Dirty Secrets (Get Dirty 4)

“Fine. What time?”

She hops out of my lap, making me regret it for a moment, but she’s so excited that I smile along with her as she squeals. “Really? I thought that was going to be a harder sell! I mean . . . yeah, you’re coming to dinner. It’s non-optional.”

She dropped her voice there at the end in an imitation of my normal gravely growl. “I’m not that bad.”

“So you say,” she taunts before humming. “How about seven thirty?”

I kiss her forehead, pleased. More than enough time. “And this afternoon? Do you need an escort anywhere?”

She starts to shake her head no and then reconsiders and sighs. “Yes, I’m going to the grocery store and then home. This is going to take some getting used to. What if I just want to run out and get ice cream at midnight? Am I going to have to wait for Logan or Gavin or whoever to get there just so I can go to the store?”

I smirk, shaking my head. “First, you don’t like ice cream. Second, you could call a delivery service. Third, if you must get out, then yes, you’d wait for an escort. Most of the time, though, someone would be there within five minutes. Clear?”

She doesn’t like it, but I can tell she’s trying her best. “Yeah, yeah . . . understood. But it’s weird. And overkill. Do you get escorted everywhere?”

“When I need it, yes.”

We agreed on transparency, but I’m already holding back from her. Baby steps, I tell myself. She thinks an escort is too much, though she didn’t balk at the tracking that much.

But the sheer depth of my obsession? Cameras and the apartments?

Weird? More like criminal.

But that’s who I am. That’s my life.

She’ll adjust, little by little, one baby step at a time.

Chapter 15

Allie

Dinner is not going well. I’d planned everything as well as I could, setting the coffee table with a tablecloth and candles, even giving the floor pillows a fresh fluff so we’d be comfortable sitting on them.

Not the usual dinner party set-up, but when my dining room is more dance studio, it’s what I’ve got.

Maybe I’d been stupid to think getting the two of them together under better circumstances would make the introductions friendlier, the conversation politer, the air more welcoming.

Nope. Not with these two, apparently. I guess maybe it’s asking for a bit too much, too fast, considering the start.

It’s been a tense hour of interrogation-style questions, dismissive answers, and barely-contained dick measuring as TJ tries to intimidate Dominick with some version of big brother protectiveness. It might work with another man, but not with Dom.

I try to stop my near-constant eye rolls. I’m no expert, but TJ’s antics are clearly telling more about himself than anything he’s gleaning from Dominick. I could have told him it was a waste of time. Dom’s spent years hiding himself behind a mask.

And we’ve barely started the main course. I take a bite of my chicken parmigiana, thinking for the third time that I should’ve made something less time-intensive that I could just shove in their mouths to keep them quiet.

Speaking of . . . “More bread?” I ask, offering the breadsticks and crossing my fingers under the table that TJ might eat a whole stick of garlicky goodness in one go. Because if he keeps this up, I’m going to be stuffing one in his ear. “Teej?”

His crooked eyebrow tells me he knows what I’m trying to do, but he takes one anyway, taking a bite and talking around the mouthful with a look that tells me, Take that.

“So, you own a strip club?” TJ somehow manages to sneer the words without losing a crumb of breadstick.

Dom’s eyes flick to me, wondering how much I’ve told him.

I glare back, telling him wordlessly, Of course, I didn’t tell him. I’m not stupid. That’s not my story to tell, and not one I’d share without permission. And a shot of something strong to give me courage.

Dominick’s attention returns to TJ. “Yes, I own several businesses, one of which is a club.”

“A strip club,” TJ says with scorn. TJ is trying to make the club sound seedy and disgusting, and by his ownership, painting Dominick with the same brush. But his disdain for the club stabs at me like a knife, hot betrayal burning through me. I set my fork down with a clatter.

Both men turn to me at the sharp sound, and TJ immediately reads the anger in my eyes. He grimaces, and his shoulders slump a little. “Shit. Allie-gator, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Once upon a time, I would’ve wilted and just forgiven him, but this is something I’ve had to deal with over and over again, finding strength I didn’t know I had, to handle other people’s misconceptions. I swing my legs around, getting up onto my knees and squaring my shoulders, strong and proud as I stare at my brother.