by M. E. Carter
“Too late. You’ve already signed your life away.” He bellows out a maniacal laugh, and I’m this close to using my kickboxing skills to punch him in the gut when another male voice stops me.
“Uh, care to tell me why you’re trying to climb your trainer like a tree?”
I pause and look over my shoulder to see my boyfriend, with his arms crossed. He’s not serious. He knows how Abel and I are, but it’s still fun when he goes all alpha male.
I snap to attention, pulling my leg down from where it’s wrapped around Abel’s thigh. Huh. I’m better at climbing than I thought.
Pushing a rogue hair out of my face, I take a deep breath. “Just trying to get Abel to give me my paperwork back.”
“Rian,” Carlos says slowly. “We talked about this. Once you sign your name, it’s over.”
“But I thought you loved me,” I whine, hoping to get him on my side.
Instead, he shakes his head. Traitor. “I do love you. More than anything. But a legal document is still binding and you are still required to pay him no matter what.”
I drop my head back and sigh. “Fine. I’ll go to his stupid class. But no sleds.”
My pointing finger and mean face apparently do nothing to penetrate Abel’s walls of indifference. “Extra sleds. Got it.” He trots off with me shooting daggers into his back.
“One of these days, I’m going to sled right over his toe,” I threaten, but we both know I’ll never gain enough speed for that. More likely, I’d run into his foot, make a jarring stop, and throw my back out.
Getting older sucks.
Carlos puts his arm around my neck and kisses me on the top of my head. “You did a good thing there.”
“Yeah. Just don’t tell him that.”
I didn’t really sign the contract because of the discount. I signed it to help Abel out. We were all shuffled to different locations after the fire and Abel lost a lot of customers. For someone whose income is significantly affected by his ability to make commissions, it hurt his budget. A lot. Add onto it, he became a single dad during the same time period, so I know he’s feeling the pinch. Hopefully, bumping up from two days to three days a week will help him give his daughter at least a little bit of a Christmas.
It’s not like spending the money is going to kill my budget. I’m paid generously, and Quinn made good on that raise after the baby was born. I told him it wasn’t necessary, but he insisted that I had proven my willingness to go above and beyond, and he didn’t want to risk losing me by not recognizing it. I still think it was his secret way of paying me to keep helping him find rare yarns. What he doesn’t know is I would be finding them for my sister’s presents anyway, so it’s not really extra work for me.
What has been extra work is training my new teammate… Francesca. She happened to find the second job opening at Cipher Systems, and when Carlos saw her resume, he immediately asked about her. I was shocked she met the qualifications for the job. I thought she had been working for Sandeke Telecom because she liked it. Turns out, she was just biding her time until the right job came along that used her architecture degree. Who knew?
So, she and I went right back to being cooking buddies, only this time we included Carlos in the mix. Since then, Teresa and a couple other people have joined in. I only have to cook one night a week now. It’s glorious.
Carlos and I continue to meander around the gym, just looking at the new equipment and where everything is set up. The cafe is in the same spot, but it’s all brand new. Tabitha couldn’t be happier. All her blenders are state of the art, which she tells everyone who sits down at her counter. She even has real menus now.
“Everyone seems so excited to be back in ‘our’ space again,” Carlos remarks, just as happy as everyone else. “It’s no fun to work out when you aren’t with your friends."
“That, and everyone is excited not to ride the El while stinky anymore.”
He rolls his eyes, still not understanding my disdain for that form of public transportation. “It was a five-minute train ride, Rian. It wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“You weren’t the one who was almost kicked off for leaving butt sweat on the seat,” I argue, making him laugh. Yes, the asshole is laughing at my trauma. “Do you know how embarrassing that was? He thought I’d peed on the seat!”
Carlos is full on laughing now. “That was so funny.”
I punch him in the shoulder. “Exactly how funny was it? Funny enough for you to sleep alone tonight?”
His face immediately straightens up. “Nope. Not that funny. Not funny at all. It was terrible. Please don’t make me sleep on your lumpy couch.”
“It’s not lumpy. It’s like sleeping on a cloud.”
“A cloud filled with marbles.”
“Well, my birthday is coming up. If you hate it that much, you can get me a new one.”
“Done.”
My jaw drops, and I squeal in protest. “Carlos, no! I was kidding!”
“Too late. I’m getting you a couch for your birthday. I’m sure I’ll eventually be forced to sleep there for real, so I wanna make sure it’s comfortable.”
Rolling my eyes, I can’t help but smile. “Always the planner.”
He kisses the top of my head. “You know you love me for it.”
“I do. More than anything.”
He smiles that grin that’s reserved for only me. “I love you, too.”
Yes, we love each other. Ever since the first time Carlos told me after a quick weekend trip to Vegas where I had such bad luck, I had to switch to nickel slots so my money would last longer, we say it a lot. Not at the office, unless Nancy is standing there because it makes her gag which makes us laugh. Otherwise, we stay professional on the job.
But it’s glorious being in love with your best friend, and now that we both realize our connection keeps getting stronger, we make sure to remind each other often. We’re more secure in our relationship every day, and those three words are part of why we no longer say things like, “But why me?”
That conversation got really obnoxious really fast. We’d rather watch cooking shows on my not-lumpy couch.
Coming to the entrance of one of the weight rooms, I turn and put my hands on my hips. “Well, we’re here. What do you want to do?”
Shortly after we started dating, Carlos and I stopped just ending up at the gym at the same time and starting purposely going together. Weight Expectations was already part of both of our lives. It just made sense to keep doing it together. I still go to Abel’s class a couple days a week and he still works out with Nick. But some days we actually lift together. It’s fun... ish. It’s fun-ish.
Okay, fine. Showering together afterward is fun, which makes the pain of lifting actual weights worth it.
“I was thinking,” Carlos starts with an ornery grin on his face. I know that look. He either wants to do leg day or he’s horny. Glancing down at his crotch I realize he must be thinking about leg day. Dammit. “Stop looking at my junk.” Busted. He knows me so well. Pulling me to him, I put my arms around his neck. “I was thinking about lunges, but you’ve distracted me. What do you say we blow this joint and go work on some calisthenics instead?”
“Really?” I giggle as he leans his forehead on mine.
“Really. I know I should want to stay, but I’m just in the mood to sit on your lumpy couch…” A small laugh bursts out of me. “Order some really bland takeout from that gluten-free fast-food place…” I stick out my tongue in disgust. “And spend the night making a meal out of my girlfriend.”
“Oh, that’s what you’re in the mood for?” I ask playfully, as he rubs his hands up my back.
“Yep.”
“I like that idea,” I rasp, moving just a hair closer until our lips are just about to touch.
“Get a room!” Abel yells as he walks by, making me laugh so hard I pull back just enough to see the smile on Carlos’s face as well. Happy is his regular mood now, and I love it.
Wrapping my arms around
his neck, I hug him close, not wanting to miss this small moment of joy.
Over his shoulder, a construction crane is being used to lift the new sign on the wall.
“Weight Expectations: Where Great Things Happen” is what it reads.
It’s not wrong.
It’s not wrong at all.
The End.
Acknowledgments
I can’t start saying thank you to everyone involved in this process until I first thank Penny, Fiona, and the entire crew at SmartyPants Romance for this amazing journey. It was the most fun experience, albeit stressful at times, and I feel like I’ve grown as a writer and as a colleague because of it! And to the SPRU authors… you ladies are the best. What a fun experience to share with all of you!! Here’s to more wildly accurate and inappropriate gifs in response to Fiona cracking the whip on us. Lol.
A huge shout out goes to Stella Weaver for her tremendous knowledge of the Knitting in the City books and always being willing to remind me of people, places, and details that my tiny little brain always seems to forget. I’m so glad we got to work on this new spin-off together.
Karla Sorensen, thank you for the daily chats as we challenge and stretch ourselves to do things differently than before. You are a true gem of an author and a person, and I’m so honored to call you friend.
Brenda Rothert and Andrea Johnston, your insight into these characters was tremendous. Once I got over my own whiny attitude, your rearranging suggestions worked like a charm. Of course they did. That’s why you’re the best.
Erin Sowell, thank you, thank you, thank you for putting yourself out there to make sure nothing I wrote would be construed as anything other than my wild imagination bringing these wonderful characters to life. Trusting you with my intensions and goals was hard, but you are an amazing human. I’m so glad I accidentally wrote your own journey! Fingers crossed your Carlos shows up at dinner. ;)
Marisol Scott and Sue Maturo, who knew there was so many details to Carlos’s job? I mean, we knew, but I’m so grateful you guys helped me get it right. It’s details like these that are so important and I’m forever thankful for your help!
And I can’t forget Erin Noelle who jumped in at the last second to make sure this story flowed nicely. You are the best, my friend.
And now, the Sharks of Awesomeness and Carter’s Cheerleaders, you guys are the best, most supportive readers in the world. Thank you for taking a chance on me and for continuing to love my work. I will never be able to make it up to you.
Thank you, Lord, for this tremendous opportunity and giving me the words to write during such a trying personal time. Your glory, not mine.
About the Author
My name is ME Carter and I have no idea how I ended writing books. I'm more of a story teller (the more exaggerated the better) and I happen to know people who helped me get those stories on paper.
I love reading (read almost 200 books last year), hate working out (but I do it anyway because my trainer makes me), love food (but hate what it does to my butt) and love traveling to non-touristy places most people never see.
I live in Houston with my four kids, Mary, Elizabeth, Carter and Bug, who was just a twinkle in my eye when I came up with my pen name. Yeah, I'll probably have to pay for his therapy someday for being left out.
Website: http://www.authormecarter.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorMECarter/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/9899961.M_E_Carter
Twitter: @authormecarter
Instagram: @authormecarter
Find Smartypants Romance online:
Website: www.smartypantsromance.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/smartypantsromance/
Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/smartypantsromance
Twitter: @smartypantsrom
Instagram: @smartypantsromance
* * *
Read on for:
1. Sneak Peek of Cutie and the Beast by M.E. Carter
2. Sneak Peek of Sticking to the Script, Book #2 in the Cipher Office Series by Stella Weaver
2. Sneak Peek of Getting a Grip by M.E. Carter
Sneak Peek: Cutie and the Beast
By M.E. Carter
CHAPTER ONE
ABEL
“Good mornings, sweets.” I snuggle into her long dark curls to kiss her forehead when THWACK! “Son of a…” I stop myself before cussing in front of my kid, but damn. She got me right in the nose and that shit stings.
“Sorry, daddy,” my sweet baby girl says groggily, while I rub my schnoze and make sure it’s not bleeding. “I dreamed you were mommy.”
“And in this dream you were practicing your kickboxing on her?”
Her eyes close while innocently she says, “You told me to take out my aggression appropriately.”
She’s not wrong. I said it in response to Mabel’s therapist deciding the best way to take her anger out about her mother leaving us was to be more zen. Those weren’t her exact words. It was more like, “Mabel needs to learn how to channel her anger into more appropriate activities. Journaling or painting, for example.” I resisted rolling my eyes until we got home and we never went back. Not only could we not find a time that worked with my schedule, I decided to implement my own form of calm.
If Mabel starts getting agitated or angry about May’s abandonment, I let her take some swings on the punching bags at the gym where I work while we talk it out. It seems to work. She gets out some negativity and hyper kid energy, then moves on with her day. But apparently she’s been listening to me a little too carefully if it’s bleeding over into her dreams.
“Maybe cut back on the kickboxing dreams there, killer. You socked me right in the honker.”
Mabel giggles and reaches up to grab my nose. Squeezing it twice, she makes a honking sound with each squeeze. And then her arm flops back down on her blue polka dot bedspread and she tries to snuggle back in bed.
I don’t blame her. Mornings have been brutal since May left to go live with her agent boyfriend in New York who was going to help her become a successful model. Never mind that she was already thirty and had zero experience. “The modeling world is changing, Abel,” she had said. “Doors are opening as we speak, and I’m going to walk right through them.”
As far as I know, the only door she ended up walking through was the front door of our small, three-bedroom townhome on her way to the airport. That was close to six months ago and with the exception of being served divorce papers, we’ve only heard from her sparingly. Mostly through online chats that are centered around her life and very little about her child’s.
It was a rough transition at first. Mabel didn’t understand how her mother could just up and leave, coupled with a lot of justified anger about it. I couldn’t understand how I’d missed all the signs that it was coming, coupled with my justified anger.
To make matters worse, there was the huge fire at Weight Expectations, the gym where I work, which closed the facility for several months. Sure, we all got farmed out to different locations, which was better than the alternative known as “pink slips”. But when part of your salary depends on commission and the clients you’ve built up over the years end up scattered around the city, you find yourself dipping into savings more heavily than anticipated.
Fortunately, that season is over and I have a brand-spanking new building to call my home away from home. But mornings haven’t quite smoothed over yet.
“Come on, baby. We’ve got to get a move on.” Scooping Mabel up, I wrap our heavy blanket around her and carry her to the living room where I proceed to maneuver myself into all kinds of yoga poses until I have her, my gym bag, her school bag, and her clothing bag dangling safely from my arms. Well, Mabel isn’t dangling, although at one point when my gym bag fell from the couch to the floor, it was a close call. Thank goodness I make a living working out or there is no way I’d be able to carry it all at once.
Situated with all our daily supplies, I’m finally able to get us
out the door and into the blustering winter weather, hence, the child dressed as a giant burrito in my arms. Locking the door as quickly as possible behind me, I race us to the waiting car.
“Morning’, Abel.” A steaming cup of black coffee is handed to me between the dark blue bucket seats of the 2008 Ford Escort as soon as the passenger side door closes behind me. Actually, steaming might be a stretch. It’s thirty-nine degrees outside, not factoring in the wind chill. And it’s been sitting in a car for a while. Lukewarm is more like it. But it’s a cup of joe. No matter the temperature, it still hits the spot. Especially since old Betsy refused to work again this morning. No matter how sweet I talk to her, or how many times I bang on her, my favorite coffee maker refused to brew me anything. I really should spring for a new one but I’m sentimental about the old gal. Besides, when she does work, her coffee making skills are the best I’ve ever had. But when she doesn’t? Let’s just say, thank God for Marv’s sweet wife and her bleeding heart.
** END SNEAK PEEK **
Cutie and the Beast is coming in Spring 2020!
Sneak Peek: Sticking to the Script, Book #2 in the Cipher Office Series
By: Stella Weaver
“I promise we can leave as soon as Botstein cuts the cake,” Elizabeth whispered into my ear.
I patted her hand reassuringly. “No worries, my little Belieber. We’ll stay as long as you need to be here.”
When we arrived, Elizabeth had been dismayed to see that of the dozens of people in attendance, she only recognized a few. To top it off, the party was a definite yawner. I was sure it was going to wind down early.
“Steven!” she hissed. “If you’re going to air my private shame, at least get it right. I don’t listen to Bieber.”
I laughed at her faux outrage. She was too cute. I enjoyed spending time with Elizabeth. She had a sardonic wit and a forthright way of speaking that was at odds with her tiny stature, gorgeous face, and demonstrably affectionate and compassionate heart. Elizabeth was my kind of people.
