Stuck Landing

by Lauren Gallagher

  Riptide Publishing

  PO Box 6652

  Hillsborough, NJ 08844

  www.riptidepublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All person(s) depicted on the cover are model(s) used for illustrative purposes only.

  Stuck Landing

  Copyright © 2015 by Lauren Gallagher

  Cover art: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm

  Editor: Chris Muldoon

  Layout: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing address above, at Riptidepublishing.com, or at marketing@riptidepublishing.com.

  ISBN: 978-1-62649-365-0

  First edition

  December, 2015

  Also available in paperback:

  ISBN: 978-1-62649-329-2

  ABOUT THE EBOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED:

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  For months, acclaimed Wolf’s Landing director/producer Anna Maxwell has been nursing a crush on Natalya Izmaylova, a former Russian gymnast and current Wolf’s Landing stunt coordinator. When Anna witnesses Natalya’s very public breakup with her boyfriend, she can’t resist inviting her over for drinks to commiserate about love and all that nonsense. Commiseration doesn’t last long, and soon Anna’s in bed with the hottest woman she’s ever touched, living out fantasies she didn’t even know she had.

  Despite the amazing sex, Anna wants to proceed with caution. They’re both newly single. They’re colleagues. And there’s the not-so-small matter of Anna’s biphobia.

  Natalya won’t commit to someone who clings to ridiculous stereotypes, but they can’t avoid each other at work, and there’s no ignoring their chemistry. Anna’s defenses are slowly eroding, and Natalya is willing to give her another chance. But Natalya only has so much patience, and even scorching-hot sex won’t keep her coming back forever. If Anna doesn’t come to her senses soon and let go of her prejudices—not to mention her insecurities—she’s going to lose the woman of her dreams.

  About Stuck Landing

  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

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Dear Reader

  Also by Lauren Gallagher

  About the Author

  More like this

  I’m coming by tomorrow to p/u my stuff.

  My girlfriend’s text message—your ex-girlfriend, idiot—made me long for the days of flip phones. Dropping my cell into the cup holder wasn’t nearly as satisfying without first slamming the little bastard shut.

  From the driver’s seat, my bodyguard, Jeremy, glanced at the phone. “Leigh?”

  “How’d you guess?” I rubbed my eyes. “I can’t wait until all this shit is really over.”

  “I wish I could tell you it ends overnight.” He shrugged as he pulled into the gym parking lot. “Unfortunately, after you’ve been together that long . . .”

  I groaned. “If she’d agree to it, I’d just toss a match in the place so we could both start over fresh.”

  “Tempting, isn’t it?” He parked and killed the engine. “It does end, though. Promise.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see.” I grabbed the phone, but didn’t look at the screen. Instead, I shoved it into my pocket as Jeremy and I got out of the car. I’d respond to the message later. For now, I needed to blow off some steam after a long week on set. The next season had just started, and though the episodes currently filming had other directors at the helm, I had plenty to keep me busy.

  With Jeremy on my heels, I headed into the gym. The instant I stepped through the tinted glass door, I was hit with the familiar pungent smells of sweat, metal, disinfectant, and more sweat. After this long, it didn’t bother me anymore. It just made my brain shift gears from work, work, work to time to sling some iron! My pulse ratcheted up. I hadn’t drunk my preworkout supplement yet, but I was definitely psyched for this. Probably because I hadn’t been here in a few days.

  It wasn’t super crowded today, thank God. I quickly scanned the room. The squat racks and benches were occupied, but no one was using the leg press, and there was plenty of room by the dumbbells. Besides the people at the squat racks, everyone seemed to be doing upper body, which was perfect. It was leg day for me.

  Jeremy stayed outside the locker room while I went in to change clothes. When I came out—nearly vibrating from the preworkout I’d just drunk—he fell into step with me and stayed hot on my heels while I started my routine. As always, he was close but out of the way, though he never hesitated to step in when I needed a spotter. As much as having a bodyguard annoyed me, it did have its perks sometimes.

  As I warmed up with some kettlebell swings, I kept thinking about that text message I still hadn’t replied to. This thing with Leigh was exhausting. The relationship had been more tiring than my job, and the breakup wasn’t much better. At least we’d finally split. We could not possibly have drawn things out any further. What a waste of time and energy.

  Well, at least some good had come out of it: our attempt at counseling had put Jeremy in the crosshairs of a therapist in the office. They’d started dating, and the guy had even helped Jeremy find a counselor of his own to work out the postdivorce mess with his ex-wife and kids. Jeremy had recently started going to LA twice a month for family sessions. It was too early to tell if it was working, but he’d been a lot less tense, so I was optimistic. And if slowly crashing and burning with Leigh had had any silver lining at all, I was happy.

  Maybe there was even a silver lining in it for me. Well, if nothing else, my throat hurt less these days. Fewer screaming matches had that effect. So that was a plus. And I wasn’t so stressed out going up my own driveway anymore, wondering what kind of petty or not-so-petty fight awaited me. Just a house that was too big for one person. Too big, too empty, too full of echoes of—

  “What is your fucking problem?” The man’s shout made everybody jump. About half a dozen people wearing earbuds, myself in
cluded, popped them out and looked around.

  “My problem?” came the sharply accented response, and my head snapped toward the squat rack where a man and a woman faced off.

  It wasn’t just any couple. I’d seen the guy around the set, though his name escaped me at the moment, but the woman was one I’d recognized as soon as I’d heard that Russian accent—Natalya Izmaylova, the take-no-shit stunt coordinator of Wolf’s Landing and owner of the most gorgeous ass I’d ever seen.

  Oblivious to the stares they’d drawn—and me shamelessly ogling her—Natalya stabbed a finger at her boyfriend’s chest. “My problem is that you’ve—”

  “Oh forget it.” The guy threw up his hands, nearly smacking her in the process. “I’m—”

  “Excuse me?” She snatched his arm and got right up in his face, sending him back half a step. “You ever raise a hand to me, and I will—”

  “I wasn’t raising a hand to you.” He wrenched his arm free. “Fucking psycho.”

  “Bullshit you weren’t,” she snarled.

  “You’re making a scene,” he said in a stage whisper. With the two of them fighting in it, the squat rack resembled a shark cage, only with the shark on the inside.

  Watch it, dude. She will eat you alive.

  “I’m making a scene?” She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes, and I swore everyone in the room inched back, including the man in front of her. “Well, it’s going to turn into a much bigger scene if you don’t get the fuck out of here. I’m done with you.”

  “Whatever, bitch.” He lifted his hand a little like he was going to make some animated gesture in her face. Evidently, he thought better of it, though, and stormed off without another word.

  Jeremy and I exchanged glances. He watched the guy go, and from the way his eyebrows came down slightly, he wasn’t checking him out.

  Fuck with her again, dude. I dare you.

  I shifted my attention back to Natalya. She didn’t give a second look to all the people who were staring at her. She shoved an earbud back in, ducked under the barbell she’d positioned at shoulder height on the squat rack, and went on lifting as if nothing had ever happened.

  And as she did her squats, coming down almost all the way to the floor, I let myself stare—and not because of the scene with her boyfriend.

  God. That ass.

  Jeremy cleared his throat.

  I glanced at him, and he snickered.

  “Oh, bite me.” I rolled my eyes. “I saw you checking Ari out this morning.”

  He shrugged. “Guilty.”

  “That’s what I thought. Don’t make me tattle on you to Scott.”

  “Go ahead. Only reason he’d get mad is I didn’t get a picture this time.”

  I laughed. “Why am I not surprised?”

  He just chuckled.

  I loaded plates onto the leg-press machine, and before I started my set, I glanced over at Natalya again.

  She was still at the squat rack, and her boyfriend had reappeared. They were speaking in hushed tones now, but the fury was palpable from across the room. Natalya didn’t take shit from anybody, and had half the production crew scared to death of her, so I didn’t envy her boyfriend. That finger she kept stabbing in the general direction of his throat wasn’t nearly as menacing as the way her eyes narrowed or her lips peeled back across her teeth. Whatever she was saying in that sharp Russian accent was apparently hitting its mark—his eyebrows climbed higher and higher as he drew back farther and farther, as much as he could within the squat rack’s tight quarters. Much more of this, and he’d either tumble backward out of the rack, or she’d grab a dumbbell and smack him over the head.

  Good for her. He’d dated several women who worked on Wolf’s Landing, and none of them had anything good to say about him. A skeevy manipulative son of a bitch, by all accounts. Jeremy and Alfonse—Levi and Carter’s bodyguard—had both made noises about “removing” him from the set on multiple occasions. I suspected both guys wanted to remove him in multiple pieces.

  Watching Natalya give that asshole what for, though, I was pretty sure she didn’t need any outside assistance, so I went back to my workout. All through my lifts, especially when I was resting in between sets, I stole glances at her, ostensibly to make sure she was all right.

  Perv, I thought as I moved from the leg press to the dumbbell rack. You know damn well that’s not why you’re looking.

  Eh. Guilty. There was no law against looking. And now that I was a free agent again, well, why not? She was beautiful. A few long tendrils of damp, dark-blonde hair had escaped her hairband and now hung in spiraling curls beside her sweaty face. Her taut midriff gleamed with perspiration between the snug yoga pants and blue tank top that was little more than a sports bra. She was one of those women who was so fit she could probably bench any man in this room, but she wasn’t “big” by any means. Just strong and powerful, like she must’ve been back in her gymnastics days.

  An image flashed through my mind of her in a tight leotard, and I almost dropped the dumbbell in my hand. I shook myself, forced Natalya out of my brain—for about two seconds—and focused on doing some lunges.

  Get a grip. She’s straight, remember?

  After my workout, I went into the locker room on rubbery legs. I took a quick shower and planned to take one hell of a long soak in my giant bathtub when I got home. Leg day was always fucking brutal, and since I hadn’t been coming to the gym much lately, I’d be paying for it tomorrow.

  Whatever. Worth it. And I’d have an excuse not to help Leigh carry boxes in the morning. Petty? Maybe. But I was getting a little tired of playing both workhorse and ATM for her. In fact, maybe I wouldn’t even be there tomorrow. She still had a key—the breakup hadn’t been so nasty that I was concerned about her stealing or destroying something—and everything she needed was stacked in the garage or kitchen.

  Yeah. I liked that idea. Levi had been pestering me to come over and watch movies with him and Carter. Since tomorrow was a rare day off for all three of us, I decided it was a damn good time to take him up on it. After I wrapped things up here, I’d shoot him a text.

  As I was starting to rearrange my wet hair into a semipresentable ponytail, the locker room door opened again.

  In the mirror, I saw her come in, and my heart fluttered. Her features were tight the way they always were when someone pissed her off, and she was also flushed and disheveled.

  A second later, she disappeared between two rows of lockers. Shaking myself, I shifted my attention back to my reflection.

  Seriously, Anna. Get a grip. What the hell?

  I pulled my ponytail together and grabbed my gym bag. On my way out, I paused beside her row. She was still dressed, just riffling through her bag, so I cleared my throat. “Natalya?”

  She looked up, and the fury in her expression immediately softened to something in the ballpark of a smile. “Oh. Hi.”

  I gestured toward the door. “You all right? Looked like a nasty fight with your boyfriend.”

  Natalya snorted and waved her hand. “Ex-boyfriend.”

  I blinked. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear it. I hadn’t realized you’d . . .”

  She shook her head. “It’s all right.” Her Russian accent wasn’t terribly thick, but it gave her words a hint of curtness even when she wasn’t pissed off. “I’ve had enough of him.” She blew out a breath, and some of her usual tough exterior faded for a moment. “Breaking up still sucks, though. Now I have to meet up and give him back all his shit.” She threw her locker open, the door banging against the one next to it. I jumped. She didn’t.

  Recovering quickly, I rested my shoulder against a locker. “Well, I feel you. My girlfriend and I just recently called it quits too.”

  She arched a thin eyebrow. “Really?”

  I nodded. “It’s a pain in the ass, but I think it was long overdue.”

  Natalya gave a quiet grunt. “Usually is.”

  “Mm-hmm. Never seems like it at the time, but once it’s over, you wonder
why the hell you stayed around so long.”

  She nodded. “God, yes.” She pulled her purse out of her locker and dropped it beside her gym bag with a sharp jingle of keys and change. “And now that it is, I just want to go get drunk.” She looked right at me—oblivious to the little bolts of electricity that went straight to my clit every time our eyes met—and matter-of-factly added, “Join me?”

  Oh. Yes. Please.

  Easy, Anna. She’s only been single for fifteen minutes. And she’s straight.

  I swallowed. “Um, I . . . Well, if I go out for the evening, my bodyguard has to stay with us.”

  She shrugged. “Then we have a driver.”

  I chewed my lip. I was pretty sure Jeremy didn’t want to spend the evening out with me while I drank myself stupid. Not judging by the number of texts he’d exchanged with Scott today, most of them with that silly grin on his face.

  But spending an evening in a bottle with another woman, drinking our exes away, sounded absolutely fabulous.

  “Alternatively,” I said, “I’ve got a fully stocked liquor cabinet.” Blood pounded in my ears. “My place?”

  Natalya grinned, and she nodded. “Your place.”

  Natalya still wanted to grab a shower and run home to feed her dog, so we agreed to meet at eight. I gave her my address and left with Jeremy.

  At the house, we sat down for some coffee. He hung around sometimes if his boyfriend was still seeing patients that day and we were done early from the set—I was between episodes at the moment, so we had a bit of a breather for once. That wouldn’t last long. Never did.

  But thank God we’d brought in Simon Conklin as a new director/producer. With him on board, I didn’t have the same enormous workload I’d had last season. Right now, he was mostly directing, but as he took on more responsibilities as a producer, I’d be freed up to direct more. Exactly as I’d hoped when I badgered the studio into hiring him.

  I glanced out the window at my dark driveway. No headlights yet. Hopefully she could find the place. Not every GPS seemed to be able to navigate the roads out here, but she’d probably be okay. Wasn’t as if I lived out in the sticks like Levi and Carter.