Dirty Stranger (The Dirty Suburbs Book 3)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  His hand instinctively massages his swollen chin. He has a huge welt on his forehead and his ribs are black and blue. "You don't need to worry yourself over what went on last night." He grins reassuringly like we’re nothing but old buddies sharing an inside joke. "It was a little scuffle between ex-lovers. Nothing out of the ordinary. You know how these women get." He leans in and whispers with a conspiratorial smirk. “She’s just upset about the divorce. I think she still wants me.”

  I laugh bitterly. Where the hell does this guy get off being so smug? "Well, I’m not too sure about all that. From where I was standing, it looked like your ex-wife kicked your ass. And she meant it. And you deserved every bit of it."

  He scoffs. "I didn't deserve to be treated like that, bro. I just went there to reason with her. Would you believe that her lawyer filed a court appeal to get my alimony cancelled?"

  "You don't deserve a penny of that woman's hard-earned money," I growl. "And you had no right following her into that yoga studio."

  He puffs up his scrawny chest. "We built that business together."

  Well, hearing him say that just pisses me off. I jab the butt of my baseball bat into his bruised ribs. He howls in pain and his eyes roll back into his head. For a second it looks he like it might pass out. Instead, he limps backward and grabs the doorframe for support. "Ouch, man!"

  "Listen to me, you bag of shit. When you followed Isla into that yoga studio last night, you were trespassing."

  His eyes bulge out of his skull. "You're trespassing right now. You're in my house, for god’s sake! With a baseball bat!"

  A wicked smile covers my lips as I twirl the bat menacingly. "Y'see, Zayn, the thing is I was never here." He may be a knucklehead, but the terror in his eyes tells me he understands the threat in my words – my little visit stays just between us. To hammer the point home, I lean closer, holding my breath against the pungent smell of beer, coffee, cigarette smoke and body odor rolling off of him. “Let me tell you what’s going to happen,” I growl. “You’re going to go to your little lawyer and you’re going to tell him that you had a change of heart. You’re going to tell him that a real man doesn’t take alimony from his ex-wife who’s struggling to make ends meet. You’re going to drop your claim for support and you’re never going to bother Isla again.”

  His eyes narrow. His last ditch act of defiance. “Why would I do that?” he challenges.

  God, this guy is stupid.

  I push the bat straight through the middle of his gut and he doubles over in pain. “Well firstly, I have surveillance video of you following Isla into her yoga studio at eleven o’clock in the night. That’s enough to get your ass tossed into jail for whatever story I make up. And I'm a creative fucker."

  He looks up at me, wide-eyed. "You can't do—"

  "Shut the fuck up!" I swing the bat in his direction, deliberately missing him by an inch or so.

  I watch as he swallows back his wise-ass retort. Good. He's learning.

  I continue. "Also, if you ever come near her again, I will smash your face in. I spared you once. I won’t deny myself the pleasure of kicking your ass again. Understood?"

  He nods weakly.

  That's not good enough. "Let me hear you say it!" I roar, wielding the bat.

  He jumps, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. "Understood."

  “And don’t you make the mistake of reporting any of this to the police,” I warn as I slide my bat back under my arm and head to the door, wiping my hands on my pants. I hope I have hand sanitizer in the car.

  I hear him spit out a laugh. “Man-to-man, I let Isla win last night,” he boasts. “…But still, I wouldn’t report that to the police. I don’t want any of my lady-friends to think that I got my ass kicked by a woman,” he mutters bitterly.

  Nodding in understanding I say, “Of course, bro. That kind of thing tends to fuck with a man’s street cred.”

  He doesn’t seem to grasp my sarcasm. Instead, he looks at me, relieved that we’re finally on the same page. “Yeah. Next thing you know, I can’t get any pussy in this town.”

  Eek! I cringe at the idea that any woman in her right mind would allow that sickly-looking creature anywhere near her pussy.

  "Sure,” I grumble and he holds out an open palm, hoping for a high-five. Like we’re suddenly friends.

  “So, are we good, bro?”

  This guy is as useless as a bag of peanut shells.

  I leave him hanging. I recoil before he actually puts his hand on me because then, I’d have no choice but to kill him. Resuming my stroll to the door, I glance one last time at the pathetic creature that he is. "You'd just better clean this place up because I still haven't decided whether I'm going to call the mayor and have this dump condemned."

  A look of betrayal comes over his face. He looks like a little kid who just lost a friend. Poor thing. "Okay…I'll clean it…" he promises slowly as if he’s just beginning to realize that we aren’t actually fraternity bros.

  I’m the man who gets to have his incredible ex-wife and he’s the idiot who let her go.

  I grab his car keys from off the table by the door and hurl them as far as they will go. They land in a high branch on one of the trees in the yard. “And for god’s sake, stop drinking and driving. There are kids running up and down this street.”

  I hear him shrieking in rage behind me as I slam the door and get the fuck out of this hellhole.

  Chapter 28

  Reuben

  Isla cooked for me tonight. Some type of curried tofu with wild rice and vegetables. I love a juicy steak as much as the next red-blooded American man but I've got to say that it was delicious. And gosh, it had been a long time since I'd had a proper home-cooked meal. No, Fiona's dinners at the hotel don't count. They're bland and impersonal. There's just this little magic that happens when you eat food that was cooked with love and Fiona's dishes lack that.

  Anyway, after dinner, I insisted on cleaning the kitchen while Isla went off to take a shower. When I'm done, I wander into the living room. I scan her bookshelf, examining the books and trinkets. They all give so much insight into the kind of woman she is, the kind of woman she wants to be. When I fall upon a photo album, I can't resist.

  Isla comes out of the bathroom, fully dressed in a sweater and one of her signature floor-length gypsy skirts. She smells like dessert.

  "Is this you?" I ask holding up a picture of a pair of teenaged girls. I immediately recognize the petite brunette as Isla's best friend, Samantha. I met her at the bar the other night. The other girl strongly resembles Isla but I can't quite be sure.

  She giggles as she drops onto the couch next to me, still rubbing moisturizer into her hands. "That's who I was in high school," she corrects me. I can see why she makes the distinction. Although the girl in the picture bears Isla's lithe body and fine facial features, her vibe is completely different.

  "You look like you were trouble." I smirk. "I would have loved to get my hands on you back then."

  She laughs, pulling her wet cinnamon hair into a high bun. "Oh, I was trouble." She tucks her legs up under her and leans close, peering down at the picture.

  Now, I'm intrigued. "Tell me – what was Isla Hamilton like in high school?"

  She laughs. "Blonde...And superficial. I was a walking stereotype."

  "I bet you were prom queen."

  "I was prom queen."

  I stare at her. Sure, she was pretty as a blonde but she’s stunning as a natural redhead. "And how did you go from that to the woman you are today?"

  She sighs. "My parents died…And suddenly, I had a kid sister to look out for. I had to grow the hell up, like that." She snaps her fingers to make her point. "I couldn't keep being that selfish, superficial girl," she stares at the picture, "not if Blakely and I were going to make it."

  "Didn't you have extended family to help you?" I thumb the soft fabric of her skirt.

  She shrugs a shoulder. "My father's father and step-mother were old. I couldn't stand to bur
den them and I could tell that the idea of being responsible for two teenaged girls didn't appeal to them. My mother, she was Canadian. Her family lives all the way in Alberta. The idea of living in an igloo and having a caribou for a pet didn't appeal to Blakely too much."

  I laugh. "Y'know, those Canadians don't all live in igloos."

  "I'm just teasing about that," she titters. She's so pretty. Especially without makeup.

  "But they do all have pet caribous," I say. "And they put maple syrup on everything."

  Her eyes light up with laughter. "So true." She’s quiet for a while and then exhales harshly. "I just can't help but wish that my parents were around...It's crazy to me how some people take family for granted. Blakely is all that I have. I can't imagine my life without her."

  Guilt pulses in my chest. Aside from Griffin, I'm not close to my family. Never have been. I guess it's just the way I grew up. My mother gets under my skin. I consider my father a selfish asshole. And Ryan? Fuck Ryan.

  But here is this beautiful woman in front of me, telling me how much she wishes she had a second chance with her parents and how much she loves her sister. I feel like an ungrateful jerk right now.

  Oh Isla. I'm in awe of you in every way.

  She masks her pain so well. She's been through so much. Her parents' death, her divorce, her near-bankruptcy. There have got to be layers and layers of grief surrounding her heart.

  The idea of being the man to add yet another scar makes me bristle all over but it’s time to come clean to her. I can’t carry along with this secret any longer.

  I turn to face her. "Isla, I have something to tell you."

  She looks at me and guardedness covers her eyes. She knows I’m going to tell her something that will cause the safe, little world we’ve built to come crashing down. "Not tonight," she says softly. "If it's something bad, can it wait till the morning?''

  I hesitate. I've waited long enough to tell her this. If she learns this secret and I'm not the one to tell her, she may never forgive me.

  My lips part to tell her that my truth can't wait but she leans in and presses her mouth to mine. Her soft femininity provokes all the virile forces in me to surge to life. Her tongue eases into my mouth as she mounts my lap, her hand snaking under the hem of my shirt.

  And I'm a goner.

  She conquers me tenderly, erasing every thought of my past from my mind. My hands reach up and caress her breasts and her stomach as she unzips my pants and massages my stiff erection.

  I groan her name as she sinks to her knees and takes my cock into her mouth. She licks me and sucks me and uses her teeth to steal away my sanity. I steel, trying to resist the explosive need building within me but when she pinches my nipples between her fingers and twists, I lose it, coming hard on her tongue. Her eyes flicker as she swallows it all.

  I pull her into my lap, lifting up the hem of her skirt, and her bare heat wraps around my cock. We get lost together, moaning and grinding against each other, uttering soft words. I lay her on the couch cushions and fuck her in long, deep, loving strokes.

  And when I feel myself approaching the edge, I jerk out of her body, pushing her skirt out of the way and coming all over her belly and clit. That simple act causes Isla's body to go tense and her face contorts with pleasure as my name pours out of her throat. I watch in amazement as my serum spills over her folds and onto the cushions beneath her.

  I collapse next to her and it becomes blindingly clear that this woman was made for me...

  Also, she really needs a new couch.

  Just sayin'.

  Chapter 29

  Isla

  Reuben was gone when I woke up this morning, leaving behind his scent on the sheets and a note on my pillow. He said that there was a family emergency in Denver and that he would call me as soon as he could.

  I've spent the day anxious to hear from him but my afternoon mommy and baby yoga class always puts me in a great frame of mind. Spending time with those beautiful young souls, watching them discover the world always reinforces my desire to have children one day.

  I wonder if Reuben wants kids...

  Whoa! Where did that thought come from? Yes, I've been thinking about something long term with Reuben but kids bring a whole new level of commitment that we're definitely not ready for. But maybe one day...

  I smile to myself and shake the thought out of my head as I stand at the door and say goodbye to my students and their rambunctious children.

  When everyone has left, I step inside to see a woman about my age lingering at the front of the room with her adorable daughter. I've never seen them before today's class. Ever since Reuben put our advertising campaign in place, I've been seeing new faces around here. It gives me a thrill every time. Maybe this business partnership is gonna work out after all.

  I make my way over to the beautiful mother and her child, grinning at the precious toddler.

  "Hello," I say to her. "I'm Isla. What's your name?"

  The little girl wraps her arms around her mother's long legs and tries to hide her face. She has fiery red hair like her mother and freckles on her nose but her eyes are an intense golden brown.

  "Penny, say 'hi' to Isla," her mother prods but the girl ignores her, choosing to bashfully stick her head between her mother's legs.

  I look to her mother. " She's so cute!"

  "Thank you," the woman says sticking a hand out to me. "I'm Delia."

  I smile wide. "Good to meet you."

  Delia turns to her daughter. "This is Penelope. Penelope Barre." She lifts an eyebrow suggestively and stresses the name like it should mean something to me.

  "Uh, hi Penelope." Discomfort titters down my spine, the kind of dread that builds in your body when you sense impending disaster but there's nothing you can do to stop it.

  She laughs bitterly. "That's what I thought," she scoffs bitterly. "Reuben didn’t tell you about us, did he?"

  I look at her, shaking my head, even as a chill of understanding sweeps through my limbs. "I – I don't..."

  Tears and disappointment fill Delia's eyes. "Hmm. Why am I surprised that Reuben didn’t tell his new girlfriend about the daughter and fiancée that he abandoned?"

  Chapter 30

  Isla

  Faith tightens her grip around my shoulders as Sammie examines the documents again and again.

  "I’m no lawyer but these look pretty legitimate to me," she says as she lays the birth certificate and the paternity test results on her kitchen counter and smooths the wrinkles out of the paper. "Reuben is that baby's father."

  I scoff. "I didn't need a DNA test to confirm that. You should have seen how much she looks like him. Those eyes and even the dimple in her chin."

  Hell, her mother looks like me, too. A prettier version of me. Her hair is nearly ruby red and her eyes are a deep shade of blue. She has a button nose and the body of a supermodel.

  I have no idea what kind of sick, twisted mind game Reuben has been playing this whole time.

  With shaky hands, I bring a cup of lavender tea to my lips. "I really didn't see this coming," I say, the tears dripping down my face. " I knew that he probably had things he hadn't gotten around to sharing with me yet. I mean, we were still just getting to know each other. But a baby? A fiancée? Those aren't things that just slip your mind. He deliberately omitted to tell me about them." I collapse against the counter for support.

  "Oh, sweetie." Faith presses her lips to my temple and squeezes my shoulders.

  This betrayal has rocked me to my core, calling into question everything I thought I knew about everything. Despite all that happened with Zayn, I wasn't an angry man-hater, I wasn’t jaded. I knew that some men are good and some men are not so good. I believed in my heart that Zayn was just one of the not-so-good ones and that one day in the future, I'd find someone much, much better. I'd started to believe that Reuben might be a better man, he might be a good man. But boy, was I off base.

  "I consider myself an intuitive person, but with this
guy, I was so wrong."

  Sammie looks at me with sympathetic eyes. "Don't go second-guessing your whole existence, Isla. You misjudged him. That's okay."

  "Or maybe there's more to the story," Faith says optimistically. "Maybe he has an explanation. Maybe when you talk to him—"

  I scoff. "It's written in black and white. Not only is Reuben’s name on the child's birth certificate, there's a DNA test that proves that he's Penelope's father."

  Sammie eyes her sternly. "Faith, don't go getting her hopes up. The sooner she can accept that Reuben was a mistake, the sooner she can move on."