Crashing into Her

by Mia Sosa

  “Hey, Mom. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. Tired, but what else is new. More importantly, I’m worried about you. Your dad told me this relocation isn’t going as well as you’d hoped.”

  I roll my eyes, imagining what loose version of the truth he shared with her.

  “He says your finances aren’t as solid as you thought they’d be, and you’re already considering coming home.”

  He’d love that to be the case, I’m sure. He’d also love it if I never told my mother that he reneged on his promise to help me with the move. Luckily for him, I’m not inclined to. Pitting them against each other is never in anyone’s best interest. “Mom, I haven’t even been here for a week yet, so it’s too early to think about coming home. My finances are fine. And you’ll be happy to know I’m signing up for an amazing opportunity.”

  The latest of my father’s machinations gives me the final push to seriously consider participating in Elite Stunt Training’s boot camp. It’s limited in duration, comes with the possibility of adding some serious cash in my pocket, and will finally prove to him that I can support myself without having to sit behind a desk or stand at a lectern. Yes, Anthony’s part of that package, but since neither of us is interested in a repeat performance, I can’t imagine that would be a problem.

  “What kind of opportunity?” she asks.

  “Stunt training.”

  “Stunt training? Oooh, can I sign up, too?”

  Her reaction sums up why my parents aren’t compatible. On most issues, they hold diametrically opposing views. But even knowing this, I suspect they’re no longer together for a far more sinister reason: my father’s cat, Simpson. A dog lover through and through, Mom never wanted a cat, but my father brought one home anyway. The year before they formally separated, “Sleep with the cat, then” was a phrase I heard often in our home. And Simpson, who’s a territorial diva with no patience for visitors, is still going strong, secure in the knowledge that she’s the Alpha in my father’s life.

  “But wait, honey,” she continues. “Is it dangerous? Because it’s one thing to have a little fun, and quite another to put your health and safety at risk. And please tell me you won’t get on a motorcycle.” She groans dramatically. “If you ever saw the injuries from that kind of spill, you’d never want to. One time, a guy came in and his limbs were so mangled that—”

  I shudder, trying not to get a mental picture of the person. “Hello? Hello? Mom? Can you hear me?”

  “Eva, can you hear me?”

  I continue to pretend not to hear her, unable to bear another one of her graphic descriptions of an accident victim. “I think I’ve lost her,” I say to myself. “Mom? Hello? If you can hear me, know that I’m okay. Everything’s great. I’ll check in with you soon.”

  When I hang up, Dean smirks at me through the rearview. “Are you sure you’re not an actress yourself?”

  We eye each other in the mirror, both of us smirking. “Let’s just say I’m an actress in my own sitcom.”

  A minute later, he whistles when we arrive at Tori and Carter’s place in West Hollywood. “Now I know someone important lives here. Producer? Director? What?”

  I purse my lips in denial, a carefully cultivated picture of nonchalance complete with the requisite interest in my manicured fingernails. “Nothing like that. Just a friend.”

  He nods knowingly, his mouth quirked to the side like he can tell I’m bullshitting him. “Hmm, I bet. Will you need a ride at the end of the night?”

  “Not sure.” I wave my phone in the air. “But if I do, you’re just a few taps away, right?”

  “Exactly. Have a nice evening.”

  “You do the same.”

  After I climb out of the vehicle and close the door, I simply stand in awe of the structure in front of me. Carter’s a bona fide star, and his home—now Tori’s home, too—reflects his A-list status. Nestled in the hills, it’s all white and modern, the cobblestoned walkway leading to the single front step serving as a slight nod to Old World charm. Wow, it’s massive. I could live in their garage and be happy.

  Before I can ring the doorbell, the door opens a crack and Tori slips outside. “Hey, you.”

  “Um, hey. Everything okay?”

  She blinks at me, her dark eyes wide and unfocused. “Oh, yeah. Everything’s fine. Why do you ask?”

  This woman. “Because you invited me to your house and we’re standing outside. Silly me, I thought you’d want me to come in.”

  “Oh, don’t be absurd. Of course I want you to come in. Carter just needs a sec.”

  Is that a sheen of perspiration I detect on her face and neck? And what’s with the dazed look in her eyes? “Tori, were you and Carter going at it before I came? Is he in there putting away the butt plugs and such?”

  She snorts. “Don’t knock the butt plugs until you try them.”

  “Who says I haven’t?”

  Her eyes bulge, making her naturally arched brows more prominent, and I wink at her.

  She snaps her fingers. “Oh, while we wait, I should tell you that I spoke with Anthony about the course.”

  It’s odd knowing they were somewhere discussing me. For a split second, I consider telling her that Anthony and I hooked up, but I tamp down the urge, reasoning that it wouldn’t be fair to him to share his personal business. And maybe this is the reason you shouldn’t have messed around with your best friend’s cousin, hmm? “So, what did he say?”

  “Well, he didn’t say yes outright, but he didn’t say no outright, either. Let’s just say I greased the wheels for you.”

  “Thanks for putting in a good word, chica. I did some research the past couple of days, and I’d like to go for it. I figure it’s six weeks, and if I don’t like it, I can withdraw. Plus, I’d always be in control of which jobs I accept. If I think a stunt’s too dangerous, I just won’t do it.”

  “Then convince him you’re serious about it, and you shouldn’t have a problem.” She shimmies in place. “Oh, and Kurt said he’d give you a discount on the fee.”

  The good news keeps coming. Clearly, this was meant to be.

  From inside, I hear Carter shout, “Okay, come in.” And then Tori pushes the door open and pulls me into . . . a dark foyer.

  “Surprise!”

  A cacophony of high- and low-pitched voices assaults my ears, and I jump back, throwing my fists up to defend myself against . . . I don’t know what. After my eyes adjust to the light—when Tori switched it on, I’m not sure—I see a small group of people huddled together waiting for my reaction.

  I drop my arms to my sides. “Well, shit. You didn’t tell me it was an orgy, Tori. Had I known, I would have scheduled a bikini wax.”

  They all blink at me like owls. Beside me, Tori pinches the bridge of her nose as she shakes her head and attempts to suppress a smile.

  “What?” I ask her. “Is this not exactly what you expect of me?”

  “Yep, it sure is.” Blowing out an exasperated breath, she drags me into the living room. There, she opens her arms wide, presenting me to the guests like she’s a QVC hostess. “Most of you remember, Eva, of course.” She turns to me. “We just wanted to welcome you to LA and make sure you know you have friends here.”

  I count five sets of eyes staring back at me, one of them unfamiliar. Well, hello there, handsome.

  Carter’s sister, Ashley, with her boyfriend, Julian, in tow, rushes over and pulls me into a hug, interrupting my inspection of the new guy. “It’s so good to see you, Eva. I’m still getting used to LA myself, so if you ever want to explore the city together, I’m your woman. And if you want to know the best places to buy the healthiest and most unappealing food”—she points at Julian—“he’s your man.”

  Julian gazes at her, his expression deadpan. “I was under the impression you like how and what I eat just fine. I mean, you’ve always been so encouraging, but maybe you’ve been faking it this whole time?”

  The color in Ashley’s cheeks deepens. Oh my God, these
two are a mess. But I like where this is headed. And Tori could be right: I may very well have found my people.

  Next, Tori draws the stranger into the circle. He’s a cutie all right, and he’s wearing the most approachable smile I’ve ever seen. I’d probably destroy him in one go-round, maybe two.

  “Eva, this is Gabriel Vega. He and Carter are working on a film together. Julian’s his agent.”

  There’s not much need for calculating, but I do a mental quickstep anyway. Two couples and Gabriel and me. It’s a setup. Oh joy. I guess I should tell Tori that she needn’t bother. The one-and-done approach will suffice for now, although at this rate I’ll be applying it on a quarterly basis. Am I even doing it right? “Good to meet you, Gabriel.”

  He takes the hand I’ve offered him and covers it with his. “Same, Eva. And call me Gabe. I hope that LA treats you well and that you find happiness here.”

  Coming from anyone else, I’d assume that was nothing more than a well-rehearsed line, but his earnest gaze and the conviction in his voice suggest that he’s sincere. I’m good at reading people—my earlier lapse in the Lyft notwithstanding—and my instincts tell me Gabe’s a good guy. Plus, Julian’s a well-respected businessman with no patience for bullshit. I doubt he’d agree to represent an asshole.

  “Well, without revealing too much about myself, Gabe, I’ll tell you that LA’s the one that should be concerned here.”

  He gives me the tiniest of smiles, and I sigh on the inside. Gabe’s sweet, sure, but he’s so shy I feel excessive in comparison. He’s a quiet evening at home, whereas I’m a Broadway musical complete with bright lights, jazz hands, no intermission, and multiple encores.

  Carter reemerges from the kitchen with a beer in his hand and throws an arm around my shoulders. Speaking of excessive . . .

  “Eva,” he bellows. “I’m glad you’re finally here. Tori hasn’t been able to think of anything else but your move to LA.”

  “Knowing you, that must have been hard to handle,” I tell him in jest.

  He blows out a breath, feigning frustration. “The. Worst.” Then he tries his hand at a Schwarzenegger impression. “This baby man needs his woman to be thinking about him all the time.” Reverting to his normal voice, he says, “A few more minutes and dinner will be served, everyone.”

  “You cooked?” I ask, drawing back to survey him for evidence that he’s been laboring in there and finding none.

  He raises a single brow as though my question is absurd. “Hell no. I followed heating instructions. Our meal is compliments of Bossa Nova, a Brazilian restaurant on Sunset.”

  “My meat-loving body thanks you,” I tell him, clasping my hands in unabashed joy.

  Before he can answer, the doorbell rings, and Carter furrows his brows. “I’ll get it.”

  Tori stops him. “No, you go ahead and get your fine ass in the kitchen where you belong. Let me answer.”

  A minute later, Tori returns, a sheepish look on her face. Anthony follows her into the living area, and I do everything in my power to prevent my mouth from gaping—again—because this time I’m staring at his muscular thighs in obscenely form-fitting running shorts. Suddenly I’m craving eggplant parmigiana. Why are you like this, Eva?

  Chapter Eight

  There’s no good reason a person can’t hate the player and the game. I’m fully capable of doing both.

  Eva

  I hate that I’m the first person Anthony makes eye contact with.

  Hate it, hate it, hate it.

  It’s a potent reminder that we’re connected in some way, even if we’d both prefer to forget it.

  Tori clears her throat, giving me an excuse to focus on someone else. “Sorry for the confusion, everyone. Anthony and I have been running together in the evenings, and I forgot to tell him I’d be unavailable tonight.” She turns to him and nudges his chest with her head. “Lo siento, primo.”

  “It’s no biggie,” Carter, the consummate host, says. “There’s plenty of food, man. Join us.”

  Anthony’s gaze bounces around the room until it settles on Gabe. “You sure I won’t be interrupting anything?”

  Ah, he thinks it’s a setup, too.

  Tori regards him quizzically, pretending she has no idea what he’s talking about. “Not at all. The more, the merrier.”

  He studies me for a moment, his lips curving into a secretive smile, and then he glances at his bare arms. “Could I borrow a T-shirt, maybe?”

  Carter nods and jogs off down the hall. Meanwhile, Tori begins a round of introductions and reintroductions. I watch Anthony chat easily with everyone.

  When he makes his way to me, we look at each other curiously and say, “We keep meeting.”

  I don’t want to admit that I’m swooning, but my knees do dip an inch. “You’re a Hamilton fan.”

  He places his hands behind his back, which has the unfortunate effect of emphasizing his pecs. “I distrust anyone who’s not.”

  I shake my index finger at him. “No, see, this is not happening. I’m not going to like you. I wanted to kick you in the nuts the other day. A Hamilton reference and a smile aren’t going to cut it.”

  “What will cut it?” he asks, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

  “I’ll let you know when I figure that out,” I tell him.

  He bows and takes a step back. “‘As you wish.’”

  I groan. “Dammit. The Princess Bride, too?”

  Carter returns with a T-shirt for Anthony, and I turn away and check my phone. No need to torture myself with a glimpse of the man’s flexing muscles as he slips into a shirt. But I overhear Carter say he brought Anthony one of his longest tees, so he can “cover up,” and I can’t help snorting, which makes them both jerk their heads in my direction, Anthony’s cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink against his tan skin.

  Then Tori ushers us to the dining table, and we play an awkward game of who-sits-where that produces an Anthony-Eva-Gabe sandwich. My mind entertains the numerous positions . . . possibilities, I mean. As we pass around the serving dishes, I engage Gabe in conversation, suspecting that he’s not as outgoing as Diet Thor over there. “So Gabe, can you tell us about this film you’re working on with Carter?”

  Plainly, Gabe wasn’t expecting to be drawn into conversation, because he almost drops the serving bowl in his hands. He recovers quickly, though, scooping a heaping serving of black beans—feijoada, according to Carter—and hands the bowl to me. For a moment, I’m distracted by the onion and garlic scents wafting through the air.

  “So it’s a romantic comedy,” Gabe says, coming to life and gesturing for emphasis. “Think You’ve Got Mail meets How To Lose A Guy in Ten Days. I play a reporter who clashes with his boss and gets a revenge assignment writing about my terrible dating experiences in LA. But my character doesn’t have any decent material to work with, so he writes about his best friend’s dating life instead. Carter’s the best friend. One of the women Carter’s dating reads my write-up, catches on that it’s about her, and decides to make things interesting for Carter, thinking he’s the one writing an anonymous account of his dating exploits. Things go off the rails after that.”

  I’m still chewing, so Ashley chimes in.

  “Oooh, I already like this movie,” she says. “Who does the woman end up with?”

  “Carter, of course,” Gabe says. “He’s one of the headliners. I’m just honored he put in a good word for me with the casting director.”

  “And I have a great feeling about this one,” Julian says. “Audiences are clamoring for rom-coms, so I’m confident we’ll get a lot of excitement out the gate. And I’m really proud of the diverse cast.”

  “Who’s your love interest?” I ask Carter.

  “Tessa Thompson,” he says as though he didn’t just say Tessa fucking Thompson.

  I slam my hand on the table. “Shut. Up. I. Die. I’m so obsessed with her.”

  Tori laughs. “Same, woman. Same.”

  “Sounds like a terrific premise. I can�
�t wait to see it.” I sit up straighter. “And speaking of terrible dating experiences . . . I’m a single woman in a new city. What do I need to know?”

  Gabe pipes in without hesitation. “Almost every single person in this city has a roommate or two.”

  “Or three,” Tori says.

  Gabe nods. “So if you’re dating someone, check out their place early. That rooming situation could be a nightmare for your relationship.”

  “And remember, actors are liars by training,” Ashley adds.

  Understandably, both Carter and Gabe take offense, each rushing to defend his own honor.

  “I’m one of the most solid men you’ll ever meet,” Gabe says.

  Carter throws an arm around Tori. “And I’m the worst liar in the world. Just ask her.”

  Anthony doesn’t say a word. In fact, he hasn’t so much as grunted since we started talking about dating, and he’s heaping food onto his plate as though he’s never eaten in his life. I’m not letting him off the hook, though. “And what say you, Anthony? Any tips?”

  He turns his head and looks me in the eye. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t date.”

  “At all?” I ask him.

  “At all.”

  Message received, not that I needed it. I can do a one-night stand just as well as he can. So instead of taking offense, I slip him a curious glance. “Why not? Not that I’m knocking your stance. It’s your prerogative, of course.”

  He pushes his plate away, all dramatic and such. “I’m what most women would consider the least eligible bachelor ever. I don’t ever want to marry. I don’t ever want to have kids. I don’t ever want to be monogamous. And I live with my father. Dating’s kind of pointless.”

  “You’re up front with women about this?” Gabe asks, his voice tinged with awe.

  Anthony nods. “Always. I don’t gain anything by hiding it.”