Dirty Stranger
(The Dirty Suburbs Series - Book 3)
Cassie-Ann L. Miller
Dirty Stranger (The Dirty Suburbs Series - Book 3)
Copyright © 2017 Cassie-Ann L. Miller
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents appearing therein are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be interpreted as real. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status of the various products referenced in this work.
Stories by
Cassie-Ann L. Miller
The Dirty Suburbs Series
Dirty Neighbor
Dirty Player
Dirty Stranger
Dirty Favor
Dirty Lover
Dirty Farmer
The Esquire Girls Series
Amber’s Story
Amber Nights (Amber – Books 1, 2, 3 & 4)
Madison’s Story
For Madison, Always (Madison – Books 1, 2, 3 & 4)
Ruthie’s Story
Ruthie’s Desire (Ruthie – Books 1, 2, 3 & 4)
Hailey’s story
Moments with Hailey (Hailey - Books 1, 2, 3 & 4)
Esquire HEAT Series
A Very Eager Intern
A Very Frustrated Attorney
Standalone novels
Matteo
Beast
Table of contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Glossary of yoga terms***
Dirty Lover (The Dirty Suburbs Series – Book 5)
Blakely
My roommate found her happily-ever-after in the middle of our lease. Don’t get me wrong – I’m glad that she found her prince and they’re shacking up. I swear I am. But I've got rent to pay.
So when my cousin offers to hook me up with a nerdy Silicon Valley programmer who spends his days writing code and watching Japanese anime cartoons, it seems like the perfect arrangement, especially for a timid, socially-awkward girl like me. But nobody warned me that said geeky programmer would be performing said boring activities while shirtless and dripping his libido-igniting pheromones all over my new sofa.
A girl like me can't handle all that charm and charisma in such a small space. Every time he smiles, it feels like I’m on the verge of a medical emergency and these heart palpitations are really starting to worry me.
He can't stay here. His effortlessly seductive energy is cutting minutes off of my life expectancy.
This living arrangement definitely isn't going to work.
Nicholas
I've got angel investors lined up around the block to fund my next project. Too bad I'm burnt out and lacking inspiration. I spent years working 18-hour days to build technology that will make a mark on the world. But it's taken a toll on me. I'm desperate for a change of pace.
So when a buddy mentions a low-key opportunity in a lazy little Illinois suburb, I jump on the offer. Now, I'm rooming with sweet, innocent Blakely. She’s got tempting curves, red curls and freckled skin that blushes every time I smile at her.
But the girl is full of secrets…and she's got dirty, dirty mind.
And now I've got a new project; corrupting that shy girl’s curvy little body.
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Dirty Farmer (The Dirty Suburbs Series – Book 6)
Lily
Hello, I'm Lily and I'm a little hormonal right now.
Y’see, I found the ring at the bottom of his sock drawer, a modest diamond sitting on a thin, yellow gold band. But now 8 weeks later, it's gone. He returned it and my once-devoted boyfriend is having second thoughts.
Did I mention that I'm pregnant?
Anyway, I had to get out of the city and I had nowhere else to go. So, I jumped in my car and headed to Reyfield, Illinois. Now I'm working for a grumpy ass cowboy who sets my hormones into overdrive.
Great. Just great.
Jakob
Hello I'm Jakob. What the hell are you looking at?
I like to keep to myself. Just me and my farm. So when a chatty city girl shows up in search of work, I'm hesitant to hire. But with her adorable blond ringlets and her pretty pink lips, I can't bring myself to say ‘no’.
And did I mention that she's pregnant?
Anyway, I’ve got to keep my head on straight and ignore the way she sends my libido into overdrive, all while keeping this farm from plunging into bankruptcy.
Great. Just great.
Pre-order here
Dirty Stranger (The Dirty Suburbs Book 3)
Description
Isla
I'm paying alimony to my idiot ex-husband, my business hardly makes enough to keep the lights on and I'm literally holding my car together with duct tape.
Scratch that, I'm holding my life together with duct tape.
So I won't go on a date with the mysterious, new-in-town barista who makes my morning soy hazelnut latte just the way I like it.
He'd better stop trying to hypnotize me with those honey eyes and those bulging shoulders that stretch the jersey of his coffee shop uniform, because I have enough on my plate and the last thing I need is yet another liability.
Reuben
The cinnamon-haired yoga chick who orders the soy hazelnut latte every morning won't give me a shot. She thinks I'm just some college boy with student loans trying to get in her pants.
Assumptions, assumptions, assumptions...
Well, she's right about one thing. From the moment she first sauntered into this coffee shop with her long legs and her sad eyes, I've wanted to toss her onto the polished wooden counter and show her just how much of a man I am. There's so much more to me than meets the eye.
I'm just trying to make her fall for me before my secrets make it to town.
"Dirty Stranger" is book three in the "Dirty Suburbs", a series of full-length, stand-alone romantic comedies about the residents of small town Illinois.
Chapter 1
Isla
I tap the blunt heel of my snow-crusted boot anxiously against the cracked concrete floor and stare blankly at the chalkboard menu looming above the cash register even though I already know what I'm going to order. Soy hazelnut latte with two packets of cane sugar on the side. It's the same thing I've ordered every morning, Monday through Saturday since I opened up my yoga studio next door two and a half years ago.
Still, my eyes linger absentmindedly on the chalkboard a while longer because I need something to fill my mind as I stand in t
he extremely slow-moving line. This trendy little health food café is a bit out of place in a small town like Reyfield. Most of the locals would rather load up on greasy bacon, syrup-drenched pancakes and butter-soaked toast at the old-fashioned diner just off of Centennial. But I try to be conscientious about what I eat. Even when I have no control over the anxiety pulsing through my mind, at least I can decide what goes into my body.
I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear and glance around the place. It’s a really cute little hole-in-the-wall with its charming, rustic design and jazzy tunes playing quietly in the background. Rumor has it that a group of investors from out of state purchased it a few weeks ago and that they’ll begin upgrading it soon. I really hope they don’t change too much because it’s so hard to find a cozy eatery with healthy options around here.
I crane my neck around the woman in front of me for a peek at the cash register. There are only two people ahead of me this morning. I don’t understand why it’s taking so long, and I chuff impatiently.
Deep breaths, Isla. Slow, deep breaths.
I'm not usually this irritable. But jeez, I always get so wound up whenever I come from my lawyer's office. Jim Thatcher, esquire, has a talent for taking bad news and showing me that it’s exponentially worse than I initially realized. Every time I go to see him, I leave his office an hour older, $250 poorer and 1000 miles further away from my happy place.
I make eye contact with Tina, the regular cashier. She gives me a quick apologetic smile and discreetly gestures toward the fumbling new employee hunched over the espresso machine. Great, just my luck! She's training a new worker on the one morning that I’m pissed off and running late.
I glance up at the clock on the exposed brick wall. It’s 8:41. My Wednesday morning hatha class starts in nineteen minutes. The line is moving at a snail’s pace but I quickly decide that I need my daily dose of caffeine more than I need to be at work on time. Depriving myself of coffee would be cruel and unusual punishment, especially on a shitty morning like this. I pull in a lungful of purifying air, muttering a calming affirmation under my breath.
All is well in my world. I give no power to the problems I perceive in my experience.
God—right now that affirmation sounds like a load of crap.
As the owner of Prasanna Light Oneness Studio (and Reyfield’s unofficial beacon of positivity), I take my self-imposed commitment to remaining Zen and optimistic very seriously. I do my best to practice what I preach. But on mornings like this, when my lawyer has just explained to me that yesterday Judge Tucker rendered a decision ordering me to pay alimony to my ex, I’m struggling with my Zen. I thought I had put that cheating asshole behind me, but now it looks like I’ll be paying for the mistake of marrying him for the foreseeable future.
The groan of the front door as it swings open snaps me back to the present. Nancy and Delores, Reyfield’s very own Golden Girls duo, amble inside, bickering all the way.
“Good morning, Isla,” Delores says with a cheeky grin. Nancy lingers behind her, a frown etched on her deep brown face.
“Good morning, ladies,” I say cheerily, pushing down my worries and forcing my trademark happy-go-lucky smile to my lips. I turn my focus to Nancy. “What’s got you so upset today?”
She huffs, adjusting the wool scarf around her neck with elegant fingers. “Delores is an absolute whore,” she accuses shooting her friend a glare. “That’s what the problem is.”
My eyes bulge in shock. These two are so damn unpredictable. You never know what will spill past their lips. “Wh-what’s that all about?” I sputter, trying not to laugh outright.
Delores leans on her walking stick and rolls her eyes behind her thick-rimmed glasses. “Nancy, you’re way too old to be such a prude,” she admonishes before turning her gaze to me. “Edward Nickels has been courting her for nearly three weeks and they still haven’t done the dirty.”
Here we go…Conversations with these two tend to go off the rails quick-fast.
“I don’t see what the rush is,” Nancy says, standing her ground, her frown deepening ever so slightly.
Delores clucks her tongue against her dentures so hard that they almost fall out. “You don’t see what the rush is? You old coots could both drop dead next week. That’s what the rush is; you’re old.”
“I’m not going to ‘put out’ just for the heck of it,” Nancy sighs. “I may not be too old to have relations but I am too old to get my heart broken.”
My lips twist into a grimace. “Sorry, D. I’ve gotta side with Nancy on this one. Getting your heart broken is definitely not something worth repeating over and over.”
On hearing my melancholy tone, Delores turns and observes me with her sharp, shrewd gaze. “What has you so ruffled this morning? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so frowny before, dear.”
I force a smile as best I can. “Just feeling a little…” I search from the most accurate descriptor. “…off-center this morning. That's all.”
She tips her head thoughtfully. “Hmm, when was the last time you did the dirty?”
“Delores!” Nancy scolds, eyes wide in horror. Did she really just ask me that?
She holds up a hand in surrender. “Okay, I won’t pry. But, as my Nana Jean used to say, 'a little morning wood makes the morning good!' Wise woman, she was." She crosses herself and bows her head solemnly. "May she rest in peace.”
Nancy rolls her eyes, shooing Delores away. “Never mind her.” She purses her lips momentarily. “Mmm. I heard that Judge Tucker just ordered you to pay alimony to that no-good ex-husband of yours.” I cringe on the inside. It looks like the news has already begun to make its way around town.
An indignant scowl comes over Delores’ features. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I turn back toward the chalkboard so that they don’t see the pain in my eyes. “How is it that the two of you are always up to date on local gossip?” I tuck that stubborn piece of my red hair behind my ear again. Every girl has that rebellious lock of hair that just refuses to stay in her ponytail.
Nancy shrugs a narrow shoulder. “Court judgments are a matter of public record, dear. My granddaughter, Nadia, is a big shot lawyer at a law firm in New York City. She told me that.”
“Anyway, that’s just terrible,” Delores grunts, smacking her cane against the floor. “You never should have married that boy.”
I know that now.
“My lawyer is looking into it.” I swallow a deep, centering breath. “I’m just hoping there’s a way to get the judgment overturned.”
“Oh, that no-good piece of shit,” Delores grumbles referring to my ex-husband. “I hope his cheating ass gets chlamydia and his penis shrivels off.”
That makes me laugh. "I don't need revenge. I leave it all to a higher power. I trust the Universe to take care of justice. That's not my job."
Even as I repeat the well-practiced words that I’ve said so often over the past few months, I’m not quite convinced how much I really mean them. I always make a conscious effort to see the world in a positive way, to see the best in people. Even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard. It's an important part of my yoga practice. But I'm human, and this morning in the shower, I may or may not have allowed myself to indulge in a fantasy about pushing Zayn in front of a speeding diesel truck and throwing a lit match at him, only to watch him blow up with Oscar-worthy cinematics.
Nancy reaches out and taps me on the hand. “Oh darling, you’ll certainly have the last laugh.” Her voice is comforting and though I don’t like to revel in the notion of revenge, I welcome the idea that life will stop sucking sooner or later.
"Next."
The hairs on the back of my neck bristle at the deep baritone pronouncing the word. In my peripheral vision, I see the woman who was ahead of me trudging toward the door with her green smoothie and small, white takeout bag in hand.
I step forward and look up to find the most stunning pair of honey-brown eyes waiting patiently for me from under the bill
of a black Herbivore Eatery cap. I gasp hard enough to pull in half the air in the room.
God, he’s breathtaking.
And it’s not just his eyes. It’s the chiseled structure of his face, the fullness of his lips, the very pronounced dimple nestled on his smooth-shaven chin.
"Good morning." His deep voice rings out again.
Taken aback by the sudden assault of shimmering, white teeth as his lips split in a heart-stoppingly handsome (but somewhat controlled) smile, I stutter. “G-good morning…”
His gaze surveys every inch of my face before slipping down over the front of my slim-fitting jacket and settling on my chest for an instant. By the time his eyes return to my face, my cheeks are burning at his blatant scrutiny.
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