If there’s one way to piss off Isla, it’s mentioning her age. She might not be my mother, but she is the same age.

“Oh.” Cassidy smirks. “My bad. Who are you then?” Sarcasm seeps through her words, but there’s no hiding the hurt in her eyes.

With heat burning along her cheeks, Isla turns to me and ignores Cassidy. “Can we talk in private?”

“Nah, I’m good.” I shove my hands into my jean pockets. “I think our time here is over.”

Not only am I pissed she’s here but I’m also infuriated by her timing. The day after Cassidy and I slept together, she finds another woman at my house. I understand her anger. I’d share the same hurt and irritation.

“We haven’t discussed anything during my time here, Lincoln.” A flash of desperation crosses Isla’s Botoxed face. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

Motherfucker.

With a jerk of my head, I direct her to my bedroom, not having the heart to look at Cassidy. It’s a dick move, but I’m not sure what else to do. I’m not sure what Isla would have started saying if we’d stood there any longer. All I can do now is hear what Isla has to say and then kick her ass out.

“Why are you punishing me for the actions of someone else?” Isla snaps as soon as I slam my bedroom door shut behind us.

I scoff, memories of what happened shooting through me like a drug, and it’s a struggle to keep my voice low. “You mean, the actions of your husband? Surprise, sweetheart, they go hand in hand.”

“And what he did was out of my hands. If I could’ve done something—”

“You’re right. I should’ve kept my hands to myself. And that’s on me, and considering I don’t want your husband meddling in my family’s life again, you need to leave. And never come back.”

She reaches for me, desperate and pleading. “Lincoln, please. I miss you.”

I slam my eyes shut. Not because her words hurt or that I miss her. I’m reliving the stupidity of crossing the line with her. It’s not that I ever thought I was in love with Isla. We fucked. Plain and simple. Neither of us exchanged love devotions. She’d go home to her husband, and I’d go out and party. Then a few days later, we’d do it again.

It was an unhealthy cycle that lasted a year until all hell broke loose.

Until my stupidity of screwing a married woman blew up in my face.

“You need to go,” I snarl, holding back the urge to yell. Stalking to my bedroom door, I jerk it open. “And don’t come back. Quit calling. Forget I exist.”