CesarR: Military Romance (Overwatch Division Book 3) Read online

  CESAR

  Overwatch Division

  Coco Miller

  COCO MILLER ROMANCE

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  Copyright © 2019 Coco Miller

  All rights reserved.

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  www.CocoMillerRomance.com

  License Note

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real events, people, or places is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review.

  This book contains mature content, including graphic sex. Please do not continue reading if you are under the age of 18 or if this type of content is disturbing to you.

  Contents

  Books By Coco

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  Also By Coco Miller

  Books By Coco

  Big City Billionaires

  Faking For Mr. Pope

  Virgin Escort For Mr. Vaughn

  Pretending for Mr. Parker

  Red Bratva Billionaires

  MAXIM

  SERGEI

  VIKTOR

  The Overwatch Division

  WYATT

  ASA

  CESAR

  Andolini Crime Family

  CARMINE

  GIOVANNI

  UMBERTO

  Introduction

  He’s ex-special forces, turned bartender, and working out his demons through lots of one-night stands. She’s a club waitress who hates her life but hates him even more. Will an ill-conceived bet and one night together lead to love for this improbable couple?

  Cesar is a wildly handsome and charismatic bartender at a New York City nightclub. What most people don’t know is that he has retired from the military and is having trouble adjusting to civilian life. He sleeps around to work through his demons but is realizing that it is only a temporary fix.

  Janelle is a nightclub waitress unhappy with her life and ready fo a change of scenery. After Cesar convinces Janelle to spend one crazy night with him because of a bet, will these two lost souls find what they both need to heal from each other?

  Chapter One

  “Dammit, my life sucks.”

  Seriously, it stinks.

  I have been working in this nightclub for a few months now, and as I glance down at my soaked shirt, I begin to second guess myself why. Why do I work here? Between this head-pounding music, the way-too-dim lighting, and everyone around me screaming for more drinks– it really makes me wonder. Of course when a drunken douchebag slaps a twenty-dollar bill in my hand at the end of the night, then I quickly remember.

  This job serves one purpose, to make money.

  Where else can you work six hours and walk away with two-hundred bucks in cold hard cash? The best part is, I didn’t have to take off my clothes. So, it’s a win for me. Although right now I actually do need to take off my shirt.

  I’m drenched in beer, whiskey, and whatever else was on my tray when some drunken club hoe bumped into me with both elbows as she tried to get her freak on. I’m debating whether to get the bartender to make my drinks again or if I should change my shirt first. Normally on a busy Friday night, the bar has two bartenders, but right now I only see one and who knows where the other one ran off to. So I guess I’ll go change.

  I walk to the break area where I have an extra work shirt in my locker. It’s the only extra shirt I have, so I better not get it wet again. I don’t spend money on ‘extras’. I’m saving every extra penny I have to leave town. To start over. New York City and I just don’t agree. The noise. The traffic. The constant frenetic energy of the people. I’m tired of it.

  I was born and raised here and want more than anything to end up in a small town in the middle of nowhere with crickets, dirt roads, and low key people. Although, I’m not sure I’d be able to handle that either. I talk a good game about wanting a different life yet I seem to be drawn to these types of jobs which are the very opposite of low key.

  Nightclubs and bars are a huge part of the New York City nightlife. They’re noisy, busy, sometimes dangerous, and there’s never a dull moment. The only thing that sucks is the customers. In the places that pay well, customers are usually snooty women coming to party, drink, and get laid, and men who just want to get laid. Clubs are high-class meat markets.

  Everyone who works in the current ‘meat market’ I work in is nice, except for one of the bartenders who pretty much spends his time hitting on anything with a vagina. He is the reason most women come here in the first place.

  Cesar Drake.

  Even his name screams trouble. He’s one of the biggest players I’ve ever seen, and a good looking one at that.

  His dark hair is trimmed short. His copper-flecked eyes are the kind people write songs about. His body is perfect, fit and solid and is most likely chiseled by God himself. A lot of women like to sit and stare at him at the bar. When he’s making a drink he always sticks the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth like he is concentrating really hard to make it right. He is the epitome of every woman’s fantasy. Except for mine.

  When I first started working here, he put his lame-ass moves on me, which of course didn’t work. I wasn’t into a wham, bam, thank you ma’am type of thing. I’m not looking for a long-term commitment either, but I do abide by one rule, don’t become a notch on someone’s belt…especially if you work with them.

  So, after I turned the infamous Cesar down, he decided to ignore my existence. Which is just fine with me. I had a boyfriend at the time. Well, kind of. Okay, maybe I had my own personal fuck buddy, but Grant was cool. He did his thing, I did mine, and sometimes we would do them together.

  As I walk further into the back area of the bar, I stumble through the darkened hallways. The loud beat of the club echoes off the cool tiled walls. The smell of beer hangs in the air and floats down the corridor with me. I’m not sure if I am producing the smell or if they have always smelled this way. My shoes slide along the sopping wet floor as I come to the door at the end of the hall. My locker is just beyond, and I can’t wait to get out of this ridiculously wet shirt and back to work.

  After opening the door, I am blinded by what I see. In the middle of the room is the employee break table where we all eat our lunch, or should I say dinner. Pounding his way to fruition is no other than the sexy god-like bartender, Cesar Drake. The girl he is so vigorously slamming himself into is the same skank who yelled at me for giving her the wrong drink earlier in the night.

  She is face down, leaning over the table and Cesar is behind her holding her head down. The expression on his face is one of boredom, with maybe a hint of pleasure wrapped into his gorgeous features.

  My heart slams into my chest, and I can’t turn away. Why can’t I turn the fuck around? I’ll tell you why. For some odd reason, there is a foreign sensation traveling through my body into my core. The way he is working her body and ramming himself in and out of h
er makes my cheeks flush, and her groans of pleasure are making my skin hot.

  Not a moment later his eyes locked with mine, zapping the air with a charged energy connecting us and his sensual lips curved into a smile. The woman he is fucking is oblivious to our encounter, and I can barely make out her muffled cries of enjoyment.

  Eyes still connected with Cesar’s, I try again to turn away. Why is my traitorous body not cooperating? I'll tell you why– because for some asinine reason it is turning me on.

  He pumps into her a few more times and then squeezes his eyes shut, moaning, “Janelle,” as his orgasm races through his body.

  At the sound of his voice, and the name that falls from his lips, I stumble back into the darkened hallway. The door slams shut, and I race to collect myself. Stumbling over my own two feet, I can’t get the image of him and her together out of my mind. What shocks me, even more, is the name he expelled from his lips, my name.

  Nice to meet you. Janelle’s my name. Janelle Madison. The same Janelle who minutes before, Cesar was calling out mid-orgasm.

  Damn.

  Still clothed in my wet shirt, I make my way back over to the bar, pick up my drinks and place them on the tray. Now what?

  My mind is still reeling over what I’ve just witnessed. And then as if by magic, Cesar appears right behind me.

  “Hey,” he says into my ear, sending a shiver down my neck, down my spine and all over my skin. My entire body cringes and I walk away with my tray in hand.

  Don’t you dare look back, don’t look back.

  A moment of weakness overcomes me, and I glance back. My name on his lips still echoes through my mind.

  His sexy, hot eyes are focused on me. He smiles, producing a dimple on both cheeks, and my heart melts or leaps inside my chest. I’m not sure which, but you get the point.

  I continue throughout the busy Friday night shift. Delivering drinks, brushing off old, drunk men with cigars and bourbon in hand as they try to pick me up.

  “Your legs are so long. Your hair is the color of rain on a sunny day.”

  What the hell? As I said, they were drunk. Whose hair looks like rain on a sunny day? What the hell does that even look like?

  “You’re one beautiful black goddess,” one drunkard said.

  This I already know. I am beautiful, and I don’t need this drunk asshole to remind me. Coming from him, it’s not a compliment.

  Men have always been attracted to me ever since I hit puberty. My skin is the color of burnt butterscotch, my eyes are almond-shaped, and my ass, as well as my lips, are full and lush. I’m pretty experimental with my hair. I like different hairstyles and hair colors, but right now I’m going through a phase of wearing my long dark waves with blonde highlights like Beyonce.

  But compliments from old men get me tips, so I try my hardest to work my shift while at the same time not getting too close to Cesar. Although it’s as if he knows that I am avoiding him, so he keeps trying to get my attention in subtle ways. So far I’ve successfully ignored him.

  Finally, at the end of the night, after my shirt has dried, I go to my locker and grab my belongings. One of my coworkers asks if I want to grab a late-night snack from a diner in the area, but I’m too exhausted. I throw on my jacket to exit out the back and begin my journey home.

  “Janelle, wait up,” Cesar calls out as I make my way outside of the club.

  Why is he talking to me?

  I turn around and feel a cool breeze snap around my face. He is striding toward me and I suck in a deep breath. The street light shines off his face and ignites the coppery flecks of his eyes to a deep bronze-like color. Damn, he really is nice to look at.

  “What?” I ask in a haughty tone.

  We are the only two around in the late hours of the parking lot of Club Arrow. He stops right in front of me and bows his head to the ground. Then his head snaps back up and our eyes lock.

  “So, you kind of ruined my plans tonight, so now I’ll be staying the night at your house,” he says.

  I laugh in response for a moment until I realize that he isn’t laughing. He is serious. What the fuck is wrong with this man?

  “Are you kidding?”

  I stroll away from him and make my way to the nearest subway entrance. I normally make this trip alone every night I work and have never been bothered by the fact that I am a single girl in the New York subways at night. With pepper spray in my bag and a few ninja skills, I learned back in high school, I feel that I could give your average purse snatcher a run for his money.

  Cesar follows me down the stairs and into the station. “No, I’m not kidding. For the past few months, this has been my routine. I stay a few nights with Mark from the club, and the other nights I find some chick to sleep with, then in the morning I wake up and am on my way.”

  “Why don’t you have your own place?” I ask as we slide into a subway car. I find a seat and he sits right next to me. His long leg brushes up against mine as we sat side by side and for a moment muddles my brain. “You’re too old to be sleeping at random houses every night.”

  “I have my own place. Listen, it’s a long story. So, you ruined my night and now you owe me.”

  “I owe you?” I say, slowly and in disbelief. I’m sure my eyes are huge as saucers as I study this nut job.

  His dimples are on full display, and he gazes at me with a ferocious intensity. My heart is steadily beating louder and louder and as he scoots closer it begins racing. The electrical energy was back between us, and a slow heat was traveling down my spine.

  His chiseled jaw shakes when he stares at me, and he clenches his teeth. “Yes, you owe me. So, I’ll be staying the night with you.”

  “I’m not sleeping with you,” I almost scream at him until I remember that I’m sitting inside a subway car with other people.

  “I never said that. Relax.”

  “How did I ruin your night anyway?” I try to scoot further away but am teetering on falling into the aisle as the train jerks.

  He backs off slightly and puts a hand to his face. Running his hand across his cheek and into his hair. Damn, that hand is lucky.

  Keep it together, Janelle. Keep it together.

  “Well, when I said your name during sex, and then the door slammed, Sasha got upset. She remembered who you were because you had been serving her drinks all night. I guess one of the regulars said your name, so she knew that you were Janelle. Anyways, she slapped me and left the room.”

  I shrug my shoulders with indifference.

  “I was going to stay the night at her house,” he adds.

  “How sad for you, but that’s not my fault.”

  I cannot believe this guy; what is he saying? It was my fault? The nerve of him. I cross my arms across my chest as my hair hung like a veil between us, shielding my face from his.

  “It kind of is.”

  “So, what, now you’re staying at my house? Think again.” I was angry, and I knew he could tell by the tone of my voice.

  His voice rises a little as he says, “It’s only fair, don’t you think?” His lips curve upward as I move my hair behind my ear to catch a quick glance at him.

  “No.”

  “No, you don’t think at all or no you don’t think it’s a good idea?”

  My hands slam into my lap as my frustration grows. “What if I told you I have a sick, dying grandmother at home or a husband?”

  And right now, I kind of wish I did. No, well, maybe not the latter one, no husband for me. Ah, okay or the sick dying grandmother, I’d never wish for that. Both my grandparents died before I was born, and all I have left in the world are my parents.

  “Well do you?” It was his turn to fold his arms across his chest.

  I took a deep breath and let it out. “No.”

  “Great then, it’s settled.”

  Chapter Two

  “You have some serious issues, you know that?”

  “What do you mean?” He turns toward me and drops his hands. They land on his th
ighs, and again I am jealous of those hands. He touches his own body like so randomly, and so often like it’s the most amazing body in the world and needs the attention.

  “You sleep with a different chick every night. You have a home but don’t stay there for some unknown reason. Don’t you see? Issues, huge issues.”

  His eyes twinkle with amusement as he watches my mouth as I talk. His gaze lands on my lips and sits there for a second, maybe longer. Under his scrutiny, I fidget with my hands in my lap and look away.

  “You have a sexy mouth.”

  “Issues. I rest my case.”

  “Okay, but doesn’t everyone have issues?”

  “Well, whatever, just keep your issues locked tightly away in your head.” I point my finger to his head, “or your heart.” I draw my hand down to his chest and point. My head drops, and my cheeks flush as I say the next words, “or your penis.”

  He chuckles softly, and the sound plays in my ears for a moment before I glance back up at him.

  “Did you just say penis?” he whispers to me in between his laughter.

  “Yeah, so. Just keep it away from me.” My nose scrunches, and I make the face I always do when I’m annoyed. It probably isn’t very attractive either, but I don’t care.

  “Promise, I will definitely keep my penis away from you.”

  For some reason, that statement pisses me off even more. He usually fucks anything with heels, and now I wasn’t good enough? Wait…what? Was I really having this type of internal dialogue?