Free Dirty Thoughts by Megan Erickson

to have as the aunt or uncle to her children. It was one of the reasons she’d been so attracted to Cal. In his own way, he was fiercely loyal to his family and to his brothers. They had a camaraderie she’d only dreamed of as a kid. A camaraderie she’d dreamed of replicating with her own Payton brood. A dream that would never come to fruition, especially after that disastrous make-out session in Cal’s tow truck.
    Jenna turned the ignition in her Honda and listened as the engine rumbled to life. She put the car in drive and made her way out of the parking lot to head home. The car was all fixed up now. Brent had recommended she get two new tires, and she’d give him the approval. Of course, she hadn’t heard a peep from Cal. He never called, and he hadn’t been there when she picked up her car.
    It’d been a week since that night Cal had dropped her off at her house, and she felt like she was going through the stages of grief. First, she’d been in denial. She pretended it never happened. That lasted for a whole couple of hours before her brain switched right into anger. That stage . . . well, actually she was still in that stage.
    She was pissed.
    Maybe this had been something Cal had to get out of his system. He had to show her he could still light up her body and scramble her brain. And then once he did that, he could wipe his hands clean of her and move on. One little last jab, like, Hey, Jenna, this is what you left behind.
    As if she didn’t know. As if she wasn’t aware that every guy who’d touched her since then had been held up to Cal’s standard and found lacking. Not just in bed but out of it too. She lived in a world of political correctness. It was her job to say the right words the right way. To get by without the whole truth or maybe a little embellishment. It was how she’d grown up and how she did her job.
    That wasn’t in Cal’s blood. He never had time to beat around the bush or say anything but directly what he thought. It was refreshing not to have to play games with him.
    Which is exactly why she’d thrown that statement about his brother in his face. She knew it’d piss him off.
    Good. She hoped he was still pissed. She hoped he was furious and had tossed and turned at night just as much as she did.
    She wanted to move to the next stage. Or skip right to acceptance. That would be great. She wanted to accept that what had happened wouldn’t happen again and then move on. But her brain—or maybe it was her body, which had a frustratingly accurate memory of how good Cal’s hands felt—wouldn’t let her.
    So stuck in anger she was, and there she would stay for the foreseeable future. Cal was lucky she hadn’t run into him at the grocery store this week, or she likely would have chucked a can at his head.
    She pulled into her driveway and took a deep breath. This was okay. She could do this. She parked her car, not bothering to pull it into the garage since she would be leaving again so soon.
    She hadn’t had much time to decorate the house. The belongings that had filled her tiny apartment in New York didn’t go far in this house, even though it wasn’t much bigger than about thirteen hundred square feet. She dropped her keys in a bowl she kept on a small table inside the door. She kicked off her heels and padded on her bare feet into the kitchen.
    Opening up the fridge, she contemplated having a drink before facing the gauntlet of an evening with her parents. Instead, she grabbed a bottle of water and collapsed onto her couch with it.
    She wanted to take a nap. Or veg out on the couch watching mindless reality TV, but unfortunately, she had to drag her carcass to a restaurant, where she’d be required to uphold the MacMillan image.
    She made a gagging sound and hauled herself off the couch to take a shower and get ready. The only good thing was that maybe this dinner would keep her mind of Cal for one blessed evening.
    J ENNA WORE A simple navy blue tank dress in a jersey