Single Daddy Scot (Hot Scots)

‘Oh. I see. So you’re saying you don’t believe that I’m a virgin? Not that it has any bearing on this situation—of what this means.’

Her step mother’s words swim through my head again. Is she a virgin, or was this an excuse to keep my cock in my pants and her in a job? What difference would it make if she wasn’t? Only that she lied. Like she lied tonight. I’m instantly on the attack again

‘What it means to you to be a common stripper? Just because you have a few feathers and a fucking veil doesn’t make it any less sordid. Why would you do it? What the fuck would entice you to take off your clothes in front of strangers?’ My shouting sounds strangled on the last note, my hands digging through my hair as my chest physically aches. I feel like she’s punched a hole in my chest and lifted out my heart, leaving the cavity empty and bare.

My head feels as though it’s about to burst, fear and anger choking me, my molars clenched so tight I feel a shooting pain. I couldn’t help Annelise—Louis’s mum. She stripped to support our son, and I made her do that by not being there to support him. I’m responsible for that, and fate is a fucking joke—is this my punishment? A cruel twist to make me pay?

‘And I suppose you didn’t enjoy watching. Did you keep your eyes closed?’

I don’t have a response beyond a growl ripped from the depths of my gut. Because I didn’t. And she knows it. And I’m a hypocrite.

‘What’s the point. You’re not going to listen. You just want to stand there and beat your chest like I’m some kind of possession. A-a chattel,’ she yells back, her dark eyes full of tears and anger.

‘But you’re not, though, are you?’ I say, stepping back. ‘You don’t belong to me.’ Her glare is the hand that twists the knife in my gaping chest. ‘Because you made that crystal clear in there.’ I point at the building—something to do with my hands, other than slide them around her shoulders to pull her closer. To push her away. To make her understand. To shake some sense into her—to fucking something!

‘Yes, well.’ She lifts her chin and squares her shoulders, her demeanour changing so spectacularly, it’s like she’s shedding a skin. ‘You’ve made yourself perfectly clear. My Uber is waiting. I think you should leave.’

30

Ella

‘He’s not worth it then, is he?’

From my position prone on the sofa, I look up at the looming figure. Can a person loom and sway?

‘And he’s a total knob and a fuckwit, a douche canoe and a blue waffle,’ Jules exclaims.

‘I’m not sure about that last one,’ I say, the slight shivery-hiccupping sob still evident in my words. In fact, despite being a sniffling sad-sack of a wreck, I’m not sure any of those descriptions fit him. He was angry, for sure. Confused, too. Hurting and wanting to cause hurt in return? Definitely. And that’s all on me for not telling him about tonight. About the reasons for starting it. For going ahead with it. And there was my goading. The things I said. His accusations and insinuations? I brought the situation on myself.

I should’ve told him, and I didn’t, so I deserve to feel wretched.

‘He is!’ squeaks Jules, high enough to make the dogs of the neighbourhood howl. ‘He’s totes a complete wank stain if he doesn’t realise what he’s losing. And if I ever see him on the street,’ she says, lip curled and her index finger pointing at me. ‘I’ll tell him so. Right before I kick him in the balls for being so dense.’

‘You’ve never even met him; how would you know what he looks like, never mind about finding his balls to kick?’

‘Obvs, I’ll Facebook stalk him when you’ve gone to bed. Might even send ’im some hate mail.’

‘But I’m already in bed,’ I reply wearily, pushing up onto my elbows and patting the sofa with my palms. ‘At least, the nearest to a bed I’ll have until I outstay my welcome and move back home.’

‘Don’t be ridicalus. You’ll stay with me until you get sorted.’

‘Why don’t you go to bed,’ I suggest gently. Before you fall. ‘And I’m . . . I’m sorry you didn’t make it to bed earlier. You know? With him.’

I’d let myself in after I’d sent Mac away, and about an hour later, Julia arrived home. She’d tumbled through the front door with her tongue down someone’s throat, her hand rummaging around in his already half unbuttoned pants. Ungluing her mouth from his, she’d taken one look at the sobbing and forlorn lump on her sofa and announced to her hook up that she was no longer in the mood for shagging.

It’s official. I am the worst house guest ever. And like a bouncing ball that keeps bounding back.