Dirty Player (The Dirty Suburbs Book 2) Read online

  Dirty Player

  (The Dirty Suburbs Series - Book 2)

  Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  Dirty Player (The Dirty Suburbs Series - Book 2)

  Copyright © 2016 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

  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

  Bonus book: Desire, Untamed - The Esquire Girls Series - Ruthie (Book 1)

  Coming soon…

  Dirty Stranger

  (The Dirty Suburbs Series – Book 3)

  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 lattee 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 lattee 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. 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.

  CLICK HERE TO ORDER

  Coming soon…

  Dirty Favor

  (The Dirty Suburbs Series – Book 4)

  He proposed!

  Okay, that statement may be a bit misleading. My best friend's handsome, charming brother didn't really propose marriage to me. It was more of a proposition than a proposal, actually.

  Y'see, Prescott needs to close a business deal for his law firm and to do that, he needs a fiancée. That's how I got dragged into this mess.

  I should just say 'no', but he isn't the only one in need of a favor. He promises that he can help me land the internship I need to launch my career.

  So, I made a deal with the tall, broad-shouldered devil in the custom-tailored suit, and now I'm wearing this enormous rock on my finger.

  But, it's strictly business...until he looks at me with those bedroom eyes and he flashes me that panty-melting smile.

  What the hell have I gotten myself into?

  CLICK HERE TO ORDER

  Dirty Player

  (The Dirty Suburbs Series - Book 2)

  Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  Chapter 1

  Faith

  Disappointed tears tickle the corners of my eyes as I press my fingers to the glass pane and watch the plane taxiing down the runway.

  I should be on that plane.

  I should be headed to Hawaii for Christmas. To sip on pineapple mojitos and do a tipsy beachside rendition of the hula under the moonlight.

  I should be relishing the company of the strapping, hazel-eyed veterinary surgeon I met online three months ago. Drinking in his rugged beauty and listening absentmindedly to his tales of performing life-saving surgeries on the feral creatures inhabiting Vancouver’s mountainous terrain as he hand-feeds me succulent, raw fruit.

  Instead I just got manhandled by two brawny air marshals and hauled off my flight minutes before take off.

  Yup – I was ushered off the jetway, past the judgy gate attendant and the thick crowd of passengers still waiting to board and unceremoniously dropped in the middle of the bustling concourse.

  Is this really my life?

  I trudge along the busy corridor dragging my carryon and my damaged pride behind me, each step weighed down by my disgruntlement. Why do I always find myself in these situations?

  All I’d wanted was a getaway. Some time away from the monotony of the day-to-day grind. A romantic adventure that I could dig up in the future while I sit alone in my cold apartment on those dreary Reyfield winter nights. Instead, I got more drama than I could handle.

  Now, I’m embarrassed, emotionally drained and my feet are starting to kill me. I need a minute to sit down, catch my breath and regroup. And some caffeine wouldn’t hurt at this point.

  Stomping up to a Starbucks concession stand, I pull off my wide-brimmed straw fedora and order a tall iced vanilla-caramel mochaccino with skimmed milk and half the sugar. The barista gets to work on my beverage as I move to the other end of the counter to pay.

  Of course, that's when I realize that my wallet is missing. Great!

  I drop to my knees and dig through the depths of the seemingly bottomless outer pockets of my carryon. I come up empty-handed. I drag the zipper around the suitcase and throw the top open right there in front of the Starbucks counter. I rummage through my belongings until my once neatly-packed suitcase is now a disheveled mess of colorful bikinis and tank tops and sundresses spilling onto the floor.

  No sign of the wallet.

  I think back to the last time I saw it. It had been on the plane. I’d just settled into my seat and was carefully reapplying my winged eyeliner when ‘Wilson’ had approached my seat and introduced himself with a very pronounced stutter and a nervous eye twitch. I remember pulling my picture of him out of my wallet. My gaze had bounced from the tanned, chiseled face s
miling up from the picture in my hands to the bloated mug of the pale, balding man hovering over me in the aisle with anxious sweat beading on his forehead.

  This was not the person I was expecting, not the man I’d spent the last three months speaking with daily on CheekyChat.

  I had dropped my wallet to the fold-out tray in front of me and peered around frantically, a nervous laugh spilling past my lips. The MTV cameras had to be hiding around here somewhere. Right? This was all a huge prank…Right?

  But I was the only one laughing. And none of it was funny.

  I’d been catfished!

  Don’t you dare call me melodramatic or superficial. I have nothing against eye twitches or stutters or even sweaty, pale, bloated foreheads, for that matter. But, I guarantee that you would have freaked out too if you’d realized that you invested three months of your life into a scam relationship. You too would have lost your shit if you only realized you’d been scammed after you were already strapped to your plane seat for your romantic Christmas getaway together in Honolulu.

  This man had lied to me. He had used someone else’s pictures to ensnare me in his web of deceit and lure me all the way across the country. And I spent a fortune on these damn plane tickets!

  So, my reaction was perfectly rational given the circumstances.

  Okay. Maybe I didn’t need to swing at him with my sandal and maybe I’d taken it a bit too far when I’d spritzed him in the eyes with my travel-sized body mist. Gosh, on second thought, maybe I did deserve to get hauled off the plane by those air marshals.

  One thing is clear to me now – agreeing to meet up with a total stranger for the first time on a flight from to Hawaii? That was the irrational part.

  So anyway, that’s what happened to my wallet.

  “Hey lady, you gonna pay or what?” I snap back to the present, tossing a glance at the asshole in the Yankees cap with the thick New York accent at the back of the line.

  I mutter an embarrassed string of apologies as the reality sets in. I'm stranded 2000 miles from home with no ID, no money, not even a Starbucks loyalty card to my name. And my ride is now 30 000 feet in the sky on its way to Honolulu without me.

  Tucking my head in shame and despair, I apologize again to the server and to the long line of irritated, caffeine-deficient patrons behind me as I tromp away from the counter, not quite sure of my next move. You really screwed yourself over this time, huh Faith?

  I did something incredibly stupid. I’m woman enough to admit that. Leaving my home just days before Christmas to fly across the country to meet a man, sight unseen, is incredibly stupid. The fact that I lied to my sister, telling her that I was going to spend the Holidays with old college friends in New York only magnifies how ill-advised my decision had been. What if something terrible had happened to me?

  Yes – I’d started to feel like the walls of my life were closing in on me lately. Yes – I was in need of an escape. But what I did was damn reckless. Now, I have to face the consequences.

  Things could be worse, I guess. I just thank my lucky stars that, for whatever reason, I wasn’t taken into custody by those air marshals and thrown behind bars because, wherever ‘Wilson’ is right now, he’s got a busted lip and probably a nasty headache to go along with it. Still, that isn’t much of a consolation.

  How the hell am I supposed to get out of this situation?

  I plop myself down in defeat on a bench lining the wide, chaotic hallway and that's when I realize that there’s a big, hard object in my pants.

  I bounce to my feet, groping wildly at my ass in anticipation.

  Is it?...Can it be?...Yes! It's my phone. In the commotion, I’d forgotten all about it. But here it is. My trusty, little lifeline.

  I swipe across the screen and pull up my contact list, trying to figure out who to call. I moved to Reyfield just about a year ago and my circle of friends is small so I don’t have many options.

  Gracie should be the first person I contact. But I just can’t. My sister has always been the responsible one having to clean up after impulsive little Faith. For all of my 24 years, she’s had to look out for me. I’m tired of disappointing her. If I call her now, my latest bad decision will just get added to the long list of Shit Gracie Has Had To Save Faith From. Not that she wouldn’t. My sister loves me. But she was six months pregnant when she’d come out to New York to haul me out of the mess I’d gotten into with Dustin and I’d promised us both then and there that I was done getting into trouble.

  I’m not calling her now.

  I briefly consider calling Daniel. He’s like a big brother to me and I know that I can always count on him to have my back. But things have been so tense between him and Gracie lately. The last thing I want to do is put more pressure on their marriage by asking him to keep my latest irresponsible antics a secret from his wife.

  I could call Isla but she tends to get woo-woo spiritual at the most inopportune times. I’m not in the mood to get dragged into a conversation about the karmic significance of my current situation. I need practical solutions right now.

  I keep scrolling through my contacts until I come across Sammie’s name. Yes, Sammie - that's who I'll call. Sammie’s smart, resourceful and much more level-headed than I am. She’ll know what to do.

  I tap on her name and listen impatiently as the call connects. She answers just before the phone goes to voice mail.

  "Hey Faith,” she pants breathlessly, her voice coming out in heavy spurts. “I’m with Keeland. You're on speakerphone."

  Her new husband’s gravelly baritone travels through the receiver. “Hi Faith.”

  Ah shit. I just interrupted them in middle of sex, didn’t I? Can this day get any more awkward?

  "Hey. Did I catch you at a bad time?" I ask, trying to keep my voice even.

  Keeland clears his throat and Sammie giggles coyly. "Uh, Keeland and I are just, uh, hanging out…in bed. Y’know, honeymoon phase."

  Yup, I can add cock-blocking to my list of epic fails for the day. "God, I'm so sorry," I say feeling utterly mortified.

  “Don't worry,” she chirps. “Poor, old Keeland could use a little break to build his strength back up. ‘Cause I’m just a love machine today! A machine, I tell you!”

  He grumbles a muffled protest in the background and Sammie shrieks for him to stop tickling her. Those two are nauseatingly in love. That’s cool...usually. But right now, it’s starting to tick me off.

  Give me a break. I just fucking got catfished, for chrissakes.

  “So, what's up? How’s New York?" Sammie asks as she tries to regain her composure.

  I take a long breath. "Uh, I’m not exactly in New York."

  There’s a heavy pause. “Okay?" She already sounds suspicious.

  Shrouded in mortification, I explain that I came out to Los Angeles to meet this guy I met on CheekyChat and that it wasn’t until I was ready to fly off to Hawaii with him that I realized that he wasn’t at all who he had portrayed himself to be. I almost die of shame when I admit that I lost my wallet in the whole debacle.

  I really need to start thinking things through before jumping headfirst into them. Maybe that’ll be my New Year’s resolution.

  "Ohmygod, Faith. What the fuck?” she shrieks. “That is so reckless of you. Going out there to meet a total stranger."

  I groan, tugging on the ends of my hair in frustration. "Not the time for a lecture, Sammie. I need help."

  "Of course,” she says without hesitation. “Let me transfer some money to you."

  "Can't. I lost my bankcards in my wallet."

  “Shit…” she sighs. “Okay, I'll buy you a plane ticket to get back home."

  “Can't do that either. I have no ID to board a flight.” I say as I bury my face in my hands. “…And I'm pretty sure I just got added to the No Fly List," I add bitterly.

  "What?!” Keeland pipes in.

  “Oh, Faith…” Sammie sighs again.

  No. Pity isn’t what I need. I need solutions. Fast. The sun is setting
and I’m exhausted and I just need to figure out my next move.

  Thankfully, Keeland speaks up. “Y’know what? My brother Maxwell lives in L.A. I'll text him and see if he can come pick you up."

  "I feel awful about inconveniencing a total stranger," I say as my stomach twists with trepidation. I fiddle with the rim of the hat in my lap to abate my nerves.

  "Don't worry about it," Keeland assures me. "Maxwell’s cool. Just give me a second to text him." A few tense minutes later, Keeland says. "He's gonna pick you up from the arrivals gate in about an hour.”