Writing Dirty: BTU Alumni Series Book #5 Read online

  “Don’t be a baby,” I tease, poking him in the side.

  “Let me see what you’re working on anyway.” He slides my MacBook Pro toward him as he squirms away from my tickling touch.

  “Nope.” I slam the lid shut before he can get a peek. Only my girls get to read the rough, hasn’t-been-edited word vomit I come up with.

  “No fun.” There’s that damn pout again.

  I pop a shoulder and bite back yet another yawn.

  “Come on, you.” He takes one of my hands in his and pulls me to stand. “Off to bed.” He cups his hands over my shoulders, turning me in the direction of the stairs that will take me to my bedroom.

  “But—”

  “Nope.” He cuts off my protest, the captain in him taking charge. “I’ll drop Trident at JD’s after our run so you can sleep as long as you need.”

  Gah! Again he has to go and be perfect. I really am an asshole.

  Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, I turn to watch my ex-boyfriend-turned-bestie corral my dog, wondering how I can be so good at writing other people’s happily-ever-afters when I can’t figure out my own.

  Chapter Two

  Pulling into the driveway of the robin egg blue shore house, I need to take a moment to absorb what I know has to be a seven-figure piece of realty. Jersey Shore homes go for a pretty penny, especially on the water and in these more secluded areas with private beach access.

  I’m well aware of the success of Maddey’s writing career, but I can’t wrap my head around this being feasible.

  That’s an issue for another day.

  The first order of business is to do a perimeter check. I need to have intimate knowledge of every point of weakness and where Maddey’s vulnerabilities lie.

  Yeah, maybe don’t use the words ‘intimate knowledge’ and ‘Maddey’ in the same sentence, at least not if you like your balls still attached to your body, Stone.

  This entire scenario has clusterfuck written all over it.

  When Justin called to inform us Maddey had herself a stalker, both Tyler—her middle older brother and my fellow SEAL teammate—and I were ready to charge full steam ahead and destroy anyone who dared threaten the youngest member of the McClain clan.

  The feeling only intensified when Justin went on to explain how long it had actually been going on and how our little Tink was refusing all attempts at protection. I may have visualized wringing her pretty little neck.

  Maddey doesn’t just physically resemble the Disney pixie she earned her nickname from growing up; she has the temper to match, too.

  I also know firsthand how damn stubborn she is. Her three older brothers have been my closest friends since birth, and obstinance is practically a chromosome in the McClain DNA. It doesn’t help that she bucks their overprotectiveness any chance she gets.

  Or that she can charm her way out of any situation to suit her needs. It’s why I’m being brought in. I’m not a brother or an ex she can manipulate as she sees fit.

  That’s right, you’re not her brother. Good thing, bro, because the thoughts you’ve been having about her would be illegal if you were.

  Those thoughts are also why I’ve been keeping my distance more and more over the years. Madison Belle McClain has been like a little sister to me since she was born. Things were fine, chugging along as they always did, until they didn’t.

  Since the summer before Maddey started college, I haven’t been able to see her as Baby McClain anymore. God, even eight years later, I can’t shake the memory of that day.

  She was playing football with her best friend Sammy and some of his teammates on the beach in an electric blue bikini. When she spotted me, she spiked the football like she was in the end zone, her short legs ate up the distance between us, and she launched herself into my arms, wrapping a body full of curves I’d never really noticed before around me.

  I may have hugged her to me a little tighter and longer than necessary, but what man wouldn’t when they have a half-naked woman in their arms? And from that day forward, that’s how I saw her—as a woman.

  Denying my attraction has been an issue ever since. Not a good problem to have when you are one of the people who helped her brothers scare away any guy who came sniffing around her growing up.

  Shaking off all inappropriate thoughts before they can take root, I focus on the task at hand. I learned early on in life never to underestimate the McClain men, so I have three weeks of consecutive leave to figure out who is stalking our girl. Shit! Not our girl, Stone.

  Slamming the door to my truck harder than necessary, I round the hood to get started, hoping if I keep busy enough it will banish any thoughts that would get my ass kicked Full Metal Jacket style.

  I start off with the front door, pleased to find it locked up tight. The same can be said for the garage and the doors leading to both the lower and upper decks wrapping around the house. Good girl, I think as each window check renders the same result.

  As diligent as she is with her locks, Tink needs to learn to shut her drapes. Clear as day there she is amongst a kaleidoscope of colorful sea turtle bedding—she’s always had a thing for sea turtles—one bare foot hanging out the side, a multitude of anklets adorning her ankle, including the Tinker Bell one I gave her years ago.

  What the hell is she doing still sleeping at eleven in the morning?

  Time for Sleeping Beauty to wake up. I just got here and already the Disney references are starting inside my head.

  Making my way down to the main level, I key in the entry code and disengage the alarm. Stepping inside, I’m hit by just how much the space eclipses every fantasy she had for the perfect beach house growing up.

  Later I’ll take the time to appreciate the decor for more than the kitchen chairs painted in various bright colors and the sea glass pendants over the island.

  Where’s the pooch?

  Jack McClain made sure Trident had extensive training to be a “guard dog” for his baby girl. He should have come barking his head off the moment the door opened.

  On silent feet, I make my way upstairs. Surrounded by a riot of blonde curls, a crooked-lying Maddey takes up more space in the king-sized bed than any person barely over five feet tall should.

  There is more bedding than human in the bed with her sheets, puffy comforter, and countless pillows, including the main one she has her arms wrapped around as she sleeps. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her not through a computer screen, I can’t help but take a moment to study her.

  God she’s beautiful.

  Her blonde lashes fan across her cheeks, and her pouty lips have the tiniest pucker to them. She looks so peaceful I almost don’t want to wake her—almost.

  There’s a rogue curl slashing across her face, and I give in to the urge to tuck it behind her ear. Hooking a finger under the silky locks, I brush the soft skin of her forehead on the way to setting them back in place.

  Being lost in my own musing is the only excuse I have for what happens next. One minute I’m watching her sleep—not like a creeper…okay, maybe a little—wishing our circumstances were different, and the next there’s a shooting current of pain in my balls and I’m convulsing on the floor.

  Son of a bitch.

  Chapter Three

  Prior to the last eight months—when the first of my “gifts” showed up—I slept like the dead. Being able to sleep through pretty much anything less than a tornado blowing through the room came in handy those years I dated Ryan. The guy may be one of People’s sexiest men alive, but holy crap, as his brother Jase would say, “Homeboy’s snores could wake the dead.”

  Honestly, the way he saws wood like a professional lumberjack is one of my favorite things about him. Ryan is so damn perfect in every other way, and I always thought it helped remind the world he actually is human.

  Thanks to what I attribute to a heightened sense of self-preservation, I wake the instant I feel another’s presence in my bedroom.

  I know better than to react carelessly, and I continue to feign sleep until I have the best opening to evade whoever is creeping in my personal space.

  Most people would automatically assume the person is any one of the number of people with the code for my house, but I’m able to rule out that possibility immediately—my people don’t really grasp the concept of keeping quiet.

  So, no. The person lurking on the side of the bed is foe, not friend.

  Hidden beneath the fluff of my pillow, I shift my hand ever so slightly and stealthily until it’s wrapped around the taser I keep under it.

  Thumbing off the safety, I keep my finger over the on switch, waiting for just the right moment to strike.

  The scent of the ocean fills my nostrils as the intruder moves closer. There’s something familiar about it, but the haze of sleep hasn’t lifted enough for me to place it.

  A finger trails across my forehead and over my temple. Repressing a shudder of revulsion is harder than not rolling my eyes at Jase Donnelly, the most ridiculous human being on the planet.

  I promise myself I’ll bathe in a vat of Purell after this as a reward for my Oscar-worthy portrayal of a sleeping woman when this creep moves his finger down my cheek to tuck some hair behind my ear.

  Now, Madz.

  Keeping a firm hold on the hard plastic, I thrust my arm free, earning a grunt in response as I hit my target and shoot him with fifty thousand volts of electricity.

  “Oof.” Down he goes, and I’m already scrambling from the bed to press my thumb on the scanner of my bedside drawer to retrieve my gun.

  I know my resistance to protection makes some batty, but Hello people! I’m not some defenseless damsel here. I’ve been taught self-defense and straight-up defensive tactics since I was single digits, and it’s not like any of my teachers were your ru
n-of-the-mill Joe Shmoe variety either. They have all been Navy SEALs, police officers, or professional MMA fighters.

  I’m tiny but mighty, dammit.

  With the comforting weight of my Smith & Wesson M&P Shield in my hands, I sidestep around the end of my bed to the now rolling, cursing, and groaning intruder.

  “Son of a bitch.” The words barely come out distinguishable.

  My chick Rapunzel wields a frying pan like a pro in Tangled, but I think I’ll stick with my trusty 9mm. Shuffling my feet, I inch closer, keeping it trained on my target, prepared in case of attack.

  The man, though large, poses zero threat while curled in the fetal position holding his family jewels.

  Ooo, look at how his back muscles stretch his white t-shirt. They would look good on a cover. I must be more hard up than I realize because those are not the thoughts I should be having at the moment.

  “Fuck me!” The slap of his hand beating my hardwood floor rings out, causing me to jump.

  “Move and I shoot.” He can’t see me since he’s still rocking in pain. “And I promise, I always shoot to kill.” Not that I’ve ever shot at anything other than targets and beer bottles, but this asshole needs to know I mean business.

  “Son—of—a—bitch.”

  Wait…

  I know that voice.

  Is that…

  “Dex?”

  “Fuck, Tink.” Sure enough, it’s Dexter Stone writhing in agony.

  What is he doing here?

  Ohmygod.

  I just tased Dex in the balls.

  It must be some type of karmic retribution or something to accidentally maim my childhood crush.

  Seriously though—did I really just tase him? And in the balls, no less?

  Holy shit. I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried, and I write fiction for a living.

  Easing my grip on the gun now that there’s no threat, I let it fall to my side and drop to a knee next to his prone body. “Are you okay?”

  He rolls to his back with a groan, his melted chocolate eyes rising to me with a did you really just ask me that? look.

  “Dammit, Tink.” Unlike when my brothers—and subsequently my other male friends—use my childhood nickname, it doesn’t annoy me when Dex does. Sure it’s probably—definitely—from residual puppy-love brain, but coming from him, it sounds like an endearment.

  His hands still cup his package, and I wonder how he would react if I offered to kiss it better. In your dreams, Madz.

  You got that right. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve dreamed about going down on Dex…him going down on me…us sixty-nine-ing…

  Yeah, stop those thoughts right now, missy.

  Oh, stuff it, Jiminy.

  Yeah, don’t be a prude.

  We live for the dirty details.

  Let’s hear all the ideas.

  Jesus. This is so not the time for me to get lost in my own head. Be a writer, they said. It’s fun, they said. Yeah, well the part no one tells you is that your characters start to take on lives of their own and talk to you all day. It doesn’t matter how inappropriate the time may be.

  “You should know better than that, Hook.” It’s my turn to bust out the old-school nicknames. Even before he enlisted in the Navy, I always thought he had a roguish pirate appeal.

  “Don’t try to be cute right now.” It’s clearly meant to come out as a threat, but it falls flat with the hint of a whimper the words hold. “I think you just ruined my chances of ever making baby Dexes.”

  I rub my free hand over my heart as if the words are a physical blow. Taking a hit to the chest from Vince, the current UFC’s Light Heavyweight Champ and one of my closest friends, wouldn’t hurt as much as the idea of Dex having children with some faceless woman.

  Dramatic much? You’ve said so yourself—countless times, I might add—that you aren’t in love with him either. So riddle me this, Batman…why does the thought of Dex making babies with someone else bother you so much?

  Fucking Jiminy. Just because I was thinking of Vince, my conscience thinks it can go and hit me with one of his lines.

  Can I ask something without you taking it out on me when you get to my book?

  Even if she says no, you have to ask now.

  Agreed.

  You know how much I hate to agree with the cricket—*side-eyes Jiminy*—but you’ve never had a reaction like that about the idea of Ryan procreating.

  “Come on, tough guy.” I hold out a hand to help Dex up. “Let’s go get you an ice pack for your booboo.”

  He growls, the sound hitting each one of my lady parts like a pinball ricocheting back and forth. Padded bras and panties are going to be a must for however long he’s planning on being around if I’m going to have any hope of hiding the physical effects he has on me.

  I thought you didn’t do meaningless sex? I mean, isn’t that the whole reason you haven’t had sex in—

  Shut. Up, I shout at Jiminy. I know exactly how long it has been since I’ve had sex with someone other than myself, thank you very much.

  Shit!

  You know what? I blame Dex for setting my hormones off. I may have gotten over my puppy love, but damn if he isn’t one of my favorite tropes. Who doesn’t love a good brother’s best friend? Or in my case, brothers’ best friend since he’s close with all three of mine.

  “Oh stop being a baby.” I pop him in his hard, sculpted, can-he-please-take-his-shirt-off-so-I-can-properly-admire-it chest when we stand. “I feel like I should write a letter to the Navy because they clearly need to up what they put you through in BUD/S and SERE training if you’re not able to just shake this off.”

  I blink innocently as I cant my head back to see his face. Oooo, someone is mad. He’s all clenched scruffy jaw, flared nostrils, and narrowed eyes. Is it wrong that I want to poke fun?

  “You. Tased. Me. In. The. Nuts.”

  I shrug and have to roll my lips in again to stop another laugh. Oh, I’m going to get some mileage out of this.

  I duck, evading his arm when he reaches for me. I’m sure him still being slightly hunched over is the only reason I’m successful.

  “I guess I should be grateful it wasn’t this under your pillow?”

  The delicious drag of his calloused fingers skimming down the back of my arm is distracting. It takes a moment for my imagination to stop running away with thoughts of his touch moving to my back, across my stomach up to my now heavy breasts—or even better, slipping underneath the band of my sleep shorts to cup my throbbing center.

  Shit! Focus, Madison. He asked you a question.

  Oh it’s never good if I’m calling myself by my full name.

  What did he ask?

  Right—my gun.

  “I would say so. You can barely handle a little electric shock—I shudder at the thought of your bitching if it was a bullet.” I rub my arms, feigning being cold to drive my sarcasm home.

  “Why’d I agree to do this?” He digs into the ridge of his brow with his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger. “I forgot how much of a smartass you can be.”

  “I learned everything I know from you, scallywag.” Scooping up the taser, I round my bed again to return both it and my gun to my bedside drawer, making sure the lock on the built-in safe beeps closed. I may sleep with one of them under my pillow, but I would never leave them out where anyone could stumble upon them.

  “Wait.” I turn to face him, folding my arms over my chest. Did he just…? I shake my head. No, of course not. Except… “Agree to what?” Every ounce of skepticism I feel bleeds into my words. Why do I feel like I might have put my gun away prematurely?

  A set of twin parentheses brackets his kissable mouth as the first smile since I stunned him appears. Outside of making my lady parts bibbidi-bobbidi-boo, it also spells trouble.

  “You didn’t hear?” The joyful lilt in his voice has my gut clenching.

  “Hear what?” I ask through gritted teeth.

  “Oh, my dear Tink. I was called in to slay your dragon, or”—he tilts his head to the side—“in Hook’s case…” His pause only adds to the butterflies filling my stomach. “Catch your crocodile.”

  Sonofabitch.