DIRTY TALKER Read online

  Ugh.

  Calling Nettie isn’t going to happen. I’m too embarrassed. Besides, I already know she’d tell me to cancel the lunch and wedding via text. Block his number and put it out of my mind. But there’s just one problem. While I don’t remember Dateless’s name, I do remember that he seemed like a pretty decent guy. And more than that, I remember how it felt yesterday opening my phone and being blindsided.

  The least I can do is show up and tell him to his face.

  Wade

  “Grady, isn’t that the chick you hooked up with last night?” Axel Erikson juts his chin toward the buttoned-up brunette peering around the bar at the lunchtime crowd.

  It’s summer, off-season, and while the Five Hole is a hockey bar through and through, this time of year it’s a pretty mellow hangout and serves a spectacular club. Plus, it’s about a five-minute walk from Wagner Arena and six from my place.

  I straighten, easing off my stool.

  “We didn’t hook up. But that’s her.” And truth? I’m relieved. I wasn’t sure she’d show.

  Axe grunts. “Wouldn’t have pegged her for a bunny.”

  Huh?

  Harlow’s already walked over to the bar where O’Dwyer, another teammate, has been swiping on Tinder for the last half hour.

  “She’s not.” This girl wasn’t working for a chance to stamp another name on her Slayers bingo card. She didn’t know which sport we played, got the team name wrong twice. She didn’t have the skintight clothing or fuck-me hair, and the way she looked at me when the guys cleared out and it was just the two of us talking? The words Not Interested don’t begin to cover it.

  My ego flinches at the memory of her emphatic assurance that she wasn’t into me. At all. Not even a little bit.

  I had to stop her after those pretty brown eyes ran over me in a slow appraisal and she stated that whole “body business” I had going wasn’t her thing.

  Got it. All six times she’d said it.

  And while a square kick to the ego is never fun—for the purpose of this trip to my hometown for my brother’s wedding? It works that Harlow isn’t into me.

  At all.

  Thing is, with the ultra-conservative outfit she’s rocking, I’m surprised when O’Dwyer pats the stool beside him.

  Please. Like she’d ever sit down with that guy.

  Time to go rescue my fake date.

  “Dude, she just sat down.”

  I swallow, not appreciating Axel’s cackle one bit. “I see that.”

  But I don’t get it.

  O’Dwyer’s the worst. Not only did he give up the puck that cost us our playoff spot this year, but the guy’s a douche. Meets and exceeds every stereotype about professional athletes there is. Acts like he’s God’s gift, and the way he treats women—

  Harlow’s pretty smile falters. The skin between her brows pulls together like something isn’t quite right.

  “No, fucking way,” Axel mutters.

  “Yeah, I see it too.”

  “She doesn’t know which player she hooked up with last night.” He turns to me, eyes narrowing. “How drunk was she?”

  My shoulders slump. More than I thought. “And we didn’t hook up.”

  Harlow

  Okay, there’s no way this is the guy from last night.

  When I walked in, the first thing I noticed was the bulk and the facial hair. Except that’s as far as recognition went. I figured maybe I’d been even more tipsy than I realized though, because his reaction to my approach was familiar. His smile knowing. His welcome immediate, confident, and smooth… like we were old friends.

  But no way is this Dateless.

  Not even a barrel of bourbon would have been enough for me to agree to share a cab with this guy, let alone ten days in his hometown.

  Time to get out. Climbing off my stool, I force a quick smile. “Well, it was nice talking with you.”

  Whatever-his-name-is leans back, letting his eyes roll over me in a perusal so slow and obvious I wonder if it’s possible to catch an STD from a look alone.

  “Nah, you don’t have to take off. Whatcha thinkin’, upstairs?”

  I blink. “Excuse me?”

  “Classy girl like you, figured you wouldn’t be into the bathroom. But I’m not going back to your place for a nooner unless I can bring a friend. You don’t seem the type?”

  Wow, that was definitely a question. “No, but… umm… thank you?”

  Taking a hurried step back, I come up short as a wide palm meets the small of my back. My breath catches, and before I even turn to check, I know. It’s him.

  “Hey, Harlow, sorry to keep you waiting.”

  I turn toward that warm, rumbling voice tinged with amusement, expecting— I don’t even know. But not this.

  Dateless… Heck, I don’t remember his physical appearance being the thing that stood out about him most. I’d thought he seemed like a guy in a pinch. Genuinely nice. Fun. But this man, with his crystal blue eyes and built-tough body, is crazy good-looking. His hair is neatly cut and nearly as dark as mine. And while normally I’m not a fan of facial hair, the contrast of his close-trimmed beard over that rugged square jaw is… hot.

  And so not what I go for.

  Really.

  Dateless crooks his finger beneath my chin, not so subtly reminding me to close my mouth.

  Oh my God, this guy just had to tell me to close my mouth!

  And while it seems like that might be the kind of mortifying a girl doesn’t come back from, somehow his gruff laugh takes the sting out completely.

  “I am never drinking another Snowflake Martini again.” And then I’m laughing too, because this whole situation is ludicrous.

  “Ehh, maybe just one less next time?”

  Whoa, and that wink and smile? That explains a lot about last night.

  I’ve completely forgotten about the guy from the bar until he wraps a hand around my arm. “Grady, get the fuck out of here with your pickup bullshit. She came on to me first.”

  And here’s the thing. While there’s something innately soothing and pleasant about this Grady that draws me in, I don’t like having the bar guy’s hand on me at all.

  “Hands off, O’Dwyer,” Grady growls, his voice lethally low.

  The offending hand is gone before my next heartbeat.

  “Bro, don’t be a douche. Seriously. She’s the one—”

  “It was an honest mistake,” I cut in, cheeks flaming. I’d really been hoping to avoid owning up to not knowing my date’s name.

  “She thought you were me. We’ve got a date.”

  O’Dwyer’s eyes cut to me, and he mutters, “Bullshit.” But he turns back in his seat and picks up his phone.

  And then it’s just me and Grady, who isn’t really my date or even my fake date because I’m about to break things off before this madness goes any further.

  This is going to be awkward.

  “Want to grab a seat?” he asks, nodding toward the back of the bar where there’s a second room. “It’s more private. Quieter too. We can get a table and—”

  “Not… upstairs?” I have to ask.

  He coughs, doing a double take. Then his brows pull forward and his eyes narrow on O’Dwyer back at the bar before returning to me. “Um… no.”

  Tension slips from my shoulders and I nod. “A table would be great.”

  Shaking his head, he leads the way.

  The back room is mostly empty, and he’s right, quieter too. When we’re seated, I open my mouth, but he speaks first. “So, I’m Wade Grady. Kind of got the feeling you might not have remembered.”

  “I am so sorry, Wade,” I start, leaning forward over the square table. “Honestly, I never drink like that, and—”

  “Yeah, you might have mentioned that last night.”

  A server breezes by the table, and Wade checks with me before ordering us two iced teas.

  This guy knows that I like mine with lemon and two sugars, and I didn’t even remember his name. I’m the worst.r />
  He’s giving me a smile as genuine as I’ve ever seen. “But hey, don’t sweat it. I mean so long as you remember my name—which is Wade—when you meet my mom, right?”

  Ugh. It takes everything I have not to squirm in my seat.

  “So actually, about that.” I put some steel into my spine. “This isn’t going to work.”

  His easy smile stays where it is, but for a blink, there’s a tension around his eyes and then it’s gone.

  “No?” He sounds casual, calm, as he folds those big arms over the table between us and leans in. But this isn’t what he wanted to hear.

  I take a breath. “I got carried away last night. It had been a… bad day. And we were having a lot of fun. I just got caught up in it.”

  “We were. But you do remember we didn’t fool around, right?”

  “No, I know.” I meet his eyes again. Chicken out and glance away. “You strike me as a decent guy. Really. But last night was an anomaly. I can’t go home with you. Please understand, this is about me. Not you.”

  “I don’t know. Seems like some of it has to be about me.”

  His brow arches, tugging the corner of one side of his mouth up with it.

  Geez, he’s got a really nice mouth.

  “No, really, it isn’t.” I was being rash. Reckless. “My behavior was out of character, and I feel terrible. I know you were hoping to find someone to help you out, but as much fun as we had last night—” And it was fun, with every second I spend across from this man, more of the night comes into focus—the surprisingly easy conversation, the jokes, the laughter. The logic that I typically apply to every situation, though? Not so much. “I wasn’t thinking clearly and I shouldn’t have volunteered. I’m sorry.”

  Wade leans back, blowing out an exaggerated breath. “See. I was just about to let you off easy, but”—he gives me a meaningful look that somehow tickles more of that unexpected laughter from me—“then you mentioned how much fun we had. Again. That’s twice inside of five minutes. And Harlow, that sounds like the kind of fun we shouldn’t bench quite so fast.”

  I cock my head, unable to resist. “Oh really?”

  A nod. “Really. I get it. You’re the responsible one with the goals and priorities. You’re the girl who doesn’t say yes. Ever. I remember. And if anyone can relate to having career goals prioritized above all else, it’s me.”

  I blink, my heart doing an uncomfortable skip hearing him voice my thoughts back to me. Heat spills into my cheeks. I can’t believe I told him that stuff.

  But really, it isn’t any more shocking than agreeing to be his fake girlfriend.

  “Here’s the thing, though. At some point, you need to give yourself a break. Even if it’s just a short one.” He leans his forearms on the table, and my brain sort of short-circuits seeing his pale blue oxford strain around his biceps.

  I’ve seriously never seen arms like that before.

  “Come on, what could be better than a little fun that just happens to coincide with a convenient opening in your schedule when you have no other plans, obligations, or expectations you’re trying to meet? It’s perfect.”

  “Wade—” I pause, holding up a hand. “O’Dwyer called you Grady. Which do you prefer?”

  Just keeping things polite, respectful, and professional.

  Again with that smile. “My teammates call me Grady. But you? Wade, please.”

  A shiver runs through me. Time to rip off the bandage.

  “Wade, I’m very sorry, but I’m not spending a week with a man I’ve barely met… no matter how much fun he is.”

  He nods. Watches me from beneath a criminally thick fringe of lashes.

  And then the corner of his mouth curves.

  Harlow

  Ninety minutes later, I’m parked at Nettie’s kitchen table, staring into her wide eyes still smudged with last night’s makeup.

  “Wait, what?” she croaks, but quietly since Frank is talking on the phone in the other room. “You said yes? Harlow, you don’t ever say yes. To anything. No drinks with the department on Friday after work. No softball in the summer. I only got you to come out last night by threatening to bring the party to your place if you didn’t… You can’t say yes to a week with some stranger.”

  Which is exactly what I’d been thinking when I told him no at lunch. But then he’d started talking and… next thing, I was asking what to pack.

  “This isn’t some strange guy,” I defend with more gusto than the situation probably merits. Definitely. “He’s one of your clients. A pro-athlete on… one of Chicago’s favorite teams.”

  She blinks. “Jesus, Harlow. It’s hockey. He plays hockey for the Chicago Slayers. He’s a forward with a contract up for renegotiation this month. And he’s not my client. He works with Leo.”

  Hockey. Right.

  There it is.

  “Even better. A contract means he needs to keep his nose clean.” Why am I arguing this?

  “Well, yes,” she agrees slowly. “He does.”

  “See, he’s harmless.”

  Nettie scoffs. “Harmless?” Her thumbs fly over her phone and she sits back. “What is this guy, six-two, 200 pounds?” She holds up a picture of Wade on the ice, a scowl cut through every feature. “Makes his living fighting it out for a puck and slamming other six-two, 200-pound dudes into the boards to do it. Harmless isn’t really the first thing I think of.”

  I straighten in my seat, pushing my mug an inch to the right. I hadn’t really thought of it that way. But on an instinctual level, I just don’t think this guy is trouble.

  He seems like fun. And like he needs a favor, bad.

  Besides, “If I’m wrong and Wade turns out to be a jerk, then… favor revoked. I’ll leave.”

  Her eyes narrow and she reaches for her coffee. “Are you serious right now?”

  I take a breath and shake my head. “I know this is crazy. I know it’s not me. But God, Nettie, I’m just so sick of weighing every choice I make against how it might impact my future. Whether it aligns with my goals. If it’s sending the right message to the right people.” What my father will think… “I’m so sick of always doing the right thing and never seeing the results I’m waiting for.”

  “It’s just a matter of time before Junior fucks up. Sorry. But PHR Bank and Trust is going to want you back in that position.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want to wish that. And I can’t count on it. But— Nettie, I’m just tired. I’m exhausted from being me, and I guess a weeklong vacation of pretending to be someone else feels like exactly what I need.”

  She clucks her tongue. “Are you going to tell your dad?”

  I shift uncomfortably. “If he asks.”

  Nettie has the good grace not to point out he won’t.

  Chapter 3

  Harlow

  The men I date fit a certain mold.

  They went to the right schools, have the right professions, know who my father is, and are almost as careful weighing the risk-to-reward ratio in asking me out as I am in who I say yes to.

  I never have gorgeous men pressing me for inappropriate favors like this, and it’s kind of exciting. Maybe that’s why, against all logic, Thursday morning I’m seated at one of the Toasty Bean’s sidewalk tables, waiting on Wade Grady to pick me up.

  I’ve spent the last four days on the brink of calling the whole thing off. But then I’d get a text, email, or call from Wade showering me with “fun facts” and “miscellaneous tedium”—he lost his first tooth in a fistfight with his cousin and has to take an allergy pill when he bales hay—and I’d end up asking half a dozen more questions, most of the time laughing so hard at the answers I couldn’t catch my breath. And then for the next few hours getting caught up in the idea of having ten days with this guy who’s promising me fun in exchange for a fake serious relationship.

  Only now, as Wade pulls up in one of those oversized white pickups, I’m pretty sure this whole thing is crazy. But what I can’t understand is why I’m going throug
h with it anyway.

  “Hey, Good Girl,” he calls from over the roof, hopping out to round the beast.

  I catch the server’s eye and tuck a few bills under my mug as Wade jogs up. He pulls one of my bags from beneath the table, grabbing the other where it rests against the geranium planter that sections off the seating. This is the first time I’ve seen him since our lunch and he’s wearing faded Levi’s and a T-shirt with a small John Deere logo on the front that smacks of country boy—though he swears he’s more small-town than country—and makes me think the sundress I picked for today strikes the right balance of casual and cute to match.

  “Good Girl?” I ask, trying not to get distracted by how the muscles through his chest and arms flex as he throws the strap over his shoulder.

  “If the shoe fits.” He nods down to the legal pad I’m tucking into the side of my tote. “Ten to one… that’s filled with notes about me and you were studying.”

  So, I wasn’t the only one paying attention this week. “Of course, I was studying. I’m not the kind of person who walks into a test without being completely prepared. What do you want to know? Enderson, population 7023. Home of the Tigers. Birthplace of Carl Hammond Fossy, artist, John William Paulette, inventor, and one Wade Earnest Grady—”

  His bark of laughter has me grinning. “Wikipedia? Damn, you’re serious about your research.”

  “Always.”

  I follow him to the truck where Wade loads my bags into the backseat and then puts a wide hand out to help me up into the passenger seat.

  Once I’m in, he braces an arm at either side of the open door and squints into the midmorning sun. “Gotta admit, I wasn’t sure you’d go through with it.”

  I give up a guilty sigh. “Neither was I.”

  He nods. “Well, I’m glad you did.” He closes me in and jogs around the hood before climbing in himself. “This is my baby brother’s wedding, and I was dreading it. I’ve been so focused on the bullshit I was sure I was going to have to face, I didn’t think I’d be able to enjoy a minute of it. But now? The only thing I’m worrying about is whether my mom made cookies for me.”