New Release: The Name Game

 

NEW RELEASE!!! The Name Game is the fourth book in my Games We Play series. The series is set in my other favorite small, slightly-haunted, coastal town, Atlas Beach New Jersey.

The Name Game
A Games We Play Story
PG Forte

BUY LINK

He knows what to do to save her business. She knows what he needs to fix his life! 

Atlas Beach is experiencing a retail-renaissance—and Carly Meyer is determined to be part of it. But her sandwich shop-slash-food-truck, The Lunch Box, is struggling to stay afloat. Luckily, help is on the way thanks to the Chamber of Commerce’s innovative mentoring program—partnering successful Atlas Beach business owners with some of the newer start-ups. Too bad the mentor assigned to her is the delectable—and highly annoying—Tino DiLuca. 

Tino knows exactly what’s hurting Carly’s business and—exactly how to fix it. But his number one solution, changing the name of her signature sandwich, is the one thing she’s not prepared to do.

EXCERPT:

It was the morning after the first night they’d spent at his house rather than hers—which felt like a milestone of sorts. He’d gotten up while she was still asleep, slipped into a pair of jeans and went upstairs. His plan was to make her breakfast in bed. It was a good plan, but she derailed it a few minutes later, by tiptoeing up the stairs just as he was assembling their sandwiches.

“Hey,” she whispered from the doorway, tugging uselessly at the hem of her T-shirt, as she glanced around. “Is your brother gone?”

He smiled at the sight of her. She looked adorable with her cheeks still flushed with sleep and her hair scraped back from her face in a ponytail. But no matter how hard she tried, she was never going to get that shirt to stretch far enough to cover her lacy, red thong—which was very obviously the only other item of clothing she had on. “C’mon up. The coast is clear.”

“Something smells good,” she said inhaling deeply as she came to stand behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and peered over his arm at the food he was plating, distracting him with her closeness and her softness and her warmth. “Are those what I think they are?”

“If you think you’re looking at two of the greatest breakfast sandwiches ever invented, then yes, they absolutely are.”

Ooh, big talk,” she teased. “But can they live up to all that hype? That’s what I’m wondering.”

“True facts,” he responded. “And, yes, they can and will. Now, why don’t you pour us both some coffee from that pot over there while I finish up?” He’d fried some potatoes to accompany the sandwiches. Now he piled those on the plates as well, topping them with a dollop of sour cream and dusting of fresh-cut chives. A salad of fresh grapefruit and mint and a little bit of honey rounded out the meal and provided a balance for all the salt. 

“That looks amazing,” she said as he slid the plates on the table and took the seat around the corner from hers.

“Thank you. But it’ll taste even better.” He gestured at the condiments and said, “So help yourself to a little SPK, and eat up!”

“A little…?”

“Or a lot, if that’s what you prefer. No judgment here.”

“No. I mean, what did you say?  SP…what?”

“Salt. Pepper. Ketchup,” he replied, pointing at each of them in turn. “The traditional condiments. Some people like hot sauce, but it’s not for me.”

Carly nodded. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she said, “Yeah, I’ve heard that it’s a good idea to keep hot sauce away from your uh…meat.”

“Exactly.” He wasn’t entirely sure why that put such a big smile on her face, but since the sight of it had short-circuited his brain, he didn’t bother to try. He just dug into his own sandwich.

It was one of the better meals of his life, and one of his happiest moments ever, sitting at his mother’s kitchen table watching the woman he’d fallen in love with fall in love with some of his favorite foods. 

She wolfed down several bites of sandwich, before licking her lips and saying, “Wow. This is…”

“Good?” he suggested.

“Amazing,” she corrected, in between additional bites. “But…pork roll. I don’t even know how to describe it.”

“It’s a question for the ages, all right.”

“It’s salty and tangy, a little smoky. But all of that seems so…inadequate. It’s not like anything I’ve ever had.”

“Nope.” He grinned at her attempts to describe the indescribable. “It’s entirely its own thing. Which is why I have some sympathy for #TeamTaylorHam. I mean, they’re still wrong of course, because it’s not ham, but then again, American Cheese isn’t cheese either, so…”

She frowned at him. “That’s a horrible analogy.”

“Very true,” he agreed, then watched as she cleared her plate in record time. “So I take it you liked it?”

“I really did.”

She sounded surprised, which did not surprise him at all. “I know they’re not in the same league as your sandwiches,” he told her, “But this is Jersey, you know what I mean?  It’s home.”

“It’s you,” she said—which wasn’t wrong. “And I really appreciate your wanting to share that with me.”

“You’re welcome.” Always. “Are you ready for another?”

“Not right now.”

“Well then, can I get you something else?”

She flashed him another of those thought-derailing smiles and said, “Yes, actually. Now that you mention it. Because, as far as taste goes, I think I’d only rank it as my second favorite New Jersey product. And I think it’s time I  had another taste of first place.”

“Tomatoes?” he guessed, not really surprised, because there really was no beating those—although bagels, pizza, blue crabs, and fresh corn all came pretty close—but definitely disappointed because it was only March, which was months too early for tomatoes!

“No, not tomatoes. We were talking about breakfast meat,” she said, shooting him an expectant look that left him mystified. 

Were they? “But there isn’t any—” he said, breaking off again when she started to laugh. “What?”

“Omigod, I meant you,” she said with a nod at his lap.

“Oh.” The grin on his face was probably making him look goofy as fuck, but he couldn’t care less. “Good to know?”

She shook her head. “Here I am doing my best to flirt with you and it’s all just going over your head. Obviously, one of us is really bad at this. Or maybe both of us are?”

“I don’t think either of us are bad at any of this.” He crooked a finger at her. “But forget flirting for now. Maybe you should just come over here and let me give you another little taste test.”

“Good idea,” she said getting up from her chair and rounding the table to straddle his lap. “It is an important designation, after all. I wouldn’t want to be hasty in my decision making.”

 

Spring is in the air...

 I was looking for a scene with an April theme, and I  found one here in the opening chapter of A Taste of Honey--a book I always associate with May. Go figure. 

A Taste of Honey

Oberon, Book Four 

by PG Forte 

Paranormal Romance/Romantic Suspense 

This title is currently out of print. However, I'm currently in the process of re-booting the entire series. Join my FB group for updates: https://www.facebook.com/groups/TheCronesNest and get a FREE novella (details below).

BLURB: 

For Lucy Greco Cavanaugh, life is a dream come true. She has it all. The perfect family. The perfect husband. The perfect marriage. What more could she wish for? Other than the chance to do it all again. To experience once more the agony and ecstasy of falling in love with the man of her dreams. To recapture the joy and uncertainty that comes with starting over.

​ As far as Dan Cavanaugh is concerned, his life has become a nightmare. His storybook marriage is on the line when Deirdre Shelton-Cooper, the runaway daughter of a former girlfriend arrives in Oberon intent on proving Dan is her father. Even though he's convinced the girl's claims are false, Dan decides his only chance to keep from losing everything lies in keeping her very existence a secret from his wife and family.

But, sometimes, what you don't know can hurt you—and those you love. When Deirdre, masquerading as a surfer girl named Monica, accidentally hooks up with their son, Seth, Lucy and Dan are left to wonder: has their perfect, fairy-tale romance, turned into a classic Greek tragedy?

Sometimes you get exactly what you wish for. And it's more than you'd ever dreamed.

EXCERPT:

The present. Mid April. 

In a lot of ways, Oberon is typical of any one of several small towns to be found along California’s Central Coast. Clinging to sheer, corrugated green cliffs above a windswept strand of pale, golden sand, it lacks a little of the endless sunshine boasted by its neighbors to the south, enjoying instead a milder, more temperate climate and, for much of the year, a lot of fog.

The area surrounding the town lacks one other very important California mainstay as well: the plethora of freeways that grace most of the rest of state are largely absent here. Bounded on the west by the broad, brilliant blue crescent of San Bartolo Bay, and to the east by the majestic bulk of Mt. Totawka, the ‘sacred mountain’ of local lore, Oberon is virtually isolated. Set amid a tangled network of canyons and creeks, undeveloped wilderness and—where the landscape and the environment have cooperated—acres of agricultural fields, it’s a hard place to get to. It can be an even harder place to leave behind.

But if Oberon was ever the type of funky beach town where teenaged girls with sun bleached hair, driving station wagons with surfboards tied to the roof was a common sight, it certainly is not that way anymore. So when Lucy Greco-Cavanaugh did happen to spy one, rolling down Main Street one sunny morning late in April, followed only a few minutes later, by a longhaired young man in a VW convertible rabbit, also with surfboard, she knew something strange was up. 

 Perhaps someone was making a movie, she reasoned. Or maybe—and being a lifetime resident of Oberon this was of course the theory she favored—a sudden tear in the fabric of space-time had inadvertently allowed her to take a nostalgic glimpse back in time to the California-dreamin’ fantasies of an earlier age.

Not coincidentally, this time displacement theory was one that she found herself applying to more and more events of late. She was thirty-seven years old, and she had memories that spanned most of those years, albeit, with varying amounts of clarity. But somehow, lately, it was almost as if all those memories didn’t quite add up the way they should. 

 For several months now, she had been aware of a vague sense of dissatisfaction growing within her, coupled with a worrisome preoccupation with the past. As if some invisible anchor line that had once kept her mind tethered in the present had been cut. No matter how hard she tried to stay focused, her mind kept drifting back to places it had already been.

Perhaps it had to do with the fact that while everyone around her seemed suddenly immersed in fresh new lives and new loves, she’d had to content herself with more of the same old, same old. Not that there was any part of her life that she wanted to change, she reminded herself sternly. She took a moment to rap her knuckles against the side of one of the wooden half barrels that served as planters on the terrace of the tea shop where she and her two best friends were having breakfast. The same old everything she had was pretty damn great.

She had two wonderful kids, satisfying work, a comfortable house, and she’d been happily married to the love of her life for the past sixteen and a half years. It was just that, after all those years, everything seemed to have gotten the slightest bit stale. She couldn’t help but remember how things used to be—

“Okay, Lucy,” Marsha snapped, “What’s wrong? You’ve been sitting here sighing to yourself for the past half-hour. You’re driving me nuts.”

Lucy frowned as she reached across the table for the pot of lavender honey. “Nothing’s wrong,” she answered. She could feel both Marsha and Scout eyeing her curiously as she occupied herself for several minutes deliberately drizzling the honey over the buttered French baguette on her plate, but she refused to return their gazes. “And anyway, I was not sighing.”

“You were sighing,” Marsha insisted. “Wasn’t she sighing, Scout?”

Lucy looked up impatiently as Scout turned weary hazel eyes in her direction. “What can I say, Lucy? It sounded like sighing to me, too.” Scout shrugged, absently stroking her baby’s head. Three-week-old Cole, who was turning out to be one of those preternaturally alert infants who have to be held all the time, had finally fallen asleep at her breast.

“Well, you’re wrong. Both of you.” Lucy took a big bite of bread and honey, and stared defiantly at her friends: Marsha with her new boyfriend, and Scout with both a new husband and a new baby. There was no way she was ever going to discuss what was bothering her with either of them.

She couldn’t believe that, with everything she had to be grateful for, she could still be so petty. She couldn’t believe that she would actually begrudge her two best friends a little happiness. But the plain fact of the matter was that she was so jealous of both of them, it was a wonder she wasn’t as green as an avocado. She saw the way Sam acted around Marsha, the way Nick looked at Scout, and she knew that once, she and Dan had been that way, too. Somewhere along the way it seemed they had lost that.

And she wanted it back. Oh, how she wanted it back! But, after all these years— she wasn’t sure that was even possible.

You couldn’t recreate newness could you? You couldn’t expect to discover anything too different about the same old person you’d been regularly and intimately exploring for almost two decades. And how could anyone ever hope to recapture the exquisite torture of doubt and uncertainty that so often accompanied the first stages of love? She wasn’t even sure she wanted to--except when she remembered the way the agony transformed into ecstasy…

Be careful what you wish for, a soft voice seemed to whisper in her head. She shivered as a gust of wind swept across the terrace setting the wind chimes to tinkling in the trees around them. Lavender spikes swayed on their long stems and the tiny pink Cecile Brunner roses that covered the arbor over their heads shed a few more petals onto the table. Cole whimpered slightly. Lucy watched as Scout wrapped his blanket more snugly around her baby and Marsha picked the petals out of her teacup.

Such Fleeting Pleasures
An Oberon Prequel Novella, 0.5
by PG Forte
Paranormal Romance

BLURB:

Love wasn't always strawberries and cream for Lucy and Dan Cavanaugh...or was it? In this Oberon prequel, we travel back in time to see how it all began. 

Most of the material in this prequel novella (which is set some eighteen years before the series begins) also appears as flashback scenes in A Taste of Honey. But you can download it (and read it NOW) for FREE when you join my Facebook group: The Crone's Nest

Enter My New Giveaway!

 

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

As I mentioned in my last post. In the Dark has been serialized by KISS and is now available on the app! And thanks to the lovely people at KISS I have 50 coins to give away (each) to four lucky winners. 

KISS is a new and exciting way to experience Romance stories of all genres. Enjoy serialized quality content from NYT and USA Today bestselling authors, available right from your phone.

KISS has hundreds of titles and authors to choose from, including new and exclusive content from some of your favorite voices!

Best of all, you can choose just how much to read with our pay-as-you-go format!

Where can I download it? 

IOS: https://apps.apple.com/us/app/kiss-read-write-romance/id1508942129

Android: https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.stardust.kissreader&hl=en_US&gl=US

My giveaway will run until April 25th. Each "task" gains you another point and some can be done every day (if you're the competitive type).

Good luck and happy reading!

My new newsletter is out now!

 

Book a Stay at the Wild Geese Inn! The Wild Geese Inn, a quirky, family-owned resort on the Jersey Shore, is the setting for this erotic, and lightly paranormal series. Cousins Brenda, Luke and Gwen are determined to turn their failing hotel business around. They have no time for love. They're in no mood for games. It's not going to matter. They're up against a handful of ghosts, a mischievous bogart, a family curse, and destinies written in stone. https://www.pgforte.com/games-we-play

https://mailchi.mp/73669f7cf155/just-in-time-for-st-patricks-day

Truth Or Dare?

I just posted the first episode of Truth Or Dare (Games We Play, Season One) on Radish. So, even though it's barely September--which in California means, it's still basically summer--I've got winter on my mind.

That's because one of the "seed ideas" for the Games We Play series was a piece of flash fiction I wrote--quite a few years ago, now--titled The Beach in Winter. And that story had, as its starting point, two rather memorable events from my own teen years that, yes, occurred at the beach. In winter. 'Cause sometimes, as Freud might have said a cigar is, in fact, just a cigar. 

Having grown up in New Jersey, I naturally spent a lot of time going down the shore, as we say. I even lived there, for awhile (in Brick, if you want to be specific). And I still have friends and family who live there now. So, even though the Wild Geese Inn, where most of the action in the series takes place, had its genesis in a very real hotel, on a very different shore, when it came time to create my quaint, little beach town...well, I already had one of those in California, didn't I? So, I thought, why not go back and revisit my roots?

If I had to break it down, I'd say that Atlas Beach is about equal parts Lavallette and Cape May, with hints of Seaside, Point Pleasant and Asbury Park tossed in for good measure. I was actually shocked, when I went looking for a name, to discover that there wasn't already a Jersey Shore town called Atlas Beach. What. The. Fuck. So, yeah, I had to rectify that, for sure!

So far, we haven't seen very much of the town itself. Most of the action in the first three books (which are in the process of being re-released, and will be available exclusively on Radish, at this point) centers around my haunted hotel, The Wild Geese Inn.  But I do have plans for more stories in the future. Kristy's brothers definitely need stories. They also need to be taken down a notch, IMO. I figure they each deserve a Jersey Girl (or maybe a Jersey Boy, I haven't quite decided yet) of their own to put them in their places. The DiLuca boys also have a family business that they're running, DiLuca's Bakery. I expect that will feature at least a little bit in their stories. 

Anyway, I'm sure there are plenty of other characters--and locations--waiting for me to discover them in Atlas Beach, along with more ghosts, and perhaps a Jersey Devil...or even a mermaid.

Really, who knows, at this point? Anything is possible.

You can find the first couple of episodes HERE,  and episode three releases tomorrow. Meanwhile, here's a sneak peek...

Out of the corner of her eye, Gwyn caught a flicker of motion on the stairs. She ignored it, as she usually did, and went on with her work. A moment later, a current of air seemed to rise from nowhere. Outside the wind howled. A shadow passed across the wall. Cold air swirled around her for an instant and then was gone. That was a little more worrisome. In general, the ghosts only produced drafts when they were on the verge of manifesting something unusual.

Gwyn sighed and shook her head. Perfect. Because “unusual” was just what they didn’t need this weekend. Grams had always insisted the ghosts only hung around because they wanted to help the family. Gwyn had yet to be convinced.

Brenda could argue all she liked, but everyone knew the Wild Geese Inn was haunted. It was a big reason they found it hard to keep people on staff. There were doors that opened or closed by themselves, lights that flickered or burned out too fast, voices whispering in the hallways when no one was in sight. The staff had already presented her with a list of the rooms they refused to clean—a fact she’d been careful to keep hidden from her cousin. It wasn’t like those rooms needed to be dealt with very often anyway, unfortunately. When they did, Gwyn took care of them herself. As a teenager, she’d worked as a maid here every summer. It was like riding a bike.

A couple of minutes later, the hotel’s big double outer doors slammed open, banging against the walls of the enclosed entryway. Gwyn glanced up, annoyed. What in the hell were the haunts up to now?

She was surprised—and to be honest, more than a little relieved—to see actual, corporeal people in the glassed-in entryway. Two men, one wearing a long black overcoat and dress pants, the other in a navy peacoat and jeans, were struggling against the wind to re-close the front doors. She perked up at the thought of customers. Ghosts were fine, in their place, but they didn’t pay the bills.

Having finally triumphed over the doors, the two men paused to stomp the snow from their boots. Gwyn watched them appreciatively. She couldn’t see their faces clearly through the fogged glass of the entryway windows, but they were both tall—one more so than the other—and athletic-looking, well worth ogling. Then they turned toward each other, tenderly brushing stray snowflakes from each other’s shoulders and out of their hair, and her heart melted. Her hand strayed to her throat, and she absently fingered the gold and garnet triquetra pendant she always wore. The camaraderie between the two men, their ease with one other, was obvious from clear across the room. It touched her in ways she didn’t quite understand.

It had been years since she’d seen two men this comfortable with each other, so at home. She didn’t even remember when the last time was. Then the taller and fairer of the two men said something his dark-haired companion found funny. He threw back his head in a laugh, and suddenly Gwyn recalled exactly when she’d last witnessed something like this.

“Yeah, Weidman, stop complaining. At least you have your hot girlfriend to keep you warm. Speaking of which, I’mma think I have to borrow her. You up for sharing?”

“No way,” she whispered, horrified, as the blood drained from her face so quickly she nearly passed out on the spot. “No fucking way. It can’t be.”

Gwyn had never been one to hesitate in the face of disaster. She jumped from her seat and grabbed the handle of the reception room door without waiting to learn whether her suspicions about the men’s identities were correct. Someone else could deal with this shit. Brenda, for example. Gwyn was almost positive her cousin was here somewhere tonight. She’d track her down and let her check them in. Or send them away? Oh yes. That would be even better. Although that option might take some explaining.

The door had other ideas about her leaving. It refused to open. No matter which way Gwyn turned the handle, the door didn’t budge. This is not happening, she thought as she started to panic. Behind her, two sets of footsteps crossed the lobby and stopped. She pushed at the door. Still nothing. Damn it!

“Miss?” A familiar voice spoke up behind her. “Miss, can you help us? Excuse me, miss?”

“Someone will be with you in a moment,” Gwyn said, attempting to make her voice as impersonal as possible as she continued to pull uselessly at the door.

A moment’s dead silence met her response. And then, “Gwyn? Is that you?”

Well, fuck.

Gwyn took a deep breath. You can do this, she told herself firmly. Her “useless” Theatre Arts degree and the years she’d spent in amateur productions had to be good for something.

“What can I help you gentlemen with?” she asked as she turned around. Two familiar faces stared at her—as though she were the ghost.

Berke looked stricken. Cam’s mouth had dropped open. Gwyn smiled blandly back at them. Please say nothing. Please say you just got lost and need directions out of town. Please, please, do the decent thing and leave.

“Gwyn, it’s us,” Berke said.

No shit? Her gaze tracked blankly across their faces. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Gwyn…” Berke said again in a heartrending tone that made her want to break character and kick him. Preferably down a flight of stairs.

“We, uh, have a reservation,” said Cam, who’d finally succeeded in getting his jaw back under control. Ooh. Give the boy a star.

“Oh yes? Well, let’s see now…” Gwyn glided back to the desk and slid gracefully onto the stool. She’d never in her life been more grateful to her Aunt Norah for having insisted all three of the cousins attend deportment classes as children. She opened the reservation calendar and stared sightlessly at her screen. “What name am I looking for?”

“It’s, uh, under Steiner?” Cam said.

Yes, of course it was. Gwyn blinked furiously in an attempt not to frown. They’d been booked into the Captain’s Room for three nights. Whoever took this reservation was so fired. And yes, that was unfair and ridiculous and probably not even legal. She didn’t care. What the fuck was she supposed to do for the next few days—hide? No. Screw that. This was her home. They didn’t get to come here and act surprised to see her. Stupid bastards.

“I’ll need to see identification and a valid credit card.”

There's still time for one last beach read!

Just in time for Labor Day! I've released Waiting For The Big One, the first book in my LA Love Lessons trilogy on Radish, the serial fiction platform.  If you like your fiction in bite-size pieces, this is the place for you!

It's been a lot of fun re-writing it to fit the serial model. What was weird, however, was creating a new cover WITHOUT ANY TEXT! I'm a writer. I want to use my words. lol But I have to admit, I think it did turn out pretty nicely. It looks like a movie poster, doesn't it? Although, again, WITHOUT A TITLE. Argggh!

In any case, I'm making this particular series available through Radish's "Freemium" pricing model, which means that if you don't mind waiting an additional week for each episode to "unlock", you can read the entire book for free. Of course, if you REALLY hate to wait--something my heroine, Gabby, would totally understand--you could just pick up the whole book right now at any of the usual vendors. But where's the fun in that? :)

Depending on how things go, I'm also looking to re-release Games We Play, Oberon, and possibly the Inked in OakTown series on Radish as well. And, as of right now, I'm planning to make those series exclusive to Radish. Tell me what you think in the comments below!

You can follow me on Radish for updates: https://radishfiction.com/users/pgforte  

I'm also hoping to revive my newsletter next month. We'll see how that goes. September is a big travel month. Again. If you want to subscribe the link can be found here:  http://www.pgforte.com/newsletter.htm

In the meantime, in case you haven't read Waiting For The Big One (or, if you have, but it's been awhile) here's an excerpt:

It was one of those perfect mornings, the kind that only ever seems to happen on a Sunday. You know the ones I mean, don’t you? Just before noon, all lazy and warm.

The city of Los Angeles was steeped in sunshine, snuggled about as deep into the weekend as it could get. It seemed like everyone was laid back and happy, except for me and the dozens of other drivers who were trying to move west along Hollywood Blvd, headed toward Fairfax, going nowhere fast.

They’ll tell you Pisces is a patient sign, but you can’t really label the fish. We’re complex people. We combine the best and worst of all the other signs. And the truth is, I hate to wait.

So, there I was, stuck at yet another red light, when it hit me. It wasn’t just me who was waiting and it wasn’t just now. All of Los Angeles was in the same boat, all of us, all the time, waiting for the big one.

For most of us, that means our big break, our shot at seeing our name in a star on the Walk of Fame. It’s the role that’ll lift us out of obscurity. It’s the hit that’ll soar to the top of the charts. We’re all hopeful romantics--like Kathleen Turner, in Romancing the Stone. We’re always certain it’ll happen with the next deal we make, the next audition we go out on, the next person we meet.

Take me, for instance. Any day now, with just a little bit of luck, I could go from being plain old Gabby Browne, aspiring actress and dog walker, to Academy Award Winner, Gabriella Giacomo.

And if fame doesn’t get us, no doubt the earthquake will. That’s the other thing everybody’s waiting for, the big eight point, nine point, ten point shaker that scientists say is bound to occur. The one that’ll rock this town to its knees. Even hopeful romantics have to admit it seems inevitable. How could any place with this much surface glamour not be doomed?

But this morning, I was waiting for something a little more personal. I was waiting for The Big O: the elusive, G-spot, ultra orgasm, the kind I’d heard about, read about, yearned for, but had not yet experienced.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not as if I’d never had an orgasm or anything. But, to date, they’d all been the standard issue, plain vanilla kind. Nice, but nothing I couldn’t give myself any day of the week if I wanted. What I was hoping for was something more life-altering, soul-searing, rock-my-world passion. I knew it was out there, waiting for me. All I needed was the right guy to help me find it.

I knew he was out there, too. He was my Twin Flame, my Split Apart, my Tantric Soul mate; the man who would love me madly, passionately, loudly. All night long. They say good things come to those who wait, and I was certainly counting on that being true, but he was taking a long time to get here, and I was growing impatient.

Finally, the light turned green and I made it to where I was trying to get—The Body Electric—for my first workout of the week, and definitely my favorite.

Power Yoga with Derek Novello was never an easy class, but with Derek calling the shots, getting whipped into shape was almost a pleasure. I hurried up the walkway toward the two-story Hollywood Deco building, smiling in anticipation, enjoying the trickle of the fountain in the courtyard, the tinkle of the wind chimes in the topiary, the sweet scent of sandalwood.

“You’re late,” a voice growled the minute I set foot inside the deserted anteroom.

I froze for an instant, heart pounding in my chest, as I recognized Derek’s dark-chocolate voice. Then I turned, making one of those slow, graceful pivots I’d been practicing.

Derek has the kind of chiseled features the camera loves. Even now, with his thick, black brows drawn into a frown that had them almost meeting over the bridge of his classically perfect nose, his face was sensual, expressive, intense.

He was looking yummier than ever today, with his two-hundred-push-ups-every-morning-before-breakfast arms folded across a tight black tank, putting all those lovely muscles on an in-your-face display. The black workout pants he wore, on the other hand, were disappointingly loose, at least in front. But experience had taught me that when he turned around...ooh, baby. They’d likely mold to his glutes in a way that would make my own pants grow damp.

Was I in a rush for him to turn around? Uh-uh. ‘Cause he’s also got the fiercest brown eyes, the most delicious looking lips and, oh, I thought with a tinge of sadness, if only we weren’t friends.

“Traffic,” I explained, trying to rein in my runaway lust, trying to resist the urge to run my fingers through the dark waves of his short hair. I’d always made it a policy never to mix sex and friendship. It was something Derek knew full well, though he continued to tempt me. “You wouldn’t believe all the cars on the road today.”

“So? There’s always traffic, that’s no excuse. Besides, you only live twelve blocks away. You jog, you hike, you exercise—give me a break, Gabe. Are you really going to tell me you couldn’t walk that far? You could get here on time if you wanted to.”

I sighed, feeling even more regretful. The truth is he looks even sexier when he gets worked up, and since he’s a Scorpio, that happens a lot. “Don’t be silly, Derek. This is LA—no one walks here.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Go get dressed.”

Sexy or not, I hate it when anyone’s annoyed with me. It’s a Pisces thing. We want everyone to be happy. Luckily, I knew just how to make Derek’s day.

“I’m sorry, Sensei,” I murmured in my breathiest, most contrite sounding voice. I dropped my chin, laced my fingers together, and peeked up at him adoringly, like the blondest damned geisha you’ve ever seen. “Won’t you please forgive me? I promise it’ll never happen again.”

A muscle twitched at the corner of Derek’s mouth, showing me how hard he was trying not to smile. “It better not. You know the rules. Don’t expect me to make exceptions for you just because we’re friends.”

Well, that was ridiculous. Scorpios always make exceptions for their friends. That’s still the best way to tell when they’ve written you off. But as I bit my lip and took a step closer, I knew that wasn’t the case with us—yet. There was a hot, hungry look in Derek’s eyes, though he was still pretending to be indifferent to my act. ‘Course that all went to hell in an eye-popping, jaw-dropping hurry when I flashed him the twins.

“Damn,” he muttered, blinking appreciatively as I tugged my top back into place. I gave him a wink, then turned on my heel, and marched off toward the lockers.

“You still have a few minutes before class starts, Der,” I called over my shoulder. “You might want to use the time to rearrange that package of yours. It’s bulging.”

WAITING FOR THE BIG ONE is available at Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo and NOW on Radish!  This title is also available as an audiobook through Audible