Cocky Roomie: A Bad Boy Romance Novel (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 1)

by Faleena Hopkins

  COCKY ROOMIE

  A BAD BOY ROMANCE

  FALEENA HOPKINS

  HOP HOP PUBLICATIONS

  Contents

  Copyright

  Cocky Roomie

  Dedication

  1. Drew

  2. Drew

  3. Jake

  4. Drew

  5. Jake

  6. Drew

  7. Jake

  8. Drew

  9. Jake

  10. Drew

  11. Jake

  12. Drew

  13. Jake

  14. Drew

  15. Jake

  16. Drew

  17. Jake

  18. Drew

  19. Drew

  20. Jake

  21. Drew

  22. Jett Cocker

  23. Jake

  24. Drew

  25. Jake

  26. Drew

  27. Drew

  28. Drew

  29. Jake

  30. Drew

  31. Jake

  32. Four years later

  Coming in July - Jett Cocker

  Thank you

  While You’re Waiting For A Cocker Brothers Novel…

  Anything For You

  WEREWOLVES OF NEW YORK- Nathaniel, Eli, Darik, and Dontae

  WEREWOLVES OF CHICAGO

  About the Author

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher. Reasonable portions may be quoted for review purposes.

  Cover Image licensed from Shutterstock.com

  Cover Designed by Faleena Hopkins

  Published by Hop Hop Publications

  Copyright © 2016 Faleena Hopkins

  All rights reserved.

  Created with Vellum

  COCKY ROOMIE

  Add To Goodreads Here.

  DREW: This “Roommate Wanted” ad is incredibly rude, cocky and obnoxious. But at least it’s honest. Unlike my soon to be ex-husband Edward, the bastard. But when Jake Cocker opens the door wearin’ only a towel and a smile (eight years younger than me and hotter than hell in August) I decide this is a very bad idea. But what am I supposed to do, leave Atlanta and give up?

  JAKE: With our dad being a congressman, and us coming from old-money, women throw themselves at me and my brothers. But Drew Charles is from a small Georgia town and doesn’t know about us. I only rented to her out of pity, because I hate to see a woman cry. Then I braced myself for a nightmare… but she just hides in her room, studying. Why has that given her the starring role in all of my fantasies? And how can I convince her to make them real?

  For those who are letting age get in the way of love.

  DREW

  WANTED: Roommate. Two-bdrm, one-bath in Old Fourth Ward near the Beltline. Yeah, this is the coolest neighborhood in Atlanta but no douche-bags allowed. And no hipsters pretending they’re loners who are really clingy, needy, insecure fuckers, allowed. No starving-artists who think money’s evil allowed. It’s not evil. Stop pretending you don’t want it.

  Must pay your fucking bills on time.

  Must fill the shoes of my younger brother.

  Good luck with that. He just enlisted in the Marines and is gonna be a hero. Not many like him and I doubt you’re one of the few.

  If this didn’t scare you off, write me, but I’m not promising anything.

  I don’t need a roommate. I just want one.

  Wow. Okay. So that happened. And I must have reread it a thousands times wondering why I was drawn to this listing above all the others. But did I really have to ask? How could I pass that blunt honesty up? It’s like a fresh lemonade shower on a July afternoon after what I’ve been through.

  Also, I’m running out of options.

  Finding a roommate has proven harder than I expected. I can’t take another sleepless night at Bernie’s.

  Most of the Craigslist posts are fake, which is disgusting. Apparently they’re designed to lure naïve, small-town people like myself in with gorgeous photography and crazy-cheap rent. I almost gave my bank account and social security to a couple scammers before I even saw the places, because that’s what they asked for. At first I was confused but thought, Well, if this is how they do it here in Atlanta, then…

  Before I hit the send button, thank God my instincts told me not to reveal my private financials to a complete, sight-unseen stranger. Can you believe I never heard from them again, when I told them I wanted to see the apartment first? Jerks. If there is a scammer-hell, I hope they rot in it.

  At least this guy seems real.

  It doesn’t bother me that he sounds like an asshole.

  Not at all.

  At least he doesn’t try to hide his asshole-ness like Edward did. He was so charming that it took many years for me to realize my husband couldn’t be trusted.

  Correction: soon to be EX-husband.

  It’s not just that I’m not proud of how I’ve lived a sheltered life… I dislike that I have. But it is what it is. I can’t change the past, but I sure as hellfire can change my future! Sweet baby Jesus, smile on me now!

  Hmmm. Nice building. Intricate crown-molding on the ceilings. Maybe used to be a hotel? From the brick exterior and decades of layered paint, I’d say this was built in the 1920’s. Just imagine the gorgeous dresses that must have strolled through here! Look at this winding staircase! Oh, I love it!

  Oh, I hope he likes me.

  I wish these heels weren’t so loud. The dark, hardwood floors are beautiful but they sure do alert someone you’re coming.

  Truth be told I was surprised when he responded. I’d said little in my email.

  Hi. I’d love to see the place. I can never replace your younger brother, but I’m very grateful to him for serving our good country. I’m responsible, and not needy. I don’t know what a douche is, so I hope I’m not that. Just looking for a place I can afford because I have to get out of where I am. Please, if you’ve read this far, give me a shot. Thanks, Drew.

  That’s the best I could offer — just say my truth and hope it’s enough. I don’t know any other way. Not one that works, anyhow.

  This is it. Apartment 11. First floor.

  Oh lordie, am I nervous!

  Here goes.

  Knock knock knock.

  The door opens and I nearly spit out my gum. In an effort not to, I swallow it.

  Starin’ back at me is hands-down the most gorgeous man I’ve seen up close and personal. Dark brown eyes sparkling with confusion take me in as I stare at him in speechless shock.

  I am not aware of it, but my mouth is wide open.

  Stunned. Flabbergasted. Beside myself. I am all of these.

  If this is Jake Cocker, I can’t live here.

  He’s wearing nothin’ but a white towel. It’s normal-sized, not one of those bath sheets. My point is, it barely covers him so pretty much all of his gorgeous, tanned, and chiseled-to-perfection body is on display. To make matters so much worse, sweet-smelling beads of water are takin’ languid strolls down his chest muscles. Gaping at him, I follow their happy journey down that amazing row of ab-mountains between hips so narrow even my sweet old Nana would imagine wrapping her legs around them.

  I bite my lip, trying to remember my own name.

  With one hand, he sha
kes his wet hair out and asks, as beads of water spray around his head, “You lost or something?”

  I start to sweat. His voice is so deep my panties turn to moist ash and then vanish completely.

  Dammit, he just asked you something!

  Speak, Drew!

  Say somethin’!

  “Hello?” He cocks his head to the side. “Can I help you?”

  You sure can.

  I straighten my inexpensive purse on my nervous shoulder and clear my throat. “Jake Cocker?”

  His frown deepens and he blinks a couple times, crossing his arms. Brutish hands fold over his biceps.

  “Yeah. I’m Jake.” Now he’s curious.

  I can tell by how his baby browns swiftly travel down the blouse my momma bought for my twenty-ninth birthday when I’d flirted with the idea of gettin’ a job of my own, rather than listening to Edward and waiting for him to give me what he promised. I should have followed that inspiration. I didn’t. But it’s never too late…is it? I hope not.

  Jake’s appraisal doesn’t stop at my blouse. He slowly makes his way down my tan skirt and stops at my matching short heels.

  I suddenly realize by his expression that I’m dressed for a job interview, conservative and proper. I must look like an old lady to this hunk. He can’t be more than twenty-three and probably has fake tits thrust into his face all hours of the night. I must look like a Jehovah’s Witness person passing pamphlets from door to door.

  Oh, why didn’t I borrow something of Bernie’s? Her entire wardrobe is sexy.

  “Oh!” he says, a dawning awareness making him smile. “You’re Matt’s new wife! Sorry, I figured he’d come with you for the introduction.”

  “Umm…Matt?”

  Jake stares at me, eyes narrowing. “Landlord?”

  “Oh! No, I’m not your landlord’s new wife. I answered your ad for the roommate. I might be early.” I’m right on time, but the whole wearing only a towel thing is throwing me. “It looks like I interrupted your hot shower. I mean…I don’t know how warm it was. I wasn’t in it or anything.” Stop it! Get a hold of yourself. “What I mean to say is that I’m sorry if I’m early. I’m Drew! Drew Charles.”

  He is staring at me like horses just flew out of my ears.

  “We emailed each other?” I add, hoping that rings a bell.

  He sucks on his teeth. “Drew’s a boy’s name.”

  “Nope. Girls have it, too. Drew Barrymore?” I add, reminding him.

  But his ego isn’t happy that I apparently ‘pulled one over on him.’

  “You have two boys’ names,” he says in an accusing tone.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not a boy.”

  Jake’s eyes drift to my blouse again. “By how your nips turned pebble-hard when I opened the door, I can see that. Even through a padded bra, too. Impressed.”

  “Oh my God,” I breathe in surprise as fire shoots out the top of my head. “Jake Cocker. You’re somethin’ else.”

  “Yes, I am.” He flashes a smirk that has the devil behind it, and uncrosses his arms. One of his thick hands falls a little faster and harder than it was meant to. The towel unlatches, drifting to the ground with a soft thump.

  He is now bared to me in all his glory.

  And he doesn’t move to cover himself.

  “Oops,” he says.

  Keep your eyes up, Drew! Keep them up.

  I am so stunned I’m trembling.

  He’s just staring at me with a challenge, though Lord only knows why he would do such a thing to a stranger, and to a woman.

  This person is no gentleman.

  “Excuse me, but what are you doin’?” My peripherals are blocked by my will to not succumb to this game he’s playing. “Are you darin’ me to look at your penis?”

  “Something wrong?” he asks, all innocence. “Oh, did my towel fall?”

  I so want to look.

  My curves are tenser than a whore’s in church.

  We say nothing for a few hot moments. It’s an out and out staring contest. I break first, blinking quickly and demanding, “You gonna get that?”

  A naughty smirk deepens on him. “Get this?”

  The gorgeous bastard goes and grabs himself! Shocked as all get out, my gaze drops despite my best efforts. He’s got a good hold of himself. His hand is not moving -- it’s just offering the monster to me like a waiter with a dessert tray. We have cherry cheesecake, brownie sundaes…or this cock. Which would you like this afternoon?

  His manhood’s mushroom-shaped tip has a couple veiny inches of length exposed because his big hand can’t even cover him all the way. Jake Cocker is fucking enormous. Guess I should have known from his name.

  Damn if my heart isn’t beating loud enough for both of us to hear!

  I can’t look away. “I would appreciate it if you picked up the towel and covered yourself like a gentleman.”

  “I’m mostly covered now.”

  Still can’t look up. “With your own hand, sir.”

  “Yep.”

  I yank my eyes up to meet his. I’m livid. He’s stunning. But he’s also such an incredible asshole I can hardly believe I haven’t run off and told him where he can stick that thing.

  “This is unacceptable.”

  “Agreed. My point exactly, Ms. Drew Charles.” He said my name like I’m his teacher or something. “Now you know…” He dips down and swipes the towel from the floor, making no move to cover himself. “…why I need to live with a man.”

  “So, you’re tellin’ me you’re gay. I don’t have a problem with that.”

  His eyes cloud over. “I’m not gay.”

  “But you want to stroke yourself only in front of men.”

  “First, my hand’s not moving. I’m just standing here.” His mouth tenses. “Second, I’m not gay.”

  “Have something against gays?” Two can play at this game, buddy. “You a homophobe, Jake? Because I won’t live with one. I prefer men, not ignorant fools.”

  His eyes go sharper than German knives. “I’m not a fuckin’ homophobe. I’ve got no problem with gay men or women. I’m just telling you I’m not one. But that’s not why you can’t live with me.”

  “Huh.” He’s clearly straight, but I love messing with him because it’s driving him nuts having the tables turned like this. Who’s smirking now? “You’re not gay. Well, I’m surprised!”

  The cocky fucker leans in just two short inches from my face, smelling better than a cinnamon roll straight out of the oven. And he’s still naked. “Drew, would you like me to show you how not gay I am?”

  My mouth goes as soft as my pussy is moist. I swallow against a very loud, YES.

  “No, Jake, I want you to show me around your apartment – that is what I want. I want you to treat me like a human being, and perhaps if you’re feelin’ kind, I’d like you to offer me some water like a good host ought to. Because I’m hot.” As his eyes sparkle, I quickly add, “It’s over ninety degrees out. Can you do that, Jake Cocker? Can you offer a thirsty woman a glass of water?”

  He hasn’t budged during my speech. He is still two inches from my face; buck-naked and so tasty he’d break a nun’s diet.

  “I want a male roommate.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can do what I’m doing now.”

  “Be a big fat jerk?”

  The corners of his mouth tug up. “Walk around naked if I want to.”

  “Any other reasons, besides being a nudist?”

  “And I’ll be bringing women home.”

  “God help them.”

  “And I wouldn’t want you to be offended.”

  “I’m sure I’ve seen fake boobs before.”

  “I meant by the sounds they’ll make.”

  “The pleading with you to lose their numbers?”

  He grins for a brief second, then says in the sexiest way, “No, Drew, the sounds of ecstasy they make as they scream my name.”

  Oh. My. Goodness.

  Warmth spreads out from my t
ummy as it clenches. But I don’t miss a beat. “Will you be doing this on weeknights, too, because I will need to get some sleep. On the weekend, however, I really don’t care how loud they are or who you fuck, because I will be going out on dates of my own, thank you very much."

  His eyebrows twitch and the smile returns. He finally grants me serenity by wrapping the damp towel around his stunning body. He heads in, tucking it in place as he casually calls over his shoulder, “Can I get you some water?”

  Holy hell. Look at his back.

  DREW

  He opens his fridge and grabs a water-filter pitcher with the logo ‘Britta’ on the side. I’m trying not to stare at his back muscles as he reaches into one of the cupboards. The rows of three sets of matching glassware catch my eye. He’s got taste.

  “This isn’t going to work…but you drove all the way out here.” He hands me the cold glass. “I’ll go put something on.”