Dirty Lover (The Dirty Suburbs Book 5) Read online

  He just shrugs a shoulder and shoves the drink back my way. "It's all right. I don’t like the dried plums."

  Okay, now he's managed to deflate my bubble and uneasiness is beginning to build in my bones. "You okay?" I ask, examining him closely.

  He gives me his back as he grabs a glass from the cupboard. "A little tired. That's all." His shoulders are bunched tight and tension pinches his back muscles.

  I run a hand over his shoulder as he pours out his juice. "Y'know, I'm really good at massages," I offer, "My sister taught me a few things at the spa."

  Did he just flinch or am I imagining things?

  "I don't need a massage," he says, sounding defensive. He steps out of my reach and chugs down his juice. He doesn’t even look at me.

  "Okay..." I drag the word out, completely confused by his behavior. Last night, he was all over me. Now, this? I'm aching for that connection, to feel close to him again. His weird attitude is starting to sting. "Hey, we should get out of the house tonight. Wanna go catch a movie after work?" I say hesitantly. I hate being so needy but I'm just looking for a way back in with him.

  He practically chucks his empty glass into the sink. "Not in the mood." Before I can get another word in (and make an even bigger fool of myself), he grabs his t-shirt and stomps out of the kitchen. “Going for a run.”

  My stupid heart aches when I hear him slam his front door behind him.

  Chapter 31

  Nicholas

  I wrap my soapy fingers around my cock and jerk it roughly. The sound of the water slapping the ceramic tiles drowns out my grunts.

  I feel like a fucking idiot. Here I am masturbating when the girl I'm in love with is in the next room, nursing the heart I broke.

  I want her so bad it hurts. I haven’t touched her for days and my chest literally aches. But I can't have her. I don't deserve her. I never should have touched her in the first place. I never should have kissed her or fucked her or held her hand like we could be something more. And now, we're both hurting.

  The look in her eye the other day in the kitchen, it still haunts me. I humiliated her. I embarrassed her with my rejection. I felt like the world's biggest asshole but I had to do it because she might be falling for me and I can't let that happen.

  If she knew better, she’d know that she’s better off without me.

  My drop my head to the tiles and growl as ropes of come shoot from the tip of my cock. The release does nothing to alleviate my guilt. In fact, I just hate myself even more as I stand there under the stream, trying to catch my breath.

  I hear the faint sound of the bathroom door popping open and shuffling on the other side of the shower curtain. When I pull the barrier aside, I see Blakely standing there completely naked, red hair falling around her shoulders, curves misty from the steam of the shower.

  My entire body goes tense. I want to reach out and grab her, pull her to me, hold her, fuck her, love her. And I almost do it, I almost give in. But it wouldn't be fair to her to drag her any deeper into my world.

  "Blakely, don't do this," I beg, in a husky voice, feeling my defences weaken just from looking at her. That beautiful fiery hair, those perfectly full breasts, her lush hips, her shapely thighs. I want all of her. My cock grows heavy again.

  She takes a step forward, her eyes on the stiff shaft hanging between my legs. "Nicholas, I..." She steps into the shower, her hands fall to my chest, sliding over my wet skin. She presses kisses to my pecs. Every inch of me cramps with need. She's the only girl I've ever wanted...and I can't have her.

  I grab her firmly by the wrists to stop her before I do something selfish, something that will hurt both of us in the long run. "Blakely. Don't,” I growl tightly, giving her wrists a rough squeeze. “The project is over. We need to stop."

  Her eyes shoot up to mine and they shine with the sting of rejection. I know that the water running down her cheeks isn't just from the spray of the shower.

  She's crying. Because of me. It makes me want to rip my own hair out.

  "Am I that appalling?" Her voice trembles. "Or am I just horrible in bed? You'd rather jerk off in the shower than be with me?"

  God no, baby! You’ve got it all wrong! "It's not that simple, Blakely." It's the only explanation I'll offer her.

  She roughly wipes the tears away from her eyes. "Well...I think I have my answer."

  With angry movements, she pulls the curtain aside and steps out of the shower. She yanks her towel off of the rack and stomps out of the bathroom, leaving a trail of water and a broken heart behind her.

  Chapter 32

  Blakely

  I never knew I could be that desperate. To throw myself at a man the way I did with Nicholas. That's a new low for me. A new low for womankind.

  But I couldn't stop myself. Nicholas is the only man I've ever felt this way for. I thought that I could let down my guard with him. He's the only man who's made me feel safe since my father died.

  I gave him my body and my heart and now he wants neither one.

  Sitting at the kitchen table in my pajamas, I plug in my laptop and open up my email. I had to take the day off from work today. I'm too crushed to play the happy, welcoming yoga studio receptionist. The only reason I even left my room is because it's the middle of a Wednesday afternoon and Nicholas is sure to be at work. I can't face him right now. I wish I knew how to make myself stop thinking about him.

  My computer automatically connects to messenger and a name pops up on my screen.

  EllenEdits: B.J. what the fuck?!

  My eyebrows hike up as I try to figure out what has her so worked up.

  EllenEdits: This story started out as one of the best romances I've read all year. And now it's just a depressing mindfuck. I'm at 97% with no HEA in sight and I can guarantee that I'm gonna run out of Xanax just to get to the end of it. You have some major rewrites to do or your readers are gonna hate you.

  BJ Hamilton Writes: it's honest and it's real and if they can't handle it then i don't need them reading my work

  EllenEdits: Are you serious right now? Your fans deserve a happily ever after. Your characters deserve a happily ever after.

  Y'know what? I thought I deserved a happily ever after. Instead, I got discarded by the only man I've ever shared my body with. Life isn't fair and my readers need to get with the program. It's unethical for me, as writer to keep feeding them the illusion of true love when Nicholas has completely shredded my belief in the concept.

  Love is bullshit. And I don't want to be a part of it anymore.

  EllenEdits: Did that boy go and break your heart, BJ? Is that what this is about?

  Just as I'm about to tell her that my personal life is none of her business, I hear keys jingling in the lock. Fuck - what's he doing home so early?

  The door swings open too fast. There's no time to hide. I slam my laptop shut just as Nicholas steps into the room carrying grocery bags.

  "Hey." Just the sound of his voice does a million things to my body. Heat, rage, desire and sadness roll through me at once.

  I refuse to meet his eyes, to let him see how much he affects me. "Hey." I focus on gathering up my computer and yanking my charger out of the wall.

  "I noticed that you ran out of almond butter," he says diplomatically as he sets a jar on the table.

  I glare at it without looking at him. "You shouldn't have. I'm going to the grocery store tonight."

  He shrugs. "It's no problem. I figured I'd pick it up since I was already there. Y'know, to make your life a little easier."

  To make my life easier? Is this guy for real?

  If you want to make my life easier, help me understand how one minute you have your cock buried so deep in my I can feel it all the way to my heart and the next minute, you won't even touch me.

  I don't answer. I focus on wrapping up my laptop wire.

  He continues speaking, trying to force a conversation. "I'm about to do a load of laundry. Let me know if you have any reds."

  Seriously, Ni
cholas? Seriously?

  "Yeh, sure," I mutter, increasingly annoyed by his attempts to ignore the 800-pound gorilla in the room.

  As I trudge past him, he grabs my arm. I finally look up into his eyes. I hate myself for the flutter of need I feel low in my belly. "They're having a bonfire tonight. Did you hear about that?" He sticks a flyer out to me. "If you aren't doing anything later, we should go. As friends."

  As friends...

  Friends don't stab each other in the heart with hot daggers.

  I swallow back my emotions. "I can't…I have a date." The lie whooshes past my lips before I have a chance to censor it.

  His eyebrows jump high on his forehead like he can't believe that anyone would actually want to date me.

  Fuck you, Nicholas!

  I leave him standing in the kitchen and hurry into my room. I put my laptop on the table and flop into my bed. I cry into my pillow for what feels like hours. I can't believe that things turned out this way. He was the only guy I trusted to give my virginity to and I had to go fall in love with him like a fool. Now my heart is shattered and I still have to live under the same roof with him and face him everyday. God, I’m a fool.

  When I finally pull myself together, I wipe my face and sponge on a dozen layers of makeup. I put on the shortest, tightest, most scandalous dress I own (a gift from one of Evangeline’s modeling excursions) and a set of heels that scream 'sex'. I stuff a bunch of sweats into an overnight bag and I step out of my room.

  I cross Nicholas in the hallway, carrying a pile of fresh laundry from the dryer. His eyes scan my body and there's no denying the want written on his face.

  Good! Eat your heart out, asshole!

  "You're going on your date?" he asks, doing a quick pivot and following me to the door.

  "Uh-huh," I say noncommittally.

  "In that?" His eyes linger on my skimpy excuse for a dress.

  "Yup." I set my overnight bag down on the door-side table to slide into my jean jacket.

  He eyes the bag and his chest all but vibrates with anger. "When are you coming back?"

  I face him with a sigh. "That's really none of your business, Nicholas."

  He stands there speechless as I grab my bag and step out the door.

  "Don't forget to lock up," I throw snarkily as the door swings closed.

  A weird sense of satisfaction comes over me as I make my way to my car. I know that it's immature but seeing that little bit of jealousy on his face is immensely gratifying. Still my vindication is fleeting, quickly replaced by the reality that he doesn't really want me. Yes, he had a little caveman moment but at the end of the day, he's the one who broke things off.

  Sighing with a heavy heart, I pick up my phone and scroll through the contacts. I hit ‘dial’ and Isla answers after a few rings. "Hey, Blakes."

  "Hey...I need a place to stay for a few days..."

  Chapter 33

  Nicholas

  I didn't sleep that night.

  Fantasies of Blakely riding me like a crazed cowgirl streamed through my mind, alternating with nightmares of her riding someone else.

  I almost couldn't take it. Lying there powerless in my bed while she was out with some other man, giving him that sweet little body I marked for myself, practicing the things I taught her.

  She never came home that night. And she’s been sleeping out frequently ever since. She doesn’t talk to me. She doesn’t look at me. She leaves the house in scant little outfits that should be reserved for the bedroom. My bedroom. Basically, we’re back at square one. Back at that place we were stuck at for weeks after I moved to Reyfield.

  Is she trying to kill me?

  I broke that pussy. I took her innocence. And now, I can’t stand the thought of another man fucking her. But I have no right to fight for her. If I love her the way I think I do, I’ll let her be with someone better than me.

  I look at the clock. Twelve minutes past midnight and she still isn’t back. It’s gonna be one of those nights again, one of those nights when she doesn’t come home.

  Pacing the living room floor for so long, your legs eventually go numb. And you start to get bags under you eyes for lack of sleep.

  I can’t do this anymore.

  Something’s got to change.

  Tonight.

  Chapter 34

  Blakely

  Isla sets a mug of warm matcha tea into my hands and sinks into the bright purple velvet couch across from me.

  She eyes me solemnly as she pulls a blanket around her shoulders. "Okay," she breathes, "Before I say this, let me preface it by saying that you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. But you're my sister and I love you and I know that you're not happy here...Blakely, you have to go home."

  My head throbs. It's been throbbing for the four days that I've been here. This situation with Nicholas is stressing me out. I always knew that if things went south between us, our living situation might get awkward but I didn't know that I'd get hurt this badly. It feels like my heart got caught on barbed wire and it's bleeding out into my ribcage. I can't go home. Every word he says to me is like a boot pressed into my chest.

  "I can't, Isla," I say in a weak voice, "I can't face him."

  The other night I barely stopped crying for long enough to pour out my heart to her. I told her everything that happened with Nicholas. She's been helping me keep it together. God knows I would have fallen apart already if it weren’t for her.

  She sighs. "Has it ever occurred to you that you might have it all wrong? Maybe you’re wrong about Nicholas’ reason for acting the way he did. Maybe there’s more to the story."

  I roll my eyes. "Yeh, I'm sure he's at home pining over me right now."

  Isla's face goes stern. "I saw the way he looked at you. I saw the way he kissed you. Those weren't the ways of a man who was just after a few wild nights with you. He cares about you, Blakely...He loves you. You owe it to yourself to figure out why he's pushing you away."

  I weigh my sister's words. What if she has a point? Am I willing to risk my heart to find out if she’s right?

  If this was a romance novel, this would be the point in the plot where the protagonist's secret child or his scheming, blackmailing ex is revealed, or the genetic mutation that is slowly frying his cells and transforming him into a werewolf. But my life isn't a romance novel and Nicholas' only excuse for hurting me is that he's an asshole.

  Isla insists, though. "Think about it, Blakely, think about it long and hard."

  My mind scans all the morsels of information I know about him and the life he was leading before he came to Reyfield. His family. His mother's string of divorces. His step-sister and the app they built together and sold in exchange for a small fortune. His career. His job at town hall.

  Nothing. Nothing stands out. No clues as to why he suddenly stopped wanting me.

  I pull the throw blanket hanging off of the edge of the couch and drape it around my shoulders. All the blood drains from Isla’s face. “Hun, I don’t think you want to be wrapped up in that blanket,” she says with a grimace.

  I glance down at it confused. It looks perfectly fine to me. “What’s wrong with it?”

  Her cheeks go red. Isla never blushes.

  Uh-oh.

  “Reuben may have fucked me on it the other night when we were hanging out in front of the fireplace. And we may have made a mess.”

  "What?!" I drop the sheet like it’s radioactive. "Isla!"

  She scoops it off the floor with wistful eyes. "I can’t tell you how many orgasms I’ve had on that blanket…” Her gaze scans the room. “And on that rug…And with my back pressed against that window…” She titters at my shock-face. “Sorry hun, my house is a sex dungeon. Just thought you should know.”

  "Maybe I should go home!" I storm toward the guest bedroom in search of my overnight bag.

  Her laugh bellows down the hall. "Hey – I warned you. You're welcome to stay but it’s at your own risk."

  Within an hour, I'm in my car.


  My heart pounds as I drive back to my apartment. The idea of seeing Nicholas again is making me sick with nerves. I have to sit in my parking spot for a few minutes just to get myself together.

  When I finally push through the front door, the apartment is dark and quiet. Nicholas' running shoes aren't on the welcome mat. His computer isn't sitting on the coffee table. His shirt isn’t hanging off the arm of the couch.

  An uneasy feeling hits me instantly.