Dirty Dealer: A Hero Club Novel

Adele. She’s finally happy, and you’re a player.”
He’s not wrong. “Maybe I’ll become a reformed ladies’ man, like you.”
“No doubt you’re capable, but it takes more than a whim, mate. When you meet the right woman, you’ll know.”
“Yeah.” I nod, but what if I never meet the right woman? How will I know if she’s the one when I do? I don’t even know where to go looking. It’s not that I have problems attracting the female population. Quite the opposite. I have no trouble finding a woman to warm my bed, or suck my dick. The issue is, I never know whether they’re only after a piece of my fortune. Call them what you will. Gold diggers. Advantageous hustlers. But I want a woman who’d be satisfied with my companionship even if I were dirt poor. I release a sigh and take another sip of my beer. “We all can’t pick out a girl from a rest stop and marry her like you did.”
“Not really that simple.”
“Too bad.” I sigh into my beer glass. I wish it worked that way. “It’d be easier. Sometimes I think I’m getting too old for the LA scene.”
“Must be a real trial. All those willing and wanting women, following you home each night like puppies for a roll in the sack. I don’t know how you do it.”
Okay, so yeah. It’s not all that horrible. I fight back a grin, but it quickly spreads across my lips. “They’re more like tigers. A few cougars.”
“Might want to take a break from playing the field if it’s true love you’re in search of.”
“That your master advice?”
“Nah, mate.” He laughs, heartily and loud. “Fuck, it’s common sense. Can’t meet your princess if all your nights are spent in the brothel.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Now, let’s get some photos of this monstrosity for Mrs. Sheehan.”
“You mean masterpiece?”
“Hunk of junk.”
He presses a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”
“Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder. That’s all that matters, Chance, and to Darlene Sheehan you’re a mad genius.”
“Mad?”
“You play with goats, man.”
“Goat. One goat. I’m an artist, mate, but I have a heart. Go easy on me.”
“Next time I’ll bring lube. Now, smile.” I hold up my phone and back up to get him in the frame. “Or don’t. A tortured artist sells better than a happy one.”
“You’re crazy, you know that?” Chance chuckles, then sobers for me to take another photo.
“Aren’t we all?” I lift my brows over the screen of my phone and grin, because yeah, we all do what we gotta do to make the money.

2
Rachel
There is nothing worse than listening to running water on a full bladder. I know this because it’s a regular experience in my current living situation. Today is my fault though, and I mentally slap myself for sleeping through my first alarm—that and downing a protein shake after getting dressed. My half of the bedroom shares a wall with our apartment’s only bathroom and I’ve had to pee for a good thirty minutes—the last fifteen of them pure torture as one of my roommates steals the last of the hot water.
Squeezing my thighs together, I lean forward to stare at my magnified reflection. With a steady hand I swipe another line of black across my eyelid. My ears perk at the cut of the shower. I cap my eyeliner and race to wait for my roommate to exit the bathroom before anyone else cuts the line. My roommates have a very strict bathroom schedule—it’s the only way five women can co-exist with one bathroom and all get to work on time—but Kari Ann is going way over her allotment this morning.
I knock on the door. “Can I get in there, please? I have to pee.” She doesn’t respond, or even acknowledge my interruption. Not that I expect her to. Hell, if I didn’t have to go so badly, I’d just stop at a gas station on the way to Americana Studios. But I don’t have time, and a few more minutes and I really might piss myself. I knock at the door again.
“Jesus.” The door cracks open and with it comes a staggering fog of steam. I step back as Kari Ann pushes past with her shower caddy in hand and a towel wrapped around her. She gives me a disapproving glare. Because I’m the asshole here.
It doesn’t bother me though—not enough to pick a fight—because I’m already inside the bathroom, lock flipped shut and pants down. My bladder practically sighs in relief, but it’s short-lived.
An aggressive knock at the door interrupts my second of peace. “Almost done? I really need to shower!” Jenni shouts.
Sharing a two-bedroom, one-bath apartment with four others is a special kind of hell. The rent comes as close to affordable as Los Angles gets, but sometimes I question whether it’s worth the sacrifice. Hell, these days I question most of my decisions, including the one to up and leave my comfortable life in Chicago for a shot at following my dreams. I quickly wash my hands and open the door so Jenni can get ready for her auditions. “Sorry. Break a leg today.”
“Thanks, Rae!” Jenni smiles as she and I switch places.
I make a quick stop in my room, trying not to notice as Kari Ann struts around in her undies. My roommates also have no qualms about walking around naked, or close to it, something I’m still adjusting to. I grew up with a big brother and fairly conservative parents, in the Midwest where such shenanigans might result in frozen nips for more than half the year. “Bye, Kari Ann.” I wave, my gaze averted.
She doesn’t answer.
I sling my bag over one shoulder and check to make sure the keys are inside before I tug the handle of my rolling cart toward the front door. It’s currently loaded down with every makeup brush and beauty product I own. “Have a good day!” I call out to no one in particular. My roommates