The One & Only: The One Lover Series Book 1

by La Serra, Maria

  “Dance with me,” I whispered in her ear.

  “Greg, my feet are tired,” Staci groaned.

  “They weren’t tired when you were dancing with Enrique.”

  A slow smile appeared on her face. “You’re right. Luis looks like Enrique Iglesias.”

  She turned away from me to search the crowd, but I motioned her chin back, so she had no choice but to look at me.

  Only me.

  “Dance with me.”

  She searched my face. “Greg, I’m really exhausted.”

  “I think you’re scared,” I said, sensing there was something off about her tonight.

  Staci looked up, biting her lip like she was stopping herself from telling me something. Maybe she wanted things to go as planned—make a scene so we break up by the end of the night. I didn’t want to take no for an answer again, so I pulled her to the center of the dance floor, and when we do, her arms go around my neck. Even though other couples surrounded us, Staci had a way of making me feel like we were the only two in the room.

  I was in love with this girl.

  “You must be excited to go back home tomorrow?” she asked, her voice hinting at a hint of disappointment.

  She flashed her liquid brown eyes, and I melted. Abuela was right; I needed to be honest with my emotions, but I didn’t know how to begin. I was never taught or shown. Every woman I’d ever met wanted something from me—a designer purse, a tennis bracelet, a trip to Bora Bora. I’d reluctantly given it because I didn’t know how else to keep someone from leaving. Now, I realized none of it was ever real. You couldn’t buy love—you had to earn it. Here I was, trying to win my way into Staci’s life, to gain her trust.

  On this trip, everything became clear. There was this new desire in me, to wake up every morning with her by my side. There was nothing more I ever wanted than what I had right here in front of me.

  “I wish we didn’t have to go back.”

  Her whole face lit up. “You want to stay here?”

  “What I want is more time with you.”

  “I don’t understand.” She squeezed her eyes shut before opening them again.

  “Come on, Staci. You know what’s going on between us. I’m falling for you—fast and hard. I don’t want to go back home if it means no more of this. I like being close to you.”

  “Greg—”

  “Wait, let me finish. Years ago, I messed up the one opportunity I had with you. I was too young and immature to realize what an amazing girl you were,” I said, out of breath. “I let you slip away once. I won’t do it again.”

  “I hope you don’t,” she said, her eyes dragged across my face. “You’ve never been nervous around me before.”

  Had she been so clueless to realize what kind of effect she had on me? “I’m at the point in my life where I need something more serious, committed.”

  “Is this your way of telling me you don’t want to be my fake boyfriend anymore?” She smiled, and my heart skipped a beat.

  “That’s right. I want this for real. You and me day after day.”

  “I don’t get it,” she said, shaking her head. “I was so cruel to you, and yet you want to date me?”

  “Are you saying you don’t want to be with me?” My arms pulled her closer.

  “I do,” she said, smiling. “I just don’t understand why you’re interested in me. I’m still confused about your attraction.”

  “You seem to think I’ve only noticed you when you’re sniping remarks at me or eating my lunches—which by the way, you owe me a muffin.” I grinned. “But I know, even though you hide behind walls, you care about Jackie, and you hang out with her kids when she has to bring them to work. You’re focused and dedicated to the job, but you also make time for others. I only wish you would give me the chance to be a part of your life.”

  “Are you stalking me or something?” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear, avoiding eye contact. “How could you know all that?”

  “I’m a trained journalist,” I said proudly. “I can’t help noticing things about you. Our office walls are made of glass. My desk looks right out to yours.”

  She scrunched her brows. “Not really.”

  I shrugged. “Okay, I might have exaggerated that part. My buddy’s desk looks out to yours, and I’m there, talking to him, sometimes. I’m going to stop talking now. I’m such a weirdo,” I said.

  “It’s sweet you’ve noticed all these things. It’s just shocking. I would never have expected something like this. Weeks ago, we were almost mortal enemies.”

  “I never saw it that way,” I said. “I liked you the moment we met. See, the thing is, you’re the first woman who’s put me in my place. With you, I need to earn your trust and love. Nothing worth having comes easy.”

  “So, it’s the chase you like?” She paused. “Once you get what you want, you’ll just disregard me?”

  “No. I don’t see the point in playing games. I don’t need to pull the wool over your eyes because you’ve known me for a while now. I’m not sure how you feel about me, but I’m not afraid to find out. Are you?”

  “Afraid?” She laughed nervously. “No.”

  I leaned in, claiming her soft lips with mine. I kissed her in a way that made her understand I was hers.

  “When we get back to New York, we should go on a real date.”

  She smiled. “I would like that.”

  Could this be real?

  “Yes!” I pumped my fist in the air. “You’re buying, right?” I said, and we both laughed.

  The most dangerous part of the relationship is the beginning—when you feel completely crazy about each other and you want to spend all your time with them. The consequence of that is less time with other things in your life that are just as important, like friends or your hobbies like shoe shopping. You need to slow things down and don’t lose sight of yourself.

  “Are You Moving Too Fast?”

  by Staci Cortés

  18

  Staci

  Over the next week, my life was blissful. The magazine was creating tons of buzz, thanks to our hard work and several sleepless nights to meet the deadlines. According to Staci and Greg was growing a substantial readership, and I knew I couldn’t have done it without Greg’s collaboration. I thought about how well we go together. After all, if we had a job in any other industry, it might not have worked between us romantically. Greg and I were writers and knew how much our careers demanded from us.

  We were a perfect fit.

  One night, I sat on Greg’s couch in an oversized sweater that belonged to him, holding my laptop, while Greg went to get us wine, only wearing shorts. I could get used to this view, watching his backside as he headed toward the kitchen. Greg had an athletic body—not overly built, but there was more to Greg that I liked. It was the way he made me feel when I was around him—safe, loved. Even though we hadn’t said those words out loud, we knew what we meant to each other.

  That night, we had planned to discuss the magazine, but we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I hoped that would never change. When Greg walked back, he took my laptop, placing it on the coffee table next to the wine glasses. Then, he pulled me into his lap and passionately kissed me.

  “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever been with.”

  “Oh, really?” I frowned as Greg nuzzled my neck. “How many women have you been with?”

  Greg blushed and tried to look away, but I grabbed his chin, pulling it back.

  “Come on, give me a number.”

  “Why do you need to know?” he asked, looking out the window ahead of us with a view of the city.

  “Just because. Ten? Fifty? I promise I won’t get jealous.”

  “Fifty! What kind of guy do you think I am?” Greg kissed me, avoiding telling me anything at all, and I pushed him away.

  “Spill it,” I said. “What’s your number?”

  “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

  “You already know I was a full
virgin until college. I’ve been with two guys, plus you.”

  “That I was serious crazy about? Only you,” he said as I gave him a flat look. “Maybe ten women—all flings.”

  “Ten?” I sat up straight and hopped off his lap, stretching out on my back across the couch, with my head resting in Greg’s lap. He traced circles around my face, and it was putting me into a trance.

  “With the way you talk to the guys at the office, I thought it’d be a thousand.”

  Greg shrugged. “What can I say? We’re idiots. It’s an act. Every new story is more embellished than the last.”

  “What about that girl at the bar?”

  “We never slept together. I just used the barmaid to get your attention.”

  I sat up, kicking my legs. “You were trying to make me jealous?”

  “You think I didn’t notice you shooting daggers through my skull all night at the bar?” He chuckled. “I wanted to gauge your reaction. If you weren’t jealous, you wouldn’t care so much.”

  “I thought you weren’t the type to play games,” I said while he played with my hair.

  “I’m not. It was just that one time to assess the situation.” He grinned, scooping me up in his arms. “Does it all matter now? All my life, I have been looking for you.”

  Staring at each other, we smiled. “I never expected this to happen,” I said.

  “It can happen a third time tonight,” he whispered, biting my earlobe.

  “As tempting as that sounds,” I said, jumping off him, “we have work to do.”

  I tried to walk back to the kitchen, but he tugged me back for a kiss.

  “Why don’t you stay the night? We can spend the weekend together.”

  “You want to be with me for the entire weekend?” I asked, placing my hands on his chest. “Don’t we already spend enough time together at work?”

  I’m surprised he isn’t bored with me.

  “It’ll never be enough,” he said. “Being with you makes my life much more thrilling. Why would I leave that behind?” Greg said.

  I couldn’t believe those words coming out of his mouth. Luis never wanted me to stay over, not even on weekends. But Greg was nothing like Luis—Greg was in a league of his own.

  “Okay.” I grinned. “How can I say no to that?”

  “By the way, I finished a draft of our next post. Want to take a look?”

  “Of course I’ll read it,” I said.

  “I think we need a shower first though.”

  “You go ahead without me. I’m going to read your article.” I smiled, getting out of his grip.

  “You’re no fun,” he said, dragging his feet into his bedroom as I followed.

  Later in his room, I lay on my stomach with his computer at the foot of the bed. While I was reading his article, his computer kept dinging with e-mails, interrupting my focus.

  “How do I turn down the volume on this thing?” I called out.

  “The volume key is broken. Would you mind reading the first few e-mails and telling me if anything is interesting? I haven’t checked it today, but I don’t want to be tempted to start answering them. Once I do, I’ll be on it all night.” His loud voice came out of the bathroom.

  I opened his e-mail application and scrolled down the menu. The first message that caught my eye had the subject line Congratulations.

  What was that about?

  I turned my head to see the door was half open, and Greg was still in the shower. I thought it would be a while before he came walking out. It wasn’t like I would be caught snooping because I was doing what he asked me to. Without another thought, I clicked on it and read it in my head.

  Dear Greg McAdams,

  The team and I have been impressed with your background and your extensive knowledge that is shown in your editorial piece, The South American, that you submitted to us. It was beautifully written, and I would like to further discuss your future with us at the New York Times. We feel that your skills and background will be an asset to our team. Please contact my assistant Kelsey Phillips, and she will answer any questions you might have.

  The team and I look forward to working with you soon.

  Angela Crawford,

  Editor-in-chief

  I shut the laptop. Did my eyes read that right? I swallowed hard as I shuffled down to the edge of the bed, watching Greg getting out of the bathroom.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked, wearing a bath towel around his waist while wiping his hair with a hand towel. “Anything good?”

  I shook my head, knowing if I spoke, my tears would fall. Greg moved to the end of the bed, putting his arm around me. He kissed my cheek, and I shrugged him away.

  “Staci?”

  Standing, I picked my jeans up off the floor. “I can’t believe you,” I said, struggling to put my pants on. How could he do that? Go behind my back and applied for the same position I was aiming for, without even discussing it with me first. What about what we built together, didn’t that mean anything? Not me or the magazine? That back-stabbing son of—gah—what’s the matter with these pants?

  One leg at a time, Staci.

  “What’s gotten into you?” he chuckled when I finally put my jeans on the right way, and the fact that I was amusing him infuriated me.

  “Are you upset with me?” he grabbed my shoulders, turning me toward him.

  I stared at the ground. “Remember how I told you I was thinking about submitting a piece to the New York Times?”

  “Yeah?”

  I slightly looked up to see the thin line of his lips. “I think I’m going to,” I said, hoping he would notice the daggers I was shooting at him through my eyes.

  “Why not. I’ve always said you should,” Greg said, seemingly unaffected by my mention of the magazine.

  “Do you think you’ll submit something, too?”

  Come out and say it, Greg!

  “I’ve submitted some short pieces to a few other magazines, but not the Times. My buddies think I should give them my South America piece, but I’m not sure yet.”

  What a piece of work!

  I stood there motionless, allowing his lies pierced through my body, making my stomach clench. I couldn’t believe he was lying to me. Why wouldn’t he tell me he applied for the job?

  “I’m not feeling well. Could you take me home?”

  He hugged me and kissed my head. “You do feel a little warm. Why don’t I make you soup or something? Stay here tonight, no use going all the way to your apartment.”

  “I want to go.” I pushed him away.

  I went to the bathroom to freshen up before he noticed that I was upset, but didn’t I want him to know how he betrayed me. I leaned over the sink, splashing cold water on my face, as he knocked on the door.

  “What can I do to make you feel better?” he said when I opened the door to the bathroom.

  “I need to be alone,” I said, walking past him.

  “What’s this about?” He scrunched his brows, leaning forward for a kiss, but I pulled back. “Can you stop trying to kiss me? Can’t you see I’m upset.” I held up my hands.

  “Staci? What did I miss? Do you not believe me about the women? I’ve been up front with you this whole time. I promise.”

  I scoffed, wiping tears away. “I have to go. I’ll call you.”

  Maybe. Depending on how I felt when I woke up weeks from now, cradling an empty bottle of Merlot.

  I exited the bedroom with Greg following me down the hall and to the kitchen, where I grabbed my purse. I stopped at the front door, slowly opening it.

  “Can you wait? I’ll drive you. Just give me a minute to put some clothes on.”

  Looking over my shoulder, I said, “I’ll take a cab.”

  “What is your problem?”

  Seriously, I just wanted to be done. I wanted to stop allowing men into my life only to have my heart broken. The worst part of all, I thought Greg was different. How could I have been so wrong?

  “I saw the e-mail f
rom the New York Times, congratulating you on your article,” I said. “Well, congratulations!”

  He looked up at me with wide eyes, then his lips parted, but nothing came from his mouth. I’ve never seen Greg McAdams speechless, and my heart broke.

  “You’ve got some nerve, lying to me about your new offer. You said you wouldn’t hide things from me, yet you went behind my back—applied for the same job I was after.”

  “Staci, you don’t understand.”

  “I bet you got close to me because you saw me as a threat. You wanted to swoop in, knocking me off my game, so you could take what I always wanted. You took an interest in my family and you got a good story out of it. That was clever, but I’ve caught on to your games.”

  “Can you let me explain?”

  “No. I will not be a puppet to further your career.”

  “Hold on. I didn’t apply for the job. They came looking for me.” He paused. “And you know what? You used me as a puppet, too! Someone to test your theory out on … all those articles you wrote for According to Staci was about me!”

  “I was doing my job.” I said, making my way to the door.

  “Oh, and you did.” He ran his hands in his damp hair. “You’re looking for every reason to put a wedge between us. I don’t understand it. How do I know you’re not using me to get ahead at Nast Publishing?”

  “What?” I spun back around to face Greg. “You think I’m using you? I work my ass off, and you know that more than anyone. I don’t need you or your company. I’m done with you— Personally, and professionally.” I rushed to the door, letting it slam on my way out.

  If you decide to spend the night at his place, never leave stuff at his house, especially early on in a relationship. Not your lipstick or your favorite sweater, hoping it will give him a reason to see you again. You want him to want to see you— just because he does. So the only thing you should leave behind is the scent of your fragrance on his pillow so that he will remember you. Scent is a pylon to emotions.