Dirty Boy

By Nichole Rose

Can this dirty boy convince his curvy girl that love is worth any risk?

 

Dante
Behind my back, people call me rude.
To my face, they call me a star.
I never cared what anyone had to say.
All that mattered to me was football and my family.
The minute I saw Ella Morgan, everything changed.
Now, all I think about is that sweet smile.
She thinks we're just a summer fling. She's wrong.
There's nothing temporary about the way she makes me feel.
One way or another, this curvy little goddess will be mine.
Even if I have to play dirty to win her.

 

Ella
Last week, I destroyed my drug-dealing father's supply and skipped town.
All I want to do is lay low until college starts.
Except Dante Duncan refuses to leave me alone.
He's the biggest, bossiest football star I've ever seen.
He says we're meant to be.
I'm starting to believe he might be right.
But I don't need the kind of attention he draws.
I promised myself I wouldn't fall for him.
Except I'm pretty sure it's already too late.
How am I supposed to say goodbye at the end of the summer?

 

If you enjoy steamy sweet romance, summer love, and bossy men who know exactly what they want, you'll love Dante and Ella's dirty hot story!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nichole Rose
• Release date: Jan 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201410520

Book preview

Chapter One

Ella

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Whoever is in charge of weather in the south sucks at their job. It's barely ten in the morning, and it's already ridiculously hot. My hair is plastered to my scalp, and I feel more like I'm drinking the air than breathing it.

Suck it up, Ella, I mutter to myself, trying to smooth my shirt over my boobs. The thin material keeps sticking to my sweaty skin. If I don't get inside soon, I'm going to look like I'm feral, raised by wolves in the forest.

To be honest, I think that might have been better than the way I was raised. My dad is an important man. He's also the biggest drug dealer in Georgia. Or at least he was until I destroyed his supply and skipped town a week ago. I've been laying low on Tybee Island since, hoping he gives up looking for me soon. I'm not counting on it though.

The only thing my dad loves more than his drugs is the money they bring. And I effectively destroyed both. Without drugs to sell, there is no money to be made. I'm not even sure why I did it, really. It wasn't part of my plan. All I wanted to do was graduate and get out. But he wasn't home when I packed my stuff. I found the drugs and just…acted.

I don't regret it. But I'm also not stupid enough to think he won't punish me for it if he finds me. He's never been abusive, but I've never tested just how far that restraint goes, either. I'm not ready to find out now. I just need to lay low for the next few weeks, and then I'll be off to college in Nashville.

The only thing my dad hates more than someone messing with his business is the great state of Tennessee. I'm not sure why he hates the entire state, but he won't set foot in it. I have a sneaking suspicion he's got enemies there. Regardless of the reason, his disdain for the state is exactly why I chose Vanderbilt University. There's zero chance of him ever visiting me there.

It's a win-win. Vanderbilt is a great school. They were also the only school to offer me four years' worth of free education, meaning I can actually afford to attend without my dad's help.

I watch through the windshield as my best friend's uncle, Ted Riley, appears in the distance, headed toward the ice cream shop he owns. He's tossing his keys in the air and whistling. I breathe a sigh of relief and kill the engine. The flow of hot air from the vents immediately stops.

The hot air blowing in from the windows is even worse.

Even though my dad could easily afford a better car for me, I refuse to accept one. The less his money touches my life, the better off I am. Especially now that I'm eighteen. When he eventually loses everything, I don't want my stuff to be packed in the evidence bags alongside his.

I like to think my mom would agree with me if she were still alive. But the truth is…I don't know what she would say. She died when I was little, back when my dad still pretended to be a law-abiding citizen even though he was probably already deep into the criminal underworld. If my mom knew it, that knowledge died with her.

I'm not sure if I actually remember the willowy brunette with the bright eyes or if I've just stared at pictures so much that I think I remember her. Either way, she isn't here now and I'm on my own.

I flip my visor down to check my appearance a final time. As I feared, my hair is plastered to my head. But my mascara is holding up like a trooper and the flush to my round cheeks looks more like blush than a heat rash, so the hair will just have to do.

If Mr. Riley hires me, it won't have anything to do with my looks anyway. I'm thick and curvy, with wide hips and more than my fair share of boobs. I'm not at all ashamed of or self-conscious about my body. But I am a realist. And if Mr. Riley wanted a supermodel working for him, he could have his pick right about now. It's summer and there are blondes in tiny bathing suits everywhere.

Luckily for me, most of them are here for a little summer sun, not to sling ice cream for minimum wage.

I climb out of the car, and then bend to grab my purse from the passenger seat.

A truck pulling into the lot catches my attention, prompting me to freeze with half my body sticking out of the vehicle. My gaze drifts to the stray Chihuahua splashing in a puddle in the middle of the lot. I don't think the truck's driver sees the little dog, or that the little dog sees the truck.

The truck speeds forward, the driver oblivious to the animal right in its path.

Oh no, I whisper, scrambling to get out of the car so I can stop what's about to happen. Before I can even straighten up, the driver notices the dog. The dog notices the truck too.

The driver swerves to the right just as the dog runs in the same direction. The truck immediately swerves left to miss the dog, who disappears between two cars in the next row.

My eyes meet those of the driver for a split second. Just long enough to see his widen in horror as his truck comes careening toward my car. He yanks the steering wheel to the right, trying to course correct, but it's already too late for that. There is no stopping the inevitable now.

I throw myself backward, landing against the heated metal of the BMW beside me just as the truck slams into the back of my Toyota with a sickening crunch. The impact shoves my car forward a full two feet. It comes to rest against the cement retaining wall, caught between it and the truck.

No, no, no, I whisper. My stomach sinks at the sight of the glass littering the ground from the broken headlight. The front fender is scratched and dented. I'm guessing the back is in even worse shape.

The truck's driver throws the door open and climbs out.

Are you okay? he calls, his voice booming.

I'm too busy gaping at my car to answer him. There's no way I can afford to fix this. I barely have enough to cover necessities for the next two months, hence why I'm trying to find a summer job. Paying to fix my car is completely out of the question if I want to be able to eat actual food until school starts.

Running footsteps intrude on my misery and then a pair of rough hands clamp down on my shoulders, shaking me gently.

Are you okay? the man growls. His voice is deep and rough, full of worry.

I lift my gaze to his and then blink.

Good lord. I think Little Thor just hit my car. He's too young to be Big Thor, but he's definitely in the Thor family. He's a few years older than I am, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two, with short brown hair and a scruffy jawline. His baby blue eyes swim with concern.

Even though I'm five-nine, he's still several inches taller than I am. And he isn't wearing a shirt. Acres of golden skin and bulky muscle greet my gaze. Bold tattoos on his chest and arms draw my attention. So does the way his board shorts hang low on his hips, showing off the little trail of hair that leads to…places I do not need to think about right now. His muscles aren't overly defined, but he's like a freaking brick wall, way too hot and hard for me to deal with right now.

Are you okay? he asks again, running his hands all over me as if to check for injuries.

Stop that, I say, swatting at his right hand when I try to move away only for him to pull me closer. He's all up in my personal space, smelling like sunshine and seawater. The combination has my head spinning.

You can speak, he says, seemingly relieved.

Shirt, I blurt.

This time, he blinks.

You aren't wearing a shirt, I mutter, carefully removing myself from between his hands. They're strong, capable hands. A little rough. I press my palm to my forehead and suck in a deep breath, trying to get my mind right. It's not working. Why are you naked? I mean, half-naked.

I was running.

"Running? Um, are you okay?" I ask, suddenly worried he may have hit his head. Because he definitely wasn't running. He was driving a freaking Monster truck. And not very well either, considering that he almost murdered a dog and broke my car.

Yes.

You weren't running. You were driving. I scowl. Actually, you were crashing. Into my car.

There was a dog.

I'm surprised you noticed from way up there. My scowl deepens as I look at his truck. Why is it so big? I mean, sure, he's big, but surely he fits in a normal-people-sized car?

I was distracted, he growls.

You shouldn't drive while distracted. Haven't you heard the PSA?

He grunts instead of answering me, which I take to mean he has heard the PSA before and just doesn't want to admit it. I bet he was texting. Or playing with his radio. He was definitely driving too fast. This parking lot doesn't look anything like a racetrack. The cement is pitted and cracked, with potholes big enough to qualify as craters.

You still haven't answered my question.

What question?

Are you okay? he growls.

Jeez. You're grumpy, I mutter, pretty sure he's confused. He just hit my car. I should be the grumpy one. Maybe he really did hit his big, grumpy, handsome head.

Are you injured? he asks, clamping those hands down on my arms again. His baby blue eyes meet mine, burning right through me. I get lost in them and the warmth they send shooting through me. I need to know if I hurt you, baby girl.

No, I whisper, shaking my head. The term of endearment makes my heart flutter a little. It sounds too good coming from him. I'm not hurt.

Do you have insurance?

You hit me.

Answer the question, he growls.

Yes. I bite my lip as soon as I say the word. Um, no. I lied, I hurry to say. If we get insurance or the police involved, they may alert my dad. And then he'll know where to find me. And that has no way written all over it. No insurance.

Little Thor's jaw tightens, his disapproval obvious.

My car is fine,