Lexi Cocker (Cocker Brothers Book 25)

by Faleena Hopkins

  With the cutest smile she looks up. “Alright, I’ll get up,” and dramatically tosses the sheet off her middle like ta-da, I’m naked!!! With the grace of a ballerina Lexi rises on pointed toes and stands on them for half-a-second. “Can’t do it without the shoes.”

  “You’re a dancer?”

  She murmurs against my lips, “Long time ago,” taking my hand to put it where it wants to be. “Still hear the clock?”

  “I wish I didn’t.”

  Lexi licks her lips, bites the bottom one, and lets it go with a snap hypnotic for any red-blooded, heterosexual male. But after last night? I’m hard as granite.

  However, I’m not budging.

  “Fine,” rolls her eyes as she glides to retrieve her panties, spin them around her finger, and toss them at me. “Wash these and bring them back to me.”

  I bust up laughing, normal cool breaking down.

  On a grin, Lexi walks out and down the stairs, piece by piece putting her outfit back together as I admire the view. “Is it like watching a movie on rewind?”

  “Something like that.”

  “One you wish you had time to watch again?”

  “And again, and again, again.”

  She throws me a smirk over her shoulder. “Just like last night then.”

  My grin flashes. “Pretty much”

  She laughs, slides into her boots, bending deep to zip their inner zippers, giving me one hell of a show on purpose before rising with a triumphant hop. “I guess that’s about it then.” Green eyes narrow. “You didn’t tell me what you do for a living.”

  “I’m a mechanic.”

  She looks at my shirt, realizes it’s not a fashion choice, but is instead connected to payroll.

  When I took over my dad’s garage, I upgraded the traditional uniform shirts to a softer fabric, one that lets your skin breathe even on a hot Georgia day thanks to modern technology. I chose a bigger lapel since I’m a fan of the 1970’s. I designed them in black rather than blue.

  To me, black shirts over blue jeans feels great, especially with grease on the denim.

  Productivity.

  Problem solving.

  Hard work.

  I kept the age-old tradition of sewn-on name tags. Always liked them.

  And right now, by the look on Lexi’s face, she’s surprised but not in a good way.

  Makes me wish I hasn’t said that. No, that’s not fucking true. It makes me wish I’d thought before I said it to prepare myself for what a girl like her would think.

  It was predictable.

  I should’ve been ready.

  Instead of this disappointed.

  Would’ve been the same answer.

  What’s done is done.

  Chapter Eight

  GAGE

  I grab my keys, toss and catch them, and stroll over, twist to unlock my deadbolt. “After you.”

  She’s nibbling her lips, gaze cast down in thought.

  I caught the last name — Cocker, when Wyatt said it. I’d heard it before of course, though I felt no impact save for recognition. Celebrity doesn’t sway me in any direction. I judge people by actions. Not title. Not status.

  Those can be bought and paid for.

  Lexi seemed to me not stuck up at all, so what did I care? She was fun, easy going. Crazy, sure, but in a good way.

  What was she expecting I did for a living? From the confused and unimpressed look on her face, something higher up the chain.

  But that guy Brad didn’t seem too impressive. I’d think for a girl like her — if having the name she has impacts her choices since its attached to a star quarterback, high-profile politicians, and a rockstar millions pay good money to see perform live — she’d have chosen someone a little more…interesting than him.

  But what do I know?

  As we walk to the Bronco, its shine dulled by a thin layer of yellow pollen, Lexi walks ahead of me, flirtatious sway in her hips gone.

  Signed up for one night.

  That’s what I got.

  That’s what I gave.

  She’s in love with someone else.

  And I’m a mechanic.

  My eyebrows twitch as Lexi reaches for my truck’s passenger door handle, then falters and drops her hand to wait. This small action bugs the shit out of me. Last night she waited, like she deserved to, but now there’s hesitation?

  I don’t think it’s anything about her not deserving it now — I think it’s about me deserving it. Like in her mind I’m somehow lower and she doesn’t want to insult me more by ‘serving her’ like a peasant, rather than the courtesy and show of respect it normally is.

  We lock eyes as I reach to open the door.

  Long time ago…

  When was she a dancer?

  Still got the grace, grabbing the bar and climbing into the high bucket seat, facing forward for me to close her door.

  She jumps as I slam it.

  I wince, because I didn’t mean to do that.

  Walking around the hood, I cut a glance through my windshield, find her frowning at me. Shaking my head I focus on my quiet street, a man mowing his lawn three houses over, finches landing on a dogwood tree just ahead.

  Pretty day. Shame.

  Hopping in the driver’s seat, door shut with zero aggression even though it’s a struggle, I ask, “Where am I taking you?” and hit the ignition.

  “My house?”

  “As if I’d call you a car.”

  Confusion is in her quiet, “I didn’t think that you would.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Huff Road, West Midtown.”

  I back the truck up. “Off Howell Mill?”

  “Yes.”

  We don’t say anything for a bad ten minutes, not until after we’re crossed I-75/85 and taken a right. “Always lived in this neighborhood?”

  “No…I was raised in yours.”

  I remember with a frown, “That’s right.”

  “After that I got a place here with my sister and cousin. You saw them last night.”

  From memory I can’t make a direct connection, one blonde and one brunette. “Which was your sister?”

  Lexi tells me the blonde with brown eyes is Sam, and that they inherited opposite traits from both of their parents — Mom with brown eyes with red, curly hair. Dad, blonde hair, green eyes, though much lighter green than Lexi’s. “Kinda like yours but less yellow.”

  “I’ve got yellow in mine?”

  “Yours are the color of a crocodile. His are sea-foam green.”

  “Huh.” Never heard that description before, but I can get on board.

  She continues, and I soon discover the cousin is the brunette, Zoe, and she’s the sister of the two guys I didn’t really meet. There’s real pride in Lexi’s expression as she tells me their professions — a fireman and a cop hailing from the same immediate family. Heroes.

  We drive past busy coffee shops and boutique stores closed until eleven, since it’s Sunday. “I’m familiar with your family, but their names didn’t ring any bells last night.”

  Lexi and I look at each other at the same time, and I return to driving.

  “They’re not the famous ones, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I wasn’t meaning anything. Just explaining why I needed the explanation of who they were.”

  “Turn left up here.”

  I mutter, “Oh you mean where it says, Huff Road?”

  As if just figuring out the key to me and all of my secrets. Lexi announces, “You don’t like not knowing things!”

  I shift my weight, switch hands on the wheel. “I don’t know a single guy who doesn’t wanna know everything.”

  As we stop at the light, sunbeams bouncing off the silver glass of a modern furniture store to our left, Lexi wiggles in the seat, proud of herself, “Yeah, I’ve got a lot of men in my life, thank you very much,” relaxing for the first time since climbing in, “but I can tell that you, Gage, even more than them, don’t like not knowing things!”

>   It’s amusing she’s so entertained by this. I consider it one of my failings, so there’s a smile behind my, “I know a lot of things.”

  “Well you must have to, with a fear like that.”

  I chuckle, “I don’t have any fear,” turning my wheel as the light goes green, “It’s not a fear.”

  “Not a fear like I’m-afraid-of-spiders fear, but it’s a fear!”

  I shake my head, unwilling to argue with her.

  I’ve got a lot of experience with women, even gleaned some wisdom from it after enough knocks to the ground.

  It’s useless to argue with a woman.

  But fuck…

  Can’t help myself.

  “There’s a lot of things I don’t know. I just know a lot of things.”

  She smirks, “Uh huh,” pulling my sun-visor down to check her face in its small mirror. “Yikes! Why didn’t you tell me my mascara was a disaster??!”

  “Are you afraid of it being a disaster?”

  Side-eyeballing me, she smirks, “Nice try,” and slaps the visor up like it’s a lost cause. “I don’t like looking like a ghoul on Sunday morning is all!” She freezes. “I’m supposed to be at church!”

  I didn’t expect that coming from the redhead who dragged me off my barstool after pouring beer on her cheating boyfriend’s crotch.

  “What time does it start?”

  “It already started!”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  With a deep frown she twists in her seat as we drive the mild hills of old Huff Road. “If they took Zoe’s car I’ve got my keys and I can drive over. But if Sam drove our car, I am totally screwed.” Pointing at me she warns, “Don’t make a sex joke. It won’t be funny right now!”

  I raise my free hand. “Wasn’t going too. Where do you guys park?”

  “In the lot. That’s my complex on the left — Avana Westside.”

  “I see it.”

  “Can we drive though the parking structure? Would that be okay?”

  “Yep. You have assigned spaces?”

  “No! It could be anywhere.”

  “I’ll drive fast.”

  She starts mumbling to herself, “I can’t believe I forgot,” pulling out her phone, switching off airplane-mode. “I bet they texted me a thousand times. This is awful.” Lexi closes her eyes and starts tapping the phone against her forehead.

  I turn left into a well-maintained apartment complex of four buildings, two left, two right, balconies climbing up their sides, with an active dog run at the far end of the drive, a yellow ball caught mid-air by a black lab, its owner clapping and encouraging its return.

  “Which lot?”

  “On the left, Gage, thank you!”

  She groans as her phone starts blowing up, rapid-fire replying, muttering to herself, “Oh man, do I have time to change?”

  “You look great. You’re wearing jeans and a pretty shirt. Classy boots.”

  She sighs, drops the phone on her lap and snaps the visor open, licking her fingers and rubbing away the tiny bit of mascara that didn’t wash off in our shower. “Nobody knows I wore this last night except Sammy and Zo and they’d never rat me out. But these curls!”

  “How do we get in here?”

  Climbing over me, Lexi reaches the keypad and taps in their secret code while I avert my gaze out of respect for her privacy. “Sorry!”

  As her breast rests against my bicep, I smirk, “Don’t be.”

  Lexi looks at me, stretched across my lap, a momentary frown darkening her expression before she crawls back and sits down.

  Great.

  I drive fast, eyes out for pedestrians, but there aren’t any. Tons of parking spots available, too.

  Lexi shouts, “That’s Zoe’s!” instantly wilting and covering her head with both arms. “Oh no! They drove ours! What am I gonna do? I haven’t missed church in two years and the last time I was really, really sick.”

  “Where is it? I’ll take you.”

  She drops her arms, her face a war of hope and guilt, “Aren’t you going to be late? I swear I wasn’t trying to—”

  “—I know you weren’t. It’s no problem. This is obviously important to you. I can be late once.”

  “Oh thank you! Seriously, Gage, thank you!”

  She gives me the address and, as soon as we’re out of the lot, my boot is on the floor as I mutter, “Don’t want you missing church for the first time in two years because of me. I don’t need that kind of Karma.”

  I break every speed limit as sunshine warms our skin. Lexi explains during the short drive that none of their brothers go to church because they don’t believe in organized religion. Their parents — Zoe’s too — let them decide for themselves. “But we really took to it because it makes us feel good to be there. And we don’t mind that they’re not into it since they don’t push their beliefs on us, either. But feeling good — I thinks that’s the right reason to do anything, don’t you?”

  Not religious myself, I nod, “Doing what feels good is a great philosophy. I should do it more.”

  “This is it!” She prepares to hop out, glancing over to me with a smile. “You don’t have to open the door. You’re already late for work.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  Tilting her head, Lexi gives me a silent, Come on, you really don’t have to.

  “It makes me feel good.”

  A beautiful grin spreads, followed by a laugh. “Touché”

  I hop out, making it to her with quick strides. I’m not one to jog, but this is what I can do for her.

  Taking my offered hand, she glides out. “Thank you so much! I’m sorry it made you late, but I really do appreciate it,” and races away, breaking into a sprint with me watching her go. What an interesting way to end our one night together.

  “Hey Cherry!”

  Her fingers grasp the church’s iron handle as she turns, curls bouncing, eyebrows raised in question.

  “If there is a God…pretty sure he’s just glad you showed up.”

  She tilts her head, smiles, and disappears.

  Chapter Nine

  LEXI

  Z oe, Sam and I are outside of our church enjoying social hour after Mass, where the congregation happily clusters over coffee and donuts — one of my very favorite things about Sundays. Today, it’s so pretty out — warm sun, occasional breeze, familiar faces, most of them smiling, others gathered in gossip they should keep to themselves, but oh well.

  I’m happy to be here.

  Holding a chocolate Old-Fashioned with one bite missing, my sister whispers, “Did you see my face when you slid in next to us?”

  With a delicious, greasy Apple Fritter hovering near my lips, I sigh, “You had to pick the second pew,” and chomp.

  Zoe reminds me, “I like to sit up close,” nibbling her first-of-five donut holes, the others in a little recyclable bag, “Just not too close.”

  “Felt much too close, Zo.”

  “Under these circumstances, sure, but how did I know you were going to show up wearing—” she stops herself from outing me aloud. “—such a cute outfit.”

  I laugh, “Nice save,” rolling my eyes. “I didn’t have time to change.”

  Sam picks at her donut, “So what happened? Did you um, have fun?”

  My smile turns to a frown. “Mmhmm, we did.”

  “Are you going to see him again?”

  “I don’t know. Now that I think about it, he didn’t take my number. Not that there was time in the race to get here.”

  “Did you take…what am I saying? I know you would never ask for his.”

  I point at her. “Bingo.”

  We never call guys first.

  They’re hunters.

  It’s like delivering the kill on their doorstep and saying, Look what I did! I’ve taken the fun out of it for you!

  Samantha bites big, and Zoe digs for donut hole number two.

  Since they’re busy and my mind is filled with images I want to share but can’t
here, I offer, “He was surprisingly cool.” They nod, wanting more. “Could’ve been a complete disaster.” More nods. “But it was…” Words fail me as our time in his shower replays, bathing each other, pure intimacy like that unusual on a one-night stand. “Unexpected.”

  “Brad left after you did,” offers Sam, “Alone.”

  My eyebrows fly. “Really? His choice?”

  “Hers.”

  I mutter, “Oh,” disappointed, adding a sincere, “Good for her.”

  “You should’ve seen Nathan,” Zoe smiles, “when Brad took her arm to leave.”

  Unable to believe Brad could ever get rough with a woman, I ask, “What do you mean? Brad grabbed her?”

  “No, nothing like that! Just a normal…” she demonstrates, and then takes the role of the girl, yanking her arm back in a huff, next adopting Nathan’s deep voice. “She’s seen more than enough of you, Brad.”

  Samantha laughs, “It was so great! Wyatt showed up right after and you know he wished he’d been there to help.”

  I sigh, “Awesome.”

  “She had no idea about you, Lexi.”

  “I could tell that from her face.”

  Staring at mine, Sammy says a leading, “He’s a jerk, you know that, right?”

  Shaking it off I smile, “I know. I’m over it!”

  “You should be.”

  “I am!”

  “You don’t look it.”

  I snap, “It’s hard to shed years in a night.”

  “Sorry…” My baby sister blinks at me. Sam’s been through all the ups and downs of my undefinable relationship with that man ever since we seduced each other during my short college stint. She’s covered my ass countless times and only recently has become less patient.

  I tilt my head, voice quieter. “No, I’m sorry.”

  Sam smiles at me as Zoe asks, “What was his name?”

  “Brad,” I frown, misunderstanding at first. “Oh! Gage. His name was Gage.”

  They parrot, “Gage?” with excited faces, making me grin.

  “Cool name, right?” More nodding and donut eating, Zoe on number three.

  “—Lexi Cocker?!” shouts a woman whose voice sounds familiar but not one I’ve heard recently.

  We three turn to see who’s walking up, and freeze upon sight of the expertly coiffed, plastic-enhanced owner of Cora Williamson Realty.