by Mia Sosa
He draws back and puffs out his cheeks. “Right. Take care of yourself.”
“You too, Julian.”
When he’s gone, I lean on the rail, close my eyes, and let the cool breeze kiss my skin. He’s unwilling to tear down the roadblocks, and I refuse to follow his detour. I guess we’re at an impasse.
THE NEXT DAY, Julian’s text arrives minutes before I’m due for a lesson at Musicology.
Julian: Hey, Ash. Wondering if you’d like to hang out tonight. Dinner? Movie? Netflix?
Me: Sorry. I’m working tonight.
Julian: Sure. Maybe another time, then.
Oh, he’s angling for a friends-with-benefits arrangement, all right. Well, he can suck it. Rather than dwell on Julian’s audacity, I walk into Musicology and head straight to the back, where I claim my music studio for tonight’s lessons. The room’s bright and cheery with hand-painted sunflowers on the wall, and the kids love it. Outside the room, a pegboard lists the names of the instructors, and below their names, a peg represents each half-hour of instruction. I experience a small thrill when I discover that I’m completely booked tonight.
The school’s manager, Beatrice, wearing a sly grin as she studies her computer screen, waves at me from behind the shop’s counter. “Your seven o’clock was just dropped off.”
“Thanks,” I say as I pass her. “I have a busy night.”
Squinting, she reads the pegboard and gives me a genuine smile. “Wow. You sure do. Congrats.”
I stride down the hall, readjusting my guitar case in my hand to accommodate the narrow door. Once through, I look up and stumble forward. “What are you doing here?”
Julian lifts the brand-new guitar in his hands. “I need lessons.”
I plop onto the bench across from him and tilt my head to the side, placing my guitar case between my thighs to keep me upright. “You need guitar lessons?”
He nods. “Sure do. Want to know why?”
I do. But only after I get my fill of gawking at him. He’s doing his best impersonation of a bad boy, complete with a scruffy beard and a sexy smile. If that’s not enough, he’s wearing worn jeans that are snug against the widest part of his thighs and a gray T-shirt that stretches across his firm chest. Apparently, there’s T-shirt porn, too.
“Ash?”
I shake my head. “Yes?”
He makes a V with two fingers and points them at his face. “My eyes are up here.”
I cough. “Right. What did you ask me?”
He flares his nostrils, although his lips are still curved into that seductive smile. “I asked if you wanted to know why I need lessons.”
“Oh, yes. Of course.”
“It’s simple. This is important to you, so it’s important to me.” He points at my battered guitar. “That instrument represents a lot of things to me. It reminds me of your talent. It’s evidence of your dreams and aspirations. And it brought you here, to Musicology, which tells me you’re ready to settle in one place and call it home. I want your home to be with me. I want my home to be with you.”
The pace of my pulse increases with each revelation. This isn’t a booty call. It’s an I’ll-love-you-forever kind of call. I’m woozy. “What brought all this on?”
“When I was doing all that soul-searching, I thought about something you told me. You were talking about my career, but it applies equally to us. You said you didn’t want me to wake up a decade later and discover I let my happiness slip away because I chose the path of least resistance. Do you remember that?”
Oh yeah, I did say that. Past me is a smart woman. “I remember.”
“Well, I gave notice at SCM last week, and soon I’ll be opening up my own agency. A small outfit at first. I’ll probably work from home to start, but yeah, I’m making it happen.”
I’m thrilled for him. Julian has so much to offer, and SCM didn’t deserve him. “That’s great. I’m proud of you for taking such a huge step. Is Carter on board?”
“Carter’s staying with SCM, Ash.”
My ears grow hot when I hear this. “What?” I stand in outrage, sending Melanie crashing to the floor. After I scramble to pick her up and lean her against the bench, I face him again. “He’s not going with you? I’ll kill him.”
Julian grabs my hand and tugs me back down. “Ash, he’s staying at SCM because I asked him to. You were right. I need my own space, my own passions.”
My mind can’t wrap itself around what he’s just told me. Can this be real? “What does Carter think? Is he mad?”
“Nope, he understands. He did ask me to promise that I wouldn’t kiss you in front of him.”
I lean over and slap his thighs. “You told him. What did you say exactly?”
He leans forward, too, and squeezes my hands. “I didn’t say much, because these words are only meant for you. I will never run from what we have again, and I’m sorry I tried to. I need to become the best version of myself, and I can’t do it without you. That feeling I’ve been searching for? The one that’ll make me jump out of bed in the morning and want to seize the day? I found it with you. I love you, Ash. And if you feel the same, we can have loud, grumpy sex forever and ever.”
All I do is stare at him as I try to process his declaration and everything else he’s told me. As a teenager, I doodled his name in my notebook and admired him from afar, and now this man is telling me he loves me. I believe him. More than that, I sure as hell feel the same way. This isn’t puppy love or infatuation. We’re two imperfect people pushing each other to grow wiser and stronger on our own and together. I can’t think of anything better than spending the rest of my life loving this man. “I love you, too, and I’d be happy to have loud, grumpy sex with you forever and ever. You’re the Twizzlers in my trick-or-treat bag.”
He smiles. “King-sized, right?”
I reach across and caress his cheek. “Without a doubt.”
His eyes blazing with need, he sets aside his guitar, and I shove Melanie under the bench. When I sit up, he lifts me onto his lap so that I’m straddling him. His mouth grazes my neck and jaw before it lands on mine. I squirm on his thighs, our lips tangling and teasing so hungrily, kiss isn’t the right word to describe it. Then he grabs my ass and rubs me against him until he hardens under me and we both moan. It’s not enough. I grasp his T-shirt and pull it out from the waistband of his jeans, but a remnant of reason reminds me that my next student might be waiting outside.
I pull back. “Wait. You want actual guitar lessons? From me? Seriously?”
Glossy-eyed, he nods. “Seriously. I’ll never minimize something you love ever again. So I’m going to learn how to play, too. That way, when you’re composing your Grammy-award-winning music and you’re frustrated with a chord or whatever it’s called, I’ll know exactly what you’re talking about. Plus, I hear the ladies dig guys who play guitars.”
“Then we should get going because I have another lesson soon.”
He waggles his brows and places my arms over his shoulders. “No, you don’t. I booked the entire night.”
Oh. My. God. Guitar porn exists, too.
Life is good. Life is very good.
Acknowledgments
I’m always giddy when I reach this point. It means the book I’ve spent months writing and revising will be published soon. And it’s an important reminder that publishing a book is itself a journey, with ups and downs and everything in between.
Here, I extend my heartfelt gratitude to everyone who helped me along the way:
My editor, Nicole Fischer, who offered excellent guidance and let my voice shine;
My agent, Sarah Younger, who listened when I needed to be heard;
My husband, who gave me invaluable advice about Julian’s arc, enlightened me about this thing called a push-up, and supported me unconditionally;
And my amazing daughters, who were patient and encouraging as usual.
I’m also blessed to have a wonderful network of friends and first readers whose support means the world
to me, including my critique partner, Olivia Dade; my beta readers, Ana Coqui, Susan Scott Shelley, and Soni Wolf; my partner in book crime, Tracey Livesay; and my cheerleaders, Priscilla Oliveras, Sabrina Sol, and Alexis Daria. Empanadillas for everyone!
And finally, a special thanks to the folks at HarperCollins for this book’s gorgeous cover and for promoting me and my books with unparalleled class.
Bianca, you’re a gem.
Are you obsessed with Tori’s funny, wild, best friend, Eva? Well, then you’re in luck because the final installment in the Love on Cue series is coming soon!
CRASHING INTO HER
Fitness instructor Eva Montgomery is excited to take a leap into the unknown and accept a position with her best friend’s new exercise studio in LA. But then her father reneges on his promise to help fund her relocation and she’s desperate for a way to supplement her income before her savings run out. When Eva learns that a person with her skills can make excellent money as a stunt double in Hollywood, she signs up for training.
So what if the lead stunt instructor is the same infuriating (and sexy) man she met at her best friend’s wedding? So what if he’s not happy about working with her? And so what if training involves long hours in close quarters with nothing but physical exertion to stem her. . .frustration. She’ll be on her best behavior. Promise.
Read on for a sneak peek. . .
Chapter One
Eva
OKAY, SATAN. TODAY it is.
The vein at my temple throbs in response to my father’s announcement. I want to kill him, but I’m certain patricide remains illegal in the United States. Blowing out a long breath to compose myself, I tighten my grip on the phone and stifle the urge to let out a string of curse words that would make a Navy SEAL blush and clutch his Glock. Instead, I speak calmly. “You agreed to help me get settled. For a year at least. What’s changed?”
My father sighs on the other end of the line. “Well, the more I think about it the more I think this move is a bad idea. Giving you money would just enable you to make poor choices, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did that.”
He’s telling me this after I left my job in Philadelphia and relocated to Los Angeles, which I did based in part on his promise to help fund my move. Manipulation 101 is in session, and he’s mastered the material so well he could write encyclopedic volumes about it. “It doesn’t bother you at all that you’re reneging on a commitment?”
After a brief pause, he speaks in a soothing voice. “Sweetie, don’t be mad at me. The money will be here when you return.”
When you return. In other words, he’s expecting me to fail in LA and come crawling back to Philadelphia before long.
“As soon as you’re ready to take those accounting courses,” he continues, “I’ll gladly pay for them. But if you really want nothing more than to be a fitness instructor, it should be on you to make it work, don’t you think?”
Stay calm and don’t say anything you’ll regret, Eva. He’s trying to provoke you. Or he wants you to beg him to reconsider. “Right.” My tone is clipped and emotionless. “Okay, I need to get to work. My first class starts at six.”
“Give me a call when you’re not busy, okay?”
“Of course I will, Dad.” But in my head, I make plans to busy myself from now until eternity. “Take care of yourself.”
“You do the same, sweetheart.”
I end the call and shove my phone into the gym bag my best friend, Tori, gave me as a welcome gift. Rolling my shoulders to ease the tension in them, I scan the living area of my new one-bedroom apartment and mentally calculate how long I’ll be able to afford it. Without my father’s financial help, the answer is not long at all. Bye-bye, lovely fireplace. Au revoir, cute terrace overlooking my quaint neighborhood. Hasta la vista, community garden that doubles as a singles hangout.
No, I’m not going to let him steal my joy. Inspecting my reflection in the mirror, I set aside my financial woes and focus on the positives: I’m a single woman with a nice apartment and a fun job who’s embarking on an adventure in a new city. Also, my ass looks amazing in these yoga pants.
Satan can shove it.
WHEN I ARRIVE at Every Body, my new place of employment in West Hollywood, Tori waves at me from behind the reception desk, the studio’s general manager, Valeria, by her side. “You can’t begin to understand how happy I am to see you walk through that door and know that you’ll be working here now. My heart can’t take it.”
I’m just as thrilled as she is, honestly. Tori left town over a year ago to join the love of her life, megastar Carter Stone, in California. Philly wasn’t the same without her. When she brought me in to tour the space a few months ago, I could easily picture myself working here. “We’re stuck with each other, chica—for better or worse.”
She rounds the desk, hands me a manila envelope, and tackle-hugs me. “This is going to be great.”
My arms hang loosely at my sides, and my check is smashed against her chest. Damn, this bitch is tall. “Tori, I need air.”
“Oh, sorry about that.” She draws back, scans me from head to toe, and points at the envelope. “Your ID, access card, locker combo, and office codes are all in there. Valeria will get you copies of your employment forms. You know your way around, right? Because my class starts in a few minutes.”
I roll my eyes at her. “You have four exercise studios in a five thousand square foot space, woman. I think I can figure this place out on my own.”
She bumps my hip with hers. “Fine. I’ll introduce you in Advanced Zumba at five. The people in that class can’t wait to get started. I’ve been talking you up for weeks.”
A wave of jitters hits me. Advanced Zumba has always been one of my most popular classes, but what if the regulars here don’t like it? What if the music doesn’t suit their tastes? We did a few trial runs while I was considering Tori’s job offer, but maybe the students were just being polite when they said they enjoyed themselves. I don’t want to let Tori down.
Goodness, Satan’s working overtime today. I rub my temples, knowing I’m overthinking everything. Kill the drama, Eva.
After placing my belongings in a locker in the staff room, I stroll through the fitness center, trying to familiarize myself with the layout. It’s early afternoon, and the place isn’t packed yet. I duck into the studio where I’ll be teaching most of my classes and walk along the perimeter. Twice the size of my exercise room in Philly, it’s bright and airy, with floor-to-ceiling mirrors along the front and back, a soft blue wall to the right of the stage, and a glass door and frosted wall to the left. It’s perfect, and according to Tori, mostly mine.
I step onto the stage, its suspended wood floor easy on my joints, and bend at the waist to stretch my lower back.
A whoosh of cool air brushes over my shoulders. I straighten and turn to the door, my mouth falling open when I see Tori’s cousin Anthony watching me. His dark eyes are flickering with amusement, and his pretty lips are pursed in interest.
He strides into my room like he owns it, the outline of his long muscular legs visible through his navy blue dress slacks. If he were wearing thick black-rimmed glasses, I’d wonder if he were this decade’s Clark Kent.
“If you wanted to get my attention, all you had to do was say hello,” he says.
I cross my arms over my chest and smirk at him. “This might be hard for you to grasp, but some of us are perfectly capable of existing without your attention.”
He smiles at me as he removes his jacket. “But existing pales in comparison to living, no?”
I chew on my bottom lip to stop myself from making a smart-ass comment. Anthony can’t fathom anyone would be immune to his charms. I look between us, taking in the differences in our appearance. Wait. Why is he here? “Um, if you’re looking for Tori, she’s in Studio A.”
He drapes his jacket over a chair by the stage and stuffs his very large hands in his pockets. “I’m not looking for Tori. I’m teaching a free self-def
ense class for women at five.”
“Here?” I ask.
“Here.”
“In this room?”
He nods. “Yes, in this studio. Two times a week for the next six weeks.” He drops his chin a fraction, his eyes downcast. “Just my way of giving back.”
Right. How convenient that the class is geared to women. Very Anthony, indeed. “And sharing your many gifts with the ladies, I assume.”
He snorts under his breath, and then he gives me a playful smile. “That, too. So get used to this handsome face, Eva. We’ll be seeing each other a lot.”
My eyes flutter closed. “Lovely.”
Well played, Satan. Well played.
About the Author
MIA SOSA is an award-winning contemporary romance writer and a 2015 Romance Writers of America Golden Heart® Finalist. Her books have received praise and recognition from Library Journal, Booklist, The Washington Post, Kirkus Reviews, Book Riot, Bustle, The Booklist Reader, and more.
A former First Amendment and media lawyer, Mia practiced for more than a decade before trading her suits for loungewear (okay, okay, they’re sweatpants). Now she strives to write fun and flirty stories about imperfect characters finding their perfect match.
Mia lives in Maryland with her husband, their two daughters, and an adorable puppy that finally sleeps through the night. For more information about Mia and her books, visit www.miasosa.com.
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By Mia Sosa
Love on Cue
Acting on Impulse
Pretending He’s Mine
The Suits Undone
Unbuttoning the CEO
One Night with the CEO
Getting Dirty with the CEO
A Letter from the Editor
Dear Reader,