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

by Miller, Cassie-Ann L.

  She’s behind the counter dancing unabashedly as she fixes a cup of coffee for a grinning customer. When she turns and sets the drink in the man’s hands, I can see the adoring look on his face even from all the way out here. He digs into his wallet and stuffs a fistful of bills into her tip jar. Sucker…I can't blame the poor bloke. Her laugh is intoxicating, her carefree demeanour is bewitching and her pretty eyes are so easy to fall into. She’s enchanting.

  Shit, I’m doing that thing again. That getting-caught-up-in-Sadie thing.

  I came to this town because I needed some space, some time alone to clear my head. And here I am, head more tangled up than ever, hovering shiftily beside a rubbish bin in a parking lot, just for a little peek at a girl I barely even know. This is crazy.

  I grate my fingernails through my scalp. Suddenly, I need a drink. I mean I really need a drink. Something strong. Because—yes—alcohol is high up on the list of ‘Things Xavier Needs to Stay the Fuck Away From’ but Sadie? Sadie tops the list.

  I’m playing with fire.

  I silently remind myself that I’m gasoline.

  Tripping over my own feet, I back out of the parking lot and toward the main road. Far, far away from this place.

  Asking for directions leads me to a crumbling building on a narrow, neglected street. Stale air hits me when I pull open the door to the liquor shop. A lethargic tattooed man with a red bandana on his gray head throws me an uninterested glimpse from behind the cash register. His eyes move back to the series of scratch tickets sitting on the counter in front of him. He smooths down the corners of his Hulk Hogan moustache as he hunches over, flicking a dime back and forth over the lottery tickets.

  I shuffle through the dusty shelves looking for a bottle of good brandy but the selection is limited to a bunch of cheap brands I’ve never heard of. After a few frustrating minutes of trying to decide, I grab the biggest one, hoping it's a good choice.

  Clenching the bottle tightly, I reaffirm my position. I don’t need Sadie Nichols. I need liquor.

  But as I step up to the cash register and pull out my wallet, my stomach churns. I get a flash of what tomorrow will look like if I spend the night canoodling with this bottle of alcohol. At some point in the next twenty-four hours, I’ll find myself crumpled on the bathroom floor again, with my arms around the cold porcelain, hurling up my guts and regretting the day I was born. I imagine Sadie seeing me in that pathetic state.

  Hell—I don’t want that.

  I close my eyes and scrub my palms down my face as I wrestle with my decision. The man at the cash register speaks, his vocals raspy from years of smoking cigarettes. “You buyin’ that or what?”

  My eyes snap open and my gaze falls on the pile of pamphlets and adverts scattered about the counter in front of me. I shake my head slowly. “No—I’m not buying…” He gives me a scorching glare that could melt the ice caps in Antarctica. But I don’t waver. I leave the liquor behind and grab a pamphlet instead.

  I set out across town in search of the address printed on the flyer and find myself at a dilapidated community center a few blocks away. I pull open the heavy door, following the arrows pointing down toward the stairs.

  Caution makes my stomach cramp as I descend the cracked wooden steps to the basement. Each footstep echoes eerily in the vacant hall. The paint peels from the walls and the strong scent of urine permeates the humid air. But I’m too fucking distraught to turn away and go back to the way I’ve been living life.

  Full of reckless, foolish false hope, I breathe in a lungful of stale air then push open the door.

  The speaker at the front of the room halts his speech and a dozen tired, weathered faces turn toward me. My heart thumps erratically but I hold my head high and my shoulders straight. I clear my throat, addressing the room.

  “Hello. I’m Xavier…Xavier George Andrew Henry Cambridge…And I’m an alcoholic.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Sadie

  “I don’t understand how any self-respecting adult can sit around for hours and watch this,” I grumble without looking up from the textbook in my hands. “No offence,” I add quickly when Nat distractedly sends a popcorn kernel flying at me.

  “Shhh…” Her attention is fully invested in the catfight currently taking place on the television screen. “This is the good part.” She stuffs a handful of popcorn into her face, buttery kernels tumbling down the front of her shirt.

  I roll my eyes. “I know I’m not missing out on much. If you’ve seen one reality TV brawl, you’ve seen them all.”

  She gives me a sidelong glimpse as one girl yells a string of obscenities and throws a flailing arm into another girls’ hair. Girl #1 emerges with a fistful of Girl #2’s sapphire blue extensions clutched victoriously in her hand. “Why exactly have you been parked on my sofa every afternoon until midnight for the past week?” Nat’s eyes widen, horrified as a pair of silicone-pumped boobs are ejected from a glittery corset top. I really thought they were supposed to blur this stuff out on TV.

  “Basically, I’m doing this for you, Natalie. For your wellbeing.Because you’re over here all by your lonesome while Thandi’s at her dad’s for the week. I know you miss me. You’re just too shy to tell me how much you need bonding time with your bestie.” I give her a sincere look.

  Commercial break. She shuffles around to face me. “Yeah, right.” Angling her head to the side, she squints. “You aren’t avoiding the Landlord-Prince and his regal man cakes, are you?”

  I psht. “Overactive imagination,” I mutter and keep my eyes down on my book.

  And Natalie gasps. Because she knows me so freaking well. I get a big shove in the shoulder from her.

  “Ouch!”

  “Tell me!” she demands.

  I narrow my eyes at her, making a huge show of innocence. “Tell you what?”

  “Tell me what you did. Right this minute.” She thrusts the bowl of popcorn onto the side table and pauses the TV with the remote. She waits with an arched brow.

  “I don’t know what—”

  She growls. “Sadie No-Middle-Name Nichols, tell me right now what you did. Tell me why you’re avoiding Xavier. I’m serious.”

  She is serious. Her green eyes glint threateningly and her nostrils flare. I’ve been bursting to get this off of my chest anyway. So I spit it out. “I sort of, y’know, showed him how I take care of myself.”

  Natalie blinks in disbelief half a dozen times before her jaw drops into her lap. With a thud. “No, you didn’t…”

  I shrink about an inch or two in shame. “Yes, I did.”

  “E-explain…” It comes from her as a hiccuppy whisper.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking. We were just sitting there on the rooftop. And he found my vibrator in the basket under the table. And I was so horny I was about to go blind. So, I…Argh!” I bury my face in my hands.

  For a moment, nothing happens. She just sits there and stares as I marinate in a brew of humiliation, remorse and deep, deep shame.

  And then, she throws her head back and howls with laughter.

  Her little feet kick up in front of her and her entire torso shakes. Like she’s being electrocuted by Sadie’s Poor Life Choice Number 348756.

  “Nat!” I chastise her. “I already feel terrible as it is.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says, gasping for air as if she’s drowning. “I shouldn’t laugh. I’m sorry.”

  But laughter boils up on the inside again and my friend looks like she’s about to explode. Then, she does. More laughter. More foot-kicking. Thanks, Natalie.

  “Let it all out,” I encourage her. “Shame me. Go ahead. Bring it on. I deserve it. Shame me.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m done,” she says and the giggles begin to subside. “Anyway, what did he do? How did he react?”

  Xavier’s rejection stings all over again. “He didn’t react. He just watched me.”

  And all joking slips from my friend’s face. “Oh…”

  I slam my book shut in my lap
and pull on my hair in frustration. “I’m such an idiot. He told me point blank that he wanted to be friends. And what did I do? I whipped out my damn vibrator and put on a show…Argh! I’ve never felt an attraction like this, Nat. It’s making me stupid.” I pout. “It’s like I can’t think straight when it comes to him. And as much as I’d like to pretend I’m in control of my reactions to him, sometimes I have to remind myself to breathe when he walks into the room.”

  Nat sighs, sympathy in her stare. “I know what it’s like to want a guy so much that your IQ goes up in smoke every time he comes by. You remember how hard I was crushing on Alvin. All throughout high school. And the one and only time I imbibed sufficient intoxicants and worked up the nerve to make a move on him—boom!—I got a belly full of Thandi.” She snickers and so do I. “It wasn’t funny at the time—”

  “Except for when your mom showed up in Alvin’s Advanced Calculus Lover’s Club meeting with her rolling pin to beat his ass—”

  She glares lethally. “Mom was right. Alvin did deserve to get his ass kicked. All he cares about is Bitcoin. But I digress.” She puffs out a mouthful of air, as if to blow the subject away. I know it hurts her, though. It’s the reason the two of them didn’t work out. She wanted to get married. He wanted to wait until the value of his cryptocurrency holdings went up. Men…“Anyway, my point is, it seemed like the end of the world when it happened but we can laugh about all of it now, years later. So, I think you’ll be fine. The Xavier thing will blow over.”

  I sigh. “Well, the difference is that Alvin was crushing on you just as hard as you were crushing on him. Even now, even though you guys aren’t together, I still see the blush on his face every time he looks at you. Xavier? Sometimes, the man looks at me like he wants to tear off my panties with his teeth but then, when I make a move, he pushes me away. I’m obviously doing a shit job of reading his body language.” My shoulders dip with resignation.

  My friend’s expression softens. Compassion lights her eyes. “I don’t know what to say. You know I’ve never been good at understanding guys…”

  “Well, I’m no good at reading this one in particular.” I open up my textbook again and pull out the thick envelope that was bookmarking my page. My fingers run across the gilded logo on the top left corner. The Rochdale Estate Education Fund.

  I’m still as stunned now as I was this afternoon when the mail man showed up at my door to drop it off. I can’t remember ever hearing about this charity and I definitely don’t remember applying for a scholarship from them. Yet here I am, holding the check in my hand.

  A scholarship.

  A full scholarship.

  Tuition, food, living expenses, everything.

  Nat eyes the envelope, too. She gives my hand a squeeze. “You made a mistake, you got caught up in the moment and did something silly. So what? Now, that you have this scholarship, you should just focus on that. Focus on school and on getting your life in order.”

  I bob my head slowly, agreeing with her words as I cradle the check to my chest. “You’re right. I’ll focus on that.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Xavier

  I’ve literally watched the video a dozen times. The instructions are simple enough.

  Step one—unscrew the front cover of the air conditioner unit.

  Step two—pop out the clogged filter.

  Step three—vacuum the dust off of the filter and wipe with a damp rag.

  Step four—pop the filter back into the air conditioner unit and screw the front cover back on.

  I’m stuck at step two. Actually, I’ve been stuck at step two for the last twenty minutes and YouTube is being no help. This air conditioner is putting up a serious challenge against my masculinity. Sadie’s taunts from the first night still ring out in my head. What? You’re not man enough to roll up your sleeves and use your hammer?

  Feisty broad.

  And how did this become about Sadie, anyway?

  She finds a way to work herself into my thoughts no matter what I do. This project was supposed to be my way of working off some of that pent-up tension that’s been simmering inside. Before it kills me.

  Carl, the facilitator of the Alcoholics Anonymous group I go to, suggested finding constructive ways of distracting ourselves from the things that trigger our cravings.

  Like an idiot, I figured that coming into Sadie’s apartment and being surrounded by her scent, her things, her feng shui was a smart idea. It’s not. Being here just makes me want her more. But what I want is irrelevant. This apartment needs repairs—Sadie gave me a whole list of them—so I need to get them done even though being here in her space is making my cock hard enough to drill through the drywall.

  For the past few days, I’ve been working here in the mornings and then running out, leaving her apartment before she gets home from work in the afternoon. But not today. Today, I’m staying. I want to see her. I want to talk to her. I want to do so much more than that…I miss her.

  I’ve got to admit that I’m not great at this Mr. Fix-It stuff, though. At the palace, I never had to deal with things like this, of course. We have a brigade of janitorial servants to handle all the maintenance work. So, as I’m crouched down here with a screwdriver, a wrench, a hammer and a host of other shit I don’t know the names of, I’ll readily admit it—I have no idea what the hell I'm doing.

  And speaking of hell, this place is as hot as Satan’s vagina. Sadie wasn’t exaggerating. She needs a functioning air conditioner. I’m not leaving here until I figure this out.

  Although the easy way out would be to call a technician and let him deal with this headache, I don’t want to hire help to take care of it. There’s something primal in me that wants to fix it myself so I can pound my chest and show that girl I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.

  I am determined to figure this out…just as long as I don’t pass out from dehydration first. Damn, I’m thirsty. I abandon my tools on the living room floor and pad into the kitchen in search of a drink and maybe even a snack. I pop open the refrigerator and there isn’t much to choose from. An empty pizza box. A moldy piece of cheese. A half-eaten tub of chocolate cake frosting. And in the cupboard, there’s ramen. Lots and lots of ramen.

  I have serious concerns about the girl’s financial state. I had Thomas issue the scholarship check to her and send it by expedited mail. He’s gotten confirmation that the letter was received but apparently Sadie hasn’t cashed the check yet. Looking into her empty fridge, I can’t tell what the hell she’s waiting for.

  Settling for a glass of tap water, I meander around the small apartment to satisfy my curiosity. The entire place is in a startling state of disrepair. I’m pissed off that Ethel let the building crumble into this condition.

  In the kitchen area, there’s a cabinet door hanging by one hinge and the window is jammed shut. Plus, there’s an annoying drip in the kitchen sink.

  When I push open the bedroom door, Sadie’s scent greets me readily. Too sweet, too delicious. Rock band posters hang crooked on the walls. The sheets dangle off the bed. The laundry heap in the corner of the room is growing steadily again.

  And books. Books and books and books. Everywhere.

  I’m shaking my head and smiling to myself as I walk out of the room because the place is so much like her. Sweet and chaotic and full of character.

  Fresh pearls of sweat pop up on my forehead and I wipe them away with my bare forearm. Going back to the air conditioner, I tinker around again with no luck. They make it look so easy in the YouTube video. Ugh!

  Frustrated, I grab the rickety, old thing and give it a good shake. And pop!—the ancient machine ejects the dirty filter without warning and a cloud of dust explodes into my face.

  Bullocks!

  Lint. In my eyes, in my nose, in my mouth.

  I cough and blink as I stumble toward the bathroom, scrubbing my eyes. Instead of leaning over the sink to rinse out my face, I strip myself bare, dropping my clothes on the scratched wooden floor just
outside the bathroom door, and jump into the shower for a quick rinse-down.

  I let the cool spray rain down on me, washing off the dust and sweat that cling to my skin. My eyes scan the array of beauty products lining the edge of the tub. They all have dollar store stickers on them and I don’t like that at all. A beautiful girl like Sadie shouldn’t be putting that cheap crap on her body. She deserves the best. Maybe I should have cut her a bigger check.

  I grab the towel hanging on the wall hook and yank the door open to grab my clothes from the floor. That's when I hear the voices. Just outside of the apartment. They're arguing loudly. A man and a woman.

  Driven by curiosity, I trudge to the front door and take a glimpse out the peephole as I’m tightening the towel around my waist.

  It's Sadie.

  She's standing with her back to the door, wearing nothing but a gym bra and a scrap of neon green spandex across her curvy ass. Her chestnut hair is up in a high, messy ponytail. Sweat-damp tendrils cling to the back of her graceful neck. She’s got rollerblades on her feet, causing her to tower over the guy she’s yelling at.

  My body pulses with lust. I want to step up behind her and press my lips to the nodules of her spine and kiss each notch in turn. I want to taste her skin. I imagine it’s as salty and sweet as it looks. I want to band my arm across her waist and pull her against me, grind against her ass so she knows how hard she's making me, showing off that gorgeous frame the way she is.

  But from the way she's shouting at the wimpy-looking, shaggy-haired tosser standing across from her, something tells me she might not be in the mood.

  I zone in on their heated conversation. "Your temper is the main thing coming between me, you and our happily ever after," he tells her self-righteously, shamelessly thrusting all the blame on her.

  Clearly offended, she shifts all her weight to one side and fists a hand on her hip. The new posture accentuates the curve of her slender waist and shape of her bare thighs. "Cobi—your Oedipus complex is the main thing coming between you and anybody having a happily ever after. We could never spend five minutes together without you needing to call or text or Facetime with your mommy.” She leans close and lowers her voice to a taunting whisper. “And I’m not a sex therapist but I’m pretty sure your unresolved mommy-issues is what’s causing your premature ejaculation. You might wanna have that checked out." I slam a fist to my mouth to hold back a burst of laughter.