Dirty Boy by Nichole Rose

Chapter One

Ella

 

Whoever is in charge of weather in the south sucks at their job. It's barely ten in the morning, and it's already ridiculously hot. My hair is plastered to my scalp, and I feel more like I'm drinking the air than breathing it.

"Suck it up, Ella," I mutter to myself, trying to smooth my shirt over my boobs. The thin material keeps sticking to my sweaty skin. If I don't get inside soon, I'm going to look like I'm feral, raised by wolves in the forest.

To be honest, I think that might have been better than the way I was raised. My dad is an important man. He's also the biggest drug dealer in Georgia. Or at least he was until I destroyed his supply and skipped town a week ago. I've been laying low on Tybee Island since, hoping he gives up looking for me soon. I'm not counting on it though.

The only thing my dad loves more than his drugs is the money they bring. And I effectively destroyed both. Without drugs to sell, there is no money to be made. I'm not even sure why I did it, really. It wasn't part of my plan. All I wanted to do was graduate and get out. But he wasn't home when I packed my stuff. I found the drugs and just…acted.

I don't regret it. But I'm also not stupid enough to think he won't punish me for it if he finds me. He's never been abusive, but I've never tested just how far that restraint goes, either. I'm not ready to find out now. I just need to lay low for the next few weeks, and then I'll be off to college in Nashville.

The only thing my dad hates more than someone messing with his business is the great state of Tennessee. I'm not sure why he hates the entire state, but he won't set foot in it. I have a sneaking suspicion he's got enemies there. Regardless of the reason, his disdain for the state is exactly why I chose Vanderbilt University. There's zero chance of him ever visiting me there.

It's a win-win. Vanderbilt is a great school. They were also the only school to offer me four-years' worth of free education, meaning I can actually afford to attend without my dad's help.

I watch through the windshield as my best friend's uncle, Ted Riley, appears in the distance, headed toward the ice cream shop he owns. He's tossing his keys in the air and whistling. I breathe a sigh of relief and kill the engine. The flow of hot air from the vents immediately stops.

The hot air blowing in from the windows is even worse.

Even though my dad could easily afford a better car for me, I refuse to accept one. The less his money touches my life, the better off I am. Especially now that I'm eighteen. When he eventually loses everything, I don't want my stuff to be packed in the evidence bags alongside his.

I like to think my mom would agree with me if she were still alive. But the truth is…I don't know what she would say. She died when I was little, back when my dad still pretended to be a law-abiding citizen even though he was probably already deep into the criminal underworld. If my mom knew it, that knowledge died with her.

I'm not sure if I actually remember the willowy brunette with the bright eyes or if I've just stared at pictures so much that I think I remember her. Either way, she isn't here now and I'm on my own.

I flip my visor down to check my appearance a final time. As I feared, my hair is plastered to my head. But my mascara is holding up like a trooper and the flush to my round cheeks looks more like blush than a heat rash, so the hair will just have to do.

If Mr. Riley hires me, it won't have anything to do with my looks anyway. I'm thick and curvy, with wide hips and more than my fair share of boobs. I'm not at all ashamed of or self-conscious about my body. But I am a realist. And if Mr. Riley wanted a supermodel working for him, he could have his pick right about now. It's summer and there are blondes in tiny bathing suits everywhere.

Luckily for me, most of them are here for a little summer sun, not to sling ice cream for minimum wage.

I climb out of the car, and then bend to grab my purse from the passenger seat.

A truck pulling into the lot catches my attention, prompting me to freeze with half my body sticking out of the vehicle. My gaze drifts to the stray Chihuahua splashing in a puddle in the middle of the lot. I don't think the truck's driver sees the little dog, or that the little dog sees the truck.

The truck speeds forward, the driver oblivious to the animal right in its path.

"Oh no," I whisper, scrambling to get out of the car so I can stop what's about to happen. Before I can even straighten up, the driver notices the dog. The dog notices the truck too.

The driver swerves to the right just as the dog runs in the same direction. The truck immediately swerves left to miss the dog, who disappears between two cars in the next row.

My eyes meet those of the driver for a split second. Just long enough to see his widen in horror as his truck comes careening toward my car. He yanks the steering wheel to the right, trying to course correct, but it's already too late for that. There is no stopping the inevitable now.

I throw myself backward, landing against the heated metal of the BMW beside me just as the truck slams into the back of my Toyota with a sickening crunch. The impact shoves my car forward a full two feet. It comes to rest against the cement retaining wall, caught between it and the truck.

"No, no, no," I whisper. My stomach sinks at the sight of the glass littering the ground from the broken headlight. The front fender is scratched and dented. I'm guessing the back is in even worse shape.

The truck's driver throws the door open and climbs out.

"Are you okay?" he calls, his voice booming.

I'm too busy gaping at my car to answer him. There's no way I can afford to fix this. I barely have enough to cover necessities for the next two months, hence why I'm trying to find a summer job. Paying to fix my car is completely out of the question if I want to be able to eat actual food until school starts.

Running footsteps intrude on my misery and then a pair of rough hands clamp down on my shoulders, shaking me gently.

"Are you okay?" the man growls. His voice is deep and rough, full of worry.

I lift my gaze to his and then blink.

Good lord. I think Little Thor just hit my car. He's too young to be Big Thor, but he's definitely in the Thor family. He's a few years older than I am, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two, with short brown hair and a scruffy jawline. His baby blue eyes swim with concern.

Even though I'm five-nine, he's still several inches taller than I am. And he isn't wearing a shirt. Acres of golden skin and bulky muscle greet my gaze. Bold tattoos on his chest and arms draw my attention. So does the way his board shorts hang low on his hips, showing off the little trail of hair that leads to…places I do not need to think about right now. His muscles aren't overly defined, but he's like a freaking brick wall, way too hot and hard for me to deal with right now.

"Are you okay?" he asks again, running his hands all over me as if to check for injuries.

"Stop that," I say, swatting at his right hand when I try to move away only for him to pull me closer. He's all up in my personal space, smelling like sunshine and seawater. The combination has my head spinning.

"You can speak," he says, seemingly relieved.

"Shirt," I blurt.

This time, he blinks.

"You aren't wearing a shirt," I mutter, carefully removing myself from between his hands. They're strong, capable hands. A little rough. I press my palm to my forehead and suck in a deep breath, trying to get my mind right. It's not working. "Why are you naked? I mean, half naked."

"I was running."

"Running? Um, are you okay?" I ask, suddenly worried he may have hit his head. Because he definitely wasn't running. He was driving a freaking Monster truck. And not very well either, considering that he almost murdered a dog and broke my car.

"Yes."

"You weren't running. You were driving." I scowl. "Actually, you were crashing. Into my car."

"There was a dog."

"I'm surprised you noticed from way up there." My scowl deepens as I look at his truck. Why is it so big? I mean, sure, he's big, but surely he fits in a normal-people sized car?

"I was distracted," he growls.

"You shouldn't drive while distracted. Haven't you heard the PSA?"

He grunts instead of answering me, which I take to mean he has heard the PSA before and just doesn't want to admit it. I bet he was texting. Or playing with his radio. He was definitely driving too fast. This parking lot doesn't look anything like a racetrack. The cement is pitted and cracked, with potholes big enough to qualify as craters.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"What question?"

"Are you okay?" he growls.

"Jeez. You're grumpy," I mutter, pretty sure he's confused. He just hit my car. I should be the grumpy one. Maybe he really did hit his big, grumpy, handsome head.

"Are you injured?" he asks, clamping those hands down on my arms again. His baby blue eyes meet mine, burning right through me. I get lost in them and the warmth they send shooting through me. "I need to know if I hurt you, baby girl."

"No," I whisper, shaking my head. The term of endearment makes my heart flutter a little. It sounds too good coming from him. "I'm not hurt."

"Do you have insurance?"

"You hit me."

"Answer the question," he growls.

"Yes." I bite my lip as soon as I say the word. "Um, no. I lied," I hurry to say. If we get insurance or the police involved, they may alert my dad. And then he'll know where to find me. And that has no way written all over it. "No insurance."

Little Thor's jaw tightens, his disapproval obvious.

"My car is fine," I say. "No need to file reports or insurance or anything."

"Your car is not fine."

"It is."

"There's glass on the ground."

"I can see," I say, rolling my eyes. Jeez. He's bossy and rude.

"Is it stolen?"

What the heck?

"You think I stole my car?" I gape at him, trying to decide if I want to kick him or bite him. I fling my hand out instead to indicate the car. "If I stole a car, it wouldn't be an ancient Toyota that can't go above 55 without shaking like it's going to explode. And it would have working air conditioning."

His jaw tightens again, his eyes narrowing on me. "You don't have air conditioning?"

"Um, no?"

Why does he look mad? It's not like he has to drive the car in the heat or anything. I'm the one who slowly dies every time I have to go anywhere. Speaking of which….

"I have to go. I have an interview."

"You're looking for a job?"

"No. I'm interviewing for the new season of America's Next Top Model," I mutter before I can stop myself. Technically, it's not an interview at all. Mr. Riley doesn't know I'm coming in to see him, but he loves his niece, Norah Bishop, so I'm hoping he won't tell her best friend no.

Little Thor's gaze rakes up and down my body, but not as if he finds it preposterous that a curvy girl like me could be a model. Oh no, he looks all too interested.

My heart does that fluttering thing again.

"You trying to piss me off, baby girl?" he growls, taking a step toward me.

"Uh, no? I don't even know you."

"I'm Dante."

"Which level of hell is this?"

He smiles for the first time since he jumped out of his truck. I stumble a little, caught off guard by just how beautiful he is. I mean, I knew it already—I have eyes. But Lord. His smile is part little boy mischief, part sexy smirk. It's far too appealing.

"My thoughts were full of other things when I wondered off the path," he says, reciting the line as if he knows a secret I don't.

"And that's exactly why you hit my car," I say, returning him firmly to the matter at hand. My car and his terrible driving. "You should try to stay on the path next time. And look out for little dogs. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be."

"I'll pay to fix the car," he says.

"Don't worry about it."

"Come on—wait. What's your name?"

"Ella Morgan."

Crap. Maybe I should have left my last name out of it.

"Ella Morgan," he repeats, sounding far too smug about it. "Come on, Ella. I have a buddy who owns a shop here. I'll take care of everything."

"I said no."

"Now who's the grumpy one?"

"Me," I retort, grabbing my purse since he distracted me last time. "You hit my car."

"But I didn't hit the dog."

I don't have a response to that so I just harumph like a crazy person.

His wicked laugh rolls over me, igniting a fire deep inside my belly. Dante, brother of Big Thor, driver of a Monster truck, is trouble with a capital T, I decide, slamming my car door as my heart does that annoying fluttering thing again. I think I like him. Which is a problem.

I don't date, especially not hot, growly men who are far too sexy and a little bit rude. My entire life, I've had one goal: getting away from my father. I'm too close now to risk getting distracted by a bossy giant with a flirting problem.

"It'd make me feel a helluva lot better if you'd let me fix the car," he says. "Please, Ella."

"Fine," I say, throwing my hands up. He's relentless.

His eyes light up with genuine satisfaction. Like he won or something.

"Phone," he says, holding out a hand for it.

I briefly consider lying and telling him I don't have one, but then I sigh and fish it out of my pocket before dropping it into his outstretched hand.

"You need a screen lock. It's safer."

"So is paying attention to the road," I say, my voice saccharine.

He smirks again but doesn't respond as he quickly dials his number. His phone rings from inside his truck, and then he hands mine back to me.

I slip it back into my pocket without looking at it.

"I'll call you later and let you know when and where," he says.

"Okay."

He stands there for another moment, staring at me. I shift from foot to foot, unnerved by the way he's looking at me like he seems more than most people, or wants to see more. I'm not sure which it is. All I know is that my heart does that annoying fluttering thing again.

"See you soon, Ella Morgan," he finally says.

I turn and hurry away, fanning my face. Though this time, I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with Dante, brother of Big Thor.

 

 

"I'd love to be able to help out, but I'm not in a position to hire anyone right now." Ted Riley gives me a grandfatherly smile, his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Business just ain't what it used to be."

I glance around the ice cream shop and nod. The tabletops are worn, the red benches scuffed. Aside from a mom and her two young kids, the place is empty. Mr. Riley isn't kidding about business being slow. Disappointment fills me anyway.

"Thanks anyway," I murmur to Mr. Riley. "I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me."

"Ella," he calls as I turn to exit the shop.

"Yes, sir?"

"The young man who hit your car, Dante Duncan," he says. "He might be able to find something for you."

I blink at this information, turning slowly to face Mr. Riley. "You know him?"

"Everyone around here knows him," he says, wiping down the counter as he talks. "He's been spending summers here since he was knee high to a grasshopper. He plays football for Vanderbilt now. He'll go pro before long."

"Vanderbilt?"

"Yep. He's a hell of a defensive tackle."

I tip my head back to look up at the ceiling and groan, which makes Mr. Riley chuckle. How is it that the one person on Tybee Island who attends the same college as me, is the one who hits my car? This has to be some big Cosmic joke.

"Why do you hate me?" I ask God, pretty sure he's up there laughing right now. It's the only explanation that makes sense…I mean, aside from the fact that this is one of the closest beaches to Nashville and thousands of people visit every year. But I don't want to be rational right now. I'd rather be dramatic.

"He's a good boy. A little blunt and a bit rough around the edges," Mr. Riley says, still chuckling.

"Thanks," I say, though I'm not sure I mean it this time. I'm supposed to be laying low and avoiding attention. The last thing I need is to get the hometown football star all mixed up in my problems.

"Good luck."

I wave at Norah's uncle on my way out. As soon as I step outside, a wall of humidity hits me right in the face. Not even the breeze blowing in from the Atlantic cools it any. I tip my head back and take a deep breath anyway, inhaling the unique scent of seaweed and saltwater. It works through my system, relaxing the knots in my muscles. Seagulls squawk overhead. The sun beats down on me.

Dante's truck is gone from the parking lot, thank goodness. I'm not sure I'm ready to face him again yet. Especially if he's as popular as Mr. Riley says. The last thing I need is for my dad to find me because I'm running around with a big football star.

I'm a little bit…disappointed though. I was looking forward to seeing him again even though I shouldn't have been. He's not like most guys my age, at least not any that I know. I actually kind of liked him, even though he did hit my car and then accuse me of stealing it.

"Get over it, Ella Morgan," I mutter to myself, headed toward the parking lot. "You have more important things to worry about than Dante Duncan." Completely true. I don't know anyone here, my father is probably hunting me, and, despite it being summer, I can't find a job.

Mr. Riley's ice cream shop may be suffering from a lack of visitors, but the same isn't true for the rest of the businesses on the island. Business is booming…but no one is interested in hiring an eighteen-year-old who will only be around for part of the season.

For a split second, I consider returning home to face the music. A split second is all that thought lasts. Call me crazy, but I don't think my father will be waiting to welcome me back with open arms.

My stomach churns when I see the damage to my car. The back fender is broken beyond repair and there are dents and dings in the trunk as well. The right brake light is cracked. My stomach turns a somersault when I see the tape holding it in place. Dante must have taped it up before he left.

For a grump, he's also very sweet. The combination is far more appealing than it should be. Especially since I'm pretty sure he's the literal devil, sent to earth by God just to make me squirm. He thought I stole my car. And he wheedled me into giving him what he wants.

Maybe if I remind myself of those facts often enough, they'll sink into my brain.

My phone rings before I can climb in.

I pull it from my pocket and smile when I see Norah's picture on my screen. Norah has been my best friend since third grade. I think I spent more time at her house than my own most days. Her parents are normal. Well, sort of. Her dad is a literal rocket scientist, and her mom is a Yoga instructor. Norah is the best of both of them, crammed into a five-foot-three package.

I miss her like crazy. But she's spending her summer interning with a climate change nonprofit in New York before dashing off to Chicago for the next four years. She got accepted to Northwestern. Soon, she'll be a scientist just like her dad.

"Hey," I say, putting the phone to my ear.

"Hey! How did it go?" she asks as I slide into the driver's seat.

I wiggle around, trying to avoid burning myself on the hot seat. Even though I'm in pants and I left the window down, the leather is a million and four degrees. I quickly crank the engine to cool the car off. A wall of hot air explodes from the vents.

"Why is it so hot?" I complain, glaring at the vents.

"Because it's June and it's Georgia," Norah says with a laugh. "It's always hot."

"I hate summer."

Norah laughs again. "I know. You say the same thing every year."

"That's because it's true every year."

"You should just come and stay with me. The weather here is so much cooler."

"I can't," I say with a sigh. With her will be the first place my dad looks for me.

"I know," she says, her voice soft. "Have you heard from him?"

"Not since I threw out my phone and bought a burner."

"He'll give up eventually."

"I hope so. Your uncle couldn't hire me."

"Well, that sucks."

"I did help save a dog though. Okay, maybe I didn't help. But the guy hit my car instead of the dog, so that counts, right?"

"Oh my gosh! You were in an accident?" Norah whisper-shouts into the phone. "Are you okay? Is he okay? What happened to the dog?"

"Everyone is fine, dog included," I say, laughing quietly. "The guy was all grumpy and rude and hot. And he goes to Vanderbilt."

"Bow chicka wow wow," Norah sing-songs.

"No way."

"You said he was hot."

"So is Jason Momoa. That doesn't mean I'd sleep with him."

"You wouldn't sleep with Aquaman?"

"No. Well, maybe," I say, which makes her laugh. Not that either of us have ever slept with anyone. "My point is…he's grumpy and rude and he hit my car." I bite my lip. "But he did offer to pay to have it fixed. And he taped up my brake light while I was talking to your uncle."

"I'm not hearing anything that sounds grumpy or rude," Norah says.

"He asked me if I stole my car."

"Oh. Well, that is rude."

"Exactly!"

"You would totally steal something better than your piece-of-crap Toyota."

"That's what I said."

Norah laughs again. "So he's going to fix your car?"

"No." I exhale a heavy breath. "He's a big football star. I can't afford for anyone to link me to him, and it get back to my dad. You know how he is with football." He's almost as fanatical about it as he is about his drugs and money.

In another life, he was drafted to the NFL. He blew out his knee during his first season. He hooked up with my mom not long later. A year after they got together, she got pregnant with me, and he started law school. I'm not sure exactly where or when his moral compass failed him after that, but it's been pointing him in the wrong direction ever since.

"Yeah, you're probably right," Norah says, her disappointment obvious. She's a total romantic. Like me, she doesn't date. Except that's because she's waiting for her one to come along, not because she's been hyper-focused on school. She's insistent that her soulmate is out there somewhere and that she'll know it when she meets him. I hope she does. If anyone deserves a fairytale romance, it's Norah. "It still sucks though."

She's right, but I don't tell her that. "It's not a big deal," I say instead. "It's not like I even know him or anything. Besides, he probably forgot about me the second he left the parking lot. I doubt I ever hear from him again."

Even as I say it, I realize that I hope he does call me. I want to see him again.

I think Norah knows it too.

"We'll see," she says, doubt clear as bells in her voice.

"Yeah," I sigh, giving in to the inevitable. I like Little Thor, as crazy as that makes me.