The Blue Collar Bachelors Box Set: The Complete Blue Collar Bachelors Series

by Miller, Cassie-Ann L.

  I feel my mother's hands on my shoulders. "Sweetie, are you okay?"

  I nod through my laughter. It's the best I can do as I push tears from my eyes.

  Brenton looks up at Reese, helplessness and regret written in his eyes. "She’s crying, mommy..."

  Swallowing down my laughter, I crouch down in front of him. "They're tears of laughter, honey."

  He's confused. His expression displays it clearly. "You're happy?"

  "Yes, I am." I can't help my smile. "Because I'm marrying Uncle Charlie today and if losing the rings is the worst thing that happens today, then I'd say it's a pretty good day."

  He smiles, too.

  “I smooth down his already-smooth hair. "Can you do me a favor?"

  "Yes?" he says softly, full of curiosity.

  "Go find, Uncle Charlie and tell him I'm ready. Okay?"

  "Okay."

  Leo mouths Sorry over his shoulder again as he and Reese lead the little boy out the backdoor to find my groom.”

  Charlie

  My heart is thumping as the backdoor slowly widens and Nova comes into view. Her arm looped through her father's, they make their way across the back lawn. And the distance has never seemed this great. Impatience tickles at my nerve endings. I just want her here with me already.

  God—she looks like a bohemian dream. In a flowy sheet of lace draped over her body and a wreath of flowers on her head and that wide beautiful smile aimed right at me.

  I'm fucked.

  It's all over for me.

  This woman is it. Beautiful, smart, talented. She's ruined me. She's changed me. She's fixed me. And now she's walking down the aisle to be mine forever.

  We stand together at the altar with our fingers intertwined. We pledge our love for each other in front of our family and friends. And when the pastor calls for the rings, Brent timidly hands me a delicate string of pink silk ribbon.

  I can tell he still feels bad about losing the rings. But the rings don't matter.

  “They're just a pathetic attempt to symbolize the way I feel about Nova. They fall short. They're inadequate. There are no words or jewels or whatever that can fully capture my love for her. So I'll spend the rest of my life trying to show her with my actions and my commitment, sharing with her my heart, my body and all my worldly possessions. I'll love her tenderly. Protect her fiercely. Stand by her unflinchingly. All in the hopes that someday she'll understand the magnitude of my feelings for her.

  I say all that to her as she lays her left hand in my palm and I tie the ribbon around her ring finger.

  And as she ties a matching piece of string around my finger, she confesses her undying love and pledges herself to me, mind, body and spirit.

  I nearly lose control when the pastor pronounces us man and wife. I get a prickly feeling at the backs of my eyes and my lower lid feels heavy with...moisture. Nova's got tears of her own in her eyes as she reaches up, smiling, and brushes my tears away.

  My beautiful bride, my best friend, my forever.

  She's been in my life for as long as I can remember. I'm just grateful that I opened my eyes just in time to realize that she was always meant to be more than my little sister’s best friend. She’s my soul mate.

  Nova

  "Now, this is what I call a honeymoon." My husband grins as he rolls off of me and collapses next to me on the mattress.

  Still greedy for more of him, I grip his sweaty face in my hands and steal another long, deep kiss. My sore channel throbs. We've been going at it like wildlife in the rainforest during mating season for four days now and I don't mind one bit. We opted to lock ourselves in the house for a few days instead of rushing off on vacation. He has a few construction projects to wrap up next week and I have to head to New York for a few important meetings about the Love Bugs in a few days. When all that is over, we’re off to Barbados for two weeks.

  Can you say, hot beach sex?!

  I'm distantly aware of the sound of a chime but I do my best to tune it out. Unfortunately, Charlie hears it, too.

  "Is that the doorbell?" His head pivots toward the door, straining to hear.

  I press kisses to his collarbone. "You're imagining things." More kisses.

  But the bell rings out again. I groan in annoyance “and he laughs. "I think our friends might have sent search and rescue to look for us. We haven't shown signs of life in almost a week."

  He tries to get out of bed but I pull him back. "You stay here," I say, tugging on some pants. "I'll go get rid of whoever it is. I’ll be right back."

  He chuckles. "Promise me you won't go all jujitsu on them.”

  “Only if they won't go away." I throw him a wink before strutting out of the room and down the stairs…as if I don’t know he’ll be hot on my heels in just a few seconds.

  I hear him call out to me. "Holler if you need backup."

  "You didn't marry some simpering damsel in distress," I shout back. "I can defend myself. Thank you very much."

  I reach for the doorknob certain that it’s Reese and Sophia or maybe Leo on my front step. And I'm ready to give them a piece of my mind for interrupting our honeymoon staycation. But when I peep my head out from behind the door, it's a sweet, little old couple and their dirty old retriever standing there, all three smiling up at me.

  "Hello?" I say, opening the door just a little bit wider. The dog whines and, without thinking, I bend to scratch him behind the ear.

  "Hello dear," the tiny woman says, "are you the poor bride who lost her ring on her wedding day?"

  I straighten. "I am..." Now, I'm intrigued.

  “Just as I'm about to step out onto the porch, I feel Charlie approaching behind me. "Hi. What's going on?"

  The old man speaks up. "I think this belongs to you." He stretches out a purple string, a handful of balloon shreds and two dirt-covered wedding bands.

  My mouth hangs open and Charlie takes the rings. His wife smiles at me as he wipes off the dirt. "Scratchy found it in the garden when we were watering the spinach this morning."

  "How did you know where to bring it?" I ask.

  “We saw your story in the classifieds," the woman says.

  Charlie speaks. "We didn't put an ad in the classifieds."

  "Well, your friends must have." The man hands a newspaper to Charlie. We scan the little ad together.

  "They must have..." My heart swells with gratitude at the gesture.

  "We'll leave you two to get back to your newlywed shenanigans," the old lady says, her eyes squinting at the love bites on my neck as she hand me a cloth bag filled with fresh vegetables. "If you ever decide you need to come up for some fresh air, I've put some zucchinis and sweet peppers in here. Maybe having a meal might be a good idea." She flashes me a discreet wink.

  I blush. "Thank you."

  Then the two of them are on their way, ambling down the sidewalk with their dog.

  I have tears in my eyes as Charlie pushes the door shut. "I can't believe they found the rings. And brought them back." I'd made peace with the idea that I'd never see them again.

  He spins me around and presses my back to his front. "I'd made peace with the idea that I'd never see them again “He spins me around and presses my back to his front. "I'd made peace with the idea that I'd never see them again." He slides mine onto my finger and kisses the side of my face. "They’re nice to have but it’s not like we needed them. As long as I’ve got you, I’ve got my happy ending.”

  Can Vivian let loose and finally find the man of her dreams?

  Thanks so much for reading Play Boy. I hope you love Charlie and Nova as much as I do :)

  What’s next in the Blue Collar Bachelors Series?

  In Bad Boy, we get to see if Vivian will find her happy-ever-after. Can she let her guard down for long enough to fall head-over-heels for the most unlikely guy? Enjoy!

  Bad Boy

  The Blue Collar Bachelors Series Book 3

  Bad Boy (The Blue Collar Bachelors Series – Book 3)

  Copyright © 20
18 Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents appearing therein are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be interpreted as real. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status of the various products referenced in this work.

  Amazon’s Kindle Store is the only authorized distributor of this ebook. If you have downloaded or purchased it from any other distributor, please note that you have received an illegal copy. This not only violates the author’s copyright, deprives the author of royalties due and puts the book at risk of being removed from Kindle distribution, but it also exposes you to computer viruses, theft of your personal information by book pirates and potential legal prosecution.

  Created with Vellum

  About “Bad Boy”

  A good girl. A bad boy. Business and pleasure collide.

  I can't stand Clinton Alvarez.

  My life was meticulously organized, painstakingly structured and impeccably sanitary...until he rolled into town with his bad manners, his short temper and his cocky smirk. Now, he's opened up his grungy barbershop right next door to my pristine cupcake shop, bringing along his clientele of sketchy, leather-loving motorcycle guys with broken noses.

  He's infuriating. Having him around brings out the worst in me. All of a sudden, I'm acting on impulse. First, I'm flinging a handful of over-ripe raspberries at his back. Then, I'm screwing him on the countertop between the cash register and the cakepop display.

  Waking up with a blanked-out memory on his threadbare sheets is unquestionably the low-point of my life. Except now, the only thing I hate more than Clinton himself is the fact that I'm starting to fall head over heels for him.

  He has a secret that will rock the foundation of all the things I believe in. But it's foolish to jump to conclusions because, in some stories, it's not easy figuring out exactly who the bad guy is.

  Bad Boy is a steamy, laugh-out-loud enemies-to-lovers romance set in small town Illinois. It is book 3 in the Blue Collar Bachelors series.

  Prologue

  Vivian

  3:12 a.m.

  That moment when you find the first gray hair in your pubes…

  I feel the earth shift under my feet as water beats down on the tiles all around me and the suddenly-suffocating steam casts a surreal mist over the narrow shower stall. I'm bent over with the razor in my hand, my attention transfixed to my crotch. The lone, pioneering white strand pokes out of my dark, neatly-groomed rug. Strong and defiant.

  A tiny squeak manages to erupt from my constricted throat. I totter, a little unsteady on my feet. My head feels light. I've been blindsided.

  Ambushed by my bush.

  Nothing quite prepares you for this moment. When magazines and midmorning talk shows tell women about aging, they talk about fine lines and wrinkles, arthritis and osteoporosis, hot flashes and weight gain. I’ve been proactive against those possibilities. I stay hydrated on lemon water and anti-oxidant rich teas. I have a strict daily beauty routine that involves an army of expensive anti-aging toners and moisturizers. I haven’t had a slice of pizza since George W. was president. I’ve mastered yoga to the point where I can comfortably give a pretzel a run for its money.

  But they don't tell you about this...Nobody tells you about this. I did everything right. And this is how my body repays me?

  My eyes begin to prickle. I feel like I’m watching the final shards of my youthful optimism circle the drain and disappear forever.

  Y’see, it’s not about the pube. It’s about everything that it represents. It’s about the painful reminder that my current reality is so very far removed from the vision I had for what my life would look like at 29. (Yes, I'm 29...Wait—how old did you think I am? Oh my god...)

  When Ernie came home to Copper Heights for Christmas break during sophomore year, I started hinting at marriage. He and I came up with a plan. We had it all detailed in my neat, cursive handwriting on the elegant crème pages of my Kate Spade floral agenda. We had the wedding venue picked out. The flowers. The music. The honeymoon in Bermuda. Of course, we’d chosen names for the children. Names that complimented each other beautifully…But you know what happens with the best-laid plans.

  In any case, even after that relationship ended in an epically disastrous way four years ago, I held out hope that I’d find someone. Someone tall with good teeth, broad shoulders and kind eyes. Someone with decent taste in wine, an appreciation for post-impressionist art and a diverse portfolio of reliable, long-term investments. Someone who showers daily without having to be lured, coerced or threatened. A good, responsible guy. That’s all I ever wanted.

  But apparently, that's too much to ask in a place like Copper Heights. The population of single males in this town is so meagre that a woman has a better chance of getting abducted by an unidentified flying object than finding a guy who's right for her. And god forbid she have the nerve to have standards, too.

  So alas, here I am. Single, lonely and gray-pubed with 30 right around the bend. And to exacerbate my plight, over the past few months, I watched both of my younger siblings hook up with their soul-mates and settle down in rapid succession. It’s starting to feel like there’s nothing but crocheted doilies, plastic-covered sofas and a houseful of cats on the horizon for me. I shudder violently.

  The razor slips from my soapy fingers and hits the floor of the porcelain claw-foot tub with a high-pitched crack, snapping me back to the present.

  A little voice at the back of my head says I’m being just a touch melodramatic. My life isn’t terrible. I own a beautiful cottage-style bungalow. I have an incredibly supportive family. My business is about to reopen its doors in just a matter of hours. So why do all these wonderful things seem dwarfed by the fact that I don’t have a man in my life?

  In any case, the clock is ticking and I can’t stand in the shower trying to drown my frustrations all day. Okay, time for a harsh pep talk. Get it together, Vivian. It’s way too early in the morning for an existential crisis. Today is the reopening of the cupcake shop. It’s no time for weakness.

  Since the Broken Cupcake burned down four months ago, my sister Reese and I have been working our butts off to get to this day. It’s going to be perfect and I’m not about to let anything ruin it.

  My resolve is firm as I stomp out of the shower. I wipe the steam off of the mirror, dry my skin and spread my towel neatly on the brass rack. Standing back, I clench my fingers on my hips and tilt my body, searching for my most flattering angle.

  All is not lost. I still have a perky butt, at the very least.

  Regardless, I'm done taking chances. I smooth an extra dab of rejuvenating serum on my butt cheeks today. Sort of like an insurance policy.

  Half an hour later, my dark hair is in a basic chignon and I'm dressed in a simple white blouse, a vintage circle skirt and low peep-toe heels. I slip on my warm tweed jacket and lock up the house behind me. The early morning air is nippy. As I hustle down the cobblestone driveway and climb into my practical and reliable Chevrolet, there’s no sign of daybreak on the horizon.

  It doesn’t matter, though. Today, I’m going to focus on the things I can control. The success of the bakery's reopening is one of those things.

  Chapter One

  Vivian

  7:42 a.m.

  I run through my checklist again, re-ticking each item with my freshly sharpened pencil.

  Stock napkin dispensers? Check.

  Fill milk and cream carafes? Check.

  Update chalkboard sign with special of the week? Check.

  Today is the big day and it has to go off without a hitch. Gray pubes, notwithstanding. As much as I’d love to hide out under my blanket and mope about this morning’s rough start, there are more pressing matters at hand.

  The Broken Cupcake finally reopens its doors today. After the origina
l location burned to the ground, Reese and I immediately sprang into action to get it up and running again. It took longer than expected but the day is finally here and as soon as the clock strikes 8:00, we'll be open for business. Because of the troubling discovery I made in the shower a few hours ago, the success of this event is more important than ever. My body may be rebelling against me. The other side of my bed may be cold. But this cupcake shop works. And I'll do what I have to do to protect that.

  I tuck the clipboard under my arm and stand back, canvassing the space one more time. Pink-framed photos of fresh fruit and decadent desserts line the whitewashed brick walls. The concrete floors have been buffed to perfection. The spotless, white counters gleam. Vibrant succulents line the edge of the large picture window overlooking the strip mall’s sidewalk. Cushy pink chairs surround the shabby wooden tables. The bakery's decor is a cozy (and very deliberate) combination of rustic-artisanal and chic.

  Our realtor did some hardcore pitching to get me to agree to this new location because initially, I wasn't sold. Our previous shop had been in the heart of town, between the flower shop and the jewelry store. Now, we're in a strip mall a block from Town Square, sandwiched between the second-hand bookstore and an empty space with newspaper covering the windows. There's also a butcher’s shop, a pizzeria and a drug store at the other end of the strip. The surrounding businesses tend to attract a lot of traffic so I'm optimistic that we'll be able to convert some of that traffic into cupcake enthusiasts. Despite our limited budget, I've put an aggressive plan in place for that purpose. I've got a few hundred flyers printed out, I've got a stack of business cards in each of the neighboring shops and I've got a chalkboard sign announcing our grand opening in the hopes of luring people in the front door. All those things working together should help us to quickly gain some traction.