Jack Hammer: A Blue Collar Alpha Romance Read online

  Jack Hammer

  A Blue Collar Alpha Romance

  Piper King

  Contents

  1. Zoe

  2. Jack

  3. Zoe

  4. Jack

  5. Zoe

  6. Jack

  7. Zoe

  8. Jack

  9. Zoe

  10. Jack

  11. Zoe

  12. Jack

  13. Zoe

  14. Jack

  15. Zoe

  16. Jack

  17. Zoe

  18. Jack

  19. Zoe

  20. Jack

  Epilogue

  What To Read Next

  Cover by Mayhem Cover Creations

  Copyright © 2017 by Piper King

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  1

  Zoe

  Apparently, there are still towns in this country with only one stoplight. White picket fences, gazebos, and tire swings hanging from towering oak trees. No that I’ve ever seen that kind of place until today. The city is my world, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Want a pizza at four in the morning? No problem! In dire need of coffee? Well, there’s a Starbucks on every corner.

  If a city doesn’t have at least seven skyscrapers, I’m not interested. I like to be where the people are, where you can find something happening at all hours of the night. In places like Nowheresville, the only thing you can find are cows ambling across dirt roads.

  Okay, so the town I’ve just driven to isn’t called Nowheresville, but it might as well be.

  Because somehow, despite my shiny new job in downtown Manhattan, I’ve found myself plopped into Redwater, Connecticut for a business trip. And not just a day trip, unfortunately. I’m stuck here for a week.

  I figure I’ll die of boredom within the first twenty-four hours.

  The twenty-something woman behind the counter of the quaint bed and breakfast smiles and hands me a key. “Your room is on the second floor to the right. Breakfast is served every morning at seven. You have any questions at all, just let me know.”

  “Thank you,” I say, glancing around the place. There’s a pink flower pattern on absolutely everything. The wallpaper, the tablecloths, even the paintings. If I look at it too long, I’m convinced I’ll pass out from dizziness. “Just out of curiosity, is there anything to do around here? I have some time to kill.”

  I could sit in my room and read a book, but that’s never really been my cup of tea. In fact, tea itself never has been either. I’m a wine bar kind of gal, preferably with a piano, but I have a sneaking suspicion that I won’t be finding anything like that within fifty miles of Redwater.

  “Well.” The woman frowns and crunches her eyebrows together. “There’s some nice trails through the countryside if you brought your hiking boots along with you. Those sky high heels of yours are hot, but you won’t make it very far.”

  With a slight smile, I shake my head, shifting in my designer heels. I don’t even own a pair of hiking boots.

  “There’s a nice orchard nearby where they let you pick your own berries. That could be fun, though it closes at sundown.”

  “As nice as that sounds, I was thinking of something more indoorsy than outdoorsy.” I lift an eyebrow. “A museum. Art gallery. Maybe a theatre?”

  “No, we don’t have that kind of thing in Redwater. You’d have to head to Hartford for that.” She gives a light laugh, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s laughing at her lame town or at me. “We’ve got Bar Wilde next door. That’s probably the closest thing to what you’re looking for.”

  Bar Wilde? It sounds like the kind of place where college girls dance on tables while old rock ballads blast from a junky old jukebox.

  But, it’s better than sitting in an explosion of pink flowers for the rest of the evening.

  And that’s how I end up in a place called Bar Wilde.

  I have to admit that I might have been a teensy bit snobby. I assumed the place would be a dump, especially when I saw it was a big red renovated barn on the short walk over. I find I like it though as I ease onto the sleek barstool. The lofted ceilings are criss-crossed with dark wooden beams that are highlighted by low-hanging lanterns. Combined with the flickering candles on each of the small tables that dot the large room, there’s a nice warm ambience that makes me feel right at home. And instead of college kids dancing on tabletops, the crowd is much more mellow.

  Sure, there’s a jukebox like I expected. And there’s some twenty-somethings in the back corner playing pool. But there’s also a scattering of older folks, as well as a group of men in faded dusty jeans breaking out into raucous laughter. They catch my eye, mostly because the tallest one has the most impressive biceps I’ve ever seen in my life.

  Oh stop that, I think to myself. He’s the total opposite of the kind of guy I usually go for. I like suits and ties and expensive cologne. Someone suave and sophisticated. The kind of guy who knows the difference between Malbec and Merlot. That guy in the low-slung jeans looks as if he smells like dirt and steel. Not to mention he’s sporting a cocky grin, and I absolutely abhor arrogant guys. They’re the worst. Mostly because they think they’re the best.

  “What’ll you have?” The bartender slides over to me. He’s tall and muscular with a thick beard hiding his jaw, and he wears a name tag that pins him as the owner: Roman Wilde. Behind him, the wall is covered from floor to ceiling by an impressive array of bottles, and he flips a coaster before me with an ease that says he’s done that move a thousand times before.

  “You have a specialty?” I ask, settling my hands on the smooth wood counter. I’ve never seen anything like it. The color is dark and rich and soft to the touch. Whoever put this place together has some serious skills. Perhaps the kind of skills my boss would appreciate as well.

  “Whiskey,” he says with a wink. “Always whiskey. You want to try one made here in Redwater, Miss…?”

  “Zoe. My name is Zoe Austin. And you know what? I’ve love to,” I say, somewhat surprising myself. I never would have pegged Nowheresville as the kind of place to get good whiskey, but this guy looks as if he knows his spirits. “You have a really nice place here. Did you renovate it yourself?”

  “Why thank you.” He smiles, and a dimple dots his left cheek. “That’ll be the handiwork of the Hall Brothers. You looking for some builders? I can introduce you if you like.”

  “No, thank you,” I say quickly. Maybe just a tad too quickly. And I swear my face feels a little warm. Problem is, I really don’t want to meet the Hall Brothers. I’m not sure I can look them in the eyes when I know what’s about to come.

  Because I’m here in this town to take business away from them. On my boss’s orders, of course. There’s a new housing development being built on the outskirts of Redwater, and rumor has it the brothers are numero uno on the list of contractors.

  It’s the kind of development that has one hell of a price tag attached.

  And I’ve been sent here to convince the developer to go with someone other than the Hall Brothers. A serious operation instead of some hobbyists. A nationwide corporation with better equipment, wider contacts, and an endless supply of resources. The Wilson Group is a well-oiled machine. Not a homegrown family business better suited for local kitchen renovations or bedroom closet installations.

  “You sure? ‘Cause the man you’re looking for is just—”

  “I’m sure,” I say again.

  “C
an I buy you a drink, gorgeous?” comes a voice from behind me.

  I pivot on the stool and find myself staring into the deep blue eyes of the hunk I spotted earlier. He looks even better up close, though he also looks even cockier. He shoots me a wink, and something hot and bright grows in my gut.

  He’s so totally not my type. Really. Not at all. Just because he’s making me sweat doesn’t mean I like what I see.

  The last guy I dated was a CEO of one of Manhattan’s most up-and-coming firms. He wined and dined me and bought me a glittery necklace from Tiffany’s. Of course, Marcus ended up cheating on me. In our own bed. I’d sworn off men ever since.

  I should say no to the drink. Because even if this Connecticut Cowboy was my type in some alternate reality, I’m totally not ready to meet someone new. Not after walking in on the guy of my dreams balls deep in a blonde bombshell strapped to the wall.

  But I find myself nodding and returning his smile, and he flicks his fingers at the bartender to pour me another drink.

  And I have an inkling it’s only the first of many to come.

  2

  Jack

  Her smile lights up the whole damn bar. I hadn’t expected that. The suit skirt I thought looked stiff and formal from afar looks downright slinky up close. I hadn’t expected that either. But the biggest surprise is the warmth in her eyes. City girls like her usually come across cool and distant, but there’s something genuine about her, causing it to seem as if she’s wearing a pristine disguise to hide the easygoing girl-next-door underneath.

  Doesn’t matter, I think to myself. This is just a silly bet from my younger (and lamer) brother who is too bored by his own lackluster love life to know what to do with himself. So, he has to try and complicate mine. ‘Course, all I have to do is make nice for half an hour with Miss Fancy Pants over here, and I win. There’s no prize, of course, unless you count the justification for total smugness toward my little brother.

  And I always revel in being smug, especially when it comes to Luke and Noah. They may be family, but they can also be major pains in my ass.

  “Sure, I’d love that.” She runs her hands along the top of the bar as she appreciates its curves. A flicker of pride passes through me. I built this place, along with Luke and Noah. It was one of our first big jobs, and it put our business on the map. A part of me wants to show off to this girl who looks polished to perfection, despite the fact I’m not too fond of people like her.

  My type is more along the lines of messy bedhead, bare feet, and freckles from the lazy afternoon sun. This girl wears a black suit skirt, a white no-nonsense blouse, and her dark hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, highlighting a set of gorgeous cheekbones and her slender, delicious neck…

  I mean, they’re not gorgeous, and her neck isn’t delicious.

  But if I were the kind of guy to go for this kind of girl, I’d probably think all that.

  But I don’t. Because I’m not.

  “Zoe,” Roman pipes in from the bar, gesturing to me as if he’s going to make the introduction. Not so fast, bud. “This here is Ja—”

  “Jamie,” I cut in, reaching out to take her slender hand in mine. It’s much softer and warmer than I expected. “Name’s Jamie.”

  Roman shoots me a quizzical expression but doesn’t correct me. He’s seen this happen before, and he’ll see it happen again. I can tell he doesn’t approve, and I don’t blame him really. This stupid game is not something I’m proud of, now that I mention it, but I can never back down from a dare.

  See, my name’s not Jamie. It’s Jack. But Noah’s dare always comes with four rules.

  1. Don’t tell her your real name.

  2. Be your typical arrogant self.

  3. Use whatever inane pickup line Noah comes up with next.

  4. Make it half an hour without getting slapped.

  I think he came up with the first rule to keep these dumb bets from getting traced back to him. Everyone in the area knows the Hall Brothers. If rumors swirl about the brothers at Bar Wilde using pickup lines that would make our mother flail in her grave, it won’t take long for Noah to get his own slap on the face.

  “Nice to meet you, Jamie. I’m Zoe.” Her face turns a slightly darker shade of pink. “Of course, Roman already told you that though…”

  She’s nervous. It’s kind of cute.

  “What’s your poison?” I shoot her my trademark grin, the one that works on every girl I meet. But instead of melting under my gaze, she glances away. Interesting. I might have to take a different approach this time, though I have to remind myself I’m not really trying to get her into my bed.

  “Usually wine,” she says.

  Color me unsurprised. Of course she says wine. I bet she goes to tasting sessions at a city bar where she nibbles on cheese and rambles intellectual nonsense about the abstract artwork on the walls.

  But then she continues, “Though I decided to try the local whiskey tonight.”

  “You don’t say?” I raise my eyebrows and signal to Roman. “Well, in that case, two more of your Wilde Whiskey, please.”

  “Wait, what?” Utter delight fills her face. And okay, I hadn’t expected that either. “Do you mean it’s Roman’s whiskey?”

  “Best damn whiskey in all fifty states.” I lean closer and drop my voice to a whisper. “He likes to be modest, but he’s the hardest working asshole I’ve ever met. Owns this place, owns a distillery, and lives on a farm. Sometimes he sells his own eggs and milk at the farmer’s market.”

  “And what about you?” she asks, her eyes bright and clear. Even though we’re talking about Roman and his miles-long list of accomplishments, she seems laser-focused on me. And I have to admit, I don’t mind it. “What do you do?”

  “Jamie here,” Roman cuts in and slides the glasses of dark amber liquid across the wooden bar top, “builds things. Don’t you, Jamie? He’s quite the handyman.”

  “Oh really?” Her lips turn up into a smile that fills the room. My eyes catch on her tongue, on her teeth, on her cherry red lipstick. I find myself leaning closer and appreciating the way her smile reaches all the way up to her light blue eyes. She’s got one hell of a smile. Even though she’s not my type, I have to admit her mouth is a fucking wonderland. What would those lips taste like, I wonder? And suddenly, I forget what we’ve been talking about.

  “What do you build?” she asks, and I think it might be the second time she states her question.

  “A little of this, a little of that. Cabinets, dressers, bookcases.” I decide to go with the more truthful of options. That’s how my business started out, after all. I made bookcases for friends and family in my garage, and things just expanded on from there. I don’t do much of that anymore though unless it's part of a larger package deal. “Pretty boring stuff. I’m much more interested in hearing what you do.”

  Turn the conversation back onto her, and I don’t have to come up with any more lies.

  She bites her bottom lip, and it’s definitely the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Part shyness, part flirtation. Or at least I think it’s flirtation. The way she’s shifting closer and closer makes it seem as though my game is working on her.

  “You think that’s boring?” She laughs a little. “Let me tell you about boring. I’m a project manager for a company in New York. I spend most of my days in a cubicle writing emails or making phone calls.”

  About what I expected, but something about her answer disappoints me.

  “Present tense, I notice” I say after I down my whiskey in one gulp. “So, I take it you’re not new to Redwater. You’re only passing through?”

  She takes a sip of the whiskey and licks her lips in a slow and fluid motion that snags my eyeballs onto her mouth again. “I’m only here for a week. So, I thought I’d let my hair down and have some fun during my stay. Why not, huh? So far I’m glad I did.”

  “I’d like to point out that you haven’t actually let your hair down.” I motion to her ponytail and wink.

 
She blushes. There’s no mistaking it. It’s hard to tell in the dim lighting, but she one-hundred percent has a blush going on. And there’s something sensual about the way she reaches up to free her hair. Her long dark strands cascade around her shoulders, and even though I’m usually a much bigger fan of blondes, I have an itch to run my fingers through her waves. Maybe it’s the whiskey. Maybe it’s because she defies my expectations. But something about this girl has me intrigued.

  “That better?” I ask, my tone of voice a shade deeper than it was only seconds before.

  “Much.” She takes another sip of whiskey and peeks at me through the hair now falling into her eyes. “But mostly I’m happy I tried this whiskey. My insides sure are getting hot.”

  I know what she means, but her phrasing makes me go rock hard. Out of nowhere. One minute she’s not my type, the next minute she’s got my cock all excited. I mean, she’s still not my type.

  Nope, not at all.

  And I’m still not flirting with her. It’s just a bet. It’s just a game. My dick is getting confused. That’s all it means.

  It’s been awhile since I’ve fucked anyone, so I can’t blame him.

  “So, tell me one thing about yourself,” I say, dragging my thoughts as far away from the gutter as I can. “Anything at all. The more random, the better.”

  She cocks her head as if she’s thinking hard, immediately playing along with my game. After a few moments, she smiles. “Okay, but you can’t make fun of me.”

  Color me intrigued. “I’ll pinky swear it.” I crook my pinky toward her, and she takes it without hesitation, nodding solemnly as we make the vow.

  “Every morning at seven…” Her face breaks out into a ridiculous grin. “I do a workout at home, but it’s not just any workout. I use one of those aerobic steps and do a dance routine while blasting Taylor Swift.”

  I stifle the urge to laugh, and it’s hard to imagine this buttoned-up, stiff-backed girl whirling around to pop music.