Real Dirty (Real Dirty #1)

I drive in the direction of Hope’s apartment building, praying that she’s there. Honestly, I have nowhere else to go.

I’m so stupid. I should have had a backup plan. Never in my wildest imaginings did I ever think I’d be leaving the Fishbowl. I’ve never lived anywhere else. I don’t know anything else.

The sky opens with a rumble of thunder, and buckets of rain pour down.

Isn’t this just the cherry on top of a shit sundae? My Javelin’s wiper blades work only sporadically, and today just isn’t my day. Squinting through the windshield, I pull up to a stoplight and look over at the car next to me.

It’s a minivan. A man is driving, and a little boy presses his face against the window and points at my car. The dad turns and gives me a nod, and then says something to the little boy, who peels his cheek off the glass before the light changes and they pull forward.

Arkansas plates. Probably tourists coming to enjoy the city on a family vacation.

I wonder what that would have been like.

A family who went places together. Spent time together. Outside of a bar.

I’ll never know. It’s not in the cards for me. Never has been.

I press down on the gas pedal and my car lurches forward, only for the resistance on the pedal to go slack a quarter mile from Hope’s place. I coast to the side of the road.

“You can’t do this to me! Not now.” I slap my hands on the steering wheel before apologizing like my car truly does have feelings. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. Just a little further.” I look down at the instrument cluster . . . and the fuel gauge rests on empty.

With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I drop my forehead to the steering wheel. This day officially can’t get any worse.





33





Boone





“Did you set out to do the opposite of everything I told you? Because now I’ve got some college kid’s dad calling and threatening to sue for millions for emotional distress because you scared the ever-loving piss out of his son!”

Nick is on a roll.

I’ve been avoiding his calls, so he finally came out to the house and my security guy let him in. He’s on the approved list—for now. If he keeps talking to me like I’m ten, he won’t be for long.

Still, I can’t help but laugh over what happened last night.

“The kid pissed himself in front of a house full of sorority girls. How is it my fault his dad raised a complete pansy-ass punk who waded into shit deeper than he could swim through?”

Nick’s face turns a deeper shade of red at my chuckle. “I swear to God—”

“Have you heard the side of the witnesses, because there were about fifteen girls there who will tell you that I didn’t raise my voice or touch the kid. Then I signed autographs for half an hour and took pictures with them while he deleted the picture from his phone and removed it from the cloud. I told him I’d come back for a way less pleasant visit if I found out he was full of shit, and the girls all swore he’d never get laid again if he sold it.” I paused. “Actually, I doubt that kid is gettin’ laid again regardless after pissing himself in front of that group. Those girls are ruthless.”

“What the hell did you give them? Money?”

I shake my head. “Nah, I gave them all Charity’s number. They’re getting tickets to whatever show they want.”

“This better not go to court; that’s all I can say.” Nick grips his forehead with his thumb and index finger, highlighting his receding hairline.

“Why would it? I didn’t do shit. Tell that kid’s dad that his son will be in community college if they try anything, because I’ll drain him dry for invasion of privacy or some shit. Make it up if you have to. There’s gotta be something. You’ve got my lawyer’s number. Deal with it.”

Nick finally looks at me again, the color of his face returning to normal. “Can you please just try to lay low? We’ve got a media shitstorm that’s accusing you of cheating on Amber, Amber’s people are calling with their own accusations, and on top of that, I need you at two radio stations tomorrow morning to promo that single, which is what we actually need people talking about.”

“I thought there was no such thing as bad publicity. And the single is hauling ass up the chart, so you can’t tell me that any of this is killing my numbers, Nick.”

He looks at the ceiling, probably trying to find some patience, but he’s gotta know I’m right. This ain’t my first rodeo.

“You’re walking a fine line between celebrity and infamy. Watch your step.”

“I’m not even gonna pretend to know what that means, but I’ll tell you this—everything the press is saying about me cheating on Amber is bullshit. That’s gotta be defamation or libel or whatever, because there’s not a single lick of truth to it. So why don’t you go rattle some cages and see if you can’t shut them up?”

With a sigh, Nick stands. “Fine, but you need to stay away from that girl from the bar. There’s nothing but trouble there.”

The fact that Nick thinks he can tell me what to do always pisses me off, and today is no exception. “Not happening. You do your job, get Charity bustin’ some ass doin’ hers, and I’ll handle my own shit the way I see fit.”

He shakes his head and I follow him to the door.

“I hope you know what you’re doing—”

“Don’t I always?”

Once the door closes behind him, I spend the rest of my day with my guitar, a notebook, and a pencil, putting down more lyrics than I have in months.

Ripley is one hell of a muse, and every time I think of her, I catch myself smiling.

I finally put away my notebook as the sun goes down, and take my phone off silent. I’ve got five missed calls from Nick, but I ignore them. Frisco’s call is the only one I return.

“What’s up, man?”

“You might want to google yourself.”





34





Ripley





“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. Seriously, I owe you?” I tell Hope as I hop up in her pickup truck and we head for the White Horse Saloon.

She shoots me a sidelong look from across the cab. “You act like I didn’t offer you both my futon and a job the last time I saw you.”

“Yeah, but now I’m notorious.”

“Stop it. You’re still my best friend. I don’t care if you tell me you’re a mutant working for the X-Men, the futon and the job are yours.”

I laugh at her comic-book reference before considering another hurdle. “Will your boss be pissed that you hired me?”

“My boss doesn’t give a shit about anything but the receipts from every night. As long as we’re selling booze, he’s happy. He doesn’t care who’s slinging it as long as they’re not skimming off the till. That’ll get someone fired in a night.”

When she mentions employee theft, I finally tell her something I’ve been keeping to myself for way too long. “Brandy’s been skimming from the Fishbowl during every shift for the last year and a half, maybe longer.”

Hope stops at a red light, her mouth open in shock. “And you didn’t fire that skanky bitch? Why not?”

“Pop wouldn’t let me. He said I must not have been paying her enough.”

“Are you shitting me?” Hope’s voice rises an octave.