Chapter 2

Winnie

O ur show, while unscripted, is heavily edited, because there are things the viewing audience doesn’t need to see, like when Samantha, our make-up artist, needs to swoop in with a powder puff. At least these moments never appear in the episode, because I adore her but she never hesitates to loudly announce what she’s touching up and why.

“You’re so flushed today,” she announces, coming at my face for what is probably the sixteenth time since Goldie made that remark earlier about me losing my v-card. “Let’s get this decolletage, too, hun. It’s practically neon pink.”

The never-ending flurry of activity continues on around me as she pats me down. “There. Hopefully that’ll hold for a minute. Damn, girl, you are flushed!” she adds, for anyone who didn’t hear her the first time. “Are you getting overheated? Do we need to–”

“Have I mentioned that out of all the crew, I’m going to miss you most, Sammie?” I ask, my tone sweet and loaded with sarcasm.

Before she can respond, Max’s eyes are on me from across the room, where he’s wielding a power drill. “Hey, can somebody grab my water bottle? Win might need a drink.” Then to me, he says, “Sammie’s right. You may be getting overheated.”

He winks at me before returning his attention to the task at hand. His tattooed back is slick with sweat. I have each of those tats memorized. I could trace the lines with my eyes closed, starting with my favorite–the dragon winding up his bicep…

So, yeah, I’m overheated. But it has little to do with the stifling hot air that fills the house. Without the HVAC up and running yet, even with the windows open, it must be at least eighty-five degrees in here. It’s July.

But the true problem is that Goldie’s comment turned on my imagination, which turned on other parts of me. It’s probably pathetic that I have ten vivid, individual fantasy scenarios for how I would lose my virginity to each of the Hammer Brothers. It’s more pathetic that I regularly–

“Hellooo? Jackie? Where is my Jack Hammer?” an unmistakable voice calls, breaking into my thoughts, which indeed, had had me getting red-faced again.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” someone hisses.

My thoughts exactly.

Cynthia Sinclair poses in the currently doorless front entrance. She’s more stunning in person. I bet she’s never gotten flushed in her life. And she is most definitely not going to die a virgin. I push aside any thoughts of her having sex with Jack .

While we’re in production, all guests are supposed to be pre-approved before being allowed on set. No woman the guys have ever been involved with has appeared on our show. I’ll be damned if even one second of screen time of our final episode will go to a side story about Jack and Cynthia Sinclair.

Though I bet it would make the network execs salivate at the thought of a potential spinoff about their romance. Love equals money, so they loooove love. They’ve forever been pushing a fabricated romantic storyline between me and one of the Hammers. We all said hell no to that and I said it louder than any of the brothers. I already get enough harassment from internet trolls, who’ve given me super flattering nicknames like Whiny and Winnebago.

“Hellooooo all.” Cynthia waggles her fingers at us. They’re perfectly manicured. I glance down at my own chipped nails, which I keep short. It’s a necessity of the job. “Does anyone know where Jack is? I didn’t see him outside?”

No one answers.

I imagine the guys are all stupefied into silence by her flawless hotness. Even I fight to keep from ogling her long, tan legs which stretch up from gold stiletto sandals.

Do not think about them wrapped around Jack’s hips.

A pleated, button-up mini-skirt is slung low around her hips, pulling my envious gaze to her tiny waist and the sparkling diamond stud in her belly button. Her breasts are so small and perky she doesn’t even need a bra under her lingerie-style top and she clearly isn’t wearing one. Her nipples are hard as rocks against the satin.

Sucking in my stomach, I cross my arms and try not to barrel across the room and shove her out onto the porch with enough force to land her on her ass on the newly installed pavers. Not like that’s something I would actually do, but I’m not going to deny that it’s fun to visualize. She knows what it’s like to be with Jack in a way I never will. I’m jealous as hell and not too proud to admit it.

“Cynthia Sinclair!” I cry with a pasted-on smile, because I’m also apparently two-faced. “How lovely of you to stop by!”

At that exact moment, with timing so perfect a producer had to have sent him down, Jack appears on the staircase, wearing a quizzical expression–and a t-shirt. The lack of bare chest means nothing that’s about to happen will ever see the light of day.

He trots down the steps, placing a reassuring hand on my back as he passes me by without speaking, and then marches towards Cynthia. He says something to her in a low voice no one else can hear and the two of them head outside.

“We need to get her to sign a release,” a producer says.

So they can use the footage with her in it. My pasted-on smile slips.

“No, we don’t,” Cruz Hammer, one of the triplets, responds. He sidles up next to me, bumping my hip with his. “The show is called 1 Girl, 10 Hammers, and our girl is right here.”

He slings an arm around my shoulder, and my hand moves automatically to touch him– to run my fingers over the small, heart-shaped birth-mark, just a shade darker than his own tan skin, in the center of his muscled forearm. In my Losing My Virginity To Cruz fantasy, he uses a bungee cord to tie my wrists to the door frame of an unfinished reno, and he wraps his arms around me, holding me in place, that little heart flexing as he bounces me up and down and we gasp and moan as one.

I fight to keep my cheeks within the normal range of pink so I don’t get attacked with the powder puff again.

“Is that staircase a thing of beauty or what?” Cruz asks me.

I smile. “Well, you may be a little biased since you were the one who carved the detailing on the rails, but yes, it is a thing of beauty.”

“What can I say?” He drops his voice into a conspiratorial whisper and gives my shoulder a quickie massage that feels downright salacious. “I’m real good with my hands, Win.”

Is he flirting? Yeah, probably. And it’s working. But it’s Cruz. He probably flirted with the wood while he was carving it.

When it is firmly established that Jack has gone AWOL with Cynthia, all of the other brothers are herded outside to get some B-roll footage of them faux-painting the exterior of the already-painted house.

I walk across the street and sit on the opposite curb to watch and, boy, does the sight take me back. The moment I turned eighteen, I moved out of my so-called family home. I could not live another second under the same roof as my father. I was going to rent a crappy apartment with the meager savings I’d squirreled away working at the movie theater during high school. But the Hammer brothers had been saving, too. They pooled all their money with mine and helped me purchase a fixer-upper in every sense of the word. They turned the small falling-down cottage into my dream home. I was mesmerized as I watched them bring their vision to life, at how their individual flawless bodies became one well-oiled machine of physical perfection and team work. I knew without a doubt that they were doing what they were put on this earth to do. And I also knew that America would love watching them do it.

I smirk. I was soooo freaking right about that.

Except for me, everyone in the country has a favorite Hammer brother. Diesel captured hearts when a cameraman filmed him singing a soulful love song in his deep, soft voice, and leaked it online. The song rose to the top of the charts. Jack, the rough and rugged redhead, listens to classical music to keep focused on his projects, becoming an unexpected champion for those with ADHD. Gavin’s piercings started an entire piercing resurgence after he posed for a Sexiest Men in America calendar with nothing but a strategically placed tool belt and his nail gun. Yes, I secretly bought my own copy to lust over and a few backup copies, just in case.

I could go on. Each brother has their own devoted fan club, but I’ll never be able to choose a favorite. For me, the Hammer brothers are a package deal. Always have been.

I’m not sure how old I was the first time I was sent off to Gram’s house. That was something that happened whenever Dad was in jail–and after my mom died when I was young, that was a fairly frequent occurrence. My life didn’t really start, however, until the day when Gram was at work and I was left to my own devices, and I glimpsed from the window, three identical boys about my age, playing on the grass of the house across the street. I was instantly spellbound. Little did I know, they’d already hatched the plan to invite me to play with them, having seen me walking from the social worker’s car into Gram’s.

We’d played all day, until we were all hungry and the boys were called in for dinner .

“What are you having for dinner?” Axel had asked.

“Instant noodles.” I always had instant noodles for dinner.

“We’re having pot roast and all the fixings!” Cruz had said, and then he invited me to join them.

“You’ll get to meet our brothers. We’re all adopted, except Jack,” Diesel had added as I followed them inside and my nose was hit by the most delicious scent I’d ever smelled in my life.

I’d had no idea what the word adopted meant, and when I met the rest of the Hammer brothers – sets and sets, of them, like copies of each other, and all within a few years of each other in age – I assumed adopted meant being twins and triplets, something they’ll forever tease me about. But I was warmly welcomed to their table that day, and treated like they’d always been my friends.

A welcoming home was something I didn’t quite understand until the Hammer family. Gram wasn’t nurturing. Dad had a cruel mouth when he wasn’t absent. But the Hammers kept a permanent place at the table for me and they have a permanent place in my heart. Instead of always feeling lonely and scared, I grew up with ten best friends who were there to protect me, no matter what.

Ten best friends who grew up into insanely hot men.

A noise behind me draws my attention away from the eye candy display and I glance over my shoulder.

Cynthia Sinclair has Jack backed up against the side of the house I’ve been sitting out in front of. It’s not like there are any residents inside to piss off. We always rent the entire block when we’re renovating a house, putting up the families in hotels. Jack’s shirt is off again, clenched in Cynthia’s talons as she mashes her boobs against his chest. His hands are tangled in her hair and it looks like they’re in a race to see who can swallow the others’ face first.

That is not how he likes to kiss in my Losing It To Jack fantasy.

I get up quietly and go back across the street.

“Hey,” Max approaches me. He’s holding his water bottle and hands it to me. “You never got anything to drink, did you?”

I shake my head and in that moment, I make up my mind. I may not have a Happily Ever After with one of the Hammer brothers. Sooner or later, they’ll all find their Cynthia Sinclair. But. I have no doubt that even though I’m not girlfriend material for any of them, any of them would do anything I asked them too. They may not love me that way, but they do love me.

Before we wrap, before we go our separate ways, I’m going to ask one of them to have sex with me. And the Hammer brother standing in front of me is the obvious choice.

Reaching out, I place my hand on Max’s shoulder, moving close enough to feel the heat from the sun radiating off his skin. “You know, there’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Hey, Winnie!” Goldie calls over from one of the vans before I can say another word. “Someone’s blowing up your phone! Looks important!”

I drop my hand, reluctantly moving away. “Later, I guess.”

But he grabs my hand. “Anytime, Win,” he promises.

Without thinking, I stand on my tiptoes and give him a quick kiss on his cheek, shivering with anticipation as the sensitive skin of my lips brush his rough stubble. Then I turn on my heels and hurry away.