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Cocky Senator (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 5)(2)

By: Faleena Hopkins

This sudden throb between my legs can do me no good. How did he make this happen so fast? Has it been that long since I...oh, yeah. It has. Almost a year in fact, which is just stupid.

"I can feel you staring at me," I say, under my breath.

"Can you? Where can you feel it?"

I swallow, more aware of every inch of my body now coming to life.

I’m in public and have to catch a plane in under an hour.

If we continue this flirtation I might have to hole up in one of those disgusting bathroom stalls they always have at airports, to touch myself and release the ache he’s just inspired. And that’s just gross.

While I telepathically will the gray-haired bartender to bring forth my whiskey, from my periphery I watch Justin pull his vibrating cell phone from his pocket, and answer an email. As he focuses on this task I take advantage of the moment and steal a discreet peek at his profile.

It’s perfect.

He’s all grown up and exquisite.

I have the insane desire to climb on his lap, nibble his bottom lip while my fingers lightly trace his smooth-shaven jawline. It sure would take the stress away from this move. And I hate to admit it since he's so full of himself, but I used to have quite the thing for Justin Cocker.

The Cocker Brothers were the most gossiped about and desired boys in school that single year with my father in Atlanta, after Dad gave me such a hard time about choosing to live with Mom. Seeing Justin again now that I'm an adult, has an impact laced with history. I remember how all the girls loved him and his twin with an unrequited fever, and how I wasn’t immune to their appeal.

Even their younger brother Jake who was just a Freshman when we were all Juniors, was making a lot of noise among female circles simply because of his dark features, devil-may-care attitude, and already muscular body at only fourteen.

And while Jerald Cocker had just graduated the year before I moved there, people were still talking about what a rebel he was.

Every teenage girl wanted a Cocker boy.

You couldn’t help it. They were delicious.

Justin and his identical twin Jason…towheaded blondes with eyes the color of sea foam and smirks that made your stomach twitch…God, they were just plain stunning. They weren’t shy or awkward like most of us were at that age.

Or…like I was.

Maybe I can’t speak for everyone.

The Cocker twins strolled our school halls in Buckhead as if they knew being there wasn’t important – just a mere stepping stone to the greatness that would be their adult lives.

I remember girls whispering to each other, which twin do you love more? Who’s your favorite?

Mine was the man to my right. Justin had a darkness in him I couldn’t help but be drawn to. Something was hidden inside that noone could touch. I wanted to be the first. That shadow I loved back then is still in his eyes.

And now he’s flirting with me.

Jaimie, stay calm.

You’re not that shy teenager anymore.

You can handle yourself in any situation.

Even this one.

The bartender sets my glass down and momentarily distracts us both.

“Thank you,” I smile. I decide to be a little bold and tease him, “I’m going to enjoy this far more than you will that lemonade.”

Without missing a beat he orders something stronger. “I’ll have a Macallan 18. Neat.”

As the bartender leaves I murmur with a slender eyebrow lifted, “That was easy.”

With equal amusement Justin smirks, “Couldn’t let a woman outdo me.”

“Oh?” My smile fades. “Do you have a problem with women in power?”

He leans in so close he inspires moisture. “No woman has ever had power over me. Not one, so it’s never been a problem.”

It’s hard not to snort, but I manage. “Really? How boring.”

He leans back to a normal distance and dryly replies, “I’m anything but bored. What’s your name?”

So he really doesn’t recognize me. It isn't surprising but I can't help but feel slightly offended. We did sit right beside each other. I picked up a pen he dropped once. He muttered an insincere thank you and that was that. Not due to hit puberty until I was a senior, I was a tiny, flat-chested girl who wore braces just to be sexier. Sarcasm intended. I was not memorable. Like my curvy, Italian mother I was a late-bloomer.

Lifting my glass to my red lips, I ask, “Why do you want to know my name?”

In the sexiest way I can, I take a slow sip while he explains, “Need to know what to call you when we’re in the height of passion in about, oh, ten minutes.”

I almost spit my whiskey everywhere. And gulping it down burns like hell.

Stunned, I sputter, “Shy much? Hello, I’m a total stranger. Nice to meet you. And you are?”

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