Dirty Dix (Hard Love Romance #1) (7 page)

I
t’s now 5
:30a.m., and I look like utter shit. Why I agreed to such an early morning run, on a Sunday I might add, is beyond me. But I have a feeling Dixon could ask me just about anything and I would say yes.

I’ve dressed for comfort, not style, as I intend to run like the wind across that finish line. I’ve been blessed in the boob department and actually have a decent rack for a small-framed girl. However, while most girls would be ecstatic to have boobs the size of mine, I see them as a curse.

Reaching for my water bottle and keys, I lock the door behind me and make my way downstairs. I hit the pavement at a brisk pace, as it always freaks me out being up this early with no one around. But I’m twenty-three and I’ve decided this is the year I won’t allow the skeletons in my closet to haunt me any longer.

For more than half of my life, I’ve lived with a secret I’ve never told a single soul, not even my mother, who I love more than life itself. Even though those secrets can never be told, I feel in some sick, twisted way that they’ve shaped me into the woman I’m determined to become.

Crossing the street, I stop with the nostalgia and focus on finding Dixon. I search the main entrance, but he’s nowhere to be found. Maybe he’s running late.

Starting my warm-up, I turn my head to the left to stretch out my neck muscles. From the corner of my eye, I see Dixon. Someone who’s just about to go for a two-mile run shouldn’t look this good, but he does. He’s in loose running shorts and a tight white T-shirt, and although it doesn’t sound like anything special, on Dixon it looks like he’s dressed for Milan.

His muscular physique is a lot more obvious now that he’s not wearing a suit jacket and pants, and oh my God, as he stretches his arms above his head, his T-shirt rides up, exposing a hardened slab of sculptured abs and toned obliques. My eyes may have deceived me because he’s a few feet away, but I’m quite certain I saw a hint of ink tattooed on his side.

The thought has my toes curling, as that image has just made Dr. Dixon a truckload sexier.

Deciding to stop with the drooling, I make my way over to him and will my racing pulse to calm down, as I haven’t even started running yet.

“It’s not too late to back out, ya know?” I chirp, stopping a few feet away.

“In your dreams,” he says with a lopsided smirk. I watch his eyes unexpectedly smolder as he takes in my appearance.

I look like I always do when running. No make-up, my long hair secured in a high ponytail, and my clothes hardly flattering, but there’s no denying that he’s blatantly checking me out. Maybe he
does
like me.

My insides warm at the idea, but squashing down my immature fantasies, I quickly say, “So, you ready to get your ass whipped?”

Dixon grins and, thankfully, his eyes return to their normal beautiful blue. “Give it your best shot, little girl.” His cockiness titillates me.

“So, what are the rules?” I ask, lunging forward into a hamstring stretch.

Dixon programs his fancy watch. “I’d say the zoo is roughly two miles from here.”

I nod in agreement.

“Well, the first person to reach the zoo is the winner. Oh, and we have to run the same route,” he adds with a smirk, just in case I thought about taking a shortcut.

“That’s it?” I ask, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

“That’s it,” Dixon confirms with a smile.

He stands by my side and looks over, grinning. “Just a word of warning, I don’t like to lose,” he confesses as he eyes me up and down.

“Well, isn’t that funny, ’cause neither do I. See you on the other side…loser.” I take off in a quick sprint, leaving Dixon at our makeshift start line.

I hear him following in quick pursuit, and his chase only has me increasing my speed to an even pace. The first few yards are always the hardest for me, but once I find my rhythm, I can run for miles. I guess you could say I started running to escape my demons, but no matter how hard I ran, they were always biting at my heels.

“Just so you know,” Dixon huffs, catching up to me. “I let you have a head start.”

We both keep a steady pace, our breaths the only thing sounding between us, and that’s good because if we spoke, I would lose myself in his deep, rough voice. I focus on the way my body feels alive, the blood pumping through my veins and animating my every move.

We jog in silence, side by side for a few minutes, until Dixon pushes forward, taking the lead. I stay back, as I’ll save my energy and pull out the big guns on the last half a mile. And besides, back here, I can totally check out Dixon’s muscular legs and taut butt. He is a work of art, and I can’t help but feel slightly curious to know what that tight butt would feel like in the flesh.

“Tired already?” Dixon teases as he turns around and begins running backward, watching amusedly as I flip him off.

“I’m just being generous. I don’t want to show you up too early. That would be kinda embarrassing,” I say, puffing.

Dixon laughs and turns back around, thankfully watching where he’s going. I decide to catch up to him, as he’s gaining a steady lead because I’m lagging behind, distracted by his hot ass.

“So,” Dixon pants, his eyes focused ahead. “How long you been running?”

“About nine years,” I confess, leaving out why.

“You’re quite good,” he admits. I turn toward him with a smirk.

“And you’re surprised?”

Dixon shakes his head. “Not at all. My mother taught me never to assume anything when it came to women.”

I can’t stop the laugh that breaks free from my winded chest. “Your mother sounds like a smart lady.”

“She was,” Dixon says, and I don’t fail to pick up on his use of the past tense. “She passed,” he explains. “Six months ago to breast cancer.”

“Oh, Dixon. I’m really sorry.” I frown, as the thought of losing my mother tears a big hole in my chest.

“Thank you,” he says with a sad smile.

“So it’s just you and your dad?”

“Um, yeah,” he replies with a pause, which confuses me, but I let it slide as I know uncomfortable when I see it.

“How about you?” he innocently asks, not realizing how a simple question such as this is my worst nightmare.

But I casually reply, “What about me?”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“Yeah, I have an older brother. But it’s just me and my mom.”

“Where’s your dad?”

“Oh, um, he left when I was five. I don’t really remember him,” I disclose, keeping my eyes focused ahead.

“That must’ve been tough.”

“It was okay—my mom is the best. She was my mom
and
my dad. I really am lucky to have her as my mother. We’re close,” I share, happy to divulge this information about my past.

“She sounds like an amazing lady,” Dixon says, and I nod.

“She really is,” I reply with sincerity, because before my mom remarried, we were doing it tough.

“But I’m sure your big brother looked after his little sister, right?” Dixon randomly says, and I know it’s meant to be an innocent question, but the mere mention of my brother has me suddenly losing my footing and I trip, my forehead and wrists breaking the fall.

“Holy shit! Are you okay?” he asks. His voice mingles with the loud ringing in my ears.

I’m pretty sure I’m not okay, but I nod, which has my brain rolling around my head like marbles.

I fell flat on my stomach, and I’m beyond embarrassed to be sprawled out on the ground, so I try and lift myself up, but Dixon quickly warns, “No, no, don’t get up too quickly, you’ve hit your head pretty hard.”

“I’m fine,” I say, waving him off, as I’m more worried about how I’m going to face him, rather than my injured head.

As I lift myself into a half-sitting position, I see Dixon crouching near me. I watch as his eyes widen, and he gasps, “Fuck, you’re bleeding.” Before I can protest, he’s yanking off his shirt and pressing the amazing-smelling garment to my forehead.

I whine the moment it touches my sore brow, and Dixon flinches, easing the pressure.

“Sorry.” He frowns, his intense eyes focused on my temple.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, mesmerized by being so close to him, and also mesmerized by the fact I’m so close to him while he’s topless.

I try my absolute hardest not to stare, but it’s extremely hard not to as he’s simply stunning.

A totally hair-free, well-defined chest is inches away from my face. As I lower my eyes, I see the only hair visible is the fine dusting of darkened curls painting his navel, which leads into his low-slung shorts. His washboard abs should be illegal, and I won’t even touch on his sculptured V-muscle, which has my eyes bulging at its pure perfection.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dixon kindly asks, and I snap out of my trance.

“Ye-yeah,” I stutter, raising my eyes to meet his.

His strong features express nothing but concern, and just when I thought I couldn’t fall deeper into obsession with this man, I fall harder than ever before.

I watch as Dixon removes his soiled T-shirt from my brow, his intense eyes examining my wound. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches, but I dare say you’ll have a nasty headache for the next couple of days.”

“Nothing a little Advil won’t fix,” I say with a smile, and attempt to shift so I’m sitting up taller.

Dixon places his hands on my upper arms to help steady me, and I appreciate the support as my head is still spinning.

“So, looks like I’m buying,” I declare, trying to ignore the way my body is responding to Dixon’s touch.

“Well, from where I stood, you were definitely the winner.”

“How’d you figure that?” I ask, not quite following.

“Before you so elegantly swan-dived into the asphalt—” I lunge out to playfully smack him on his arm, but he dodges my attack “—I was going to forfeit,” he explains.

“You were not, you liar.” I chuckle in disbelief.

Dixon grins, placing a hand over his heart, attempting to appear genuine. “Oh, but I was. This old body is obviously no match for your youthful spirit. You won fair and square, Madison.”

I’m not buying his story for a second, but he looks too adorable and I can’t argue with him.

“Well, I would still feel wrong, as it kinda feels like I’m cheating. So how about you buy dinner and I’ll buy dessert?” I suggest, hoping he says yes, as I’m desperate to draw out any time spent with him.

Dixon appears to mull over my proposal, but with a lopsided smile, he says, “You drive a hard bargain, but I suppose that’s fair.”

I barely stop myself from fist pumping in excitement, as I’m sure any sudden movement will enrage my impending headache.

“So it’s settled then. I’ll let you choose the day,” I say, as I don’t want to look too eager and suggest we make good on our agreement tonight.

However, my heart ends up in my throat as Dixon suggests, “How about tomorrow evening?”

Trying not to blind him with my ridiculously excited smile, I nod. “Tomorrow works for me.”

Dixon smirks and slowly stands to his full, topless, dominating height. He extends his hand down to me, and I gratefully accept, standing gradually, as I still feel lightheaded. As we stand toe to toe, my overactive mind invokes images of me pressing myself up against all that tanned, supple skin, and getting lost in its soft smoothness. But I shake those thoughts aside, as I feel a little guilty that Dixon is half nude because of me.

A female jogger runs past us, and she makes it more than obvious she’s gaping at the naked god in front of her. An unexpected sense of jealousy passes over me, and I try my hardest not to eyeball her, because I have no right to.

Dixon seems oblivious and reaches into his pocket, producing a crisp white business card. “Now there are no excuses to run late,” he regretfully says, and I know he’s referring to last night.

I thankfully accept it, but with nowhere safe to put it, I place it in my sports bra, which is a habit I picked up from running without any pockets. It really isn’t a big deal, but as I look up and meet Dixon’s heated eyes, it appears he disagrees. He guiltily snaps his intense gaze from my chest, and gingerly meets my eyes.

“Remind me to never ask you to mind my belongings,” he says, appearing half serious.

“And why’s that?” I ask with a smirk.

“Because I’ll no doubt lose a hand,” he cheekily replies, while I almost gag on my tongue.

Little does he know his hands are always welcome.

S
o
, I’m either the smartest, or the stupidest motherfucker known to mankind.

I’m betting on the latter.

I’ve somehow managed to find myself in a predicament where I am interested in two women. A couple of weeks ago, the thought of being interested in
one
woman was comical, but here I am, a few weeks later, sitting at my desk, fisting my hair in frustration, as I don’t know what the hell to do.

After being ridden into next year by Juliet, I fell into an exhausted heap and slept like the dead. The only thing that woke me was a fire engine zipping past, at a little past 1 a.m. After my sleep and post-coitus clogged brain decided to play catch-up, I realized I had stood up Madison, as we agreed to meet to exchange numbers and whatnot.

A sense of utter regret passed over me, and before I knew what was happening, I was running toward her work like a bat outta hell.

So the question here is, why? Why did I feel guilty? I mean, I just slept with another woman six hours prior. If I was going to feel guilty about anything, it should be the fact that I still had Juliet’s scent all over me when I met up with Madison. But with Juliet, it was just sex—with Madison, it was…more.

So the obvious answer here would be to tell Ms. Harte to hit the road and see where things go with Madison. But I can’t—sex without strings is so much easier than a relationship. And I have a feeling a relationship with Madison wouldn’t be smooth sailing, as call it doctor’s intuition, but I think she has some serious baggage buried underneath her sweet smile.

So what do I want? Sex? Or a possible relationship? Because at the moment, I’m currently presented with both options, but I don’t know which I want more.

I know this all stems from my damaging breakup with Lily the bitch. But I am as much to blame as she is. No, I never forced her to fuck my best friend, but I never dealt with my emotional scars at the time, and now look what I’ve turned into—a commitment phobe.

Massaging my temples, I really am in no state of mind to be counseling anyone today. The wise thing to do would be to take the afternoon off. Just as I’m about to call Ms. Vale and ask her to cancel the rest of my appointments, she buzzes me through the intercom.

“Dr. Mathews,” she frantically says, which is very uncharacteristic of her.

“Yes, Ms. Vale?” I quickly reply. “Is everything okay?”

“Dr. Mathews, a patient who doesn’t have an appointment insists on seeing you.”

I hear Susanna cover the receiver and address whoever is outside, making it quite clear she’ll have to make an appointment if she wishes to see me.

“Oh, stop right there! Miss, you can’t go in there,” Susanna states, and before I know what’s happening, my office door flies open and in charges a hysterical Juliet.

Susanna is chasing after her, her face filled with irritation and concern, but I wave her off, as Juliet looks like hell.

“I’m so sorry, Dr. Mathews! She just barged in here,” Susanna apologizes, while glaring at a sobbing Juliet.

“It’s fine, Ms. Vale. Please shut the door on your way out.”

She looks at me, slightly confused, but she does as I ask, as she knows I don’t mince my words. The moment the door closes, I stand behind my desk, watching Juliet as she weeps uncontrollably. I stand motionless, as I don’t know what to do.

Professionally, I’m not to hug or canoodle her, as I’m not her friend. I’m not here to cuddle her and tell her everything will be all right. But as her lover, that’s exactly what I should be doing. And this is why you do not get involved with your patients.

“Juliet, is everything okay?” I ask, still standing behind my desk, using it as a barrier between us.

“What does it look like? No, everything is not fucking okay!” she cries, her tear-stained eyes meeting mine.

Clearing my throat and adjusting my tie, I round my table and point to the sofa.

“Please, take a seat.”

“I’m not here to get fucking psychoanalyzed, Dixon.” But she thankfully slumps onto the couch, and her sniffles lessen.

Taking a seat near her, I place my palm on her bare knee. “What’s happened? Why are you so upset?”

“No matter how hard I try, I’ll never be good enough,” she whispers, her lip trembling as she lowers her face.

“Good enough for whom?” I gently ask.

“For…anybody,” she replies, and her slight pause has me wondering what she originally wanted to say.

“That’s not true,” I rebuke. “You just have to believe in yourself, Juliet. I know how messed up that sounds, considering our current circumstances. But any man would be lucky to have your affections.”

“You think?” She sniffs, raising her face.

“I know,” I confirm. “All these awards on my walls confirm I know what I’m talking about,” I add with a small smile, hoping to lighten the mood.

Thankfully she laughs, and reaches into her clutch for a tissue. As she dabs at her eyes, I wonder what brought this on. The doctor in me has long gone, and I’m speaking to her purely as her lover.

“Is there anything I can do?” I ask, reaching forward and brushing aside a strand of blonde hair.

“Maybe we could, I don’t know, talk?”

This is the first time I’ve seen her be…vulnerable, and it’s a look that suits her.

“Sure, I’d like that,” I reply, as I realize I actually don’t know anything about her.

I know how to make her come with my mouth in five quick seconds. And how she likes to be fucked, but I don’t actually know
who
she is and what she likes that’s non-sex-related. I thought she was happy just being fuck buddies, but that was my screw-up, as I should have never assumed—looks like my mother was right once again.

“Do you think we could grab a coffee after work?”

In this moment, the Juliet Harte I thought I knew has just flipped my beliefs onto their ass, and this person sitting before me is a complete stranger. This stranger is one I actually want to get to know better.

“Sure,” I reply with a nod. I owe her this.

Juliet takes a deep breath, patting down her hair and face. “I’m really sorry for storming in here like a crazy person. I should have called first.”

“It’s fine, it happens all the time.” I smirk, and she laughs, her beautiful face no longer clogged in tears.

“Okay, well, I’ll let you get back to work.” She stands, ironing the crinkles from her dress. “I’ll meet you at around seven?”

“Sounds great,” I reply, also standing, my hands dug deep into my pockets.

“Great. Well, see you tonight.” She throws me completely off-guard as she steps forward and hugs me.

It’s the first time we’ve embraced, which is utterly ridiculous and shameful, seeing as I’ve embraced her insides on more than one occasion. I slowly remove my hands from my pockets, and as I wrap her into my arms, I’m shocked at how fragile and vulnerable she feels. I’m not used to this Juliet, and I have a feeling it’ll take some getting used to.

She breaks away after a moment and bids me farewell with a chaste kiss on my cheek. I watch, dumbfounded, as she leaves my office, because that woman looked like Juliet, but that person is not the Juliet I thought I knew.

I take a seat behind my desk, still flabbergasted at what just took place. The moment I met Juliet, I knew she’d cause a storm
.
But where does that leave things with Madison and me?

My cell beeps, alerting me to an awaiting text, and I welcome the distraction. Swiping through my messages, I groan, slapping my palm against my forehead.

Reading the message over, I feel like the world’s biggest asshole, because the sweet words just taunt me with what I have to do.

I
haven’t eaten
all day :p

See you tonight. Can’t wait.

Maddy x