Crashing Into Her
by Mia Sosa
Love on Cue Series
Publisher – Avon Impulse
About the Book
“Mia Sosa delivers wish fulfillment with off-the-charts sparks.”—Entertainment Weekly
Relationships are a thing of the past for Eva Montgomery. Her current motto? You can’t spell “manipulative” without man. But Eva has needs, and a one-night-stand at her best friend’s wedding is the perfect way to kick off her new approach to singledom. Then a job opportunity puts her in the same city with the guy she can’t forget . . .
Anthony Castillo is a perpetual bachelor—no strings, just flings—a status he maintains by being honest about his intentions and never looking back. So why is he still thinking about the firecracker of a woman who rocked his world at his cousin’s wedding? It’s a question he refuses to answer, until she comes crashing back into his life, taking his emotional walls down with her.
When her father doubts her ability to make it in LA, Eva vows to go big and prove him wrong. With her athletic background, she’s an ideal candidate for stunt work. But first she’ll need training, and the instructor is none other than her former hookup, Anthony Castillo. Except he’s not as cocky as she remembers and he’s definitely still sexy as sin. The only problem is . . . Anthony doesn’t want her anywhere near his stunt school—or his heart.
I send a quick update to Tori and Ashley. The latter responds with a combo of thumbs-up and heart-eyes emojis. The former sends a two-word reply: Hang on. In the meantime, I hustle behind a dozen or so people waiting for cabs.
Tori sends a longer text a minute later:
Anthony’s at the airport. He just dropped off my parents and Bianca. They’re heading to NYC for sightseeing. He can pick you up outside the terminal and take you to the hotel. Says he’s coming around again and will look for you. Ok, Carter’s giving me some serious side-eye. Going on airplane mode. Love you.
A heavy weight settles in my belly when I finish reading her message. Shit. Tori’s cousin—I’ve secretly dubbed him the square root of Thor—is the last person I want to see. My hand flies to the unruly strands on my head. Argh. This hair travesty alone is spiking my blood pressure, which doesn’t bode well for him. When I’m not at my personal best, I’m more irritable than usual, and judging by our interaction this weekend, Anthony’s very presence makes me cranky. This should be fun for everyone involved.
It isn’t long before he finds me. In truth, I spot him first and duck my head, giving me a minute to watch him as he rounds his rental car and surveys the line, his eyes hidden behind silver lens aviators that are pure overkill given that sunset is fast approaching. To me, a white T-shirt and jeans typically read basic; on him, they add dimension to his appearance, emphasizing the assured, relaxed way he carries himself. And although I’m aware there’s no correlation between the size of a man’s hands and the girth of his penis, I still glance at his long fingers—for pseudoscience. The man’s an eggplant emoji, for sure.
He shouts to get my attention, his smoky voice pulling my mind out of its permanent residence in the trash bin. “Eva! Over here!”
The woman in front of me twists her upper body around and meets my gaze. “Dayum. Are you Eva?”
Stifling the urge to laugh, I nod.
“No offense, but I’m considering stealing your identity,” she says.
Ha. Imagine how she’d react if I told her he’s a Hollywood stunt professional. She’d probably shank me. “No offense taken, and yeah, I know what you mean.”
Because yes, there’s no denying the man’s physical gifts: broad shoulders, dark brown wavy hair that’s a smidge too long for my liking, and full lips that probably predispose him to better-than-competent-kisser status. He’s a mishmash of muscles and scruff, but in a refined package, like the construction worker in a music video who struts around with manicured hands, spotless jeans, and a single, perfect streak of dirt across his cheek. All of this means Anthony takes up more than his fair share of physical space in my mind’s eye, not because he’s huge—although he is big considering my five-foot-two frame—but because there’s so much to absorb when I look at him that I trick myself into giving him a larger blueprint. Oddly, no single trait stands out from the rest; rather, it’s the totality of the man that holds my attention hostage. Free me, damn you.
It’s been this way since I met him a few days ago. In that moment, the idea of a hookup planted itself in my brain, an unfortunate and all too common occurrence when a sexually frustrated woman gives up on pricks but still wants dick. But then Tori warned me against pursuing him, explaining that he’s “emotionally unavailable,” whatever that means, and I grudgingly backed away. In short, bitches before itches. Still, the thirst is strong with this one. Until he opens his mouth, that is.
Since I can’t ogle him forever, I step out of line and give him a weak wave, readjusting the strap of my bag across my body.
He saunters over to meet me, a lopsided grin broadcasting that he’s poised to say something annoying. “Philadelphia decided it couldn’t handle you either, huh?”
And this is the crux of the problem: He speaks. What I wouldn’t give for a roll of duct tape. I’d use it on his mouth and anywhere with a surplus of hair. His crotch, probably. “Ahhh, so that’s what happened. You decided you couldn’t handle me.” I scan him from his head to the tops of his derby shoes. “Makes sense. I spy a lightweight.”
Folding his thick arms over his impressive chest, he takes a step back and tilts his head. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Why the hostility, Eva? I thought we were friends.”
“We’re acquaintances, not friends, and I’m good with that.”
He pouts at me and runs his index finger from his lower eyelid down to the hollow of his cheek. Sad face. I press my lips together, refusing to laugh at his antics even though that’s exactly what I’d do if our roles were reversed. When he gets no reaction from me, he lowers his arm and sighs. “Not interested in being my friend because . . . ?”
I give him a halfhearted shrug. “Not sure, exactly. You just rub me the wrong way.”
He leans in and waggles his eyebrows. “Teach me how to rub you the right way, then.”
The epiphany smacks me upside my head: Anthony’s my male counterpart. As evidenced by the swagger, the self-confidence—in his case, it’s overconfidence—and the mouth that must have the last word, no matter how inappropriate it may be. There’s only room for one of me in my life, however, and if I were looking for someone to balance out my ridiculousness, this man would fail miserably. On one end of the spectrum is a shy, quiet type who’ll cower in the center of my tornado; on the other end of the spectrum is someone like Anthony, who’ll grab the funnel with his bare hands and swing it around in the hopes of wreaking even more havoc. Neither one will do. Well, given my abysmal track record when it comes to men, no one will do.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t extract a little fun from the situation. So I drop my bag, round the front of his rental car, and hop onto the hood, resting my feet on the bumper and spreading my legs wide. Waving him over, I say, “You want to learn how to rub me the right way? Go ahead. Break me off a little something right here and show me what we’re working with.”
I raise my face toward the sky and close my eyes. A woman somewhere in the vicinity cackles. Car horns blare with impatience as drivers try to navigate the airport traffic. Anthony, however, doesn’t say a word. I drop my head and open one eye to sneak a peek at his reaction. But he’s not in my line of sight. Someone else is, though—and the scowl on his face suggests he isn’t friendly at all.
Fuck me sideways twice.
Tour Wide Giveaway
To celebrate the release of CRASHING INTO HER by Mia Sosa, we’re giving away three paperback copies of the book!
GIVEAWAY TERMS & CONDITIONS: Open to US shipping addresses only. Three winners will each receive a paperback copy of Crashing Into Her by Mia Sosa. This giveaway is administered by Pure Textuality PR on behalf of Avon Romance. Giveaway ends 3/3/2019 @ 11:59pm EST. Avon Romance will send the winning copies out to the winner directly. Limit one entry per reader and mailing address. Duplicates will be deleted.
About Mia Sosa
MIA SOSA was born and raised in New York City. She attended the University of Pennsylvania, where she earned her bachelor’s degree in Communications and met her own romance hero (spoiler alert: she married him). Mia once dreamed of being a professional singer, but practical considerations (read: the need to generate income) led her to take the law school admissions test instead.
A graduate of Yale Law School, Mia practiced First Amendment and media law in the nation’s capital for ten years before returning to her creative roots. Now she spends most of her days writing contemporary romances about smart women and the complicated men who love them. Mia lives in Maryland with her husband and two daughters and will forever be on the hunt for the perfect karaoke bar.