Dirty Thoughts (4 page)

Chapter Four

J
ENNA FORGOT THAT
she hated martinis.

Okay, so maybe she didn’t hate them, but she’d rather have a nice glass of merlot or something.

Martinis were pretty to look at, all suave in their delicate glasses with the olive-laden toothpicks. She felt sophisticated holding them too.

But then she remembered that it felt fake, like she was playing pretend, just like she’d done for so many years in New York. That wasn’t who she was. She was Jenna MacMillan from small Tory, Maryland, and dammit, she wanted a glass of wine. Boxed would do. Honestly, she’d drink it out of a sippy cup. She wasn’t picky.

She took a sip of her pomegranate martini and grimaced.

“I’m starting to get a complex, because you look like you’re in pain, sitting here with me.” Delilah raised her thin-mint martini to her lips. Jenna thought the concept sounded delicious, but the smell was not enticing, kind of like toothpaste.

“I’m sorry.” She placed a hand over her friend’s. “It’s not you; it’s this drink.”

“You don’t like it?”

Jenna shook her head and pushed her drink into Delilah’s grasping hand. Jenna was driving, so she’d limited herself to one drink. And since she’d only had about three sips, she was confident in her sober status. Delilah was driving too, but despite her small stature, the girl had a high tolerance.

After Jenna had picked up Dylan’s car, she’d driven to her place. She dropped off her brother’s car and got into the used car she’d bought a week earlier. She hadn’t needed a vehicle in New York, and even though Dylan said she could drive his, she wanted something for herself. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a late-model Honda Civic.

Then she drove to Hattery to meet Delilah, chastising herself the whole way for getting all weird with Cal. Why,
why on earth,
of all things, had she brought up River’s Edge? She’d dwelled on those memories of the back of Cal’s truck for years. She’d daydreamed about being seventeen again, no care in the world, no responsibilities. All that had mattered when she’d been in his truck was
him
. His whispered words in her ear that were only for her, his questing fingers, his strong lips. She’d built it up so big in her head that it had almost become a fantasy. They were larger than life now, those memories. They were private. So she had no idea what had possessed her to spew them at Cal’s feet.

Delilah was sipping happily, glancing around the bar, named Olive Tree. It was cute, one of those places that was only lit by a couple of strategically placed wall sconces and candles on the high-top tables. The walls were decorated, appropriately, in an olive tree motif. Other than martinis, the bar served tapas. They’d ordered
chopitos
, which was fried baby squid. Jenna ignored what it was, because it was, in fact, delicious. Which worked, because she could really go with eating some of her feelings right now. She’d already decided the artisanal cheese plate was next, because it came with some dark chocolate.

“So,” Jenna said, “you seeing anyone?”

Delilah licked a drop off the side of her martini. “I went out with a guy from your dad’s firm last week, actually.”

“Yeah?” Jenna perked up, eager to hear about someone else’s love life. “How did it go?”

“Oh, it went terrible,” Delilah said cheerfully, munching on her
chopitos
.

Jenna stared at her. “You sound really broken up about it.”

Delilah laughed. “I’m not really looking for anything right now. The store keeps me busy. I go out with friends, and now you’re back. I only said yes because he said he’d take me to that new Peruvian place in Brookridge. Which was excellent, by the way. I recommend the stuffed poblanos.”

“And you didn’t even have to put out?” Jenna smirked.

Delilah winked. “Oh,
he
put out. By the way, he had a gorgeous cock, but he didn’t know what to do with it. Such wasted talent.”

Jenna waved her hand. “Please don’t tell me who this is, because I have to work with him.”

Delilah zipped her lips.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure. So speaking of big dicks—and not the good kind—did you get Dylan’s car fixed?”

Jenna snorted a laugh. “Yep, thanks for dropping me off.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Did Cal bend you over the counter?”

“Delilah, I swear to God, I can’t take you anywhere.”

Her friend erupted into giggles.

The thing was, Jenna had been content to casually date for years. Like Delilah, she’d been busy in New York. She had her friends and her job, and a serious relationship wasn’t something she wanted.

But being back in Tory was affecting her attitude. Back in high school, all she’d wanted was to go to college and then come back with a fancy to degree to her hometown . . . and to Cal. But that was before they broke up, and then it was no longer a future she saw happening. But now she had those visions again of lazy afternoons lounging on her front porch, while Cal worked on his car. Maybe with a couple of kids running around. And a dog.

It’d been so long since she’d wanted that.

It was a shock to think that Cal still had this effect on her. She’d given up on that teenage notion of soul mates long ago.

“I just don’t know,” Jenna said. “I’m surprised all these feelings about him are still there. Do I just miss the familiarity we had? Or am I grasping at straws or . . .?” She looked at her friend helplessly.

Delilah bit her lip. “You and Cal always had something special. Everyone knew it, that your relationship was so much bigger than high school. We were all surprised when you broke up—”

“You know why that happened.” Jenna’s voice surprised her when it came out as almost a growl.

Delilah didn’t react. “I know that, sweetie. You didn’t have a choice.”

“I think he resented me for it, though. He wanted to pay the price without his rich girlfriend getting him off the hook.”

“Maybe. Cal always had a lot of pride.”

“It’s why he got in that situation in the first place.”

Delilah pressed her lips together and nodded.

“But what’s done is done,” Jenna said. “I need to let it go. I’m not going to see him around too much, right? Like maybe in passing while we’re both picking up milk at the grocery store? I can handle a couple more awkward conversations.”
Without sharing all your innermost thoughts
, she added to herself.

Delilah reached across the table. “It’ll be fine. And anyway, I’ll keep you busy. I’m so glad you’re back. I have a good time with my girls, but you’re my favorite.”

Jenna laughed. “You’ve always been my favorite too.”

Delilah jerked her head in the direction of the small dance floor, where Van Morrison played softly from two speakers. “Why don’t we dance?”

Jenna hopped down off her stool. “Now you’re talking.” Thoughts about Cal could wait. Tonight was a best friend kind of night.

S
O
AFTER A
night of drinking, dancing and laughing with her best friend, Jenna was too tired to stop her mind from wandering on the drive home.

She gripped the steering wheel as her thoughts ultimately led to Cal. It was so easy to remember the good times with him—the school dances where they slipped into dark hallways to make out, the times he’d take her driving late at night to go deer spotting. It’d been a long time since she let her mind sink into all the ways their relationship hadn’t been perfect.

Cal had a temper, which he kept repressed until it blew like a gasket. Brent covered everything with a joke, and little Max had been kind of a mix of the two. Cal, though, was a storm waiting to happen. As a teenager, it had been exhilarating. That bad-boy edge had been attractive. She’d been devoted to Cal, because she knew his soft side—his gentle smile and the way he touched her.

She’d told him she’d come back to Tory after her college graduation or suggested he could move to her. Looking back, she wondered if he actually believed her, or if some part of him decided to self-sabotage.

It’d all come to a head at her high school graduation party, when Dylan cornered Cal and . . . well . . . it didn’t really matter now what he’d said. It was a lot of nasty things and mean words, and Cal got angry. Really angry. He lashed out with a fist, broke her brother’s nose, and doomed their future.

Dylan probably had set him up—no, she was sure of it—but Cal hadn’t had to take the bait. After that, her father had forced her to make a choice—break up with Cal, or Dylan would press charges.

She hated Cal for putting her in the position of having to make that decision. She hated her brother and her dad for forcing it.

Cal had been contrite but angry. He’d refused to break up with her, saying he needed to be punished for the mistake he’d made in hitting Dylan. She hadn’t wanted to ruin his life like that, though. So that was it—to save Cal an assault charge on his record, she’d cut ties. She was bitter that she was the one who’d had to do it, that it had fallen on her shoulders. That at eighteen, her brother and dad had enough sway over her life to force that choice.

Yeah, so she was bitter about the whole damn thing. Still.

The crack that rent the air was like a gunshot, and Jenna swerved to the right onto the shoulder of the road and slammed on her brakes. She threw the car in park and sat there, breathing heavy, as goose bumps rose along her skin. She didn’t want to get out of the car, because what the hell had that been? She was on a rather secluded, forest-lined section of road between Hattery and Tory.

Once she felt okay enough to drive again, she put the car in gear and slowly pulled onto the road. And that’s when she heard the steady
wap
.

She’d blown a tire.

She breathed out an exasperated sigh and pulled onto the side of the road again. She turned the car off and sat there, listening to the pinging of the engine. She knew how to change a tire. At least, she’d known once, but it’d been a decade, and she wasn’t sure that was so much like riding a bike. Plus, it was dark, and she was wearing a dress with heels. Not the most ideal situation to be in. She opened up her car door and peered back. It was the driver’s side rear tire, which meant she’d have to squat half in the road to change it.

“Shoot,” she muttered and pulled out her AAA membership card her father had given her when she came back into town.

She called the number on the card and told the operator she needed a tow. The operator told her the nearest tow truck could be there in about forty-five minutes. She thanked her and settled in for a wait.

Luckily, she had an iPhone, complete with Candy Crush, so she settled in to beat the stupid, frustrating level 125 once and for all.

She was close, oh so close, when the headlights of an approaching truck shined into her windshield. She put down her phone and watched as the tow truck driver executed an impressive three-point turn in the road and then backed up to the front of her car. Booted feet attached to a pair of sturdy, jean-clad legs dropped down from the cabin of the truck, and then a man with a baseball cap walked toward her, a pair of work gloves in one hand. A lit cigarette dangled from his lips. She wished now she had a jacket or something to cover up her bare shoulders, because she was on a stretch of deserted road with a strange man.

She gripped her keys and stepped out of the car—then immediately sucked in a breath. The headlights from her car reflected off Cal’s steely irises.

Chapter Five

“C
AL?
”

He stared at her from under the brim. The ends of his dark hair stuck out around the edges of his cap. He inhaled and then took his cigarette out, crushing the butt under his boot. He blew the smoke off to the side, away from her. “Long time, no see.”

She stared at the tow truck and then at him. “You guys do towing?”

“We have a contract with AAA. We got a kid who does it usually, but Brent and I fill in on his nights off.”

“A kid?”

A slight smile curved his lips. “Okay, a young man, then.”

She blinked at him. She’d just vowed to stay away from Cal and avoid any situation where she could be alone with him and that stretch had lasted approximately four hours.

He raised his eyebrows. “So you got a flat?”

“Yeah, it just blew.”

He glanced at her car. “Is this one actually yours or another one of Dylan’s?”

“This is mine. I just picked it up for something temporary when I got into town. It’s only been a week.”

He nodded and walked past her. After he opened up the driver’s side door, he flipped up the latch to pop the trunk. “Let’s check out the condition of your spare.”

She followed him around to the trunk, where he lifted up the flap in the fabric lining to discover . . . no spare.

“What the hell?” she muttered.

He blew out a breath. “Who’d you buy this from?”

“Five Star Motors, over on Fairview.”

He snorted and closed the trunk. “Asshole.”

She assumed he’d had an unpleasant experience with the owner of Five Star. “I called a tow because I wasn’t too keen on hanging my ass out in the road in the dark while trying to change it. Glad I didn’t bother now.”

His eyes looked lighter in the stark reflections of the car lights. “You made the right decision. It isn’t safe here.”

He held her gaze a moment too long, and she looked down at her feet, heat rushing into her cheeks. “So I guess you can give me a ride?”

“Let me get the car hooked up. Then we’ll get you home.” He glanced at her bare arms. “You need a jacket or something?”

Why did he have to be so nice? “I’m okay, thanks.”

He nodded and walked past her, pulling on his gloves.

About ten minutes later, he had her car hooked up to the tow and was motioning for her to hop into his truck. He even helped her inside, with a steady hand cupping her elbow.

The inside of the cabin was surprisingly clean for a tow truck. She stared at a picture that was hanging from the rearview mirror. It was a laminated photo of a naked woman. Even Jenna had to admit that if her boobs looked like that, she’d pose naked too.

When Cal sank into the driver’s seat beside her and started up the truck, she pointed at the picture wordlessly.

He barked out a laugh. “That’s all Gabe.”

“The kid?”

“Yeah, the kid. He needs a girlfriend or something.”

She hummed under her breath, and he shook his head with a grin as he pulled out onto the road.

It was after five minutes of silence that he spoke again. “You . . . uh . . . you look nice tonight,” Cal said softly.

She squeezed her eyes shut as goose bumps broke out on her arms. She’d heard pick-up lines. She’d heard them all. And she’d heard from the best. But none of them—none of them at all—lit up her body like an honest, real statement from Cal Payton. He said what he meant, always had. He thought she looked nice. Such a simple thing to say, but it meant a lot.

She looked over at him. They’d begun to reach the small neighborhoods outside of Tory, so the lights from the houses lit up Cal’s face. His jaw was stubbled, and a little bit of silver streaked the hair sticking out under the cap. He’d always had the thickest hair. She wondered if, as he’d aged, he’d grown chest hair. She wondered what his body looked like at thirty, compared to eighteen. Would he be thicker? Would he still catch his breath when she wrapped her fingers around . . .

She took her gaze away from him before he realized that she was staring. Because dirty thoughts about Cal while she was alone was one thing, but dirty thoughts about him while he was sitting within touching distance felt . . . well . . . dirty.

Jenna fingered the hem of her dress. “Thank you.”

She told him where the house was that she was renting, and he said he knew the neighborhood and remembered seeing the
FOR RENT
sign outside the house.

“So, did you have fun with Delilah?” he asked.

“Yeah, we had a nice time.”

“How was that drinks place? Martinis, you said?”

She laughed softly. “I always forget that I don’t like martinis.”

He glanced at her with a small smile. “You never did like the liquor.”

She pressed her lips together. They’d gone to a party once in high school. She’d drunk shots and some type of schnapps right from the bottle and then spent the whole night puking. Cal had stayed with her, holding her hair and rubbing her back. “Yeah, I still don’t.”

“That’s okay.” He reached over and patted her thigh. She was sure it wasn’t a conscious decision to touch her. But nothing was simple between them. It never had been. The calluses on his palm rasped along her bare skin, and she sucked in a breath.

He had to have heard it, because he jerked his hand back. “Uh, didn’t mean to do that.” He scratched the hair that was curling at the nape of his neck. “Sorry.”

She turned a little to face him. They were entering her neighborhood now. They’d pull into her driveway in minutes. “You don’t have to apologize.”

He didn’t look at her, and a muscle in his jaw ticked. “Yeah, but I shouldn’t have touched you. I just . . . ” His voice trailed off.

She stared at his profile as he pulled into her driveway and parked. He rubbed his hands on his jeans and squinted at the one-car garage attached to her house. “Nice place.”

She ignored his attempt to change the subject. She reached and brushed his arm lightly with the back of her hand. “Is this difficult for you? Like it is for me?”

He stared at the emblem in the center of the steering wheel and ran his fingers over it. She waited, unsure if he’d ask her to elaborate.

“There are times,” he said softly, “that I wish I was good at lyin’.”

Her heart sped up until it pounded in her ears, and she swore he’d see it beat through the skin of her neck.

“This is one of those times.” His voice was gravel and grit and regret. He took off his hat and scratched his head and threw his cap into the back of his cab. “It’s hard as hell. And after all these years, I never thought it would be.”

His gaze finally met hers. His pale eyes glowed, reflecting off the light above her garage door. A slash of light cut across the bottom of his face, highlighting the five-o’clock shadow on his jaw. She wondered how that stubble would feel on her face, the soft skin of her belly, between her thighs.

“Cal . . . ” She didn’t mean to reach out, to touch him. What right did she have? Those blue-gray eyes were boring into hers, but they were giving her nothing. And she wanted just one touch, one shot at a connection. He closed his eyes as her palm cupped his jaw and her fingers traced over the hollow of his cheek, the corner of his mouth, and that dimple in his chin.

His stubble was coarse, but the skin beneath was soft, which was how she’d always described Cal himself.

Reluctantly, she pulled her hand back, but Cal’s eyes sprung open, and he grabbed her wrist. She curled her fingers into a fist, inches from his face.

Those steely irises were giving her something now, daring her, and his parted lips were the incentive.

“Jenna.” His growl was a warning. But she didn’t know if he was throwing the caution tape between them or if he was pissed that she’d started to retreat.

She tried to remember what he was like at eighteen. But it was hard to find that impulsive boy in this controlled man. All she knew was that she didn’t want to retreat. She’d only started because she’d thought he wouldn’t appreciate the advance. But what she’d learned in New York was to be clear and firm about what she wanted and, most of all, to go after it.

Jenna uncurled her fingers so the pads brushed his bottom lip. And she gave one decisive nod.

There was a pause, and it was like time stopped for a minute. Jenna didn’t move, didn’t breathe, and she swore her heartbeat slowed to a crawl as she waited for Cal to react to her nod, to her questing fingers on his lips.

And then he yanked on her arm, not enough to hurt but enough to pull her across the bench seat of the tow truck and into his arms.

She didn’t care about her heels or her dress. She didn’t give a shit about any of it, because she was in Cal’s lap, straddling him, her knees on either side of his hips. And his palms were on her face, fingers curling into her scalp and finally . . . oh,
finally,
his lips were on hers.

Cal could kiss, always could. Just the right pressure with the right texture of those maddening ridges on his lips. But back then, he’d been a boy. He kissed with the intent to move on to the main show.

The Cal she was kissing now was all man. A man who knew what a kiss could do, how it affected a woman. How a kiss was its own skill. And boy, how she loved kissing this man.

She squeezed his shoulders, fingers pressing into the muscle through the thin layer of his T-shirt. He moaned against her lips, and she opened her mouth. He went for it, delving his tongue inside her mouth, licking into her, tasting her, inhaling her. And God, maybe they were different people than they had been but this . . . this was the same. This hunger for each other, the intensity with which their bodies reacted in each other’s presence. It was the same, if not magnified.

As his hands lowered down her neck, she wondered what else Cal could do now that he was all man. Those strong arms, those thick legs. How would he fuck? She could think dirty thoughts about him now, because his hands were doing dirty things to her body.

Those palms were moving over the swell of her breasts, and a thumb flicked her left nipple through the thin material of her dress and bra. She whimpered and rolled her hips, feeling the hard heat of him encased in denim between her legs.

She could still turn Cal on. She could still make him hard. It was empowering.

He broke the kiss and leaned back, watching his hands as they skimmed her ribs, spanned her waist, and then gripped her hips.

She liked watching him look at her, his eyes full of mercury heat. His fingers dug into her, and he gently guided her, rubbing her onto himself. His jeans were rough on the skin of her thighs, and the seam was chafing the skin raw on the inside of her knees, but she didn’t care. She dug her fingers into his chest further, using her nails, because if she was going to have marks from this, then he’d have them too.

He licked his lips, his eyes still on his lap. “Lift up your dress, Jenna.”

Her breath left her lungs on a whoosh. His voice was low and firm and so confident. This was what he’d been lacking when they were teenagers and frankly, this was what every man after him had been lacking too.

Cal knew what he wanted and wasn’t ashamed to ask for it. Her nipples hardened, and she was sure he could see them through her dress. She was wet, but even if she hadn’t been astride him, she would have been wet just from those words.

She uncurled her nails from his chest and lowered her hands. She placed her palms on her knees and then slowly ran them up her legs. She had goose bumps, not because she was cold but because every single inch of her body was hypersensitive to Cal’s gaze, his touch.

He was watching her hands and when they reached the edge of her dress, he sucked in a breath.

She paused and bit her lip.

His tilted his head to the side and lifted his gaze to her. “Show me.”

She curled her fingers around the hem as she worried her lip between her teeth. He was fully clothed, and she was straddling him, about to lift up her dress. His command pulled at something inside of her to obey, and so she did, skimming that light fabric up her thighs. He dropped his hands to her knees and watched his lap as she pulled up, up until the lower half of her dress was balled up at her waist.

She was wearing a white lace thong. Anything else might have been visible through her dress. Without her dress covering it, the air hit the damp fabric, and she moaned.

Cal didn’t move. He was staring at her, at the small scrap of lace that covered her. The muscles in his jaw bulged as he flexed them, and his thumbs dug into the soft skin of her inner thighs.

He swallowed and licked his lips, leaving them parted. His hands began to move, following the same path hers had moments before. He stopped when his thumbs dipped into the crease where her legs met her body.

She tried to keep her breathing steady, but not knowing what he’d do next was driving her crazy. Her chest was rising and falling with her heaving breaths, and she wanted to scream, until he lifted his right hand and ran the backs of his fingers between her legs.

She shuddered at the touch. She was wet and swollen and so sensitive, she didn’t think it would take much to set her off.

He leaned his head back on the headrest and finally, his gaze met hers. Not breaking eye contact, he moved his thumb and pressed it right to the damp fabric. She sucked in a breath. He moved it, questing, reading the cues in her body, the shifts in her hips until he hit just. The. Right. Spot.

“I want to see you get off,” he said. Every word, every touch was full of intent. With one hand firmly on her hip and the other doing crazy things to her clit, he urged her to ride his lap. She let her dress go, and it stayed bunched around her waist as she clutched his arms. He watched her, the cords in his neck straining, the muscles in his shoulders bulging.

“You still get this wet for me?” His voice came through clenched teeth.

“What does it feel like?” she gasped.

“Feels like my Sunshine.”

She threw her head back, the ends of her hair tickling the top of her bare ass. She didn’t care where she was; she didn’t care what this meant. All she knew was that Cal’s hands were on her again, his voice in her ear, his scent in her nostrils. She wanted him, and she wanted this moment more than her next breath.