Cocktales

by The Cocky Collective

  “No, thank you, Rin.”

  I nodded at my hands, smiling genuinely this time. “You’re welcome.”

  “I mean it,” he said, and something in his voice made me look up to meet his eyes, eyes so demanding, they held me still. “I’ve found your research…inspiring. I wouldn’t have had the idea for the publication if it weren’t for you. So keep it up.”

  My cheeks warmed again. “Thank you.” I slipped my notebook back into my bag and stood, hoping I looked collected and cool at the compliment. And in my fluster, I didn’t realize my heel was caught on the strap of my bag, which had somehow wrapped around the leg of the chair.

  No, I didn’t realize it at all, not until the office tilted, and I flew into the desk and practically into his lap with an unladylike oof.

  He was close enough to smell—the clean, crisp scent of soap and spice—so close I could see the stitching on his lapels and feel his breath on my face. I was bent over his desk, ass out, frozen still and stupid as I looked up to meet his eyes. But his were down. And I realized too late that my cleavage was on display like a rack of meat.

  His eyes flicked up to mine as he realized the same thing, and he stood, reaching for my arms to help me up.

  My cheeks were so hot, if I’d cried like I probably could have in the moment, the tears would have sizzled.

  “Oh my God,” I mumbled, bringing myself to stand with his help. “I-I’m so sorry. I’m so clumsy—I shouldn’t even be allowed in public.”

  He chuckled—a deep rumbling in his chest. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” I said, reaching for my bag, hiding behind my long, dark hair. “Yes, I’m fine. Let me know if you need anything else today.” I hurried toward the door, not looking back. “See you this afternoon.”

  A pause. “Have a good day, Rin.”

  “Thank you,” I said automatically for the hundredth time that morning and rushed out and toward the elevator that would take me to the library where I could properly hide.

  It wasn’t until I was settled in that my heart finally quit chugging like a freight train. And, once my pulse was back in a normal range, I opened my laptop and read through his email.

  The newly acquired piece was a beautiful baroque pearl rooster, set in gold and gems, including a large ruby in his scabbard belt and diamonds in his tail feathers, and clutched in his claws was a bejeweled caduceus—a symbol of trade that shared with the medical field.

  Finding out about the piece wasn’t easy—there was precious little on the internet about it—but there were a few Medici books in the library I thought might have what I needed, so I wandered through the bookcases, finding them by memory.

  I cracked open the books and got to work, skimming the indexes for clues. And within a few minutes I was lost in work, happily researching. It’s weird, I know. Who has two thumbs and loves citations and bibliographies? This girl. And when I was digging in the indexes, my heart skipped when I saw rooster.

  I flipped to the page and began to read, and the more I read, the harder it was not to laugh.

  See, the Medicis were the most powerful family in Italy, and were largely regarded as the harbingers of the Renaissance through their investment in the arts, education, founded colleges, ran a very, very successful bank. The Medicis had this rival—the Pazzis— who were constantly trying to assassinate them, and succeeded a few times.

  Now, Guiliano Medici was a renowned party hound who would throw a rager at the drop of a hat, so the Pazzis had someone suggest a party in a village, and Guiliano was, of course, down. The plan was this—wait until everyone was tanked, then sneak the assassins in to pull a Game of Thrones style Red Wedding on the Medicis.

  Except to get to Guiliano, the assassins had to cross a yard of roosters. The birds went ballistic crowing and cawing, and everyone woke up at the ruckus, thus busting the assassins and leading them to the chopping block. Guiliano was so grateful, he had ceramic rooster wine pitchers made for everyone in the village as thanks, a symbol to bring them luck and protect them from danger.

  Saved by the cock.

  A laugh slipped out of me, imagining it as the title for an article. And my brain skipped away, writing cock citations, forming a parody piece that was too loud. So loud, I couldn’t think about the actual work I needed to do. So, I typed it out in an effort to get it out of my head, snickering and smiling and all too amused with myself.

  Medici’s pearl-encrusted cock is well known for its stately, erect appearance. This cock is as brave as he is handsome—note the shine on the cock, the gleam on its tip, the way he holds his head up high and the stiffness of his neck. It’s an Italian tradition to give cocks to friends and family—everyone loves a good cock, especially when wine is involved. Even today, people have cocks all around their homes as a ward against evil and for good luck. Because cocks are loud, proud, and cannot be ignored.

  I paused for a small fit of giggling.

  And so the cock became the symbol of the Medicis, a symbol of power. A symbol of good fortune. A symbol of strength and vitality. Guiliano Medici would tell you that cocks can save lives, if placed just right. The assassins were caught off guard by all those cocks, and it led to their deaths. So remember—respect the cock, or the cock will ruin you.

  I swiped at an errant tear that had fallen in my hysteria and blew out a breath before typing up an email to my roommates, not wanting to be the only one to experience it in all its glory.

  And with that done, I got to work on the actual piece I was supposed to be working on, interrupted intermittently by my phone with texts from my roommates.

  Amelia: That cock is regal AF.

  Val: Seriously, it deserves a crown. Or a medal. Or a pearl necklace.

  Katherine: A cock would give a pearl necklace, not wear one.

  Val: Killjoy.

  Katherine: Cocks really do save lives though. They fill a void on farms. Who else would fertilize all those eggs?

  Amelia: BWAHAHA

  Val: And I mean, who doesn’t want to get woken up by some cock?

  Me: Some aggressive cock.

  Katherine: Aggressive cock—sounds like a garage band.

  Val: I would go see that show.

  Katherine: Free gonorrhea with every ticket!

  Amelia: Cock saves lives! I want that on a T-shirt.

  Val: I’m on it.

  And with imaginings of what Val would put on a T-shirt—because if I knew her at all, she absolutely would—I muted my phone so I could actually get some work done.

  A few hours later, I’d actually written and cited enough information for Dr. Lyons, so I opened my email and popped off the message with the attachment, my mind already on my dissertation, which was the only thing I had left to do today.

  Thirty seconds. Thirty seconds of blissful ignorance before my email pinged with a message from him.

  I need to see you in my office in five minutes, Ms. Van de Meer.

  Adrenaline zinged through me, my fingers instantly freezing as I looked down the email, realizing with absolute terror that I hadn’t sent him my research.

  I’d sent him Medici’s cock.

  Panic swept over me, and I picked up my phone with shaking hands.

  Me: OH MY GOD I SENT IT TO MY BOSS BY ACCIDENT

  Messages popped up like fireworks.

  Amelia: NO.

  Val: YOU ARE KIDDING. PLEASE SAY YOU’RE KIDDING.

  Amelia: NO. NO, NO, NO.

  Katherine: Okay, don’t panic. Maybe he’ll think it’s funny.

  Amelia: NOOOOOOO!!!

  Val: Oh my God. OH MY GOD, RIN. Are you freaking out?

  Me: Of course I’m fucking freaking out!! It’s like I’m trying to get fired. Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something. This job has been on disaster after another since I walked through the door. I should just clean out my desk. I AM NOT MEANT FOR THIS WORLD.

  Katherine: Send him the right file and be super ambiguous when you email him back.

  Me: He wants me to c
ome to his office. Like, RIGHT NOW.

  Katherine: Fuck. Fuck!!

  Amelia: What are you going to do?!

  I swallowed so hard, my throat clicked, and resignation washed over me.

  Me: I have to go up there. I have to face the music. Be home in an hour lol.

  Val: Don’t say that. It’s gonna be okay, Rin. Just smile and try to make a joke out of it.

  My face flattened.

  Me: It’s like you’ve never met me.

  Val: Seriously. It was just a joke. He’s not going to fire you.

  Katherine: I mean, he might fire you but it’s unlikely.

  Val: UGH, KILLJOY.

  Katherine: Seriously, he’ll probably just dress you down, but he’s not going to fire you for a joke.

  I groaned. Me: I have to go. He’s expecting me.

  Val: Face the head of the cock. Look him in the eye. Show him who’s boss.

  Amelia: Please text us as soon as it’s over. I can’t handle this. I think I might have a heart attack.

  Katherine: He’s not going to fire you.

  Katherine: But maybe send him the new piece, just in case.

  I did, firing off a quick email that explained I’d sent the wrong thing with the correct attachment, checked three times, just to be sure. I shoved my phone and laptop into my bag, hurrying to straighten up the library as my mind fired a dozen scenarios like a horror reel. And a few minutes later, I was in the elevator, trying not to hyperventilate.

  By the time I was walking up to his office, I thought my heart might actually be trying to hammer through my sternum. And when I stepped in, I found him sitting on the edge of his desk, dark and brooding, hard and sharp in an impeccable suit, his hand resting in his pocket as if he were relaxed.

  He was most definitely not relaxed.

  “Y-you wanted to see me?” I asked stupidly, unable to bear the silence.

  “I thought you took this job seriously, Miss Van de Meer,” he said with disappointment thick in his voice.

  To my credit, I kept my spine straight and my eyes up. “I do, sir.”

  He reached for a paper on his desk and began to read. “Medici’s pearl-encrusted cock is well known for its stately, erect posture. This cock is as brave as he is handsome. Should I go on?”

  “Oh my God,” I said under my breath, simultaneously mortified and turned on by the word cock from his lips. “Dr. Lyons, I am so sorry. I just…I read the story about the roosters saving Guiliano from assassins and I just…I couldn’t stop laughing, so I wrote that as a joke but sent it to my friends—did you get my research? My real research?”

  He nodded, frowning, his face tight. “This department, this job, is not a joke for you to make with your friends. This cockup cannot go unaddressed.”

  I watched him, trying to determine if he’d made a cock joke or if he was unaware.

  Surely he couldn’t be unaware.

  Could he?

  “Really, you should be cocksure when you compile your work,” he continued, his face still as stony and still as it ever was, though I caught a gleam of laughter in his eyes. “This job is hard, so hard, and if you’re not careful, you’ll get cold-cocked by reality. It’s a cockfight out there, Rin, and you’ve got to be prepared. And if you ever want to curate, you should always take your research seriously. Especially when it comes to cocks.”

  A small, shocked laugh burst out of me, and I said without thinking, “I wrote that cockamamie piece to make my friends laugh. We always laugh when faced with cocks. It’s why none of us have boyfriends.”

  That broke him—his face bent into a smile that displayed the most gorgeous, toothpaste commercial teeth I’d ever seen in real life, and his laugh filled the room.

  He shook his head, smiling down at the paper in his hand. “Man, it was so hard to keep a straight face, especially when you thought you were in trouble.”

  “Not gonna lie—I was scared to death. I thought you were going to fire me.”

  Something passed behind his eyes, something dark and hot and welcoming. “No, you’re not getting fired, Rin. Not as long as I’m here.”

  I sighed my relief. “Well, good. I was all cockeyed about it.”

  A laugh. “We definitely don’t want you acock. Do we?”

  Yes, yes we do. Acock you, maybe.

  Ugh, he’s your boss, Rin! Get it together!

  I was trying to come up with another cock reference when he said, “I went over your actual research. Once again, you’ve impressed me. And just when I think I can’t be surprised, you prove me wrong. And I’m not often wrong.”

  He said it with a touch of wonder in his voice, almost overpowered by the command in his tone and inflection. But I heard it loud and clear.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said quietly. “If you didn’t have anything else for me, I should get back to work.”

  This was a lie. All of a sudden, I didn’t want to leave that office.

  He watched me for a moment, and I got the sense he wanted to say something. But instead, he nodded, pushing off his desk. “Glad you’re in the cockpit with me, Rin.”

  And I smiled. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

  About the Author

  Writer, music lover, art lover, gamer, graphic designer, mom, ex-waitress

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  Also by Staci Hart

  Piece of Work: https://amzn.to/2wGJpem

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  Chaser: Amazon: http://amzn.to/2tQwOQI

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  A Little Too Late: Amazon: http://amzn.to/2wL81Ck

  Cocky Couture

  A Yours to Bare Deleted Scene

  Jessica Hawkins

  An equally sexy and cocky deleted scene from Yours to Bare, an Amazon Top 10 bestseller from Jessica Hawkins.

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  Editing by AW Editing

  Copyright © 2018 by Jessica Hawkins

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cocky Couture: A Yours to Bare Deleted Scene

  Through my camera’s lens, I watch my girlfriend stretch her arms up until her fingertips graze the top of the living room doorway. Halston’s black lace teddy doesn’t cover as much as I’d like it to, and her nipples are hard—they always are when my camera’s aimed at her. Before I can mention it, she repositions her long, blonde hair, fanning it over her breasts to make sure she’s fully covered.

  She knows I’ll never publish these otherwise.

  “How’s that?” Halston asks.

  I check her over. I promised myself I’d be all business today, but that doesn’t mean I’m not tempted to put the camera down and peel that thing off her, strap by strap. I don’t really understand how a one-piece can be as sexy her next-to-nothing lingerie, but the way Halston wears it, my pants are getting tight.

  I take her picture—the first of many we’ll get for today’s job—and check the screen to make sure I didn’t capture her face or any identifying details. “Good.”

  “Just good?”

  “Better than good, babe. You know that.”

  “No I don’t,” she says. “I can’t see.”

  I glance up at her. She doesn’t know. Every time I realize that, it surprises me all over again. We’ve only been together two months, but already, she’
s my sun. Somehow, she manages to forget now and then how she lights up my world.

  “You look good enough to eat,” I assure her. “And if we didn’t have a job to do, I would eat you. Right now, in that doorway.”

  She blushes. I’m man enough to admit that since meeting Halston, the shade of pink that blooms over her cheeks has become my favorite color. I lift my camera and make sure to capture it for myself.

  This Valentine’s Day photo shoot is sponsored by Butter Boutique, a lingerie and wellness company. After agreeing to it, we found out that a portion of the profits from their current line, Cocky Couture, will benefit the prevention of cruelty against farm animals while also raising awareness—and cocks, apparently—around the nation. Per our arrangement, I’ll post the best shots on our social media account with the purpose of driving our followers to Butter. I just hope anyone—male, female, or poultry—who sees that color warming the exposed skin of Halston’s chest and neck understands it was the man behind the camera who made her feel that way. Me. Her proud cock.

  “Finn?” she asks.

  I look up. “Hmm?”

  “If the pictures are so good, why aren’t you taking more?”

  Because I’m busy being in love with you, I want to say. It’s still new, though. I only just confessed how deeply my feelings run for her. I don’t want to spook her by saying it too often. “I’m just adjusting the settings,” I say instead.

  Once the leotard has been thoroughly photographed, Halston leaves to change into another outfit meant to titillate and tease a lover. I open a window and check the lighting. When she returns to the living room, I gesture to the sofa. “Lie down.”

  As she passes me, my eyes nearly pop out of my head. Her ass is on full display. “What the fuck is that?”