Cream-Pied (DTF (Dirty. Tough. Female.) Book 2) Page 2

  “I thought you were Dan!” I crossed my arms over my chest and stuck my fists in my pits so that I wouldn’t punch him in his face. The clock was ticking, and I wasn’t getting paid to stand here and argue with his split personality.

  “This is Dan!” he said, pointing to his beard.

  I blinked. “Your beard?”

  “Yes!” He threw his hands in the air.

  “Your beard is named Dan?”

  “Finally! Bingo! You got it!”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “No. Now, will you marry me—Weston!” His voice rose in an octave I’d never heard before on a grown man. Maybe a gremlin, but not a grown man.

  “No! I will not marry you, Weston. I also won’t marry Dan!” I reached out and flicked his beard, making him gasp again.

  “This is just not working. I thought you were the one. I was wrong, I guess.” He slumped his shoulders forward and put his head in his hands.

  I took a deep breath, realizing I could be dealing with someone a few crayons short of a full box. Empathy kicked in.

  Thanks, inner soul. Where the fuck have you been?

  “Look, you can’t propose to someone you don’t know. What if we were married and stuck together for the rest of our lives, and I liked the thermostat set at seventy, and you liked it set at eighty-four?”

  “That’s too hot! I would never!” Weston muttered into his hands.

  “Ugh! Point being, I can’t commit to someone I don’t know, and neither should you! No matter if she is a hot piece of ass who can shake her moneymaker.”

  “Wait a minute. You want me to commit to you?” He laughed, leaning back onto the couch and spreading his arms to rest against the back cushions.

  “Oh my gosh, Weston—Dan—whoever you are, you just asked me to marry you! That’s a commitment! Are you on drugs or something? This is insane. I’ve got to go. I have other clients who would be paying me right now, and that’s what I need—money. Not a man groveling at my feet who doesn’t even know his real name.”

  “I’m Weston Banks.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t want you to come in here and dance for me. I don’t need that. I also didn’t want you to marry me, marry me.”

  I sucked in my breath. I had heard that name before. His family owned Westy’s amusement park, the diner, a hotel, and pretty much everything else on that side of town. I bit my lip, second-guessing my decision to marry someone who had more money than I’d likely ever see in my lifetime. I glanced at his flannel shirt and scuffed boots. He certainly didn’t look the part of wealthy old money.

  “That’s what marrying means. It’s a commitment. You were on one knee. What do you mean, marry you, marry you?”

  “It’s fake. The ring! And the wedding. Or there will be no wedding. I just need you to be my fake fiancée. Only for a little while—until my parents sign over their properties to me instead of my shithole brother, Wes. They are about to retire, and it’s been an ongoing feud for over a year. They want to make sure I am carrying on the Banks tradition, and that starts with getting married and having babies.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and plopped myself on the couch next to him. “I know who you are. I thought you took control of the park and hotel and all already.”

  “No. I wish. Those are rumors. I’m trying to though. I think I can do a better job at it, but don’t tell my mama that!”

  I sank into the couch.

  “Let me get this straight, Weston. You want me to pretend to be your fiancée for a while, so your parents sign over their assets to you instead of your asshat brother, Wes? Which, by the way, what the fuck? Your names are so damn confusing. Anyway, moving on. What do I get out of pretending? You said that ring is fake. So, what’s in this for me? Why would I want to put up with the stress and Dan?”

  “Because, first of all, Dan’s fucking awesome.” He stroked his beard. “And secondly, you said you wanted money. I have plenty. That’s never been a concern of mine. Rather I didn’t have it, to be honest. I don’t need it.”

  Good. I do.

  “How long do I have to play this charade? And what all does it entail?” I sighed.

  “Not long at all. You’ll accompany me to my family’s big Fourth of July celebration. We make up a good story and set a wedding date—a fake one, relax. And then, boom, you are free once I sign. I’ll say you left me.”

  “What? Why do I have to be the bad guy? Maybe you’re a cheating bastard!”

  “I would never! We can come up with something. Do you think that would work? Are you willing to get into some harmless shenanigans with me?”

  My eyes trailed over his pouty lips tucked inside his bushed-out beard. His eyes could only be described as harmless.

  “If you pay me well enough and don’t be an asshole, then it’s a deal.”

  I stuck my hand out to shake his hand. His long, bony fingers gently wrapped around my palm. I absentmindedly bit my lip and lowered my eyes to do a bulge check. If his dick size was in tune with his height, maybe I could make another friend with benefits—in the plural, meaning sex and spoiling, even if he was awkward as fuck.

  “Deal,” he said.

  “Why didn’t you just lead with the fact that you only wanted me to be your fake fiancée instead of freaking me out like that?” I asked.

  “Because you’re a hot piece of ass who can shake her moneymaker, and I thought it would be worth a try to have you as mine if you let me.” He shrugged.

  “Nice try, Dan.” I gently ran my palm down his beard before bopping his nose with my fingertip. I pushed myself off the couch and headed toward the door.

  “Can I at least still get a lap dance?” he said, reaching out and grabbing my arm before I could get away.

  “Really? Ugh! I have a feeling this fake marriage is going to last all of two days. Tomorrow night, Scarlett Herb on the square. Seven o’clock on the dot to discuss how this is going to go down. Be there or forget it.” I shrugged his arm off of mine and left.

  TWO

  Weston

  Stupid, stupid me, I chastised myself as I left The Steamy Clam and hoisted myself up into my truck.

  I had been driving out here to Outer Forks every chance I got to nail down a woman far enough from home to not raise suspicions, but close enough to bring around my parents now and then for show-and-tell.

  So far, I’d only shown them my failed relationships, which they took as an indicator of my business sense. That didn’t make sense either. I could balance books, bring fresh ideas to the table, run a ship with the right crew, and be the boss man that all of the honies loved. But still, that wasn’t good enough for my parents. My ma wanted grandbabies, and my dad wanted tradition. Which meant, Wes and I were competing to see who could wed and bed a woman before the other.

  Luckily for me, I was a damn near seven-foot-tall cold drink of water. Wes, on the other hand, was a five-and-a-half-foot tall glass of tea—not sweet tea either, but the nasty real stuff. Bitter and the crap that no one wanted. I started my engine and revved my exhaust, sending vibrating roars throughout the parking lot. Natural habit. Girls loved that shit.

  “Weston, you have a date tomorrow with the hot stripper, Crystal Cream Pie. A fake date. For a fake marriage. That, let’s just be honest, you want for real because she is hot as fuck,” I told myself on the drive home.

  I spoke to myself out loud, reasoning the pros and cons of dating a stripper. I didn’t have much of a con list. I wasn’t a jealous man or possessive. I didn’t need to worry about money. I had plenty of that. Marrying Crystal Cream Pie would be fine by me, especially after my past failed relationships.

  The last time I’d really liked a woman was Mardi Hall, the lizard lady from our annual sideshow at Westy’s. She wasn’t really a lizard, but her tongue was forked and stretched up and out past her forehead.

  I thought to myself, Damn, the things she could do with that tongue, before realizing it was fake.

  By the time Lizard Lady showed me her
real tongue, which was nothing but a nub in her mouth, I was already head over tails for her. I watched all of her shows and was her biggest fan. But one closer look at that flap of jelly in her mouth had had me running for the hills.

  “It’s fake, Weston. Don’t you know that?” She held the prosthetic tongue in her hand, shaking it in my face.

  “Ah! What in the world?” I screamed like a bitch, cringing and stepping back from her slimy appendage hanging in the air.

  “Oh, come on. Look. It rolls up in my mouth. Watch how it works.”

  She shoved the pink snake into her mouth, but I’d already peaced out.

  I’d avoided Westy’s for the rest of the time her show was in town.

  Then, shortly after Mardi, I had fallen for another lady named Trina. She was much more stable—or at least her tongue was. She had four children, worked at Nutter—our diner—and could bake a chocolate chess pie that even my ma liked. But there was a problem with our relationship too. Trina wanted me to get rid of Dan. The day she asked me to shave my best-friend beard, I recoiled in horror. I never asked her to get rid of any of her kids, and it was kind of the same thing. My boy Dan was staying. Trina had had to go.

  My thoughts bounced back to Crystal.

  I had watched her dance several times. I counted her fingers and toes, making sure they were all there. I watched how she handled dire situations, like that time she had fallen on her ass. Not going to lie, that gutted me. I thought for sure she had busted that pretty little tail of hers. But the way she picked herself up again without giving a rat’s ass, that was what had done me in.

  I liked that attitude of hers. It was the attitude that I needed to take back home and confront my ma because I was too pussy enough to do it.

  I drove the rest of my long drive back home with the radio blaring my absolute favorite country tunes as I sang on and on about flannel shirts, jean skirts, and souped-up trucks. That was living the life. I lived in between Westworld, as my family liked to call it, and Outer Forks. Westworld was much closer to the big city, and Outer Forks was much closer to nothing. But that was what I liked—the nothingness of it all. I wasn’t a hustle-and-bustle type man. Driving the distance out here wasn’t a big deal to me. Sometimes, I would check into a nearby hotel, but I needed to head home tonight and ready myself for my big fake date tomorrow.

  I’d never heard of Scarlett Herb, but it sounded like something I would name a tea shop—and I did not like tea unless it was sweet and thick as syrup. I couldn’t hold my pinkie out and sip out of a teacup either. I’d tried, but my clumsiness turned much of everything into a disaster. Like that one time I had slipped on a banana peel. I thought that stuff only happened in the movies, but nope. It legit happened to me, of course. As embarrassing as it had been, I’d somersaulted into the air like an Olympian gymnast. That was pretty cool.

  I turned into my winding gravel drive, singing loud karaoke to my audience of one—myself. Tomorrow, I was going to win over Crystal. She would be my fake fiancée, but maybe she would give up the goods too. I hadn’t had sex since Trina, and that was forever ago. If I could rock Crystal’s body in bed, perhaps I wouldn’t need to convince my parents of anything. Maybe she really would like me enough to go along with my plan, and then—bada bing, bada boom—Westworld would be mine.

  I sat at the white-tableclothed booth, sipping a cocktail and waiting on my fiancée. The table I had chosen looked out over the dining hall, which was packed with laughing customers. I watched one man reach over and pat his lady’s hand. I watched another woman scoot her chair closer to a man and pinch his butt. I brought my drink to my lips and sighed. I wanted to be touched.

  “Well, well, well. Look who we have here. The famous Weston Banks did show up,” Crystal said, popping out from the side of the nearly enclosed private dining booth.

  “Did you come in from the back door or something? I’ve been watching for you.” I nodded my head toward the entrance.

  “Something like that. I know the owners and do some work here, making that right there.” She pointed at my drink.

  “You bartend?”

  “No. I make the Shizzle Sauce ice cube floating in your drink.” She slid into the booth.

  My eyes immediately shot to her tits, which bounced in her low-cut dress as she wiggled herself into a comfortable position.

  “So, you’re not just Crystal Cream Pie? You do other stuff too?”

  “I’m not even Crystal Cream Pie! The name’s Nikki. I am not only a stripper. I work The Pink Taco Truck too.”

  “The wha—” I shook my head, unsure of if she was offering up sex already.

  “The Taco Truck. That’s what it was called. But it’s pink. So, everyone in Outer Forks knows us now as The Pink Taco Truck. I take it, you haven’t tasted any of our food.”

  “No, not yet. But tacos sound good to me. Speaking of tacos, I’m starving. Do you know what you’re getting? I’m assuming you already have some idea since you know the place.” I waved my menu, thumbing through it like I didn’t know what I wanted. I knew what I wanted. Meat. Steak. Anything, except vegetables.

  Our waiter came by, interrupting our conversation and drawing my attention to him instead of Nikki’s boobs.

  “Oh! Hi, Jesse! I didn’t know you were working tonight.” Nikki’s tone, posture, and mood suddenly changed. Her back straightened up, her chest stuck out, her eyes twinkled, and she purred. Purred!

  “Pleasure to see you again, Nikki. Can I get you the usual cocktail?” Jesse grinned, his eyes also locked on her boobs.

  “The pleasure is mine, and of course, I’ll take the usual. You know me so well.” Nikki winked.

  I cleared my throat.

  “Could we start with some type of meat tray? Something with meat and cheese or anything of that sort?” I asked, breaking the sexual tension lurking between Nikki and Jesse.

  “I’m vegan!” Nikki gasped.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry. What do they eat? I’ll get you whatever you’d like!” I squeezed my hand into a fist, ready to knock myself out. Already, I’d gotten off on the wrong foot.

  “I’m just fucking with you, Weston. I’ll take the charcuterie too,” she said to Jesse, who reluctantly left our table to put in the order.

  I had no idea what charcuterie was, but it sounded like a dirty word, and I liked it. Maybe I would get lucky tonight.

  “Okay, let’s talk business. What are you paying me, and what do I need to do? Also, I’m not a whore, so if you think I’m fucking you for money, you’re mistaken. Let me know, as we will end this right here, right now.”

  “No, not at all,” I blubbered, taking a long sip of my cocktail.

  Damn it.

  “Good.” She unfolded her napkin on her lap, smoothing it out and leaning back into the booth. “Let’s hear it.”

  “We have a celebration coming up. It’s for Independence Day. My family always goes all out with a big party. I thought that would be the perfect time to introduce you—my fiancée—to my family. My dad’s looking to retire soon, and he’s been commenting on passing down the family business. I want it to go to me. It has to go to me. Wes would run it into the ground.”

  “So, you need me for just a weekend?” She tilted her head to the side and tapped her chin.

  “It’s a three-day weekend, and no, that’s not all.” I sucked in my breath. I hoped I wasn’t pushing it. “I need you for six weeks. Whatever it takes. My ma and dad are nosy Nellies. After you meet them, we might be doing dinners or such together to keep up the illusion. I don’t know yet. If it drags on before I sign, then maybe longer. I’ll pay you a substantial amount.” I rubbed my hands together, leaned forward, and threw a number out—a really high number.

  Her eyes bulged, but she tried to remain composed. I was a businessman and knew enough about selling to see that I’d sold her.

  “Plus, twenty percent travel charge for your weekend away.” She narrowed her eyes. “And I’ll need a few things for travel, so a stipend of, say … a
n extra twelve hundred.”

  “Done.”

  The waiter brought out our charcuterie plate and Nikki’s cocktail, once again ogling her boobs.

  “Do you know what you’d like to order?” Jesse asked.

  “I’ll take the lobster, Jesse. Thanks!” She handed him her menu and licked her lips.

  I blew a breath out of my nose, stifling a laugh.

  “Best cut of steak you have, over medium for me, please. And potatoes. Any type. Thank you,” I said, handing him my menu, too, and turning my attention back toward my fiancée.

  “What was that hmmph for?” she asked when Jesse left. “Does my ordering lobster bother you?” Her fingers tapped against the table in an impatient rhythm.

  “No. I know what lobster means! I didn’t know you’d be that easy.”

  “Easy? Excuse me? What the hell does that mean? What does lobster mean to you? Is this Dan talking again?” She leaned forward, and I swore I saw every single hair of hers bristle.

  “Lobster is code word for sex. Everyone knows that! The girl orders lobster when she wants sex. It’s like a transaction. Duh!” I laughed.

  Her posture prickled even more.

  Uh-oh. This is not that kind of transaction. Retreat. Retreat.

  “If I want sex from you, I’ll tell you I want to fuck you. I won’t say lobster. Now, shake on this business deal before I change my damn mind,” she said, her shoulders still raised to her ears, making her look almost as tall as me. Almost.

  I stuck my hand out and shook hers, afraid to utter another word until Jesse arrived shortly after with our entrees.

  I struggled to be smooth with the ladies. I tried my damnedest to be Rico Suave in life, but I fell flat on my face every damn time. I thought I knew what women wanted, but I was usually wrong. The one consistency in my life and relationships was money. At least I knew Nikki wanted my money.

  I swirled my drink in my hand, clinking the cube against the glass and accidentally sloshing alcohol over the top.