained cheeks. “You’re a…” Her gaze focused on the sign. Gasping, she swiped away her tears. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked in a whisper.

He paused before answering, drawing in a deep, regretful breath. She
had
been crying. That’s why she hadn’t looked his way enroute. She hadn’t wanted him to see her tears. His cruel words had hurt her. Worse, he’d been a sonofabitch and refused to tell her their destination because…why again? He couldn’t remember. “I wanted to surprise you,” he lied, realizing he hadn’t told her because he’d felt manipulated. By Addie neatly boxing him in to make a point that he deserved happiness. By Story asking for the disguise in the first place. Her request was valid and reasonable, but he resented how it made him feel—concern, pity, put upon, and, most of all,
guilt
.

“Thank you, Max!”

He glowered at her. “Let’s go in and select something. Be quick. We have to get on set.”

Once they got inside, however, and Story’s face lit up, Max knew he wouldn’t rush her. He wanted her to be comfortable with her selections. And, though he was loathe to admit it, her joy rubbed off on him. He wanted her to be so happy and carefree all of the time.

In the end, she chose a dozen wigs, in various shades of pink. The excursion had taken up the entire morning, so Max took Story to lunch before heading to the studio.

“I hope you’re happy now,” he said once they arrived and he led her to the dressing room, after he had an assistant production manager help carry the wigs in.

“Very,” she said.

He loved to see that sparkle in her eyes and that genuine smile on her face. It came to him that he had the power to put that happiness in her beautiful features or cause an anguished frown. He didn’t know if he liked that or not.

The next morning, Max sat in a director’s chair, waiting as Story put the finishing touches on her makeup and hair. His friend, known in the business as Dominic, lounged against a wall, gulping down his second beer. His long dreads framed his face and streamed down his shoulders and back. He had been cast as the attorney for Max’s character. Right now, though, he’d be just a guy Story’s character was fucking for fucking’s sake.

On the drive over, Story hadn’t said much to him. Maybe, because, he’d dropped her off at the condo yesterday after filming and went to another party. He hadn’t slept with any women but he’d allowed them to hang all over him. Makeup might’ve smeared his white shirt and perfume might’ve clung to him
and
he might’ve knocked on Story’s door under the guise of telling her good night when he’d really wanted her to believe he’d been with other women.

Fuck her and the fantasy world she lived in. Yet, he hated himself for making her so miserable. He didn’t need to ruin her optimistic outlook because he was so world-weary and bitter. Besides, he wanted her to talk to him. Call him names to give more weight to his mean disposition. He hated her silent treatment. It made him feel like a true jackass. Shutting her out was
his
method, but she managed it a fucking lot better than he ever could.
He
did it for control.
She
did it because she didn’t want his insults.

She hadn’t told him that, but she had a remarkable sense of self-preservation.

Now, in the early morning, the idea of Dominic or
any
other man touching her revolted him.

Ryker stopped next to him and dropped a small bag of white powder on the table. It was as if last night hadn’t happened. Max gritted his teeth so he wouldn’t attack the whistling idiot as he laid a line. After a moment of standing still, he used a rolled-up hundred-dollar bill, to snort the blow, half in one nostril and the other half in the second.  Then, he straightened and sniffed, closed his eyes and swayed. “Fuck, that’s good.”

“I’m sure,” Max said without inflection.

“Max!” Eric tossed a prescription bottle in his direction. “Catch.”

Max barely had time to hold his hand out.

“Molly. It does a body good,” Eric quipped.

Max grinned and opened the bottle, pouring a pill into his hand. He grabbed the freshly opened bottle of beer Dominic held out and swallowed the pill, taking a long pull of the cold liquid.

“Tell me about this new chick,” Dominic encouraged after he’d did a line of coke that Ryker so generously shared.

“She’s new to the business. Twenty,” Max responded with nonchalance, his head pounding a little more.

“A spinner,” Ryker chortled. “I like the chicks we can spin and maneuver around.”

“Tomorrow, you get your chance at her, Ryker,” Eric promised. “And on location.”

Max straightened. “What the fuck are you talking about?” They had four fucking sets in the studio, one resembling a bedroom, another a bathroom, along with a kitchen and living room. A few changes to bedclothes or curtains, switching the furniture here and there, created the illusion of different rooms.

“Just what I said. We have to capture her with some oral action. In a car. She’s hiding from her old man and you’ve assured your best friend you’ll look for his precious daughter. When you walk up to Shelby’s car, you find her fucking another dude, turning you on.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Dominic said. “What’s the set up for today?”

“Straight ass and pussy action,” Eric said.

Before Max could comment or work out in his head how he felt about Eric’s answer, Story walked into the room. The makeup worked amazing wonders to age her. The eyeshadow she used brought out the green of her eyes and the red lipstick widened her mouth. She was heavily made up, almost unrecognizable with that pink wig that gave her a psychedelic edge.

Catching sight of Dominic, she heaved a deep breath, her flush betraying her nerves. The cold air hardened her nipples, beading them against the thin material of her robe.

Half of a candy bar hanging from his mouth, Ryker turned her and pulled a tube from the pocket of his jeans. “Bend over.”

“Why?” she asked, the first time she’d spoken today.

Eric nodded at Dominic. “To prep your ass to be fucked.”

Max waited for her protests, for anything, but she nodded, and then followed Ryker’s instructions.

Fuck, but she had a nice ass, firm and curvy. From the angle Max sat he also got a prime view of her pink pussy lips. So did Ryker, Eric, and Dominic.

Ryker spread some of the greasy substance on his finger.

“Stop,” Max ordered, unable to watch Ryker touching her. He’d put himself through enough hell with Kelan. “Story?”

“Get it over with,” she responded, focusing on him. “You want me to do a double penetration scene, so I’m doing it. I don’t have a laptop to research this, but I know I’m required to do different positions with different men.”

“You can opt out of any scenes you want,” he told her. In a shocking turn of events, the words flew out of his mouth before he caught them. Normally, only veterans got that luxury.