“Meet me at my place?” she asked, unbuckling her seatbelt.
“Would you like to come in? Stay at my house tonight?”
She looked over at me. “I’d love that.”
“Why do you look so surprised?”
“I don’t know.” She thought for a second. “I guess I think of this as your house with Scotty. It seems strange to stay the night.”
I took her hand again. “I love you, Jillian. And I want a life with you. I don’t mean that we have to rush anything, but I don’t like being apart from you so often. I don’t want you to be my Girl Friday anymore—I want something more.”
“Me too,” she whispered, her eyes shining in the dark.
I leaned toward her, kissed her lips. “So let’s go in and see how it feels.”
• • •
It felt fucking amazing, of course.
To be naked in my bed with her, where I’d thought of her, talked to her, dreamed about her so many nights. Where I’d chastised myself for being so stubborn and scared. Where I’d tortured myself, believing I could never have her.
To wrap myself around her and feel her wrapped around me, limbs twined around bodies like vines.
To feel free to love her and accept her love, without guilt, without reservation, without end.
To make promises.
“Spend forever with me,” I whispered, buried deep inside her. “I’ll make you happy.”
“Yes.” She held my head in her hands, her eyes shiny in the dark. “Yes.”
Looking down at her, our bodies joined, I felt a euphoria beyond measure, something so much more than merely physical—something boundless and timeless and fathomless, something that made the room spin and my eyes water and my heart pound. Something that made all the pieces of me come together in perfect, blissful harmony.
For the first time in my life, I felt complete.
“He’s so beautiful, you guys. Congratulations.” I leaned over to kiss Natalie on the cheek, and then hugged Miles, who stood by her side, dazed and beaming. At eight last night, right in the middle of my engagement dinner, Natalie had gone into labor. Twelve hours later, she’d delivered a healthy baby boy without any complications, despite being two weeks early.
“Thanks. You ever going to give him back, Mom?” Natalie called to our mother, who sat in the window seat cradling the baby, our dad right next to her.
“Never.” She didn’t even look up from the baby’s sweet little face. “Oh God, he just sighed and opened his eyes. He’s brilliant.”
Natalie and I exchanged a look, and then she grabbed my hand. “Jillian, I’m so sorry about the party. I feel like we stole your thunder.”
“Don’t be silly! You made it more memorable. Levi and I are thrilled.”
She looked like she didn’t believe me. “Are you sure?”
I squeezed her hand. “Positive. He’s downstairs right now getting some coffee.”
“Tell him to come up!” she said.
“Are you sure? We have Scotty with us, and Levi wasn’t sure if you’d want a bunch of people in here.”
She flapped her hands. “It’s all family. Plus I need to hear about how it went. Let me see your ring again.”
I laughed. “You’ve seen it,” I said, but I held my hand out for her anyway.
She sighed and fanned her face, tears welling. “Sorry. I’m emotional right now. But it’s so beautiful. I’m so happy for you guys.”
“Thanks. I’m happy too.” After I texted Levi the room number, I looked at the ring again too, dazzled by its sparkle and luster, but even more by what it represented—a future with Levi. He’d surprised me with the proposal last weekend, which he and I had spent curled up in a romantic cabin in the woods with every intention of skiing, but never quite making it outside our cozy little place (that was the point of the pinky swear anyway, right?).
On our first night there, in front of a roaring fire, between sips of whiskey, and after round one of hair-pulling, toe-tingling, cabin-shaking sex, Levi had knelt before me with the ring and asked me to be his wife.
He said he didn’t expect me to be Scotty’s mother, but would be honored and grateful to have my help in raising him alongside any children we had. I’d nodded and cried, my heart too full to speak as he slipped the ring on my finger.
Later, when we were lying in bed, gaining our strength back after round two, he showed me a letter that Scotty had written for me. It was printed in pencil on lined paper, and there were a few holes in it where he’d erased mistakes too vehemently. Dear Jillian, it read. I hope you say yes. You make Daddy smile. I like you. It was signed, Scotty Brooks.
I put a hand over my heart, choked up again. “Oh my God, he’s so sweet. So he knows about this?”
Levi nodded. “He does. And he understands that means we will all live together and maybe at some point buy a bigger house.”
“So we’ll live in your house first?”
“I hope you will. And I hope you’ll move in right away…the past few months with you have been the happiest of my life, Jill. The days when I don’t see you are always…lesser, somehow.” He brushed my hair off my face. “That day you crashed into me at your sister’s wedding was the luckiest day of my life.”
I’d blubbered some more and agreed to move in as soon as I could, and when we got back, I’d called my realtor about putting my condo up for sale.
“Can we come in?” Skylar appeared in the hospital room doorway, Sebastian, Levi, and Scotty behind her.
“Sure,” said Natalie, motioning everyone in. “It’s a big room.”
Miles went over to shake hands with the guys, including Scotty. “Thanks for coming,” he said.
Sebastian thumped him on the back. “So happy for you guys. Congratulations.”
“How’s everyone feeling?” Levi asked, looking from Natalie to the baby. Scotty hung onto Levi’s hand, but he looked over toward the baby curiously.
“Amazing,” said Miles with a grin. “I’ve never felt better.”
Natalie rolled her eyes. “We’re all good. I’m exhausted but running on adrenaline right now.” She turned to Skylar. “You checked in at the coffee shop, right? Everything was OK?”
Skylar laughed. “Yes, crazy. Everything is fine at work. Jeez, you just gave birth. Relax a little.” She went over to Sebastian and took his hand. Together, they walked softly over to my parents and peeked at the baby.
“So what’s his name?” Levi asked.
“Gotham,” announced Miles.
Natalie glared at him. “We’re still deciding that.”
“Right, so for now, we might as well call him Gotham,” Miles said, as if it made perfect sense.
“Let me have him now.” Our dad reached over and took the baby from our mother. “I need a turn.” Once the baby was in his arms, he looked up. “Hey, Scotty, come on over here and see my new grandson. Isn’t he small?”
Scotty looked up at Levi, who encouraged him with a nod. “It’s OK. Go see him. That’s how small you were once.”
Scotty twirled one hand in his hair as he walked over to the window, and my dad angled his body so Scotty could see the baby. My heart beat hard with love and gratitude for my dad, who’d been so good with Scotty over the last couple months.
My mother pouted. “Somebody better give us a second grandbaby, and soon,” she said, giving Skylar and me a look, “or there’s going to be trouble. One baby simply isn’t enough to go around.”
“Don’t look at me.” I laughed, holding up both hands. “I just got engaged a week ago.”
Skylar cleared her throat. “Actually…”
All heads turned in her direction.
“Actually, it’ll be me having the second grandchild.” She grinned deviously. “And the third.”
Jaws dropped. Eyes bugged. Silent seconds ticked by.
“Twins?” I finally managed.
Skylar looked at Sebastian, who appeared to be hoping the ground might open up and swallow him. “Yep,” she
said, giggling a little. “It was confirmed by ultrasound this week.”
“Twins?” Our mother continued to gape at her, one hand moving to her heart.
“Twins,” she confirmed again, rising up on her toes.
“Guess the pressure’s off, huh?” Levi whispered in my ear.
I smiled up at him and whispered back. “Thank God. Now we can take our time.”
“I can’t believe it,” Natalie said, shaking her head, a huge grin on her face. “Twins!”
“Congratulations, you guys,” Miles said, sinking onto the bed next to Natalie. “And Sebastian, it’s the best feeling in the world, being a dad. I never thought I’d say that, but it is.”
“I’ll second that,” said Levi.
“And I’ll third,” added my dad.
“Twins,” my mother said again, her eyes misting. “I can’t believe it.”
“Well, you know Sebastian,” Skylar said, giving her husband an elbow in the side. “Two is always better than one.”
Smiling, I leaned back against Levi’s chest, feeling his arms come around me. I was surrounded by love, laughter, and three generations of family.
It was exactly where I wanted to be, now and forever.
To my husband, for understanding, patience, love, and inspiration.
To my girls, the light of my life.
To my early readers: Crimson, Laura, Lauren, LeAnn, Margaret, Melanie, Melissa, Rachel, and Sarah…thanks for giving me feedback, inspiration and encouragement. #peenqueens4life
To Melissa Gaston, you are pure gold, and I love having you in my corner.
To Candi Kane, my Chicago girl. Thank you for all you do!
To Jenn Watson, where would I be without you? Wait, don’t answer that. Thanks a million for your time, your talent, and your friendship. You’re the best!
To Rebecca Friedman, agent extraordinaire and generous soul, I can't wait to work more with you!
To Social Butterfly PR, Give Me Books, The Literary Gossip, and Love N. Books for all the help with publicity. You rock!
To Kayti McGee, my sister from another mister, for endless cheerleading,visits to the D, and believing in GrisMel. You get me.
To Sierra Simone, angel of mercy, drinker of gin, keeper of feelings. There would be no Levi and Jillian in the world without you. No words for how grateful I am that you spent your retreat buried in this book.
To Laurelin Paige, goddess of guidance, I don’t know what I did to deserve all the patience and generosity you show me! Thank you for all you do to keep Melanie Harlow from winding up so hard she snaps.
To my fellow authors and friends who have been so generous and inspiring: Lauren Blakely, Geneva Lee, M. Pierce, Corinne Michaels, Claire Contreras, Helena Hunting, and all the ladies of FYW—you inspire me every day!
To the Dirty Girls, for good times past and yet to come—can’t wait to see you again!
To my Harlots—there is no funnier, smarter, sexier, more supportive group of readers than you. Thanks for all the love and humps! I adore you!
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Melanie Harlow likes her heels high, her hair pink, and her history with the naughty bits left in. In addition to the HAPPY CRAZY LOVE series, she’s the author of the FRENCHED series (contemporary romance) and the SPEAK EASY duet (historical romance). She writes from her home outside of Detroit, where she lives with her husband, two daughters, and one insane rabbit.
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The HAPPY CRAZY LOVE Series…
SOME SORT OF HAPPY
SOME SORT OF CRAZY
SOME SORT OF LOVE
The FRENCHED Series…
FRENCHED
YANKED
THE WEDDING NIGHT (Mia and Lucas)
FORKED
FLOORED
The SPEAK EASY Duet
THE TANGO LESSON
Keep reading for a special sneak peek at the opening chapters of PLAY ME by Katie McCoy!
Chapter 1
Ella
It wasn’t going to fit. Just looking at it, I could tell. It was too big. Way, way too big. But still, I took a deep breath and tried to relax. There wasn’t much I could do now. Somehow he was going to make it fit. It was too late to turn back, I told myself.
Keeping my gaze on Mark’s face, I watched as beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead, wrinkled with concentration. We were both sweating. I bit my lip and closed my eyes, knowing it would all be over soon. My heart pounded in my chest.
I held my breath and braced for contact. I heard Mark let out a low grunt and then nothing.
When I opened my eyes, my piano was in the middle of my new apartment. I hurried over to help him tilt it off the dolly, gently maneuvering it close to the large bay windows that took up an entire wall of the loft. It looked fantastic sitting there, beautiful and gleaming. Like it belonged. Afternoon light was streaming in and already my fingers itched to play a few notes, test the acoustics in the room.
“I told you it would fit,” Mark said, making the same expression of displeasure as he did when I messed up during rehearsal. Which seemed to be more often than not these days. The closer we got to the competition, the worse I seemed to get in rehearsal, my hands growing more and more clammy and my nerves through the roof.
“Thank you for helping me move it,” I told him, still surprised he had agreed to do so.
“Well, you were probably going to hire some idiot who would damage it. Better if I just took care of it.”
I ran my hand over the piano’s polished black surface. It took up most of the space in the tiny first-floor loft I had rented in Lower Nob Hill—there was barely any room for my bed and I hadn’t even bothered with trying to get a table or couch in there as well. Not like I could afford them with how much I was paying for rent. But it didn’t matter. The piano was all that mattered. And somehow, Mark had managed to maneuver it through the narrow door without getting a scratch on it.
“Thank you,” I told him again, but the frown didn’t budge, his attention turned to the state of the apartment. I had loved it since the moment I saw it, the old three-story building with six identical lofts, two on each floor, with their own beautiful set of windows that curved outwards. It felt a little like a fishbowl. But in a good way. Like, if a fish had to choose its fishbowl, it would probably choose a fishbowl like this.
Peering out my windows, I could see into the apartment immediately next to mine—or at least I would be able to if their curtains hadn’t been drawn. You should probably buy curtains; I made a mental note to myself. Looking up, I could see the ceiling of the apartment above the one next door, but not much more.
But when I looked back at Mark and his frown, suddenly I could see everything in my apartment that he had disapproved of. The lack of space. The creaky floorboards. The ancient sink and bathtub. I quickly pushed his doubts away. He was only my instructor now—he didn’t get to tell me where to live, even though he kept trying. He had found nothing but fault with my new place.
“Just continue to stay with your parents,” he kept saying, the one and only time he and my folks were in total agreement. “Why add to your stress with another move?”
But he didn’t understand that as much as I loved my parents, it was time to move out. I was twenty-five and had never been on my own. I had always planned my move back home to be temporary, just to get my bearings after the break-up and find my own place. My parents had clearly been hoping I would stay forever, like my sister. But they still couldn’t
understand—after years of practice and graduating from the conservatory—why I had chosen to focus on classical music instead of jazz like Nina. Like them. They respected classical music, of course, they just thought it was a bit old-fashioned. They didn’t mean any harm by it, I knew that, but it was still frustrating to be around people who didn’t listen to what you wanted.
“We’re a family of free spirits, Ella,” my dad would always say. “We like to improvise, not follow sheet music.”
But I needed to follow sheet music. Just like I needed to move out. But they also thought I should focus on an instrument and genre that didn’t have so many solo performances—the very thing that tended to trigger my panic attacks. They didn’t understand why I continued to put myself through the stress of performing and they definitely didn’t understand why I had entered the Menuhin Competition.
“I’m going to go,” Mark said, smoothing back his perfect hair.
I remembered being so enamored with him those first few years. Back then I was just out of the conservatory and he was the best piano teacher in San Francisco, so of course I sought him out. I wanted to win the newly established Menuhin competition and he was considered the best person to prepare me. The competition was how I was going to prove to my parents that I could succeed as a musician. It wasn’t the money I was interested in, but the opportunity it would allow. The winner of this competition would have a hundred doors opened to them. Secretly I hoped it would allow me to teach. Even though I had a few students, mostly kids, winning the competition would give me respect and attention in the classical world. I would be able to take on students like Mark took on me. And charge them the same exorbitant fees. Because I would be worth it. And I would be able to keep my current students at their current cost. But I was getting ahead of myself. I had to win the competition first.
My palms began to sweat just thinking about it, the skin on the back of my neck prickled. I had made it through the first few rounds of smaller performances, but each time had to cope with the panic attacks. I hated it, but besides small coping mechanisms and tricks to keep me from passing out before I got on stage, there wasn’t much I else I could do to battle them. It didn’t help that Mark insisted it was all in my mind and that if I just tried harder, I could be over them.
Some Sort of Love: A Happy Crazy Love Novel Page 22