Lover Boy (Blue Collar Bachelors Book 1)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  Sisters over bros. I totally understand.

  Thank god he’s in Baltimore on a business trip for a few days. That buys me some time.

  I’ll tell her everything tomorrow. I’m going to make her breakfast, sit her down and tell her, and hope that she can accept me. I’m going to take a chance and let the chips fall where they may.

  And y’know what? I’m nervous but I have a good feeling about it. Our attraction to each other has endured eight years and thousands of miles of distance. I have to believe that we’ll be able to work things out once I confess what I’ve been keeping from her.

  I’m grinning like an idiot when I step out of Walmart and into the mid-morning sun with my purchases in hand. Things are looking up for Sammie and me.

  Finally, things are looking up and I’m fucking excited, man.

  Chapter 43

  Now that I’ve finished sorting through Keeland’s bookkeeping and his taxes have been filed, I’m officially out of work again. I’ve updated my résumé to include my experience working for Master Ink and I’ve started sending out job applications again.

  I’m also back to listening to Isla’s meditation CD first thing in the morning and then waiting impatiently for the mailman to show up. Each day, I hope that today’s the day that he’ll drop off some kind of proof that my career is going somewhere and that I didn’t spend ‘x’ years in school, studying my ass off to no avail.

  I peer out the front window. Still no sign of the postman. I sigh, glancing over at Keeland’s driveway. His truck isn’t there. I wonder where he is but I resist the urge to text him.

  I’m still kind of pissed over what he did last night…

  …But, I kind of love it, too.

  Yes, showing up at the Opal Lounge like a caveman tracking his prey was completely overboard. And, putting his hands on that loser who was hitting on me was a little excessive. Still, what girl doesn’t like having a man who’s fiercely protective of her? It made my lady parts tingle, if I’m completely honest.

  But his public display of affection in the parking lot? Now, that was way over-the-top. He’s right – it was probably time for our relationship to be out in the open, but I would have liked to tell Daniel myself. I have no doubt that Gracie will tell him. I don’t expect her to put even more strain on their rocky relationship by keeping my secret. Thank goodness Daniel left for a business trip this morning because I’ll definitely be facing his wrath the minute he gets back. I woke up to four missed calls from him, so I know that it won’t be pretty.

  I also woke up to Keeland’s tongue circling my clit. And that was a beautiful thing.

  Yes, I was terribly affronted by his caveman behavior at the club. But let’s face it – I was also incredibly turned on. He worked hard all night to get back in my good graces. After having four explosive orgasms in the past eight hours, I’m satisfied, refreshed and ready to face the day.

  And here comes the mailman. Finally.

  “Good morning, Samantha,” he says as I swing the screen door open and step onto the front porch.

  “Good morning, Denny,” I say with a warm smile as the old man ambles up the walkway. “Got anything good for me this morning?”

  “You tell me,” he says with a friendly wink as he hands me a stack of commercial-sized manila envelopes and turns back toward the sidewalk.

  “Have a nice day,” I say and he lifts his hand as a goodbye gesture as he moves down the lane.

  I close the door behind me and make my way to the kitchen table. “Fingers crossed. Fingers crossed,” I mumble to myself.

  As per usual, I start making two piles as I flip through the mail.

  Mine.

  Not mine.

  Not mine.

  Mine.

  Not mine —

  A white envelope with ‘the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitations’ printed boldly on the upper left corner catches my eye.

  My body has a visceral reaction — my chest constricts and my mouth goes dry — when I see that the letter is addressed to Keeland Masters.

  Chapter 44

  He swings the door open and he’s standing there in a cheap-looking tuxedo that’s obviously a size too small. He gives me a goofy grin.

  “You’re a bit early,” he says apologetically as he pulls me in out of the cold and slides a flowery corsage onto my wrist. “The punch is still chilling in the fridge and I haven’t set up the music yet –” he nods toward a lavender gown hanging in a plastic garment bag on the coat rack, “— but you can change into your dress while you wait.”

  There’s a huge banner hanging above the entranceway to the kitchen. ‘Welcome to Reyfield High Senior Prom’ it reads. There are balloons everywhere and streamers dangling from the ceiling.

  But I only see one thing in my mind.

  Attempted murder.

  Keeland takes me by the hand and leads me over the threshold. “Come warm up. It’s cold out there. I made some apple cider, too. I don’t think they serve that at prom but I figured that we could use some in this freezing weather. I’ll get a fire going, too.”

  He’s talking a mile a minute but all I hear is, “Attempted murder attempted murder attempted murder.”

  He’s stopped speaking and he’s looking at me with expectant eyes now. “Sammie — say something.”

  My voice comes out hoarse and scratchy. My eyes burn with tears before I’ve even uttered a word. “You tried to kill a man?”

  Keeland’s face goes white and the life drains from his eyes. “Sammie…” He reaches for me but I shrink out of his grasp.

  I pull the letter from the correctional board out of my jacket pocket and stretch it out to him. “Answer me, Keeland,” I say in a low, controlled voice. “Did you try to kill a man?”

  I had been tempted to open the letter when I saw that it was addressed to Keeland, but I had managed to resist the urge. Instead, I’d called a friend of a friend who’s licensed to practice law in California and I asked her to look into Keeland’s criminal record. Only an hour later, she called back, telling me that the man I’ve been sharing my bed with, the man I’ve been falling in love with, spent three years in jail for attempting to murder another human being with his bare hands.

  And that’s how I found out that the person that I’ve invested my body and my heart into over the past two months is a liar. Keeland Masters is a liar.

  He’s shaking his head now as he takes the envelope from me. Each time he steps closer, I take a step back. “Tell. Me. The. Truth.” I demand, struggling against the emotions building up in my chest.

  His mouth opens and closes and opens and closes.

  “I was wrong to trust you,” I whisper as tears cloud my eyes. “You and me? Together? It was a bad idea. It never should have happened. I can’t trust you. I should have known that.” My hand is on the doorknob.

  “Sammie, don’t go,” he says looking dejected as I pull the door open.

  I blink away my tears and gaze into his electric blue eyes one last time before walking out the door.

  Chapter 45

  When the hell did I become so fucking pathetic?

  I used to be pretty cool in high school. I was the star of the football team, I had lots of friends and the cute girl next door had a crush on me. Life was really good.

  But my glory days are obviously over.

  Now, here I am stumbling down a quiet Los Angeles street at 3:00 in the afternoon, drunk off my ass and irreversibly miserable because I’m a dunce schmuck who blew his second chance with the only girl that’s ever mattered.

  I shouldn’t have let her leave my sight that day. I should have sat her down and forced her to hear me out. I should have explained it all, then and there. But I was a coward. I told myself that I’d let her cool off overnight and that I’d make things right with her the next day.

  But she left town in the middle of the fucking night.

  I haven’t seen or heard from her since. Her loyal-as-fuck friends are concealing her wher
eabouts and when I called Daniel, he made it clear that he’s more interested in kicking my ass than in helping me find his sister.

  After Sammie left, I was wasting away in that sad, old house on Thornbush Lane. My brother finally put his foot down and swooped into Reyfield, dragging me back to California to stay with him.

  I stagger up the walkway to Maxwell’s condo, the heaviness of my shredded heart weighing me down. Despite my bleary vision, the head of bleach blonde extensions hanging from the rail-thin, tattooed frame leaning against the side of the building is familiar. Disturbingly familiar.

  “Keeland!” Rhys races toward me with open arms, a cigarette perched between her fingers. She collapses against my chest, her bristly fake hair scratching my neck. The noxious scent of her hazardous perfume mixed with cigarette smoke claws at my lungs, sobering me the fuck up. Quick. She fake-cries against my shirt. “Oh, Keeland! You’re finally back!”

  I hold her by her shoulders and eject myself from her smothering embrace. “How the hell did you find me, woman?” I cling tightly to the neck of the vodka bottle in my paper bag. Maxwell is away for the weekend with some model chick and this Grey Goose is the only companion that I’d been banking on tonight.

  “Baby…” Rhys says trying to bring her paw to my cheek. “You’ve gotten so thin.” Her voice is heavy with concern. She’s a great actress. If she hadn’t ruined my life, I’d probably be convinced that she gives a fuck about me.

  “Why. Are. You. Here. Rhys?” I enunciate each word so that she can understand me.

  She furrows her eyebrows at me like I’ve asked a ridiculous question. “I’m here to take you home. With me. To our son.” She drops her cigarette to the pavement and crushes it with the pointy toe of her shoe.

  My heart softens at the mention of that awesome little boy. I’ve missed that kid. “Where is Ryan?”

  She hesitates, her eyes darting away from me. “With Charles,” she says quietly.

  And just like that, all the reasons why I hate this woman come rushing back to me. “He’s with Charles? The man I nearly killed. Because of you.” I look at her and I honestly can’t remember why the hell I thought I was so in love with her.

  Her mouth flaps open and shut as she searches for an excuse.

  That’s when I snap at her. “Get out of here, Rhys!” I shout. “We have no business with each other!”

  She sounds indignant as she chases up the walkway after me. “I’m your fiancée,” she proclaims. “We have a son together.”

  I spin around and narrow my eyes at her.

  She speaks tenderly now. “Keeland, everything that we had, it’s still right here –” Rhys puts her hand over her heart, “—waiting for you.”

  I spit out a laugh. Man – she’s a good actress. She should be famous with a gaggle of Oscars by now. I’m still trying to figure out why she couldn’t book a casting to save her life.

  Regardless, I no longer want to be another filament in this woman’s web of crazy. I step into her face. “You lied to me. You cheated on me. Then, you left me to rot in jail. Get the fuck out of here before I lose what’s left of my good sense and pay you back for the shit you smeared all over my life.”

  She stands there, eyes red, bottom lip quivering. “But Keeland –”

  “Get lost!” I smash the liquor bottle into the building’s brick façade to show her that I mean business. The paper bag tears open, and vodka and glass splash to the ground.

  Rhys jumps, startled, before taking quick steps away from me. “This is the last time you will ever see my face, Keeland,” she says threateningly from the edge of the curb.

  I turn toward the building’s main entrance, sober and pissed that I’m sober and pissed that I just wasted a perfectly good bottle of vodka on Rhys Lawson, that disgrace to women everywhere. She’s standing on the sidewalk, yelling out that I’m making a big mistake by letting her go and that I’ll regret it for the rest of my days.

  “Good riddance,” I mutter under my breath as I push through the front door of the condo.

  Chapter 46

  I stand in front of the mirror and stare at my reflection in defeat. "Why am I getting so damn fat?" I mumble to myself glaring at the open fly of my favorite black pants. It won’t zip up. Nothing zips up anymore.

  As if my life isn't enough of a mess already - I’m stuck in a low paying job that I’m overqualified for, I’m living with my parents and my grandmother, and worst of all, I was betrayed – again – by the only man I’ve ever loved.

  Could my life get any worse?

  Apparently, yes - now I’m turning into a whale, too.

  I sigh heavily as I throw on an uninspiring A-line dress and step out of my bedroom. I pad miserably down the corridor of my grandma's Hollywood-regency-style bungalow and into the kitchen.

  I was out of options. There was absolutely nothing for me in Reyfield. No job, no prospects, no Keeland. So in a moment of desperation, I boarded the first flight to Florida and showed up here in Fernandina Beach, unannounced.

  Within a week, my father got tired of seeing me mope around the house, so he made some calls and found me a position at a four-person accounting firm owned by one of his childhood friends. The job is really more of a favor to my father from an old buddy than a legitimate career opportunity. I feel the weight of that reality every day when I step into the office.

  My mother glances at me from the stove. "Morning honey," she says brightly, “I was just making you a grilled cheese sandwich. I know how expensive it is to buy breakfast every day and besides, you haven’t been yourself since you got here. You look like you could use a little comfort food."

  The smell of the processed American cheese melting between the pan-toasted bread is so pungent it makes my head spin. I grab the kitchen table and take a seat in a chair. "Mom, it's burning. The sandwich is burning,” I grumble, nauseous and irritated.

  She lifts the corner of the bread from the frying pan with her spatula then eyes me suspiciously. “Samantha, it’s fine,” she says it in that calm, rational voice of hers.

  But that sandwich is anything but fine.

  It’s about to make me throw up all over grams’ palm leaf patterned wallpaper.

  “Can you get rid of it? Please?” I say panicking as I bend forward in my chair, fanning my face with my hand. The slightest things make me sick to my stomach lately. I guess this is what being lovesick feels like. Damn you, Keeland Masters!

  My mother dumps the sandwich into the garbage and opens the windows to air the place out. She comes over to me with a glass of water. She looks at me with serious eyes. “Honey, I think it's time you went to the doctor,” she says softly.

  "It’s nothing. I’m fine. I’m just a little queasy,” I say. And I doubt the doctor can prescribe anything for my broken heart.

  My mother sighs, sinking into the chair opposite me. “Sweetheart, you’re more than queasy. You’re pregnant."

  I scoff. But she’s not joking. Her expression is mirthless and grim. "Mom, calm down. There's no way I'm pregnant."

  She doesn’t say anything. She offers no comforting words. She just watches me put the pieces together. I’ve always been good at math, but right now, the numbers aren’t adding up.

  The last time I was with Keeland was how many weeks ago? And my last period was when? And I’ve been feeling sick for how long?

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I feel like I’m having a horrifying out-of-body experience as I rise out of my seat and drift down the hall, slamming my bedroom door behind me.

  Chapter 47

  Apparently my unborn child needs to be registered for childcare right now, or else the world as we know it will crash to an explosive, fiery end. At least that’s what Gracie’s saying on the other end of this phone call.

  Because I wasn’t overwhelmed enough by this pregnancy as it is.

  “So let me get this straight. You want me to sign up my 12-week-old fetus for daycare?” It still sounds ridiculous as I repeat it ou
t loud for the third time. I kick the covers off of my legs and lie back against the pillows on the bottom bunk of the double-decker bed Daniel and I used to share when we spent our summer vacations with grams. It’s hot as hell in this house.

  “It’s not too early, Sammie,” my sister-in-law says sternly. I can imagine the frown lines on her forehead as she speaks. “In fact, it may be too late.”