Dick (Bad Boys #1) Page 6

  Is asshat home?

  Through the shivering, my lips curl. I think his nickname for Blythe is funny and suiting.

  No

  I’m coming over. You need medicine.

  Huh? What? No!!!

  I’m okay, but thanks for offering.

  I type the words and wait. There’s no reply. I wait a few more minutes, still no reply. I glance to my night table and the alarm clock sitting on top of it. The bright green numbers say a quarter past nine. I’m not sure when Blythe will be home. It won’t look good for Dick to be here when he does, though. I take the blankets and flip them over my head. My wet head of hair only causes the chills to worsen. Another bout of nausea begins to rise in my throat. Abruptly forcing myself out of bed, I make a mad dash for the toilet, not wanting to make a mess on the floor. As it is, Blythe is not going to like the fact that Grant is sleeping in his spot. I usually sleep in Grant’s room with him when he’s sick.

  I make my way to the bathroom to puke. After I’ve emptied the contents of my stomach, I rinse my mouth and stumble back to bed, feeling weak and lightheaded. The landline rings. I hurry to pick it up before Grant wakes up.

  “Yes?” I croak out.

  “Mrs. Howard. There is a Mr. Crawford here to see you. He suggested I enter the code for the elevator so he can let himself in.” The security guard sounds wary as he makes the suggestion. My stomach dips.

  Damn that presumptuous Dick. It’s so kind of him to come back over, though.

  I sigh. “Okay, go ahead and let him in.”

  As sick as I feel, my heart hammers in my chest at the thought of seeing him again. I need to calm the hell down. I urge my insides to relax. Dick is a player of the worst kind, I repeat in my head. He has no respect for marriage or maybe even women for that matter. Getting hung up on him all over again would be the wrong thing to do. He will just break my heart all over again.

  Moments later there’s a light knock on the bedroom door, and he peeks inside the room. “Is it okay if I come in?” he asks quietly.

  Before I have time to reply, he takes a step inside the room. My breath hitches. He’s wearing a simple white T-shirt and a pair of jeans, but he’s so handsome. His wide shoulders, thick biceps, trim waist, and those eyes … so erotic. They look dark blue in the dim light. He makes his way over to the bed.

  “Hi,” he says softly.

  “Hi,” I answer as my insides cringe. I just looked in the mirror. Not my most attractive right now.

  He frowns and lets out a breath. “I brought you some meds. Here, take some Tylenol. You look like you’re shivering, which means you must have a fever,” he begins. He turns his head to look for something. “Do you have water?”

  I nod. “Cups are in the bathroom.”

  Without another word, he turns to the bathroom. A minute later he returns with two small Dixie cups of water. I’m so thirsty that I must be drooling. He leans forward and props me up with his arm.

  “Don’t get too close. I don’t want you to catch this virus. It’s awful,” I warn.

  “I’m a big boy. I can handle it. Here.” He passes me a Tylenol and holds the cup while I drink. I don’t think anyone has shown me this much care. Ever.

  I swallow the Tylenol with a small sip of water. My head begins to spin so I fall back down on the pillow; feeling like all of my energy has been sucked from my body.

  “I brought you this electrolyte drink. I know you probably aren’t ready for it yet. I will leave it here by the bed. When the nausea eases a bit, you should drink it. You’ll feel weak and it will replenish you. The doctor gave it to the kids and me last time we had the stomach bug. We don’t need you dehydrating.” He places the plastic bottle filled with purple liquid on the nightstand.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. This is really very kind. I didn’t expect it from someone like you, I think to myself but I don’t say the words.

  “You don’t need to thank me. I wish I could stay longer, but if Blythe comes home this could essentially look bad and given our positions …” He trails off, placing his hands in the front pocket of his jeans and shrugging his shoulders.

  “You don’t need to explain. I understand. This is still very kind of you. I’ve never had someone that cared like this before,” I mutter. Whoops! Did I really just say that? I must be really sick. This damn fever.

  His face morphs. His brows crease together, his dark blue eyes looking even darker and possibly pained. He takes his hands out of his pockets and takes a seat beside me on the edge of the bed. If I weren’t so sick I would … I hold the thought. Thinking naughty thoughts about Dixon Crawford has never got me anywhere. His head is bowed, but then he lifts his chin and looks into my eyes.

  “What do you mean that you never had someone that cared for you?” Damn, he heard that.

  “Nothing, nothing, I’m tired …” I stammer on the edge of incoherence.

  “Eden, please, tell me …” he urges with a soft voice. It sounds thick and raspy, caring.

  “It doesn’t mean much. My father was in real estate, my mother a society wife. They had been cheating on each other for years. I heard their fights. One night she left. She left me a letter saying she would come back for me and never did.” As I finish my story I’m paralyzed with worry that he’ll remember the nerdy, awkward girl from middle school. “Getting sick was never much fun. If we had a kind housemaid it was a little better, but we had some mean ones too. That’s all I meant. Thank you for coming back, and thank you for bringing medicine,” I murmur as my eyes drift shut and open again.

  Dick’s eyes bore into me. I wish I could read his thoughts. Is it sympathy? I don’t need his sympathy, that’s for sure. “What?” I finally break down and ask. The air is heavy and uncomfortable. I’m tired.

  “Nothing, it’s just that my mother left me too. She never looked back. She was an immigrant who clearly married my father for money. When Williamsburg became gentrified, my father’s manufacturing business closed down, and my mother didn’t see a point in hanging around after that. My father became a drunk, lost our house to gambling. He asked our housekeeper to take me home with her, and he took off. He never looked back or came around to see what came of me. I always wondered how he didn’t care what happened to me. Even after Google bought out Socialite a few years back, and I was in the media a lot, a part of me hoped he would recognize me on television and maybe come to me. That never happened,” he explains, pulling his glare away from me and bowing his head. I knew this story. His story. Only I never knew where he disappeared to practically overnight.

  How did we end up here? How are we talking about our most intimate demons?

  “Dick …” I want to extend my hand and touch him but I fear contaminating him. All this time I thought he simply disappeared from Williamsburg. That wasn’t the case. His father sent him away. “Where did you go to live?” I can’t help myself I need to know.

  “Bed Stuy.” He lifts his head and looks back to me. “The lady you met tonight … Marlene. She took me home with her. I was the only white kid on the block. Literally,” he chuckles.

  I gasp. “There was a lot of gang violence in Bed Stuy back then. How did you make it out?” I ask, feeling sorry for the young man who kissed me that last day of school. He was so full of self-esteem, so handsome, and popular. I can’t imagine he met the same fate in Bed Stuy.

  “It was, what it was, Eden. Ma sent her son, Ge, and me to a local Tae Kwon Do school, where we spent three afternoons a week training our bodies and learning to protect ourselves. That kept us off the streets. She also bought me my first computer. I basically taught myself computer programming.” He grins, clearly proud of himself. “That’s what will happen when you spend your most lucrative years locked inside a house because you don’t want to be the victim of a drive-by.” He grins again, but I can tell he’s trying to make light of a bad situation. I can’t believe that’s where he was. He didn’t just fall off the earth. Suddenly, I realize something … he mentioned the gentrificatio
n of Williamsburg. My heart sinks. “Enough of this heaviness for tonight. Your eyes are drifting shut. I don’t need to be boring you with my life when you’re sick,” he says, patting the bed then standing up.

  “I don’t think there’s anything boring about you.”

  Dick stands from the bed and places a soft kiss on my forehead. I close my eyes briefly, reveling in his touch, then shoot my eyes open quickly. Clearly the fever is affecting me.

  “I’m leaving for Washington in the morning. I’ll be gone for two days. I’m sorry, I don’t like to leave knowing you’re unwell. I’m meeting with the president again. I’m guessing it has something to do with the terror attacks in Paris. I’ll text you and I can tell Ma to check in on you too,” he says with worry in his tone. I’m not even sure what’s happening. Why does he feel responsible for me at all? He shouldn’t. We barely know each other.

  “Have a safe trip. Thanks for the meds,” I mutter again. My voice is groggy and raspy. I look like hell. I can’t imagine he sees me as a conquest. I’m confused. I don’t understand what’s happening. Is he my friend?

  “Thanks,” he replies and my eyes fall shut.

  As sick as I feel, my chest is warm and butterflies tingle in my stomach. It’s wrong of me to feel this way, and I know that I’m probably setting myself up for another round of Dixon Crawford heartbreak, but I can’t help it. That dick!

  My alarm goes off at six in the morning. I lean over to check Grant’s forehead, and he still feels warm. I’m pretty sure I’m still feverish too. I sit myself up on the pillows and reach over for more Tylenol. I’m thankful Dick left it on the night table. I pop a pill in my mouth and wash it down with some of the purple electrolyte drink he left. Ew! Gross. I notice a small note on the night table with my name on it.

  Eden,

  I hope you are feeling better this morning. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay. I bought some of the purple stuff for Grant too. It tastes better cold trust me. It’s in the fridge.

  I’ll check in soon.

  D

  I let out a contented sigh. It’s the fever. I shouldn’t feel giddy over this letter. The master bedroom door pushes open. Blythe stands in the entrance, his hair muffled, in a pair of plaid pajamas. He doesn’t look happy.

  “Why is Grant sleeping here?” he huffs. “I had to sleep in the guest room, and now my back is killing. You know I need this mattress specifically to sleep.” His brows draw together.

  “Why are you grinning?” he snaps and pulls the paper out of my hand. “What is this?” he begins to open the folded paper.

  “Blythe it’s nothing … Grant and I got a stomach bug. We have …”

  “Shut up,” he snaps again, his voice loud and angry. I flinch. “Is there something you need to tell me, Eden? Are you sleeping with that punk, Dixon Crawford?”

  Something about his question causes anger to stir throughout my belly. It rises to my chest and explodes out of my mouth.

  “Are you serious, Blythe? You have no right to ask that. I know about your women on the side. Do you think I’m that naïve? You’re always covered in different perfumes.” I let out a loud puff of air. My head begins to spin. I press my fingers to my temples.

  “You’re my wife, Eden. I expect you to act accordingly. I don’t expect you to go hop into bed with the technology playboy. Besides, I saved you, Eden. You owe me. You owe it to our son to behave respectfully,” he says, his voice laced with disgust. I wonder if that’s what Dick is called in the media the ‘technology playboy.’ I can see how the name caught on. Clearly people don’t know everything about him. For some reason I feel a need to defend him.

  “Blythe, you’re being unfair. I’m not sleeping with him. Grant got sick and so did I. He brought medicine and left. That’s more than you’ve done for us in … I don’t know … EVER.” I throw my hands up in exasperation.

  He lifts his hand as if he wants to strike me, and I flinch. He’s an asshole, but he’s never touched me. He pulls his hand back and something like remorse crosses his features. “You ungrateful bitch. I give you everything. All I ask of you is to take care of the boy and act the part of my wife. Is it so fucking hard?”

  “Blythe, please. Grant is right here. I don’t need him to hear this language.”

  “Just fucking act the part,” he hisses and shakes his head at me. Then he stalks off into his walk-in closet.

  “This boy is your son,” I call out, but I don’t get a response. It’s better anyway. I don’t need Grant to hear anything his father has to say.

  I climb back into bed with my son and begin planning a way out of this marriage. My husband won’t change, and if I don’t leave, I’ll disintegrate into someone I no longer recognize. Depressing blue days filled with anxiety have permeated my life for too long. My son needs a strong mother. The obstacles I face are fierce. Blythe is possessive. He won’t just let me go. Bottom line is he hates to lose. With my head resting on the pillow, I gaze up to the ceiling convincing myself that I’ve lived through so much. I will have to be strong and win this fight too. The fight for my freedom and a life separate from Blythe.

  When I left Eden’s apartment last night, it was already late so I cancelled on Ge. That made him even more suspicious. If there was one thing about our code of brotherhood, it was that the honeys could wait. Of course I had to pass through his investigative questions, as usual. I couldn’t let on how much seeing Eden and hearing her revelation about her mother affected me. My insides were burning all night. Sleep eluded me as I remembered the last time I saw my own mother, and how my father completely fell apart. I hate remembering. I buried those memories deep inside me the day I left Williamsburg. Now they were haunting me with a vengeance. Everything I didn’t want to remember has been pooling to the surface since last night, like a vacuum sucking the oxygen right out of me. The loneliness, not being wanted or cared about, burns like a raging fire inside me, making me feel so on edge. The worst part is that I now crave Eden more. I want to take that sadness away from her. I want to see her smile. I simply want to spend more fucking time with her, and I can’t let that happen. It will rock the foundation of my life. My goal is no more relationships. I wish I could somehow fuck her once and listen to her sweet sounds as she comes. Watch her smile then walk away. That is what I want. Dammit!

  No! No! No! I smack my steering wheel as I make my way to the airport. Nothing good can come out of me sleeping with her. She’s Jaden’s teacher, for crying out loud. She’s Jaden’s teacher, I repeat in my head like it’s a mantra I can’t forget.

  I enter the classroom early to set up a few things after my two-day absence. I dropped Grant off at the early morning program so I could catch up on my planning. As I place my lunch inside the cabinet, Jenna walks through the door, looking very chipper for first thing in the morning.

  “What brings the smile to your face, my dear?” I ask, lifting both my brows curiously. I’m thinking she must have had a good tumble with a man in a bed. That seems to make her this cheerful first thing on a Thursday morning.

  “I’m glad you’re back.” She shrugs, taking off her sweater and placing her lunch bag in the cabinet.

  “I thought it was because of a man.” I tilt my head expectantly and wait for her reply.

  “Okay, I may have enjoyed myself last night. But I was also worried about you guys.” Her lip sticks out.

  “Thanks. It was a rough couple of days, but Grant and I are back to normal,” I reassure her as I head over to my desk to prepare the handouts for today’s lessons.

  “I’m glad.” She nods. “I hate the stomach flu. It’s the worst. By the way, one of the moms mentioned you had a little play date with Dick.” She glares at me mischievously and a flush climbs its way up my neck. I can’t believe it. How did the mothers find that out? This school is so nosy.

  “Um, Grant wanted Jaden over. Geez!” I roll my eyes. “These mothers are something else. They really do treat him like a piece of meat,” I say with a chiding tone, hoping not to let o
n that I wouldn’t mind jumping Dick’s bones, or better yet that I knew him back in the day and wanted to jump his bones back then too.

  Jenna pauses sorting through a puzzle. Lucky the morning bell hasn’t gone yet. She straightens out her shoulders, I’m scared of what may come flying out of her mouth next. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have much of a filter when the kids aren’t around. I take a relaxed sip of my coffee. There’s no way I’m divulging my little crush. She will never let up.

  “Are you defending Dick?” Her mouth is slightly ajar. “You know, Eden, he uses those women too. He fucks them and leaves them.” She pauses and her mouth falls open. Oh dear! Something is coming … “Eden Jenkins, did you develop a crush on Dick?” Her mouth has formed an O, and she has a flabbergasted look on her face.

  I accidentally swallow a large gulp of coffee, instead of the small sip I meant to take. It burns my throat and tongue going down. My initial response is to burst out laughing and spit coffee all over the place. Not very practical.

  “Jenna,” I admonish. “Really? Me?” I play the innocence card, and I have to say I’m very proud of my performance.

  “Yes, you, Eden.” She doesn’t let up. I didn’t think she would. “I see the enticement. The man is dripping sex, ego, and that thick bulge in his pants is enticing as hell … but …” She pauses and thankfully she does, because for the love of everything holy, her words and thinking of Dick gets me all heated up again. “Eden,” she snaps, pulling me out of my reverie. “He isn’t for you. He’s looking for a good time. He’s the fuck ’em and leave them type. You are a hopeless romantic. Those worlds do not collide. They never do. He’ll end up breaking your heart. I can’t let that happen. I need to watch out for you. Now me, on the other hand, that’s all I need … the fuck ’em and leave them type.” She blows on her freshly manicured nails and brushes them on her shoulder.

  I laugh so hard I snort loudly. “You’re killing me. I don’t want him, and I agree, I want a happily ever after with a simple, stable man. I don’t want the rich, billionaire playboy anymore. I have one of those, and I lead a very lonely life. I just want a simple guy that likes to do simple things,” I sigh.