Cocky Romantic: A Hot Romantic Comedy Stand Alone (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 4)

by Faleena Hopkins

  “Mark,” she mutters, swiping her thumb across the screen to answer. “I was just going to call you! It’s so strange that you…” she trails off as he interrupts her. Her eyes go alarmingly wide and her jaw slackens. “Say that again.”

  “Is it good news?” I smile, sitting on my knees.

  She doesn’t hear me. Her face transforms to pure rage and she shouts, “What?!” Collecting herself, she stammers, “I’m sorry I just shouted that. I’m just surprised is all. When did you find out?” As she listens, Simone locks eyes with me, stunned.

  “What is it!? I can’t take the suspense!”

  “Oh my God…what am I gonna do, Mark?” She waits for his reply, and is clearly unhappy with it. “I guess I don’t have another choice. I’m so sorry this happened. Of course, thank you for calling me. I hope you have a good day.”

  She hangs up and stares at me. Holding the phone in both hands she walks slowly to the window.

  “Simone!” I cry out, running over to her. “What happened?”

  Turning she meets my eyes with a helplessness I’ve never seen in her. “Jason quit the album. He didn’t go see the choirs. Mark called for progress and found out that Jason is no longer interested in working with me.” Her voice went up a little on those last few words.

  I whisper, “Oh my God.”

  The phone clatters to the ground as Simone grabs my arms. “What am I gonna do?”

  I’m so shocked my mouth opens but no words come out. He’s dropped the whole album?

  Are all the little tweaks taken care of?

  Wasn’t there another remix?

  I’m never going to see him again?

  A hollowness overcomes me while she says, “Mark said I have to find another producer. He sounded so cold, Sarah. What if they drop me, too?”

  All I can do is blink.

  The last time I saw Jason was really the last time.

  As Simone rambles on with a speech about how awful this is for her career I slowly cross to the front door, unlock the deadbolt and sleepwalk out of our complex.

  I’m past the lobby and outside already when she catches up with me. “Sarah, hey! What are you doing? I turned around and you were gone! I was just standing there talking to myself!”

  “He’s gone,” I whisper.

  “Yes, he’s gone. I can’t believe it!”

  “Oh Simone,” I rasp, feeling guilty and hurting at the same time.

  “We have to get him back.”

  “No,” I murmur, lowering myself to sit on a patch of grass. The sun is shining on my face but the air is so crisp it’s biting my bare shoulders. Winter is coming.

  She kneels down with me. “Yes! I have to prove to Mark that I’m not some artist people like Jason don’t want to work with. Do you know some of the huge names he’s done albums for?”

  It’s a rhetorical question. She knows I know, because I’m the one who did the digging when we first heard his name. I had a feeling that rapper knew his shit and I wanted to see who this Jason Cocker guy was.

  It was me who talked Simone into going to Atlanta.

  And it’s me who has to talk her out of going back.

  I have feelings for Jason that are not good for my friendship with her. Something terrible has happened and this hole in my heart is the worst I’ve ever felt, but I’ll get over it. She’s my best friend. She’s like my sister. And I’m crazy about the man she’s just spent four months in bed with.

  The man who just quit her.

  The man who I want to see so badly I can hardly breathe.

  “Prove to Mark that you can find a producer as good as Jason is,” I choke, not recognizing my own voice.

  Simone blows me off with a wave of her slender hand. “No. It has to be Jason. He’s the best there is.”

  Voice strangled, I argue, “That’s an exaggeration.”

  “I know you don’t like the guy, personally, Sarah, but you have to admit he is an amazing producer. And it’s not only that. He dumped me! I have to get him back. I have to make him pay! He’s going to know dropping me is the worst mistake he’s ever made!”

  Where is that fucking time machine?!

  “Help me,” she begs.

  “Oh God,” I groan covering my face. “I can’t.”

  Mistaking my denial as modesty or exhaustion or something other than heartbreak, Simone touches my arm and coaxes, “Yes you can. You can do anything. You’ve always been the engine, Sarah. I need you. I can’t lose this record deal. Please!”

  “Don’t make me do this.”

  “Mark has to see I’m easy to work with. I am! You’re the one who’s the hard-ass.”

  I almost choke on my laughter. My brain is swimming with ideas despite my best intentions. “We could have a choir sing for him.”

  She sits back on her heels. “What do you mean?”

  “We could go find the right choir ourselves and then have them sing an apology. Just a simple I’m sorry.”

  Her blonde eyebrows nearly turn into a bow. “I’m not going to beg him!”

  “It’s not begging. It’s apologizing.”

  “No way.”

  Do I really have to persuade her to go now?

  Is someone laughing at me up there?

  “Simone, he quit. Your career is on the line. You have to say you’re sorry or there’s no way he’ll work with you. That’s just a fact.”

  “You say it for me.”

  “Oh my God, no! You have to say it!”

  Her lips stubbornly purse and she snaps, “Fine. I’ll say it but I’m not having some choir do it for me. I mean, really. That’s too fucking…sweet.”

  “Simone, think. Put your ego aside and listen to the genius of this. He thought of the choir. He will love to hear them do this. And you need him, so do what will make him happy, not you! He’ll probably think you’re so sweet he’ll want to do the other remix, too!”

  Her eyes begin to light up and a smile curves upward. For the first time I don’t think she looks pretty. She looks a little like the Grinch before he steals the toys in Whoville. “And that’ll be the two birds with one stone thing.” Off my confusion she explains, “It’ll get us back together.”

  I don’t know how I’m certain of this, but I know for a fact that those boys are going to melt Jason’s heart. He might be a hard-ass but it’s Justin’s who is cold. Jason’s temper is so hot because he feels things deeply, and anyone who does will not be able to resist the sweetness of little kids singing in harmony right there on his doorstep.

  My heart sinks. “Yes. It will.”

  “It’s Friday!”

  “So?”

  “We book a flight for tomorrow and then we can go to that church Sunday morning! Jason said he heard they were the best. They probably are!”

  “It’s going to be very expensive booking a flight with this short of notice,” I mutter, dreading it.

  “I don’t care! I’ll put it on my credit card. When this album goes live I’ll be able to pay it off anyway. And I have to make Mark trust me again and not drop me from the label. I’d take out a loan if I had to! Come on! Book the flight!”

  She jumps up, but I struggle to stand. Everything feels heavy as we walk back inside our building together.

  Seeing Jason with her again will hurt me so badly. I know that now. But I have a responsibility to do the right thing here. Help her dream get back on track, the one we’ve worked so hard to make a reality.

  If the side-effect is them reuniting, I’ll have to take it like a champ like I always do when life serves up a sucker-punch.

  It’s not like I ever had a chance with a man like Jason Cocker anyway.

  Sarah

  I haven’t been to Mass since I was little girl. I remember wondering why we had to sit and kneel all the time, and not much more than that.

  This Mass has me near tears as eighteen boys between the ages of six and eleven sing Ave Maria. I grab Simone’s hand and she squeezes back, equally enthralled.

  Since
I’m good at my job I’ve already gotten in touch with the coordinator, Mr. De Silva, so when the parishioners file out when it’s all over, easily chatting amongst themselves and greeting familiar faces, Simone and I rise from the second wooden pew to introduce ourselves in person.

  Smiling he turns from telling the boys they’ve done well. “Stay put for just a moment.”

  Instantly their well-behaved demeanor transforms into normal children as they break off into conversations amongst each other while he walks to us with his hand extended.

  “Mr. De Silva, they were so beautiful!” Simone smiles, gently clasping his hand in both of hers.

  “Thank you. We’re very proud of them.” He shakes my hand next. “Now, what you’re asking us to do is out of the ordinary but I’ve spoken with the parents since you called yesterday.”

  “It was Sarah who spoke to you.” Simone motions to me so I can take over.

  “So nice to meet you. I was in tears. They’re extraordinary.”

  He smiles that serene smile of the spiritually evolved. “I’m glad you think so. We’re very proud of them.”

  He clasps his hands over his rotund stomach and explains, “They listened to some of your music, Ms. Ross-Taylor, and were impressed it wasn’t the sordid kind.”

  Simone smiles on a faint blush, “Oh no. My songs are about love and forgiveness.”

  I almost gag.

  She continues, “Which is why we need your help. Sarah told you that I made a mistake and angered the man who’s helping produce my next album. He’s very talented and I need him so much. I know it’s a lot to ask but, well, what did the parents say?”

  His face changes to bemused. “Well, I really didn’t think they’d accept. I told them of your dilemma and found them to be unmoved.”

  Then why are the children still here, I’m silently wondering.

  His smile grows as he leans in and says in a lowered voice, “But it turns out fame is a huge draw for people these days. When they saw that video you have up, the one with over five million views, they changed their minds.”

  Simone’s jaw slackens on a glance to me. I can read five million?! in her eyes.

  She turns that excitement into effusive gratitude by grabbing his hands and shaking them like crazy. “Oh, thank you! I don’t know what to say! That’s amazing!”

  He laughs and motions behind him. “Let’s teach them what you want to sing.”

  “Do you know that song by Brenda Lee — I’m Sorry?”

  He nods, letting his memory wander back in time. “Isn’t that a love song?”

  “We’re not going to sing that far. I only want to sing the first lines and then have the boys harmonize it with some ahhhs and such? How does that sound?”

  His eyes flicker as he pictures it and a pleased nod turns him around. “Boys, settle.” It’s impressive how quickly they turn to him and drop everything they were doing. To Simone he asks, “Would you like to help?”

  She squeals in happiness. I would, too, if I knew how to do what she does and had this opportunity.

  We both shimmy out of the pew because with the kneeling stools still down there’s very little space to walk. Then I take my usual position, standing back so she can do her thing.

  “Boys, this is Simone. You remember her video?”

  There’s lot of nodding and adorableness. I want to put them all in my pocket and keep them! One little boy who must be no older than seven is clapping his wrists together. There’s no sound. Just that cute, excited gesture.

  “Hi guys,” she smiles. They’re clearly in awe of her. “This is what we’re going to do. I’m sorry…so sorry…that I was such a fool!” She stops singing and smiles, “You wanna try it with me?”

  They nod and slowly join in as she starts over, catching up when they remember the words. After a few more tries, all the parents applaud from the pews around me.

  My smile expands as the boys grin with happiness that they’re getting it now.

  Simone goes through it a few more times until the boys are explained the harmonies. She demonstrates what each one should be. Mr. De Silva guides the boys, choosing the ones from his experience, who can hit each note best. It’s only a half hour of our time before they have it down perfectly, and it’s so beautiful I can hardly stand it.

  “Thank you so much!” Simone exclaims, rushing forward to shake their little hands. The smallest one raises both his arms up high for a hug and she melts, giving him a big one. Turning to me, she touches her chest with a can you believe them look.

  I am just beside myself.

  She shakes Mr. De Silva’s hand and thanks him profusely. “We’ll see you in a few hours then?”

  “Yes, after lunch and nap times.”

  “Nap times,” Simone whispers. “Oh, that’s so adorable. See you soon! Thank you again.”

  He’s beaming at her. Everyone who sees this side of my friend falls in love with her. You can’t help it. She just glows.

  As she and I head out she waves to the parents. “Thank you everyone!”

  A few moms come over to shake her hand and tell her how much they enjoyed Just For Me. One says with a shy smile, “I wish I could sing like you!”

  “I know the feeling,” I laugh.

  Simone isn’t very modest usually, but this setting has an impact on her. A deep red blush works its way into her cheeks. When the bright Atlanta sun hits our faces outside, she whispers, “I can’t believe that just happened.” She takes my hand. “I almost didn’t let you talk me into this.”

  I nod and give her hand a quick squeeze before letting it go as we head down the stairs for our rental car. This time we got a Toyota. The money hasn’t come in for her Porsche just yet.

  “Someday soon,” we said when we picked up this more practical car.

  For the first time since Friday, I’m feeling like I can face what we’re about to do. “You’re going to have to say it’s your idea.”

  A frown pierces her forehead and I love her for this hesitation. Especially since she’s been known to claim ideas that aren’t hers.

  “If you’re going to pull this off, it has to have come from you.”

  At the passenger door she looks over the car’s white hood with a little sadness. “I’ll always know it was you, Sarah. Thank you.”

  Emotion tugs inside me. I nod and bite my lip, climbing in. “I’m just glad Justin said he’d make sure Jason would be home then.”

  “I know!” The door clicks beside her as she slides her handbag between her feet. “Why didn’t he ask the reason? Justin seems like he’d be the more suspicious type.”

  “I have no idea. You’d think my stalking him on Facebook would have made him grill me for the why. Who knows? He said he’ll do it and that’s all that matters.”

  “Let’s eat! I’m nervous.”

  Smiling at her, I turn the ignition. “Most people can’t eat when they’re like that.”

  “Well, I’m not most people,” she mutters.

  “No, you’re really not.”

  I know for sure, I’ll be eating like a parakeet.

  Jason

  “Okay, what the fuck is going on?” I demand as Justin throws salmon into a pan filled a quarter of the way with chardonnay.

  “I’m poaching fish. What does it look like?” he smirks, shaking dill weed over the two fillets.

  “You’ve never cooked for me in your life.”

  His eyes are bright as he laughs, “Well then it’s about time I did considering you always steal my food. This’ll make you owe me.”

  “And that look on your face,” I shout, pointing at him and feeling like a detective. “You’re happy. Something’s happened. Tell me!”

  His laugher falls to a secretive chuckle. “Nothing to tell. But I am getting a kick out of you being so suspicious. Broccoli or roasted carrots?”

  I spin my baseball hat around on my head so that it’s backwards and I can see him better because this is a fucking miracle and I don’t want to miss a
moment. “You’re gonna roast carrots for me and there is nothing goin’ on?!”

  “Just wanna make sure my brother has a balanced meal.”

  I cross my arms and snort, Jimi Hendrix shirt pulling across my muscles. “You hate eating with me.”

  Turning for the fridge he produces both vegetables and mutters, “I eat with you all the time.”

  “And you always say you hate it.”

  “Because you steal my food!”

  “You don’t eat it fast enough!”

  It’s his turn to snort. “Dickhead.”

  “Asshole.”

  A grin flashes on his face as he pokes the salmon around and slips the lid back over it. “Let’s watch Netflix.”

  “Are you trying to get in my pants?”

  He laughs, “Go put something on.”

  “Okay, I’ll play along. But whenever you get the urge to come clean about the secrets and mischief in your eyes, I’ll be right over here with open ears.”

  “Secrets and mischief? Thank God you don’t write the songs you produce.”

  I make a wounded noise and head for the remote. The fifty-two-inch flat screen explodes in color and sound, images of the Netflix library flashing by as I search. “So you want a romantic comedy?”

  “Yes,” he smirks. “Please give me a reason to punch you in the face.”

  “Don’t touch my face. It’s finally healed.”

  “I had a lot of explaining to do at the office,” he agrees, with a smile.

  “You told me. I see you every day. Come up with some new stories.”

  “Hey, I’m cooking for you for the first time. How much newness can your psyche take in one afternoon?”

  Eying him I plop down onto the couch.

  “You’re not going to help me?” he asks with fake innocence.

  “I’m not falling into that trap. You wouldn’t let me help, fucking control freak, so don’t act all hurt.”

  “You know me too well,” he mutters under his breath, focusing on slicing broccoli florets from their thick base.

  The meal ends up being delicious, which I tell him by way of a couple big-eyebrow’d grunts as we watch Zoolander for the hundredth time. Today is the first I’ve laughed since I got home. Hanging out with him and watching a movie we still both find funny after all these years, is enough to make me forget my suspicion of his motives.