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

by Miller, Cassie-Ann L.

  But his hands are rough. They’re not the hands of a guy who wears suits all that often. And for some reason, I like that. Very much. Especially after being dumped in the most epically douchey way by Illinois's most pretentious suit-and-tie fanatic.

  A burst of niggling guilt slams me, anyway. There’s a socially-required period of wallowing when you’ve been stood up at the altar, isn't there? I can’t just follow this stranger out of here within minutes of becoming a jilted bride. The women in my mother’s pilates league would be scandalized!

  “Sorry. Not interested,” I tell him and angle my body toward the bar, expecting that to put an end to the conversation.

  He’s not done, though. From the corner of my eye, I see his grin grow wider. As if my rejection is amusing. Nothing more than a challenge. “I’m curious—why not?” The ice cubes in his drink clank against the sides of his tumbler when he swirls his wrist. He observes me from under his strong brow.

  I laugh humorlessly. "You do realize that this—" I pinch the fabric of my A-line Vera Wang gown. "—isn't a costume.”

  He nods without even blinking.

  I continue. “I’m not an actress in a Las Vegas production of…of Mama Mia or something.”

  He simply brings his tumbler to his sinful mouth again. Completely unaffected. “Uh-huh.”

  I wrinkle my brows at him. How is he not understanding that hitting on me right now is inappropriate? Weird, even? “This is my wedding dress…” My voice cracks. I grip the edge of the counter for stability so the pain of saying the words out loud doesn't bring me to my knees. “This is my wedding day…"

  He smoothly shrugs his suit jacket off and drapes it over the back of his chair. Then he rolls the long sleeves of his shirt back to his elbows. “You’re at a bar and there’s no groom in sight, so I’m assuming that didn’t go as planned.” There’s no malice in his tone when he says it. In fact, he sounds sort of sympathetic.

  “No, it didn’t go as planned, for your information.” My chin trembles with the admission. I’m sad—I’ll admit that—but it’s the anger that’s overpowering. How could Josh do this to me?

  The playfulness in the man’s eyes dims just enough for him to seem genuine when he says, “Do you…wanna talk about it?”

  I sniff hard and straighten my back. “Nope.” I pronounce the fuck out of that ‘p’, making a popping sound with my lips.

  He observes me for a second longer then gives a little shrug and turns to face the bar. “Fair enough.” He casually plants his elbows on the counter. “I’ll just sit here.” And he adds under his breath. “Since you’re about to change your mind anyway.”

  Rolling my eyes at that asshole, I swipe my martini off the tabletop and take a big sip.

  He’s so damn sure of himself. It’s almost funny. Almost. Because he can’t possibly be serious.

  We’re quiet for a while, both sitting side by side, eyes straight ahead, pretty much ignoring each other.

  Well, I'm trying to ignore him. But my body is strung tight, bristling. I strain hard, employing all my self-control against my attraction to him. After all, that socially-imposed period of wallowing is still in effect.

  I fail miserably.

  I whirl my barstool in his direction. “You know, he didn’t even have the decency to end things with me himself. He sent his friends to do it, to announce to a church full of our family and friends that he changed his mind about marrying me. Asshole.”

  The man doesn’t say anything. He just swirls the ice cubes in his glass.

  “I dropped out of school to plan our wedding. I was going to become an English teacher. I was studying early childhood education—which I loved, by the way—and I gave it up to marry him.” My tone mounts with sarcasm. “Because that’s what’s expected, of course. The wives of Davies men are too posh for menial tasks like, y’know, having careers, earning a living, actually contributing to society. I’m paraphrasing his mother.”

  He takes another silent gulp of his drink. But the look on his face tells me he’s listening intently. Absorbing my every word, my every emotion.

  Shaking my head with disgust, I ramble on.

  “He didn’t lift a finger to help me. He didn’t give his input on anything. Aside from insisting that we get married in the tackiest city on the planet. A Vegas wedding. That should have been my warning sign that he wasn’t serious. Because nobody actually plans to get married in Vegas.”

  I glance down and mindlessly tug on the beading at the front of my dress. I once again lose the battle against my tears.

  The stranger’s rough finger settles on my chin and lifts my face. When I look up, our faces are so close. Way too intimate. "He doesn’t deserve your tears."

  Our eyes lock with a raw magnetism that draws the air out of my lungs.

  “It’s obvious that you’re a good woman. And life is too short to be with someone who only loves you halfway.”

  My eyes scan him again. He doesn’t look like the type of man who does anything halfway. He looks like the kind of man who goes all in. God knows that’s exactly what my body is craving right now.

  A series of tiny firecrackers erupt in my belly but a guilt-fueled wave quickly sweeps in to extinguish the flames. That’s just crazy, Sophia.

  I glance around self-consciously to see if anyone is paying attention.

  No matter the circumstances, it’s poor form for a woman in a wedding dress to flirt with a man who isn’t her groom. It’s crazy, crazy, crazy. I shouldn’t be entertaining this. It’s complete insanity. So why am I still sitting here?

  My words come out a bit shaky and lilted with curiosity. “What exactly would we be doing if we went to your hotel room?”

  “Sex,” he tells me unequivocally. Without missing a beat. “All the sex.”

  Taken off-guard by his frankness, I bark out a laugh. The sound is loud and unbridled. My fingers fly to my mouth to keep it under control.

  He smiles and pulls my hand away from my lips. “I guess you’re probably gonna wanna talk too, at some point. And we can do that…But there’s gonna have to be a lot of sex.”

  “Wow…” I swing my gaze away from his as my cheeks blaze. “You know it’s kind of crazy for you to hit on a girl in a wedding dress. What kind of guy does that?”

  When I ask the question, his playful expression slips so fast it causes me to shiver. I see a flash of something dark strike right beneath the surface. There's something he's not telling me.

  He leans in and sniffs at the curve of my neck. "Has anybody ever told you that you smell like wildflowers?”

  I swat him away with my hand. “Answer the question, weirdo.”

  The man heaves a sigh. “Why does it matter what you’re wearing, Daisy? A dress is just a dress.”

  My eyes fan over his ruggedly gorgeous features again. “It matters because I sort of think that maybe I should have sex with you. Maybe." I straighten my spine and inch away as I give voice to my doubt. "But at the same time, I think you might be a fucking psycho. And I don’t have sex with psychos.”

  He reaches out and twirls a tendril of my messy hair around his finger. His gaze trips down the length of my dress. “I don’t think you’ve got a lot of credibility in terms of your partner-choosing skillzzz right now.”

  Laughing, I dig the olive out of my cocktail and fling it at him. “Jerk.”

  His dimples make another appearance as the olive rolls down his chest and lands on the floor. “You definitely wanna have sex with me." He adjusts his collar exaggeratedly, making a big show. "I’m the perfect rebound.”

  The corner of my lip curls up into a tiny, wayward smile. “Oh, really? What makes you such a good rebound?”

  “Firstly, I have incredible upper body strength," he brags. "That’ll come in handy for all that sex we’re gonna have. Y’know, when I’m tossing you around the room and stuff.”

  I laugh some more.

  His eyes smolder when they focus on the swell of my breasts. His expression tells me he wants t
o rip through the lace and beading of my wedding dress with his teeth. "Plus, I'll make sure it's good for you, Daisy." He brings his lips to my ear and his breath tickles my cheek. "I won't stop until I'm sure you've had the hardest orgasms of your life.”

  I shiver. I think hardest just became my favorite adjective of all time. And it hasn't slipped my attention that he used the plural form of the noun orgasm.

  When his gaze moves back to my face, he smiles. “But most importantly, I’m really, really digging your laugh. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep hearing it all night.”

  At that, my heart does a gymnastic routine that would score gold at the Olympics.

  I blink through my foggy vision again. Who the hell is this man? Because he seems to have me all figured out.

  The strobe lights play on his face—blue then yellow then green—teasing at the sharp angles and defined features. Just as I’m falling under his spell, I snap out of it and I self-consciously check around the room for spectators again.

  "I know what you're thinking,” he tells me. “You're thinking it's wrong. It's against the rules to leave a bar with a stranger on a night like tonight. Even though your body's clearly telling you to."

  A slight smile curves my lips around the rim of my martini glass. "Stranger danger."

  He laughs. Deep. Rich. Sexy. "Stranger danger. Right.” He shifts his stool closer and lowers his face. The manly scent of his cologne fills my belly as his voice fills my ear. “But something tells me you've followed the rules and look where that's gotten you...”

  He’s so very right about that. I’ve been the good girl. I’ve obeyed the guidelines in the country club rulebook, I’ve honored the obligations in my mother’s social calendar, I’ve followed those pre-wedding diets with painful accuracy. And my wedding day turned out like this.

  "I don't even know your name,” I whisper past the fear gripping my vocal chords.

  The corners of his eyes crinkle. His perfect teeth glisten in the strobe lights. "Pick one."

  "Pick what?"

  "Pick a name. What are you gonna call me tonight? What's my story?"

  I smile at his playfulness and some of my tension dissipates. "You're Antonio. Tony for short.”

  He grins. “And what do I do for a living?”

  “You’re a hardworking mechanic, by day,” I say.

  “And by night?” He nibbles back a smile.

  “By night, you’re a musician—"

  “Well, I can’t sing for shit, sweetheart,” he confesses, eyes twinkling.

  I like his silliness. It’s charming. It makes me forget that I’m 99% about to go to a hotel room with a man I just met.

  “Okay, you’re a sculptor, by night.” My glossy fingernails tap against the countertop. “And also, you volunteer as an art instructor at a community center.”

  “Because I love kids, of course.” His voice quirks with sarcasm.

  “Of course.”

  He runs his fingers along his stubble. “What else?”

  I think for a while. “You have a cute studio apartment on the artsy side of town and on the weekends, you run errands for the sweet, old lady who lives downstairs.”

  “You forgot to mention that I like long walks in the park.”

  My cheeks swell with a smile. “Right. You’re basically every woman’s dream…”

  He nods solemnly. “Fine. I can live with that story.” He looks deep into my eyes. “And what’s your story?”

  I bite my lip and shrug a shoulder. “You can just keep calling me Daisy. I’m…I’m just the girl who got left at the altar, I guess.” A little part of me dies as this new piece of my identity settles into place. I’m Sophia Gallo, jilted bride.

  He edges even closer to me. “Oh, Daisy. You’re so much more than that. And I’m dying to show you.” He lays his hand down on the counter, callused palm facing up. “Be bad tonight. Come up to my room with me...And be bad."

  I glance around for my friends. Nova is at the other end of the bar, curly hair flying and long arms flailing animatedly as she argues with Charlie about whose fault it is that my wedding day went belly up. As for Reese, she’s on the terrace, wearing an impatient expression while her ex-boyfriend appears to be trying to win her back. The rest of my bridal party is lost in the crowd, dancing the way they would have been at my wedding reception.

  The man's finger touches my chin, lifting my face to his. "You don't need anybody's approval, Daisy. Not tonight.”

  I don't want to turn him away and spend the night here alone, wallowing in pain and drowning in booze.

  I want to say yes.

  My desire is bigger than my guilt, bigger than my conscience, bigger than the misguided sense of loyalty I feel toward the man who left me standing solo at the altar a few hours ago.

  Crazy or not, I’m doing this. Because all I know is, before this stranger took the seat next to me and invaded my personal space with his chiseled features, his gorgeous scent and his insufferable bravado, I felt like I was on my way to a complete meltdown. But within minutes, he has me laughing and my heart is fluttering, forgetting to be broken.

  I let go of my cocktail glass. I let go of my fear. Sliding from my stool, I put my hand in his.

  "Yes."

  And that one word changes everything.

  Chapter One

  Sophia

  Present day

  “Ooh—what about this guy?”

  Reese tilts the smartphone screen and peers at me from across the kitchen table with excessive levels of optimism in her voice. Her short fingernail jabs excitedly at the overly-pretty face of the Clark Kent lookalike. She arches her neck at an unholy angle to read the man’s carefully-fabricated online persona without having to move the phone away.

  “His name is Travis…He’s 29…He likes long walks in the park…He adores animals…He works as a—”

  With an impatient harrumph, Nova shoves half of a pink lemonade cupcake into her mouth, leans across the table and snatches the phone away. “Fuck the getting to know you stuff—let’s just skip straight to the sex.”

  Nova is still as charming as always, obviously.

  Reese falls back into her chair, her face contorting with feigned offence. She clasps her hand over her heart. “Does your husband know you’re out here propositioning people like this?”

  Always ready with a sassy clapback, Nova snorts a laugh. “I’m a happily married woman. Your brother keeps me unbelievably satisfied, Reesie. Don’t make me tell ‘the story’ again.” She waggles her brows and we instantly know exactly what story she’s talking about.

  Apparently, Charlie does this hot sex-thing with his kneecaps and his pinkie toe. I’ve tried to imagine it a million times but the way Nova tells it, it really doesn’t sound anatomically possible so I just have to take her word for it.

  At the mere mention of her brother’s sex life, Reese scowls and squirms like a wildcat who just stepped into a drop trap. "Please, please, please don't tell that story again. I'd rather barricade myself in the pantry and chaulk my ears with cake frosting than hear that story again."

  Thoroughly amused, Nova throws Reese a taunting wink and clicks on a shirtless photo of Travis. "So, as I was saying..." She spreads two fingers across the screen, enlarging the photo to zero in on the guy's crotch. "Holy dick print!" she blurts out. "That's a cervix puncture waiting to happen."

  Reese throws a cursory glance at the screen and shrugs, unimpressed. "Psht. Leo's is bigger."

  "Well, we all know Charlie is packin’.” Nova holds her hands a foot apart and tilts her head suggestively. “Plus, he's got that whole pinkie-toe-slash-kneecap thing going."

  Reese's face looks green. She makes a gagging sound in her throat. I lift my cupcake to my mouth and hide my grin.

  How are these two girls my best friends? I still don’t understand. We’re all so different, it’s a wonder we’re able to find common ground.

  We all met when we were just teenagers. Reese and I were neighbors. We lived acro
ss the street from each other back then. That girl is just a tornado of ‘good’ and when you come in contact with her, you can’t help but be swept up in her kindness and optimism and good vibes. I’m in awe of her.

  A lot has changed for her since that night in Las Vegas. She married an incredible man, adopted his son and then popped out a pair of adorable twins. And still she manages to run a chain of successful cupcake shops with her sister, Vivian, and be actively involved with her aging parents. I don’t know how she does it all.

  Then there’s Nova…Nova’s funky. Big hair. Big personality. Big ambitions. Drop-dead gorgeous. Insanely talented. Marches to her own drummer. She and I used to bump heads a lot because we’re complete opposites in terms of temperament. But in my lowest moments, Nova was there with her tough love and her heartfelt encouragement. Her constant ‘you’re a badass’ reminders got me through some of my worst days.

  Aside from that she’s insane. She’s one of those people who didn’t even realize she was pregnant until she was in a hospital bed with her feet in stirrups and the doctor announced that she was six centimeters dilated. She found her perfect match in Reese’s older brother, Charlie. I don’t know any other man who’d be able to handle the whirlwind that is Nova Chester Hartley.

  I wish my two girlfriends weren’t so invested in trying to find me a guy but I guess they just think I feel left out. Nova and Reese both have amazing men in their lives. Men who have their backs and stand by their sides and make them insanely happy. Good, honorable guys.

  Men who surprise them by picking up their favorite takeout dinner on the way home on a random Tuesday night.

  Men who remember anniversaries and plan out romantic getaways months in advance.

  Men who took the kids to Daddy and Baby yoga class this afternoon so that their wives could have a kid-free day.

  Men who are everything I subconsciously knew Josh wasn't.