Dirty South (A Blue Collar Bad Boy Romance)
Read Dirty South (A Blue Collar Bad Boy Romance) Online
Authors: Celia Loren
By Celia Loren
Copyright © 2016 Hearts Collective
All rights reserved. This document may not be reproduced
in any way without the expressed written consent of the author. The ideas,
characters, and situations presented in this story are strictly fictional, and
any unintentional likeness to real people or real situations is completely
coincidental.
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DIRTY SOUTH
A Blue Collar Bad Boy Romance
By Celia Loren
Prologue
I gasp as he strides around the tree, his scent of sweat
and dirt overpowering me. To my surprise, he takes my hand and pulls me into
the alleyway between two houses.
"I've seen you watching me," he grunts, backing
me against a flagstone wall.
"I—"
"You're so beautiful, how could I not notice
you?" He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me against him. "I
need you. Now."
"It's the middle of the day!" I protest
halfheartedly.
"I can't wait." He presses himself against me
and I shiver as he pulls my skirt up over my waist and touches me...there. The
bulge in his jeans grows against my thigh. "Tell me your name," he
demands, his mouth so close that I can feel his breath on my lips as he speaks.
"It's—"
"Callie!" I jump as Virginia appears next to me.
"What are you doing, hiding behind this tree?" she asks suspiciously.
"Nothing," I murmur.
"Oh my god," she snickers, glancing around it
toward the construction site. "Are you checking out that construction
worker? You pervert!" The other girls behind her from my class giggle.
"No, I'm just here to see my dad," I insist,
trying to let her insult roll off me. There's a first time for everything.
"You're such a liar, Callie," she snaps back.
"That's why no one likes you. And you better watch out. Looks like you're
starting to burn." She turns on her heel and walks off, accompanied by the
other popular girls.
I bite my lip to keep from crying because I know that will
just make things worse. I look down at my arm and sigh. The Georgia sun is
punishing in June, and her last comment wasn't just an insult. My pale skin
really is starting to turn pink. Between my complexion and my dark, almost
black, hair, I often get teased about looking like a Victorian ghost. But
ghosts don't wear glasses and have braces.
I glance back toward the site. At least the man hasn't
noticed me. Virginia was right. I was staring at him, and fantasizing about
what it would be like to be with him. In fact, I've been stopping by my
father's construction site every day after school for weeks for that exact
purpose.
I can't stop thinking about him. He's not like the other
workers. I've never once seen him take a break, even just to wipe the sweat
that's pouring down his face. And he's younger, too. And more muscular. I can
practically feel his muscles tense under my fingertips as I watch him push a
wheelbarrow of concrete mix across the dusty site.
But I better get moving. I don't want Virginia to catch me
here again. At least I won't have to deal with her for very much longer. Just
one more week until my sophomore year ends, and then another week after and I
move up to Portland, Maine, to live with my mom and go to school up there.
My dad says it's important for me to bond with my mom, which
is really just a nice way of saying that he doesn't know what to do with me
anymore. He never says it out loud, but I can tell I'm not the daughter he
thought he'd have. He was probably picturing someone more like Virginia: a
pillar of feminine grace and beauty, always saying the right thing, never
ending up with food all over her shirt like I do.
That's why he's sending me to live with my mom while I
finish up my last two years of high school, even though he fought for full
custody during the divorce. He thinks of it as some sort of finishing school.
My parents didn't have a good marriage, but my mom was quite the charming
socialite before her drinking got a hold of her.
When I get home, I grab some water from the kitchen and head
up to my room to do my homework. I'm in the middle of my geometry sets when
Mrs. Hunt, our housekeeper/cook/former nanny knocks on my door.
"You're having a guest over for dinner," she tells
me as she opens it.
"Who?"
"Someone from work, your father said. Just wanted to
warn you." She's about to close it again when she pauses and studies me
for a moment. "What is it? Down about the move?"
"No," I reply truthfully. She waits. "Mrs.
Hunt, do you think I'm pretty?"
"Of course!"
"Really?"
"You just have to grow into your features a
little."
"You keep saying that, but when will it happen?"
"Soon," she promises me with a smile. "Put on
something else besides your school uniform for dinner, OK?"
I nod, and she shuts the door. The school year is almost
over and our assignments are really light now, so I finish all my work before
dinner. I pull on my favorite cotton dress with buttons up the front and run a
brush through my hair, then stare into the mirror above my bureau for a minute.
I know just what Mrs. Hunt means. It's like my mouth and eyes were made for
someone with a much larger head. I look like a cartoon fish. I sigh, then head
downstairs and into the parlor.
My dad is sitting in his favorite armchair by the fireplace,
a glass of whiskey in hand. His blonde hair has receded a bit onto his
forehead, and his stomach is starting to test his waistband a bit, but he still
looks as imposing as ever. Or at least, he does to me. I know he's my father,
but I always feel a little nervous around him, like I can't do anything right.
"Grace," he nods by way of greeting as I
walk in. My dad calls me Grace because I'm named after my mom's mother, and
after they divorced he refused to call me by his former mother-in-law's name.
Granny's always seemed nice to me, but my dad refuses to budge. "Go put
something else on."
"Oh. Like a different dress?"
"I don't know. I'm not a woman. That one just doesn't
look right."
"Okay," I reply, nervously biting my cuticle.
"And don't bite your nails."
I sigh and head back upstairs, feeling stymied as I look
over the other dresses in my closet. I try to imagine which one Virginia would
pick because she always looks nice, and decide on a pale blue gingham dress. I
put it on, and head back downstairs. My dad looks at me but doesn't say
anything, so I figure he likes this dress better.
"Mrs. Hunt said we're having someone over for
dinner," I say, flopping down into the armchair across from him.
"Sit like a lady," he says with a frown, and waits
until I sit up straight and cross my legs at the ankle. "One of my workers
has been bugging me for a sit-down. Says he's got some ideas for 'improving'
the business."
"You don't seem too excited to hear them," I
observe shyly. My dad has quite a temper, and I'm never quite sure what's going
to set him off.
"Well, it's damn impertinent. He's been working for me
for a couple of years, and he thinks he knows how to turn around a business
that's been in my family for three generations? But he's been hounding me for
months, so I figure I better hear him out and then he'll stop bugging me."
"Sounds like dinner isn't going to be very
interesting."
"He's coming to dinner just so I can get a feel for his
character. No shop talk at the table, don't worry."
The doorbell rings and I hear Mrs. Hunt go to answer it.
There's a muffled conversation that grows louder as she shows him down the
hallway.
"Boone, come on in," my dad says as he stands up.
I turn around to see the visitor and freeze. It's my fantasy guy from the
construction site. I feel beads of sweat begin to form on my hairline as I
watch him shake my father's hand. "This is my daughter, Grace. Grace,
Boone Tillman."
I try to say hi, but an airy grunt comes out instead.
"Nice to meet you, Grace," Boone says with a nod. I swallow and give
an awkward wave. My dad offers him something to drink, and I sink back into my
chair and try to make myself invisible as I study him.
He's taller than my dad, maybe about 6'3'', and his light
brown hair is pushed back from his forehead, though a piece of it drops down as
he turns his head slightly. Even with his navy blazer on, he still looks like a
working man, though I couldn't say whether it's because he's actually
uncomfortable in the clothes or because of the width of his shoulders and the
way his biceps are pressing against the coat's fabric.
His face is tan and I can see where his hair has been turned
blonde by the sun. His white teeth almost glow as he smiles and small dimples
appear on either side of his full lips, underneath a tiny bit of stubble. He
looks like he could be an Abercrombie model, but his eyes betray a watchful
intelligence, like a hawk that's taking in everything that he sees.
He and my dad sit on the long sofa, but I can barely hear
their conversation. My self-consciousness, while always present, is now
all-enveloping. I catch stray words and phrases that they're saying, but mostly
all I hear is white noise. I follow them into the dining room when Mrs. Hunt
comes to fetch us, blushing as I watch Boone's back muscles move with his every
gesture.
Boone and I sit across from each other, so while I'm glad to
have the distraction of food, now I have to worry about how I'm eating it.
"Grace, you're eating so slowly!" my father
laughs. "Usually she just shovels it into her mouth," he adds to
Boone as I bite my lip, mortified.
"Me too," Boone says with a smile...and then he
winks
at me. I almost drop my fork, but I think I manage to smile back before he looks
away. I feel a glow so intense spread through my body that I wonder if he can
actually see it. When I finally snap back to the conversation, my father's
asking Boone about his upbringing.
"I don't know my father too well, sir," Boone is
saying reluctantly. "He left my mother when I was three."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Does your mother live in the
area?" my dad asks, taking a sip of wine.
Boone clears his throat. "No. Well, in a way. She's at
Coastal State Prison. Non-violent offense."
It's the first time I stop feeling self-conscious and really
look at him. His eyes are almost golden in the candlelight as he waits for my
father's response. I've never met anyone whose mother was in prison.
"Hm," is all my father says for a moment.
"Well, Boone, I'll be honest. A man's family says a lot about him."
"Oh, Dad, you're so old-fashioned," I pipe up
without thinking. "He didn't choose his parents."
"No, but—" The corner of my father's eyebrows
begin to twitch like they do just before he's going to yell, but I can't stop.
"And aren't you always saying that people need to be
taking responsibility for themselves? Seems like that's what he's doing."
I can't think why I'm talking to my father like this. Normally I wouldn't dare.
My dad pauses and takes a deep breath. "You did
interrupt me, but you may be right. From the mouths of babes, I
suppose..."
I blush, wishing he hadn't referred to my age in front of
Boone. I can't make eye contact with Boone, but I can feel him looking at me.
After Mrs. Hunt takes away our dessert plates, my father stands.
"Boone, why don't you come into my study? I'm
interested to hear your ideas on Woodall & Sons."
"Thank you, sir," Boone replies. I stand and
follow them out into the foyer, watching as they turn down the hallway toward
the study. I'm surprised to see Boone stop and turn back to me. He reaches out
his hand, and I automatically raise mine to receive his. His palm is dry and
calloused against mine. "In case I don't see you after, I wanted to say it
was a pleasure meeting you tonight, Grace. You're a lovely young woman."
"Thank you," I manage to squeak out before he
drops his hand. As soon as they disappear into the study, I run upstairs and
throw myself onto my bed, kicking my legs into the air in excitement.
He touched me! And he thinks I'm a "lovely young
woman!" And he winked at me earlier!
For the first time, I wish I weren't leaving in two weeks. I
mean, who knows what could happen? I drop by the construction site, Boone
recognizes me...maybe my fantasies aren't so far-fetched. I close my eyes and
imagine what it could be like. Boone and me. Mr. and Mrs. Callie Grace Tillman.
Our wedding could be right out in Forsyth Square, with the Spanish moss coming
down from the trees, and me with one of those vintage-looking veils. Or no,
someplace more intimate. Just me and Boone and a preacher.
My eyes fly open as the front door shuts. How long have I
been day-dreaming for? I head to the window. It's dark out now, but I can just
see Boone walk along the sidewalk outside the front of the house and dial on
his cell phone. I slide my window open as quietly as I can, hoping it won't
squeak. I can just hear his low voice carrying in the quiet night air.
"He went for it! I know!" he's saying excitedly,
and I smile. "I'm going to be a manager now. He's making me the head of
the division! I told you it would happen! Didn't I say?" There's a long
pause, and I wonder who he's talking to. "We had dinner, me, him, and his
daughter. No, just some awkward teenager. Then we go into his office—"
It takes me a second to stop smiling because I don't realize
at first that he's describing me. He can't be. Earlier tonight he called me
"lovely" and now I'm "awkward"? But I was the only teenager
there. "Some awkward teenager." The words bang around in my head
until I leave the window and crumple onto my bed.
So Boone sees me the way everyone else does. He was probably
just being nice earlier because my father was there. I'm such an idiot.
Maine doesn't sound so bad anymore.
