So Trashy (Bad Boy Next Door Book 2)(6)

Trudi gasps. She stomps down the stairs, jaw set, eyes narrowed. “She threatened me. I’m done here. I’ll meet you at your grandparents’, Buck. Thank you, Mrs. Dubois, we appreciate your hospitality. Good day.”

“Well, her panties crawled up her crack, didn’t they?” Delores winks.

“Apparently.”

Three seconds later, Lou rushes down the steps, not slowing until she’s two feet from me. Close enough to stir my cock. Close enough to grab, but I don’t.

“You make sure they trash any film they have me on. I don’t have any desire to show up on television. You got me?”

I draw a deep breath, taking in her scent. Magnolias and—vanilla? Whatever it is, it’s beautiful. I cross my arms over my bare chest, studying her. She’s not changed much. Her body is more defined, maybe, but not unrecognizable. My body sure enough recognizes her.

Her eyebrows arch. “You got me, Wylder?”

“Not yet. But soon.”

Her mouth drops open a fraction of an inch. She snaps her jaw closed, and her eyes narrow.

I’m not sure what’s gotten into me, but I might like it. “I’ll see you around, Lou.”

I toss her a wink and throw my wet shirt over my shoulder, sauntering off, formulating a plan.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket.

Shit. Arianne.

I’ve got more pussy than I can shake my dick at. Why the fuck did I bother banging this one more than once? Because, it was slim pickings on location in remote parts of Italy. Turned out to be nothing but trouble. And, it’s a pot of trouble I can’t seem to un-brew.

I swipe my finger over the screen. “What do you want?”

“God, Buck. Don’t you ever call?” Her voice grates on my eardrum.

“We’re not an actual couple, Arianne. I thought we established that.”

“Your pool guy didn’t show up yesterday. There’s all this stuff floating on the water. I can’t even get in. And Gretchen didn’t fold my laundry the way I showed her. I swear that girl is dense. The worst domestic help I’ve ever encountered. And—”

What the hell? “Hold the fuck up. You were supposed to be gone by last Sunday. What the hell are you still doing at my place?”

“Things came up. I haven’t found an apartment yet.”

I close my eyes, massaging the crease forming between my brows. “Arianne, I’ve been gone for the last eight fucking weeks. Enough is enough.”

“Now, Bucky, you know you miss me. I’d hate to have to tell Daddy you were ugly to me.”

She tires me. No piece of ass is worth this shit.

“Look, Arianne, I have to go. Find another place to crash, would ya?”

I slide my finger across the screen. End call.

I only wish it meant it was the last I’d hear from Arianne McDowell, though I have my doubts.





FOUR





I lay with my arm over my eyes. Sleep refuses to come. I toss, turn, and flip from stomach to back, and over again.

No good.

I can’t clear my mind of the image of Buck with no shirt, his chest all hard muscle and dripping wet, with water running in rivulets over his washboard abs. It’s so unfair. I come home and he has to show up. It’s like the universe conspires against my peace of mind.

Throwing the covers off, I climb out of bed. I tiptoe through the kitchen, cringing when the floorboards squeak. I’m careful to shut the door as quietly as I can as I sneak outside.

The trees block the stars, but the breeze is nice. This is when I need to weed the flower beds—when it’s dark out and not so fucking miserably hot.

The house is built on stilts to avoid flood waters, so parking and storage are beneath the living quarters. I wade through the piles of junk until I find the door to the storage room. I pull the chain to turn on the single, naked light bulb. I twist my hair up into a wild knot, securing it with a zip tie from the rusty can on the floor. Taking a lantern, my gloves, and the spade from the shelf, I throw them into the half broke-down wheelbarrow. I push it out to the place where I stopped.

The moon shines through the pines in patches of light, the breeze moving the spotty nightshade in an eerie dance. I rustle the weeds and scare away any snakes or creepy crawlies. I get to my knees and continue working where I left off before.

I hack away at the base of a particularly stubborn dandelion-on-steroids when a twig crunches behind me. I jump to my feet and lurch around, hands up, ready to defend myself.

A dark figure leans against the trunk of the hundred-year-old oak.

“You out here burying a body, digging in the dirt like that in the middle of the night?” His deep voice calls forth memories I’ve tried to lock away.

I cock my head. “Yours is the only body I’d like to bury. And it’s not nice to sneak up on people.”