Dirty Love (Dirty Girl Duet #2)(26)

I swallow, my grip on the phone turning sweaty as I wait.

“Are you staying in California?”

I release the breath I was holding. He’s relenting. Well, at least as much as Creighton ever relents.

“For a little while, at least.”

“Say the word and I’ll have a jet waiting on the tarmac for you—day or night.”

“I’m not going to need it.”

A long sigh comes through the phone, but the tail end sounds more like a growl. “You better not, because I don’t care if I share blood with him. I will kill him if he hurts you.”

His death threat brings a smile to my face. This is the brother who wants the best for me, even when he doesn’t agree with what that is.

“No one’s going down for murder in this family, Crey.”

“I wouldn’t get caught.”

“I know you wouldn’t.”

And with that, we say our good-byes and hang up. I nod my head and speak to the empty office.

“That went better than expected.”

Next, I lift the phone to dial Banner. She answers on the first ring.

“This better be my best bitch telling me what the hell happened to you!”

“It’s me.”

Banner sounds like she doesn’t even take a breath. “I’ve been freaking out since you sent me that text. And the person who answered my reply was not you.”

“Crap. Sorry about that. I . . . after I got back to Holly’s grandma’s house, things sorta took an unexpected turn.”

“Tell me everything. Now.”

“Cav kidnapped me.”

“Damn, that sounds hot. Was it hot?”

“Once I realized I wasn’t going to be spending the rest of my reproductive life in a harem wearing a Princess Jasmine costume? And after I got over wanting to murder Cav?” I pause to consider. “Maybe a little.”

“No shit. Adding to my sexual bucket list.” Banner puts me on speaker, and I hear shuffling before the sound of scribbles.

“You have a sexual bucket list? And you keep it updated?” I’m not sure which surprises me more.

“Damn right I do. Goals only become real possibilities once you write them down. I use the SMART goal method. Specific, measurable, achievable, results-driven, and time-bound.” Banner rattles it off so easily.

It’s times like this when I remember my nut job of a best friend has crazy-smart scientists for parents who had her admitted to Mensa after her first qualifying IQ test. I think we were in elementary school. Crazy-smart runs in the family.

And this is just one more example of good intelligence being used for all the wrong reasons. Or maybe she’s smarter than all of us.

“Have I told you lately that I love you?”

“No, but if you sing that song to me, I’m going to reach through this phone and bitch slap you.”

I hum a few bars, and she interrupts.

“Has he f*cked you on the Hollywood sign yet? Is he going to?”

“Oh my God, don’t tell me that’s on your list.”

I press my ear closer to the phone to hear what sounds like the tapping of a pen on paper. “No, but I’ll consider it. I think there’s a trespassing issue.”

I snort. “Says the girl who broke into the school to have pool sex during spring break when we were seventeen.”

“Unfair! There was tequila involved. I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

I recall the night I placed the ad. Tequila is a sneaky devil. “Fair enough. So tell me, what did Logan say when you texted him back? He’s a super-cool guy.”

Silence hangs on the line for several beats. “Super-cool as in he needs a good personality to redeem him from being an overall-wearing country hick with a beer belly, or super-cool like he’s a backwoods Ken doll?”

I’m used to Banner’s random questions, so this one doesn’t throw me much. “Definitely not a Ken doll. But not a GI Joe either. He’d be an action figure all his own. You can tell he hasn’t been out of the military long. The buzz cut is grown out to shaggy, but he’s got that posture you can’t miss. Probably because he’s like six three and his shoulders are as wide as Cav’s.”

“Sounds like he’s a brick shithouse. What about his eyes? Is he stubbly? Does he wear all camo?”

Whoa. These aren’t the kind of questions Banner would normally ask. “What exactly happened when you texted him back? Are you intrigued?”

“No, of course not. I just . . . Never mind.”

Did her voice get a little breathy? “Banner? Is there something you need to tell me?”

“Oh shit, I just realized I have a project due by end of business today. I better get back to it. ’Bye, babe. Make sure to use lots of lube!”

Something isn’t adding up here, but before I can question her further, the call has ended.





I’ve never understood what it takes to make a movie, and now I’m in a recording studio listening to Cav and other actors recite their lines so the voices can be layered over part of the film where the mic went out.

Casablanca.

How did I not have any clue they were remaking the movie? A classic, obviously, and not something I would have ever expected to see Cav in. But then again, he makes a perfect Rick. Windsor is gorgeous as Ilsa, and then there’s Peyton DeLong, who I hate on sight, even though I thought he was cute in his last romcom. If Cav determined his face needed smashing because he was talking shit about me, I don’t ever need to meet him.