Cream-Pied (DTF (Dirty. Tough. Female.) Book 2) Page 3

  “Are you nervous?” she asked between mouthfuls of lobster—not code-word-for-sex lobster.

  “Yes.”

  “About?”

  “You. You make me nervous.”

  “How come? Was it the way I pulled Dan last night? I’m sorry. I’m not a physical person. I was teasing you.”

  I reached up to stroke my beard, patting him to make sure he was okay.

  “You’re beautiful and way out of my league. That’s why I’m nervous. Every time I saw you up there onstage, I wanted to ask you out. I knew you were the one I wanted to bring home. I saw you smile at all the other men, and you always seemed to treat everyone nice. Your head is always held high. Even when you busted your ass that one time. You seemed like a good fit. It took me several trips to The Steamy Clam to work up the nerve to propose to you. Even if it was fake.” I shrugged, busying myself with my steak and not meeting her eyes, which I felt were staring a hole through my soul.

  “I noticed you at the club when I worked. I wondered about your story and why a man like you would be there.”

  “A man like me?” I gently set my fork down but ended up clinking it against my plate loud enough to startle both of us.

  “Yes … a man like you. You and Dan are good-looking. Way too good-looking to be hanging out at The Steamy Clam. I think you’re a good catch. Just got to watch putting your foot in your mouth. At least with me. And don’t ever say anyone is out of your league. There is no league. We are all here on this earth with our feet on the ground. We’re the same. Equal footing.” She smiled at me. Smiled!

  “Thank you. Dan and I are honored.”

  She laughed and shook her head, grabbing the napkin from her lap and setting it on the table as if she were throwing in the towel.

  “So, tell me about Dan. Do you have to oil that thing up? With beard oil or anything?” she asked, taking a sip of her cocktail and leaning back into the booth, watching Dan and me.

  “Beard oil? You mean, pussy juice?” I asked without missing a beat.

  The silence that fell on the table was deafening. I had done it again—foot in mouth.

  Fuck!

  Nikki stared me down for what felt like an eternity before she roared with laughter. I made her laugh so hard that she started to form tears in the corners of her eyes.

  I grinned, giving myself a mental pat on the back.

  For the rest of the evening, we grew into a much more comfortable and playful mood. Even Jesse, who had stopped by one too many times, seemed annoyed that Nikki was having a good time with me. I was shocked that she seemed to be having a good time with me too.

  We talked over the details of how we would tell everyone we’d met and agreed not to mention her stripper gig. Our plans were easy enough to remember, as they didn’t venture much off from her real life. She worked a food truck, and we’d met one day when I had business in Outer Forks. I rarely had business in Outer Forks, but since I worked with marketing all Westworld had to offer, my parents never really checked on what I was up to. As long as I was bringing in the customers, they didn’t care.

  “Do I get to go to Westy’s and jump to the front of the line since I know the owner now?” she asked, guzzling water to sober up before they kicked us out.

  Already, the restaurant had slowed, and only a few diners remained.

  “If you want. I can even give you a behind-the-scenes tour! Set you up in our hotel for the evening too. I’ll throw that in our package deal.”

  “What are you going to do when your ma and dad find out we aren’t together anymore? How will that change things?”

  “Maybe I’ll have a real girlfriend lined up at that point.” I shrugged.

  She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “I’m sure you will.” She winked at me.

  Winked! Take that, Jesse.

  THREE

  Nikki

  I had only a week left before my big debut as the soon-to-be new member of the Banks family. I had left Scarlett Herb after our business meeting with enough cash in my pocket to buy a whole new wardrobe and pay a large sum on one of my last remaining credit cards. I cursed my ex-shithead-boyfriends who’d leeched off of me years ago. Back then, when I had been in those toxic types of relationships, I hadn’t thought about my future. I had let them sit on their asses, vaping their douche whistles and playing video games while I slaved as a waitress.

  Unfortunately, waitressing hadn’t paid the bills, hence the credit card debt. My exes had wanted to use my cards for everything from the latest gaming console to a six-pack of cheap-ass beer, and my dumbass had let them. It wasn’t until I met Betty and Rox that I woke up from that vicious cycle. They finally knocked some sense into me and helped me get on my feet by working with them aboard the taco truck. They had taken me under their wings in no time. Shortly after they’d hired me, Layla had come along in a similar boat, minus the debt.

  I had grown with DTF, and they had grown with me. We supported one another and motivated each other to rise above the shitty cards life had dealt us. Last week, I had been an exhausted stripper, and now, here I was, shopping for a new wardrobe and crawling off of a mountain of debt, thanks to my super-rich, new, fake fiancé, Weston. Weston was awkward as hell but kind enough for me to look past his oddball behavior and play into his little game.

  That would be all it was for me—just a game. I had enough friends with benefits to call whoever I was in the mood for these days. I didn’t need to add to that long list. But I would be lying if I told myself I hadn’t had fun with him at the restaurant. He had made me laugh in his own quirky way. He had even made DTF laugh when I recounted our night back to them.

  “So, let me get this straight. He has a beard named Dan, which he lubes with pussy juice instead of beard oil? I don’t know if I should be cringing right now or if I should be turned on. I’m a little of both,” Betty said as we stood, huddled in the truck kitchen during food prep.

  “I’ve never been with a man with a beard before! Doesn’t it get all scratchy between your legs and on your face?” Layla asked.

  “It’s a good kind of pain. Besides, you’ve always wanted your own divine intervention, Nikki. Maybe Weston is it. He’s rich. That’s what you said you wanted in a man.” Rox raised her eyebrows.

  “I know; I know. It’s just … well … he’s different. Weird. A goofball. I did bring up the divine intervention and told him just a little about you and Jay. Nothing too personal. I did get all swoony when I told him Jay called you Kintsugi. And do you know what this big, giant buffoon said to me? He called me a geode. A fucking geode. He said it was because I was tough on the outside but filled with diamonds on the inside. So, you got Kintsugi, and I’m a damn boring-ass rock.” I laughed.

  “That is the sweetest thing! You are a crystal, Crystal!” Layla clasped her hands together and hopped back on her heels.

  “A rock. That’s pretty damn funny! I get what he was trying to say, but—” Betty started.

  “But a goofball,” I said, cutting Betty off. “He’s a goofball. Although he is a good-looking goofball.”

  I sighed, checking in with myself to see what my big deal was and coming up with no answers. My only current goal was to pay off my debts. If I had to use the Jolly Green Giant to help me get there, I would be okay.

  “You’re all right. I’ll put my best effort into being the best fake fiancée for him. After all, if the universe hadn’t wanted this, it wouldn’t have put him in my path, in front of my pole.” I laughed.

  “Bet you don’t go two days into that trip without being in front of his pole,” Betty chimed in.

  The other girls laughed, but I gasped, putting my hand to my mouth and pretending as if I were offended. I was not. Betty was probably right. Unless Weston continued to put his foot in his mouth so much, he wouldn’t be a hard pass for me. I could have a little fun with my soon-to-be fake hubby while also getting paid, too, as long as we both knew this was all an illusion.

  I picked out a few pieces of
stylish clothes for myself and a few pieces of more modest attire to wear for Weston’s parents. Not only did I need to convince them that I loved their son, but I also needed to convince them that I was a good girl. I was not. But Weston had told me his parents needed to see him with someone stable, family-oriented, traditional, and motherly—all things I knew nothing about.

  I hadn’t grown up in a family-oriented home, nor were we traditional. My father had left when I was two, and my mother certainly hadn’t been motherly. She’d had a different boyfriend every other month, and they, too, had blown through her money. Funny how that worked out. Cycles. The world continued through one long cycle. I’d smashed that cycle through DTF.

  Fuck that. I patted the cash in my pocket.

  The clarity I had in life now was mostly from damn hard work but also the support of my friends, and dare I say, crystals, smudge sticks, chants, and maybe even a naked dance or twelve under the full moon. DTF had gone along with it. All, except Betty, who had made the sign of the cross when I whipped out anything too outlandish, like my Ouija board. Even though she had told us that her African ancestors had participated in voodoo, she wouldn’t let anything that crazy into her life.

  She had refused to participate and be in the same room with the Ouija board and us that night. When the rest of the DTF clan began to play, I purposely freaked Betty out by making the board spell out her name along with herpes. I read every letter aloud, knowing she was eavesdropping. She had gotten pissed and strolled right out of that room, offering to show us her Choco Taco to prove the Ouija board was full of shit.

  I gathered my shopping bags and stuffed them in the trunk of my car. I only needed to find a pair of not-so-sexy pajamas to pack, and I would be good to go. Weston had mentioned his mom was traditional—as in, I needed to act like a virgin. No booty shorts and bralettes for bed. I was on the mission for a muumuu before I finished packing. A faint vibration came from my purse as I rummaged through a pile of receipts to find my phone. Weston’s name flashed across the screen, making me groan.

  “What’s up, Weston?” I asked.

  “I was making sure we had everything good to go for Friday morning. Are you okay to take time off of work?” he asked.

  “Yep. Everything is good. I’m finishing up my shopping now. Just need some un-sexy virgin-style pajamas since you want me to convince your mom I’m some kind of angel.” I settled into my seat and started the car. The rock-and-roll music I had been listening to blared through the speakers. I reached for the volume control and turned it down.

  “I would have pegged you for more of a polka lover,” Weston muttered.

  “Really?” I strapped myself in, gripped the steering wheel, and impatiently tapped my thumb.

  “I’m kidding. Anyway, it’s nice to hear your voice. I’ve got your pajamas under control. I think we can even wear matching ones. That might seal the deal. I’ll pick some up this weekend. Anything else I can do for my fiancée?”

  I cringed. “Nope. I think that’s it. You’re picking me up, right? Are you sure you want to drive out here and then back? That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “I have business out there this week. I’ll be staying in a hotel. Besides, I’m chivalrous, my little geode. I’m going to pick my soon-to-be wife up properly.”

  I cringed again. “Perfect. See you Friday morning. I’ll text you the address.”

  “Laters, baby.” Weston clicked his tongue. I was pretty sure he was giving me finger guns that I obviously couldn’t see.

  I rolled my eyes and hung up the phone. If I could stick this awkward situation out, I would be able to pay off one of my lower-balanced credit cards—the entire credit card. That thought alone excited me enough to put up with Weston and Dan and whatever family drama he could throw at me. If I could handle the shit situation I had grown up in, I could handle him and his overbearing parents.

  I turned the volume back up on my radio and rocked out all the way home.

  Business had kept me busy throughout the week. I blinked, and Thirsty Thursday at the square was already here, which meant tonight would be packed. With daylight lasting well after eight o’clock these evenings, people bustled along the square in search of good food and good tunes.

  If we weren’t at the square these days, we parked at one of the many festivals going on in Outer Forks. During the summer months, there were several festivals—music, art, crafts, Renaissance, and plenty of food ones. Both of the taco trucks stayed busy during the warmer months, but even in the winter, we had continually increased profits.

  Earl, our founding father—or as I liked to call him, our taco pimp—had even mentioned opening a storefront. Both Betty and Rox weren’t thrilled about that. They worried if we became too big, quality control would tank, and our products would suck. With our unique Instagram-worthy Shizzle Sauce collaboration with Scarlett Herb, our social media following had doubled, and so had theirs. People liked us now, but we didn’t want to get a big head about it.

  I stepped out of the back of the truck to take a quick breather from the constant orders coming in tonight. I leaned my tired back against Rosie, our T. rex mascot painted on the side of the taco truck. I put my palms to my eyes and rubbed, smearing what little eye makeup was left on me after this tiresome day.

  “You okay?” Layla poked her head out the back door.

  “Yeah. Yes. Just tired. I’ll be right in,” I answered.

  A loud, thumping noise rang out over the bustling square. I turned my head toward where it had come from, noticing a huge, old-school purple car making its way toward me. As it got closer to me, the front of the car reared up and then back down, right in tune with the bass line pounding through its speakers.

  I sat, mesmerized, as the hoop-ride car bounced its way right up to me and stopped. Weston stuck his head out the driver’s window and winked.

  Fuck.

  “Sweet ride,” I said, walking up to his car and admiring the golden interior. “What are you doing here?”

  “You like it? It’s my pussy wagon. And someone told me something about pink tacos. So, I thought I’d come to try out a pink taco in the pussy wagon.” He grinned.

  “Pussy wagon!” I bit my lip. I never knew I had a thing for pimp mobiles, but my panties were feeling pretty damn warm at the moment. “And I mentioned tacos. Not pink tacos. It’s The Pink Taco Truck.”

  “Damn it! Thought I was going to get some beard oil for my boy Dan here.” He gently patted his beard. “No worries. I’ll still try your taco. Let me park the P-wagon.”

  I shook my head and sighed. If Weston was here, that meant I had to introduce him to DTF. I whispered a quick prayer to the goddesses of shame and hopped back inside the truck. There were only two customers left in line when I got back to work.

  “He’s here. Weston is here.” I blew out my breath.

  “What?” Betty asked.

  “Nuh-uh!” Layla held her hand to her mouth.

  Rox smiled.

  “We get to meet your fake husband-to-be?” Layla squealed.

  “And Dan?” Betty grinned.

  “Simmer down, bitches! I’m already nervous as fuck, and I have no idea why.”

  I wrestled with the confusing thoughts in my head surrounding Weston, Dan, the P-wagon, and my fake engagement while shushing DTF, who were all doubled over in laughter. I threw my hands in the air, giving up on my so-called friends, and stepped up to the window right as Weston came into view.

  “Weston.” I smiled. “Welcome to The Pink Taco Truck. These are my friends,” I said, making the introductions while simultaneously swatting my hand behind me to let them know to shape up.

  “Pleasure to meet you, ladies. I’ve heard so much about you all and your tacos. Nikki mentioned something about some Shizzle Sauce to me, and I’ve not been able to get my mind off of it since. So, I thought I’d try it tonight while I’m here.” Weston cocked his head to the side, peering at all of us. He was so tall that he could see everything through the window, inc
luding my fidgety hands.

  I looked behind me at my friends, who were all smiling back at him.

  “Don’t you worry, baby. I’m going to fix you right up. Go on over there and have a seat at the table. I’m going to bring you the shiz.” Betty winked.

  “Looking forward to it.” Weston turned to walk to a nearby table and sat down.

  “Oh my gosh! He is hot! What the hell is wrong with you?” Layla pinched my butt.

  “You think so? I’ve not made my mind up on him yet. He’s attractive, but the beard throws me. I’ve never been with a man with one before,” I replied, grabbing a cup full of sweet tea.

  “Yes. He is hot! And he seems like the Jolly Green Giant. I don’t think he would be the type to be an asshole. But you never know. I say you put feelers out this weekend, and if he is as big of a sweetie pie as he comes off, then hop on Dan and go for a ride,” Rox said. She watched Weston as he sat at the table, karate-chopping a fly hovering around his face.

  Betty was as busy as ever, making the fanciest plate of tacos I had ever seen. She artfully arranged the cilantro over the top, stepped back, and quietly admired her masterpiece.

  “Spill it, Betty. What’s wrong? You’re quiet. I’ve never known you to be quiet.” I nudged her side.

  “All those crystals, spells, and whatever else magic you are always doing, and you can’t even see it. That is your man right there. That big, sexy buffoon is that divine intervention mess you are always preaching. He’s sexy, he’s nice, he’s rich. You need some sort of crystal for clarity. He’s your one. I don’t need no damn Ouija board to tell me that. Watch me work my magic, and when you are married to him and rich as fuck, thank me then. I’ll take cash. You’re welcome. Now, get yo’ butt out there and talk to that man.” Betty handed me the plate heaped high with tacos and decorated with dots of Shizzle Sauce.

  My eyebrows shot up into my hairline. “We’ll see.”

  I left the truck, balancing the massive plate, napkins, and sweet tea in my hands. “Voilà!” I said, setting Weston’s meal in front of him.