The Blue Collar Bachelors Box Set: The Complete Blue Collar Bachelors Series

by Miller, Cassie-Ann L.

  I drag myself closer to get a good look at what she’s working on now. Recognition is almost immediate. I grab the pad and hold it up in front of me. “What is this?”

  Nova falls onto her back and blinks up at me playfully. “What do you think it is?”

  The lines and curves on the page connect and overlap, forming a clear, unmistakable image.

  “Sorta looks like you. Hmm...” Sitting up, she picks up her mug again and brings it to her sinful lips, concealing her smirk.

  My eyes move over the drawing. It’s the body of a spider. Probably a tarantula. But that’s my strong jaw, my smirking lips, my furrowed brow. The sex in my eyes burns so bright it nearly scalds my fingers on the page.

  She grabs back the pad and strokes her fingers across the rippling lines and sinews of my muscular spider arms.

  I want her to touch me like that, to run her fingers across my skin. I want to toss that damn sketchpad into the flames and offer my body up to her like a canvas.

  The tension is so thick. I feel it wrapping around my limbs, squeezing on me. I yank my collar away from my neck because it’s just too damn hot in here. I swallow hard and inch away, desperate for some reprieve. From the look on her face, I wonder if she feels it too.

  She hops up to her feet and bounds toward the kitchen. “You have any marshmallows?”

  I grin to myself as the muffled sound of her voice carries down the hall. I love the way she bounces around my house, opening cupboards and sprawling off on furniture like she belongs here. It tricks me into thinking that maybe she does.

  When she finds the marshmallows, she comes sauntering back into the living room. She tosses the bag at me.

  Tearing open the packaging, I can’t help myself any longer. “So, who are you taking to the wedding?”

  She shrugs a shoulder, causing her shirt to slide even further down her skin. “I dunno. Haven’t thought about it yet.” She grabs a marshmallow from the bag and sticks it on the end of one of the long skewers sitting by the fireplace. “Roy and I just broke up.” She’s completely aloof when she says it.

  I make an exaggerated pouty face. “Aww. So sad.”

  She hurls a marshmallow at me and rolls her eyes when I effortlessly catch it with my mouth. Even more annoyance flashes across her features when I throw her a wink.

  Lying on my back with my hands cradling my skull, I stare at her.

  “What?” She looks self-conscious all of a sudden.

  “I can just see your mind working through your rolodex of losers.” Laughter rumbles in my chest.

  She arches a brow. “My rolodex of losers?”

  “Yeah, looking for a wedding date.”

  She folds her arms under her ample breasts, looking offended. “Who exactly is in my rolodex of losers?”

  I laugh again. “Let’s start with Jason. Was that his name?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with Jason,” she says defensively, “Jason’s an entrepreneur!”

  “The guy brews craft beer in the basement of his grandmother’s dress shop and sells it on Etsy. I’m not sure that counts as entrepreneurship. Is that even legal?”

  “Oh shut up!” she laughs through her nose. “He’s ambitious. Pioneering. Last time I spoke to him, he said he was going on Shark Tank!”

  “Shark Tank? Then he must be an entrepreneur.” At my snide tone, she punches me in the arm.

  “Then, what about Bruno? Remember him? The guy with the three masters’ degrees. Meet him on Tinder.”

  I narrow my gaze suspiciously. “I never liked that guy. He looks like a fucking warlock. Creeps me out.”

  She grimaces. “Oh gosh, I sort of have to agree with you on that.” She twists her lips to the side and thinks hard. “Okay, maybe I can ask Cobi? He owns that thrift store near the post office.”

  “Ugh! Another plaid-wearing, granola-loving, B-12 deficient hipster who eats all his raw vegan meals out of a mason jar? Can’t you do better than that?”

  An indignant look comes to her face. “A man's manliness is not determined by his animal protein intake!”

  “Any chump who cowers before a 21-ounce steak isn't man enough for you, Nova.” I watch as she slides her marshmallow into the blazing furnace and it hovers just above the licking flames.

  Lucky for me, she’s been kissing frogs for as long as I’ve known her. But she’s a phenomenal woman—gorgeous, talented, loyal—and one day, she’s gonna get her act together and get swept off her feet by some sweet-talking lothario who will put a ring on her finger and keep her all to himself. And I’ll lose her.

  The thought is enough to push a golf ball of a knot into my throat.

  “I’m just trying to say that, you keep dating these guys who are safe, guys who pose no risk to your heart. But they don’t have what it takes for a girl like you.”

  She sighs. “I’ve just been around so many mean people in life. I don’t want that anymore. Do you blame me for trying to protect my heart from getting trampled?” Her eyes are soft, pleading with me to understand.

  Reaching across the space between us, I flick her on the paint-covered dimple in her chin. “You need a man who’s strong, who isn’t afraid of your confidence but respects you enough to challenge you, to push you…You need a man who’ll help you be the best version of you.”

  Staring at the soft curve of her full lips, I lose my train of thought. I find myself wondering yet again what it would be like to kiss a woman like her. I find myself wondering what it would be like to be that guy that she needs.

  Heaven knows I’m the last thing she needs. All I’d do is end up hurting her somehow and hating myself forever for doing that.

  When my eyes move to hers, she’s wearing a look I’ve never seen on her face before. It’s soft and girlish, nearly shy. I’m feeling kind of strange, too. Yes, I want to fuck her so hard her body forms grooves in the hardwood floor. But more importantly, I want to make her understand just how amazing she is. She doesn’t have to settle for the idiots she’s been settling for.

  A charred scent wafts into my awareness. When I glance over at the fireplace, her marshmallow is blazing. “Whoa! Watch out!”

  She startles and quickly pulls the burnt confection from the flames. Her lips pucker as she blows on the marshmallow, putting out the fire. I want those pretty lips puckered around my cock. So much.

  “Look what you did!” she laughs.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, totally your fault. Distracting me with your Eat, Pray, Love monologue.” She pushes the stick my way. “I dare you—five dollars to eat this.”

  I shoo her hand away and laugh. “I’m not eating that. You’re just trying to get free money!”

  “A girl’s got rent to pay,” she says, shrugging.

  I give her a hard look. “You don’t have rent to pay. You live rent-free in your mother’s house.”

  “Ugh! Don’t rub it in my face, Charlie. It’s just a figure of speech.” Then she mutters under her breath. “A girl’s got batteries to buy.”

  My ears twitch and my cock fills with blood at the idea of what she might need those batteries for. “What did you just say?”

  She giggles with a kittenish glint in her eyes. “Nothing…”

  Yeah, right. Why is she teasing me like this? It’s unkind.

  Fuck—I want to be the guy she’s thinking about. On those long, cold nights. When she’s lying around with nothing but her fingers and her lust and her battery-operated boyfriend.

  The next thought that filters through my brain causes a laugh to fly out of my mouth.

  “What’s so funny?” Her eyes narrow at me.

  I study her for a second and then shake my head. Nova and I are close but I don’t want to push it and make her uncomfortable. “Nothing,” I say to her.

  “Tell me,” she insists, her eyebrows rising high on her forehead.

  I shake my head again. “You don’t wanna know.”

  She crawls across to me on all fours, looking like a wildcat—sleek, sexy and da
ngerous to my self-restraint. “Yes, I do.”

  I hear the words coming out of my mouth before I’ve fully thought through the consequences. "I just have a hard time with the fact that those are the losers you think about when you're getting yourself off."

  She crosses her eyes and drops back onto her haunches. “I bet you’d love to hear me say, ‘No Charlie, you’re the only man I think about when I’m touching myself’,” she spits out sarcastically. “‘I almost sprained a finger the other day, thinking about that big old head of yours, Charlie’.” She taps me on the forehead with her knuckles. She throws her head back and laughs. “Wouldn’t you love to hear that? Just to inflate your ego.”

  I lose control of my cool. An avalanche of obscene images staring Nova and me pour into my consciousness. It’s nearly overwhelming.

  Leaning forward, I wrap my fingers around her wrist. My face is barely inches from hers. “I’ll take you to the wedding.” She has a dirty little mouth on her and I can’t stand the thought of her whispering those things to any other man. No, I’ll take her to the wedding.

  The surprise on her face is unmistakable. “Huh?”

  Drawing in a breath, I repeat myself. “I’ll take you to the wedding.”

  “Charlie, I’m fine going to the wedding by myself. I wasn’t trying to throw you subtle hints or guilt you into coming with me.”

  “I know that.”

  “So, why would you even offer? My family is nuts.”

  “I’ll go as moral support. To help you withstand the trauma of a crazy evening with the Chesters.”

  Her eyes broadcast her hesitation. “That’s…unnecessary.”

  “Don’t fight me on this, Nova. I’m not letting you show up and embarrass yourself with one of your pathetic exes. I’m going with you.”

  She sighs with resignation and drops to her back on the floor.

  “So it’s settled then. I’m taking you to the wedding.”

  Her nostrils twitch and I can tell she’s fighting off a smile. “Fine. You’re taking me to the wedding.”

  Victorious. That’s how I feel as I rise to my feet and turn in the direction of the toilet. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I need to go relieve myself.”

  And I’m not talking about taking a piss.

  Chapter Eight

  Charlie

  I trace a rough finger along the course cream paper, eyes lingering distractedly on the drawing lying on my lap. “Sharon, this shit has gone on long enough. I need the damn demolition permit so we’ll be ready to start on the Silverberry project. Helena wants to play hardball so let’s play hardball. I need the name of her supervisor so I can get her decision reviewed.” I tear through my sandwich and dust off the crumbs that fall on the sketchpad.

  Frustration bleeds into my tone and I find myself barking at my poor secretary. I know that this mess isn’t her fault. I guess I’m just mad at myself for the shit-show this thing is turning into. Deep down, I know that I’m to blame.

  I shouldn’t have fucked Helena and that decision, like so many others, is coming back to haunt me.

  Now Sharon is barking right back at me, reminding me that she’s not the one who fucked Ursula and got this nightmare started. I’ve got the phone tucked between my cheek and shoulder as I recline in the driver’s seat of my truck. I toss a glance at my workers carelessly hauling a fifteen square foot sheet of grass across the lawn. Those fucking idiots—if they break that damn window, I’m gonna blow my lid, I swear.

  Sharon ends the phone call, promising that she’ll find the person who can go over Helena’s head and reverse her decision on the permit. I breathe out a sigh of relief. This morning has been shit and I need a few minutes to myself before I go back to work.

  Actually, I’ve been looking forward to this all morning. No—not the dry ham and cheese sandwich on stale white bread that I slapped together this morning while I already had one foot out the door.

  I’ve been looking forward to this…I turn the page over and examine the drawing on the next sheet. A cartoonish butterfly with puckered lips and an enlarged ass. She has wild hair and that glint of mischief in her expression. It’s the same butterfly tattooed to Nova’s shoulder. I smile.

  When she dragged herself out my front door around midnight, she forgot her sketchpad on the armchair by the fireplace. I’m glad she did.

  The nightmares came on strong last night. More vivid than usual. The visions of Leo, Archie and Johnson drowning in a their own blood because of an unforgivable mistake I made.

  I gave up on sleep and padded into the living room, sat on the floor in front of the fireplace and spent hours perusing Nova’s art. It calmed me. Watching her designs is like getting a little peek into her soul. Her beautiful and deranged soul. I don’t know much about animation and that sort of stuff but her Love Bugs storyline is pretty compelling. She so talented. I wish there were something I could do to make the world see just how much.

  I tried calling her already today and she hasn’t answered. When I try one more time and it goes to voicemail, I toss my phone into the cup holder and allow myself a few more minutes to enjoy her work and relax.

  My head shoots up when the passenger’s side door of my truck swings open. In jumps Lorraine, the owner of the house we’re working on today. She’s dressed in a button-down blouse pushed up by her perky tits with ankle length pants and flats. She glides into the seat with the grace of a 1950s Hollywood starlet.

  I think she’s an entertainment executive from New York or L.A., some rich, lonely, divorced lady with a good plastic surgeon and her tall stacks of cash to keep her company.

  I fucked her once. That’s one of the things I’m regretting right about now. I may be a little paranoid because of what’s going on with Helena but right now, it feels like Lorraine has all the trappings of a crazed stalker. The touchiness, the lack of respect for personal space, the Fatal Attraction eyes. God help me.

  "Why are you hiding out in here?" Her tone is flirtatious.

  "Making with some business calls.” I try to look busy but that doesn’t throw her off.

  "All work, no play, huh?"

  I give her a tight smile. "Lots to deal with."

  "Mmm. Why don't you come inside? I'll have my chef make you a bistrami while you and I familiarize ourselves with each other. We'll call it a working lunch.” She smiles suggestively.

  Fuck! ”Oh, I'm sorry, Lorraine. I'd love to discuss your renovation home project with you—"

  "Charlie, my home isn't the only thing I need you to work on."

  “Look—you are a gorgeous woman but—"

  Her expression falls with disappointment. "Let me guess—there's a special someone in your life these days, isn't there?"

  Seeing a way out, I pounce on it even though it’s a lie. "Yes."

  Lorraine pouts a little. "What's the lucky lady's name?"

  "Nova. Nova Chester." I cringe on the inside as I say it because I know that Nova would kill me for this blasphemy to her name but I'm desperate here. I have more than enough trouble on my hands as it is.

  "Hmm..." is all Lorraine says in response.

  Her gaze moves to the drawing I’d forgotten was in my lap. “Who’s the artist?” she asks.

  “A friend,” I say in an indifferent tone.

  “Your girlfriend?”

  “A friend.”

  She bites down at the corner of her lip. “You like her.”

  I feel heat at the back of my neck. “I’ve got to go run a few errands before lunchtime.”

  She throws her head back and laughs gleefully, all signs of jealousy gone. “Well, that was a not-so-subtle brush-off!”

  “Lorraine, really,” I say insistently. “I have to go.”

  Her laughter fades but her amused smile lingers. “Okay, you have to go.” She pops the door open and slides out of the seat.

  He gaze moves to the drawing again. It lingers. “Nova Chester…” she says meaningfully as she nudges the door closed and brushes the grime from my truc
k off of her fingers. “Beautiful…”

  When I glance down at the drawing in my hand, I see Nova’s signature big and bold, in sprawling cursive across the bottom. Shit!

  Chapter Nine

  Nova

  The echo of my mother’s four-inch heels fills the air and her hips sway left to right as she takes powerful steps across the floor of the vacant room. “We get lots of natural light in here,” she cranes her elegant neck toward the window, “and aren’t the views of the park to die for?”

  The crumpling building next door is blocking off most of the early morning light that should be coming in through the window and the park in question is three blocks down. But leave it to a realtor to paint a pretty picture with her words.

  A skeptical-looking Reese follows behind her, taking tentative steps. “Uh, the window has a crack right down the middle. I’m not sure this is actually safe.”

  Ever the snake oil saleswoman, my mother waves off my friend’s concerns and speaks in her most expert voice. “We’ll throw a little silicone adhesive on it and it’ll be good as new.”

  I set my backpack at my feet and lean a hip against the counter where the empty cash register sits. I keep my opinions to myself. I know better than anyone—you don’t get in the way of Cleo Chester-Pence-Wellman and her commissions. She may be my mother but the woman is vicious about her business.

  Besides, I warned Reese not to get my mother involved in the process of finding a new location for the Broken Cupcake. I know that they’re close—mom was a devout customer of the original cupcake shop and she’s excited to see it up and running again—but when it comes to business, she spews realtor-speak like it’s an official language and whether she means to or not, sometimes her sales pitches can be a bit…misleading.