Home > Hit the Spot (Dirty Deeds #2)(17)

Hit the Spot (Dirty Deeds #2)(17)
Author: J. Daniels


“He wasn’t joking,” she interrupted, nearly hollering at me. “Okay? He was serious and meaning this bet between you two, and I think you need to be prepared for what’s coming.”

I blinked rapidly, feeling wrinkles gather on my forehead. What the …

Speaking of bets, I’d put money on Syd pacing whatever room she was in right now and doing it while twisting a lock of her hair around her finger.

Something was off. Her voice jumped with anxiousness. She sounded edgy and maybe a little too sure of herself.

So I started fishing.

“Why do you sound like that?” I questioned.

“Why do I sound like what?” she questioned back with no change in her tone.

“Like that. Like you know something.”

“I don’t know anything. I’m just saying, it’s not a guarantee he’ll lose and you need to be ready.”

“Ready for what, Syd? What aren’t you telling me?”

I was frowning at the tops of my knees when I heard the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle drawing near.

Not strange. I lived next to a busy road that had direct access to the beach, and bikes flew up and down the street all the time. Especially on a nice night like tonight, cloudless with a cool breeze blowing.

But what was strange was the sound kept drawing nearer. And nearer. As if this bike wasn’t simply passing by.

I lifted my eyes to the bay window, leaned forward, and squinted when the engine cut off.

Right outside my house.

No. No way.

“Syd,” I said in warning as I stood from the couch and sat my bowl on the coffee table. “Did you give Jamie my address?”

“Did I mention how good your pie was? Brian had seconds,” she quickly informed me.

My best girl was avoiding. She was guilty and she was avoiding.

The entire conversation we just had was making all kinds of sense now. New sense. As was her tone.

A knock sounded at the door.

I gasped, my hand squeezing that phone so hard I thought it might break. “Tell me you did not tell that loser where I live,” I hissed as I marched across the room.

“I can’t do that,” she responded.


“Well, I can’t! I’d be lying if I said I didn’t tell him!”

“You are unbelievable,” I scolded her, reaching the door. I stood on my toes and peered through the peephole.

King of all bastards was smirking like an idiot.


“Go away!” I hollered.

His smirk twisted into a smile as his upper body shook with a laugh. He stepped closer while jerking his head to get his wavy hair out of his eyes, looked directly at me through that peephole, and warned, “Open up, Legs. Don’t make me pick the lock.”

I dropped back onto my heels. My spine straightened.

Pick the lock? He wasn’t serious, was he?

“What did he say?” Syd whispered excitedly in my ear. “Put me on speaker so I can hear everything.”

I scowled. Seriously? She was terrible. And a traitor if I ever knew one.

“He said thanks for being Team Jamie all this time. He appreciates it,” I lied. Then I disconnected the call without saying a good-bye, per usual, set my phone on the console table, pressed my fingertips to the door, and stood on my toes again to glare at blue eyes.

“I am not letting you in,” I informed him. “So you might as well get back on your bike and head on down the highway. And when you reach the ocean, do us all a favor and keep going.”

He cocked his head. “Babe, don’t play with me. I got pie I wanna eat and I don’t wanna do it sitting out here on your porch. Open up.”

“What?” I looked as low as my eye could see, which reached close to mid-torso on Jamie. “What are you talking about? What pie?”

He lifted his right hand when prompted, and when he did, I saw he was holding my late nana’s ceramic pie plate with the ruffled edges and the washed-away floral lace design speckling the side.

It was irreplaceable. It held meaning and memories and was always cherished and handled with love.

And it was delivered to me on a motorcycle. By a loser …

Gasping, I stepped back and made quick work of the lock, then I twisted the knob and swung the door open, getting right up in Jamie’s face to yell, “Do you have any idea what this pie plate means to me? Give me that!”

I reached for it, but Jamie held it out of my grasp.

“Relax before you make me drop it,” he cautioned, all calm and smooth while keeping his arm between us to hold me back.

Before I make him drop it? I bared my teeth.

“Give it!”

When I stepped closer to try and snatch it again and bring it to safety, he stepped into me, wrapped that arm that was between us around my waist, picked me up, and carried me with him inside, all while balancing my precious pie plate with a hand I didn’t trust.

“Let go of me!” I cried, wanting to twist and wiggle free but keeping still so I wouldn’t jar the plate.

He did let go of me, but not until after he kicked the door shut, stared deep into my eyes, squeezed me tight with the one arm keeping me off the ground, and said in a low, promising voice, “Know what this means to you, so fuckin’ relax. I was careful.”

Chest rising and falling rapidly, I blinked up at him after my bare feet touched the hardwood floor.

Syd must’ve told Jamie about the plate. She also must’ve trusted him enough to get it to me safely, but that didn’t mean I trusted him. I wasn’t even sure I believed him, even though the evidence was right in front of me.

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