Free So Trashy (Bad Boy Next Door Book 2) by Kelley Harvey

steel, forged in
the fires of suffering and heartbreak.
    He takes several strides to catch up with me. “Can we start
over? I want to be friends. I’ve missed you, Lou.”
    I stop, putting my hand flat on his chest, halting him. “ Friends ?
Yeah, that worked out so well for me the last time. Look, I’m not going to fuck
you or anything else, Buck. So run along. I’m just not interested.”
    His jaw drops a fraction, but he recovers quickly. “You
know, maybe I’m not as bad as you’ve convinced yourself I am. Maybe—damn it,
Lou—maybe I do want to fuck you. Is that so wrong?”

ELEVEN

    I can’t win for fucking losing with her.
    Lou backs away, throwing her hands in the air as she turns.
“Whatever. Look, I’ve got to get off this ankle so it will be good to go by
tomorrow. I start my new job and I need to be ready. And I sure as hell need
the money more than I need to stand here talking to you, because that doesn’t
pay.”
    She stalks away, leaving me with my dick in the dirt again.
    Fuck.
    I head back toward home.
    When I step out of the trees onto our side of the property
line, Thug Two waits, arms crossed, frown firmly in place.
    “Fuck, man. I hired you —why is it I that feel like a
kid who just got caught sneaking out?”
    He shrugs.
    Thug One appears out of the dark. “Hey, Boss. It would
really help if you’d let us know where you’re going.”
    I wave him off as I trudge toward the house.
    Thug One jogs to catch up. “Sir. You should know, I just
warned the paparazzi to keep their distance. I caught one with a telephoto lens
slinking along the fence at the road.”
    The first couple of times you catch paparazzi taking photos,
it’s a little exciting, flattering even. The eightieth time you find them
lurking around, willing to cross all socially acceptable lines, trying their
damnedest to get a shot of your cock hanging out when you take a leak at the corner
of the house, or a picture of your bare ass on a private beach that you paid
huge amounts of money to rent just so you could run around naked if you
want to—not so flattering, not so exciting.
    Now it just pisses me off when they follow me. Find me. Stalk
me.
    I thought I knew the price of fame—no one gets it until they are famous, but by then it’s too late.
    * * *
    I let myself in through the backdoor, holding my breath,
hoping Tuffy doesn’t start barking his fool head off. As I creep through the
kitchen, only the ancient clock on the wall acknowledges my presence with its
tick-tick-tick keeping time with each step I take.
    Tuffy’s getting old. Must be going deaf, poor boy.
    I round the corner and a shock of white shining in the pitch
darkness of the hallway pulls me up short.
    “Tuff, what’re you doing?” I kneel to take his fluffy head
in my hands, scratching him behind his velveteen ears the way he always liked.
    He sits, his back leg scratching at my hand as he grunts and
groans, pushing his ear against my palm. He rolls to the floor, presenting his
belly for a scratch. His soft fur is about as well-kept as Nan’s silvered hair—of
course, considering they both visit their respective hairdressers every other
week, it’s not surprising.
    He lets out a whine and a little yodel.
    “Shush. You’ll wake Pops and Nan.” I drop to my ass and pull
Tuffy’s head into my lap. “At least you smell better than the day we found you.”
    Lou and I walked along Silo Road, picking up cans. She
needed—what was it? Oh, a new backpack for school. Nan tried to give her one of
my old ones, but her momma wouldn’t have it. Said she wasn’t taking charity
from snotty bitches who look down their noses on her. As far as I could tell, Nan
never did any such thing, but that was Lou’s mom.
    Lou and I figured if we earned the money by recycling
aluminum cans, that wasn’t charity.
    We dragged our half-full garbage bags of cans through the
grass as we trudged along the side of the road, the sun beating down on us. A
whimper is followed