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

  Cocky Romantic

  A Cocker Brothers Novel

  Faleena Hopkins

  Hop Hop Publications

  Contents

  Want to have the bonus scenes ready to read?

  1. Jason

  2. Jason

  3. Sarah

  4. Jason

  5. Sarah

  6. Jason

  7. Sarah

  8. Sarah

  9. Jason

  10. Sarah

  11. Jason

  12. Jason

  13. Sarah

  14. Sarah

  15. Jason

  16. Sarah

  17. Sarah

  18. Jason

  19. Jason

  20. Sarah

  21. Jason

  22. Sarah

  23. Jason

  24. Sarah

  25. Sarah

  26. Sarah

  27. Jason

  28. Jason

  29. Jason

  30. Sarah

  31. Sarah

  32. Jason

  33. Jason

  34. Sarah

  35. Sarah

  36. Jason

  37. Sarah

  38. Sarah

  39. Sarah

  40. Sarah

  BONUS GOODIES

  JAKE COCKER - COCKY ROOMIE

  JETT COCKER - COCKY BIKER

  JAXSON COCKER - COCKY COWBOY

  Nicely done…

  JUSTIN COCKER - COCKY SENATOR

  JEREMY COCKER - COCKY SOLDIER

  WEREWOLVES OF NEW YORK- Nathaniel, Eli, Darik, and Dontae

  About the Author

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher. Reasonable portions may be quoted for review purposes.

  Cover Image licensed from Shutterstock.com

  Cover Designed by Faleena Hopkins

  Published by Hop Hop Publications

  Copyright © 2016 Faleena Hopkins

  All rights reserved.

  Created with Vellum

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  You’re the last thing my heart expected.

  Carrie Underwood

  Jason

  As we stroll through the renovated warehouse with club lights pulsing across hundreds of halos and horns, my twin mutters, “Apparently God decided to overlook my past and send me to heaven. MmmMmm, look at the ladies...” Pale ice-green eyes that are identical to my own lock onto me before he adds, “To think I almost didn’t come to your overblown party.”

  As he drops his gaze to watch a thong-covered-ass prance by me, red tail bouncing, I dryly tell him, “Like you had something better to do.”

  On a blasé smirk he counters, “A pre-record release party? Who gives a shit? And I always have something better to do than celebrating your successes, Jason.”

  If there’s one thing he’d never do it’d be to miss something that was important to me. But he wouldn’t be Justin if he didn’t give me a hard time.

  Amused, I shoot back, “Dick.”

  He growls, “And now it’s time to get this dick licked,” scanning my party.

  Well, it’s not exactly my party, but it may as well be.

  With its closely guarded guest list, fantastic DJs, and people parading around in costume, this rager is to incite buzz for Simone Ross-Taylor, the stunning singer-songwriter about to explode into people’s minds, hearts and speakers.

  I’m producing her new album.

  Like how a director guides a film to greatness, a music producer sculpts an artist’s songs into something better than they imagined when lyrics and melody were first put to paper. Or laptop. Or whatever the hell they prefer to use for capturing magic when it hits them.

  They’re the diving board and the swimmer. But I move their bodies as they’re flying through the air, adjusting their dives so they make the biggest splash, not the smallest.

  When an artist is thinking too inside-the-box I’ll light it on fire. “We need violins here.”

  “Violins on a rap album, Jason?”

  “Fuck yeah. Right here.”

  Next thing they know they’re climbing the charts with a new sound no one expected of them.

  Without me they’d crack their gorgeous, genius heads open on the concrete of mediocre-pool.

  But we producers remain anonymous for the most part. This party is all hers as far as the world is concerned.

  Fine by me.

  I could give a fuck if you know my name.

  Justin’s ecstatic that the theme Simone chose was Angels & Devils. Everywhere we look are women so scantily clad they make your dick twitch. When most girls hear ‘costume party’ that means it’s time to compete for how little they can wear without getting thrown in jail.

  “God bless you,” Justin smiles to an angel with cleavage so low you want to bury your face in it and search for water.

  She waves at him and disappears into the crowd, eyes heavy.

  “Going to chase her?” I ask, knowing the answer before he even has to say it.

  “No way, and you know why.”

  “Too drunk.”

  “Exactly.”

  The ‘angels’ are really the bad girls, or the secretly crazy. The ‘devils’ are the good girls who wish they were bad. Wouldn’t be a costume otherwise, would it?

  In an all-black Hugo Boss suit with no tie, top two buttons open, I look damn good as Satan. Deep down, I’m one of the good guys. Most of the time.

  My brother is wearing all white, proving my theory. Justin pretty much is Lucifer. His spotless white suit, matching vest and slender tie are doing their best to hide the dark glint in his heart.

  Two white-winged beauties spot us and start gliding over with purpose behind their long eyelashes. Mmm. Look at them. We can actually see dark nipples through those lacy white bras. One turns around to say something to the other, but it’s really just to show us her thong.

  Justin cuts an evil grin. “Wanna tip a halo with me?”

  I’m spoken for, which he knows.

  You think he gives a shit? Fuck no.

  Justin’s favorite hobby — outside of hot and very casual sex — is to thwart my relationships. Or hook ups. Or whatever it is Simone and I have been doing for the last four months. He has no respect for it, whatever it is. And even though I’m a one-woman man and always have been, my twin would love to kick me off that horse.

  As the pale-skinned brunette attaches herself to him and purrs, “Oooooo, twins,” I shoot him a look.

  “What?” he asks.

  “You know,” I mutter.

  The chocolate-skinned ‘angel’ presses her breasts into my side and purrs, “Hi Satan. Have I been a good angel?” Fuck, that feels good. Her bedroom eyes are telling me, all you have to do is say is yes.

  “You’ve been a very good angel.”

  She rises on her toes and whispers into my ear, “Wanna set my wings on fire?”

  Gritting teeth against my baser instincts – why do I have to be so
fucking loyal? – I take a breath to turn her down. “I’m working, gorgeous. But my brother is off tonight.” Turning my face I whisper back into her ear, “Or you can just get him off.”

  Sultry giggles escape both of the girls. I make a hissing sound though my teeth because I’m only human. Get thee behind me, Temptation.

  Justin shoots me a look telling me I’m an idiot, but to them he says, “Angels, there’s more than enough of me to keep you both occupied.”

  They glance to his crotch, and then to mine, since we’re twins. I shove my hands in my pockets to hide the half-mast erection they’ve inspired but by the look on their faces, they spotted it.

  All six of us Cocker Brothers are gifted in the crotch department. And stamina. And…modesty.

  The brunette’s lower lip goes puffy. “I’m not into threesomes.” She walks to me and her girlfriend takes her place at Justin’s side. “Don’t go. If you stay, then I will.” She traces down my abs and is about reach for my zipper when I grab her hand.

  “Wish I could,” I smirk, cock twitching despite myself as I let go of her wrist and brush my thumb down her flushed cheek. “The four of us would have had an extremely good time, and it wouldn’t be the first that Justin and I shared a foursome. Or the fifth. Or the tenth.” She’s melting under my touch, so I pull my hand away. It’s a fight against my cock’s will for me to do this, but I’m after an even hotter prize. “Sorry to let you down.”

  Justin walks away with the chocolate-skinned beauty and smirks over his shoulder. “Suit yourself.”

  The third wheel whines after me, “Come back!”

  But I’m already gone, looking for the most beautiful woman here. Simone Ross-Taylor. The star of the night. And my addiction.

  Jason

  Locating the tightest cluster of sycophants, I know that Simone is the center of their excitement. With a casual, disinterested expression I position myself where she can see me when she eventually comes up for air and looks over. Acting like I don’t care if or when that happens, I lazily unlock the screen on my cell phone.

  It’s an act.

  The only thing on my mind is those long legs of hers wrapped around my head later on tonight. But I’m not going to give that away. I have to play it cool. With women like Simone, the game is crucial.

  I’m fake-scrolling through artists on SoundCloud when I hear, “You’re so fucking obvious, you know that, Jason?”

  Tensing, I mutter to the floor, “Shit,” and shove the phone into my suit pocket, readying for battle. She’s Simone’s personal assistant and best friend, the bane of my existence for four months now. The two come as a package deal that I wish I could return half of.

  “Good. Put it away,” she laughs. “You weren’t really looking at it anyway.”

  Turning my head I lock onto the almond-colored eyes of my redheaded nemesis, and instantly match her sneer. Then, to throw the five-foot-two-inch shrimp off her game, I travel my purposeful gaze all the way down her body, taking my sweet time.

  Of course the bitch is dressed as an angel.

  But her outfit isn’t slutty by any standards.

  She’s in white jeans, heels, and a silky white blouse that’s not low-cut. Short wings are pinned to her back, and there are white daises gently placed on her curly, auburn hair for her halo.

  If she wasn’t such a cunt I’d find her adorable. But she is a cunt. And she’s got nothing on Simone.

  “Ironic isn’t a costume,” I growl before bending in close to her smug face. “Oh, hey Sarah, did your rock let you climb out to play?”

  At my unexpected advance she recoils. Only by reflex, not by choice. She wouldn’t want me to think I’ve gotten the upper hand. She’d much rather get in my face and fight me like a man like she’s doing now. “Are you going to kiss me?!”

  “Nobody could pay me enough.”

  A fresh sneer twists her soft pink lips into sharp points. “I wasn’t saying I wanted you to, Jason. Don’t get your fucking hopes up.”

  Smirking, I lean deeper in. “Sarah, my only hope is that after this album is finished I never have to see you again.”

  Her eyes sharpen with glee. “When I go, your lover goes with me. Bet you didn’t think of that.”

  Fuck. She’s right. I’ve been basking in the warmth of Simone’s charms nearly 24/7 with work and play, and that joy is about to vanish from Atlanta.

  My drug lives in Detroit.

  Seeing my expression flicker, Sarah kicks me when I’m down. “Oh, are you going to cry?”

  Of course I’m not going to fucking cry, but I do have to think of something fast to keep my fix from leaving before I’m ready.

  “Hate to break it to you, she-bitch, but it’s not over yet. We need to remix an alternate single of Just For Me. You’re welcome to fly back to your cave while we work.”

  “Work? Is that what you call sex with you? I’d call it torture.”

  “Sarah, if you were ever lucky enough to fuck me, you wouldn’t be able to walk for a month. And that annoying little bark you have would be a whimper. For dayyyyyyyys.”

  Crossing her arms, her breasts hike up and show their first sign of cleavage. I glance down, momentarily distracted. “I’m not even going to reply to such ridiculousness, you cocky towheaded dick on feet. This is the first I’ve heard about an alternate remix!”

  “Everyone knows you can’t have just one version of a hit song, short-stack.”

  On a glare meant to whither me, she snarls, “Don’t fucking call me that.”

  “While you’re down there, why don’t you blow my big cock?”

  Sarah reels her arm and tries to slap me.

  I duck.

  She misses.

  Grabbing her wrist I snarl, “Try using a footstool next time.”

  She bares her teeth like an animal. “I’m gonna tell Simone you should remix it by yourself.”

  “Like she’d give up control.”

  Knowing I’m right, Sarah snaps, “I’ll think of something, asshole!”

  “And it’ll be mediocre.”

  “Fucking dick!”

  Leaning in really close I growl, “First, sex…and now you’re thinking about my dick?”

  “I don’t have a microscope.”

  “You’d need a telescope because it reaches to Venus.”

  She blanches. “God, that was terrible!”

  A grin flashes on me. “It really was.”

  I’m about to release her wrist when a drunken male-angel nearly falls and in the process of righting himself, pushes her by accident. Our lips collide. An unexpected charge ignites in my bloodstream, and what should only have lasted a split second with both of us wiping our mouths afterward in disgust, keeps going on for four, maybe five seconds…with a little added pressure that didn’t need to be there.

  The kiss isn’t long, mind you, and there’s no tongue, but count to five. That’s enough time to feel something happen that shouldn’t.

  She pulls away first, eyes wide as she stares at me. I’m just as alarmed. No way that should have felt as good as it did.

  Even worse, the next thing we hear is the honey-smooth voice of Simone demanding, “What the hell was that?” Sarah and I jump back a foot as Simone’s beautiful blue eyes flash between us. “What the fuck, Sarah?”

  “Someone shoved me at him!”

  Raking a hand through my hair, I mumble, “Didn’t mean to do that.”

  Sarah

  Didn’t mean to do that…

  Stunned and trying to think fast I roll my eyes and tell my best friend, “It was an accident! You know I can’t stand him!”

  Simone blinks at me.

  I turn on my heel and storm off, because that’s what I usually do around Jason. And even though I’m having a hard time breathing, if I do this then she might believe that nothing just happened to me.

  Just act normal, Sarah.

  Our lips were locked before I even knew I’d been pushed. And we stayed there. I felt this unwelcome, dizzying ru
sh of tingles spread throughout my body as he pressed the kiss a little harder into me. I didn’t want to pull away but I had to.

  He’s my best friend’s lover.

  Even if he weren’t, I hate the guy with a passion.

  So why, even with that chaste kiss with no tongue, did it feel so fucking insanely incredible?

  I can take a lot. More than I dish out, in fact. It comes with the job of protecting someone as beautiful as my flaxen-haired, pop-singer best friend. But Jason has managed to push me over the edge of my fury-cliff more times that I’m proud to admit.

  If he hadn’t looked so surprised just now I’d swear he kissed me like that on purpose in order to win.

  But he looked equally as emotionally jarred as I felt!

  And he’s not a good actor.

  I can read him like an open book with large print. All those times he pretended he wasn’t moonstruck over Simone just to keep her interested. The moments when he was equalizing the tracks while she sang and I saw his disappointment or his awe, when he thought he was hiding it. And it’s so obvious how much he reveres his twin even when they gripe at each other.

  Jason sucks at hiding what he’s really thinking.

  I hope he didn’t see my goosebumps.

  Fuck!!

  Jason Cocker is an arrogant bastard! He’s the second most self-involved and conceited man I’ve ever met. The first is Justin. Luckily, I’ve had less contact with that half of the poisonous duo. They really put the ‘d’ in dicks.

  He has been awful to me for months now, treating me as if I’m a flea making my living sucking the blood off my soon-to-be rockstar friend, rather than what I really am to her — the foundation that keeps her building from falling.

  I run all of her business affairs. I’m the reason she got signed to the record label — I emailed and followed up again and again. I made sure they came to her concert to see how good she really is. I book the plane tickets. The hotels. The shows in all the cities, even before anyone knew who Simone Ross-Taylor was. And I’m happy to do it because I idolize her and always have!