Cook Brothers: The Whole Flipping Family Read online

  Cook Brothers: The Whole Flipping Family

  Copyright © 2021 by BJ Harvey

  Ebook ISBN:978-0-6451075-1-7

  Edited by Creating Ink

  Cover Designed by BJ Harvey

  Photo sourced from Shutterstock

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Work in Progress - Book 1

  Work Violation - Book 2

  Working Back - Book 3

  Hard Work - Book 4

  Working For It - Book 5

  Marcy & Rick - Working It Out

  Axel - Bonus Scene

  More in the Chicago Romance World

  Sneak Peek - Show Stopper Chapter 1

  Other Books by BJ Harvey

  About the Author

  Work in Progress - Book 1

  1

  Jamie

  I take another swig from my beer, then drop it down onto the wood floor. After picking up the hammer, I hook an exposed nail and yank it out of its home.

  Demo isn’t due to begin until tomorrow, but with nothing else to do with my night, I decided to come over, sleep on the floor, and get a head start.

  Moving sideways a foot, I repeat the action—minus the beer this time. It’s rinse and repeat until I finish removing the rotting trim lining the small wall, letting Queen blast through my head as I grab my drink, finish the bottle, and put it to the side.

  This is what I’ve needed: time by myself, loud music, a few beers, and “dick stuff,” as my sister, Abi, eloquently calls it.

  It just so happens that there’s a lot of “dick stuff” to be done now that I’ve sunk most of my savings into the worst house on a fairly good suburban street.

  When Heather, my girlfriend of three years, dumped me out of the blue, spewed unexpected vitriol my way and blamed me for how our lives had turned out, I re-evaluated. Not her—as far as I’m concerned, it’s a blessing I saw her true colors in that break-up speech before it was too late. The engagement ring was bought, and plans for a wedding proposal were in progress, but finding out the woman you love thinks you’re a loser with no ambition and she can’t wait to be rid of you makes a man take note.

  That brings me to the house I’m standing in the middle of. I’ve always loved working with my hands, and having spent the last ten years of my life as a boat captain—and newly single—I decided to bite the bullet. So I quit my job, worked for my friend’s construction company for a few months, and decided to put my money where my dreams were, flipping houses. With a three-month turnaround, the aim is to eventually make a real go of this. Starting with this three-bed, one-bath bungalow.

  It’s not just me doing this though, which is a blessing and a curse. My three younger brothers decided to pitch their tent next to mine—figuratively—and while they all still have their own jobs as backup, they have each shown they have faith in me to succeed by investing in the company and pledging to help me whenever they can. So I now have the pressure of not screwing my family’s future up while not completely destroying my own. Oh, and the small matter of having absolutely no fallback if this fails.

  No pressure or anything.

  My back pocket vibrates, and I pull out my phone, seeing my friend Jase’s name on the screen as I walk into the kitchen and away from the music.

  Jase recently married the love of his life and an amazing woman, Natalie, in a surprise wedding he planned using her own dream wedding book. It was no easy feat considering he made her think they were having a Chicago Bears ceremony at Soldier Field.

  Thankfully for everyone involved, it was a very well-thought-out ruse to hide what he truly wanted, and in the end—although there was no doubt in anyone’s minds—he got the girl, the wife, and a wedding night in a giant tent on her parents’ Indiana farm.

  “Hey, you came up for air?” I say with a smile. He chuckles, and I can imagine the big shit-eating grin on his face right now.

  “I’m barely clinging onto life,” Jase replies. “I love my wife more than anything in this world, but that woman is like a nymphomaniac overdosing on female Viagra. My dick feels like it’s gonna go on strike just to give itself time to recover.”

  “There are worse ways to go, my friend.”

  “Ain’t that the truth? One day, you’ll meet a woman who’ll knock you on your ass,” he says with a laugh. “So how’s Maple going?” Maple being the street on which this undiscovered gem of a house I’m currently renovating lies. Jase and our other friend Matt own a construction company, and we’ll all be working together on this project. Again, no pressure.

  “I’ve discovered a few things I’ll need you and Matt to come take a look at, but otherwise, it seems a bit overwhelming as a whole. There’s just a lot to do.”

  “It always seems like that, but once we have a clear plan in place, it won’t seem so mammoth.”

  “I’ll take your word for that,” I say, notching the phone between my head and my shoulder and moving along to start the next panel.

  “Promise you, Jamie. It’ll run like clockwork once we get started.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I grunt, hooking the hammer under the lip of the trim and jerking it back. When it only moves an inch, I wedge the fingers of my other hand between the wood and the drywall. As I give it an almighty tug, a loud knock at the door throws me off and the hammer slips, slicing my palm open a good inch and a half.

  “Fuck!” My loud bellow echoes around the empty room while burning pain cuts through me.

  “Jamie? What the fu—” The phone crashes to the ground as I grab my hand and squeeze tight.

  As I slide my back down the wall, I look around for something—anything—to soak up the gushing blood.

  Then the front door swings open, and a woman I’ve never seen before—but wish I had—fills the void.

  “Oh hell,” she says, running across the room to kneel down beside me. “Do you have a first-aid kit?” Her eyes taking in the scene in front of her.

  “You might find one of my T-shirts in the other room, but that’s about it,” I reply. She nods, stopping by the speaker and turning it all the way down before disappearing down the short hallway.

  She returns a few moments later, my green tee clutched in her hand. Her brows are pinched together as she assesses the scene in front of her. I have to admit, it probably looks bad. Loud music, beer bottles, a random man with no clue doing demolition late on a Thursday night.

  “Who are you?” I ask, remembering this woman is a total stranger who effectively barged through my door. I’m grateful, but a little confused. She stuffs my T-shirt onto the wound and presses down firmly.

  “We haven’t met. I’m Jamie.” I offer my uninjured hand her way.

  “And I’m the neighbor who was coming over to yell at you to stop making so much noise,” she says with a sigh. “Which is just as well, considering that. You’re lucky you’ve got a nurse living next door.” She nods at my hand before squaring me with a look that would proba
bly make a less-drunk man shake in his sneakers. But I’ve always felt untouchable with too many drinks under my belt.

  She has the most amazing piercing blue eyes I’ve ever seen. There’s a fiery spark to them that any man would want to set alight. It’s probably her anger causing it, but it makes me think of all the other things that could make her glow.

  Even the scowl she’s shooting my way is hot. I bet her husband has to fight going hard whenever they have a fight.

  All thoughts of my damaged hand vanish in that moment as I take in her outfit. I scan her from the dark brown hair tied in a messy mop on top of her head, to her oversized blue tee paired with pajama pants covered in… sloths? I have to bite back a laugh.

  “What are you smiling at?” she asks tersely.

  “Sloths?” I ask, my eyes dropping to her curvy hips. Damn, if she has a tattoo anywhere on that body, I’ll be a goner.

  Her eyes narrow on mine. “You’re worried about what I’m wearing when you’ve got a gash here that probably needs stitches.”

  I shrug, unable to look away. I try to catch a glance of her ring finger. That would be just my fucking luck. A gorgeous—albeit aggravated—woman literally pushes her way into my life, and she’s probably taken. “My brother is an EMT; he can fix me right up.”

  “Or maybe you can think twice before doing demolition while drunk next time,” she snaps. “But then again, evidence suggests you’re not a man who thinks things through.”

  My shoulders turn to stone. “What makes you say that?” I ask—the audacity of this damn woman. I try to pull my arm away, but she reads me like a book and tightens her grip.

  She levels me with a glare. “Stubborn too, I see?”

  My mouth drops open. Why haven’t I kicked her out of my house already?

  I hold her gaze, initiating a silent standoff that I’m compelled to win. She gives as good as she gets and doesn’t back down. I bet if we were standing, her hands would be firmly on her hips and I’d be fighting not to go hard at the promise of igniting that sass in other more creative and enjoyable ways.

  I shake my head because the last thing I want or need right now is a distraction to derail my plans. I look away but not before I catch a sly smile playing on her lips as she returns her attention to my injured hand. She pulls back the fabric to assess the damage, and I hide my wince as the cool air stings the wound. I study her face as she puts pressure on my skin again.

  “Are you married?” I ask.

  Her gaze snaps back to mine, her fingers jerking against my palm. “What?”

  “Married? Husband? Are you with someone?” I ramble.

  Her lips twitch, and she quirks a brow. “What if I have a wife?”

  Shit. I didn’t think of that.

  “Well… ah… um…” I stutter.

  She winks at me at the same time as she tightens her grip over the cut.

  “Fuck,” I groan. My wide eyes jump to hers. “Shit. Sorry. My mother would have my ass if she heard me cursing in front of a stranger.”

  The woman moves her head closer to mine, those dazzling eyes of hers now dancing. “I won’t tell her if you don’t,” she whispers before leaning back. “I happen to love cussing… at the right time, of course.”

  Wait, is she flirting with me? I’ve been out of the game for years; have the rules changed? Was there a dating memo I missed? She never did answer the married question, did she? And why did this all happen to me after a few too many beers?

  If I were a bit more clear-headed, I definitely wouldn’t be unsure of myself, but alcohol lowers my defenses. It always has. It’s not that it gets me in trouble, but I’m the first to admit that it has an effect on my usual cocky bravado.

  “A woman after my own heart,” I reply, smiling up at her.

  “I find that unlikely,” she mutters, piquing my interest.

  “So you never answered my question. Is there a husband? Wife? Significant other person?” I’m normally not this forward. I at least like to use a little charm and charisma to pull a woman in, but again, beer.

  “Only if you count my rambunctious six-year-old boy and my ex-mother-in-law who lives with us?” Her eyes go soft at the mention of her son, and fuck if I don’t feel it somewhere. That explains the mother hen routine when she opened the door.

  “I’m sorry about the noise,” I say quietly, my gaze dropping to her ruby-red lips, my tongue darting out to wet my own. I feel this weird draw to her. I can’t explain it.

  She dips her head, and my heartbeat goes crazy. I swear she’s moving in for something… a kiss? Then drunken instinct wins out over well-thought-out logic. In other words, Jamie the dumbass makes an appearance.

  I glide my fingers through her hair, close my eyes, and lean in to kiss her.

  She freezes, her gasp causing my head to jerk back and my gaze to meet her wide, shocked eyes. Dropping my injured hand like a bomb, she scampers back until she’s four feet away from me.

  “What was that?” she exclaims, throwing an arm in the air. “I just wanted to help you, and you think that means I want to kiss you?” She leans in and points to the wall. “My son is asleep on the other side of that wall.”

  My mouth drops open, and there’s a moment when I consider grabbing the offending hammer and knocking some sense into myself.

  Before I can apologize, my phone starts vibrating on the floor.

  “Keep pressure on that and if that’s not your EMT brother on the phone, call him. And if you could keep the noise down a little, I’d really appreciate it. Some of us have to get up early,” she snaps before spinning on her heels and crossing the room. She stops at the door, pausing for a moment before looking over her shoulder and adding, “and maybe invest in a first-aid kit, you know, in case drunken demo becomes a habit.”

  Then she disappears from sight quicker than a sinner at a church service.

  I stare at the empty doorway she disappeared out of when the phone rattles again. After grabbing it, I answer the call and shove it in the crook of my shoulder, quickly pressing down on my hand again.

  “Dude?” Jase asks by way of hello. My gaze is glued to the door as if I’m willing my Florence Nightingale wannabe to walk back through it. The throbbing pain in my hand is now the last thing on my mind.

  “Hello? Are you there? You yelled then dropped the phone then all I heard was a woman’s voice, so I hung up and called back. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah… I mean, I slashed my palm open with the hammer.”

  “And you summoned up a guardian angel? Who was that?”

  “Let’s just say; I think I’m going to like this neighborhood a whole lot. Once I apologize for being an idiot and trying to kiss her.”

  “What?” he says with a laugh.

  “Not my finest moment.”

  “Track her down tomorrow and say sorry for being a dick. Chicks love that shit.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Do that. I know what I’m talking about. How else do you think I’ve survived seven years with Natalie? I fuck up, I apologize with ice cream and orgasms, and all is forgotten,” he says warmly. “Now tell me, is this neighbor hot?”

  “Hmm,” I reply, as I press my arm against the wall and lever myself back up to standing, the throb in my hand distracting me.

  “She must be good to make you forget yourself.”

  “She’s headstrong. Also rather forceful. She let herself in and went into full-on rescue mode.”

  “Niiice…”

  “Feisty, too,” I reply, a slow smile curving my lips.

  “Oh…” he says slowly, his tone full of understanding. “Spunky is good. Sassy is better. But feisty, oh yeah.”

  He’s not wrong. Maybe I need a bit of feisty in my life. But first thing’s first—I have to find the woman and apologize for being a right dick.

  Then I’ll get to know her a little better. It’s the neighborly thing to do, after all.

  2

  Jamie

  I wake up the nex
t morning with a slightly sore head, a horrible taste in my mouth, and a throbbing hand. My brother Cohen swung by after I called him last night and dealt with my hand. He was annoyed when I refused to go to the emergency room, but even his EMT partner Cooper sides with me considering it was after ten.

  But I don’t have time to fuck around because today my brothers—Jaxon, Bryant, and Cohen—Jase, Matt, and my brother-in-law, Cade, are going to gut the entire interior.

  After grabbing a quick shower and getting dressed, I swipe my keys from the kitchen counter and walk out of the house and towards my driveway. Once I’m in my truck, I look towards the house next door just in time to see the door swing open. Then I see her, my late-night savior, looking completely transformed. Long gone are the sloth pajamas and baggy tee. Now she’s wearing dark blue scrubs covered with a zip-up jacket, but there’s no hiding those sexy curves I caught last night. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, her face fully made-up.

  Her son bounces as he walks by her side, hand firmly grasping hers as they disappear ’round the side of the house. I probably should’ve gotten out of the truck and talked to her, apologized for my behavior last night but maybe not in front of her son. That definitely wouldn’t be the way to make a good second impression, especially since my first was so stellar.

  If I hadn’t seen and experienced her in her natural element last night, there’s no way I’d even contemplate getting to know her.

  I’ve never been intrigued by someone like this before, but there are more pressing matters to attend to. I’m not exactly geared up to let another woman distract me from my goal.

  I start the engine and pull out, not wanting to be that creepy guy who sits in his vehicle watching people. I have coffee and donuts to collect, then a house to clear out. I’ll think about my neighbor and how to make a good second impression later.