Home > Cocksure (Cocksure #1)(2)

Cocksure (Cocksure #1)(2)
Author: K.I. Lynn

“Yeah, if you call a week or two sticking around, then you are the poster child for serious relationships.”

“Fuck you, Niko. I’m just saying.”

“You don’t have to get it, man. It’s just how it is,” I say to him. “How I want it. I have rules. Rules that I live by. Rules that I fuck by. I’m not looking for something long term, I’m looking for the here and now.” I know he’s heard me say this before. “You have a bad habit, my friend, that more than once has come back to bite you in the ass.”

“Yeah, yeah. You and your rules, Niko. You just wait. One of these days, you’re going to have to break those fucking stupid rules you live by, and I can’t wait to get a front row seat at the fall of the great Niko Callahan,” he says to me, and we are right back to the bickering I’m used to with Cam.

“Not stupid rules. You could use some rules yourself, moron. Might have saved you years of the guys busting your balls had you followed one of my two most important rules.”

“Yeah, which one is that?”

“Never bring them back to my place—the number one rule.”

“That’s not entirely ridiculous, but what if they don’t have their own place? I mean, shit, it happens,” he says.

I want to laugh at the seriousness of his tone. “Cam, stop fucking girls. What happened to that chick that still lived at home with her mother?”

“She was taking care of her mother! Her mom had some kind of illness and needed the extra help, dickhead.”

“Yeah, see, that’s another issue. Why do you know this information?”

“Because she told me. What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with it is that when you talk, lines get crossed. Feelings start. That’s rule two. Only one night—they get needy. You don’t seem to understand that shit and end up meeting the mom and having fucking breakfast and shit.”

“What’s wrong with breakfast? I get Mickey Mouse pancakes,” he says in reply, and I do roll my eyes this time.

“Man, if I have to hear one more time about those damn Mickey Mouse pancakes . . . you dumbass.”

“You know what?”

“Nope, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me anyway.”

“Maybe if someone made Niko some Mickey pancakes with butter and extra syrup, Niko wouldn’t be such a pussy downer. There is nothing wrong with how I meet the ladies. You want to live by your stupid rules, be my guest, but I get sex and a home-cooked meal. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. We learn that early in life, so fuck you very much. Plus, I get it all in a twenty-four-hour time span.”

“Whatever works for you. I’ll stick with my plan and my rules. They work for me.”



1. Never bring them back to my place.

2. Only one night.

3. Don’t catch feelings.

4. See all rules above.


I have no desire to change my ways. Not because Cam said so. Not because some chick agreed and then wanted more. I’m not the bad guy here. I was straight up. I’m always straight up with them. I’m not changing my rules for anyone. No fucking way.



“FLIGHT 2295 FOR ATLANTA is now boarding at gate B29.”

Every thirty seconds for the last hour, some airline employee’s voice has boomed over the speakers, which are everywhere. It’s the reason I’m on my second cup of coffee, and why I plan to have some alcohol as soon as I’m on the plane. Too damn early to deal with all of these people.

LAX is just as busy as always, and I’ll be happy to go from thousands to a few hundred where I can plug in with a movie or music and forget them all. The week has been long, the last three even longer. Everything in my life is being flipped.

It may seem like running, going back to Boston and my family, but it’s not. At least that’s what I tell myself. I’ve been gone for seven years, thousands of miles from everything I’d ever known.

My phone buzzes on the table, and I glance down at it in reflex. His name is on the screen. I read the first few words of the text before I can stop myself. Evie, talk to me. I love— I look away, unable to read any more. There is way too much I’ve learned about the man, about what he’s done behind my back, that I can say if that’s his definition of love, then I want no part of it.

It’ll be good to return to Boston. As much as I love California, I’ve missed my family and friends. I’ll miss the weather and the friends I’ve made here over the years, but in the end, this is the right move for me.

No reminders of him, the comfort of home, and a chance to start over.

It’ll be evening by the time I arrive and my brother, Cameron, is going to meet me for dinner. The sad part is that I don’t really want to. Not today. The day is going to be long, the travel exhausting, and I’m just not in the mood to dive into my sudden change in location.

I pull up Facebook on my phone, an app I rarely use, and check in on him. There is a new picture of him at the top of his profile. It’s one of those cliché testosterone gym shots showing off his muscles, which look huge but are necessary for his job.

What makes me catch my breath is the man standing next to him. It’s been years since I’ve seen him in the flesh, but from the pictures my brother posts, his best friend just gets better looking with age.

Niko was my childhood crush, my first love, and every time I see him, that feeling starts to creep back in. I’ve never stopped thinking about him. The romantic teenager in me is all hearts and love, but the woman in me is trying hard not to lick the abs he’s showing off or notice how that smirk has me squirming in my seat. His eyes are hypnotic, his demeanor cocky, and he’s a man I’ve fantasized about more over the years than I care to admit.

I’m sure I’ll see him at some point and he’ll make me a complete and utter blabbering mess, just like he used to. The two of them are practically joined at the hip, so it’s inevitable. I go to sign off when my messenger app shows I have a message. I look to see who it’s from and, even though I’m exhausted, I can’t keep the grin from taking over my face.

Alyson Payne: Why the hell are you on Facebook when you and your two Christmas hams for an ass are supposed to be on a plane right now heading closer to me and my chicken bone ass?

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