Cocky Suits Chicago: Books 1-3

by Alex Wolf

  “I’ve never seen a grown man act the way he does over some pudding, but I swear he’s obsessed.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “Well I won’t tell him it was you if he asks.” She winks and steals one of the chocolate ones. “If you don’t tell him I swiped one too.”

  “I will take our secret to the grave.”

  “There ya go. Us girls have to stick together against the evil overlords.”

  I grin. “Right.” I never had any idea what other women meant when they would talk about sisterhood or girlfriends sticking together, but I’m starting to catch on. I’ve never had a ‘tribe’ or whatever the cool kids call it these days, but I’m starting to wish I did.

  I walk out the front of the office when my cell phone rings with a call from Kyle. We haven’t spoken since things got all tense and awkward. Now, it’s even worse after the shit Rick pulled out of his magic hat in his office.

  Damn him!

  I start to ignore the call, but I don’t want to be like Dexter and blow him off. I know how it feels to be ignored, and it’s not pleasant. Especially when Kyle’s one of the best friends I’ve had since moving here. Not to mention the fact we’re neighbors and he’d be hard to avoid.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Just clocked out. Wanna meet up for pizza and beer with me and Nick before he goes in for his shift?”

  No, I want Dexter to talk to me. I don’t have anything else to do on a weeknight, though. “Sure. The usual place?”

  “Meet you in fifteen?”

  “Okay.” I end the call.

  A text from Barbie pings on my phone the second I hang up.

  Barbie: You off work? I need you to do something for me.

  I love how she doesn’t even ask, just demands things.

  Me: Just leaving.

  With her I never know what kind of favor she’ll ask. Learned that one the hard way. One time I ended up attending a baby shower for some girl I didn’t know and had to buy a joint gift with Barbie because she couldn’t afford what she agreed to buy off the registry. I’m clearly still not over that.

  Barbie: I need jumbo tampons. I’ll pay you back.

  Me: I can but it’ll be a while because I have dinner plans.

  Barbie: Can you hurry?

  I scrunch my nose at my phone. Can I hurry? Do I look like her assistant? I would be inclined to hurry if she wasn’t crazy and the biggest narcissist I’ve ever met.

  Man, she makes me want to punch something, and I am not a violent person. Or maybe something else has me on edge and her text is just the catalyst. No, Dexter Collins has nothing to do with it at all. I’m sure of that.

  Even my heart knows I’m full of it.

  I take two steps, look up, and holy hell…

  Dexter

  I’ve been trying to track down Abigail all afternoon to ask her to the fight this weekend. She was nowhere to be found. I did notice someone ate one of the banana pudding cups I left for her. Like I said, I know how to deal with women in their own language, P.S. I Love You style. Deacon talked some shit about my methods too, until I showed him how it’s done. You’re welcome, brother. Enjoy one fiancée, courtesy of Dexter.

  I hang out by the corner and wait for her to come out of the building because I don’t have a clue where she lives.

  Finally, I breathe a sigh of relief when she walks out the front door.

  “Hey.” I step right in her path. It’s been twenty minutes and it’s starting to get cold as hell. I was beginning to think she caught on to my stalkerish ways and slipped out the back.

  Her face lights up and then hardens. “Oh, Dexter, right? That’s your name, isn’t it? I feel like we met once or twice.”

  “Come on, Abby. It’s been a stressful week.”

  She continues her little act. “Ohh, you remember my name? Wasn’t sure.” She starts down the sidewalk.

  I can’t remember the last time I chased a damn female, but I do it anyway because—it’s Abigail. “Hey, just stop for a damn second, woman. Jesus.”

  She whips around and points a finger at my face. Not in a menacing way. It’s more in a I’m pretending I’m mad at you, so you know not to do this to me again kind of way. “Just so you know. I’m not making you banana pudding.”

  I smile really big; bigger than I’ve smiled in a while, come to think of it. “I’m pretty stocked up on pudding right now, even with someone coming in and stealing them.”

  She shows me that cute-as-hell grin of hers that says I’m busted.

  “I’ve got two tickets to the fight Saturday night. I want you to go with me.”

  Her grin widens, but she pretends to mull it over. “I don’t know.”

  “Yes you do. I know you ate the damn pudding. This is happening.”

  She lets out a fake sigh. “Fine. Hot as hell half-naked dudes beating the crap out of each other. Count me in.”

  My jaw ticks at her comment about hot naked dudes but I refrain from saying anything. “Great. I’ll pick you up Saturday. Just give me your address.”

  “I’ll just meet you there. I’m starting to like taking the train around town.”

  I start to argue but think better of it. She said yes. That’s the important part.

  “Well give me your number so I can text you the details later.”

  “Okay cool, Sex... I mean Dexter.” Her face goes pale and she can’t even look at me.

  “Sex, huh?” I grin. It’s going to happen sometime, Abigail. Don’t you worry your little heart.

  She finally glances back. “Shit. Sorry. I meant Dexter. I don’t know why your name came out like that. Been a long day for me too. Anyway.” She pulls out her phone and calls me real quick so I’ll have her number.

  I save it in my phone.

  She darts off before I can say anything else. “See you there.”

  “Absolutely.” I stand there, admiring her as she walks away.

  I can’t do anything but smile like a little boy. The way she shakes her ass as she walks down the street; she knows I’m watching, the little tease. I instinctively reach up to pull my hair but stop before she can turn around and see me. The way she said the word “Sex.” That tells me a few things. One, I make her nervous. Two, she’s been thinking about me...

  And sex.

  I’ve got it bad for this girl.

  The thought terrifies me. I don’t know if I keep pursuing her because I’m obsessed or because the chase is phenomenal. I’ve never had to work this hard for a woman’s attention. Never wanted to, before her.

  I need to talk to Deacon. He can help me sort this shit out, and he owes me one. More than one, in fact.

  An hour later, I let myself into Deacon’s apartment and head directly to the fridge and grab myself a beer. I twist the cap off, fling it in the general direction of the trash can, and down the whole thing.

  It tastes incredible. A little Abigail-said-yes celebration chug.

  “They went to dinner.” Mr. Richards’ voice echoes off the walls of the living room.

  I walk in and he’s kicked back in the recliner watching some documentary about the greatest boxers of all time. He needs a wheelchair to get around because he had a stroke a few years ago, so he spends most of his time in the La-Z-Boy.

  Shit.

  I always forget Quinn’s old man moved into Deacon’s apartment when Quinn did.

  There goes my game plan. Deacon’s probably getting his dick wet in a coat closet somewhere. That’s their thing.

  “Bring me one of those, kid?”

  I snort. “All right.” Fuck it, I need a refill anyway.

  I grab a couple bottles and join him. I twist the caps off both beers and pocket them, then go pick up the other one I slung on the floor. I know how anal chicks get about leaving shit around the house, and Deacon would love to throw me under the bus for making a mess. Anything to take some blame off his ass.

  Never in my life would I have pictured this for Deacon. Totally pussy whipped.

&n
bsp; He loves the shit out of her, though, and I suppose things could be worse. They balance each other out. Quinn is cool too, so that helps. She’s way less intense than the other fiancée in the family, that’s for damn sure.

  I never saw myself wanting something like this. The whole love and commitment thing. That shit has never been for me.

  For a brief moment, I allow myself to fantasize what a life like this would be like with Abigail. Coming home to her every day, waking up in bed next to her every morning. Surprisingly, it doesn’t make me want to run for the hills.

  I glance around Deacon’s apartment to see if much has changed but it’s really about the same as before.

  Sure, there are some flowers and shit, but it’s not too bad. She let Deacon keep all his stuff.

  Interesting.

  “Thanks, son.”

  “No problem. You know if they’ll be out late?”

  “Not sure. You need something important? I can call Quinn and get them back here.”

  “Nah. I’ll live.”

  Quinn’s old man is cool as hell. We have a blast at Bears games.

  He looks over at me and his eyebrows rise.

  “Okay, so I got these tickets for the big fight coming up and… it’s just—” I wave him off with a hand. “It’s nothing. Forget it.” I shake my head and let out a sigh.

  “You got tickets?” He looks like he might come out of his chair. “Lucky son of a bitch.”

  I laugh. “Yeah.”

  “Your brother watches football with me, but he’s not big into boxing and MMA.”

  “I love that shit. My buddy Cole hooked me up. He used to fight.”

  “Cole Miller? Damn, your family knows everyone.”

  I kick back. Mr. Richards really is awesome. I try to stop thinking about my situation with Abigail, but I can’t get her out of my head. Mr. Richards and I fall into an easy conversation about our favorite fighters for a bit. I drink a few more beers with him.

  He must sense something is going on, though. “You look flustered, kid.”

  Flustered doesn’t come close to what I’m feeling.

  Finally, I decide fuck it. I need to talk to someone. He’s here and the dude looks like he knows some shit. He has life experience.

  “I don’t know if I like her or if it’s chasing her that’s driving me up the goddamn wall.” I’m lying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling like I’m in a counseling session when the front door opens and shuts.

  Quinn and Deacon walk in.

  I don’t even bother to stop. “I mean, she’s everything I could see myself wanting. Smart, gorgeous, funny… she’s a damn challenge. Tits are outta this world.” I hold my hands out in front of my chest to make my point. “Know what I mean?”

  Mr. Richards nods and grins like he knows what’s up.

  I shake my head. “She just frustrates the hell out of me sometimes. I think it’s because she’s so young.”

  “What the hell is this?” Deacon marches into the living room. “You should charge his ass by the hour.” He looks to Mr. Richards and shakes his head, then stares at me like I’m pathetic.

  I shrug like what the fuck? “You weren’t here. I needed advice.”

  Deacon snickers. “What’s wrong? Still stuck in the friend zone?” A smile plasters across his face. “She’s never gonna date you. Way too hot for your ugly ass.”

  Quinn swats him in the chest. “I fell for you and I’m way out of your league.”

  These two make me nauseous sometimes. They’re still in the honeymoon phase of their relationship. Always touching, can’t keep their hands off each other. I don’t know how her dad puts up with their PDA shit all the time.

  “You were not out of my league. More like the other way around.”

  Quinn scowls. “You need to help him. Do I need to remind you it was Dex who saved your sorry ass? You wouldn’t have me if it weren’t for him.”

  “She ain’t wrong,” Mr. Richards says out the side of his mouth, not bothering to turn from the TV.

  Deacon frowns but Quinn ignores him and walks over and sits next to my feet.

  She turns to face me. “Why don’t you work your movie magic on her? One of those grand gestures like the romantic comedies you secretly love.” She smirks.

  I groan. “I don’t love those movies. I don’t know where you guys got that shit from. I pay attention to them, there is a difference.”

  “You’re so full of shit,” says Deacon. “We all know you like watching them, just admit it.”

  “Do not, fucker.”

  “Boys!” Quinn snaps her fingers. “Back to Abigail.”

  I sit up. “Abigail isn’t like you or other girls. That shit won’t work on her. She’s too smart.” She deserved that dig for suggesting I like those movies. “She’ll see it coming from a mile away. It’s not her style, anyway. She doesn’t get caught up in her feelings. We need to address the elephant in the room. I’m afraid Deacon was right for once. She’s put me in the goddamn friend zone. I kissed the shit out of her the other day, and she didn’t even seem fazed by it when I asked her out. Said she wants to meet me there and talked about the hot dudes who were going to fight. What kind of shit is that? The guy never gets out of the fucking friend zone. Rarely in the movies, and never in real life. I know things.”

  “Move over and listen up.” Quinn shoves my legs off the couch.

  It forces me to sit up.

  She takes a seat and Deacon slides down on to the couch and pulls her into his lap.

  Could they not touch each other for two goddamn seconds while I’m in a crisis? He leans in, sweeps her hair to the side, and kisses the back of her neck.

  I might hurl.

  Quinn wags a finger at me. “Listen good because I’m only going to tell you this once in a language you’ll understand. Abigail may try to come off cool, like one of the guys, but deep down she’s a girly girl who wants the same stuff as the rest of us. All women want romance and to be swept off their feet. We want to be independent and respected, but we also want that take-charge macho shit, even if we roll our eyes at it. You can’t be the junior varsity, half-assing everything and expect a keeper to fall in your lap with minimal effort. You gotta step up to the plate and woo her. So, stop acting like a pussy, crying on the couch to my dad and do something about it or yeah, you’ll stay in the damn friend zone. If you think that’s where you are, that’s where you’ll be.”

  Mr. Richards chuckles.

  I turn to him. “What’s so funny?”

  “You, still sitting there. What the hell you doing, son? You heard my daughter. Get your ass up.”

  I jump up off the couch and look back and forth between all of them, then stare at Quinn. “You know what? You’re right. Fuck this.” I’m tired of pussyfooting around with Abigail; like she’s going to take the train to our first date.

  “Of course I am. I’m a woman.”

  I walk by the end table and sweep a pile of magazines onto the floor. They fly everywhere, making a huge mess.

  “What the fuck?” yells Deacon.

  “I do what I want, bitches. Dexter Collins runs shit!” I yell the words over my shoulder as I storm to the front door.

  I swear I hear Quinn mumble, “What the hell did we just do?” as I yank the door open and walk out.

  Fuck this. Abigail will be mine.

  Abigail

  I walk in the door after meeting up with Kyle and Nick and toss the tampons on the counter. I ate a piece of pizza, but I left early because all I could think about was Dexter. Barbie doesn’t even say thank you, and I just walk to the living room, still in my own little world thinking about Dexter.

  I can’t believe I did that. I said Sex to his face, instead of his name. He heard me say the word—out loud.

  How am I ever going to look at him without turning bright pink? This is a Private Santiago code red—a DEFCON one situation. That was utterly humiliating. Now, he’ll think I daydream about him and sex.

  Well, you do
.

  That’s beside the point!

  I’m almost tempted to talk to Barbie but I’m not that desperate yet. This would be one of those rare occasions where I could use a girlfriend. I walk into the kitchen while she hems and haws over some dish she’s trying to cook for Chuck. Thankfully, she’s taking it to his place.

  Honestly, she’s not even that bad. We’re just a bad match. I think I exhaust her as much as she exhausts me. It’s just awkward and uncomfortable. It’s a square peg, round hole situation.

  I’ve tried being friends with her, but it’s just never going to happen. We’re complete opposites one-hundred percent of the time, and not in the good way when friends balance each other out.

  We’re like a bomb, slowly ticking down to the day one of us explodes.

  I lay down on the couch and flip through channels, doing my best to ignore her banging around in the kitchen, while simultaneously trying to rid my mind of me making an ass of myself in front of Dexter.

  “Do you know how long to bake lasagna?” The words fly out from the kitchen.

  How the hell should I know? I don’t want to fight with her, though. “Is it frozen?”

  “Uhh yeah. I don’t know how to make it myself!”

  Her nasal voice is like nails dragging down a chalkboard in slow motion.

  I pop up from the couch.

  I don’t want to make dinner for Chuck, but the sooner I get her ass out the door the better. I’m a terrible roommate.“What does the back of the box say?”

  “I don’t know. I threw it away.”

  Jesus. How can she be so anal and picky, and still have no common sense? “Okay.” I march to the trash and dig out the box. It looks like a child opened it on Christmas morning. She ripped right through the directions. “It says here…” I fold the flimsy cardboard back together. “Bake it at three seventy-five for two hours.”

  Shit! Two hours?

  “Two hours!” She stomps her foot like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “I’m supposed to be there in an hour.”

  My mind races for a solution to both of our problems. “Maybe you can bake it until you leave then microwave it the rest of the way? It’s already pre-baked, right?”