Free Filthy: A Bad Boy Romance by Katherine Lace

nothing. Really.”
    “No. Tell me.”
    She takes a shuddery breath and uses the back of one finger to shove tears away from her eye. “Dammit,” she mutters, and then she’s quiet for a second before she goes on. “I’m trying to get into UCLA to get a Master’s degree. I want to be a PA.”
    “PA?”
    “Physician’s assistant.”
    “Ah.” I laugh. “I should know that—I see enough doctors.”
    I’m happy when she laughs back. Maybe she’s lightening up a little. I hope so.
    “Anyway, it’s an advanced degree, and I need to take some classes before I can qualify, so I’m doing some classes online.”
    “That’s cool.” It is cool. I have to say, I admire anybody who works to better themselves like that. God knows I never had the chance. Straight from my last foster home into my current career, if you want to call it that. Fighting was the only thing that kept me out of juvie in my teenage years, I’m pretty sure. Although it nearly got me into juvie once or twice, but that’s another story. “Good for you.”
    Her lips tighten. “I wish Pop felt that way.”
    Ah. The heart of the matter. “He doesn’t want you studying?”
    “He didn’t really want me to go to college in the first place. It was just ‘the thing to do.’” I’ve never seen such sarcastic air quotes in my life. “Now I’m supposed to shut up, sit down, be a proper little lady, and marry the guy he’s picked out for me. And that’s it. Nothing else.”
    “Be a proper little mob girl.”
    “Exactly.” She shudders out another breath. “God. I’m sorry, Cain. I didn’t want to be this way tonight. I just wanted to see you…have some fun.”
    I mull her words. She’s probably telling the truth, but I can’t help but think there’s more to it. She might not even realize it herself. “You just wanted to get out of the house.” And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.
    “Well, yeah, you could say that.” She starts to add something else, but the waiter returns and drops off our food. Jessica’s plate of angel hair pasta, chopped tomato, and olive oil barely looks like enough to feed a kid. Me? I’ve got a slab of steak the size of my head.
    The waiter tops off our wineglasses and departs. I dig into the steak—medium rare and perfect as usual. Jessica seems to gather herself and takes a few bites of salad then samples the pasta.
    “You know…” I venture after a moment. “I can barely stand being around your dad. It must be hell having to live with him.”
    She shakes her head. “You have no idea.”
    “So…all this with me. With us. It’s really just to get you out of the house. Maybe yank his chain a little. Am I right?”
    Her gaze jerks up to mine as if I’ve accused her of kicking a kitten. But she doesn’t deny it.
    “You know, it’s okay. I get it.” She’s quiet, just letting me talk. “And I mean, what should I care if I get some smoking-hot sex out of it?”
    Her eyes narrow as if she’s trying to decide whether she should be offended. She probably should be. Somehow I don’t think she is. “That’s not all it is,” she says after a few moments.
    “You sure about that?”
    Again, she considers her answer. And then she smiles. “No. Not really.”
    I laugh and pat her hand. “So…what do you have to study to become a physician’s assistant?”
    She entertains me for the next several minutes talking about her classes. I try hard to pay attention—I really do—but it’s not exactly scintillating material. Still, she’s passionate about it, and I like the way her eyes light up as she’s talking. So I watch her eyes and her mouth and wonder if she’s ever given a guy a blowjob. I could teach her that. That’d be a good addition to her syllabus.
    After the meal I’m surprised when she takes me up on my offer of dessert and coffee. After the boring meal I figured she’d beg off any major calories. But she orders tiramisu and gives me a sly look. “Plain-ish pasta means I can