Dirty Men 02 - Hard Hat Read online

  Hard Hat

  Dirty Men

  Frankie Love

  Contents

  Dirty Men

  Hard Hat

  Author Note

  Newsletter

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue One

  Epilogue Two

  Dirty Men

  Excerpt: Mountain Men

  Also by Frankie Love

  About the Author

  Hard work never looked so good. Calloused hands and hourly pay are as hot as any billionaire’s manicured digits in this collection of stories from four of the hottest, bestselling safe authors around. These blue collar dirty men are ready to hold your hand, then hold you down in these stand-alone stories dedicated to working men everywhere. Pure alpha possessiveness and happily ever afters will leave you wiggling in your chair and dreaming of your own working-class hero.

  Out Now: Hard Hat by Frankie Love

  Out Now: Coal Miner by Jenika Snow

  Coming September 14th: Rough Neck by Dani Wyatt

  Coming September 16th: Mechanic by Amber Bardan

  Copyright © 2017 by Frankie Love

  Edited By:

  Teresa Banschbach

  ICanEdit4U

  and

  Peppermint Editing

  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.

  Watching Lottie walk down the steps at my job site, hands on her curvy hips, I can tell she’s ready for a fight.

  But this woman is going to be mine—sass and all.

  And that look of worry on her face? I plan to wipe those cares away.

  It was my jackhammer that woke her, but I’m gonna be the one to put her to bed.

  I can see it now—on her back, legs spread—oh yeah, I’ve got more than a hard hat.

  I have everything this woman needs.

  Author Note

  Dear Reader,

  This filthy-sweet read is the insta-everything you crave. Luke’s a real dirty man who knows where to put his screwdriver. His tool belt is loaded and ready. #nicehammer #howhard #illbeyoursocket

  xo, frankie

  Newsletter

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  AND NEVER MISS A RELEASE!

  1

  Lottie

  The noise wakes me and I immediately groan, falling back in bed and pressing my pillow across my face. I know this is Brooklyn, but does there really have to be a construction crew out working today of all days? The vibration of the jackhammer causes the pictures on my walls to shake.

  If I could find some earplugs to block this noise I would. I was up late last night, tossing and turning. Now that it's morning, my body is finally ready to sleep.

  But then I remember the job interview and I reach for my alarm clock, pulling it close.

  No. No. No.

  I slept through the alarm. How did I do that? I never do that.

  Especially when getting an interview itself is such a struggle. I've applied for every receptionist position in the city. I don't have a college degree, and that takes me out of the running—seems like every recent graduate in this city is desperate for work.

  So, I swallowed my pride and started applying any and everywhere. Last week, I got turned down at Hot Dogs R Us.

  I wish I were joking.

  I jump out of bed trying not to cry, knowing I've got to get to the interview, even if I’m late. Today’s interview is at a semi-decent place; a used car dealership. I spent yesterday afternoon at the public library learning car lingo and reading the Kelly Blue Book to at least have some knowledge to bring to the interview.

  My life depends on getting this. So, no pressure.

  I trip over my notepad, bills, and bank statements at the foot of the bed.

  That's why I was up so late. It was a final attempt at trying to reconcile numbers that don't add up no matter how hard I try. I am good at math, but you can't make something from zero.

  But that noise outside is gonna be the real end of me.

  I reach for my bedroom window and yank it up. This rent-controlled apartment is the best thing I have going for me now, but even that will become a thing of the past if I can't get a job. I'm two months behind in rent and came home to a giant "EVICTION NOTICE" on my door last night.

  "People are trying to sleep up here," I shout to no one in particular.

  The guy with the jackhammer doesn't even turn to look my way.

  I shout louder, "Hey, mister." He finally turns his jackhammer off and looks around to see who is calling for him. "Up here!" I scowl as best I can. I know my mean face isn't very mean. I'm usually described as too nice for my own good.

  But not today. Today my desperation seeps into my words. And maybe it's not fair to take my pent-up frustration about my situation out on this stranger, but I never said I was perfect.

  "Can you keep it down?" I yell, sticking my head out the window. "You’ve already ruined my morning!"

  His eyes rise as he sees me from my two-story vantage point.

  "You’re telling me how to do my job?" He pulls off his tee-shirt and runs it over his sweaty brow. "Because, darling, I'm just doing what I was hired to do." He gives me a smile so damn bright I have to shield my eyes. But I immediately lower my hands because I don't want to miss anything this hard hat is giving freely to every single Brooklyn-ite.

  I clench my jaw, already hearing the whistles and compliments as women walk past him. "Nice ass!" and "What else you got in that tool belt?

  I roll my eyes as he grins, waving at the women as they walk past practically salivating. To be fair, I find myself swiping my own lip.

  But isn't it supposed to be the other way around? The construction workers should be the ones complimenting the ladies?

  I'm not a catcalling kind of girl myself, but if I were... There are all sorts of things I could say about this man. He has a set of washboard abs I could put to good use. It’s not like I have a washer and dryer in this apartment. And his jeans are weighed down by a hefty tool belt, forcing my eyes to look at the perfect V, leading to places I haven't gone in a very, very long time.

  "You done complaining? Because I have work to do," he calls up, bringing me out of my reverie and reminding me that I have work to do too.

  Like, I have to get to that interview.

  I groan loudly, making sure he knows how annoyed I am, knowing full well he does not deserve my irritation.

  As I scrub my face and brush my teeth I hear the jackhammer rev up again, and I feel like a brat for having yelled at him. But I don't have time right now to apologize. Right now, I must get dressed and get on the subway. I have just enough money left on my subway card to get there and back.

  Digging through my closet, which is stuffed to the gills, I try to find the right thing to wear. I pull on a dress that was my Grandma's once upon a time. Her collection of clothes from the 60’s is one of my most treasured possessions, but there has never been enough room in the apartment for all her beautiful things. This apartment may be larger than most but when it was designed, no one thought about closet space.

  I choose a pale blue, short sleeve dress with a belted waist that hits me mid-thigh. I add a pair of black patent-leather heels and shove my wallet into a matching black purse.

  I think of Grandma as I make a piece of toast and spread it with peanut butter. I know i
f she were still alive, in this apartment that she raised me in, she would have insisted I sit down and have a proper breakfast.

  But everything was different before Grandma got sick. I was going to college, we had enough money that whipping up a special bacon and egg breakfast wouldn't mean the difference between having hot or cold water. I grab a banana—the cheapest fruit I can find—and lock my door, my toast on a napkin to go. I cannot be late.

  As I rush down the stairwell that I spent my childhood bounding up and down, I know that I may not have much in the way of modern conveniences, like a smartphone or a laptop or cable tv, but I do have a lot of wonderful memories in this apartment with Grandma.

  I can't lose her apartment.

  I've got to get this job.

  2

  Luke

  She walks out of the building with a piece of toast in her mouth, and I immediately—and irreverently—think that I'd like to shove something else in that sassy little mouth of hers.

  Her eyes are wild as she looks at the sidewalk leading from the turn of the century six-unit apartment building. It's a gorgeous property and she doesn't know how good she has it to be living in such a sweet ass piece of real estate. This neighborhood is what I like to call a hipster’s paradise and when I see her in her little blue dress, a throwback to a time I doubt she knows anything about, I shake my head.

  Women like her are all over this city. I know, I'm a Brooklyn boy, through and through, but I've seen this place change over the years. Maybe I sound like I'm older than the thirty-year-old I am, but age doesn't mean shit in terms of life experience. And unfortunately, I've been through the wringer a time or twenty.

  "How exactly am I supposed to get out of the building?" she asks, looking like a sexy Mrs. Brady in her retro heels and mini dress.

  I look around slowly, knowing that taking my time is pissing this smart little thing off. The sidewalk is all torn up, and unless she goes through the back alley, she can't get through. I cock an eyebrow her way.

  "You can go out the back," I tell her.

  She presses her lips together, wadding up a paper napkin. "The sup locks it with a padlock so we never use it because the back steps are broken. And he isn't here." She looks at the concrete rubble and shakes her head.

  "You in a rush?"

  "Yes. I'm late. And I swear it's your fault."

  I frown, walking toward her. "My fault? Not the sup’s?"

  She huffs, bending down to take off her shoe, apparently preparing herself to walk through this landmine. Before she can slip it off though, I reach for her and press my hands to her waist. Picking her up—easily I might add, she's a petite woman, though her attitude is plenty big—I don't listen to her hooting and hollering.

  I give her a cocky grin, holding her two feet above the ground. Her eyes widen as she realizes I am not immediately putting her back down.

  "What are you doing?"

  I walk over the rubble, holding her tightly by her little waist, my thumbs pressing against her belt. I'm imagining pulling it off, using it to bind her hands to a bedpost, and spreading her legs.

  Gotta stop that train of thought, I don't want to scare her off with my hard on. And this woman seems like she scares easily. Hell, the way she is fussing about me putting her down tells me she doesn't like to be told what to do.

  "Put me down," she fusses, looking down at me. "Or, I'll report you to the sup."

  "And what if I want to do the reporting? What should I call you?"

  "Report me for what?" Her eyes are all fiery. Feisty. Damn. I like a woman who knows herself.

  "For being so damn rude," I push back.

  “So I see we’ve completely skipped the introductions, huh? Are you in the habit of grabbing strangers in broad daylight?”

  “You’re right. I’m Luke. Pleased to meet you.”

  She harrumphs. Through gritted teeth she says, “I’m Lottie… can you put me down now?”

  "It's hard to take you seriously when your feet are dangling in the air, you know that, right?"

  She narrows her eyes, glaring now.

  "Fine, fine," I tell her. "You know, you could handle learning a few manners." I lick my lips, unable to contain the smile spreading across my mouth. This girl is all kinds of delicious.

  "Stop smiling," she says as I reach the city sidewalk and set her down like the goddamn gentleman I am.

  "Not even a thank you?"

  She shakes her head, her eyes filled with worry.

  "I'm really late," she says, before spinning around and running away. Toward what, I don't know. Her hair whips in the September wind, the early morning air still thick with fog. But I see her clearly.

  I want that woman, attitude and all.

  I pick up the jackhammer, knowing I need to get back to work and finish this job. But fifteen minutes later I've done more than work up a sweat—I'm worked up in ways that require another tool.

  I call it a break, but the only thing I'm breaking is my gas pedal as I peel out of the parking spot and drive to my own apartment. My place is a bachelor pad. The truth is I need a woman to make this place anything more than a place to sleep at night. I lock my door and drop my keys and phone on the table and fall back onto my bed.

  In a few seconds, I've unzipped my jeans, reached for my solid stiffie, and have begun stroking myself.

  Some guys grab a donut and a coffee when they want to take a few minutes off the job. Hell, most days the only thing I want mid-morning is an old-fashioned—but right now the only old-fashioned thing on my mind is that little blue dress straight out of a time-machine. The way that Lottie's breasts pushed tightly against the polyester makes my cock ache. The way her pouty lips turned to a frown makes me want to give her a real reason to smile, and I move my hand thinking of the ways I could please that little thing.

  I'm hard as hell, thinking of Lottie waking up this morning, two stories above me, hearing my jackhammer and getting all worked up. I can picture her long hair around her shoulders, her body in something like a sheer nightgown as she heard me pounding away—getting all agitated—writhing around in her bed like a dirty girl, all pent-up and frustrated.

  I pump hard, knowing it's not gonna take much to get me off. Not when I have so much to work with. My cock is ready to explode, thinking of taking off that dress of hers, running my hands over her full titties, my mouth sucking her hard nipples and my hands moving lower, lower, to that slick pussy.

  Ah, fuck. One thought of her pussy and my cock erupts with creamy ribbons. Damn. Lottie got me off with hardly any work at all. I close my eyes, my hand not leaving my cock, already hard again with the image of her above me, grinding against—

  My phone rings, breaking me from my daydream. I don't want to answer it, but it immediately starts ringing again and this time I get up to answer it, knowing that if I want my company to really get off the ground I can't miss calls from prospective clients.

  "Hello?"

  "Hey, Luke," my sister Julia says.

  "Are you in labor?" I ask.

  "No, it's not that. But when I do go into labor you're still going to be my person, right?"

  "Of course, you know that." Her husband's in Iraq and won't be home for three months. I have sworn I'll do anything to step up in his place. None of us have much in the way of extended family, so as Julia's brother, it's my privilege to be there for her when she needs me.

  "It's just, the job posting is still up and I wanted you to know I blocked your schedule for tomorrow morning so you could meet a few prospective hires."

  "Why do you need me?" My sister has been my receptionist for the last year as I've worked on making my construction business more legitimate. She's a godsend but she's about to have her first child, and while I'm happy as hell for her, I can't operate this business without someone manning the desk.

  "We've had dozens of applicants, and I've weeded most of them out, but I want you to make the final decision. It's your company, Luke."

  I pull up my pants, gra
bbing my keys, knowing it was irresponsible to leave the job site like that, especially after I gave Curtis such a hard time for calling in sick today, and forcing me to come out to his job this morning. The work isn't above my pay grade, but I already have a bunch of jobs that need my attention.

  Not that I mind now: if Curtis hadn't called in sick, I wouldn't have met Lottie.

  "Whatever you think is best. You know I'd rather be out on a job site, but just tell me where to be and when okay?"

  "Sounds good, I'll text you later."

  "Just don't go having that baby before we hire someone, okay?"

  I hang up and jump in my truck. Before getting to the job site though, I stop at the donut shop. Lottie may have been the one with a chip on her shoulder, but I could have been gentler with her. One look in her eyes full of worry, I know she could use a break.

  As I wait to place my order, I think about how I'd like to give her the sort of break I just had. Maybe what Lottie needs is a proper orgasm.

  But I'll start with a donut peace-offering.

  "I'll take a dozen old-fashioneds."

  3

  Lottie

  It was stupid of me to think it would have gone any other way. I was ten minutes late and under qualified.

  Still, as I wipe the tears from my eyes I know that I'm at the end of my rope. Opting for the long walk home instead of using my last subway pass, I think about the things I could try to sell at the pawn shop.

  Grandma's china is beautiful in my eyes, but I doubt anyone else would think the chipped platters and gravy bowl that were passed around our small table every holiday has any monetary value. Most everything I owned has value because of the memories they hold.