Play Boy (Blue Collar Bachelors Book 2)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  I wish there was something I could do, some way I could fix this. But I'm just as helpless as they all are.

  Today's visit was a bad one. Mom was in so much pain that she couldn't even smile, couldn't even lie and pretend to be okay. The days when she can't even put on a brave face for us, the days when her own muscles clench around her, shackling her inside her body, those are the days when I hate her multiple sclerosis most.

  Today was one of those days.

  We don’t go visit mom enough. It’s easy to blame it on the four-hour drive from Copper Heights to Springfield and back. But the truth is, it’s just too hard to see her suffering. It’s a damn selfish excuse. I know that. I never said I wasn’t a coward.

  Desperate to relieve the tension in the car, I lean forward and turn on the radio. The upbeat sound of a popular boy band fills the car, so sudden and jarring it makes Viv flinch. She throws a glare my way.

  "I hate that song," Reese mumbles from the back seat. She’s been in a strange mood all day. Even before we saw mom’s condition.

  Exhaling with defeat, I flick the radio back off. "Should have taken my truck." Because being trapped in here with the two of them is too hard. Not enough space for all the sadness and anger and confusion.

  A few more miles roll by in silence until, Reese blurts out, "Nova told me you're taking her to her grandmother's wedding..." It's a simple statement, but the amount of accusation in it makes me feel like I may need to call my lawyer.

  Can somebody please read me my Miranda rights before I say something incriminating?

  "Yeah, I'm taking her to the wedding." Wordlessly, Vivian throws me a glance. A very suspicious glance.

  I didn't think it was possible for this ride to become even more tense but I was wrong.

  Reese presses. "Why?"

  "Because she's my friend. And I like wedding cake." I try not to sound defensive but I feel like I'm being attacked.

  "Is cake a euphemism for something else?" she demands. I glare at her in the back seat. The attitude on this one…

  I chuckle dryly. "You sell cupcakes for a living. So you tell me. Is your bakery just a front? Is it really a brothel or a sex club in the back?"

  Vivian laughs a little at my sarcasm. Reese tries to fight it but she laughs, too. "Stop messing around, Charlie.”

  "Nova is my friend so I don't get where all these insinuations are coming from."

  Reese pins me with a stare. "You two have been hanging out a lot lately...”

  Viv is practically sweating now, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. My older sister gets insanely anxious whenever she suspects that people in her circle may potentially perhaps possibly be coupling up. (She literally threatened Reese’s life when she suspected that our little sister was sneaking around with Leo.) She’s 29 and single. And the poor girl is convinced that there’s a race to the alter going on and she’s in last place.

  "Well, since you stole my best friend from me, I've been kind of bored and lonely on my own."

  "So basically you want her to give Leo back to you?" Vivian says snidely.

  Reese grunts. "Not a chance in hell."

  "So it's settled then.” I pound my fist into my knee like a judge’s gavel. “No more grumping from you."

  "I just don't want you to hurt her."

  In the rear view mirror, I catch Reese’s pleading expression. "I'm not into Nova that way.” I manage to say that in an aloof tone. “And besides, the girl can hold her own. If I so much as look at her the wrong way, she'll be using my nuts as ping pong balls in no time."

  Reese examines my face. But my expression is all sincerity and earnestness. "Don't fuck with her, asshole. That's all I'm saying." It sounds like a threat to me.

  "I won't." That’s the truth. I’d never hurt Nova. Her presence in my life means too much to me. She’s my friend and adding sex into the mix could be dangerous to our relationship. I understand that on a logical level even though my libido rages against it.

  Reese doesn’t quite seem to trust me but she slumps back against her seat and her eyes move back to the scenery. I do the same.

  The car is silent as we exit into Copper Heights. I don't want to let my little sister down. But when it comes to Nova, I'm starting to imagine what it would be like to have my (euphemistic) cake and eat it too.

  Chapter 14

  Nova

  We spot each other from across the room and her eyes light up as mine do. An avalanche of mischief goes rolling through my chest as we move toward each other like speeding trains, dodging around people and furniture.

  “You bitch! You cut your hair without telling me!” I yelp as we collide in a messy hug and rock left to right. She releases her death grip and I lean back to pull on the edges of her new shoulder-length bob.

  My older sister shrugs a shoulder. “Post-break up protocol,” she tells me. “Just be glad I didn’t dye it orange with cheetah spots like I wanted to. Because that would go over really well when representing my clients in court.”

  I pull away from her and gasp. “You and Luke couldn’t work things out?” She shakes her head ruefully and tears settle along the rim of her eyes. “Oh Nadia, I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she says dismissively as she blinks the tears away. “Luke and I should have never gotten started in the first place. We were friends. And now, we’ve ruined that.” She throws an arm around my shoulder and we walk toward the bar cart. “God, is there anything to drink around here? I could use a stiff drink. Or six.”

  I laugh as I grab a tall, empty glass for her and one for myself. I drop a few ice cubes into each then tilt the neck of the vodka bottle over her glass. “Say ‘when’.” Waiting…waiting…waiting…she’s not stopping me. “Dude, say when.”

  “When,” my sister grumbles reluctantly just as the damn glass is about to overflow.

  I examine her with a furtive eye as I pour myself a much more conservative measure of vodka and add some pineapple juice for the sake of my sobriety. Despite the smile sitting on the surface of her lips, everything about her demeanor tells me that she’s hurting.

  Well, tonight it’s my mission to make her feel better. "You told me you were coming tomorrow!" I say.

  As I’m stirring my drink, we move to a table nearby. "Well that was the plan, but I hitched a ride into town with dad.”

  “Dad’s in town?”

  She gives me a dubious nod. Dad’s in town. Of course he is. His mother’s getting married. Still, Nadia and I both know that means trouble.

  My sister drops into a seat and I sit across from her. “Anyway, I had to get here today. I couldn’t miss the chance to see some random man grind himself all over my 83-year-old grandmother. No way!"

  I glance over to where granny and her friends are sitting at a table, enjoying tea and biscuits. In their little pearls and pastel sweater sets. This is the most uneventful bachelorette party in history.

  "There's no stripper," I tell her.

  She winks at me. "Not yet."

  "Why do I get the feeling that this has something to do with our mother?"

  "You know it.” Nadia tips her glass in cheers and alcohol sloshes over the side.

  Again—this means trouble.

  Because, yes, my mother has managed to keep a cordial relationship with her ex-mother-in-law over the years. But mom and dad hate each other. A lot. I am not excited about the idea of both of them at that wedding together.

  Nadia’s laugh fades, morphing into a nasty scowl when she takes that first sip of her ‘cocktail’. She makes a gagging sound and I shove the bread basket her way.

  "Oh my god," I mutter under my breath. "And how's dad dealing with mom hanging around anyway?” The last time my parents were in the same room, Cleo, in a fit of rage, was making plans to strangle him with her purse strap and have him turned into taxidermy. My father has deliberately avoided her since.

  Nadia waves a hand dismissively. “Mom and dad are complicated. You know that as well I do. They
hate each other as much as they love each other.” She takes another sip and this time, there’s less of a cringe. More of a satisfied grin on her mouth.

  I should try and get as much conversation out of her as soon as possible because it won’t be long until I’m playing babysitter.

  “He didn’t bring someone with him, did he? Another woman.” Things could go from zero to explosive in no time if mom gets her jealousy buttons pushed.

  Nadia kind of shudders. “Oh god, no. Thankfully. He’s riding solo these days. His words not mine. I think he’s going through this whole emotional revival phase.”

  I sigh in relief.

  "So, as previously disclosed, I am attending this function without accompaniment." She stretches her arms out wide to draw attention to the empty seats on either side of her. "As such I shall be dining at the singles' table. Do say that you shall be joining me, fair maiden.”

  "Firstly, you won't be at the singles’ table because you're in the wedding party. All the bridesmaids sit together. And secondly..." I draw the word out. "I'm kind of sort of bringing someone."

  Her eyes light up like someone flipped the switch on. ”Details…" she demands, pounding both fists into the table excitedly and giving me that authoritarian older sister look that she perfected by the age of five.

  “Ah, it’s nothing,” I say. “Just an old friend. You remember Charlie? Reese’s brother?”

  Nadia’s lips pucker. “Oh, he was cuutttteee.”

  Chuckling deep in my chest, I bring my glass to my lips. “Don’t even.”

  “So are you two seeing each other?” She drags her chair closer for the scoop.

  “Oh hell no! Charlie’s not the type of guy to date. And even if he were, I wouldn’t ever go there. He’s a friend.”

  “So what?”

  “Uh, as you yourself just pointed out, getting romantically involved with a friend is a disastrous idea.”

  She shakes her head. “There are some men you have to make an exception for. It’s not a matter of choice, it’s a matter of biology. If Charlie looks even half as fuck-worthy as I remember, I’d say he might be worth the risk.”

  “Nuh-uh. A guy like Charlie is just six feet, three inches of heartbreak waiting to happen. He’s an unapologetic womanizer.” I sip my drink. “I inherited the batshit crazy recessive gene from Cleo and I’d like very much to keep it dormant. Charlie is the kind of man who would wake it right up.”

  She considers my words, no doubt replaying all the times our mom toilet papered one of her ex-husband’s cars or spread garbage all over his mistress’s lawn. Jealousy sometimes turns the women in my lineage into freaks. Nadia slumps back into her chair with a disappointed growl. “I guess you’re right. It’s too bad, though because he always did seem to have the hots for you?”

  “Me?” I lift a brow in shock.

  Angling her chin, she deadpans. “Don’t tell me you never noticed the way he would looked at you. I know you’re not blind.”

  “You have an overactive imagination.” I drink again. “You should have gone into fiction writing instead of law.”

  “You’re either being modest or you’re in denial. The guy wanted you. Even back then, I could tell.”

  My stomach is all twisted up now with a nervous anticipation. Is she right? Can’t be. She hasn’t seen me with Charlie in years. And even back then, he never noticed me. I was just his sister’s pathetic friend who was in constant need of his protection. I was a burden. Nothing else.

  Nadia holds my gaze, as if waiting for me to realize that she’s right. She isn’t. She’s wrong. She couldn’t be more wrong.

  Thankfully, right then, the provocative music begins and someone switches off all the lights at the back of the room. I press my finger to my lips. “Shhh…The show is about to start.” I fake eagerness just to put an end to the conversation.

  But my sister has long forgotten the whole Charlie discussion in her tipsy haze. “I hope you walked with enough dollar bills.” She opens her purse, ready to throw money at the dancer.

  The seemingly prim and proper old ladies are already starting to get loose. Grandma’s friend, Delores, makes a walking-stick-assisted dash for the stage. I laugh. “I hope you walked with a defibrillator.”

  Chapter 15

  Charlie

  I toss the keys to the valet and round the sleek, black Cadillac, opening the door for Nova. She moves gingerly out of the passenger’s seat, stepping onto the sidewalk.

  One look at her and I lose my breath all over again.

  She’s in this thin-strap dress that hugs her curvaceous hips and sort of flutters out at the bottom. The heart-shaped neckline cradles her breasts like a sacred offering to the gods and the shimmery cobalt material makes her dazzle like a mermaid lounging in the sun. But when she turns her back to me, to admire the elaborate floral arch framing the main entrance of Reyfield’s gothic-style Presbyterian church, I catch a glimpse of that ass, round and luscious. A reminder that she may look soft and delicate, but she’s a vixen by nature.

  As she turns back to me, she catches me staring. The smile on her lips freezes. Her brows furrow with concern. “What’s that funny look on your face?”

  “You actually clean up pretty nice, that’s all.” I’m well aware of the rumble in my voice when I say the words. I don’t even care to hide it.

  A coy smile quirks up one corner of her mouth. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she tells me. Her hands fall to my chest and she straightens the square of fabric peeking out of the breast pocket of my tuxedo jacket. I wonder if she can feel how hard my heart is pounding in my chest, how frantically my blood is pulsing through my veins.

  The last time she touched me, we were alone in a changing room. She was undressing me. The possibilities were endless. The memory is still vivid in my head.

  I brush a golden curl away from her brow and lower my face so my eyes are looking directly into hers. “But seriously, you look so beautiful, Nova. Stunning.”

  She tries to play it off, but I see the way her eyes shine coyly. “Okay, Mr. Rent-A- Date, if you think you’re getting a bigger tip for showering me with flattery, you’d better think again.”

  “I never lie to you, Butterfly. I mean whatever I say. You should know that by now.”

  Her gaze moves back to mine and she searches my eyes as if looking for evidence that I’m only joking. She won’t find it. I think she’s the epitome of feminine beauty. I would never lie about that.

  I’m still reeling from the day in the changing room. I came so close to kissing her. So close to crushing her into the wall, pushing my hand under her skirt, feeling the shape and the heft of that ass in my palms. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.

  Trust me, I’ve tried.

  I threw myself into a few grueling days on the worksite. I sparred with Leo at the gym for a solid two hours. I stared at the screen of my phone for about an hour last night but not one of the names in my contact list could tempt me into another meaningless fuck. The thought of being with another woman just wasn’t appealing to me. I hate to admit to myself just how much I’ve been looking forward to this moment, standing here on these church steps with this beautiful girl.

  Looking at her nebulous face, I can’t tell what she’s thinking. She’s always been strictly neutral toward me, even when I’ve flexed and flaunted my muscles half-naked in front of her. But after what happened in that changing room, she must have felt something, right? Her feelings must have changed, right?

  I can’t tell.

  She takes a step back and watches after the car as the valet drives it away. “You really didn’t have to rent a car for today. That wasn’t necessary and I definitely didn’t factor it into my budget.”

  “What? We was supposed to roll up to this classy event in my pick-up truck with the cement dust and construction buckets in the back?”

  “We could have taken my car,” she suggests.

  I laugh in my chest. “Yeah right. That thing is a disgrace.” />
  She fists a hand on her hip and gives me all kinds of attitude. “It’s a classic.”

  “My tux is a classic,” I tell her. “Your car is a piece of shit.”

  “Well that’s just offensive.” She snorts through her nose as well-dressed people stride around us, filtering into the church.

  “I didn’t get dressed up in my finest just to end the night giving your car a push-start after the reception. That would just be in poor taste, don’t you think?”