The One & Only: The One Lover Series Book 1

by La Serra, Maria

  The waiter came around. “Do I put everything on one bill?”

  “Yes, put it on mine. I’m picking up the check,” I said to the waiter.

  “No, it’s on me. I ruined your date … article. Whatever. It’s the least I can do.”

  Greg waved the waiter toward him. As I watched Greg pay the bill, I chugged down the two-hundred-dollar wine that Matt had ordered.

  Greg was so sexy. My heart grew ten times bigger.

  The best way to get people to stop asking if you’re dating someone is to meet them with humor. Tell them you’re in a fully-committed relationship with yourself.

  “How to Get People to Stop Asking If You’re Dating Anyone”

  by Staci Cortés

  12

  Staci

  “Rosita just got engaged, and she’s three years younger than you,” my abuela said.

  Yay! Another wedding.

  First Rachel, now Rosita. I hoped my cousin Rosita didn’t ask me to be one of her bridesmaids. I mean, I loved the girl, but there’s only so many peach-colored dresses a woman can have in her wardrobe.

  “I thought you should know, just in case you wanted to bring a date,” she said, her eyes peering at me through her cat-shaped reading glasses. “A year should be enough time to find one, no?” Her red lips—the way they twitched on the sides made me think she wasn’t done with me yet. As much as I love how my abuela throws out these offhand comments while sitting there, smiling so innocently, I decided it was best not to engage.

  I knew what she was thinking—the question. The one I had been taunted with since Luis had broken up with me. The one I had been asked at every family occasion, dinner, wedding, and even at funerals. Why are you single? Followed up with, How’s that possible when you’re a relationship columnist?

  It was ironic, I know, but being single didn’t mean I was less qualified to do my job. Did chefs, after twelve-plus hours, go home and create masterful recipes? Probably not. It was the same for me. I wrote and thought about relationships for eight hours a day. The last thing on my mind is to want a relationship or fantasize about kissing Greg. Maybe it’d happened … once or twice in an hour, but whatever, no biggie.

  It was moments like these I wished I were a man. Life was more comfortable for a guy. They didn’t get judged for being single. If you were a woman close to thirty with no prospects of marriage in sight, well, there was something wrong with you.

  I hate double standards.

  So my career, like my grandmother believed, was a man repeller because men didn’t like an independent woman.

  “I’m happy for her. I’ll call Rosita later to congratulate her on the happy news,” I said to my abuela sitting across from my parents’ dinner table.

  I felt my stomach twist. It was bad enough I would be dateless to my cousin Rachel’s wedding that was coming up in less than a month. Now, I have a year’s worth of torture coming my way.

  “So, what are you waiting for?” my grandmother asked me in her Cuban accent.

  “Well, I had my eye on the Prince of Wales, but he’s married now, so I guess I’m stuck going to the wedding alone.” I shrugged, watching my mother shift in her chair.

  Oh, she’s just itching to get into the action.

  “It’s not a joke, mi hija. What do you think you are? Benjamin Button?” My mother’s eyes scanned my face. “Have you been using the Olay Anti-Aging I bought you?”

  I knew they meant well, but this was ridiculous.

  “You could use smoothing around your eyes,” my abuela chimed in, showing on her face where she thinks my problem areas were.

  Apparently, my whole head.

  I sighed. “Can I enjoy my dinner without talking about my skin or the fact no one wants to date me? But thanks for your concerns. I’m overjoyed with how things are in my life.”

  “Okay.” My grandmother shook her shoulders. “Touchy, touchy.”

  The room went quiet not even a minute before my mother said, “Last night, I prayed for you, that you’d meet a nice man.”

  “For the love of God, Mom.” I placed my fork down because I just lost my appetite.

  “This morning, Margarita called me, and guess what? Her son, Edwardo, just broke up with his girlfriend. He’s the perfect man for you, mi hija,” my mom said.

  Oh, joy, here we go.

  I give my sister, Elena, the look. The kind that said, I wish our lovely mother wouldn’t meddle in our love life.

  Since the age of twenty-two, my mother, Lydia, had taken it upon herself to find me a husband, and it was exhausting. I understood my mother was old-fashioned, but for heaven’s sake, toss me a bone. This was not the eighteenth century, and I was still young, focusing on my career.

  “No way.” I shake my head. “Nope.”

  “Como que no? What do you mean, no?”

  “Do you remember the last time you set me up with Carlos?” I asked.

  “Carlos was a nice boy.” She frowned. “You’re too picky.” She waved me off.

  “He still lived with his parents,” I deadpanned.

  “That’s because he’s saving his money to buy a house.”

  “He’s forty-five,” I said.

  “And soon, you will be, too!” She cast a look in my direction, and I glanced at my dad for support, but he had his head down, playing with his food in his plate.

  “You can’t start a family at forty.”

  “Why not?”

  “Por el amor de Dios, because I will be dead by then.” She placed her hand on her chest. “You’re breaking my heart, mi amor. Honestly, after what I do for you girls, you owe me grandchildren,” she proclaimed. I could hear the wheels turning in her head. “Unless …”

  “Unless what?” I said, looking up from my plate.

  “You like cookies instead of Swiss rolls?”

  “What?” I said, half-laughing.

  “She thinks you’re a Lebanese.” My abuela shouted from across the table.

  “I’m not a lesbian—not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

  “What? You’re not a lesbian—you choose to be single? You’re going to be alone forever,” she wails.

  “Mother Mary, please forgive me. It’s all my fault,” she said into the air. “Where did I go wrong?” My mother turned to my dad. “This is your fault.”

  “How is this my fault?” He screwed up his face.

  “You allowed her to watch reruns of Murphy Brown that glorified a career-minded spinster. What did you think would happen?”

  “Mom, please.” I felt a migraine coming on.

  “Prepare yourself. You’ll be thirty next year—”

  “Twenty-seven,” I corrected her.

  “Doesn’t matter. After thirty, everything changes—your hair, your skin, and gravity.” With her hand, she demonstrated from her breasts down. “What kind of man is going to want that?” She diverted her gaze up to my father, who’s sitting next to her. “Of course, I look good for my age, everything is natural, but who knows if you took after your father’s side?” She made a funny face, nudging her head in my father’s direction. “Prepare yourself because it happens fast. Start using the cream.”

  Please, Lord, make it end.

  “I’m seeing someone,” I blurted out without thinking—without knowing how I would follow up those words.

  “Since when?” my mother asked. Now, everyone was hanging on my every word.

  “I’m seeing someone at work.” I started filling my mouth with food. “I didn’t tell you because it’s new,” I mumbled.

  “Is he Catholic?” my abuela asked.

  I quickly thought about Greg. “Possibly.”

  “Oh, it’s okay. We can convert him.”

  “Don’t get excited. As I said, it’s new,” I said through chewing. I can’t believe I just said that.

  “Who is he?” Elena flashed a teasing smile, the kind that meant she didn’t believe me.

  Troublemaker.

  “Oh, it’s Greg.”


  My mother’s eyes lit up as she clapped her hands together.

  “Ah, well,” I said, choking on my food.

  “Of course. That’s why you gave Greg our number. He wanted to get to know us, and you weren’t ready to tell us of your relationship.”

  I reached over for my glass of water to soothe my throat. “What? Oh no … it’s not Greg.”

  “It is. You don’t need to lie to me. I like Greg.” She reached over the table to pat my hand. “Don’t worry, mi hija. We won’t judge you for dating your boss.”

  “I taught you well, nina,” my abuela chants.

  I love my family.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “To call your Aunt Consuela and tell her to add plus-one to your response to Rachel’s wedding.”

  “It might be too late,” I said.

  “For one more person? Nonsense.” She waved me off.

  “I’ll have to talk it over with Greg. I’m not sure if he could take the time off.”

  “Okay, let me know as soon possible.” My mother sat back down. “I can’t wait to rub it in your aunt’s face that Greg owns his own company.”

  I thought I would be sick. Really, really sick.

  After a short second, my mother turned to my sister. “Elena, I have the perfect man for you.”

  “I’m a lesbian,” she blurted out.

  The whole table went silent.

  1. Fatten him up with compliments. A few compliments go a long way. Make him feel good about himself before you ask anything from him.

  2. Go for the kill with a kiss. A guy can’t resist saying no after a long, steamy kiss. We are women, and we know how to use our talents well, so put on some ChapStick and pucker up.

  3. I scratch your back; you scratch mine. Pick up that cologne he likes or sees that action movie he keeps talking about. He’s more likely to realize he wants to do something nice for you, too.

  “ How to Get a Man to Do What You Want”

  by Staci Cortés

  13

  Greg

  I was in my office, working, when Staci came rushing in, beads of sweat formed at her temple. She never came into my workspace, and I knew whatever it was, she meant business. When she shut the door, I straightened up in my chair.

  “Are you here for some PDA? I like how your mind works, Miss Cortés, but I have a deadline to meet.”

  My lips went up at just the thought of tossing everything off my desk, kissing the life out of her. But then she elbowed me in the stomach, kicking me where the light didn’t shine, and that was where my fantasy ended.

  She rolls her eyes. “No, you insufferable man. I’m here …” She cleared her throat and straightened her cardigan.

  “Yes?” I watched her as her fiery eyes softened.

  She casually strolled into the room. “Did you get a haircut?”

  “No.” I cast a suspicious glance up from my computer, catching Staci looking around the office.

  “I like that shirt on you.” Her eyes met mine as she ran her hand down her pencil skirt, which emphasized the curves of her hips. “Blue suits you,” she said, tossing a strand of hair behind her shoulder.

  Is she flirting with me?

  I stopped typing and leaned back in my chair. “You’re acting very … odd.” I allowed my eyes to take her in.

  “I’m being nice.” She frowned.

  “Ah, that’s what’s wrong,” I said, ignoring the fact that she tilted her head, shooting daggers from her eyes. “What do you want?” I said in a monotone. “Seriously, get on with it. I have stuff to do.”

  “I’m here to ask you for a favor,” she said.

  My hands froze over my keyboard. “Me, for a favor? You must be desperate.” I chuckled as her hand went up to her temple, like she had a migraine.

  “What’s the matter?” I got up and met her around my desk.

  “I did the most idiotic thing.”

  I guided her to my chair. “What’s the matter? You look like you killed somebody.” I chuckled.

  “I wish …”

  Her liquid brown eyes looked up at me. I couldn’t explain this unnerving feeling … like I would go against my better judgment and do anything she asked of me. I just hoped it was not to bury somebody in Central Park.

  “My mother has been trying to set me up with this guy.”

  “Who was the guy?” I felt the heat riding up my neck.

  “That is not important.” She waved me off. “I told her … I’m seeing someone from work.”

  “Oh.” I perked at the edge of my desk, looking down at her.

  “For some crazy reason, she thinks it’s you.” She lets out a nervous giggle.

  This was interesting.

  “Really? Why would she think that?”

  “Because she likes you!”

  “Well, look at me. What’s not to like? At least my charms work on some Cortés women. I’m flattered.” I beamed.

  “I should have never given you my parents’ phone number.” She let out a long breath.

  “So, you came here to ask me what?” I straightened my tie and looked down at her. I had a feeling I knew what she would ask me.

  “My cousin is getting married and …”

  “You want me to be your date?” I lifted off my desk, pacing slowly around the room. “I wish I could help, but … I have plans.” I met her eyes head-on. I had her where I wanted her.

  The tables had finally turned, and now, if Staci wanted my help, she would need to grovel for it.

  “But I didn’t even tell you the date.” She squared her shoulders off.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m pretty much busy in the next few months.” I paused in my step, sliding my hands in my pockets.

  “Busy with what?” A crease formed above her eyebrows.

  “I have to scrub the dirt off the grout of my kitchen tiles,” I said, inspecting my nails.

  “Ha-ha, very funny,” she said, not looking amused. “I’ll pay for your plane ticket.” She twisted her fingers in her hands. “Did I tell you it was in Miami?”

  “I don’t need you to pay for my ticket, Staci.”

  “It’s next week. I know it’s last minute, but please, just this once, help me out? We could pick a fight at some point and break up. That way you can come back home early.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t do it. It would mean I have to lie to your parents. I don’t feel comfortable doing that,” I said.

  “Okay, fine. Name your price.”

  “Anything?”

  “Anything,” she replied.

  How shall I play this?

  Staci needed me, and there was no reason I shouldn’t have fun with her after all she put me through.

  “Wow, you’d rather deal with me instead of just telling your parents the truth?”

  “Good grief. Stop being so righteous. Are you going to help me or not?”

  “Okay, I know what I want from you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A kiss.” I brushed my index finger across my lips, and her eyes met mine. The way she was looking at me, I knew she had entertained the idea once or twice before. I knew I had.

  “Here?”

  “Why not?”

  “But everyone will see us.”

  “So what?” I shrugged. “Since when does Staci Cortés care what other people think?”

  “She doesn’t—I mean, I don’t.” She abruptly jumped out of the chair and straightened her cardigan. “Fine, let’s get this over with.” She stood a couple of feet away from me. “What are you doing, standing there?”

  “You come to me,” I said, not moving a muscle.

  “No, you come to me.” She frowned.

  Nothing turns me on like a strong woman, and Staci was that.

  “Okay, then I wish you luck—”

  Before I knew it, she was on me. One of her hands was in my hair— the other tugged hard at my tie, bringing me closer. The woman was an animal. I’d imagined this kiss would happen bet
ween us and would be great, but I never thought it would be mind-blowing. She forced herself to pull back.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, seeing her flushed.

  “Yeah, fine.” She brushed her hair from her face. “Are you?” Her eyes dragged across my features, and I knew she had seen it, the heat rising inside me.

  “Super. Great.” I hope we can do this again.

  “Do we have a deal, McAdams?”

  “Just e-mail the details. I’ll arrange everything,” I said, going back to my chair, trying to chase how much more I wanted her out of my mind.

  “Okay, I’ll send it over later,” she said, almost out of breath.

  She walked out the door, leaving me there, wanting more.

  Do you want to impress a woman you care for? It’s never the car you drive or the nice, expensive things you buy her. It’s a man with integrity. There’s nothing sexier than a man who lives by a set of values and standards. So, be honest with her. If you want a relationship, then say so. If you’re not sure, then do what’s right and let her go.

  “How to Impress a Woman”

  by Greg McAdams

  14

  Staci

  “Remind me to thank your father for allowing us to use his plane,” I said, looking out the window of the black Town Car that Greg had come in to pick me up that morning.

  “No, this is mine,” he said, scratching his temple.

  My head snapped back at him. It’s nice to see Greg out of his suit. I liked this look on him—a jersey V-neck white shirt worn with a pair of dark jeans.

  “This is yours?” I asked with excitement. I’d never flown first class, let alone on a private jet.

  “Yeah, once I take over the family business.”

  I noticed how shy he’d suddenly become, and I realized, in the time I spent around Greg, he never really flaunted his wealth around me. I liked him more for it.