Dirty Stranger (The Dirty Suburbs Book 3)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  At least my butt looks good in yoga pants. It's a small consolation but why not? I'll take it.

  Gracie shakes her head and looks at me over the rim of her cocktail. She's drinking something frosty and colorful from a goblet the size of a kitchen sink. "I respect your decision to take the high road and not stoop to his level," she says. "Even though I probably wouldn't be as gracious if I was in your shoes."

  Sammie eyes me sympathetically. “Explain to me again how you ended up paying alimony to that douchebag. No offense, but I mean, he drives a better car than you do, he lives in the house you lived in when you were married while you have a shoebox apartment – why on earth would a judge order you to give him money?”

  I sigh. “He doesn't have a source of income. And apparently, I condoned his cheating. So I have to pay the price.”

  Faith’s eyes narrow. “Huh?”

  “My lawyer explained to me that since I took Zayn back each time he cheated, legally-speaking, I condoned his behavior, and for that, I have to ensure that he can maintain ‘the lifestyle to which he has become accustomed’.” I grumble bitterly.

  “That’s utter bullshit,” Sammie drawls as she rolls her brown eyes up to the ceiling. “You need a new lawyer. Your husband cheated on you and you get punished for trying to save your marriage? The world has gone mad.” She dips a chip into the over-priced salsa sitting in the middle of the table and then gobbles it down greedily.

  I shake my head as I lean back on the comfy suede sofa and glance out at the dance floor. There are a few couples dancing under the purple strobe lights. A group of giggly college girls stand by the DJ booth. Aside from them, the crowd is sparse. It’s Monday night and there aren't very many patrons at the Opal Lounge. And I mean, this is Reyfield after all, a little suburb 15 minutes outside of Chicago. The vast majority of the population is enjoying bingo night at the seniors’ residence tonight while the rest of the adults in town have probably put their rugrats to sleep and collapsed into bed in front of the Big Bang Theory. Reyfield doesn’t seem like the kind of place where a chic lounge like this is going to rake in tons of cash every night of the week. As much as I love the Opal Lounge, I can’t help but wonder what its owners were thinking when they opened it out here.

  “I really don't want to focus on it or it'll destroy me completely.” I tell them. “I have to believe that everything happens for a re—”

  “Here we go…” Sammie mutters under her breath as she leans in and grabs her orange juice from the table. “How can you stay so damn positive through something like this?”

  I clasp my hands at heart center. "I don't need revenge," I say calmly as I channel the philosopher Rumi. "What I seek is understanding."

  Faith rolls her eyes hard enough to pop them out of their sockets. "You're repressed as fuck, Isla,” she growls. “The man you trusted with your heart fucked you over! Get mad! GET MAD!"

  Grace nods in agreement. "Daniel hasn't done a fraction of the shit Zayn did to you and every day is a struggle not to show up at his office with a can of spray paint and a baseball bat and go all Charlize Theron in Mad Max on him.”

  "Hey!" Sammie says, "That's my brother you're talking about."

  Grace shrugs nonchalantly as she grabs her enormous drink with both hands and brings it to her lips. "Just keepin' it real."

  The two hold each other's sharp gazes for a long minute and just when I fear that they're about to lunge at each other in a fistfight or at least have a war of words, they both burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

  “Getting mad won’t solve anything,” I say as their laughter simmers down.

  A server dressed in all black with the Opal Lounge logo emblazoned across her generous chest sets a bottle of champagne and four flutes on the low tempered glass tabletop in front of us. "Enjoy, ladies."

  I reach out and touch her elbow as she walks away. “Excuse me, we didn’t order this.”

  My girlfriends are treating me tonight. They told me to drink as much as I can stomach and they agreed to split the tab. But I don’t want them to overextend themselves by splurging on top-shelf alcohol when I know for a fact that it will only offer temporary reprieve from my problems.

  The woman smiles at me, pushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. “It’s on the house, I guess. The bartender sent it over.”

  She struts away as my confused gaze scans the bar area on the bottom floor. The room is dim aside from the flashing purple strobe lights but I can make out a tall, broad-shouldered silhouette pouring a drink for a pair of very flirtatious older women. “Any of you know that guy?” Gracie slides to the edge of the couch and peers down over the brushed chrome railing.

  I lean in and take a closer look. That’s when the familiarity strikes me. “Oh, shit…” I mutter under my breath.

  I can feel Sammie’s gaze on the side of my face. “What is it?”

  “That’s Reuben.” I duck my head in a juvenile attempt to hide from him.

  “Reuben?” she echoes with a raised eyebrow.

  My heart riots in my chest at the sight of him. What’s he doing here? I mean, what’s he doing here, working at the bar?

  Sammie’s still waiting for my response. “Who’s Reuben?”

  I keep my head down and avoid looking over that way. “Just this guy.”

  Faith bumps her shoulder into mine. “Honey, you know we aren’t letting you off the hook till you spill the details,” she laughs, “so you’d better start talking.”

  “Met him at Herbivore this morning when I went to get my coffee. He’s the new barista.”

  “God – do you see those shoulders?” Sammie muses. “He’s got Keeland-shoulders.” Ever since she got married, the attractiveness of every other man has been calculated by comparison to her husband. It’s a hilarious yet oddly appropriate unit of measurement because Keeland Masters is abnormally attractive.

  “And he has that whole sexy, panther thing going?” Grace adds. “Do you see the way he moves? I’ve never seen anybody shake a cocktail shaker with that much swagger.”

  Faith shrugs uninterestedly. “He’s cute.” She reaches for the champagne and fills three glasses, handing one to me and another to Grace before chugging some back herself. “He has good taste in alcohol so that’s definitely a plus,” she chuckles.

  Right at that moment, his head lifts and I swear that he looks straight up at me. “Oh god,” I gasp, looking away.

  Sammie rolls her eyes but she says nothing. “You should go talk to him,” Grace nudges firmly.

  I scoff. “Not happening”

  “Why?” she presses.

  “He works at the coffee shop,” I say.

  Faith hikes an eyebrow at me and Sammie whistles low on her breath. I instantly realize how shallow that sounded.

  “No, no, no,” I say defensively. “I didn’t mean that I wouldn’t date him because he doesn't have a good-enough job. I just meant that…he’s a boy, a college kid.”

  Grace squints at me. “He told you that?”

  “Uh…”

  Sammie grunts, eyes brimming with annoyance. “No, she’s just making excuses to justify her stubborn refusal to go talk to him.”

  “And who said anything about dating anyway?” Faith grins. “Go flirt. College boys are good at that, I hear.” She winks.

  I laugh.

  I look over at him and this time, I’m sure, he’s definitely staring in my direction. Still, I’m hesitating. Why does my heart feel so fluttery?

  Faith sighs. “Y'know, when somebody sends you a bottle of Veuve Clicquot, it’s bad manners to not at least say ‘thanks’.”

  "It's a matter of etiquette." Grace nods resolutely.

  Sammie stares at me. I recognize the challenge in her eyes. "Okay, you refuse to go set Zayn's trash on fire, so how about a compromise? Flirt with the hot bartender. Hell, go home with him tonight. Have some fun. Get laid. By some hot college dude. Let that be your revenge."

  Did she just say 'dude'?

  Gracie
and Faith nod in agreement as if Sammie’s plan is perfectly reasonable.

  I sigh. "Fine. I'll go talk to him. Just a little." I mean, what do I have to lose?

  I run my tongue over my lips and take the time to finger-comb my hair. I reach into my purse and break out my pocket mirror to do a quick teeth check. Then, I discreetly sniff my armpits because you never know.

  “For the love of God, Isla!” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Faith fling up her arms in frustration, standing up from the couch.

  “Where are you going?” I ask, panic rising into my chest.

  “I’m going to do the socially-required thing and thank the poor college boy for spending his allowance money on this bottle of champagne.”

  No, no, no. Faith can’t be the one to deal with this because she’ll do something over the top, I just know it. My suspicions are confirmed when I notice my business card clutched firmly between her fingers. Oh, shit!

  She strides away toward the staircase leading to the dance floor and I hurry after her, struggling in my heels to keep up. I hear Grace and Sammie cheering me on. Faith smirks when she turns back to find me chasing after her. She slows her pace and hooks her arm through mine. We make the procession arm-in-arm.

  Having her right next to me is oddly calming. I feel like maybe I’ll get through this without falling flat on my face. But that sense of calm evaporates the instant Reuben looks up and his honey eyes connect with mine. The flicker of interest that ignited when I laid eyes on him this morning at the coffee shop has morphed into a roaring forest fire low in my belly.

  Deep breaths, Isla. Calming breaths.

  I put one foot in front of the other, barely aware of my movements, barely aware of the women sitting at the bar and batting their eyes at Reuben, barely aware of the firm squeeze Faith gives my arm. “You’ve got this, beauty.” I blink back to reality just as she makes a sharp left and disappears into the ladies’ room, abandoning me a mere two feet from the counter.

  Reuben’s eyes slowly scan my body, leaving a trail of blazing lust running across my skin. His lips gradually pull into that muted smile of his that does nothing to dim the force of his stare.

  “Good evening, Isla.” His voice comes out deep and steady. The space between my thighs clenches instantly.

  I struggle to find my own voice. “Hi.”

  “Lovely to see you again.” He pours vodka into a row of shot glasses and pushes them toward his flirtatious customers without ever taking his eyes off of me. “Especially so soon.” He licks his lips.

  What would it feel like to touch the tip of my tongue to his? I shake my head to push away the thought.

  I ease onto a vacant barstool and try to act cool despite the cutting glares being thrown at me by the pair of women he just shoved the shots at. “Thank you,” I say to fill the silence. “For the bottle of champagne.” I point my thumb over my shoulder to where Grace is pouring bubbly into her vat of margarita. She's gonna regret that in the morning.

  Reuben nods solemnly but he doesn’t say anything. He just keeps watching me lustfully with that unnerving, golden gaze.

  He’s taller than I realized this morning at the coffee shop. And much more imposing. It dawns on me that, even in my three inch heels, he’d loom over me. And without his coffee shop cap, I get a better look at his face. His eyes are still just as stunning, but now, I can appreciate the thick waves of his dark hair, the sharpness of his nose, the prominence of his brow. I read somewhere that the more prominent the brow, the more dominant the man. Just the thought gives me tingles in my pelvis.

  I swallow. “You’re sure persistent when you decide to pursue a girl.” The words steal past my lips.

  He slides a bottle of tequila back onto the lacquered shelf and turns to me with a hitched eyebrow. “Oh? Is that what I’m doing?”

  "Uh..?" Did I misunderstand his body language? Fuck, I misunderstood his body language!

  I feel embarrassment flood my cheeks. I'd assumed he was hitting on me. I mean, his phone number scribbled onto my free coffee this morning, now the complimentary bottle of expensive champagne, the panty-dissolving stares...God, I’m so not good with the whole dealing-with-men thing. I guess that’s sort of what happens when you marry your high school sweetheart six months after graduation only to find yourself single again eight years later. You kind of have no freakin’ clue how to read the opposite sex.

  “I thought you were flirting with me. Sorry.” I fight the urge to cower under the bar. I'm mortified.

  Playfulness lights up Reuben’s face as he leans across the counter to me. “Oh, I do want a chance with you but I’m smart enough to know that it takes more than a hazelnut soy latte to seduce a woman as beautiful as you.”

  Okay, he’s hitting on me. He’s definitely hitting on me.

  I blush all the way to my pinkie toe, joking to relieve the tension building between us. “You’re right. It takes copious amounts of flattery and booze. Lots of booze.”

  A genuine but restrained smile curves his mouth. “Hence the champagne,” he says matter-of-factly. “And let me get to work on the flattery right now…You look amazing tonight, Isla.”

  “Thank you,” I say, turning my face slightly to obscure the blush I feel on my skin.

  Did someone just turn up the heat in here?

  I pull a toothpick out of the dispenser on the counter and roll it around between my fingers. "So you are trying to seduce me?" I say, my voice straining with lust.

  He nods casually. "Yup." I suck in a sharp breath, a hiss escaping my lips. Reuben leans in and whispers in a low, intimate voice. "On a scale from one to ten, how am I doing so far?" The smirk on his lips is tempting enough to lick off.

  You're at an eleven, buddy.

  I try to play it cool. Looking away, I drag the point of the toothpick along the countertop. "Pretty sure I'm not your type," I mutter.

  He brushes a finger down my cheek. "Trust me, Cinnamon. You've got all the pieces I like." My lips part and I moan lightly. Mercifully, the soulful music in the room muffles the sound. I enjoy his touch. Too much.

  Reuben smiles, victory dancing in his eyes. He likes that he affects me this way. "So, what are you ladies celebrating tonight?" Thank god he's changing the subject.

  My shoulders pop up before slumping in defeat. "We're not really celebrating anything. My friends are trying to cheer me up so I guess you could say it's a pity party."

  “A pity party?” He reaches across the counter and picks up a shiny lock of my hair. His eyes stay riveted to it as he twirls it around his finger. I feel myself moving closer, craving even more contact. “Why does sweet, gorgeous, cinnamon-haired Isla need pity?”

  Because my life is falling apart piece by piece. “It’s complicated.”

  “Come on. It can’t be that bad. You’re beautiful. You’re newly single. You own the trendiest yoga studio in town. Sounds like you’ve got a lot going for you.”

  I jolt backward, stunned that this stranger knows all these details about my life. My hair slips from his fingers. How long has he been in town?

  He chuckles curtly. “Relax. Nancy and Delores talk a lot.” I release a breath I didn’t even know I was holding on to. “And I asked a lot of questions.”

  "You asked questions about me?" My throat closes down.

  He nods, teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

  I’m not used to getting this type of attention from the opposite sex. At least, not anymore. When I was young, wild, blonde Isla Hamilton, I had guys at my feet, but things took a turn a while back and I changed in a lot of ways. Many of them good but some were not so good. The men I’ve met since my divorce tend to find me complicated. And men generally prefer 'easy' to 'complicated'.

  I pull further away. “A tip for you. If you insist on being nosey, there are far more interesting people than me in this town.” I smile.

  “I doubt that.” The way he says it lets me know that he knows much more about me than I’d willingly share with a stranger.

&nbs
p; Thanks Nancy and Delores!

  “I’m guessing they gave you the whole story. So, why are you still standing here? You should be running in the opposite direction by now…unless your life is just as crazy as mine.”

  I just can't understand why a guy like him would find a woman like me attractive, anyway. I've got baggage. Loads of it. Maybe he just likes the challenge.

  “Yes, they told me a lot about you. And I’m not running. I’m…” My heart stills as he searches his mind for the right word. “…intrigued.” Well, if that isn’t vague.