Get Dirty (Don’t Get Mad Book 2)
Get Dirty: Chapter 15

BREE WASN’T SURE HOW LONG SHE’D BEEN CRYING. HER chest had continued to heave for what felt like forever as the uncontrollable sobs overwhelmed her.

If her mom didn’t want a daughter, then Bree didn’t want a mom.

Only she did. Desperately.

In the back of her mind, Bree had always blamed her dad for her mom’s prolonged absence. It wasn’t exactly a secret that he was a cold, determined man, and Bree could count on one hand the number of times he’d actually hugged her with any real affection. It made sense that her mom would want to leave, to get as far away from him as possible.

But what didn’t make sense, what Bree couldn’t ignore anymore, was that she’d leave her youngest child behind to fend for herself.

Tap. Tap tap tap.

Bree hastily wiped the tears from her cheeks and rushed across her room.

“John!” She threw open the window, never so happy to see anyone in her life. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m Luke Skywalker,” John said. “And I’m here to rescue you.”

“Huh?”

John smiled. “I think Leia’s line is actually ‘You’re who?’ but I’ll take that in a pinch.”

Bree’s tears began to flow afresh. She couldn’t help it. All the pain and sadness of the last few days, and here was her best friend who, with one quote from Star Wars, reminded her that someone cared.

John’s smirk vanished. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Bree sniffled. “I’m just happy to see you.”

“Aha!” John said. He dropped his backpack into the gravel and unzipped it. “Well, if the mere sight of me brings you to tears, maybe I’d better not show you this.” With a flamboyant magician’s flourish, John yanked what appeared to be a tangled mass of rope out of his bag.

“What is that?”

“Stand back,” John said. “And I’ll show you.”

Bree stepped away from the window. She heard John grunt, and then there was a thud, as if something soft had hit the side of the house.

“Dammit,” John said, his voice muffled.

Another grunt, and another thud. This time, Bree could hear him swearing under his breath.

“Would it help if I got out and pushed?” Bree said, smiling at her own Star Wars quote.

John’s voice drifted up through the window with the expected response. “It might.”

A third grunt, and this time the end of a rope soared through the window. Bree grabbed it before it slipped back down.

“Pull it up!” John instructed.

Hand over hand, Bree drew the rope up the side of her house. It was heavier than she thought it would be, and she had to brace herself against the wall to haul it in. After ten feet, two metal hooks appeared over the windowsill, and suddenly Bree realized what John had brought.

She secured the hooks on the sill and stuck her head out the window. Below her, a rope ladder descended to the gravel path.

“Nice thinking,” she said, impressed.

John looped his backpack over his shoulders and grasped the bottom rungs. “Okay, wish me luck.”

A minute later, John’s pale arm popped over the windowsill, and with a deep groan, he hauled himself onto Bree’s bedroom floor.

Bree stood dumbstruck as John scrambled to his feet and brushed dirt from his jeans and black button-down shirt. He smiled at her sheepishly, and all the awkwardness of a thousand unsaid emotions descended upon them. Bree wasn’t sure if she wanted to joke with John as they usually did, or throw her arms around his neck and kiss him.

“I . . . I can’t believe you’re here,” she said at last.

John approached her slowly, calmly, as if she were a skittish kitten, and reached out his hand to cup her face. He brushed away a lingering tear with his thumb, which was rough and calloused from years of playing bass. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, noting the spicy mix of aftershave and perspiration from scaling the outside of her house.

Then she felt the heat of his breath close to her face and her heart stopped. She remembered the first time he’d almost kissed her. She hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted him to, but now, after all they’d been through, after the L word had been spoken, she wanted to feel his lips against her own more than ever.

Bree raised her chin, angling her face toward him. “Please,” she whispered, unaware the word had escaped her mouth until she heard it.

She felt his fingers creep around to the back of her head, and then his lips were pressed against hers. She kissed him back hungrily, her hands firmly planted on his chest, and then she felt his arm around her back, pulling her closer to him.

John moaned and gripped the back of her dress with both hands, twisting the fabric into bunches. Before Bree even knew what she was doing, she had unbuttoned John’s shirt, peeled it off him, and was kissing the muscular lines of his chest.

“Bree,” John said, his voice thick and throaty.

She heard it through a haze, her mind far away. “Yeah?”

He placed his hands on either side of her face and looked directly into her eyes. “Are you okay with this? I mean, you’ve been through a lot and I don’t want you to think I came here just to . . .” His voice trailed off and she watched a flush of pink wash over him.

Could he be any more adorable? “John, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. “Then there’s your answer.”