Cook Brothers: The Whole Flipping Family

by BJ Harvey

  I giggle as he lowers me back to the ground and Bry claims me again, pulling me into his side. Gabe’s eyes widen as he takes the scene in. “And this? That’s a new development…”

  “Or an old one,” Bry muses. “And it’s Faith Cook now.”

  Gabe’s head jerks back. “Wow. Now that is good news,” he says, meeting Bry’s gaze with approval. “When did this all happen?”

  “It’s been a month,” I say. Bryant’s hand on my hip flexes.

  “Time flies when you’re having fun,” Gabe muses.

  “Or something.” I tilt my head to look at my husband, melting a little inside when he winks.

  “Well, I’ll let you two go. Everyone else is upstairs already,” he says with a grin.

  “It’s good to see you, Faith,” Gabe says with a soft smile. “Don’t be a stranger.”

  “I won’t. Besides, there are a lot of Cook asses to whip,” I say. Both men chuckle at that.

  Gabe shakes his head. “Still a firecracker then?”

  “Only when it comes to golf and men,” I say with a knowing grin. “Otherwise I’m a sweetheart.”

  “You’re one of a kind, Faith Bak—Cook. You keep this one, Bry.”

  “Kind of why she’s got my ring on her finger, Gabe.”

  My stomach flips, and I feel all gooey inside. Stop being such a girl, Faith.

  “See ya later,” Gabe says, giving us a short wave before walking back behind the counter.

  With my hand in his, Bry leads me up the stairs to the upper deck, and it’s hard to miss the big group of our friends and family one side.

  “Hey,” April says, pulling me in for a big hug when we reach them. Ronnie grins at me from her perch beside Jax when April moves back. Then it’s Jamie’s turn, and finally, Cohen.

  “Hey, Bakes,” he says, grumbling as Bry tries to claim me when Co holds me for too long.

  I shrug Bry off and wrap an arm around Cohen’s waist. “Hey, Co,” I say, laughing as the youngest Cook smirks at my husband.

  When I blow Bry a kiss, he shakes his head and walks over to where the others are standing in a circle.

  “How’s work?” I ask Cohen.

  “Not as exciting as working with wild animals.”

  I sigh. “I study wild animals; there’s a slight difference there.”

  “Yeah, true. Maybe it’s me that’s works with people who act like wild animals,” he says with a grin.

  “That’s probably more accurate.”

  “How’s Skye?” I ask in an over-the-top girly voice.

  He chuckles and shakes his head. “So not going there with you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re almost as big of a gossip as me, Faith Marie Cook.”

  I hold my hand to my chest. “Cohen Patrick Cook, you did not just full-name me.”

  “Sure as fuck did.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Skye is lovely. She seemed really nice.”

  Cohen frowns. “Stop thinking whatever you’re thinking, Faith.”

  “Trouble in paradise?” I ask because he’s right, I am a gossip.

  His head jerks back. “What do you mean? We’re just partners.”

  I arch a brow and spear him with a ‘don’t bullshit a bullshitter’ look. “Lurvvve partners.”

  He rolls his eyes and looks over my shoulder, a suspicious smirk replacing his scowl. “By the way, Mom asked me to pass on a message. She said next Sunday will be fine and she’ll talk to Patricia.”

  “Do I even want to know what you’re planning with my mother?” Bryant asks, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “And yours?”

  “It’s nothing,” I say a little too quickly, making it sound more than it really is.

  “It must be something if the moms are involved,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to the apex of my neck and shoulder.

  “Time’s up, lovebirds,” Ez says, pulling me away from Bry. “You’re not a Cook today. You’re a Baker, and we’re gonna annihilate them.”

  I laugh, looking over my shoulder at my smirking husband. Husband. Will I ever get used to that?

  Bryant feigns a yawn, making a show of it as he turns to the others. “I’d say we should do guys versus girls”—his smile widens—“with Ez being an honorary girl since Delilah can’t come.”

  “That’s okay,” Ez replies with a shrug. “Just means I’ll have all your balls in my purse by the end of the night like your wives do.”

  Everyone laughs. Jamie quirks a brow at his best friend. “And when we win, Ezra can buy dinner.”

  Ez nods, grinning as he wraps his arms around Ronnie and April’s shoulders when they reach us. “C’mon, girls. Let’s show them who’s boss.”

  “Jax knows already; he told me just this morning that I’m his queen and he’s my willing subject,” Ronnie says, poking her tongue out at her glaring husband.

  “Hey, keep the role-play stories to yourself,” Ez teases.

  “Oh God, I think I’m gonna be sick. No one needs to know about anyone’s kinks,” Cohen says, fake gagging.

  Bry shoulder-bumps the youngest Cook. “So much to learn, you do,” he says, in a terrible impression of Yoda.

  “If Bryant is pulling out Yoda advice, we’re definitely going to kick their asses,” I say with a grin, locking eyes with my brother.

  “Care to put your money where your mouth is, babycakes?” Bry challenges.

  I put a hand on my hip, my lips twitching as he eyes me appreciatively.

  “Now I really am going to be sick,” Cohen grumbles.

  “Aww, Co, one day, when you’re a big boy, you’ll have a woman to make bets with you too,” Jamie jibes.

  “Hey, no dirty bets with my sister when I’m in earshot,” Ez retorts.

  Cohen snorts. “Um, are we gonna actually play golf, or are we just gonna stand here playing with our—”

  “Balls?” April says with a snort, making Ronnie giggle, which sets me off.

  Ez rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically. “I change my mind. I don’t wanna be a girl anymore.”

  “Too late for that,” Jamie says, grabbing a driver from his bag and stepping up to the tee. “Your ex-wives made sure of that.”

  That earns a chorus of ‘ooohs’ and ‘burn’ from both the girls and guys.

  “You’ll pay for that,” Ez says, his laugh making it clear he doesn’t give a shit.

  “Okay, Bakers. Time to watch a master at work,” Jamie announces, moving into position before taking a massive swing and hammering his ball out into the huge green field, well past the 160-foot marker.

  Bryant’s eyes meet mine. I trace my tongue over my bottom lip, loving how his gaze drops to my mouth before I smirk at him and mouth two words. “Your move.”

  He nods, his answering smile hitting me smack in the middle of my chest. Looking around our families, there’s one thing that hits me more than anything. I’ve missed this, and not for the first time since I got back, I wonder if I’ll ever forgive myself for missing out on twelve years of this.

  I’m contemplative on the way home. The golf win was awesome. When I got five feet more than we needed to win with my last shot, the shocked look on Cohen and Jamie’s faces was a sight to behold. It was a win I’m not going to let any of the Cook brothers forget in a hurry, but after the thrill of the victory had worn off about halfway through dinner, I adopted the old adage of ‘fake it till you make it,’ because my old friend regret decided to plant itself in the forefront of my mind. Maybe I’ll try engaging my other companions—deflect and distract.

  After pulling into the driveway, Bry brings the bike to a stop in the garage and gives my arms around him a gentle squeeze. I brace my leg on one side and swing my other one over, hopping down from the bike and pulling my helmet off, as he does the same.

  “That was definitely a long, hard ride,” I say with a grin.

  His eyes widen before he throws his head back and cracks up laughing. He reaches his arm around my waist, tugging me to him as he lea
ns against the bike seat. Dipping his chin, he kisses me once, then again. Pulling back to meet my eyes, his expression is full of the sort of intensity any woman craves to see from a man. “You were fucking magnificent tonight,” he says, his gentle voice belying his gaze. “Did anyone know you’ve been playing golf while you’ve been gone?”

  I jerk back, my mouth dropping open. “How did you…?”

  His grin widens. “You were good before. Now, you’re playing on a whole other level. You have either been playing or taking lessons in Australia.”

  I look away. “Both,” I mumble, earning a low chuckle for my efforts. He presses his palm to my cheek to turn my face back to his, and I lose myself in his eyes. We stand there, my legs inside his spread ones, my hips leaning against his stomach, my jaw cradled in his hands.

  He scans my face, and he drops it to my mouth as he runs the tip of his thumb over the seam of my lips. A rumbling growl escapes him. When my tongue darts out to touch his skin, he slams his mouth down on mine, and I scramble to stay standing as he devours me, his hard body pressing incessantly against mine, amping me up at the same time as terrifying me. There’s a prize owed to me that part of me is dying to claim. However, other parts of me—my heart and my head—are still in catch-up mode and don’t trust my hormones to lead me down the right path.

  When we finally pull apart, we’re both breathing heavy. Bryant’s pupils are blown, and I have no doubt mine are the same.

  “Fuck, I won’t ever get tired of kissing you,” he says huskily, giving me another soft brush over my lips and staying there. “And I can’t wait to give you your prize.”

  “I might go have a quick shower,” I say quietly. Bry straightens, and I don’t have it in me to disappoint him by having another freak-out. My only hope is working through the feelings in my head before Bry comes to bed, so maybe I’ll be able to articulate them to him without sending us two steps back when we’ve had so many steps forward recently.

  “Okay. I’ll use the other bathroom and meet you in bed, yeah?” His words are so sweet, so normal, that it’s my turn to kiss him this time.

  “See you there,” I say as he smiles and steps aside to let me pass. This is what every night could’ve been like…

  After my shower, I spend what seems like forever choosing the right ‘might-be-having-sex-with-Bryant-for-the-first-time-in-twelve-years’ sleepwear. I lie in bed, facing away from him, my brain coming up with all the ways it might happen. Will he slowly and methodically seduce me? Or will it be a ‘wham, bam, spread your legs and give me your pussy, ma’am?’ We’ve been strictly first base for three weeks. Sure, I’ve felt his morning wood, and the hot-and-heavy make-out sessions we’ve had have definitely got both of us pent-up and in need of an underwear intervention—speaking for myself, anyway.

  To his credit, not once has Bry pushed further than I’ve been willing to go. And when we made the bet earlier tonight—albeit jokingly—I liked the idea of something so light and fun to help us break the ice.

  One thing I do know though is when it does happen—and believe me, it damn well better happen—I want it to be organic and as natural as breathing. I want it to be full of passion like we always had when we were intimate. I want to be so consumed with need, want, and desire that I can barely continue to live unless I jump him there and then.

  I don’t realize how stiff I am until Bry lets out a low sigh and tugs me across the mattress toward him. He pulls me in close, one arm under my head, the other wrapped tight around my front, not saying a word, just holding me. “As much as my body is ready for you to cash in your winnings, I know we aren’t there yet.”

  I let out the huge breath I was holding and physically feel the tension seep out of me, my entire body sagging back against him. He’s just verbalized the exact thing I’ve been tossing around my brain since we left the bar earlier tonight, what tortured me on the entire ride home, and what has kept me quiet ever since then.

  I turn over to face him, smoothing my hands over his chest, stilling them over his heart. I meet his eyes in the muted moonlight. “So I promised I’d be honest with you.”

  “And I promised the same, so don’t filter, Faith. It doesn’t matter how hard or difficult or even crazy it might sound in your head. I don’t want you to keep anything from me.”

  “Stop being so perfect,” I say softly, and I catch a whisper of a smile curving his lips.

  “How about I go first and say what I’m thinking? Because we may flirt, and kiss, and talk the talk, but I said this was real, and being real means being honest, however hard that may be.”

  I’m tongue-tied, staring straight into the eyes of my husband, who is now seemingly a modern-day sage.

  He presses our lips together and pulls back ever so slightly. “I’ve had you plastered to my back on the bike for the very first time, watched you kick all our asses at golf—something which damn near gave me a hard-on all in itself—and now you’re rubbing your hot body all over me without even realizing you’re doing it.” He leans his forehead to mine and inhales deeply as if breathing me in. Or possibly he’s trying to strengthen himself against the power of my feminine wiles. The man has the self-control of a monk, but he is 100 percent right. If it were meant to happen—or meant to happen now—there would be absolutely no hesitation from either of us. When did I forget never to underestimate the psychic powers of this man? His eyes roam my face, the intensity of his gaze like licks of heat against my skin. “I may not be a sinner, but I’m not so much of a saint that I can keep up the fight against this.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but my words catch in my throat the moment he kisses me. It’s not a gentle peck—it’s a claiming, deep, owning locking of lips that has my toes curling, my thighs clenching and my hands gripping his hair so tight he could quite possibly now have a bald spot.

  Instead of freaking out over what might’ve happened or how far it might go, that’s all we do—a lot of kissing, a little groping, and it’s absolutely perfect.

  A while later, Bryant is flat on his back, and my head is cradled in the crook of his shoulder, both of us holding each other close and tight.

  For the first time since he proposed this entire marriage, I’m not overthinking this. I’m done being a scientist when it comes to my approach to this man—the only man I’ve ever loved—because tonight has proven that nothing will ever happen naturally if I’m always running every scenario through my head all the time.

  As I feel the soft rise and fall of his chest, I now have a new resolve—what will be, will be. It will happen, or it won’t. Bry will trust me again, or he won’t. I’ll forgive myself, or I won’t. But even if I don’t, I won’t let it hold me back. I’ve got twelve years of memories to make up for, and I can’t wait to start. First step—cooking lessons. After that—helping out with the renovations. Our younger selves always talked about buying a rundown house and doing it up room by room. Now, we’re together, we’re in a rundown house—soon to be a spectacularly renovated home—and there’s nothing wrong with playing pretend and imagining that this is our house.

  It’s time to get operation ‘be the best wife ever’ back on track.

  And as I slowly drift off to sleep, snuggling deeper into my hot husband, there are only three words going through my mind.

  Bring it on.

  14

  Faith

  Another week has passed at my new job that I love, and another week of wedded harmony where slowly but surely, Bryant and I are settling into our new normal. I get up and go to work after Bryant makes me breakfast. I come home just in time for dinner—again, cooked by my husband—then we watch TV or a movie and talk about our day before going to bed, Bryant hauling me over to sleep in his arms. Then we wake up, and it happens all over again. But my plans to be the best wife I can be are well underway.

  Which is why I find myself parking Betsy in my parents’ driveway and walking over to the Cooks’ family home with two bags of groceries in my arms.

  “Faith,
” Marcy says, pulling me into her arms as soon as I step inside. “It’s so good to see you. I’m super excited about this.”

  I smile because Marcy’s enthusiasm not just for today but life in general has always been infectious. “I’ve been looking forward to today all week.“

  “I hope my boy has been putting his skills to good use.”

  I splutter and cover my mouth, trying to hide it with a cough, but as always, Marcy Cook doesn’t miss a thing.

  “I like the way you think, but I meant his culinary skills. I love my boys, but I don’t need to know about things like that.”

  Unable to stop myself, I giggle, grinning at my mother-in-law’s dancing eyes.

  “Marce, are you embarrassing my poor, innocent daughter?” Mom calls out from the other end of the house.

  “Would I do that?” Marcy shoots me a knowing wink. She loops her arm in mine, and together we walk down the hall and into the kitchen where I find Mom, April, and Ronnie. I bend down and place the bags on the ground.

  “Hey,” I say, taken aback at my new sister-laws’ presence.

  April seems to study me, a soft smile curving her lips. “I promise we’re not here to gate-crash your lesson.” She looks to Ronnie, then back to me. “We’re just here as moral support.”

  “And we figure it’s easier to form a Cook Wives Pussy Posse if the guys aren’t around,” Ronnie adds, her eyes dancing with amusement when I snort at the title.

  “I’ve never been part of a posse before.”

  “Ah yes, that’s because you’ve never had us. Now, we’re all in this together,” Ronnie says. “We might even get matching T-shirts. I haven’t decided yet.”

  The thought of all of us turning up to the next family get together with pussy posse tops makes me snort.

  “Having girls at your back is always good. I love my sons and husband to death but, like any man, they have their moments where they can drive me wild—and not in a good way,” Marcy says. Mrs. Cook could never be called a prude. In fact, I don’t think her name and that word even belong in the same stratosphere.