Jack Hammer Read online

  JACK HAMMER

  Copyright © 2015 by Tabatha Vargo

  All Rights Reserved. Printed in the United States of America.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manor whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events or real people are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Jack Hammer/Tabatha Vargo/Melissa Andrea

  Cover Art by Romantic Book Affairs

  ISBN:978-0-9861173-1-2

  PROLOGUE

  HIS PENIS WAS IN MY FACE.

  I say penis loosely because even though I wasn’t the type of girl to use the word, it was more of a cock than a penis.

  Let me explain the difference.

  A penis is a male reproductive organ—one used for procreation purposes and urination only. It’s the thing that distinguishes a man from a woman. Men have a penis. Women have vaginas. It’s simple biology.

  This man did not have a penis.

  No.

  He had a cock—a thing of beauty—standing tall with the confidence that any woman who took a ride would be more than thrilled with the results. He had a cock that throbbed with want and arousal—ready to explode like a fountain of pleasure. The more I stared at it the more my mouth watered.

  He thrust his hips closer, sliding the hard, mushroom-shaped head along my cheek. My face burned with embarrassment as the women around me screamed and threw dollar bills onto the stage. His lower abdominal muscles, forming a perfect V, jerked and flexed as he moved, making my fingers itch to touch them.

  His G-string was pulled to the side to release the beast between his legs, but the rest of it stayed in place housing the money women had stuffed in there for just a touch of him. Every now and again, a twenty would fall from his G-string, landing between his legs.

  Twenties.

  Who the hell had that kind of money?

  I closed my eyes and breathed in deep as I waited to disappear into the nothing. I don’t know what made me agree to a night out with the girls, but while I was enjoying looking at the fine male specimen in front of me, the strip club I’d been dragged to wasn’t my thing.

  My eyes moved up, rolling across his tan abs and chest. I took note of the sexy tattoos that crawled up his sides, before my eyes landed on his pierced nipples. His neck was thick, and a tiny vein was popping out on the side from his workout.

  His jaw muscles were tight, ticking to the beat of the music he danced to, and his teeth were plunged into his bottom lip like he was seconds away from coming all over my face.

  Then my eyes met his icy blues and everything faded away. The music and women disappeared, and I saw the exact moment when he recognized me. His expression changed, his face dropping completely as his body stopped all movement.

  “Blaine?” His name lit a fire across my tongue, burning my taste buds and leaving an acrid flavor in my mouth.

  Shivers of awareness moved through me. It was him. His face was one I’d never forget. It haunted my dreams at night—kept me from dating anyone because he was all I could think about. He was all I’d ever wanted.

  His mouth moved, and I read his thick lips as he mouthed my name.

  His brows were pulled down—his eyes narrowing at me as he tilted his head and slowly backed away from the front of the stage. And then he was gone, covering his beautiful cock and taking my heart, which he’d stolen when I was seventeen, with him.

  PART 1:

  LOVE AND LOSS

  1

  CHELSEY

  AND MY STRAP POPPED.

  Not only did that suck, but the zipper on my bag wasn’t closed all the way, which meant my books and papers went flying all over the busy hallway.

  Good times. No seriously… the best of times.

  It was the second book bag I’d gone through, and we were only four months into the school year. It was my fault considering I never visited my locker. It was faster to carry all my books with me at all times. Being late to class wasn’t something I ever wanted to be.

  “Damn,” I hissed.

  I dropped to my knees and started stuffing my things into my broken bag. The frayed strap flapped at the side like a dead animal while I snatched up everything within my reach.

  Kids shuffled by me, barely missing my fingers in their rush to get to class. Shoes of all colors and sizes moved past my vision, stepping on my assignments and pushing my books out of reach.

  Then the bell rang, filling the hallway with a noisy reminder that time had run out, and officially making me late for the first time ever.

  “Damn,” I growled again, shoving my mousey, brown hair behind my ear to get it out of my face.

  Then a set of male hands entered my sight and began to help me. His fingers were long and tan as they wrapped around my economics book and set it inside my bag. A tiny tattoo of a skull was inked into the skin between his thumb and first finger, and my eyes stayed glued on the green, discolored drawing of rebellion.

  Thick veins ran up his muscular arms just below the skin as if he’d just gotten done working out. I followed those veins up his forearms where they disappeared inside his elbows. His olive skin was smooth and rippled over his muscles as he helped me.

  My eyes moved up his arms, past his wide shoulders and neck, landing on a set of thick lips with a light dusting of dark hair around them. That’s where it stopped. He wasn’t looking at me, he was looking down. His dark, tousled hair fell into his face as he helped me clean my papers and books, blocking the rest of his face completely.

  “Thank you,” I said, shocked that anyone had stopped to help me.

  I swallowed hard around the discomfort of talking to a total stranger, and cleared my throat, which was thick with nerves.

  Then he looked up, his blazing, blue eyes moving over my face and effectively shifting my universe. They were the eyes of a wolf, wild and reckless, and they glowed like they were lit from within—light and icy in color, yet so dark and mysterious.

  The side of his mouth lifted into a smirk, and his thick lips grabbed my attention as an adorable dimple popped on the side of his cheek, wrecking his bad boy persona briefly.

  He nodded. “No worries,” he responded.

  His voice was deep and strong, like that of an older man. It rumbled from within as if it took pieces of his soul to speak. The strangest thing was I felt his voice as if he’d spoken against my skin. Goose bumps traveled across my body, forcing me to rub at my arms as if I were cold.

  He zipped my book bag, and tied the tattered strap with adept fingers, before lifting it like it weighed nothing as he stood. He reached his hand out to me, and I stared at it, feeling confused. My face went up in flames when I realized what he was offering. I placed my hand in his, and he pulled me from my knees and into a standing position.

  He miscalculated my tiny build when he pulled, and I fell into him, embarrassing myself beyond belief. My nose brushed against his T-shirt, and I breathed him in. He smelled like motor oil and cologne, and although the two didn’t sound like a winning combination, they smelled heavenly.

  To me, he reeked of danger and something mysterious—like the pungent odor of the unknown elements my sheltered life was missing—like a unique set of pheromones produced only for me.

  He set me straight with strong hands, his calloused fingers digging slightly into the soft skin of the top of my arms.

  He caught me staring at him, and I turned away, slapping the dirt from the knees of my jeans before reaching out for my bag. But b
efore I could take the bag, he stepped away and pulled it from my reach.

  “I’ll carry it for you.” He grinned, tossing his dark hair from his eyes with a flick of his head.

  And as cliché as it sounds, I melted on the spot. There would be no walking to class since I was sure I was big pile of Chelsey on the floor. I was positive I’d been liquefied from the heat of his smile and in need of being mopped up.

  “But you’ll be late,” I insisted.

  He chuckled, shaking his head as amusement danced in his eyes. “What’s your name, sweet girl?” he asked.

  Sweet girl. Swoon.

  My cheeks tingled as I blushed harder than I ever had, the heat running to my brain and slowing my thinking process.

  “Chelsey.” I swallowed.

  “Well, Chelsey, I hate to point out the obvious, but I’m pretty sure we’re already late.”

  My face flamed brighter and hotter and I smiled.

  “I guess you’re right,” I choked.

  Holding out his hand again, he nodded toward the end of the hallway. “Lead the way, Chelsey.”

  He said my name like he was trying it out to see how it felt against his tongue—like it brought him pleasure when it bounced around his mouth and leapt from his lips. It was erotic and sensual. My name had never sounded racy before. Actually, there was nothing sexy about me at all.

  Biting into my lip, I turned and started toward my next class. He followed me to Mr. Master’s room, and I felt his eyes on the back of my head, raking down my back and landing on my ass, making me even more self-conscious. When we reached the door, I turned to face him, keeping my eyes lowered, and he handed me my heavy bag.

  “Enjoy class, Chelsey,” he said, ducking down to look at me beneath the hair I’d let fall around my face.

  His smile was wide and suggestive, like he knew what he was doing to me. His brow lifted in question as if he was waiting for me to say something, but I was shy, I always had been. I wasn’t used to boys giving me much notice, especially not boys like the one standing in front of me.

  He was tall and beautiful, like he’d been molded by the hands of a marvelous artist. His cheekbones were high, his brows perfect, and his eyes… there weren’t enough words in the English language to describe their beauty. He was magnificent.

  The fact I’d even noticed those things about him said a lot. Boys were the last thing on my mind. Half the time, unless I was working directly with one, I barely paid attention to the males in school.

  But this one… it was different with him.

  I felt as if I was choking when he looked at me—as if every word I’d learned since grade school suddenly ran from my memory. I completely lost my ability to put together even the smallest words, and for the first time in my life, I stuttered. He transformed me from the intelligent girl with the 4.0 GPA, and the possible valedictorian for Weathersby high school, right into an airhead with no knowledge whatsoever.

  I didn’t like it. I hated feeling stupid and inadequate.

  “You too,” I responded.

  I reached for the doorknob, ready to take flight and be away from the boy who stunned me senseless, but then I remembered I hadn’t thanked him. Turning quickly, my eyes moved over his back—over his dark T-shirt and rugged, blue jeans that looked as if they were made for only him.

  Chains hung from his back pocket and rattled against his ass with his stride, and when he reached up to playfully tap the doorframe above him, his shirt lifted giving me a tiny peek of gray boxers above his low-hanging jeans.

  He was all trouble. Anyone who looked at him knew that. And yet, he stopped to help little ol’ me when everyone else stepped over me like I was invisible.

  “Hey,” I called out, prompting him to turn around. “I didn’t get your name.”

  Again, a breathtaking smile broke across his face, and the dimple that transformed him from bad boy to sweetheart popped out. “Blaine,” he stated.

  Blaine.

  It was unique, and felt odd across my tongue when I mouthed it to myself. I liked it. It matched him perfectly. Dangerous and mysterious—dark and unknown.

  No. No. No. All bad things for a girl like me.

  “Thanks, Blaine,” I said, fire filling my cheeks once again.

  “You’re very welcome, Chelsey.”

  He warmed me in a way I’d never experienced before—in a way that was forbidden. He was the fruit I dare not sample—the color of sin and the devil. And I knew before he even disappeared from my sight that he’d tainted me during the tiny exchange between the two of us—changed me in a way that my parents would despise.

  My eyes lingered on him as he strutted down the hall toward the doors leaving the school as if he couldn’t care less if he made it to his next class. Careless and free—something I’d never be.

  With a red face and a smile that made my cheeks ache, I opened the door to Mr. Master’s room, and stepped inside, earning myself my very first tardy.

  **********

  LATER, AT LUNCH, I found out I was probably the only girl in school who didn’t know who Blaine was. Apparently, he was very popular with the ladies, and had slept with most of the ones I passed in the hallway every day.

  I slipped my glasses from my face since I didn’t need them if I wasn’t going to be reading, and looked around the cafeteria. People stood in line waiting for their food, and the ones that weren’t waiting were busy talking way too loud and filling the room with a dull roar.

  Opening my sandwich, I took a big bite before telling Lynn all about my bag malfunction and the boy who rescued me from the herd of students in the hallway.

  “He sounds nice. Did you get his name?” she asked.

  Stuffing a chip in her mouth, she licked the salt from her lips and fingers before chugging her soda.

  I finished chewing and sipped my water. “Um… I think he said his name was Blaine.”

  Soda spewed from Lynn’s lips and her eyes grew two sizes. “Blaine?” she whispered roughly, choking and coughing. “As in, Blaine Wesley?”

  Looking around, I noticed people staring at us since Lynn made a scene spitting out her drink. I grabbed a napkin and went to work cleaning up her soda. Sopping up the mess, I kept my head down. I hated having a ton of attention on me. It was suffocating and nerve-wracking.

  “Who?” I asked confused.

  I knew we were talking about the same guy. Blaine wasn’t a common name. The chances that there were two people in our school with that name were slim to none.

  “It’s like I don’t even know you,” she said, throwing her arms up in aggravation. “Blaine Wesley, also known as the sexiest guy in school. Dark hair? Light eyes? A walking wet dream?”

  She waved her hand around as if trying to jog my memory. Still, I had no idea who she was talking about. I’d never heard the name Blaine until that day. Although, the guy I met in the hallway earlier matched all those descriptions.

  “How can you not know these things, Chelsey? I’m baffled by the fact that you’re able to memorize all the crap you read in books, but yet you don’t know the name of the hottest guy in school.”

  She was totally appalled. Her face was hilarious, and had I been in the mood to laugh, I would have.

  “Yeah,” I dragged the word out. “Never heard of him until today.” I shrugged. “And I’ll have you know, the crap I read in my books is much more important than the name of some guy I’ll probably never see again.”

  She stared at me from across the table with her mouth wide open before shaking her head.

  “Wow. I’m pretty sure you pass him every day, Chels.” She rolled her eyes and went back to eating.

  She’d given up on me years before, after realizing I had no desire to be anyone important in high school. That was small time as far as I was concerned. High school was a rite of passage. It wasn’t the place in my life where I wanted to peak.

  Tossing a chip at my face, she laughed as I smacked it away.

  “What am I going to do with you?�
� she asked.

  Her smile was radiant and beautiful. Of course, Lynn had always been the pretty one—the social one. Her blue eyes and auburn hair gave her a classic look I envied. I was stuck with the most drab, brown hair and eyes any person could be born with.

  It didn’t help that I very rarely got to know anyone, and therefore had no social life outside of Lynn. We’d been best friends since birth, so I never had to work to gain her friendship. Our parents were friends and attended the same country club, which was the only reason we grew up together. Still, we were total opposites.

  Socializing had always been the last thing on my mind—Columbia University and my GPA being the first. My father was an alumnus of Columbia and it was ingrained in me from the moment I could speak that I was going to attend the same school and have an amazing career when I was older.

  Lynn’s father was the same, but while my mother was completely on board with my dad, her mother was a fashionista. I was into academics, and Lynn was into fashion. I loved her, but while I was planning on going to school for a master’s in science to one day become a doctor, Lynn’s ultimate goal was to become a trophy wife.

  Not much in the aspirations department if you asked me.

  Still, even with us being completely incompatible, I loved her. She was my best friend—the one who stood by me no matter what anyone else said. She was the girl who stood up for me when the students teased me in middle school. She was a fiery redhead waiting for someone to push her buttons, and she understood me better than anyone else.

  “So, there’s a party tonight,” Lynn started.

  “No,” I said before she even finished.

  “Come on, Chelsey. It’s just a party. It would do you some good to get out.”

  “No,” I repeated.

  Biting into my sandwich, I flipped the page in my economics book and started to study.

  “Blaine might be there,” she sang, nibbling around a chip.

  I looked up from my book, lifting a brow at her attempt to reel me in.

  “You do realize even if I wanted to go to this party, my father would never have it?”