Dirty Love (Dirty Girl Duet #2)(2)

He lied. About everything. The words tumble through my brain on repeat. I gave him the most vulnerable parts of me, and he’s never given me the truth. About anything.

Every repetition is another fist to the gut. And if I’m being honest—maybe to my heart.

The static grows louder in my head, drowning out the shouting in the bedroom as I let Creighton lead me, one foot in front of the other, out the door of the beach house.

So much for fantasies becoming real.





“Get out of my f*cking way.” If this slick f*ck doesn’t step back right now, I’m going to knock his head off his shoulders. Greer just walked out the door, looking half-drunk from the bullshit she was fed.

I need to get to her. Need to explain. It wasn’t all a lie. She’s only getting half the story—the half they want her to hear—and now this prick is blocking my path from the bedroom.

I don’t hesitate to swing. What shocks me is how quickly he dodges the blow—like a seasoned boxer. What surprises me even more is the fist that flies toward my jaw and connects.

The burst of pain doesn’t register because everything is already black.





Cav didn’t even try to follow me.

It’s just one more thought that joins those on shuffle in my brain as we reach cruising altitude and the jet’s Wi-Fi kicks in. The static has died down, and now I feel . . . empty. Hurt. And the hurt is filling in the emptiness faster than I expected.

After digging into the bag of clothes Creighton stashed in the bedroom at the back of the jet, I change out of the dress I wore last night. The dress I wore before I gave up that last slip of my virginity . . . to a man who lied to me from the day we met.

Great judgment, Greer.

I mentally apologize to the anonymous owner of the dress as I stuff it into the tiny garbage can of the jet’s bathroom. I wish I could shed all of the hurt so easily. But no, there’s only one solution for that—alcohol.

I push open the door from the private bedroom to the main cabin where Creighton and Cannon are seated across from each other in wide tan leather seats. Each of Creighton’s jets seems to be nicer than the last, but I’m not in the mood to appreciate the well-appointed interior with its rich leather, dark wood, and brushed silver accents. No, I’m in the mood to appreciate the liquor cabinet.

Both men watch me as I walk directly to it. I ignore Cannon’s question about whether I need anything.

The only thing I need is in my hand. A fifth of Grey Goose. I don’t even need a glass. On a whim, I grab a can of cranberry juice to chase it with, not to mix.

“Is that really a good idea?” Creighton asks, his tone surprisingly condescension-free.

“It’s the only idea I have right now. Drinking until I pass out and forget the last couple of weeks sounds perfect.”

Creighton doesn’t object.

“I grabbed your purse too, on the way out,” Cannon says, jerking his head toward where my bag sits tucked under a seat.

With my free fingers, I snag that too. “Awesome.”

I lock myself back into the cabin and turn on my phone. After it didn’t work the first few days in Belize, I decided to free myself from constantly checking it and decided to enjoy being disconnected by turning it off. My battery is still at sixty-seven percent, which is plenty for my next task.

The Wi-Fi signal is strong as I log on to my Skype account. Unannounced Skype calls are the devil’s work; you just don’t do that to a girl. But Banner will have to forgive me because this is a serious situation. I don’t know what time zone I’m in, but I decide to risk it anyway by tapping on her name.

Moments later, my best friend’s face fills the screen. “Where the hell have you been? And if I weren’t so damn worried about you, I would’ve made you call back in five minutes when I didn’t look like a survivor of the zombie apocalypse.”

Banner’s hair is wild, sticking out in all directions. Eye makeup that must not have come off completely last night is smudged under her lower lashes. I don’t even know what day it is.

“Did I wake you?”

“Nah, I’m laying here wishing I could quit my job and run away with the circus. I hear those strongmen can deliver quite the pounding.”

Against all odds, a laugh bubbles up inside me. This is exactly what I need—my best friend and some booze.

I situate my phone against the stack of pillows on the bed and hold up the bottle of vodka in front of the screen.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?” My voice is faux cheerful, and tears gather at the corners of my eyes.

Banner doesn’t miss a thing. She shoves up in bed and shakes her finger at the camera.

“If he so much as hurt one hair on your head—or anywhere else you inadvisably have hair—I’m gonna kill him.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk about it. I want to get hammered and I need my best friend. We gotta go shot for shot or I’m never going to get enough down to forget this.”

Banner’s face crumples. “It was that bad?”

I nod.

“I’m sorry, babe. Let me get my supplies and I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

The picture on my screen bounces as Banner carries the phone with her to the kitchen. Her bright red silk nightgown obscures the picture until she sets the phone up against something on her kitchen table.