Cocky Suits Chicago: Books 1-3

by Alex Wolf

  She huffs out a sigh and stares up at the ceiling, rolling her eyes as if I’m the one who screwed this whole thing up. “I don’t know. This is a disaster. It’s our three-month anniversary and he said to make something special, but I don’t cook. I’m a fraud. I think he might pop the question, but not if I bring him frozen dinner.”

  Wow, what a way to get engaged, and after three whole months. She thinks pretty highly of herself expecting him to pop the freaking question, but I don’t mention she may just be being a little unrealistic. It’s difficult, but I manage to fight back a laugh. Who the hell would date a guy who would demand they cook him dinner on their anniversary? Especially a hairy-ass, disgusting slob like Chuck? You have to be Dexter Collins-level hot to make those sorts of demands and have them taken seriously. I’d cook him the best damn lasagna he’s ever tasted.

  Stop it, Abigail.

  My eyes roam back to Barbie and she’s staring at me like her entire life depends on me. I can’t help but feel bad for her. I don’t want to, but I do. “Listen, Chuck loves you. If you’re that worried, order carryout and put it in your own container before you get there.”

  “That’s not a terrible idea.” She taps her chin. “Yeah.” She nods her head as if she just came up with it. “I like it. You can have this one if you want.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Sweet, free food.

  “It was twelve bucks.” She stands there, staring like a salesman making a deal and settling on the terms like I didn’t just buy her tampons.

  Jesus.

  I bite my tongue and nod. “I’ll Apple Pay it to you later.”

  “Perfect.” She claps her hands together.

  I turn the oven on. If I’m paying twelve bucks, I’m definitely cooking this damn thing, and eating every last bit of it. I’m not really that hungry, but I can take it to work and get a couple lunches out of it. Anything to save some money.

  That day can’t come soon enough, when I can move out.

  Barbie grabs her cell phone and taps the screen furiously. “Hey.” She looks up. “Thanks for, well, just thanks.”

  “Sure.” My lips move upward and curve into a half smile.

  It’s almost like we just had a moment and it was kind of nice.

  She goes off to get ready in her room.

  I pull out a cookie sheet and load the lasagna onto it. My mom would have a coronary. She’s all about home-cooked meals from scratch. Buying frozen dinners is a sin in the south. Good thing what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

  After the oven preheats and I toss the lasagna in, I move back to the couch and pick up where I left off, scrolling for something I haven’t seen a million times.

  Barbie struts out of her room a few minutes later with her hair teased up wearing enough perfume I can taste it in the back of my throat. I let out a small cough as she twirls around in a black sequin dress with a bow on the shoulder. It reminds me of my eighth-grade snowball formal.

  “How do I look?”

  The snarky side of my brain says ask if she wants honesty, but I settle for a white lie. “Awesome. Chuck will love it.”

  I wish Kyle and Nick were here to see this but it’s probably better this way. I should try to snap a picture, but there’s no way to do it without being caught. Instead, I snatch my phone off the coffee table, intending to text them. That would be mean. It’s no secret I don’t like Barbie, but I’m not that person, so I pretend to check my messages and put the phone back down.

  “Don’t wait up. I think tonight’s going to be the night. Eek!”

  “Good luck. I hope it goes well.”

  Just like that, her face goes ice cold. “I don’t need luck.”

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes. She goes out the door and my phone rings.

  “Ugh!” My entire body tenses when I see “unknown caller” flash on the screen. I hope this isn’t a work emergency or a bill collector. That seems like the only two possible options.

  I really hope it’s not work. I’m already in my comfy clothes and the smell of the lasagna isn’t half bad.

  I slide my thumb across the screen. “Hello.”

  “Hey, it’s Dexter.”

  It’s Sex!

  Dexter.

  Damn.

  I seriously need to break that habit. “What’s up?” I frown and wonder why he’s calling, and at the same time tingles shiver across my arms and goosebumps pebble all over.

  “So, Saturday…” He pauses.

  My pulse spikes. Is he going to cancel? I bet I freaked him out when I did the whole Sex thing. He probably just didn’t have anyone to go with him. Deacon probably canceled and I was an afterthought and then I acted all weird and got excited for nothing. I bet I was just the first person he saw after he got the news.

  “I’m taking you to dinner. Before the fight. And I’m picking you up.”

  What? The? Hell?

  I want to scream my address at him through the phone, but I have to stay calm and play it cool. “Umm… that makes it sound like a date.”

  “It is a damn date. What’s your address?”

  What the hell is happening right now? His confidence is off the charts. More than usual. I don’t know if I could say no if I wanted to. It’s so damn sexy. “Dex… I-I… are you sure? ‘Cause I mean…” I trail off.

  I sound like a babbling idiot. I mean holy shit. Dexter wants to take me out on a date? This is too much to process right now. I thought he only asked me to the fight to try to make up for ignoring me after our kiss. I mean after the kiss I was all about it and had tons of confidence that he liked me, but then he ignored me for several days, and it confused the hell out of me.

  “It’s happening. Give me your address.”

  I give in to his demand and shoot off the building name and apartment number before I can stop my mouth from doing it.

  “Wasn’t so hard, was it? See you at five on Saturday.”

  The call ends and I stare at my phone in disbelief.

  What the hell just happened?

  I agreed to go on a date with Dexter, that’s what happened.

  I promised myself no dating, just casual fun. I thought I could handle this attraction to him but apparently, I can’t. I’m screwed. Going out on a real date goes against everything I said I wouldn’t do when I moved to Chicago. As conflicted as I feel, I can’t help but notice the gigantic cheesy smile staring back at me when I look over at my reflection in the TV screen.

  Will it really be so bad? He’s hot and successful. If there was a man I wanted to be serious about, it would be Dexter. He’s pretty much perfect.

  I should find a reason to cancel but I’m too damn excited about this fight. I’ve always wanted to go to an MMA event, ever since I saw one on TV.

  The real question is…

  What the hell am I going to wear?

  I toss my phone aside and leap up from the couch. Once in my room, I rifle through my closet for the perfect outfit. This would be another time when a female friend would come in handy. About now, I’d settle for Barbie. I laugh at myself and remember the dress she wore to Chuck’s. No, maybe I wouldn’t settle for Barbie.

  I pull out my favorite jeans and spiked heels. I need a new shirt. Maybe I can make a mall run tomorrow after work. I want to wow Dexter. If I’m going to go on a date with him, I need to do it right.

  Later that evening, as I shovel lasagna into my mouth much faster than I should, Barbie bursts through the door in tears. My eyes widen, and I freeze like a deer in headlights, because I know I’m not supposed to eat on the couch. She said not to wait up, though. What the hell is she doing here?

  She sobs so hard it sends a shiver through her. Black mascara snakes down her cheeks.

  I sit up and nonchalantly slide the plate underneath the couch to hide my crimes against her. “Hey.” I drag out the syllable. “What’s wrong?”

  “Chuck… he… he…” She sniffles and wipes her arm over her nose. At the same time, she kicks her shoes across the room. “He broke u
p with me. Said we aren’t on the same page right now. That things were getting too serious for him. He’s too young to be tied down and wants to date other people. Can you believe that asshole?”

  I feel bad for her, and at the same time I can’t help but feel bad for myself. I’m going to have to deal with this all night now. “No way.” She was so excited when she left. Who the hell dumps someone on their anniversary, even if it’s a three-month one? You have to be a major-league asshole to make me feel sorry for Barbie. “Here.” I pour her a glass of my wine and shove it toward her.

  “Thanks.” She takes a long drink. “I thought he was going to propose.” She smacks a palm to her forehead. “How could I be so stupid?”

  Well, I mean… No, you need to comfort her. “He’s a dipshit if he didn’t appreciate you.”

  “We should go out and get drunk. Pick up the first guys we see and bring them back here. Then I could accidentally video call Chuck right in the middle of it.”

  My eyes bug out. That escalated quickly.

  I pat her on the forearm. “How about we hold off on that? We can watch a movie. There’s plenty of lasagna and wine.”

  She nods. “You’re probably right.” She walks into the kitchen and eats lasagna straight from the pan like an animal. After a few gulps from the glass, she ditches it and goes straight to drinking from the bottle. After a few more seconds, she lets out a long sigh. “Be glad you’re not that pretty.”

  My brows shoot up.

  Did she really just say that? Out loud?

  She shakes a finger at no one in particular. “That’s what it was. He was intimidated. Scared because I’m out of his league. Be glad you don’t have that problem.”

  I was being nice to her!

  I stand up, put my hands on my hips, and shake my head. “I know. You’re right.” I let out the most sarcastic sigh I can muster to rival hers. “The wine was twenty bucks, by the way. You can Apple Pay me.” I walk off and leave her to clean up and be miserable by herself.

  To hell with her. I’m not going to sit around and be her punching bag. Screw that. This is exactly why my friends are dudes. I can’t stand catty-ass women. I slam the bathroom door a little harder than needed. I genuinely attempted to console her. Hell, I even felt bad for her. I should’ve known better.

  I decide to just call it a night and go to bed early. I want to look extra hot tomorrow at work, no bags under my eyes.

  I need to talk to someone, though. I don’t want to go to bed pissed off. I should be ecstatic about my date and instead I’m brooding around my room like an angry teenager. There’s one woman I can count on, though, and that’s my mom.

  I walk into my room, flop down on my bed, and call her.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “You being safe?”

  “Yes, I’m at home.”

  “You still have that pepper spray?”

  “Yeah, on my keychain.” I can’t help but smile every time she nags me.

  “I was watching the news.”

  She means Fox News, obviously.

  “Oh yeah?” I grin even wider. Here comes a diatribe about gun violence in Chicago.

  “Yep, all kinds of murders in Chicago. All those gun laws are just doing wonders up there. You sure you don’t want to take a pistol with you next time you’re home? You can ship them on the plane. I was looking at the rules…”

  “Mom, I’m fine. I live in a nice part of town.” It’s not super nice, but she doesn’t need to know that. There definitely aren’t many murders around here.

  “Oh, well okay. I have it here, if you ever want it.”

  “I’m going on a date this weekend.”

  “Oh, sweetie. That’s wonderful!” I swear I hear her mutter, “Sure you don’t want the gun?”

  “I’m really excited. He’s super cute.” It’s amazing how ten seconds of talking to my mom can make me feel like I’m back at home. How it can make me forget about Barbie and all my other worries. Her voice is like being wrapped up in a warm hug. “You need to make a trip up here. I could show you around.”

  “Honey, you know I can’t…” She’s scared of flying. It’s one of her greatest fears, but I’m determined to get her up here one weekend for a visit.

  “You could drive. I could fly home and ride up with you, then ride back to Texas.”

  “I don’t know. I’d love to see where you live, so maybe… Anyway, tell me more about this guy.”

  I grin. “He’s funny, and cute, I already mentioned that, but it’s worth saying twice. He has a great job…”

  “Will he treat you right? I worry about those boys in the north. They don’t have manners like the men down here.”

  I can’t help but notice she called them boys up here and men down there. It makes me smile even harder. She is who she is, and I wouldn’t change her for the world.

  “He’s a man, trust me. And yeah, I think he’ll treat me right.”

  “Okay then. We raised you to make good decisions, so if you’re all right with him, so are we. You know that.”

  I lean my head back on my pillow. “Thanks, Mom. That’s all I needed to hear. I’m going to get some rest.”

  “Good idea. Me too. I’m glad you called and I’m happy you found yourself a hot date.”

  “Me too.”

  “I love you, sweetie.”

  “Love you too. Give Daddy a kiss for me.”

  “I will, and you stop eating frozen dinners. Cook yourself a damn meal. It’ll impress that boy up there too.”

  How the hell does she do that? Always know everything? I laugh at her intuition, and the fact she called Dexter a boy. “Okay, I will. Promise.”

  “Goodnight.”

  “Night.”

  I fall into my pillow and hug it tight to me. I bury my face in it, kick my legs, and just grin. I’m going out with Dexter Collins, and he’s about as far from a boy as you can get.

  Dexter

  It’s Friday morning and I feel on top of the world.

  Tomorrow night, Abigail is all mine.

  I feel much better after talking to Quinn. I like Abigail. She’s exactly the kind of woman I want.

  Quinn’s right, I can’t do this shit halfway. Not a fucking chance.

  Abby deserves the best and that’s what she’ll get, goddamn it.

  I walk into the breakroom and snag one of my puddings. Unwrapping the plastic spoon, I toss the wrapper in the trash. I peel the lid back and lick the excess chocolate from the foil.

  When I look up, Abigail struts past the doorway looking sexy as fuck. She has on this charcoal-gray dress that clings to her curves—no jacket. The dress squeezes her tits together, and I groan internally. My thoughts immediately move to yanking her into a supply closet and having my way with her, Deacon and Quinn style.

  Can’t do it.

  It’s too soon, and even if I wanted to, Decker installed cameras after word got out about all the extracurricular activities that used to go down in there. Said it was because people were stealing stuff. Yeah right, big bro. I swallow some pudding, and Abigail’s eyes shift over my direction. Those baby blues pierce straight through me, and I’m worried I just went from six to midnight in my pants.

  She’s a damn ten and she knows it. Fuck, I want to taste those cherry lips again.

  I pause for a split second to see if she’ll walk over, but she doesn’t break stride. My eyes roam down to the strappy heels she’s wearing. They wrap around her ankles and part way up her calves.

  She goes on like business as usual and my heart sinks for a brief moment, but then she looks back over her shoulder with a cute-as-hell smirk.

  Yep, definitely hard as a rock. You’re so mine.

  Tomorrow night.

  No work. No jackass friends coming between us. Just her and me.

  I can’t wait to have her all to myself. I never can seem to get her alone.

  I finish off my pudding and grab a bottled water. When I return to my desk, Brenda doesn’t look up from the files she�
��s rifling through.

  “Decker wants to see you.”

  I roll my eyes. “Wonderful.”

  She snickers but keeps toiling away with the files.

  I take a few sips of water and stop off in the bathroom. I take my sweet-ass time, hoping I might bump into Abigail on her way back to her desk.

  No dice.

  Not all is lost, though. I love making Decker wait for me when he calls these little impromptu meetings, probably to micromanage every little thing I’m doing. He called me in last week to bitch about the way some files were paperclipped together; like I bother myself with shit like that. I didn’t have the heart to scold Brenda for it. She works her ass off, so I just took the blame and nodded my head, promising it wouldn’t happen again.

  I finally stroll on over like I don’t have a care in the world. Donavan is here too.

  What the hell?

  This better not be an ambush about something trivial, but I’d almost suffer through it to see them get along for five minutes. It’s about damn time. We’re all getting sick of this petty war over some shit that went down with Donavan and Tate. It happened a long time ago.

  Business is business, but their two egos are too goddamn big to put it behind them.

  Tate walks in and the familiar tension fills the air.

  The second she takes a seat, Donavan pops up. “Got work to do.” He hauls ass out the door.

  I shake my head glancing back and forth between Decker and the door. “Would you assholes work your shit out? You’re acting like children. That’s saying something, coming from me.”

  Tate nods her head slowly but doesn’t look up from her files.

  Decker waves me off with a flippant hand, like nothing is wrong and he has it all under control. “It’s fine. We have other things to discuss. I’ll worry about Donavan.”

  “It’s been like six months. I’m losing confidence.”

  “That’s enough. It’s not why you’re here.”

  I shrug. “Whatever, Dad. What’s up?”

  “We need to talk about Wells Covington.”

  My eyebrows rise. “Umm, okay. What about him?”