Crashing into Her

by Mia Sosa

  Who wouldn’t want Julian in their corner? The man’s roster is impressive. It’s as though the universe is telling me I’m finally making the right decisions. “I’ll definitely follow up with him. Thanks, Ash.”

  “How’s the training going, by the way?” Tori asks.

  “Interesting. Challenging. A little exhausting. It’s fine.”

  “Just fine?” she asks, studying me closely.

  “It’s fine. What else do you want me to say? It’s going well.”

  “I’m not asking you to say anything in particular. I was just wondering how your plan to expand your career is going.” She shrugs. “I guess it’s too early to tell. Never mind.”

  There’s no time to press her on what she isn’t telling me. But I’d be willing to bet a year’s worth of orgasms it’s not anything I want to hear anyway.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Anthony

  I’m whistling as I enter the house. Good sex will do that to you. No, not just good sex. Incredible, mind-numbing, spine-tingling, ugly-face-while-you-orgasm sex. With a woman I can’t stop thinking about. In the past, I’d run from thoughts about Eva; today, I’m telling them, Come at me, bro.

  Smiling to myself, I round the wall separating the front hall from the living area to find my father sitting at the dining table staring into his cup of café con leche. He looks so fucking alone over there. Makes me wish I could fill the house with people, surround him with friends and relatives he could cook for and laugh with. Since he missed Tori and Carter’s wedding, maybe I can suggest we host a dinner to celebrate the newlyweds.

  “Hey, Papi. Doing okay?”

  He looks up at me and smiles. “Hey, mijo. I’m doing just fine.” His gaze travels from the top of my head to my toes, inspecting me for signs of what kept me out all evening. “Had a good night?”

  “A great night,” I say as I open the fridge and look for a drink. It’s an understatement, of course, but I’m not going to give him a rundown of my evening. No, those memories are all mine.

  “With Eva?” he asks.

  “Yeah.”

  He nods knowingly, his mouth curving into a sneaky grin. “I could tell there was something between you two. But I thought you’d fight it.”

  I did fight it. Underestimated my opponent, too; Eva knew just what to do to leave me defenseless and knock me on my ass. “I tried, Papi, but you met Eva. It was a losing battle from the start.”

  He stirs his coffee and peers at me. “It’s serious?”

  “Not sure how she’d answer that question, but it’s serious for me. What I feel for her, I mean.”

  “Good,” he says, announcing it like a verdict. “I like her.”

  That means a lot. I want my father and Eva to get along. I can easily picture her dragging him to Grand Central Market, where’d he’d take her to the Latin grocery and share the secret spices he uses in his recipes. And Eva’s probably the only person who could convince my father to visit a tourist location. I should drop a hint to make that happen.

  I pull out the orange juice. “I’m glad to hear that, Pop. Eva likes you, too.”

  “Don’t drink it from the carton,” he says, still watching me.

  I take the carton of orange juice to the cupboard, pull out a glass, and pour. “What about you? Did you go out?”

  He shakes his head. “We said we were going to watch the Angel Benitez fight on pay-per-view, remember? When you didn’t come home, I just decided to watch it alone.”

  Fuck. In my excitement to spend time with Eva, I forgot about my plans with Papi. He’d never make me feel bad about it, and he doesn’t need to. I feel terrible about it all on my own. “Ah, man, discúlpeme. It slipped my mind.” I take the chair across from him, waffling between wanting to beg for his forgiveness and playing it off like it’s no big deal. I go with the latter. “So, who won?”

  “Benitez, of course.” He jabs in the air, a cheesy grin on his face. “That man’s the real deal.”

  “I’m sorry I missed it.”

  “Don’t be,” he says, his expression sobering. “I’m glad you’re going out and spending time with someone special. For a long time, I wondered if you ever would. I don’t want you to end up like me, you know. Good to see you’re not going down that path.”

  The offhand comment makes my gut twist. End up like me. There’s the proof that my father isn’t happy. But if I’m being honest with myself, I didn’t need it; I’ve always suspected he wasn’t happy. How could he be? He thought my mother was the love of his life, and he’s never recovered from the reality that he was wrong. And it’s not that he can’t move on, he just doesn’t want to. But I’d be a shitty son to tell him how to live his life, especially considering that until recently my coping techniques haven’t been healthy, either. What we both need is some father-son time. “Hey, how about we watch Sunday Night Baseball?” I waggle my eyebrows at him. “The Yankees are playing.”

  He rises from the table and rinses his cup in the sink. “Sounds good. I’ll make the snacks.” Predictably, the prospect of cooking lightens his mood.

  “And I’ll bring the beer,” I say.

  This is an important reminder. Although Eva takes up a lot of real estate in my brain, I can’t toss my father aside like he’s yesterday’s listing. He deserves better.

  Kurt rushes into the office, drops onto his desk chair, and furiously thumbs through the papers on his desk.

  “Where’s the fire?” I ask.

  “Got an emergency request from Newhart. One of the stunt performers called in sick, and they’re all ready to go on an underwater helicopter scene. He’s looking for someone ASAP. A woman, if you can believe it. She’s trapped and needs to be rescued. How rare is that?”

  “Who’s the coordinator?”

  “Gary.”

  I press my lips together to avoid saying too much. Gary Simms is an asshole. He does a sloppy job on set and relies on his assistants to clean up his messes. For some unknown reason, Kurt likes the guy. Probably because when Gary’s overwhelmed, he asks Kurt to jump in and help on set, claiming he needs extra hands. But all Gary needs is a new brain.

  Kurt inspects my face, no doubt noticing the flare of annoyance I can’t contain. “I know what you’re thinking, Anthony, but you know how this works. We help him, he helps us. Gary mentioned he could also use some people for a few combat scenes. You could join me.”

  “When’s the shooting?”

  “Next couple of days. In Irvine. Retakes on Wednesday if needed. You up for it?”

  Up for it? It isn’t even a question. If there’s a job, I’m not passing it up. Every job is extra money in my pocket and another credit on my resume. “Whatever you need, man.”

  Kurt nods distractedly. A minute later, he sighs and throws the papers in the air. “What am I fucking around with this for?” After scrubbing a hand down his face, he jerks his computer keyboard closer to him and starts typing. “Brenda Little might be a possibility. I’ll check with her.” He picks up the office phone and punches in a bunch of numbers.

  I’ve never performed an underwater stunt, but I’ve studied them and watched one performed live. They’re terrifying. Granted, a diving team is on hand to release you from your constraints if the stunt goes wrong, but time is of the essence when you’re submerged in water, and if the diving team is off even by a second or two, the lack of air combined with the buildup of carbon dioxide in a person’s body can lead to disorientation, spasms, and worse. Performing the stunt upside down increases the danger index tenfold because the person is disoriented to begin with.

  Kurt covers the phone’s mouthpiece and whispers, “You think either of the trainees would be able to do it? Perfect opportunity to Taft-Hartley one of them.”

  True. If he brings one of them in for this stunt, the person would be able to avoid the red tape required to get into the union. But Megan’s out of the question. “Just the other day, Megan said she’s afraid of small spaces. Add in her fear of heights and I’m not
sure why she’s here. What do you think?”

  “No, no, you’re right. That wouldn’t work. What about Eva?”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Brenda? Hey, it’s Kurt Magnus. Calling about a potential job.”

  I hope Brenda’s available because even the idea of the alternative—getting Eva to do it—makes my heart race and my skin go clammy. Eva’s not out of the question, but I want her to be. This is a complicated stunt. Plus, the director’s rushing to get it done while he has access to the simulation site. And Gary’s at the helm. Not the best circumstances for her first stunt. She’d likely jump at the chance to do it—and Kurt would, too, if he knew about her swimming experience—but my gut tells me it’s too risky. And if something happened to her . . . No, I’m not going there. She needs more experience. Period.

  Kurt hangs up and shakes his head. “She’s out of town and can’t get here in time.”

  “When’s the shoot?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  I should tell him about Eva, but an invisible hand is covering my mouth and preventing me from sharing what I know. “It’s always nice to get a job we weren’t expecting, but if it’s not practical or safe to do it, we should just accept that. Why don’t you call up Spriggs? His roster is huge.”

  Kurt sighs. “Don’t remind me. Would have been nice to use one of our own, though. But you make a good point, and I’m impressed with your judgment on this. Safety should be our number one concern, right?”

  I don’t meet his gaze when I respond. “Right.” My voice cracks, undermining the confidence I was going for. I try to ignore the thickness in my throat, but it’s interfering with my ability to take regular breaths. Scrambling to my feet, I leave the office in search of something to drink. Kurt will get over this missed opportunity. In fact, I’m confident that by this time next week, he won’t even remember it.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Don’t assume a person who eats and runs is rude. Sometimes, they’re being very polite, indeed.

  Eva

  I am going to rip this man to shreds—in bed.

  Oh, maybe I’m being a tad overzealous. It’s just that his demeanor in class today was exactly what I’d hoped for. He didn’t treat me differently. Didn’t make a single suggestive comment. Just treated me like a colleague. It’s a low bar, yes, but after spending all night in his arms, I’ll confess that I entertained my own X-rated fantasies here and there, so I didn’t know what to expect from him.

  Apparently, I’m the one who needs to curb her trashy thoughts. Which is why I turn away as he approaches. If I watch him stride toward me, on the same powerful legs that I grasped as I guided him into my mouth last night, I’ll betray my thoughts and whimper for good measure.

  He stops at an appropriate distance for a conversation between an instructor and his trainee. “Eva, would you like a ride home?”

  I push the hair away from my face. “Yeah, that would be great.”

  “I’ll meet you out front in five.”

  “Okay.”

  My voice, in all its low and breathy glory, broadcasts my desire for him. Surely, he notices, because he stares at me. Longer than he should. And it’s the first time this evening that he’s acted in a way that hints at something more between us. The subtlety of him looking at me a few seconds too long, the smallness of it, has more impact on me than any overt act could.

  He shakes his head. “Right. I’m going now.”

  Five minutes later, we’re headed north on Interstate 110.

  “How’d it go with your father?” he asks.

  It’s not a question I expected him to ask. It doesn’t address the most urgent matter between us. Doesn’t satisfy my pressing need to dig my fingers into his scalp and pull him close. But if he wants to talk about my father as if the last five hours weren’t torture, I’ll play along. “He still thinks I’m wasting my time here. I tried to argue otherwise, but he’s decided that he’s right and I’m wrong.”

  “But you know better than to believe him, right?”

  “Right. I’m just so frustrated with the situation. He was not impressed with the news that I’m training for stunt work. ‘Nonsensical’ is how he described it.” That hurts, of course, but I’m not going to let him dissuade me. “He’s my father, so I care about his opinion. Still, I’m not giving up.”

  “Glad to hear it. Because you’re talented. Physically strong. Flexible. Skilled. Daring without being reckless. With more training, you’ll be one to watch. It doesn’t hurt that we’re seeing several action movies featuring black women being produced each year.”

  I cross my hands over my chest. “‘Wakanda forever.’”

  A bubble of laughter escapes him, and he shakes his head. “What you need are sequels forever. When more badass black women get work, your chances of landing a job rise, too. There are no guarantees, though. And you need to keep in mind that as a newcomer, you’re coming into it at a disadvantage. Still, you have the same background as many of the women who were cast as doubles for the Dora Milaje in Black Panther. Dance, martial arts, gymnastics.”

  I’m not sure I can adequately describe how much I appreciate his support. He’s sharing what he knows about the industry without sugarcoating it, while still encouraging me to meet the challenges I’ll undoubtedly face. He has my back, and I’m grateful for that.

  “Yeah, when I was doing my research, I read about a woman who was both a main Dora Milaje and the stunt double for Okoye. She said she decided to become a stunt performer after watching a movie with poor acting. She was a college track star, was even on the US bobsled team, had tae kwon do training, too. It felt like I could have been reading my story. Except swimming for me, and yeah, obviously no bobsledding.” It’s so comfortable being with him like this. I’m tempted to kick off my sneakers and roll off my socks, turn my body toward him and just talk until we can’t talk anymore. “What’s that face for?”

  His eyes are still focused on the road, but he’s holding himself in check, thinking about something funny. “Honestly? I’m imagining you bobsledding, and in my head it’s hilarious because you’re screaming curse words the entire run.”

  I reach over and pinch his arm. It’s our thing.

  He flinches, letting out a weak “ow,” but he doesn’t take his hands off the steering wheel to retaliate. “Questionable bobsledding aside, no one’s going to argue that you have the wrong background. It’s in line with other stunt performers. Now you just need more training and experience. That takes time.”

  “Right. I get it. Luckily for me, I’m patient. And obviously I’m not doing this as my main source of income. I know the industry’s unpredictable. You’ve drilled that fact into my head. But it feels like I’m taking steps toward a multidimensional career. One that isn’t dictated by my father’s opinions.” I rest my hand on his thigh. “Thanks for being my sounding board.” Yawning, I look out the window to enjoy the city lights. “Shoot. You got off at the wrong exit.”

  He stares straight ahead when he answers. “No, I didn’t. I’m trying not to scandalize you in your own neighborhood.”

  Oh, that’s intriguing. Also, I see nothing wrong with being scandalized. “What are you up to?”

  “I need to kiss you. Badly.”

  Glad to know he’s finally catching up. “I was wondering when you were going to fess up to that. But we could kiss in my apartment, you know. No need for extraordinary measures.”

  “Unfortunately, we can’t. I promised my father we’d watch the baseball game tonight. We need some father-son time.”

  Damn. Cue the emotion. Is this man for real? He’s making his father his priority, and it only makes him more appealing to me. “There’s nothing unfortunate about it. That’s sweet.”

  He peers through the window shield, focused on the task of finding a place to stop. “If you say so. What’s not sweet is the way I want to splay you across the hood of this truck and bury my face between your legs until you scream to the heavens.” He finally
turns to meet my gaze. “Would you like that?”

  Oh, I see, we’re going from zero to sixty tonight. The heat in his eyes lights a fire inside me. God, the thought of him going down on me as the night air cools my skin and I tug on his hair. It’s too much. And probably not wise. I’m squirming in my seat trying to be a responsible person. “I’d really love that, but I also don’t want to get arrested, so a kiss is our next-best option.”

  “Is it?” he asks. “What if you took off your panties, pressed your back against the door, and opened your legs for me?”

  I wrinkle my nose. “I need a shower. And I have pants on. And someone could see us.”

  He pulls over on a service road by the reservoir and cuts the engine. “All valid reasons not to do it. But I fucking love your sweat. The pants?” He shrugs. “Yeah, I got nothing.” He raises a finger as though he’s just remembered something. “Oh, and I’ll be on set in Irvine the early part of this week, so the next time we can see each other will be—”

  I’m shoving my pants down before he finishes his sentence.

  “Keep the panties on. I’ll work around them. Plausible deniability.”

  With my pants discarded on the floorboard, I turn to the side and pull him in for a kiss. It’s a hot and desperate joining of our mouths that leaves us both panting. Around us, the scent of our arousal—likely more of mine than his—mingles with the salty sweat on our skin. I breathe all of it in, wanting to remember every detail of this moment so I can relive it in my head for years to come. This is us. Daring. Spontaneous. Just a little reckless.

  “Anthony, please,” I say as I raise my left leg against the window that separates the cab from the truck bed. “We need to hurry.”