Cocky Soldier: A Military Romance (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 6)

by Faleena Hopkins

  This guy has the key, and he knows it.

  He knows he’s making me perspire.

  Fucking asshole.

  He’s getting off on it.

  I swallow hard but try to hide it.

  “I had five separate people compliment me on hiring you.”

  “Five, huh? That’s good to hear.”

  “Yes…” He waves two fingers in the air and strolls languidly toward the kitchen. Just before he disappears he mutters, “You’ll be working weekends.”

  My lungs release.

  That guy just leveled me.

  I’m blinking at the floor, near panting. This reaction has me thunderstruck. It was as if my life depended on him saying I could stay.

  Cathy’s cautious voice breaks through my stunned haze. “Congratulations, Jeremy.”

  I glance over to her and mumble, “Thanks.”

  Under her breath Lana says, “Wow, he really doesn’t like you.”

  My spine stiffens. She gives me a look like I just lucked out. Cathy’s eyebrows are up in the exact same way, both in agreement that Bryan almost fired me.

  Cathy and I lock eyes. She whispers, “The business man in him couldn’t let you go after all the compliments. But be careful.”

  I nod, “Okay. Thanks.”

  Catchy is a good woman. Smart. Capable. Honest. I like her. I think I’ve got a friend in her.

  Lana might become one. Who knows? Jury’s still out.

  We finish shutting the bar down. No casual chatter. Each of us wants to show off our best.

  We all felt that heat.

  This restaurant is going to blow up. This is just the beginning. It could mean a lot of money for Cathy and Lana.

  It could mean sanity for me.

  When the ladies are grabbing their purses and putting their jackets on, I offer, “You want me to show you how to spin bottles?”

  They both light up.

  “Yeah!”

  “Hell yes!”

  I motion to their stations. “Tighten the plastic wrap on those pour spouts and watch me. You grab the bottle by the top here. Don’t do this with full bottles until you’re ready. But when they’re half full or less they’re lighter. As you get good, you can throw any weight with no problem. Grab it here.” I wait for them to wrap their hands around their bottle in the right place. “Good. Now you’re going to flip your wrist counter-clockwise and up a little, your arm swinging up but not too much. Don’t try it yet, and don’t think about it when you do. The important thing is to believe that you can catch it. Say to yourself right now, I can catch this every time.”

  “I can catch this every time,” they whisper to themselves, eyes focused.

  “Say it again.”

  A little louder they say in unison, “I can catch this every time. I can catch this every time.”

  “Okay, now watch me first. I’m going to do it twice. Then let go of all thought and fear, and allow your body to copy what it saw me do. Ready?” They nod. I toss the bottle up, watch it spin, and catch it upside, ready to pour. I turn it back upright, then repeat the toss.

  “Got that?” They nod, bottles ready. “By osmosis you just learned how. Now trust that you can do it, and do it.”

  The bottles whip above them, glint in the chandelier’s light, and BOOM. They catch them on the first try.

  “I did it!” Cathy cries out.

  “Me too!!!” Lana grins, eyes wide.

  “But it wasn’t as smooth as when you do it, Jeremy,” Cathy says, shoulders slumping.

  “No! Don’t start doubting yourself! Let that shit go right now.” I point at her. “Hey, you fell the very first time you tried to walk, right? Then you fell every fucking day until you didn’t. Now how often do you fall? Once a year or something, right?” They both laugh. “I’m serious. Everything takes practice, but if you believe you can do it, you can. Do the work. Keep it up. Enjoy the process and reap all the rewards.”

  Lana and Cathy are staring at something.

  Whipping around I blink a few times at Meagan and Bryan. How long they’ve been there?

  From the look on Lady Boss, she doesn’t know what to make of me. And we all know that Bryan isn’t my fan.

  Sliding my bottle back into the bin I give my best smile. “If we’re all back here doing tricks, profits are going to be insane.”

  Cathy chimes in, “I caught it, Bryan. Want to see?”

  She tosses it and while it spins in the air my world slows way the fuck down. If she catches that thing my declaration has merit, and so does employing me.

  The restaurant is silent save for the whir of glass on air. She catches it like a pro.

  I exhale.

  Lana bursts into applause.

  Cathy grins to her boss.

  “That your second time?” he asks her.

  “Ever! Yes! And I caught it the first time, too. Can you believe it?”

  His eyes dance with appreciation as those fucking pursed lips of his slide into a smile. “Very nice.” He touches Meagan’s elbow to guide her away as he says, “Keep practicing. I think you’re onto something, Cathy.”

  Meagan’s eyes flit to me.

  “Thanks, Bryan!” Cathy calls after him.

  I snatch up my keys from their hiding place and toss them in the air. They rattle loudly. Bryan’s hand drops to Meagan’s lower back. She glances up to him and I can tell by her face that he doesn’t normally touch her in public.

  He’s sending me a message.

  As they pass Lana and Cathy both touch my arm, a silent thank you for the lesson.

  And a silent apology for its tepid reception.

  Jeremy

  Bryan hasn’t touched Meagan all night. It’s four weeks since Le Marchand opened and I’ve learned two very important things:

  Meagan wants to be in the kitchen.

  Bryan doesn’t want her there.

  The opposite of most households.

  He’s holding her back. I think it’s wrong, and I hate seeing her work eighty-hour weeks at something she doesn’t enjoy. However it’s given me insight into who she is to watch her paying her dues like she has been. She’s got character, even if she is a hothead. The more I’ve watched Meagan the more I want to know, and the more I want to protect her.

  I Googled him and his achievements. He studied at École de Cuisine Alain Ducasse, supposedly the best culinary school in France. He made waves there, a name for himself, and then moved to New York where he worked his way to head chef at three of the top restaurants. That he’s graced Atlanta with his presence is how he looks at this move to the South, but I could give a fuck about what he’s achieved.

  He looks down his nose at all but the chefs.

  I believe that’s one reason Meagan is losing control of her patience. She wants to be one so he will start treating her with the same respect he treats them. I’ve overheard him barking at her. She rarely gives it back but when she does, it’s hard for me to hide my laughter.

  This ‘thing’ they have is between them, but I want to butt in anyway. I want to hit the guy so bad I can taste it. And I also want to keep my job.

  It’s changed my life, I know that. Aslan and I do a normal run in the morning and afternoon before my shift starts, but that’s it now. No more five-runs-a-day until I wear the poor guy out.

  After our second one I’m itching to get here and do my thing, five nights a week. Sometimes six if somebody agrees to give up their shift, but with the money we make they rarely do no matter how many times I ask.

  They think I need the cash. I don’t.

  When I’m not scheduled I’m jittery and bored out of my fuckin’ mind. Will it ever get better? Maybe when I start to believe I’m really done with what I’ve left behind. The nightmares still come.

  Every.

  Single.

  Fucking.

  Night.

  As the Friday night crew heads out of the dark restaurant after closing, Bryan and Meagan are not touching or even looking at each other. />
  His head is in his phone.

  She’s concentrating on the keys to lock up.

  Lana and Cathy say, “Goodnight,” and Bryan mutters the same, heading to his car. Alone.

  Is he going to ask Meagan to follow?

  His steps slow and I lose hope, thinking he’s waiting for her. But then he slides his phone into his pocket and walks away without even so much as looking back.

  She inserts the key in, and glances over her shoulder to him. Her eyelashes flutter to me, and back to the lock.

  I casually stop her. “Oh, I forgot something, Boss. Can you unlock that again? Sorry. I’ll run in and be right back.”

  “Sure, okay,” she mumbles from miles away.

  Slipping back inside I stroll to the bar, taking my time. I pretend to grab an item, totally faking it, slipping my empty hand in my pocket. Again I take my time walking back.

  Meagan’s staring at her phone when I appear. I pull my wallet out of my pocket, where it’s been the whole time, and show her. “Almost didn’t remember this,” I smile.

  She nods and locks the door with one hand ordering a Lyft on their app.

  I glance to the parking lot. His Porsche is gone.

  “Save your money. I can give you a ride.”

  Meagan glances up in surprise. She makes a face. “Let me guess, there’s a dead fish on the passenger seat and you want me to sit on it.”

  On an amused chuckle I ask, “Now why would I leave a dead fish in my car?”

  “Off chance I needed a ride.”

  “That’d be a hell of a gamble. I’d lose either way. You must think I’m pretty devious…or stupid.”

  She dryly mutters, “Well, not devious,” she smiles.

  I laugh out loud and she breaks into a grin. God I love making her feel good. “Even a stupid guy knows it’s better to catch a ride from someone you know, over having to make idle chit-chat with a stranger when you’re tired. It’s late. Cancel the ride.”

  She hesitates but finally closes the app.

  Side by side we walk toward my beat-up, second-hand, black Jeep Wrangler, me with my hands in my pockets.

  “You’d better not kidnap me and drive me to Florida and make me…”

  I cock an eyebrow, waiting for what I’d make her do in this imaginary scenario.

  She glances to me, and stammers, “Drink Mai Tais or something, I don’t know!”

  “Perish the thought,” I sarcastically say. “How could you turn down a vacation and a Mai Tai?”

  “If you were making them I wouldn’t be able to.”

  I bump her shoulder with mine. “A compliment? Did hell freeze over today?”

  She laughs, “It froze a long time ago. Today it melted. Now you can shake off the ice and walk out of there.”

  “I thought I wasn’t evil?”

  “Well, the devil may have you trapped. Who knows?”

  Footsteps fall in sync as we don’t discuss what she really meant there.

  Bryan has us all trapped.

  I’m grateful to him.

  I’m jealous of him.

  It’s fucked up.

  I unlock her door and offer my hand to help her up. She accepts it with a skeptical look that makes me employ my worst British accent. “Me lady.”

  “Oh please,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.

  Chuckling, I head around the back of the Jeep, a bounce in my step. This is the first time we’ve been alone since she returned for her phone the day of the wreck. No, the second. There was that latte-training incident that I still use for fantasies.

  I fire the old Jeep up and glance to her. Her smile is gone. “You doin’ okay, Boss?”

  She nods. “Just tired.”

  “I’ve noticed your work ethic. Hard not to.”

  She checks to see if I’m teasing. “Are you being a normal person now?”

  Backing out of the parking space I give her a smirk. “I don’t even know what that means, so I’ll say no. I’m not normal.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “And you are?”

  She wistfully smiles, “No, I guess I’m not either,” beautiful eyes drifting away.

  Turning left out of the parking lot, Peachtree Street is empty and quiet at this late hour. I look for oncoming traffic as an excuse to linger on her profile. My growing interest has gotten out of hand. I’ve tried ignoring her, but when you work seven-hour shifts five nights a week with someone you find extremely attractive, it’s impossible.

  I stand taller when she walks into the main dining room. I do more tricks. I smile more at the clientele. If she comes behind the bar to take care of a computer error or talk about an issue, my skin fires up on the side she’s walked by.

  I drive her a little crazy, and she’s lost her temper with me more than once, but if I don’t show her attention she purposefully pulls my focus back to her again. Tonight when Lana and I were laughing about this rich old fart sticking his face in a woman’s cleavage right in front of everyone, and getting slapped for it, Meagan called me over and asked me the stupidest question. “Um, do you think we have enough well vodka?”

  Surprised, I looked at where we kept the backups, saw they were stocked, and pointed at them, right there in the open. “Yo Boss?”

  She blinked a lot and stuttered, “I was just checking to see if you were aware.”

  “Aware of what?”

  “If we had enough.”

  We stared at each other. A slow smile spread on my face and that made her even more skittish. I leaned in a little and said, “Boo.”

  She rolled her eyes and rushed away.

  I think she’s secretly got a thing for me, too.

  God I fucking hope so. Otherwise I’m in trouble because she’s not forgettable. At least not to me.

  Is it because I met her in a crisis? Because I saw her vulnerable and bleeding, is that how this bond cemented in my bones? Carried her to safety when she was hurt, just like so many people—members of my platoon and civilians, even children—I had to carry out of the line of fire when they went down? Is that why I feel like I know Meagan Leigh Forrester more than I do?

  All I know is that I haven’t been with a woman since I was overseas, and five weeks of watching Meagan’s ass wiggle around the dining room has got me hungry for a lot more than just a smile. I want to hear her moan. I want to touch her naked skin. I want to taste her tongue and press inside her until she’s clawing into my back with those nails she gnaws on.

  I’ve bruised my cock with how often I stroke it every night just thinking about her. If the thing could talk, it would beg me to stop.

  Even my dog rolls his eyes at me now.

  The irony to my whacking off all alone is that every single night at Le Marchand phone numbers are discreetly passed to me, often by very beautiful women. Not one has given me the itch I need to scratch. That itch is sitting in my Jeep.

  “I need an address, Boss.”

  “I live near you. Head home. I’ll tell you when to turn.”

  “You know where I live?”

  “Of course! Remember I woke up on your couch?” She glances over and relaxes. “You’re messing with me again.”

  “Nah. Me? I never mess with you.”

  She gives a half-laugh, half-snort. “Never ever. You never do.” Laying her elbow on the door she leans on her hand and stares out the windshield like she’s not seeing the view. Something happened between her and Bryan. That’s who she’s thinking about, which I hate.

  “Where’d you go to school?”

  “International Culinary School of the Art Institute of Atlanta.”

  Eyes on the road I mutter, “That’s a mouthful.”

  “It’s a very prestigious school.”

  “As if you’d learn from a small one?”

  “There are a lot of good schools that aren’t large.”

  “But you’d never go to one of those.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “You’re too driven. Anyone who’s o
nly twenty-five, yet works eighty-hour weeks without complaint, picks the school that takes them the farthest. You want to succeed so you’d choose only the best.”

  Appreciative of my assessment, she meets my eyes as I glance to her. “Its lessons had the most subject diversity. And it taught management, Culinary Arts plus Food and Beverage. But now I’m regretting that education.” She leans harder on her hand, eyes front.

  “Why?”

  “Have you seen me making lobster bisque? Have you seen me once wearing a chef coat? Turn right when you get there.” She points to the next light. “If I hadn’t learned that skill would I be on the floor? Nope.”

  “Well, you’re good at it, if that helps at all.”

  “It doesn’t.”

  I chuckle and turn the wheel. “Where am I headed?”

  “My condo is one street down on the right. I heard you’re the last of your brothers to get married.”

  My eyebrows twitch. “Were you asking about me?”

  She glances my way with a look that says no way. “People freely offer up details about you. I guess your family has quite the reputation. But I’d never heard of you.”

  Can’t help but chuckle at her disdainful tone. “This building here?”

  “Yes.”

  I stop alongside a nice Mercedes. The street is full. No open spaces behind us or ahead. Not that it’s a good idea to try to invite myself in, but it would take suggesting I park and that’s enough time for her to change her mind.

  I don’t want to stop talking with her, so I turn in my seat and rake a hand through my hair, trying to think of a subject. Meagan meets my eyes.

  “Are you posing, Jeremy?”

  Dropping my hand I mutter, “Posing? What? No.” She cocks her head like she doesn’t buy it. “I was thinking.”

  “Try dandruff shampoo.”

  “Might be lice.”

  She laughs, “Gross.”

  I grin and relax. “Wanna look? I’ve named ‘em.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  “Then why have I caught you looking at me so many times?”

  Her lips part and her smile falters, then grows. “Because I’m wondering how someone can be so ugly.”

  “I’m hideous, is that it?”

  “Soooooo nasty,” she says, caramel eyes glittering in the cutest way. “How do you even walk by mirrors? Do you scare yourself?”