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

by Miller, Cassie-Ann L.

“Sounds grrreat!” I punch the air in an over-the-top show of enthusiasm.

  Did I just say that in a Tony the Tiger voice?…Oh boy—I think I just said that in a Tony the Tiger voice.

  I can’t lose this job.

  But Viv seems blissfully unaware of the turmoil this morsel of information has incited in me. She’s back to nuzzling her rugged piece of man meat. “Bon appetit!” she calls out absentmindedly without looking up at me.

  “Thanks,” I say tepidly as I trudge out of the room.

  Clinton growls into her cleavage. “Bon appetit to me! I’m about to feast!”

  With a knotted stomach, I jet far away from those two and swipe my lunch out of the fridge in the kitchen. I’d been starving for the grilled cheese sandwich and ramen soup I whipped up this morning but after this conversation with Viv, I’ve lost my appetite. A burst of sunlight assaults me when I push open the back door and take my usual perch on the cracked concrete step.

  I’m interim manager of the Broken Cupcake. As the word implies, my position is only temporary but I really like it. I’m learning so much running the cupcake shop. It feels like I’m putting the things I learned in school to practical use. I’m gaining real world experience handling employees and dealing with suppliers and satisfying customers. This job is what helps soften the blow that I had to skip the semester because I couldn’t come up with my tuition money. So if I lose this too…I don’t even want to think about how devastated I’ll be.

  I hate the uncertainty. I hate not knowing what happens next. I feel like my entire future is in limbo and it’s driving me crazy. All because I made one stupid decision…

  No, Sadie. It wasn’t a stupid decision. It was the right decision. It was the right decision. Maybe if I tell myself that enough times the resentment might subside and I’ll finally start to believe it.

  Doing my best to push down the anxiety, I dig into my backpack and spread open my Supply Chain Management textbook on my lap. Still the bitterness nags at me. I should be in school now. I should be starting my last semester. Building toward my career. Not worrying about whether I’m about to lose my job, my last shred of sanity. But as usual, life squatted and took a big, old dump on my plans when I least expected it.

  But I will finish my business degree. I’ve made that promise to myself and most days, this pipe dream is all that keeps me going, it's all that keeps me from collapsing into a pile of disappointment and defeat.

  I’m a fighter, though. I was never the kid who got the best grades or the scholarships and academic awards but I passed every test, even when it was barely by the skin of my teeth. And I wrestled my way past every hurdle. Because I want this degree so badly.

  Accepting that my concentration is shot today, I slam my book shut and shove my fingers into my hair. I grab my phone from my bag and press it to my ear, berating myself internally as it rings.

  I have one major weakness and life hurled his most recent crisis my way at the worst possible moment. And I hate to admit it but I’m pissed that, yet again, I let myself get derailed by his never-ending stream of drama.

  "Hi Seashell." All traces of resentment vanish when I hear his voice over the line.

  "Hi dad. Were you sleeping?” He sounds weak and groggy, like I just woke him up.

  I hear him shifting around, getting comfortable. “No, no. I wasn’t sleeping.” I love my father but it's hit or miss with him. Most of the time, he’s too busy—or too drunk—to talk. Just as often, he wants a favor and I'm not all that good at saying 'no'. But every now and then, I call him and we just talk, like father and daughter. Totally normal. Those are the chats that have kept me dialing his number after all this time.

  Suddenly, I realize how much I’ve missed him. I haven’t seen him in months. He’s been traveling from city to city, always making excuses about why he can’t come visit. I know I’m a big girl but it still hurts. He’s all the family I’ve ever had and it’s terrifying to think that now that I’m grown up, he’s pulling away from me, too.

  “What have you been up to, daddy? We haven’t talked in a while.”

  As usual, he’s completely oblivious to my chaotic feelings. “Seashell, I think I’ve finally found my true calling,” he declares, his voice brimming with exuberance.

  Oh jeez. Here we go again.

  I resist the urge to groan with annoyance as I wedge the phone between my cheek and my shoulder. Maybe it’s selfish but I’m not exactly jumping for joy at the announcement. My dad isn’t the best judge of characters and situations. The last time he ‘found his calling’, he stumbled right into the middle of a shady online pyramid scheme thingy that got him arrested. And who ended up having to bail him out? Me—the daughter who had been pinching pennies and surviving on ramen for months to save up tuition for the semester. That was not a fun choice to make.

  He’s clearly moved past it, though. From the enthusiasm in his voice, it’s obvious that his debt to me is the last thing on his mind. “I’m a ghostwriter, Sadie!” He pauses dramatically following the proclamation, waiting for my response.

  “A what?”

  “A ghostwriter,” he repeats. “I’ve partnered up with this publishing house. They’re super legit. I write sentient vegetable sci-fi erotica under a pen name—Sammy McCorncock. The publisher handles all the marketing and production stuff. All I have to do is write. I still can’t believe it. I’m getting paid to write books, Sadie! Paid to write books about people having sex with vegetables. And I’m doing it from bed in my pajamas! I’m living the dream!”

  I open my mouth. Then close it. Then open it again. I think the processing centers in my brain are down for routine maintenance because right now, none of what he’s saying makes sense.

  “I’m an author, Seashell. How many people do you know who can actually say they’re an author?!”

  He seems so damn excited…I hate to be a downer. I really do. “Dad—after the whole affiliate marketing debacle a few months ago, you promised you’d get a regular job. Y’know—a place where you clock in every morning and get a paycheck every two weeks…and wear pants.” I distractedly peel the crust off of my sandwich and throw the scraps at the flock of seagulls by the dumpster.

  He huffs grumpily. “I’m not cut out for a regular job. I’m an entrepreneur. This is so much better than a regular job, honey. It’s my soul-work. It’s very fulfilling. Through the writing process, I get to explore deep-seated emotions that I’ve had buried inside all my life.”

  “How does writing sentient vegetable porn help you grow spiritually, dad?” My tone is snarky, not supportive at all. But right now, I won’t apologize. I’m so annoyed.

  There’s a world of genuine disappointment in his voice. “You’re interested in business, right? I expected you’d be more encouraging.”

  “Sorry. I can’t be supportive if this is just another scam that’ll eat up your money and leave you in a jail cell feeling violated.”

  “This one isn’t a scam, Sadie!”

  “Like the vitamin supplement pyramid scheme wasn’t a scam,” I mumble under my breath.

  I close my eyes, begging for patience, attempting to decipher exactly where I went wrong. Oh yeah—I used my hard-earned money to bail my dad out of county when he got caught up in a brawl at a multi-level marketing conference. That was a chunk of my tuition money. Grrr!

  "You can't blame me for what happened, Seashell. I invested $150 in that dietary supplement business. They claimed it was revolutionary. They claimed I'd make millions selling that stuff. But the only return I saw on my investment was a nasty armpit rash and mango-scented bowel movements. Of course I was mad. And I expressed that anger with my fists."

  This is so fucking ridiculous. As per usual, dad is living in his little dream world, completely shirking all responsibility. Yet, as far as he’s concerned, I’m the one who’s being unreasonable.

  Nat is right. I need to stop enabling him. It’s time I left him on his own to face the music.

  "Dad, when do you think y
ou'll be able to pay back that bail money from a few months ago?"

  He blows out a loaded breath. Seconds tick by as he concocts a response. "Boy—Sadie, I really don’t see that on the horizon. Business is only just starting to get going. I probably won’t see a royalty check for another ninety days. I'm sorry, honey."

  My spirits sink all the way to my toes. I think my disenchantment reaches through the phone and gives him a good shake because I finally hear something like remorse in his voice.

  "Seashell, I know I’ve put you in a difficult situation. I can't tell you how sorry I am for the things I've done." He pushes a heavy sigh. “I feel terrible that I’ve disappointed you.” His voice cracks. I think he’s crying.

  My hankering weakness is acting up again. My anger begins to melt.

  "It's all right, dad. It's all in the past." The words feel like a lie as I say them. I can't help the vitriol burning my belly every time I think about how he pissed my future away.

  But I’ve always had a hard time staying mad at him. My dad is far from perfect—he’s unreliable, he drinks too much and he has the shortest attention span ever. Plus, he’s terrible with responsibility. But I wouldn’t trade him for the world. Because he stuck around. Unlike the woman who popped me out her birth canal and then promptly packed me up and deposited me on his doorstep. He didn’t even know I existed until my mother showed up to let him know that she didn’t want me and that if he didn’t either, she had no problem dumping me into foster care.

  He took me in with open arms even though he was twenty-one and clueless without two pennies to rub together. He didn’t have much to offer me aside from his love of rock music, his fascination with get-rich-quick schemes and his commitment to perpetually acting a couple of decades younger than his age. But my dad loved me when it mattered most, when he had no real duty to. That means everything to me. So the sacrifices I’ve made for him have been worth it. Despite our differences.

  He explodes into a bout of coughing, pulling me from my thoughts. "Look honey, I don’t mean to rush you off the phone but I have a deadline. I’ve got to go work on my WIP."

  I think I just threw up in my mouth. “Dad, I don’t want to hear about the kinks you’re writing about. Please. I want to be supportive but it’s a little weird for me.”

  A deep laugh comes through the phone. “Not my whip, Sadie. My WIP—my work in progress.”

  “Oh…uh, all right. I’m not up to date on the author slang.” That’s a relief, I guess. I stuff a piece of my sandwich into my mouth.

  His laughter gradually dies down. "Alright. I love you, my Seashell."

  "Love you, too." I feel a tiny tug in my chest when I say it. God—I really do miss him. Even though he just pissed me off.

  “Oh, and Sadie?” There’s a sense of urgency in his voice, like he’s about to tell me something very important.

  “Yeah, dad?”

  “Don’t forget to check out my work, okay? Tell me what you think. Sammy McCorncock. M-C-C-O-R-N—”

  “Dad, eww! I’m not checking out your work.”

  He sounds genuinely disappointed. “So, you’re not gonna support me?”

  I can’t even, right now. “Bye, dad.”

  “Bye, honey.”

  When I hang up the phone, another attempt at reading my textbook fails. Finally, I give up. Today just isn’t a studying day. I’ve got too much on my mind. With saving up for my tuition and keeping my job and making sure my weirdo of a dad stays out of trouble. Despite the long list of topics to brood over, I find myself thinking about Xavier again. And I know I shouldn’t.

  But just for a minute, I give myself free rein to recall the sexy curl of his teasing lips, the dark, messy bush on his head and the stubble sprouting up on his chin. I allow myself to enjoy the way his eyes felt strolling up and down my body, the sound of his peculiar accent.

  And when that minute is up, I stuff my phone into my pocket and toss my sandwich to the birds. I head back inside and take my position at the cash register so Nat can take her lunch break.

  I shove the devastatingly attractive landlord out of my mind because Sadie Nichols has her feet planted firmly in reality. Prince Charming and his fairy tales need not apply…Not that he’s interested, anyway.

  We’d be so wrong together. I just wish I weren’t so damn attracted to him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Xavier

  It’s a staring competition between me and a bottle of whiskey.

  The measure of amber liquid sits in a crystal tumbler on the edge of the piano as my fingers dance languidly across the keys and soft music floats all around me. My throat tingles for the fiery burn of the alcohol going down. I crave the numbing relief that comes when it hits my bloodstream. When I'm drunk off my arse, that's the only time the guilt of my mistakes eases its chokehold.

  When I need a break from myself, the drinking never fails to provide that. So, it’s all good, right?

  The problem is I usually don't know how to stop and what begins as fun and games and escapism quickly devolves into pure fuckery. Then I'm left with a feeling worse than the one I was trying to get away from in the first place.

  That's why I'm trying to resist today but in truth, I'm not having an easy time of it.

  The whiskey glints in the hit of sunshine slipping in through the space in the curtains. It winks invitingly. Glittering, glittering liquid temptation.

  But it pales in comparison to the temptation that is Sadie Nichols.

  I need to get her out of my mind.

  Ever since that morning on the rooftop when she showed herself to me, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. The look on her face as she touched herself. The sounds she made as she flew over the edge. The rejection in her expression as she walked away.

  I’m such a fucking idiot.

  I haven't seen her in nearly a week. She's been avoiding me.

  So much for becoming friends.

  But I can’t blame her for keeping her distance. I was bound to hurt her in the end, anyway.

  My existence has been pure torture ever since. My cock is a concrete pillar. Nothing I've tried has eased my craving for her.

  I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve jerked off in the past week.

  Alcohol just leaves me miserable and hungover.

  Taking cold showers doesn’t help ease the throb in my blood. Not one bit.

  I’ve tried power napping but every time I close my eyes, I see her standing in the doorframe wrapped in a bath towel, just like the first day we met. Except in my fantasies, she slowly unwraps the terrycloth from around her and bares that luscious body, torturing me by rubbing her little fingers across the space between her thighs.

  These fantasies can’t be healthy.

  You know what I haven’t tried, though? Adult coloring books. I need to order a few of those.

  I close my eyes in frustration and scrub my fingertips over my eyelids but it does nothing to erase the stream of inappropriate visuals in my brain.

  This new and constant heat teasing at my insides is such a sharp contrast to the cold, sluggish feeling that's been moving through my veins for the longest while. I struggle to remember the last time I met a lass who was even remotely interesting. All the women who run in royal circles tend to have the same background, the same attitude and the same intentions. It’s boring. Predictable.

  But Sadie is surprising. Endearing. Bold and confident in her individuality. She doesn’t bow to me in deference. In fact, she’s defiant. Irreverent.

  She is all the things I can't allow myself to admit that I want. All the things I've felt too guilty to crave all these years. All the things I don't deserve. She’s driving me crazy.

  Her appeal goes so much deeper than her gorgeous lips and her luscious body. The girl has fire. She owns up to her flaws and she lives unapologetically in her skin. There’s something so refreshing about that. I want more of it.

  That’s why I push her buttons. Just to see how she’ll react. Maybe I
’m an arrogant bastard for deliberately inciting her. Being around her sparks something in me, something I haven’t felt in ages.

  There’s this overwhelming sense of guilt that takes over every time my body heats with attraction for a woman or whenever I find myself wondering what it would feel like to have someone in my life. That guilt has been at the forefront, pulsing and suffocating, from the very first moment I met Sadie.

  Gnarring low in frustration, I slam down the piano fallboard over the keys. My fingers twist roughly in my hair. What the hell is wrong with me? Why is my head all knotted up over this girl?

  I can’t just sit around the house all day, alternating between fighting against my desire for whiskey and my desire for Sadie.

  Fuck that.

  I’m driving myself crazy. I need to get out. When I came to Copper Heights, the original plan was to barricade myself in this apartment and avoid human contact as much as possible throughout my time here but a walk around Town Square might actually do me some good at this point. Sliding into my old sneakers, I grab my keys and head out the door.

  I wander down to Main Street, peeking into the out-dated two-level buildings lining the narrow roadside as I go. Each of the quaint little shops seems to be named after the family who founded it. Gallo’s Italian Restaurant…Harper’s Flower Shop…Davison’s Dashing Dildos…

  The only familiar face I pass is that sulky guy from the laundromat the other day. Aside from him, it's just a sea of happy-looking people milling all around me, talking, laughing and moving at a leisurely pace under the blistering summer sun. I draw quite a bit of attention. Copper Heights is a small town with a population of about 5000. The residents can easily spot an outsider. But their gazes are friendly and fleeting. Some say hello but generally, they just leave me to window-shop.

  After meandering around for a while, the smell of vanilla and cinnamon call out to me. The heavenly scent draws me to the Broken Cupcake. Lingering in the parking lot, off at a distance, I peek inside and I see Sadie.

  Sadie…Beautiful, crazy Sadie…