Cocktales

by The Cocky Collective

  Cocktales

  The Cocky Collective

  Copyright © 2018 by Smartypants Romance™️

  * * *

  All rights reserved.

  * * *

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Foreword

  About the Cocktales Anthology

  Dylan Allen

  Cocked and Loaded

  Jana Aston

  Double Cocked

  Whitney Barbetti

  Cocksure Grin

  Sawyer Bennett

  A Wicked, Cocky Plan: A Prequel to Wicked Force

  K.F. Breene

  Magical Cock and Bull

  Ruth Clampett

  Don’t Get Cocky

  L.H. Cosway

  Illusionist Seeks Neanderthal

  Amy Daws

  Cock and Balls

  Mariah Dietz

  Landmines

  BB Easton

  Cocky BB: Two Boys, One Prom

  Jaymin Eve

  The Cockier the Dragon, the Harder they Fall

  Emma Hart

  Tricky Bond

  Staci Hart

  Cockamamie

  Jessica Hawkins

  Cocky Couture

  Julie Johnson

  Culinary Cock-Up

  Karpov Kinrade

  Crimson Cocktail

  Adriana Locke

  Swag

  Lex Martin

  Love & Hate at the Stallion Station

  Aly Martinez

  Going Down

  Kayti McGee

  Cocksure Co-Star

  Corinne Michaels

  Cockblocked

  Liv Morris

  Getting It Up

  Red Phoenix

  Her Cocky Russian

  Daisy Prescott

  Confessions of a Cockblocked Wingman

  Jessica Prince

  A Cocky Corruption Engagement

  Meghan Quinn

  Fight or Flight

  Penny Reid

  Beard and Hen

  CD Reiss

  Cocky Capo

  Julie A. Richman

  The Color of Love

  Aleatha Romig

  Aligned

  Kennedy Ryan

  All: A Grip & Bris Story

  Kylie Scott

  Short Story with Mal and Anne from The Stage Dive Series

  Sierra Simone

  Until the Cock Crows

  Tara Sivec

  Chocolate and Cockup

  By Kate Stewart

  The Golden Sombrero

  Leia Stone

  Cocky Alpha

  Karla Sorensen

  Tristan & Anna: A Bachelors of the Ridge short story

  Rachel Van Dyken

  Cocky Mafia

  April White

  Code of Conduct

  Acknowledgments

  Foreword

  By Nana Malone

  Tribes.

  It’s a word that has always fascinated me. I think it’s because when I was a kid, my family moved around a lot and I never felt as if I had that group of folks who had the same shared experiences. I was always an outsider. A solo nomad.

  In the last few weeks, that has all changed. Without much effort on my part, I found my tribe. I met a fabulous group of women—many of whom I honestly squealed about when I said their names aloud—who let me into their circle. I’m not sure how I got invited into this group (that’s a lie, I totally know and THANK YOU—you know who you are) but I am so grateful.

  And now, my tribe had grown by leaps and bounds, all because of one word: Cocky.

  If you are reading this forward, it is very likely that you have heard about #cockygate and how a romance author trademarked a common word (cocky). For those of you just joining this little party, basically, if this trademark goes unchallenged, my understanding is that no author will be allowed to use the word “cocky” in a book title, retroactively from June 16, 2016 until forever.

  You’re probably wondering what this has to do with me, right? Well, I was messaged by this author a few weeks ago, just prior to the first book in my new series being published. My original series titles were perfect for the stories—which are about a swaggering, arrogant prince—and were perfect for my brand, which is sexy, smart romantic comedy.

  The original titles were: Cocky Prince, Cocky Royal, and Cocky King. After years of writing and planning and working, I had the perfect titles, three amazing covers, and all the excitement I felt for this series.

  I was ready to make this my breakout series.

  I thought I’d done everything right—I’d even networked!

  *Shudder*

  (Seriously, I’m actually pretty shy.)

  Five days before the reveal of the hottest covers I’d ever seen in my life, I got a notice from this author claiming I had copied her covers and her brand and that she was ready and willing to defend it to the “full extent” (i.e., take legal action).

  How had this happened? I’d never heard of this author or her books before. Her message completely blindsided me. I have sixty-five books published, and not once . . . not ever, had anything like this happened before.

  I did what any other author would do. I cried. There were tears. I howled. There may have been some screaming. I begged advice from this new band of women who, let me be clear, were shocked and flipping commiseration tables of frustration at my bad luck.

  None of them had heard of anything like this happening either.

  And then I got smart. I called a friend and said, “What is the name of your lawyer again? I need to make a call.” Then I cried and bitched and complained to the lawyer.

  Long story short, I was told that, while the claim was shaky, it was somewhat defensible, so unless I had a pile of money to burn, it was in my best interest to change my titles.

  So, I bit the bullet and changed my covers two days before the reveal. No lie, that cover designer, AMY DAWS, is a saint. She made so many versions of that book cover it was unbelievable.

  The next thing I did was get ahold of some other authors who had the word “cocky” in their titles. These were women I’d never met or talked to or shared a drink with at conferences, but I tried to warn them. Some I couldn’t easily find, but those I did were appreciative, even though they hadn’t had any trouble by that point.

  So Cheeky Prince, Cheeky Royal, and Cheeky King were born. And you know what? Thanks to that newfound tribe, those books rocked! These women I barely knew shared and pimped me out like crazy. They put me in their newsletters and made blood pacts that my books would kill.

  I moved on, occasionally grumbling to my poor husband, but I had let it go. I was mostly still mad about the funds I’d paid to my new lawyer just to find out this was a fight I couldn’t win without tens of thousands of dollars to spend on legal fees.

  And then, guess what?

  A month later, all hell broke loose. One of the authors I’d warned weeks prior had been hit with a trademark infringement notice.

  From Audible.

  It seemed as if the Cocky ™ author had bypassed the fair warning cease and desist she’d sent me and started trying to take books down from vendors directly.

  Some people said, “Don't change your title, she has no claim.” Others said, “You don’t have to do anything; it’s bogus.” But when someone is holding your livelihood for ransom, you’ll do what you have to do to get it back, even if that means changing your original title. In my opinion, this Cocky ™ author knew that.

  Overnight, several authors reported to the author communi
ty that takedown notices had been sent to Amazon for their books. Some had books removed, and some had their future revenue threatened. I guess that was the gong heard ’round the world.

  Romancelandia came out swinging.

  That group of women I told you about? My new tribe? They decided to let themselves be heard in the only way that mattered. They took action, have volunteered their time and words, and have reached out to others willing to do the same. They have brought you the cockiest of stories, Cocktales.

  The goal for this anthology is for the proceeds to go where they will do the most good—helping the authors who have been impacted to fight back.

  I must pause here and say thank you to Cassie Sharp for the eloquent and kind open letter she penned (if you haven’t read it yet, read her blog about this issue), because it helped me find some compassion.

  To these women who have taken action, I say thank you. Thank you for being my tribe. Thank you to the romance community. Thank you to RWA for your advocacy. Thank you to the readers. And thank you to those who have no skin in this game but see the terrifying precedent and have stood up to fight this fight.

  Stay cocky, my friends.

  Nana Malone

  About the Cocktales Anthology

  'Cocktales' is a limited-release anthology (available *only* from May 26 – August 26, 2018) of original, never before published material, some of which is raw and unedited. Each story was specifically written for this anthology.

  The goal of the Cocktales Anthology is to raise funds to fight against obstruction of creative expression. Specifically, what we believe are obstruction attempts through the trademarking of common (single) words for titicular use in books / or as a book series (eBooks, print, and audio).

  *ALL* net profits will be donated to:

  Authors already impacted by creative-obstruction, and

  Advocacy for all authors of all genres against obstruction of creative expression.

  Cocked and Loaded

  Dylan Allen

  Getting revenge on her childhood crush, turned tormentor, is has been Maria's dream for twenty years. But, when she finally gets her chance, will she be able to resist him long enough to see her plans through.

  Copyright © 2018 by Dylan Allen

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  One

  MARIA

  CockedandLoaded: Let’s meet tonight.

  LusciousCutiePie: Why the rush?

  CockedandLoaded: It’s been two weeks. Hardly a rush sweetheart. In fact, this is the longest I’ve ever talked to someone before I meet them.

  LusciousCutiePie: Good things cum to those who wait.

  CockedandLoaded: You’re all talk. Meet me tonight. Or, I’m done.

  I groan and glare at my phone. “You’re such an asshole,“ I say through gritted teeth.

  “Ummm, you know he can’t see or hear you, right?” My roommate Tina drawls in disgust from the couch she’s curled up on reading.

  “Yes, I know,” I say with more than a little annoyance and shoot her a dirty look.

  “Don’t scowl at me," she admonishes me "This plan of yours is ridiculous. I don’t know why you think any of this is a good idea.”

  “I hate him,” I say as I contemplate my phone. His message blinks up at me and I press the home button to clear it from my screen. “You don’t understand,” I whine and fling myself into one of the red plastic chairs that we use for our supposedly art nouveau dining table. It just looks like discarded tat from a family reunion in 1989.

  “I understand perfectly. I just think it’s a moronic idea. I also think you’re going to be sorry. You should let it go and get on with your life.”

  “I’ve been waiting since I was thirteen years old for this," I say in exasperation. I hear how childish I sound.

  “It’s ridiculous that at the age of thirty-two, you’re still carrying a grudge from middle school, Maria,” she says without looking away from her book.

  “Yeah, well, forgive me if I can’t get over being called Maria Diarrhea from the age of eleven until I was thirteen.” I don’t care how petulant I sound, I feel justified in holding on to my anger.

  She lets out a low whistle. “Daaaaamn. That shit stuck, huh?” She says and then drops her book down enough to reveal her eyes.

  “No pun intended,” she says. And even though I can’t see her mouth, I know it’s turned up in an unsympathetic mocking smirk.

  “Laugh all you want. I’m going to finish this. Confront him and get it out of my system.”

  “Sure. Tell yourself that,” she mutters disinterestedly, and turns the page of her book.

  “What could go wrong. I’ll go meet him, let him get all lathered up, tell him who I am and walk off.” I say. The satisfaction I’m anticipating puts an easy smile on my face.

  Tina puts her book down and shakes her head at me piteously.

  “What?” I snap at her, making my eyes wide, “Just say it.”

  She narrows her eyes and stares at me thoughtfully. I’m just about to tell her to forget it when she says, “Has it ever occurred to you that he knows exactly who you are? You recognized him right away. What makes you think he didn’t recognize you?”

  I roll my eyes and bat this complete impossibility away.

  “Well one, I don’t have a mouth full of metal and eyes the size of silver dollars because of my coke bottle lenses anymore, acne and a head full of hair that looked like tumbleweed most of the time. And besides,” I sigh in disgust, “I was probably just one of the hundreds of kids he tortured in his teens, I bet he doesn’t even remember the stupid nickname he and his dumb friends called me.”

  “Okay, well then, why have you been putting off meeting him?”

  “I’m not putting it off. I just want more time.”

  “Those are the same thing,” she rolls her eyes in exaggerated impatience and covers her face with her book.

  I cross my arms over my chest and pout in her direction. “You could be a little more sympathetic, you know. I’m freaking out here.” I run an agitated hand through my hair. “I never thought I’d have a chance to pay him back for what he did. And now, I do. I’m not going to let your poopooing ruin this for me.”

  “By all means, ignore me. Walk into that burning building. I get all your shoes, though if you don’t come back in one piece.”

  “Yeah, go ahead and laugh, I’m going to get this over with,” I stand up and unlock my phone.

  LusciousCutiePie: Fine, tonight. Text me where and I’ll be there.

  CockedandLoaded: You text me your address. I’m going to pick you up.

  LusciousCutiePie: No. I’ve watched enough television to know better than to get into cars with strange men. Next thing I know, I’ll be in some container crossing the border to be harvested for my kidneys. No thanks. I’m getting in the shower. When I get out, I’ll check for the address. If you haven’t sent it, date’s off.

  CockedandLoaded: Your imagination is pretty wild. Also, you’re cute when you think you’re in charge. But, you’re right. I’ll let you have this one. Texting information in a minute. See you later.

  “Maria, one. Chuck, zero,” I say to myself as I turn the shower on to heat up. I strip in front of the mirror and look at myself with a critical eye. I see a woman who looks good for her age. Years of weight watchers and three times a week on my Pilates reformer have left me with excellent posture, a flat stomach, a tight ass and fantastic arms.

  My hair’s thick, lustrous texture is due to an army of vitamins, regular visits to my very expensive hairdresser for a ruthless color and cut that keeps my naturally nondescript light brown hair a vibrant, shimmering copper.

  No way he’d recognize the girl whose heart he’d shattered with a few cruel, careless words.


  I haven’t shared that part with Tina. It’s not just the nickname. It’s what I overheard him say to a room full of his friends about me.

  I had a crush on him. A big one. He was the cutest boy in our class and we’d been paired together for our first science project of sixth grade. He had been nice to me. We walked home together a few times after the project was over. I thought we were friends.

  Every day, he and a group of his friends huddled in one of the stairwells in the north wing of our huge school. They skipped study hall every day to practice their dance moves instead. I went to watch. They never knew I was there and it was one of my favorite things. Watching Chuck moonwalk, pop and lock, and sometimes, they would even rap rhymes they’d made up.