Cocky Quarterback: Eric Cocker (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 12)

by Faleena Hopkins

  “I know it isn’t, and I am far from perfect, but you know the saying: If you don’t stand for something you’ll fall for anything.” Combing my crunchy hair with my fingers I sigh and offer, “Look, the only thing that matters is I will never cheat on Peter. I’m sure he knows that, and now Eric does, too.”

  “He came onto you pretty hard, huh?”

  My eyes glaze over as images of this afternoon fly by. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Was he obvious about it?”

  “Kinda.” I pause. “Very.”

  “Oooooo, I bet all the girls hated your guts today. I got enough looks when Dion hit me up, but Eric is the prize they all want.”

  Curious I ask, “Do you want him too?” I don’t know why I’m holding my breath for her answer, but I am.

  She laughs, “I like my men dark,” and then her voice abruptly becomes maternal, “Oh sweetie, did I wake you up, Tia? I’m sorry, I’m talking to my friend. Want me to tuck you into bed? Wren, I’m sorry, I have to go.”

  “Of course,” I smile, “Give her a hug from me.”

  “Tia, your auntie Wren says to give you a hug, come here,” and the phone goes dark.

  Leaning here I gaze at the small flower vase centered on my table for two. I snipped those blossoms with my fingertips, two yellow, one lavender and two white. So pretty. They really warm up the space.

  You’re stalling.

  Just call him.

  My thumb hovers over Peter’s name in my favorites folder.

  He hasn’t called all day.

  I’d rather wait.

  Yeah, I’ll wait.

  Thumb, what are you doing?

  Cut it out.

  Oh, motherfucker.

  “Peter? Hi, just wanted to see how your weekend has been.”

  Friendly as usual, he says, “It was great! My band and I drove to Savannah for the night yesterday.”

  Frowning I push off the counter and sit on one of my two chairs. “You did? What brought that on?”

  “John and Tim got a room and invited me to join. You know you can walk around with alcoholic beverages just like in New Orleans?”

  “I didn’t know that,” I mutter, picking at my crusty jeans. “Did you have fun?” I ask trying not to sound hurt that he didn’t tell me he’d left town.

  “Amazing time! Stayed up until five, out by the water after the bars closed. Such a great place. I mean, it’s not the party hub that Mardi Gras is, but…” He trails off.

  “Right.” Biting my lip I remind him, “You’ve never been to New Orleans, I thought.”

  “Well, no, but I’ve heard things. I plan to go next year.”

  And will you invite me then?

  “You should,” I smile, blinking way too much. “Listen, I have to go. Just got home from a double and Mott LaRock spilled booze all over me and…” I stop talking, realizing I’m about to stoop to the low point of making Peter jealous about Eric. Hypocrite, table for one? Oof. And Eleanor called me perfect. Yeah, right.

  “You served the Falcons? No way! What are they like?”

  Unbuttoning my jeans I push my pants down, panties tugging halfway with them. Wriggling free I mutter, “One of them purposefully doused me, that’s what they’re like. I just have to get out of this bra. Wait a sec, ‘kay?”

  He mumbles, “Wren I’ve gotta run. The guys are knocking on the bathroom door.”

  “Why are you taking my call in the bathroom?”

  “What kind of question is that? I was in here already. It’s not like I’m hiding you or anything.”

  “Of course not,” I whisper, instinctually feeling that is what he’s doing. But that doesn’t make sense. His bandmates know me. “I’m sorry. I’m being silly.”

  “Yeah you are,” he laughs. “Listen I gotta go.” He adds a stilted “I’ll call tomorrow,” and hangs up.

  Silent I stand alone in my kitchen, half naked and all the way confused.

  Trudging to a shower, I spin the faucet to skin-scorching hot, talking to myself. “Oh sure, Peter knows how lucky he is. Totally knows.”

  Chapter 8

  ERIC

  My sister excitedly tells me, “The sale is finally going through,” as we enter the foyer she and her geezer have in escrow. “The sellers fought us on the price we bid after we discovered it needs some work, but now,” she claps her hands, spreading her arms to full wing span as we stroll into the empty living room. “it’s finally ours!”

  “So…should I feel left out now or later?”

  Emma frowns, “What do you mean?”

  Inspecting the high ceilings I suck on my teeth. “It’s nice, Emm.”

  “Nice evasion.” She crosses her arms, professional dress bunching up, matching heels spread in a confrontational stance. Right now she looks more realtor than family member. “Clarify that. You feel left out? Because I’m engaged?”

  Heading into an oversized space that will soon be a dining room I say over my shoulder, “You, Ethan, Hannah, doors away from each other, all on the same block. I couldn’t give two shits that you’re married. I’m happy for you guys if that’s what you’re into. But did you have to all cozy up for parenthood in a cocoon of your own design?” Strolling into the empty kitchen next, I glance around and spot an enclosed back patio. “That’s pretty cool.”

  “Thank you,” she quietly nods, walking to pick up color swatches next to the sink for something to do because she’s uncomfortable. “Eric, it didn’t occur to me you’d feel that way. I’m so sorry.”

  Shrugging I act like it’s nothing. “No biggie. This the basement?”

  “It’s a wine cellar.”

  Interest piqued I head downstairs, instantly enveloped by the heady scent of damp cork and musky wood. “This is the coolest part of the house, Emm,” I murmur running my fingers over empty wine shelves that will soon house a selection many would drool over. “Your geezer a wine snob?”

  Her eyes flit around in thought. “You’re always training or playing or partying so it never occurred to me that you would care about where we lived. You could join us and buy a house here, too, if you want to! You have the money now!”

  The idea sounds like death to me, and my face shows it. “I’m not meant for suburbia.”

  “I don’t know if you can call Buckhead suburbia.”

  “If there are chain restaurants, it’s the burbs.”

  Crossing her arms she counters, “Some of the best chains in the world.”

  “Which you won’t find in Old Fourth, Virginia Highlands, Inman Park. We keep that shit out.”

  Sighing she walks to me. “I really should have thought of you. It’s just, your team is who you spend most of your time with and I know you’re not where I’m at, or Hannah. You’re not ready to get married and…do you even want kids?”

  Shrugging I reply, “Not on my mind right now.”

  “And Ethan didn’t expect to meet his wife either, so you never know what could happen. But Eric,” She runs a gentle hand down my arm and clasps my hand. “We didn’t mean to leave you out.”

  Glancing to the ground I try to save face, but since I’m an honest man like my father, I find myself confessing, “Stings a little. Like you guys are all growing up without me. I mean fuck, Emm, even Gabriel found his girl.”

  “Yes, but they’re touring together. Not exactly settling down. And they don’t want kids yet. See, it’s not always buy a house and procreate. God, that sounds terrible when I put it like that. Even I don’t want that.”

  Sucking on my lips I make a smacking sound. “Yes you do. When did you get so old?”

  “I’m almost thirty, and that’s not old.”

  “Doesn’t mean you have to pay the piper.” I motion for her to lead the way back up. Ladies first, as Dad taught Ethan and me.

  I expect my sister to fight me like she usually does about this chivalry stuff, being the feminist that she is, but instead she gets this demure aww-shucks look on her face, alighting the stairs like a lady.

 
I chuckle, rubbing my face at all of the changes, muttering under my breath, “He trained you, didn’t he?”

  At the top she watches me pass her, turns off the light switch and closes the door, asking on a frown, “Who?”

  “The geezer opens your doors, doesn’t he?” I smirk. “Maybe I like him after all, if he can keep even you in line.”

  I get some satisfaction as she transforms back into the stubborn, pig headed sister I grew up idolizing. “First, stop calling him that!” She smacks my arm, eyes flashing as I grin. “And second, he did not train me! Tanner just explained some things in a way that made sense and so…I’ve adapted.”

  “You’re cock-whipped.”

  She tries to remain serious, which lasts for a second, if that. “I won’t argue. I do love his—”

  Covering my ears I use long strides to get away from her and inside the back patio, the whole time singing, “I can’t hear you! I can’t hear you! I can’t hear you!”

  Emma cracks up, heels moving at a fast clip until she stands beside me, both of us staring at her beautiful new yard, shadows thick as night slowly descends. “Eric, you’re so lame.”

  “You’re lamer.”

  “You are.”

  “No, you are.”

  She bonks her shoulder to my bicep, since she’s so much shorter than I am and can’t reach mine. We walk outside and I shake my head, having one hell of a time believing this home is hers. “You’re going to have patio furniture right here, huh?”

  “Yes, and one of those canopies I think. Although it might not be children friendly, and we want to have a lot of them.”

  Shuddering I glance over to ask, “Has Mom been over? She loves this place, doesn’t she?”

  Emma nods, eyes warm and happy. “She does. Dad fights the whole idea, but you know him.”

  “He still sees you as his baby.”

  “I was the first. But you’re the real baby.”

  “Feels like that today, for sure,” I mutter.

  I’m four years younger than Emma, almost five. Ethan is right in the middle. I can remember us playing in the yard at home, and the time that we tricked Mom into thinking Ethan fell after he’d already broken his arm. Those days are gone now. “You’re going to make memories with a new family here.”

  Emma gasps and hurries over to me. “Hey, you are my family. Nothing has changed—it’s just growing. Come on now, you just broke my heart, Eric.”

  I mutter, “It’s cool, I don’t care,” not able to meet her eyes.

  “You should come over and have dinner with us. I want you to stop thinking of him as ‘geezer.’”

  That makes me laugh and her eyes sparkle with relief. Pulling her into a hug I kiss her soft hair before I walk away, checking out the healthy trees and pushing my emotions back in the cave where they belong. “If Ethan comes, too, I’ll do it. But I’m not going to be a third wheel when you guys are in the honeymoon stage. Literally.”

  “We’re not in the—”

  Spinning around I point at her. “—I know you’ve been fucking like you’re in heat and I don’t want to be around that alone!”

  Emma laughs, “What?!”

  “I see the red in your cheeks. You’re blushing. I nailed it! Or he did, does, all the time! Ethan’ll have to hold me back from kicking this guy’s ass for touching my only sister.”

  “Fine,” she grins. “God, you guys are the worst. Agreed, I will make it a whole thing.” She rakes her hair back and holds her head, smiling into the sky. Dropping her arms she announces, “You know what, I’ll invite Mom and Dad, too! Happy?”

  “Very.”

  “Okay, enough about me. What about you. Are you dating anyone?”

  I chuckle, eyeing her like she’s nuts. “Name one girl I’ve ever dated.”

  “You liked Leah a lot.”

  Walking back I remind her, “I was thirteen. Leah had double Ds.”

  “Right, that was unusual.”

  “And so soft,” I smile.

  Emma smacks my arm. “You felt them?”

  “Oh I did more than feel them.”

  “You guys were just kids!”

  “We were just kids playing doctor. And she had a terrible cough in her chest that needed kisses and lots of massaging. That was the only cure. Or so I told her.”

  “Eric!”

  Laughing I head back to the house, “She loved it. Even wrote her number in my yearbook later, though I already had it. Dear Dr. Cocker, she wrote.”

  Emma groans, heels clicking into the patio with me. “She didn’t!”

  “Do I lie?”

  “Did you call her?”

  “Nope. See, because that might have been considered dating.”

  Crossing her arms and stopping, my sister rolls her eyes. “No, it wouldn’t.”

  “Girls get ideas in their heads and this particular Cocker is steering clear of that noose you call a wedding band.” I walk inside, dryly saying under my breath, “Because it seems to be contagious.”

  Chapter 9

  WREN

  Peter rolls off of me and pads naked through the morning sunlight to the bathroom.

  Stunned I ask, “What was that?”

  Like his mind is elsewhere he casually scratches his mop of sandy hair, voice losing volume as the distance grows between us. “Sometimes you just need to fuck and get it outta you.” The door shuts.

  Alone in my bedroom and blinking at the wall, I struggle to understand these feelings bubbling inside of me.

  We woke up. No words were shared. He rolled me over, mounted me from behind like I was an object and not a person, pumped about ten times, came and then pulled out, dripping and silent, and then immediately went to pee.

  There was no kiss before during or after.

  No touching except to guide it in with a grunt.

  No checking to see if I was enjoying it.

  Or if I was even awake.

  Hugging the blankets to me I cross my legs, knees to my chest as rays of light from the window hold my attention while I search for answers. That sex felt so gross and disconnected.

  I don’t need foreplay every time.

  It’s not that I want intercourse to last forever, either. Sometimes it’s so passionate it doesn’t, and I really like that.

  Kissing isn’t mandatory, but it’s usually there somewhere if someone cares about you, right?

  The position didn’t bother me. Some of the hottest fucking I’ve had was doggy-style and primal. But this wasn’t that.

  With Peter just now…I was not a woman.

  I was a sock.

  Hollow and confused I stay like this until he returns. Numbly I watch him swipe his jeans off the ground, never meeting my eyes as he says, “Gotta get something to eat before rehearsal. Fuckin’ starved. You got things you gotta do today, right?”

  I stare at him, because my morning schedule is wide open. I assumed we’d have breakfast together but that didn’t sound like an invitation, and I’m still processing this empty feeling in my gut. Stammering and quiet I scoop the blankets tighter around me. “Yeah, busy day. You go ahead.”

  He smiles, pulls his shirt over his head, adjusts the hair and bends to give me a perfunctory kiss. “I’ll text you later.”

  As soon as I hear the door close I burrow, seeking comfort in my pillow, and fall asleep for another hour to hopefully erase what just happened.

  Two hungry hours later I’m showered yet still out of it, pushing a shopping cart through Trader Joe’s on Monroe, the grocery store as quiet as I feel since it’s ten-thirty on a weekday.

  Pausing, I slide my notepad and short pen out of my back pocket and write out a chorus that just came to me. This happens all the time. I can be anywhere and the Muse doesn’t care, she demands I take notes before the inspiration vanishes forever. I’ve learned the hard way that I can’t remember the words later. Everything must be stopped in order to capture fleeting glimpses of brilliance. They aren’t always great, but when they are, I must keep them.
Tears me up inside if I don’t.

  I stare at the words and wonder if these are worth keeping. It’s hard to tell. Today I haven’t been able to shake how Peter acted this morning. I texted him and he responded with a normal reply. Should I talk to him about the sex? I tried to, didn’t I? Maybe he didn’t know what I meant when I asked, What was that? I could have been more clear, I guess. But how do I bring it up without sounding…

  My worries get interrupted by an amused voice. “Those avocados hard as air?”

  Eric Cocker comes into focus, knuckles tight around the handles of a half-full shopping basket. In khaki shorts and a white tank top, his golden skin shines.

  I blink twice, taken aback. “Oh hi.”

  He frowns, “Well that joke fell flat. S’okay, it wasn’t any good.”

  Chapter 10

  WREN

  “Sorry?” I ask with a head tilt.

  He jabs a finger at my cart. “The avocados are always rock hard here since everyone buys them before they get a chance to ripen, so I made a joke about the hand-dryer, remember when I said the air was hard?” His lopsided smile appears as he hooks his free thumb in his front pocket. “See, doesn’t work when you have to explain it. How you been? Didn’t work last weekend.”

  Shifting my weight I explain, “I work nights. That Sunday shift before, that wasn’t mine. I was covering for my best friend.”

  “Who’s that, Eleanor?”

  Happy he remembered her name I smile, “Yes.”

  “We like her. She’s a good egg.”

  A small laugh relaxes my tight stomach. It’s been in knots for hours now and I really need this smile. “A good egg? Is that what you said? She’s one of the best eggs. Great friend, great mom, too.”

  His eyebrows shoot up as he leans in. “She’s got kids?”

  “Two of them.”

  “You have kids?”

  Reacting in a big way I wave my hand. “No no no. I’ve never been pregnant. Some day, but I’m just trying to figure out my own life right now.”