Dirty Money

B P: So let me be blunt.

B P: I’ve been thinking about you all night. I want you to come over. I want to taste you again.

I wait for those three little dots to start fluttering up on my screen again while she figures out her answer. To my surprise, my phone buzzes with an incoming call. Ivy. Hot damn. I pick up, doing my best to sound all lazy and bored, when all I really want to do is grin with delight. “Hello.”

“You’re serious?” Her voice is soft. “You want me to come over?”

“I am absolutely serious.”

“Why?”

“Why?” I repeat, amused. “Why do I want you to come over? Because you’re smoking hot and just fondling your panties ain’t doing enough for me? Because I’ve had the taste of you on my lips all day and I’m hungry for more? Because I like your smile, and your laugh, and I like that little noise you make when you come even more. Because—”

“Okay.” Her voice is so low and breathless that I almost think I’m imagining it.

“Okay?”

“Yes. I’ll . . . come over.”

“I’m not pushin’ ya too hard, am I?” She still sounds a little reluctant to my ears. “Because I only want this if you want me, too. It ain’t any fun otherwise—”

“Quit talking, Boone, before I lose my bravado.” Now she just sounds exasperated.

I laugh then. She ain’t turned off, she’s just shy. “I’m shuttin’ up.”

There’s a breathless little chuckle on her end, and then I hear the sound of rustling. “I’m getting a pen and paper. Give me your address.”

I glance around my trailer. “I feel obligated to warn you that this ain’t a palace.”

“I know that. That’s why I’m trying to sell you a palace,” she teases.

“I’m serious, Ivy. It’s a trailer. Kinda a shit show of a trailer, to boot. Lots of girls don’t like that sort of thing.” I’ve found that out many a time. Girls are real hot to go back to your place with you until they find out it’s on wheels. Then they find a real quick reason to leave. I gaze around at my place, trying to see it in her eyes. It’s messy, but it ain’t falling down too much. I can straighten up a bit before she arrives and make it suitable for her if she can get past the whole “trailer” part.

“I don’t care that it’s a trailer, Boone.” The laughter is gone from her voice. “Do you really think I’m that much of a snob? I happen to—” She hesitates and then sighs. “Actually, never mind. I just want you to know I really don’t care if you’re living in a cardboard box, Boone. We’re getting you a big impressive house just like you wanted, and even if you wanted to stay there, your house doesn’t change who you are.”

She’s a real peach, defending my shitty digs. I like this girl more and more every day. “You are real sweet, Ivy. But you know, if I wanted to stay here, that means you can’t sell me some fancy house—”

“Which is why I’m going to come over there before you change your mind.”

“Lies,” I drawl. “You just want your pussy licked again.”

She makes an outraged sound. Again, she’s fussin’ but she ain’t denying things. I love that I’ve figured her out. I give her my address and she promises to be over shortly.

Time to clean up around here and find where I stashed those condoms. Not that it matters too much if I have them or not.

Long as I get her off, I’m good.

Chapter Eight

Ivy

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I say aloud to the empty car. “Tell me I’m crazy.” It’s silent, of course. Silent, but judging me.

My Geo Metro putters down the gravel road toward Boone’s trailer. I thought long and hard about rushing to the office and borrowing one of the Town Cars for tonight, but ultimately opted against it. I can’t afford to lose my job just because I’m horny, and I’d definitely be in trouble if I got caught taking one of the work cars after hours. So I have a story planned—this will be my sister’s car, and mine is in the shop getting the tires rotated. Or something. My false veneer of Elegant Ivy Smithfield will be retained despite this impromptu makeout session at his place.

And really, I shouldn’t be heading over. I absolutely should not. But it’s like I’ve lost all impulse control when it comes to this man. The moment he starts talking dirty to me via text, my hand goes into my panties. And when he suggests I come over?

How can I possibly say no?

Lucky for me, Wynonna is out with friends and won’t be back tonight. I left a note just in case she comes home early, but it’s almost too easy to do this. Shouldn’t it be harder to have an illicit relationship with a guy? A few roadblocks to at least give me pause? Instead, I’m shucking clothes the moment I hang up the phone and take a quick shower. I shave everything, just in case. Everything. By the time I step out of the shower, my pussy is completely bare and I’m feeling edgy and aroused, because I want to see Boone’s reaction when he notices what I’ve done.

It feels deliciously naughty and utterly scandalous as I slip into a pair of silky panties. They feel completely different now that I’m bare, and I’m getting turned on already. I put on a matching silky bra and decide to wear one of my work suits with my highest pair of heels, since Boone seems to find them sexy. My wet hair goes into a quick updo and then I’m ready.

Ready to go sleep with my client. My biggest client. The one that could turn my floundering career around.

I inwardly wince because when I put it like that, it sounds so stupid to go and chase after him. Wynonna would think I’m crazy. My bosses would think I’m a slut.

But if I don’t go, Boone is going to think I’m being a chicken.

For some reason that’s what decides me. Boone’s opinion is important to me, and so I button my suit jacket (with no silk tank top underneath so there’s miles of cleavage) and grab my purse.

Maybe it’s because I’ve given up so much of my life for the last few years for Wynonna that I’m doing this wild, impulsive thing for myself. It can’t be that I’m addicted to a man I just met a few days ago . . . can it? I think for a moment and then grab extra toiletries and my haircutting scissors from the counter and shove them into my purse. I’ve become an expert on trimming both my hair and Wynonna’s because we can’t afford to go to the salon ourselves. I wonder what Boone will look like if that thick mess of hair on his head is trimmed down a little.

Not the beard, though. After today? The beard can stay. And I squirm thinking about it tickling my inner thighs again.

I expect to be full of anxiety and doubt as I drive over to Boone’s place, my phone shouting out directions that lead me further and further away from the heart of San Antonio and out into the less-crowded countryside. For some reason, though, I’m not second-guessing myself. I’m into Boone. I’m an adult. If I want to sleep with the man, I should. I should let him lick every inch of me and not give it a second thought. I’m in my twenties. I shouldn’t be a virgin who does nothing but work and sleep. I should be able to go out and have a good time every now and then.

And, okay, if my good time consists of going over to some guy’s trailer so he can kiss my girly bits again? I’m fine with this. I’ll think of this as Netflix and chill . . . minus the Netflix.

I’m not surprised that the road out to Boone’s place isn’t paved and turns into dirt and gravel. The road going toward my own trailer is just like this, though this one doesn’t have nearly as many potholes. The trees are thick out here, and I pass a NO TRESPASSING sign that has a bullet hole in one corner. Lovely. Down the road a bit further are a few trailers, though. I count five of them, staggered apart from each other, and I’m a little surprised. Of course, Boone did say he had four brothers.

Still, this leaves me with a dilemma as to which one is his place.

I park the car in the middle of the road and pull out my phone.

Ivy: You want to tell me which trailer is yours? Or do I just give your brothers an eyeful until I find you?

Someone charges out the door of the trailer in the back, and then gestures at my car. I recognize the trucker cap and the broad shoulders even though his face is shadowed. It must be Boone. I pull the car forward and park in front of the trailer, and then quickly hop out.

“Before you can say anything,” I call as I shut the door. “Mine is in the shop. This is Wynonna’s.”

He gazes down at the car and then shrugs. “Didn’t really notice.”

Didn’t notice? How can he not? The thing putters like it’s a motorboat. The license plate is held on to the trunk with masking tape and there’s no bumper to speak of. It looks like a big outdated egg. “All right.”

I shoulder my bag and do my best sexy saunter up the wooden steps of his trailer. He’s silent and there’s no self-assured smirk on his face like he normally wears, which makes me curious. Is he as full of insecurity at the moment as I am? That’s surprising. It always feels like there’s nothing that rattles Boone. Nothing at all.

When I get to the top of the stairs, he opens the screen door and invites me in.

I put a hand on his chest before I go inside, because his silence is bothering me. “Are you all right?”

He nods, his gaze moving up and down over my body. “Just think you deserve better than hanging out in a trailer, that’s all.”

Aw, that’s sweet. I laugh. “You’d be surprised. And it’s fine. Let’s go in.”

The interior of the trailer is very bachelor. There’s video games scattered on tables, a Texas flag hanging over one wall that counts as decor, and an enormous television over by the tattered sofa. The carpet is old and has probably seen better days, but given that I’ve seen Boone covered in grime? I’m kind of pleased that his trailer is just shabby and not a pit. “Can I have a drink?” I ask as I set my purse down on the back of the couch. I’m nervous and it’ll give me something to do with my hands.