Stay with Me (Strickland Sisters Book 1)

  The Strickland Sisters Series: Book 1

  By Alexandria House

  Copyright © 2017 by Alexandria House

  Cover art from istockphoto.com (Sjale)

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing 2017

  Pink Cashmere Publishing, LLC

  pinkcashmerepub@gmail.com

  http://pinkcashmerepublishing.webs.com/

  A special thank you to #TheLoveKing, the incomparable Raheem DeVaughn, whose music inspired me and motivated me to write this book in a short span of time.

  To the readers, wow! I don’t know what to say except thank you for embracing my brand of romance. I truly appreciate your support!

  Special thanks to Girl, Have You Read?, the Building Relationships Around Books Online Book Club, Sisterhood of the Traveling Books, Colette from My Reading Nook, and WOC in Romance.

  Stay with Me

  Twice unlucky in love, natural hair vlogger, Angela Strickland, has settled into a life centered around avoiding men and relationships like the plague. Unwilling to risk another broken heart, she resigns herself to being a perpetually single woman.

  Corporate man and self-professed womanizer, Ryan Boyé, doesn’t believe in relationships or love and thinks anyone who does is a fool. But there’s just something about Angela Strickland he can’t shake…

  When these two cross paths, their attraction to one another is undeniable. Will they find that the love they’ve both evaded is exactly what they both need?

  For him…again.

  1

  How did I get myself into this? I thought as I sat at the tiny table in the huge club watching my baby sister sloppily dance in front of me. This drunk heifer hadn’t sat down for more than five minutes since we walked into the place over an hour earlier. And I don’t think she’d stopped drinking at all. She was currently bouncing to some song with her fifth or sixth—I lost count—Appletini in hand. The way she was acting, one would’ve thought it was her twenty-first birthday rather than her twenty-eighth.

  I took a sip of the same strawberry daiquiri I’d been playing with since we first arrived. I didn’t like hard liquor any more than I did loud-ass music or big-ass crowds or sweaty-ass people, but there I was for the sake of sisterhood.

  “Nicky, don’t you wanna sit down for a sec?” I asked my sister. “You’re spilling your drink.”

  “No!” she slurred, eyeing me through drooping eyelids, her impossibly long fake lashes grazing her high cheekbones. “It’s ma birfday and I’m here to kish it! Woo! And Iiiiiiima take me a fine man home ssssstoo!”

  I sighed and leaned back in my seat as she kept bumping and grinding the air in a ridiculously short black dress that looked to be pasted onto her petite body. “Yeah, well, that ain’t happening. I’m taking your drunk ass home whenever this little celebration is over. And where the hell is Renee?”

  “Somewhere doing whatever Robert’s ugly ass tells her to do.”

  Well, I couldn’t disagree with that. To be the oldest, our sister, Renee, was definitely not the wisest, especially when it came to her husband. I couldn’t stand his controlling, unfaithful, not-even-remotely-attractive ass. I truly couldn’t see why Renee married him.

  “Aw, shit! She came!” Nicky shouted over the horrible mumble rap that was blaring from the speakers.

  My head snapped up to see not only Renee, but her husband, Robert. Before I could say it, Nicky did: “Why the hell she bring him?” It seemed the presence of our brother-in-law had sobered her up a bit. Her speech was much less slurred.

  “Hey, Nicky! Happy birthday, baby sis!” Renee gushed, as she pulled Nicky into a hug while Robert hung behind her in silence.

  I tried unsuccessfully not to glare at him. Sorry ass…

  As Renee bent over to hug me, I whispered, “Why the hell is he here?” in her ear.

  She pulled out of the hug and gave me this crazy look before turning around and kissing Robert on the cheek. “Thanks for dropping me off, babe. Ang’ll bring me home later.”

  He just nodded and walked off. Never even spoke to me or Nicky. But then again, he knew we hated him, and rightfully so.

  As Renee slid into a chair next to me, Nicky finally sat her hot ass down, too. “So why is he here?” she asked, after she drained her glass in an obvious attempt to recapture the buzz Robert’s presence had ruined.

  Renee crossed her legs and pursed her lips. “One, he’s my husband. Two, he volunteered to drop me off, because he knew we’d be drinking and he didn’t want me trying to drive home drunk.”

  “And three, he’s probably in some corner of this club right now cheating on you,” Nicky said, as she attempted to flag a waitress down.

  “No, he is not! Why do y’all have to act that way about him?” she asked, visibly flustered.

  “Because he’s an asshole,” Nicky answered.

  Renee fingered a strand of her thick, shoulder-length hair. “Like your drunk opinion matters.”

  “Well, I’m not drunk, and I have to agree with Nicky. He’s an asshole, Renee. A cheating asshole, and you deserve better,” I said.

  “I really hate I ever confided in you two when we were having problems. He is not cheating anymore, and I have forgiven him. I’m over it. Why aren’t y’all?”

  “And he’s ugly,” Nicky said flatly, ignoring Renee’s question. “Just, why? Why, Nay? Like, seriously? All the guys you dated, and you marry him? He got a foot-long penis or something? You sprung? Turnt out? What is it?”

  “You know what? I’m here to help you celebrate your birthday when I could be home with my man instead of sitting here listening to you insult him and me.”

  I could see her eyes filling with tears, so when Nicky opened her mouth to deliver a rebuttal, I kicked her under the table, and when she looked at me, I gave her the eye. She clamped her mouth shut until the waitress finally arrived at the table, and then she and Renee both ordered drinks.

  We’d left the subject of Renee’s marriage and had veered into a nasty conversation about some guy Nicky had recently slept with when Renee nearly shouted, “Hey! Isn’t that Khalil?”

  My stomach dropped so fast, the little bit of liquor I’d consumed felt like it was made of pure lead. I needed some water. No, if Khalil Whitehead was really in that club, I needed to get the hell out of there. The man I un-affectionately referred to as my out-of-body experience was the last person I wanted to see.

  Ever.

  I followed Renee’s big, round eyes to a man wearing black slacks and a silky, vintage Versace-style shirt. Shit, it was him. It was definitely him. Only he would step into a club looking that tacky. How I was ever attracted to his wannabe music producer ass was beyond me. I slid down in my seat a bit and hoped with everything in me that he wouldn’t see me.

  He did.

  Somehow, in a dimly-lit, packed club full of black people, my most recent ex found me and approached our table with an Instagram model-looking chick—tiny waist and impossibly huge boobs and butt—trailing closely behind him and a wide smile on his smug face.

  “Angie!” he said too enthusiastically considering the hell he put me through while we dated. “How’ve you been?”

  �
�She’s been great, you piece of—”

  I cut Nicky off with, “I’ve been good. You?”

  “I’ve been terrific. Life is good, you know?” He grabbed the woman’s hand and pulled her next to him. “Angie, Nicky, Renee, this is Diamond. Baby, this is Angela Strickland, my ex. I told you about her. And these are her sisters.”

  She blinked a few times and smiled. Her long, black eyelashes kept bumping against her platinum bangs. “Wait…4C Angie?!” she shrieked.

  “Uh...yes,” I said. “You watch my videos?”

  “Yes! I’m all natural under this wig! I swear by your jojoba-coconut oil recipe! OMG, I can’t wait to tell my sister I met you! Baby, you didn’t tell me your ex was 4C Angie. She’s a celebrity!”

  I smiled at the woman, and said, “Well, I don’t know about all that, but thank you.”

  Nicky gave Khalil a smirk and then shifted her gaze to Diamond. “Oh, my sister is so modest. She’s the bomb, isn’t she?”

  Diamond nodded enthusiastically. “Oh! Can I get an autograph?”

  Before I could respond, Khalil was pulling Diamond away from us, and saying, “Well, you ladies take care.” They left without giving us a chance to utter another word.

  “I guess his stupid butt forgot he used to date a star,” Renee said.

  “A YouTube star. There’s a difference, you know,” I replied.

  Renee had opened her mouth to respond when a group of girls approached the table and asked to take pictures with me. Diamond’s little outburst had made it impossible to keep the low profile I’d enjoyed since entering the club and sliding into the dark corner our table occupied. I smiled and graciously obliged them, and we managed to enjoy the rest of our evening out.

  *****

  “I love you so much, baby,” I whispered in Khalil’s ear as he held me tightly, rubbing his hands up and down my back.

  He kissed me, moved his mouth to my ear, and murmured, “I love you, too, Angie.”

  And that’s when my ass woke up.

  Had he just smiled, or nodded, or said something like, “Is that right?” I would’ve believed what was happening was real, but the moment he reciprocated, I knew I was dreaming since no man other than my father—not Khalil Whitehead, or the only other man I’d declared my love to, Benny Stewart—had ever told me he loved me. As a matter of fact, they used my feelings for them against me. Used me, made a fool of me. And they were the dual reasons I lived alone, happily alone. I made a promise to myself three years ago that I was done with men and loving men. It was a promise I intended to keep.

  I swung my legs over the side of my bed, sitting up and staring out my bedroom window at the stark scene outside. It was early March, and winter was still holding on by filling the air with frigidity. The trees still looked barren, and besides a few isolated sprigs of grass poking through the brown ground, one wouldn’t believe spring was about to make her appearance. I stretched my arms over my head and was contemplating making some coffee when Nicky stumbled through my closed bedroom door without knocking, and moaned, “I need coffee…”

  I stood up and gave her a smirk. “I bet you do. You were partying last night like your ass was getting shipped off today or something.”

  I slid past her, making my way to the kitchen, and she followed me, saying, “If your birthday had gone the way mine did, you would’ve gotten drunk, too.”

  As I stood at the counter scooping coffee grounds into the filter of my coffee maker, I asked, “What happened? I mean, you don’t have a job to hate. You don’t have a permanent boyfriend to argue with, you don’t have bills because you still live at home, so what could’ve possibly gone wrong?”

  She plopped down in a chair at my kitchen table in her bra and panties, rested her elbows on the table, and held her face in her hands while blowing out a breath. “Daddy gave me a five hundred-dollar check for my birthday.”

  I rolled my eyes as I poured water into the coffee maker. “And I take it that wasn’t enough for your spoiled ass?”

  “Not really, but then things got worse. He told me he was cutting me off!”

  As the smell of coffee began to permeate the air in my tiny kitchen, I took a seat across from my sister with a furrowed brow. Now this was truly a shock, but something that was way overdue. “Nicky, you had to see this coming. You’ve been in school FOREVER. You have like ten degrees now. It’s time for you to get a job and move out of Mama’s and Daddy’s house.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “You and Daddy on the same bullshit. Look, I have one bachelor’s degree and two master’s degrees. What’s wrong with valuing education?”

  “You’re working on a third master’s, and all of your degrees are in these weird subjects—I mean, Canadian Studies, Slavic Languages, Adventure Studies? Look, I know Daddy made the same deal with all of us when we turned eighteen, but you played him, and you played him well. You used his own terms against him. He’s tired of it, and I can’t blame him.”

  “How did I play him, Angie? He said we all had two options: go to the college of our choice and get the degree of our choice and he’d pay for it AND support us until we had completed our education, or he’d give us the money instead. You took the money, Renee went to school and became a nurse or whatever, and I’m still working on my education. I mean, he didn’t say there was a limit to the number of degrees we could get.”

  I looked my pretty little sister in the eye. “Your ass just doesn’t want to get a job and have to pay bills and you know it.”

  “And you do? I mean, it’s not like you’re gainfully employed or something. You took that money, bought this place, and haven’t had a full-time job in your life!”

  I reclined in my chair a bit. “See, this is where you and I differ. I’m a business woman. Always have been. I bought this duplex knowing that if I could keep the other side rented out, I’d always have an income and wouldn’t have to work full time. And for your information, I have a job. I’m a hair vlogger and YouTube pays me well.”

  “Shit, you know what? I’m straight hating on you. Of the three of us, you came up with the best plan. Buy a house that generates income and who needs a damn degree? Hell, I should’ve done the same thing. Been going to school and dating all these men, looking for a husband to support me. These dudes ain’t tryna have a girl’s back!”

  “Nicky, you can’t get with men for the sole purpose of them eventually supporting you. That’s kinda foul, you know?”

  She sat up straight. “So what am I supposed to do? Get married for love and be treated like shit like Renee? Oh, I know, I’m supposed to fall in love with a couple of losers, commit years of my life to building relationships with them only to be dumped and become a thirty-year-old sexless loner like you.”

  I stood and grabbed a coffee mug from my cabinet. “Since you’re sober enough to be a bitch, how about you throw that little dress of yours back on and leave my sexless loner house?”

  She sighed loudly. “You started it.”

  “And I’m finishing it. Leave. I’m not gonna sit up in my own home and be disrespected, Nicole. You can climb your spoiled ass in your car and go.”

  She stood and stomped over to the coffee pot while I reclaimed my seat at the table.

  “And don’t you touch my damn coffee pot. Go buy you some Starbucks or something.”

  Her eyes flew up to the sky. “Look, I’m sorry, Angie, if I hurt your feelings, but you had no right to judge me.”

  “Humph.”

  “I’m just frustrated. None of my plans are working out, and now Daddy is telling me I have like three months to find a job and move out, and I’m nowhere near finishing this master’s in Demography!”

  I didn’t reply.

  “I love you, Angie,” she said in that little baby-girl voice that always made our father melt. It didn’t move me.

  “I said I was sorry,” she whined.

  “I heard you.”

  She grabbed a mug, doctored up some coffee with cream and sugar, and sat across
from me again. Nodding toward the door that led to my backyard, she asked, “What’s with all the paint?”

  I glanced at the cans of paint stacked against the back door, and said, “My tenants moved out, so I’ve got to go over there and touch up the paint in a couple of the rooms, have the carpets cleaned, the usual.”

  “So it’s vacant?” she asked in a perky voice.

  “That’s what I just said…” I knew where this was going.

  “Why don’t you let me move in? I’ll even do the painting for you.”

  “Nicky, I make money off of that space. No way I’m letting your unemployed ass move in there.”

  “I’ll get a job.”

  “Call me when you do that, and then we can talk about you renting it. Until then, it’s a no.”

  She hopped up and plodded out of my kitchen, mumbling something under her breath about how much she hated her family with every step she took. I leaned back in my chair, sipped on my coffee, and shook my head.

  2

  I was seated at the desk in the bedroom I used as my studio, the one where I filmed my natural hair videos and edited them. The editing software was open on my computer, but my eyes were drifting all over the room—from the studio lights that were shoved in a corner, to the digital camera that still sat on my tripod, and along with my eyes, my mind was focused on everything but the task at hand.

  Nicky basically calling me a dumb loser spinster had really gotten to me. It wasn’t like I didn’t know it was pathetic of me to have committed years to relationships with assholes. Of course I knew it. The mere thought of my own stupidity followed me around like a shadow even on an overcast day. I knew I was stupid for falling for Benny in junior high and hanging on to his hapless ass for six whole years. And yeah, I should’ve known better than to have fallen into the same trap with Khalil. After all, I was a grown-ass, twenty-two-year-old woman when we hooked up, a grown-ass woman who gave another loser five years of love and devotion. But I woke up and learned from my mistakes. I was fine, content. So why did she have to dredge up my train wreck of a past, and why were her words bothering me so much?