by Mazzy King
MAJOR
Blue-Collar Bad Boys Next Door
Mazzy King
MZK Publishing
Copyright © 2020 by Mazzy King
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.
Cover by RebecaCovers.
Proofread by Jenny Hanson.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
Did you enjoy MAJOR?
About the Author
Meet DAMIEN
Coming Soon
1
Major Whitmore
“Daddy,” my six-year-old son Felix says. “You’re boring.”
I lift my brows at him, smiling, as I dump lawn clippings into a disposable paper bag. “I’m boring? Excuse you, sir?”
“It’s Saturday,” Felix says impatiently. “We should be playing, not doing chores.”
“If I recall correctly,” I reply, “we did quite a bit of playing at the park this morning.”
“But now it’s afternoon,” he argues. “I know that because I had lunch a little bit ago and you always give me lunch at noon.”
“Yeah, but Daddy needs to take care of the yard until you get big enough to do it for me.”
His big brown eyes gleam with sudden interest. “Will you pay me money for that?”
“If you don’t get out of here,” I say with a laugh. He’s got an entrepreneurial spirit I admire, but I also know it’s going to bite me in the ass one day.
“Basketball,” he whines, tugging my arm. “Please?”
I sit back on my heels with a sigh. The grass is mowed, and I’m almost done cleaning up. I did have big plans for a nap on the couch, tired from the hot, early summer sun beating down on me, but Felix is impossible to resist. Besides, his idea of basketball is far from an intense two-man game. He just likes bouncing the ball and then having me hoist him in the air to make slam dunks.
“Okay, just for a little while,” I relent. “But Daddy’s tired and he needs a nap—like this lil’ man I know.”
“No way!” Felix yells, grinning, and runs to grab his ball from the garage.
With a loud groan that makes me feel older than my thirty years, I stand up and stretch. My shoulders and upper back are sore, but that has more to do, I suspect, from the uncomfortable cot I spent last weekend sleeping on during drill than any real strain.
Felix has his ball, blatantly double dribbling, still grinning from ear to ear. He’s six, but he’s got an athleticism that impresses me. I wasn’t that athletic at his age—I had to grow into mine.
I guess his mom was pretty athletic as a kid.
For a second, a dark cloud only I can see blots out the bright sun. It’s been six months since Felix has seen his mother, and as many days since Tonya’s called to talk to him. We got married pretty young, because we became parents young, but a couple years ago, she decided to pursue her Hollywood dreams and, after a relatively swift divorce, she left us behind. Prior to that, I was a proud Army Ranger, but that meant I was gone—a lot. And with her moving away, I refused to let my son grow up without at least one attentive parent. My parents love him to pieces and would gladly take care of him while I was deployed, but I left the Rangers for the Army Reserves, which means drill once a week, the occasional school or training orders, and luckily, so far, no deployments. I get to be in Felix’s life every single day, and that’s been priceless.
But he misses his mom. He misses having her around. He’s still not used to why our family went from three of us to two, and he doesn’t understand why his little buddies in his kindergarten and taekwondo classes all have their moms around and he doesn’t.
“Catch, Daddy!” he hollers and heaves the ball at me.
I pretend to stumble catching it, like it’s so powerful I almost missed it, then whip around and throw a purposely low shot at the hoop I installed—as much for Felix as for me—last year. The ball bounces off the pole.
Felix boos me and laughs.
“That’s not nice,” I say, unable to hold back a laugh of my own. “You’re supposed to say, ‘good job.’”
“But it wasn’t.”
I’m trying to decide whether to laugh some more or use this as a teachable moment when I hear a loud woof from down the street.
I turn in time to see a medium-size, light-colored dog catapulting across the street, a leash trailing it.
Oh, shit!
I immediately scoop up Felix and skip backward as the dog gets closer. It’s not particularly big, but I don’t want anything charging toward my son.
Behind him, a woman sprints across the street. “Bongo! No!”
I look up, recognizing my next-door neighbor, Cecily. She manages to lean down mid-sprint and scoop up the end of the leash, just as the dog named Bongo reaches us. It takes me less than a second to see he’s no threat. His ears are pinned back, but he’s smiling and wiggling all over. Then he lays down on his belly, tail wagging like crazy, long tongue flapping out of his mouth.
Relief pours through me, but not enough for me to lower Felix to the ground. Bongo is a blond, short-hair mutt. He looks like he could be part lab, part Shiba Inu, part goofball. He’s also got scars all over his body. They all look healed from what I can see, but it’s clear he’s been through some shit.
“I’m so sorry,” Cecily breathes, one hand on her chest. “He just gets excited sometimes. I hope he didn’t scare you.”
“It’s all right,” I say.
They’re probably the most words we’ve ever exchanged since she’s lived next door for the past year. We do the occasional neighborly pleasantries when we see each other out, but that’s about it. That’s never stopped me from noticing how gorgeous she is, though. Light bronze skin, jade-green eyes, and long, thick, wavy, chocolate-brown hair. She looks to be mixed race, maybe black and white, but I’m not sure. She’s just beautiful.
“Doggie!” Felix exclaims, wiggling impatiently. He loves all animals, and meeting dogs is one of his favorite things, but I tend to be far more cautious.
“Bongo loves kids,” Cecily explains. “I promise he’s safe.”
I set Felix down a safe distance away, keeping one arm around his waist. With my free hand, I guide his toward Bongo.
“Palm down,” I tell him. “So he doesn’t feel threatened. Let him sniff you. Don’t touch him first.”
Felix obediently extends his hand, fingers loosely curled in, and Bongo slides forward on his belly to give him a sniff, then follows it with a lick. Felix tee-hees, pulling his hand back.
“I like him,” he says shyly to Cecily, who smiles back.
“I think he likes you too,” she says.
“Don’t pat him on his head until he knows you more,” I caution Felix, and he carefully strokes a hand down Bongo’s back.
“I’m really sorry about that,” Cecily says to me. “I just adopted him a few weeks ago and he’s still getting used to the neighborhood. He really does like kids. He saw Felix and just got excited.”
“It’s all right,” I tell her. “I didn’t know you got a dog. He’s been quiet.”
“He’s just now starting to come out of his shell,” she replies. “He’s…been through a lot.”
“I see that.” I glance at Bongo again and find him peering up at me. When
he catches me looking, he ducks his head, tail wagging.
“He’s a little nervous around men,” she says gently.
“Aw.” I can only imagine why. I kneel and extend a hand toward him slowly. He shrinks back a little, but his tail still wags. “It’s okay, Bongo buddy.”
At the sound of my voice, he looks at me again, slithers closer, and ducks his skull under my palm. I rub an ear and earn a panting doggy smile.
“Looks like you made a new friend, too,” Cecily says.
I give Bongo another pat and straighten up. “I guess so, but I think I’ll have to compete with Felix.”
We both grin at my son, who Bongo doesn’t seem afraid of in the least. He flops over on his back, legs curled, offering Felix his belly, who enthusiastically scratches him.
“I hope I wasn’t interrupting,” Cecily adds. “We were just finishing up our walk. Going to head to the ice cream truck down the street.”
Felix looks up, alert. “I want ice cream!”
Cecily smiles up at me, a little shyly. “You’re more than welcome to come with me, if you like.”
“Sure,” I say, feeling a little flutter in my gut. It’s weird to go from crushing on my neighbor I hardly talk to, to going on a walk for ice cream. “That’d be great.”
I shut the garage door, make sure the doors are locked, and the four of us head down the street.
Bongo glances over his shoulder at me and gives me a wag, as if to say, You’re welcome.
2
Cecily Thompson
Late Sunday afternoon, I relax on my tiny front porch, feet propped on the railing, sipping a glass of iced tea, and enjoying the sun on my skin as I edit some photos from an engagement shoot I did a couple weeks ago. I usually prefer to edit on my larger desktop computer in my home office, but the afternoon sunshine and heat was too tempting to resist and worth editing on my smaller laptop screen.
I can’t help casting glances next door. Major’s out doing more yard work today, trimming his hedges, and every so often I catch a glimpse of him, mesmerized by the way the sun picks out the golden tints in his medium-brown skin. He’s waved and smiled a few times, and I’ve waved and smiled back.
I wish he’d come trim my hedges…
I can’t help snorting out loud. The sexual thought doesn’t even make sense, but I’ve had a huge crush on my neighbor ever since I moved in. I’ve always been too shy to say anything, and I remember seeing a young woman there shortly after I moved in. I’m pretty sure she was Felix’s mom. I haven’t seen her since, so I don’t know what’s going on there, but it seems like it’s probably none of my business. But everything about him—his square jaw, his always neatly trimmed brush cut, his full lips and that stunning smile—is so incredibly appealing, I couldn’t help but fall for him on sight.
I’m still replaying our little not-a-date from yesterday. We simply walked to the ice cream truck and back, but he did buy me ice cream despite my protestations. “My son has a new friend because of you,” he said, insisting on treating me.
He even bought Bongo a plain vanilla cone.
Did I mention I’m in love with Major?
Bongo snoozes on a sunny patch on the porch at my feet, snoring as loudly as a human, and I can’t help giggling.
“Maybe I should’ve named you Cupid,” I tell him, getting an ear twitch in return.
I adopted Bongo a few weeks ago, but I’ve been acquainted with him for longer. I partnered with our local animal shelter a couple months ago to shoot next year’s rescue calendar, featuring a different animal as the model for each month. Bongo was July’s model, and I immediately fell for his super-sweet disposition. I was also familiar with his story from the rescue’s Instagram account. He was used, they believe, as a bait dog for a fighting ring. Due to his past, no one’s wanted to adopt him, fearing his possible aggression, but I saw something different, and I finally made it official.
It was love at first sight.
I was scared yesterday when he ran toward Felix, fearing the worst, but I’m so glad he just wanted to make a new friend. My gut tells me Bongo wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Despite his lack of adopters before me, Bongo gained incredible popularity after his story went viral, thanks to some well-known animal blogs, so I told the rescue they could publicize me as his adopter. My own account has grown by ten thousand in the weeks since I’ve adopted him, and I try to update it regularly, touched that so many people from around the world care so much about him. And, as an extra perk, my photography business has even grown too, as people have seen my work on my account. It’s definitely been a win-win, but the most important part is that Bongo is safe and happy and will be for the rest of his life.
My thoughts are interrupted by another loud snore from Bongo, and I return to my editing. A few minutes later, my phone rings.
“Is this Cecily?” a man asks. “Of ‘Cecily’s Snaps’?”
“It is,” I say pleasantly. “How can I help you today?”
There’s a short pause. “You adopted that dog, right?”
I tilt my head. “Yes, that’s right.”
“How much for him?”
“I beg your pardon?” I lower my feet to the porch, sitting up straight.
“How much for the dog?” the man says, enunciating each word.
“He’s not for sale,” I reply, unable to keep an edge out of my voice. “He’s my dog.”
There’s another pause. “You should never have adopted him.” Then he hangs up.
I stare at my iPhone for a long moment. The number displayed as “Unknown,” so I have no way of calling it back. I guess now that my account has close to fifteen thousand followers, I should expect the occasional crank call. My number is on my account for business contact purposes. Unfortunately, because it’s an unknown number, I can’t block it.
Bongo sits up straight, suddenly alert, staring at me.
“That was weird,” I mutter, then set the phone down. I glance at him. “You’re not going anywhere, baby.”
He makes a little grunting noise, then pants. He rises and pads to the door, looking at me. It’s pretty hot out, so he likely wants a drink from his bowl. I lean over and open the storm door enough for him to slip inside, and a moment later hear him sloppily lapping water.
“Miz Cecily?”
The little voice at the entrance to the porch draws my attention. Felix stands there, wearing a Transformers T-shirt and bright blue shorts.
I smile. “Hi, Felix. How are you?”
He gives me a shy smile back. “Can I say hi to Bongo?”
“Um…” I crane my neck, looking for Major. I like kids a lot, but I’m not great with knowing what parents are okay with and what they’re not. It seems like an innocent request to me, but Major might not think so. “Did you ask your dad?”
He shakes his head.
“Well, let’s go ask him.” I close my laptop and stick it inside the house, lock the front door, and then offer my hand to Felix. “Lead the way, mister.”
He grasps my hand and guides me to the front door.
“Isn’t your dad outside?” I ask. “I saw him a little bit ago.”
“He went inside to take a shower,” Felix informs me.
“So…he doesn’t know you’re outside by yourself?”
“I’m supposed to be watching cartoons, but then I started thinking about Bongo,” he replies, as if this is a perfectly reasonable explanation. “And I wanted to pet him.”
I bend down to him. “Listen, buddy, you’re welcome over at my house any time, but only if your dad says you can first, okay? Otherwise he’ll get really worried about you if he doesn’t know where you are.”
Felix nods, then opens the front door. “I’ll ask him now. Daddy!”
“Uh—” I start, but all of a sudden, Major rushes into the living room, a pair of sweatpants hanging low off his hips.
And that’s all he has on.
“Oh,” he says in surprise, his brown eyes finding me.
Lord, have mercy…
It’s not like I expected anything less, but he is absolute perfection. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, heavy biceps, and a firm, flat stomach bursting with muscle. The sweatpants are low enough that I get a good look at the Adonis belt disappearing beneath the waistband.
“Sorry,” I squeak from the door, trying not to stare. “He wanted to see Bongo and I wanted to make sure you gave him permission. I thought—I thought you were still outside.”
Major tugs the pants up a little and flashes me a half smile, displaying perfect white teeth. He looks like a movie star when he smiles like that. “I finished up about ten minutes ago.” He shakes his head at Felix. “Ten minutes. You couldn’t wait ten minutes?”
Felix looks up at him, abashed. “Sorry, Daddy.”
He kneels in front of his son. “You’re not allowed to leave this house by yourself,” he says in a gentle, loving tone. “It’s not safe. I know you love Bongo, but you need to make sure you ask me first before you can visit him. Miss Cecily might be busy, so you can’t just walk over there. Okay?”
Felix nods.
“He can come see Bongo any time he wants, as long as you’re okay with it,” I say, feeling like I’m intruding.
Major stands, one hand on Felix’s head. “Thanks. That’s really nice of you.” He thumbs over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “Listen, I was going to throw some meat on the grill. If you want, you can bring Bongo around back and have a burger with us.”
“Really?” I smile. “I’d love to.”
“Great.” He smiles back. “I should probably go find a shirt.”
Please don’t! “Okay. I’ll go grab Bongo and we’ll meet you out back.”
Later, Major and I sit in patio chairs, watching Felix and Bongo chase each other around the yard.
