by Mia Sosa
I position my body flush against hers and cup the nape of her neck. “It’s you, Tori. It’s always been you.”
Her breath hitches and her lips part, and since I’m an opportunist, I sweep in for a tender kiss. She wraps her arms around my neck, and the kiss intensifies within seconds. Cameras flash, and the crowd cheers.
Drawing back, I catalog her appearance—the flushed cheeks, the sparkling eyes, the incredible dress—because I want to remember every second of this moment. “I love you. I want to be the person you wake up with, the person who holds your hand when you need it, the person who kisses you sweetly, the person who makes love to you, the person who listens to your dreams, the person who laughs with you. The person you yell at on the rare occasion when I do something to make you mad. I want all of it.”
“I love you, too,” she says.
I narrow my eyes. “And?”
She purses her lips and shrugs as if the declaration’s no big deal “That about covers it.” Her intense gaze tells a different story, though. Staring into her eyes, I have no doubt she wants everything that I want.
I pull her close and kiss her forehead. “You’re right. Our love is all that matters. But what just happened?”
“I figured if we put it all out there, anything else would be boring, and they’d leave us alone.”
“It could backfire.”
“I don’t care,” she says as she rests her head in the crook of my neck. “Whatever happens, we’ll work through it, okay?”
I squeeze her hand. “One thing we won’t have to work through is my trust. I won’t doubt you ever again. We’re in this together.”
And I’m so sure of that fact that all the other issues fade away.
Someday Tori will be my wife, and God willing, the mother of my children. And it all started with a flight to Aruba. I smile at the memory of that little girl wailing at my terrible impression of a bear.
Okay, so maybe I will tell our kids the real story of how I met their mother. After all, it’s a good one.
Hollywood Observer
9:00 a.m. PDT 2/13/2018 by Observer Staff
Los Angeles, California
A Surprise Audition
Carter Stone is on fire lately. The Hollywood A-lister is promoting his first starring role in a feature film, The Mash Up, which has been showered with rave reviews, including ours here. We’re betting Stone’s hilarious performance gets him a few Best Supporting Actor nods this year. The movie’s directors, Jim and Cassandra Lang, say Stone was a dream to work with and they’re lucky to have nabbed him when they did, because now he’s on every director’s must-have list. They also revealed that they’d settled on Stone as part of their dream cast after watching his interview on The Actor’s Couch in preparation for their own appearance on the show a week later. How’s that for an undercover audition? Although Stone is enjoying his critical success, his time and attention appear to be focused on his girlfriend, Tori Alvarez. Just last week, Carter and Tori were reportedly spotted at a jewelry store—in the engagement and wedding rings section. Tori, meanwhile, has a lot on her plate, too. This fall, she’ll be celebrating the opening of her West Hollywood fitness studio, Every Body, and in her “spare time” (our quotes, not hers), she’ll be working with her mother and sister to develop recipes for their upcoming cookbook, which will feature traditional Puerto Rican recipes and their lighter-fare counterparts. We’re licking our lips just thinking about it!
THE END
Acknowledgements
My husband does ALL THE THINGS and gives me ALL THE FEELS. I can’t thank him enough for being my partner in every sense of the word. Love you like crazy, sweetie.
Now to my girls. Being your mother is one of my most important obligations in life and the source of my greatest joy. Just so you know, I’ll cuddle you even when you’re in your thirties, which is when you should be reading this.
Mãe, eu te amo. It always comes back to you.
My critique partner, Olivia Dade, means the world to me. Your support, guidance, and friendship have been invaluable to me, Olivia, and I can’t imagine traveling on this writing journey with anyone else. Love you, lady.
My agent, Sarah Younger, continues to champion and guide me. I wouldn’t want to run this marathon without you cheering me on.
My editor, Nicole Fischer, is a rock star at what she does. Somehow, she read my manuscript and knew exactly what needed to be done to whip it into shape. I’m thrilled to be working with you, Nicole, and I’m looking forward to growing as an author with you in my corner.
Which leads me to my shout-out to the rest of the Avon Impulse family: Thank you for welcoming me into the fold and for everything you’ve done on my behalf. Also, that cover. Goodness, you nailed it.
To my beta readers, Soni Wolf, Ana Coqui, and Susan Scott Shelley: Thank you for your kind and wise words. Your insights helped me write a better book.
Finally, to you, dear reader: Thank you for embracing my words. I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Read on for a sneak peek at the next book in Mia Sosa’s Love on Cue series . . .
PRETENDING HE’S MINE
Coming February 2018!
Preorder it here!
Chapter One
Julian
THERE’S A WOMAN experiencing a toe-curling orgasm in my condo. And to my knowledge, this is the first time I’m in no way responsible for it.
Because this dumpster fire needs more tinder, the person bringing herself pleasure within the confines of my not-so-humble abode is my best friend’s little sister.
The best friend who’s also my most high-profile client.
The best friend who would pin my balls to the textured wall framing my fireplace if I had anything to do with his little sister’s orgasms.
I’d prefer to sustain a thousand paper cuts than listen to her moans, the catch of her breath, the rustling of the sheets around her body. But she’s crashing at my place, and she’s left the door of the guest bedroom open. Just a crack. The sliver of soft light coming from the adjoining bathroom beckons like a portal to another world. Come, the voice of James Earl Jones says. The embodiment of your hidden and fucked-up fantasies lies in this realm.
Is she naked, or has she tugged her pajama bottoms to her ankles? Is she using one finger or more? Is she a multitasker who massages her breasts, too? My erection wants answers to these pressing questions.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Dammit. This isn’t right. It’s a private moment, and I’m a lecherous asshole. Summoning what’s left of the self-control that’s served me well for more than a decade, I turn away from the light and slink down the short hall to my kitchen. There, I refit my wireless headphones and find a tall glass for the water that brought me out of my room.
I’d resigned myself to remaining as far away from Ashley as possible while she stayed the night, but I didn’t expect an innocent trip to the fridge to leave me thirsty for something else altogether. I’m not even sure why I took off my headphones as I passed her room. But I did. And now I know what she sounds like when she comes.
I didn’t cross the line; I hurdled over it.
It began more than a year ago, when Carter asked me to check in with his little sister, who’d been in town during a layover in her flight schedule. She was mopey because she’d just broken up with her boyfriend. While consoling her, my arms circled her waist, and she rested her head on my shoulders. It’s a foggy memory, but I recall pressing my lips against her forehead, a friendly show of affection that came as naturally to me as breathing, and then she raised her lips to mine, suggesting she wouldn’t object to more.
With regret but a clear sense of purpose, I shut it down. Which is what I need to do now. Now that the portal is open, though, I want to step through and explore this other world. Until that day, I’d never imagined acting on my attraction to Ashley. She’s supposed to be the little sister I always wished to have. Since then, however, I can’t think of anything else.
Picture her in pigtails and remember what it was like to help her stand after an epic fall on the bike she’d just learned to ride.
Forget that she’s now a sexy adult woman with a maddening power to pierce your prickly exterior and make you laugh.
Banish any inappropriate thoughts about her to a parallel universe that will never intersect with this one.
Although temporary, the solution is simple. Fifty push-ups will round out my workout and help settle my libido. With my get-over-my-lust-for-Ashley plan in place, I set the glass in the sink and cut the light switch. I spin around, and a warm body skids into me, a soft mouth connecting with my bare chest.
She yelps. “Julian? Please tell me it’s you.”
The tremor in her voice pulls me out of my stupor, and I take in an unsteady breath as I step back. “It’s me, Ashley.”
Fuck the fifty push-ups. I’m going to need a hundred.
Ashley
THIS WAS A test.
In the event of an actual sexual emergency, I would be climbing Julian’s body like a cat in heat. Julian dislikes cats, however, and he dislikes women who invade his personal space even more. Still, this woman needs to know if her lifelong crush has feelings for her.
Hence, Operation Fake Orgasm.
Moments ago, I sat on the bed in Julian’s guest bedroom and flipped through the copy of Sports Illustrated I’d picked up from the magazine rack.
I moaned. I groaned. I smacked my lips. I think there were a few yeses in there, too. Then a high-pitched cry. To heighten the atmospherics, I also rustled the sheets.
Meg Ryan would have been proud.
Did I do all this knowing the door to the bedroom was open? Affirmative. Will the ruse reveal whether Julian’s attracted to me? Hang on. I’ll let you know in a minute.
He flips the light switch. Julian’s dark gaze settles on his hand, which is gripping the counter’s edge.
“Sorry, Julian. I didn’t realize you were out here. I just wanted to grab a glass of water.”
He raises his head, and his gaze finally lands on me. In a matter of seconds, he regards me with interest, his dark brown eyes cataloging my face and body, and then he shuts down his perusal with a shake of his head. It’s willpower at work, and the fact that he needs it is promising.
Before I can revel in that knowledge, he taps his ears and pulls out his headphones. “Hey. I’ve been in my own world here.”
My eyes blink repeatedly, so much so that the kitchen appears to be bathed in strobe lights. “You’ve been listening to music?”
Julian smiles, and his dimples say hello. “Yeah, I’ve been working out, and I didn’t want to disturb you.”
Drat. My fake orgasm was a waste of my time. But that’s neither here nor there when I consider that Julian’s bare chest is in my field of vision. I haven’t seen it since my last year of high school—and Julian’s last year of college. There have been significant developments in the interim.
His smooth brown skin still makes me yearn to touch it. But maturity—and probably the effects of a heck of a lot of exercise—has etched itself into the dips and planes of his torso, broadening the span of his waist and hardening his abdomen. How would the landscape change if he contracted his muscles in response to my touch? God, I’d love to know.
“So what’s next for you?” he asks.
His voice, a smooth baritone that slides over me like silk, adds to his appeal. Even in college, Julian spoke like a man well beyond his years, but now that he’s older, his voice complements his persona, serving as the right accessory for any outfit or occasion.
As he awaits my answer, he lifts his body and settles on the kitchen counter, his small and large muscles contracting like well-oiled gears. Needing something to do with my twitchy hands, I search for a glass.
“Upper cabinet above the sink,” he says.
I round the counter and open the cabinet door. “I’m working mostly in Dallas and Philadelphia next week.” I turn halfway, giving him my profile. “Why the sudden interest in my work schedule?”
Julian presses his lips together and stares at me. “That’s not what I meant.”
I face forward, my hand behind me as I fill the glass with water from the fridge dispenser. “What did you mean?”
He throws his head back. “When will you be done with this stint as a flight attendant? It’s been about a year now.”
The “stint” reference causes me to straighten and square my shoulders. After taking a sip of water, I say, “I’ll be done with it when I’m ready. For now, it’s giving me the means to travel and experience new places.” I meet his stare. “And people.”
His nostrils flare. “I’m sure.”
Except for his annoying tendency to judge my choices, Julian would be close to perfect. “Anyway, to answer your thinly veiled question about my purpose in life, I’m thinking I might try my hand at real estate.”
Julian groans. “Right. Because the housing market is booming, and there’s a shortage of qualified real estate professionals in . . .” He squishes his eyebrows together. “Where are you living now, anyway?”
It’s a simple question—with a complicated answer.
Last week, I would have said Hoboken, New Jersey. But that was before my roommate’s seedy boyfriend, Paul, cornered me in my kitchen and squeezed my ass as I rinsed out my favorite coffee mug. That was also before I slammed said mug against the side of his face. Elisa screeched at me when she saw the blood smeared against his cheek. The cut was superficial, but her response to what had prompted me to cause it hurt much more. In the end, she blamed Paul’s wandering hands on the tightness of my pajama bottoms.
Needless to say, as long as either Elisa or Paul occupies the apartment, I won’t be returning.
Which means I’m homeless. But Julian doesn’t need to know all of this. For his own good. Because if he knew what had happened, he would head to Jersey for an unfriendly visit with Paul. And trouble would surely follow. So I tell him the truth, the partial truth, and nothing but the essential truth. “My living arrangements are in flux right now. I’m working on finding a place to stay.”
“What’s wrong with Carter’s place while you”—he makes air quotes—“figure things out?”
I chuckle. “He literally has his hands full with his girlfriend. New love, it’s a bit much, you know?”
Julian dons his trademark half smile—the one I pretend he reserves just for me—and adds a wink for good measure. “Is that what had you running to my place tonight?”
“Exactly. They appear to be spreading their DNA over every surface of his condo. I’m worried one morning I’ll find a pubic hair in my cereal.”
Julian shudders and pretends to wretch. “Stop, please.”
Satisfied I’ve made my point, I nod and purse my lips in displeasure. “Now you know how I feel.”
“I’m sure your parents would welcome you with open arms.”
I inwardly cringe at the thought of returning to my parents’ house. “I think you meant they’d welcome me into their smothering arms. No thanks.”
He tilts his head as if to downplay my objection. “Would going home be such a bad thing?”
Um. Yes. It would be a terrible thing.
My hometown Harmon, with a population under three thousand and two different bakeries within a block of each other, often makes the list of quaint and idyllic towns in Connecticut. But its demographics leave much to be desired: 90 percent of its residents are assholes, while the other 10 percent are members of my family, students attending the boarding school down the road from our family’s home, or owners and employees of those lovely bakeries. I’d rather describe my sexual history in graphic detail to my parents than return there for more than a two-day visit during the holidays.
Julian knows I hate Harmon and all the bad memories I left there, which is why I simply stare at him in response to his ridiculous question.
He drops his head, his fisted hands lightly pounding his thighs, but
he says nothing.
I hate silence. Without sound, which I prefer at high decibels, my thoughts often threaten to consume me. Julian enjoys silence, however. A room with no music or chatter is his happy place. His comfort in the absence of noise is one of the reasons I’m drawn to him; it looks and feels like confidence, something I either lack or have in abundance depending on the people around me. When I’m on my way to Harmon, my confidence drops me off at the airport and waves at me as it heads to a sunny destination in another country.
After a half minute in which I struggle for something to say, Julian lifts his head. A sense of foreboding blankets the room, and I wince at the pained expression on his face.
“If you need a place to stay while you sort out your living arrangements, you can stay here. In one of the guest bedrooms.”
His voice is even and emotionless. Goodness. Does he abhor the idea of having me here that much?
I thought . . . I don’t know what I thought. Maybe Julian’s dating someone and he doesn’t want me to interfere with his lifestyle. Maybe to him I’m still his best friend’s annoying sister, and he suggested I stay here only to keep his best friend and client happy. Or maybe, just maybe, he suspects being in close quarters with me would test his resolve to keep our relationship platonic. Although his reasoning is unclear, his lack of enthusiasm about the idea is not.
And that’s why I’ll accept his offer. Because I need to know once and for all whether Julian’s attracted to me.
If he isn’t, I’ll move on.
If he is, I’ll climb his body like a scratching post. And finally take him off my to-do list.
Julian stares at me, his mouth slightly open as he waits to see if I’ll accept his offer.
“I won’t stay long, I promise.” I give him a reassuring smile. “And I’ll be traveling a lot, so you won’t even know I’m here.”
“I doubt that,” he says under his breath.
Ha. Given what I have in mind, I doubt that, too.