Cocky Roomie: A Bad Boy Romance Novel (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 1) (3 page)

“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 tummy 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

H
e 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.”

“Don’t go against your religion on my account,” I mutter before I take a sip.

He chuckles and disappears into what must be his bedroom.

It gives me a chance to check out the place. It’s not the furniture of a guy in his early twenties. There’s a very nice overstuffed couch and matching chair, both charcoal grey. From the looks of that rustic coffee table and the shaggy white rug it’s sitting on, he must come from money, or he has made his own. The art isn’t little boy stuff either. Canvases of abstract, thick strokes in the deepest shade of every color line walls in the living room and hallways with sizes varying from massive to small triptychs.

I’ve gotta admit, he’s unusual. I guess I was expecting movie-posters and bad chairs, even though this place looks like the pictures in the post. But I learned you can’t trust those.

Oh no! Was I supposed to take off my shoes? At the front door are four sets of his, lined up on a mat. I slip off my pumps. Fuck, his feet are big. Look at my little heels next to his work boots!

“Shoe fetish?”

I nearly jump out of my skin, spinning around to find Jake standing outside his bedroom door in black sweats and no shirt. There’s a spidery-tat on his arm with a C centered in it that I didn’t notice before. I was distracted by other…larger…things. Ahem.

“Yep, I’m into shoes,” I smile. “Stereotypical woman. You caught me.”

Jake’s guard is up. “Let me show you around. But I’m warning you, this ain’t gonna happen.”

“You’re dead set against a female roomie.”

“Yep.”

I really love this apartment. I want to sit on that couch. For hours.

“You won’t change your mind?”

“Nope.”

For half a beat I stare. “We’ll see about that.”

Amusement jumps in his eyes. “How old are you?”

“Don’t you know you should never ask a woman that?”

He stretches his arms up and hooks his hands behind his head, exposing the baby-soft underbelly of his biceps. Soft, brown tufts of underarm hair glisten from the shower. Or from this Atlanta humidity. Either way, it’s sexy. “How old are you?”

“Why?”

“You look too elegant to live with a guy like me.”

“Well, that’s a nice way to say I’m older than you.”

“No, you have an elegance to you.”

Blushing, I glance down at the outfit I got from Marshalls. “These clothes aren’t much…”

“A lady is a lady even in a potato sack. It’s not something you can hide.”

I blink at him, disarmed. “If you must know,
Jake Cocker,
I’m thirty-three. Almost thirty-four. And you?”

“Well,
Drew Charles,
I’m twenty-five. Almost twenty-six.”

Well, good. That makes this easy. I will have no problem steering clear of anything romantic, because that’s much too young for me. Besides, you can’t get serious about a man who looks like this anyway. Too much competition for his affections, I’m sure. And I’m not the casual sex type…despite how my body is buzzing right now.

“I’ve seen the kitchen and livin’ room. Continue the tour, please.”

He doesn’t move. “Why do you want to see my place?”

“Our place.”

He laughs outright. “Oh, it’s our place is it?”

“It is.”

“Why?”

The conversation my parents and I had when I decided to come to this city, is still ringin’ in my ears, that’s why.

“Drew Adelaide Charles, you are not moving to Atlanta all on your lonesome!”

“Yes, I am, Daddy! And it’s not far. It’s just over two hours away! You can come visit me any time you like.”

“Drew baby, where are you gonna live? I will not have my daughter—“

“—Bernie said I could stay with her, Daddy! I won’t be alone!”

My momma piped in and saved me from the look my pastor father gave me, like he was gonna preach to his congregation rather than to his only child. I always hold my breath when he does that to me.

And I always let it out when Momma jumps in.

“Now John, Bernadette Lancaster is a good girl. And she’s so much more worldly than our Drew is, what with all the traveling from modelin’ she’s done. She knows her way around Atlanta, so Drew will be just fine! Let her go! Our little girl is thirty-three years old for cryin’ out loud.”

“I know that, honey.”

“Well, John, I’m just sayin’ — be reasonable. You can’t take her back now that Edward has cast her aside.”

“Thanks, Momma.”

“Well, he did, Drew.”

“I know, Momma.”

To her credit, she knew I’d always wanted to move to the big city, and that I regretted falling in love so young and getting married right out of high school. She knew I needed to break free of the cement shoes I wore that had
Dublin, Georgia
engraved on their sides.

My parents love Bernie like she was their own daughter. She might as well have been my sister. We were attached to each other ever since we were in diapers. That is, until Bernie moved away. We’d lost touch over the years since our lives were so different. It was a big shock when I moved into her place and found out what I did.

I have to get out of there.

She keeps sayin’ she doesn’t need help.

I can’t watch her kill herself like that any longer.

And I will not give up when I’ve come this far.

I take a deep breath.

“Because I can’t afford to live on my own just yet, and you want a roommate. I’ve been to dozens of places. Some in the wrong parts of town my daddy would die if he ever visited me in. Others with landladies who thought dirty and uncared-for was their ‘nice apartment.’ And then there was the slew of lies on Craigslist that I can’t bore you enough with my descriptions of how misrepresented they were! And then there’s you. You, in person, are everythin’ you seemed to be in your ad. If I’m right about you, what you see is what you get with Jake Cocker. It’s refreshin’. And I’m tired. I just want an honest and safe place to put my head. I pay my bills. I won’t be a bother. You can have as many women over here as you want as long as you’re respectful of my time if I have to get up for work the next morning, when I get a job that is. I do have some limits in terms of manners. I hope you do, too, though I’ve seen little evidence of it so far so maybe I’m barking up the wrong tree.”

Oh, that was scary!

With a look I can’t decipher, he’s watching me.

After a few terribly awkward and silent moments, I cave. “I’ll go. I’m sorry. I just had to try.”

Casually, he stops me. “Let me show you the room you’d be living in
if you were a dude
.” As he passes me our arms brush each other. “It’s this way.”

Ignoring the electric shocks lighting up my skin, I follow him into an empty room that has a beautiful bay window with loads of flower-laden bushes and trees just outside it. This is the last unit on the first floor so I guess I’m looking at the backyard.

My heart aches at the sight. There are forest green curtains framing the view and I walk over to touch the heavy fabric, picturing how I could decorate this room. “So pretty,” I whisper.

“Yep,” he grumbles. “That’s the problem.”

I turn with raised eyebrows. “Sorry?”

“You’re too pretty for me to live with. Boy’s name or no, you’re not a guy.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweats pushing them dangerously low by accident. “It’ll just cause problems.”

“I’m also eight years too old for you!!”

He shrugs a little. “You’re not too old for me to fuck.”

Struck dumb, I stare at the dark-hardwood floor.

Where does this leave me?

Where will I go?

Nowhere.

I’ll have to stay at Bernie’s and get ear plugs.

With anxiety and desperation twisting up my insides, I turn on the cocky sonofabitch and march up to him. “You say that like it’s even an option!”

Brown eyes narrow on me. “What do you mean?”

“What if I told you that sex between us is an impossibility? Could you live with me then?”

“It’s not an impossibility,” he smirks. “It’s a probability.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

He pauses. “And why’s that?”

“Because I am not the fool around type. And you are too young for me. If you can’t keep it in your pants from your own willpower, then let me help you out. I have no desire to sleep with you!”

“That’s not what your nipples are saying.”

“They get like that when I’m upset!!”

He smiles at me with a cockiness that is crazy-annoying. We glare at each other ‘til I get riled up.

“You listen up, Jake!” I give his beautiful chest a good poke and almost break my finger. “I wouldn’t fuck you if you BEGGED ME TO.”

He frowns, clearly not used to rejection. “That’s a lie.”

“I can assure you it IS NOT. Because I am meant to live here and I will be able to resist messing that up. Sleeping with you would be a DISASTER.” I inhale patience and lower my voice. “But being your roommate would be fine. I could do that. And so could you.”

His eyes twitch. “You’re
meant
to live here?”

“Yes. Because I love those curtains!”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“And that view.”

“Ha,” he dryly shoots back.

“And that bay window. And the cold water in the fridge. And that couch! And that winding staircase in the hallway. And those flowers out the window. And I have to start over!” My hands fly up to my face.

“Oh shit. You’re not going to cry, are you?” he groans.

I squeak, “No!” turning my back.

He walks around me to pull my hands down, rolling his eyes as the wetness slips down my cheeks. “Hey, hey, hey. I can’t take a woman crying. Stop it.”

“I’m tryin’!” I squeak, embarrassed, but he won’t let me cover my face and now the faucet is fully on.

“Oh fuck it,” I whisper through little gasps. “I’ve just been through so much and I can’t sleep where I am and I have to get a job and I…I mean, my daddy gave me money to start out, so I can pay rent, just not on my own! I have to find a roommate and there aren’t any and I don’t know who to trust! I’m from a small town. Dublin is not like Atlanta — not at all! I’m in over my head. And I can’t go back! I just can’t! I always wanted to live in the city. Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m being desperate and weak and…oh God. I have to go now.” Tugging away from his hold I race out of the room.

“Hang on! At least let’s get you a tissue.” He runs and catches up with me, grabs my arm and opens up the door I was just about to walk past. “Here. This is the bathroom. We’ll be sharing it, but it’ll be clean so you don’t have to worry about guy’s being messier than women. I have a maid.” He rips a single tissue from a box on the counter and hands it to me. Adorably awkward, he grabs five more and offers them up. “You might need the whole box with all that snot you’re building up, but this is a good start.”

I half-laugh and whisper, “Shut up!” wiping away dripping mascara in the mirror.

“I’m just saying. You’re a mess.”

“You’re so rude.”

He’s looking at me in the reflection as he leans against the doorframe. “Yeah.”

Suddenly I become aware of what he just said. My hands drop. “Did you just say,
we’ll
be sharing it?”

“About time you caught on.”

“I can move in?”

He waits a beat then nods.

I blink a couple times, stunned. “You’re having pity on me. That’s terrible.”

“Please don’t start crying again or I’ll change my mind.”

Sniffling, I whisper, “I promise I won’t. When?”

“Sooner the better. Apparently you need some shut-eye. Nerves are shot.” He smiles like he’s looking at a lost puppy.

Without saying a word, tissues crumbled in my fingers, I turn around and wrap my arms around him. “Thank you.”

He hesitates, but hugs me back. It’s quick and polite.

Before he decides he made a mistake, I pad to the front door and step into my pumps, wanting to get out of here.

He follows me, his body relaxed. No, that’s not the right word now, is it? Confident. Yes, that’s the word. Which is the total opposite of me.

Rock. Meet bottom.

I glance over to the couch and picture sitting on it with a big jug of ice cream. Sighing, I meet his eyes to reassure him, “I really do pay my bills on time.” I used to handle our money in the house, even though Edward earned it.

“Good.”

“It’s almost the first of the month and I believe that’s customary to payin’ rent, yes?”

A smile is dancing in his eyes again. “Yes.”

“I can prorate the days if I can move in sooner?”

“Okay.”

“Well, that’ll work out just fine.”

“Great.”

“Okay, then. I have your email.”