Dirty Distractions (Afternoon Delight 1)

She brushed snow off the arms of her coat. It was coming down faster than she could efficiently whisk it away. “Oh, she’s not my grandmother—”

“That was a joke, Red.” I gestured toward her attire. Red and pink everything, which didn’t go together but somehow seemed to suit her. “You also have a car instead of a basket, but let me mix a metaphor or two.”

“Ah. Big bad wolf, is it then? Sorry, you don’t seem to fit.” She marched toward me and grasped the side of my pants. “Wile E. Coyote sweats aren’t exactly scary, tough guy.”

“Don’t touch,” I growled and that made her step back and cock her head, much like a puppy. Instead of a floppy ear, she had the bouncy pouf on top of her hat. “I can’t just touch you.”

She seemed to think about that. It was getting darker, and the snowflakes falling between us were coming faster and harder. But if I wasn’t mistaken, she was pondering that comment as if I’d just said the most important thing she’d ever heard.

“No,” she said after a moment. “I guess you can’t. You shouldn’t. Just because Derek ran off with Trini isn’t a reason for me to let strange men touch me. Especially ones wearing sweatpants.”

“What’s wrong with sweatpants?”

The most ridiculous thing about this whole conversation? I didn’t want to touch her. I was almost sure. So what if it had been a while for me? That was by choice. God knows I had women throwing themselves at me front, back and center, and it only promised to get worse as things took off with the single. I’d backed off the fuck-and-duck game simply because I’d gotten bored.

I was tired of fake women cloaked in pretenses who just wanted me for my fame. As much as I exploited my growing fame to get any damn thing I wanted.

Never said I wasn’t a fucked-up bastard, now did I?

“There’s nothing wrong with them, per se. They’re just not fashionable.”

Although my face felt as if it was freezing into place, I cocked a brow. “Oh, and that eye-searing combo you have on is? You practically have on a snowsuit. Like a child.”

Her cheeks reddened. I don’t k

now how I could tell the difference considering she’d been awful damn pink from the wind to start with, but somehow, I knew I’d gotten to her. “I’m not a child. I’m a grown woman who likes to be prepared.”

“Huh.” I crossed my arms and jutted my chin toward her car. “So how’s that working out for you?”

She stepped forward, kicking up snow with her gigantic boots. Then she let her gaze wander down the front of me and let out a little harrumph. “And you know what else? Statistics say that eighty-eight-point-six of grown men who wear sweatpants are either still living in their mother’s basements or they’re serial killers.”

Deliberately, I moved into her space, dwarfing her with my size. And yet again, she did not back down. “Those are some odds, Red. Are you feeling lucky?”

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Kay

“If you don’t get out on that dance floor, I’m going to kick your ass.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” I tugged at my short red velvet skirt. Mel had convinced me to schlep all the way to Brooklyn to go to this club, the least I could do was get my dance on. I missed it. Working seventy hour weeks had killed any extracurricular activities in my life. Starting my own company was worth it, dammit.

There’d been a time when a club had been my favorite outlet. I could lose myself in the colors, the music, the anonymity of it all. This place—Purgatory—lived up to its name in every way. It was in between in all ways that mattered. Depending on the day, the center of the huge building could be a dance club or concert venue. Outside was a sidewalk cafe with a garden straight out of England.

I could let the wilder side of me free.

I didn’t have to be Kandy Kane here, with all that sugary name implied. Most of the time I loved it. Hell, I made my career around my name.

Here, I was just Kay.

I didn’t have to make decisions or give orders.

I could feel a man’s hands on my skin without the promise of anything more.