SEEN YOU BEFORE

A SECRET IDENTITY, AGE GAP ROMANCE

HILLY KEEN

Copyright © 2024 by Hilly Keen

Editor: Karen Washo, Utterly Unashamed, LLC

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

SEEN YOU BEFORE

She’s got a crush, and he’s got a secret. What will this romance writer do when she finds out who her coworker really is?

Joanie

I’m good with words, or at least that’s what my readers tell me. So why do Colin’s unearthly cheekbones and scruffy beard regularly render me speechless?

With his mountain man good looks and his big comfy body, my brain stops functioning. He feels so...familiar, like I’ve known him longer than the months we’ve worked together.

As our friendship develops, we become much closer than simple coworkers, but it takes the words of a stranger to throw our relationship into a whole new light.

Colin

I love my life now, but it wasn’t always that way. Joanie is one of the last people who bridges my past and my present, and she doesn’t even know it. Now, thanks to a long night of karaoke, my cat, and a budding friendship, my secrets are about to come out. The question is, once Joanie finds out will I lose her?

She’s my future, but I need to work up the courage to talk about my past before it can begin.

If you love a big, scruffy cinnamon roll with a complicated past, and a romance writer who pictures stories wherever she goes, you’ll adore this high-heat, age-gap office romance.

“Seen You Before” is part of the Work For It series, where members of Wavecrest’s The Base become more than just coworkers. Each book in this series of small town, steamy, low angst, bite-sized stories can be read as a standalone and features a satisfying happy ever after.

CONTENT NOTE

Dear Reader,

Each story in the Hillyverse features on-page, open-door intimacy between the two main characters. Also, there’s usually a ton of cussing…just oodles and oodles of it.

If scenes of alcohol consumption aren’t your cup of tea (har har), these books might not be for you.

Seen You Before, specifically, contains the following:

▪ Discussions of past disordered eating and over exercising

▪ Discussions of past drug use

For the romance readers who are such huge fans of the genre that they decided to write their own stories.

*There's a tiny Easter egg in this book. Read through to the end to get the answer.

Hint: It has to do with the name of the main character in one of the best romcoms of the 1980s.

CONTENTS

1.  The Writer Observed

2.  Mistakes Were Made

3.  Mountain Man Has Layers

4.  So Bad at This

5.  Late Night Chat With A Cat

6.  I'll Take Your Pickle

7.  The Writer In Her Element

8.  Party of Two

9.  The Romance of Fog

10.  Big Man, Small Space

11.  Do the Thing

12.  So That's Where I Know You From

13.  Can't Fix This With Duct Tape

14.  The Brain Trust

15.  Past, Present, Future

Epilogue

About the Author

CHAPTER 1

THE WRITER OBSERVED

COLIN

“Wait...if he’s got one hand around her neck and one hand on her boob, he can’t have a third hand playing with her pussy,” Joanie mutters to herself, only drawing a minimal amount of side-eye from our coworkers. This is just another typical day at The Base, listening to my desk mate write a sex scene.

I try to keep my eyes on my own work, but she’s still going on about the number of hands and holes in the scene she’s writing. A pen is stuck behind each ear, and she’s chewing on another one. There’s a smudge of ink below her plush lips, like she accidentally stuck the business end of a pen in her mouth.

Focus on your work, Colin. Joanie’s not for you. It takes all my powers of concentration to keep working on this software project—the one that will help me pay the bills. I only get paid if I deliver, so no more pretty distractions.

But my body isn’t immune to the visual Joanie’s words conjure. It hasn’t adapted to her sitting a few feet away mumbling about sex, and it probably never will. Every glimpse of her concentrating on her laptop or notebook makes my blood run hot. Joanie whispering filthy things to herself in the middle of a busy office has become a very particular turn-on.

With her earbuds in, I wonder if she ever realizes she’s talking to herself. Or if she’d care. She’s so focused on whatever’s on her laptop that she doesn’t notice the way I glance at her every time I need a break from staring at my own work.

Joanie’s an eight-foot-tall personality in the body of a five-foot-and-change woman. It feels like a hurricane blowing through whenever she’s here at The Base. I want to lean into the gales she creates, but when that energy is focused solely on me, I could swear I’m moments from getting knocked over.

Of course, she has no idea she affects me this way...hopefully. Nobody does. I’m simply Colin, the freelance software developer, the guy who gets mugs down from high shelves for everyone at the office. The guy who’s happy to chat about anything software or tech related. But my friends here don’t know what I did for a living before, and I’m not interested in them finding out. I won’t lie about it, but I’ve managed to avoid the topic for years.

Instead of concentrating on this chunk of code that’s due this week, I hide my glances behind my long hair and study Joanie while she twists a dark curl around her finger. The woman’s got so many fidgets I wonder if she stills when she’s sleeping.

Mmm, Joanie in bed.

Fuck, distracted again.

I should be working on this project for Zane and Will Brody. The brothers have a hand in a ton of nonprofits and local businesses, funding projects close to their hearts. They hired me to design and write software to help the organizations they work with more effectively track donations.

It’s an interesting project, but it’s not nearly as fascinating as watching Joanie when she tilts her head and whispers, “I might as well make it an alien romance if I’m going to keep the third arm.”

She’s so wrapped up in her writing that she seems unaware of the world around her. Carla, the owner of a start-up engineering firm, usually sits next to Joanie and likes to take breaks by playing catch with a balled up piece of paper. More than once a wadded up ball has hit Joanie in the forehead, and she didn’t even flinch.

Fuck it, my concentration is shot, and I huff out a frustrated breath, making Carla lift her eyebrow at me. I give her my best friendly smile and get up to grab some coffee from the kitchenette. I need a mental reset.

Even though I’m an independent freelancer and could work from home if I wanted, I’ve learned over the years that I work better when I’m surrounded by other busy people. I don’t do well with solitude, which puts a bit of a crimp in my plans to fly under the radar.

In the kitchen, I keep my back turned to the open-plan office, trying to train myself to stop glancing at Joanie. I’ve gotten good at not drawing attention to myself, but if I stare for any longer, she’s going to look at me, and I don’t want that. Or I do, but I shouldn’t.

JOANIE

Here’s what Colin hasn’t figured out. I know when he’s looking at me, even when I’m tits-deep in writing a story and staring at my laptop. Over the last eight years being a romance author, I’ve become well practiced in observing people without them knowing that I’m slotting them into one of my stories.

Ever since I joined The Base almost a year ago, I’ve been trying to figure out where I know him from. Because I’m sure I’ve met him, and it’s been bothering me almost daily. It’s not from school because he’s at least ten years older than me. I can’t place him at any of the many jobs I held before becoming a full-time writer or through my parents. So how the hell do I know him?

And if I don’t know him, I’d really like to. Have you seen this guy? Holy sex on a pogo stick, the man is hot as fuck. So hot that he short-circuits my writer brain so I can only think things like “sex on a pogo stick” and “hot as fuck.” My vocabulary used to include great words, but I think they drained out of my brain via my now always needy pussy. Just sitting near the man makes me wet. Now…words are hard. Oh, I wonder if he is too. Seriously, I might need help.

I watch him get up from his desk, which is diagonal from mine, and head to the kitchen. Somebody needs to invent a better saying than a tall drink of water. Colin’s tall like one of those giant plastic cups you get at bars in Cabo. And let’s not talk about how I want to suck him down with a straw.

The torturer is wearing his usual flannel shirt over a black T-shirt with jeans that fit his beefy body like they came out of the Jeans For Great Asses factory. His long, shaggy black hair is shot through with silver, but his bushy beard has even more gray in it. I don’t know what his jawline is like under there, but if the rest of his bone structure is anything to go by, I’d wouldn’t mind if he used his chin as a kickstand between my legs.

Maybe I should move on from writing this sex scene—it’s twisting my brain.

I quickly write down the kickstand thing in my notebook, which is filled with observations, snippets of future dialogue, and thoughts on potential plot lines. If it’s ever found by a future alien race, they’ll think humans worshiped sex toys and pancakes…and Colin.

Lately it’s become filled with wholly embarrassing musings on the big guy who has an easy smile and eyes that look like they’re hiding something. I write romance but Colin is a mystery I want to unravel.

Honestly, he’s been the inspiration for a few of my newest book heroes. Kind, quiet, gorgeous in an accessible way, with a wry sense of humor. I’d put him on the cover of all my books if I thought he’d go for it.

But when he puts his eyes on me, that’s when I really feel it. Blue as the sky, with dark rings around the irises. It only took one close encounter by the coffee maker for me to get irrevocably lost in them.

When he smiles, which is more often than you’d think for someone who looks like a reclusive mountain man, the whole world cracks open. The straightest, whitest, brightest teeth highlight the mischief he keeps behind wide, plush, pornstar lips.

Colin opens the cabinet next to the coffee maker and reaches for the lone mug on the top shelf. I don’t even think his arm is fully extended, and he’s definitely not on his tiptoes like I am when I try to reach the lowest shelf. He’s built like a bear mated with a giant sequoia tree. Weird, try again. Like a bear mated with an even bigger bear. I’m a writer, goddammit.

My life is driven by deadlines, and I need to get back to finishing this chapter without Colin drawing my mind away. The distraction has become so frequent that I’ve started chalking it up to taking small mental breaks from the constant writing. Everybody can use a treat to break up the workday, and thinking too hard about Colin being mine.

COLIN

I get stuck in the kitchen because suddenly everybody needs me to get something down from the cabinet. Stuart, the office manager of The Base and a good friend, sometimes calls me Hey Tall Guy. That’s how I know he needs help reaching something on a high shelf. And it’s not just here at the office, I’m also very popular at the grocery store.

When Joanie enters the kitchen with one more pen stuck behind her ear, she gives me a lopsided smile and reaches for the coffee pot. With all the coffee she drinks her blood must be fifty percent caffeine. How she doesn’t levitate I don’t know.

She scoots past me to reach for a sugar packet, but I grab it for her. My elbow brushes her arm, and she stills. It’s a sight to see, because I don’t know if I’ve ever experienced Joanie completely still.

This close, I see the swirls of caramel in her dark brown eyes. The blush on her cheeks, and the teeth marks in the lip she’s been biting.

She clears her throat. “Um, thanks.” She reaches for the sugar I’m still holding and our fingers brush. I’ve read Joanie’s books, and this is exactly a scene she’d write. But she’s not falling for me. She doesn’t know who I was—and it has to stay that way if I want to keep things from getting awkward. Or, more awkward than they already are.

Sure, maybe I’m attracted to her. Maybe I think about her all the fucking time. But Joanie and I are never going to have the kind of romance she writes about even though I want to lean down and kiss her right now, history and age difference be damned.

She blinks up at me, and I finally shake myself out of my thoughts, taking a step back. “Sure. Enjoy cup number forty-two.”

She snorts. Adorable. “It’s only cup number five, but I’m getting there. I can handle a lot more than this when I’m on deadline.” She mixes in the sugar and takes a sip of coffee. “How’s your project going?” She grimaces like the coffee’s too hot.

“Good so far. Zane gave me a good challenge, and I’m enjoying it. Fingers crossed it leads to more projects from him.”

“Living the self-employment dream,” she sing-songs, then closes her eyes like she’s embarrassed that came out of her mouth. Joanie does that a lot...says something funny or silly then regrets it. I wish she wouldn’t. She has no idea how charming she is.

Stuart comes into the kitchen, and I automatically grab a mug for him.

“Thanks. Hey, you all want to go to Foggy’s this Friday? There’s a two-for-one beer thing going on. I’m thinking of making it an unofficial official Base thing.”

Foggy’s, the local bar that’s down the block and across the street, is a popular meet-up spot for Wavecrest denizens. Alice, my client Zane’s girlfriend, owns the place, and we’ve had most of our meetings there.

“I’m in,” I say.

“Stuart failed to mention that this Friday is also karaoke night.” Joanie turns to Stuart and squares off, planting her hand on her hip. “I’ll come, but I’m not singing.” It’s like watching two baby chicks getting ready to rumble.

“If you’re not singing, you can help me brainstorm ideas for the office anniversary party,” Stuart counters.

Joanie’s mouth twists into a wry smile.

“Stuart, when I throw a party, guests are lucky to get salsa with their chips. You don’t want my help. But I promise to tell you all your choices are the best choices. Still not singing.”

“Why not?” I ask. She’s always so outgoing and effusive, I think a karaoke stage would be the perfect place for her.

“I’m bad. I mean really bad. Like will make your ears bleed bad.” Her eyes widen with emphasis, and she waves her hands around her ears.

“But that’s the great thing about karaoke—nobody cares what you sound like. They’re there for the enthusiasm and to sing along. If I can get up there, so can you.”

She levels me with a look that says get fucked but not in a good way.

“Tell you what, I’ll buy the drinks, you get up there and sing your favorite karaoke song.” She’s shaking her head before I finish talking.

What I don’t tell her is that I’ve never met a karaoke stage I didn’t own. Tell me Gaga wasn’t meant to be sung by a six-foot-five lumberjack wannabe, I dare you.

“Nope, but nice try.” She turns, throws me a wink over her shoulder...a wink...then turns back around, and walks off shaking her head—probably regretting the wink.

Fucking adorable.

CHAPTER 2

MISTAKES WERE MADE

COLIN

“Shit, fuck, goddamn asshole. Mother clucking fiddle fucker.” Joanie digs her hand into her hair, scattering pens on the floor. This isn’t her usual ramblings about whatever she’s writing, and I’m almost out of my seat to see how I can fix whatever’s got her riled but hold myself back.

Carla leans over to peer at Joanie’s screen, shakes her head, mutters an uh-oh, and slides her headphones back on.

“What’s up, Joanie?” So much for holding myself back. I’ll try again tomorrow.

“My fuck-nugget website went down again. The little shit loves to piss me off.” She berates it like it’s an annoying little brother. I allow myself to get up from my seat and go around our table to stand behind her.

My first mistake is bending down over her shoulder and getting a hit of her shampoo. Something subtly floral, layered over coffee. Delicious. My body reacts instantly, and I dig my fingers into my thighs to keep from burying my nose in her hair.

Joanie’s oblivious, waving her hands at her screen and explaining what happened. Her screen goes dark from disuse, or maybe it’s scared of her. She’s all sorts of fired up.

Brushing her shoulder as I reach past her to wake her laptop screen is my next mistake. Because now I felt the warmth of her skin through her shirt. A split second of contact and I want to wrap her in my arms and bury myself in all her soft bits.

I manage to swallow past the dryness in my mouth. “Does this happen often?”

She throws her arms up and the last pen in her hair falls to the floor. “At least once a month. My web hosting company is so unreliable and their customer service sucks. They used to be good, but now they nickel and dime me for all these unnecessary services, and every time I cancel a service I didn’t sign up for, my website goes down until I talk to an actual person on the phone who then tries to sell me more things. Colin, how do I get off this roller coaster?” She howls the last part.

“I can help you migrate your website somewhere else. It’ll be easy for me to do, and then you won’t have to yell at your computer every month.”

“You’d do that?” She looks on the verge of tears, and I’m pretty sure I’d bury a body for her if it meant no tears. I shrug like it’s no big deal while inside I’m snarling at the faceless fuckers who are making her day miserable.

“Sure. Let me know when you want to work out the details, and we’ll get you moved over.”

Joanie grabs her phone and stands up suddenly. Her chest brushes mine before I can give her space to stand, and fire shoots down to my cock. Inconvenient moments to get an erection: A memoir. She squeezes my forearm as she looks up into my eyes with a soft smile.

“Thank you, Colin. You’re a lifesaver. I’m going to go call these assholes to get it up and running again, but hopefully this is the last time I’ll have to do it.” She walks away, headed for one of two small phone booths on the first floor. They’re tiny, windowless, soundproof rooms that allow people to make phone calls without disturbing other people.

She shuts the door, there’s a pause, and then I hear her raised voice coming from the small room. Well, I guess they’re mostly soundproof.

I grab my mug, feeling a little too restless to sit back down and write more code. In the kitchen, I pour a large cup of coffee and take some deep breaths. Helping Joanie doesn’t fit into my plan of keeping a healthy distance from her, but I’ve wondered if I’m the dimmest man on the planet for not letting myself get close to her. Seriously, what asshole wouldn’t take their shot with a woman like her if they had the chance?

My thoughts keep me distracted until Stuart’s standing in front of me with a giant grin on his face. The guy is everywhere, all the time. He practically forced me to be his friend with his chipper, outgoing, excessively friendly personality. Can’t stand the guy, but he’s one of my best friends.

“It’s nice of you to offer to help Joanie,” he says, his grin morphing into a smirk.

“What’s going on there?” I point to his smile. “Why do you look like you know something I don’t?”

“Maybe I do.” He doesn’t.

“Sure.” Best not to encourage him.

“Maybe I know that you and Joanie like to spend a lot of your days looking at each other thinking that nobody else notices that you’re looking at each other.” My stomach goes cold, but I manage to keep a straight face.

“Don’t you have a job to do? Why are you paying attention to who’s looking at who?”

“Aha! You don’t deny it.” It would be so easy to swat him like a tiny bug. But my non-drama, drama seems to make him happy. This is what happens when you’re friends with someone in a new relationship. They see sparkles and hearts even when there are none.

“You’re delusional, but I appreciate your hyper-focus on my love life. Truly.” I toast him with my coffee mug.

“You’ll see, Colin. Meredith and I have money on it, and I never lose a bet.” He loses all the time, and everybody knows it. He walks away, confident he’s gotten the last word. I love the little fucker like a brother, but he really knows how to get under my skin.

I take a sip of coffee, trying to calm the buzz in my chest. Does Joanie really look at me like I look at her?

Do I want her to?

CHAPTER 3

MOUNTAIN MAN HAS LAYERS

JOANIE

I’m half an hour late to Foggy’s. I couldn’t figure out what to wear. Do I throw on my usual super casual clothes because this is No Big Deal, or do I dress up a little? You know, show off the assets. And how do I dress up without looking like I’m trying too hard? Am I trying too hard? And who am I trying to impress?

Dorkus Maximus, we all know the answer to that one.

Someone is doing a pretty good job of singing a Weezer song as I spot Colin at the bar talking to Zane. It’s like seeing two bulls in a field having a business meeting. I always thought Zane was a giant, but compared to Colin, he’s almost average. Colin has layers of padding in the best places, but you can see the strength and muscle underneath. His biceps constantly push the limit of whatever shirt he’s wearing, usually something flannel.

If the guy ever decided to wear a henley, the collective hunk-loving population of Wavecrest would not survive it.

I slide up next to Colin at the bar, looking around for familiar faces. I spot my friend Meredith and her boyfriend Stuart pulling some tables together. I didn’t think karaoke would be Meredith’s thing—too many people making unpleasant sounds—so I’m glad to see her here.

Alice, Foggy’s owner and bartender, lays a coaster in front of me. “Hey Joanie, what can I start you off with?”

“Gin and tonic, please. Extra limes.” She pours my drink, a little heavy on the tonic because she’s seen what happens to me when it’s heavy on the gin.

Colin turns away from Zane and gives me a chin nod, like I’m just one of the dudes. Yep, totally friendly. Zane leans over and gives me a wave.

“Hey, Joanie. How’s the new book?”

“Great!” The hero looks like our friend Colin here. You know, totally normal.

Zane leans even farther forward. “Between you and me and this guy,” he jabs his thumb at Colin, “I want to thank you for your last book. Alice read it to me, and it was very...edifying.”

That’s me, the local budget sex therapist. This isn’t the first time someone’s told me that my books have spiced up their sex lives.

“Happy to help.” I tip my glass at him in a salute.

“Maybe I should read that one,” Colin says, and I choke on my drink but recover quickly.

“You mean you haven’t already?” I tease. “Does your relationship need spicing up?” I don’t think Colin’s in a relationship, but the thought has acid churning in my throat that I hide behind a teasing smile.

He raises his right hand and wiggles his fingers. “Nope, we’re doing just fine.” Then he winks at me. The thought of Colin having relations with his hand has my thighs clenching so hard I get a cramp as I snort out a laugh.

Dale, another bartender and the best source of town gossip, comes up to Colin and holds a bar towel in front of his sexy smile. “Put that away, handsome. We don’t need that kind of panty-dropping energy on karaoke night. I can only listen to so many renditions of ‘Pony’ and ‘Wicked Game.’”

Colin ducks his head and spins his glass around on its coaster. Zane laughs. “Leave the guy alone, Dale. He can’t help that he looks like that.”

“We can stop talking about me now.” Colin’s voice is low and...is that a blush?

“Are you blushing?” It’s out before I can stop myself because, really, what’s the point of a filter? I want to run my finger along the pink on his cheeks where they peek above the thick beard. His cheekbones are other-worldly...sharp and dramatic. And familiar.

He clears his throat. “Maybe?” His blush deepens, and I want to buy a sweater in that exact shade of red. He leans both elbows on the bar and covers his face with his hands. “Can we change the subject please?”

“Fine. What are you singing tonight, Face?” I tease, testing out a new nickname for him. The romance writer in me, which, let's be honest, takes up about eighty percent of my personality, always tries to find the perfect nickname for the people around me. And I kinda maybe want Colin to be a bigger part of my life.

He’s so frustratingly hard to read. Sometimes I catch his curious glances at The Base, but I can feel that he keeps himself separate from me more than our other colleagues. I know I can be a little cringe sometimes, but I’m a fucking delightful ray of sunshine.

The thought of him getting up on a stage to sing in front of a crowd scrambles my world view. He’s not an attention-seeker, and there’s no way he likes the spotlight, even if he sometimes sings or hums quietly to himself throughout the workday.

Colin turns towards me, his hair swinging over one eye and his usually lush lips disappearing into a flat line. “Face?” I hold back a wince at his icy voice. “I’m vetoing that one.”

He turns back to his beer and takes a sip. The tense set of his shoulders makes me regret all my life choices of the past five minutes.

“As is your right,” I say brightly, trying to get us back on track. But I don’t understand his aversion to that particular name. He has to know how gorgeous he is. Maybe his good looks make him uncomfortable. But if I was a dude who looked like him, I’d be showing my face off to everybody. Have you seen my face? Look at my face! I’d become completely insufferable.

“Don’t worry, I’ll come up with something better,” I assure him with a pat on his very meaty, very nice shoulder.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” The ice is gone from his voice, filled again with a gentle warmth. I could write a whole sonnet on the way he cocks his eyebrow at me.

“So, Mr. Nickname As Yet To Be Determined, what are you going to sing tonight?” I joke, because there’s no way.

“My song choice is a surprise.” His eyes glimmer with a little bit of smug mischief.

“Wait, what? You’re really getting up there? I thought you were joking.” A snapshot of big mountain man Colin taking the stage and crooning into a microphone flashes in my head, and parts of me squeeze together that probably shouldn’t while I’m in public.

“You’ll have to wait and see. What about you? Changed your mind about singing?”

“Nope. I like all the people here and want them to keep liking me.” Nobody wants to hear too-loud me grab a microphone. My throat tightens just thinking about it.

Dale leans his elbows on the bar. “You two should do a duet. It would be the cutest thing ever.” Dale just got engaged to his long-time boyfriend, so everything is happy and relationshipy with this guy.

Colin stares at me like he’s considering it, and I get lost for a moment. But I shake my head. “I don’t want to bring him down with my wounded goose voice.” He laughs and winks at me before taking a sip of his beer. That wink does unmentionable things to my insides. Things that will probably go in my next book.

COLIN

Sitting next to Joanie, having a conversation with her, one that verges on flirting...it tears apart all the effort I’ve put into keeping my distance. I want to be as close to her as I can get, if the way I’ve been abusing my dick in the shower every morning is any kind of sign, but things would get beyond awkward if all my secrets came out.

Do I want to get up there and sing my heart out to her? Kind of yes. Can I afford for her to look into my eyes and stare at my face for the length of a song and have everything click in her brain? I’m not sure I’m ready to risk it. But she’s worth it, my stupid heart says.

Stuart manages to find a table for The Base members, and Joanie sits across from me, next to Tien. He’s a web developer for a company in Atlanta who’s been a member of our little coworking community almost since the beginning. His wife, Mindy, sits on the other side of him.

Mars is next to me, and I hope he manages to hold onto his drink so I don’t get a lap full of beer. I like the guy, but he’s a walking disaster. A sitting one too. His eyes are glued to the door, and when it swings open, he almost knocks over his glass, as expected. Luckily, I’m fast enough to catch it before it spills. We’ve all learned to give Mars a wide berth, poor schmuck.

Ivy, a newer member, walks over to the table and sits next to Mars, giving each of us a smile in greeting. And now I understand why Mars is even more of a disaster tonight than usual. He’s not looking anywhere but at Ivy. I feel you, buddy.

I turn back to the conversation Joanie’s having with Mindy. “Oh my god, I’m a huge fan,” she gushes to Joanie. I smile into my beer. Joanie’s just...Joanie, so seeing someone fangirl on her is amusing. “I have all your books, including the first series. So hot.” My hand tightens around my beer.

“Thanks. Can I tell you a secret? I wasn’t sure what kind of love stories I wanted to write, and I just kind of fell into billionaire romance. I think I was inspired by all the super sexy models in suits I came across when browsing the stock photos sites.”

I take another sip of beer, my attention focused on Joanie. Mindy puts her chin in her hand, completely invested in Joanie’s every word.

“So why did you switch to mountain men? Not that I’m complaining,” she hastens to say. “I love those big, growly grumps.”

“She really does,” Tien mutters with an exaggerated frown.

“I lost interest in the billionaires and felt inspired to write big, gruff men.” Joanie’s eyes flick to me then back to Mindy. There’s no ignoring the blush that takes over her face, and she’s making it awfully difficult to stay away from her.

JOANIE

Colin’s name gets called for karaoke, and I watch him amble to the stage. I still don’t believe it. He’s not shy, but he’s not the most outgoing person I know. And I can’t picture him singing the usual karaoke offerings.

“This goes out to all my coworkers,” he says into the mic. A small cheer goes up from our table. Before the opening notes of whatever song he’s picked start, he strips his flannel shirt off, revealing his dark gray T-shirt.

My jaw unhinges, and I don’t think I’m the only one. If there was a contest for hottest thicc boy, Colin would win in a landslide. If his T-shirt was sentient, it would whimper at being stretched so hard over his biceps and chest. Colin’s a slab, with a belly and a defined chest. I want to beg him to smother me.

Behind the bar, Alice gives a two-fingered whistle, and a table of women in the corner start hooting and hollering. It’s like Harry Styles got up there, but Colin’s the size of three of him.

Then the opening notes of Dolly’s “9-to-5” start, and the place loses its collective mind. The man can sing, and this is obviously not his first time singing this song because there’s choreography. Mindy and I glance at each other then stand up. I cup my hands around my mouth and don’t stop hooting and hollering for the whole song.

His hip movements alone might make me faint. I’m going to need more alcohol. Unexpected tears clog my throat when the rest of the bar starts singing along. A room full of people belting the same song never fails to get me choked up.

The song ends but the applause and shouting don’t. Colin bows several times then does a cute oh go on wave with his hand. He gives the mic to the emcee and heads back to the table. I’m still clapping and bouncing on my feet, overcome with the strangest feeling that I have to show him how great he was up there. I have to do…something.

So I do.

COLIN

I reach our table, and everyone is still clapping and cheering, but I can’t keep my eyes off of Joanie. I can feel my blood pumping, adrenaline coursing through my veins as her arms fly around my neck, and she hugs me with surprising fierceness.

My brain goes a little fuzzy while my dick jumps in excitement. Yes, now please, he says. Joanie’s pressed to me, her warm breath against my neck. “Oh my god, that was amazing. I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” she shouts. My hands are at her waist, trying not to knead the soft flesh while pulling her closer.

I know the instant she realizes what she’s doing. Her body stills, but she doesn’t pull back right away. Thank the cosmos for small mercies. I need more of that Joanie warmth. I give her waist one last squeeze, testing if she wants to keep the hug going or end it. Either way, these few seconds are the best I’ve had in a long time.

She pulls back, looking at my throat instead of my face, tugging her sweater back into place. The sweater I had wrapped in my fists two seconds ago. The one I’d like to see on my bedroom floor. I swallow heavily. “Your turn. What are you going to sing?”

“If you think I’m brave enough to follow that performance you’re out of your beautiful noggin.”

My first instinct is to duck my head and hide behind my hair. But I just had Joanie fucking Ferrell in my arms so I can embrace a moment of braveness. I cock an eyebrow at her, a smile starting to overtake my face. “Beautiful, huh?”

“Oh shut up, you know what you look like—we talked about this. You are objectively hot. Get over yourself.” She waves her hand up and down my body like my physical appearance offends her. My smile spreads even wider.

Are we flirting? This is flirting, right? Is it working?

Joanie’s eyes open wide and her mouth pops open. She smacks me in the shoulder. “Holy shit, I just thought of the perfect nickname for you.” I should probably be afraid of the gleeful look on her face. “Pipes. Yes, it’s perfect. Because nobody knew you had such a set on you. Get it?” She’s practically dancing with how pleased she is.

“Cinnamon Roll is another option, but that’s a mouthful.” Her hands make a ba-da-ching movement that makes me laugh.

“Pipes…I’ll allow it.” My cheeks are going to cramp from trying to look serious.

Stuart pops up next to us, startling me. Or maybe he’s been standing there the whole time. “A couple of us are going to play pool. You in?” he asks both of us. Joanie’s eyes light up even more.

“Hell yes. Come on, Pipes, let’s play some pool.” She grips my forearm and drags me towards the tables in the back.

“So we’re really doing this Pipes nickname?” I tease.

“Yeah, congratulations. Don’t abuse the privilege.”

“Is it because that’s the best karaoke performance you’ve ever witnessed?” I know I’m fishing at this point, but I can’t stop bantering with her. It earns me an eye roll, and my smile is so wide that it’s painful. With a couple beers in me, and the adrenaline from singing leaving my body, I feel loose-limbed and a little topsy-turvy. Like I’m on a spinning teacup ride, and Joanie is the one spinning me around. Like at any moment I’ll collapse from the sheer fun I’m having.

Flirting is fun. Flirting with Joanie is like going to Disneyland.

CHAPTER 4

SO BAD AT THIS

JOANIE

It’s Stuart and Meredith against me and Colin at the pool table. I know this is going to be a massacre because I’ve been playing pool since I was a young teenager, and Colin looks like a man who’s spent some time hustling bikers in high-stakes pool games.

Until he grabs a cue and breaks the neatly aligned balls. Or tries to. He sends the cue ball flying off the table, missing the break completely. Three jaws drop open, but Colin just shrugs. His shaggy hair is tucked behind his ear, the tip turning a deep shade of red. “What? I’ve never played pool before.”

Reader, I almost drop my cue. “What do you mean you’ve never played pool before? How is that possible?” I point at his hangs-out-in-biker-bars beard like the math isn’t mathing. He shrugs again, but a sly smile moves slowly across his face.

“Making assumptions, Joanie?” It’s my turn to blush.

“Shut up,” I grumble. He laughs and motions to Alice for another round of drinks.

Stuart manages to break, sending one solitary striped ball into a pocket. Meredith gives him a kiss on the cheek and a teasing smack on the ass. “Good boy.” I wish I had my notebook with me, because that would be the start of a great scene for one of my books.

When it’s my turn, I pocket three balls before I miss. Meredith misses, and then it’s Colin’s turn again.

When he leans over the table, his angle and grip are all wrong, and he’s about to massacre this easy shot.

“Would you mind a little coaching?” I lean my elbows on the table, taking in how his body is contorted at an awkward angle as he lowers the cue.

“Do your worst, Shark.”

“Shark? What, you’re doling out nicknames too? Is this Oprah and everyone gets one?” Warmth spreads under my skin at this new familiarity, at how something as simple as a nickname can make me feel seen and important in Colin’s eyes.

“You don’t like it?” His forehead furrows.

“Are you kidding, I love it.” I make a chompy motion with my arms and then flinch at how ridiculous I must look. Too much, always too much.

He leans over and whispers in my ear, “I’m a big fan of your brand of peculiar. More of that, please.” All I can do is blink up at him, my embarrassment quickly melting away, replaced with a warmth that spreads throughout my chest and limbs.

I swallow hard, trying to not show how affected I am by his words. “Sir, you have no idea what you’re about to unleash. Consider yourself warned.”

“Bring it on.” His smile is bright and open, his eyes sparking with humor.

Meredith clears her throat and nods at the pool table with a let’s move things along look. Right. Pool. I almost forgot.

“Is it okay if I rearrange you a bit?” My hands hover around his shoulders as he bends over the table, his cue resting on the edge.

“You can do whatever you want to me,” he says in a low, gravelly voice. A shiver runs down my spine, and my core clenches. I fight a nervous giggle when he looks at me with those other-worldly blue eyes, the lines around them soft with humor.

I clear my throat. “Right, well...first, you’re gripping the cue too tight.”

“Maybe it likes a tight grip.”

Okay, now he’s just fucking with me.

“Noted, but if you want to sink a ball you need to not, um...choke it so much.”

Fuck, was pool always this filthy?

I place my hand on his bicep and try not to squeeze the thick muscle I find there. “Lower your shoulder—you want to be able to control the cue without contorting your body too much, and this way will give you more power behind your...”

“Thrust?” I’m honestly surprised at how much he can control his eyebrows. One dips low over his eye, the other goes nearly up to his hairline. I think my bra spontaneously unclasped itself. Also, do they make portable fire extinguishers for underwear?

“Shh, I’m trying to teach you the fine art of pool.”

“You’re doing a great job.” He lowers his shoulder like I instructed, then winks at me. I’m waiting for someone to douse me in a bucket full of Gatorade. This coaching gig is more arousing than I thought it would be.

I scoot to the other side of him and decide two can play this game. I glance down at the table where Colin’s hand is braced, cradling the business end of the cue. Honestly, his grip doesn’t look too bad, but I’ll take any excuse to touch him.

I run my hand down his forearm and lean in so my lips are close to brushing his ear. “You want to cradle the cue so it glides easily between your fingers. Move it back and forth, back and forth. Rock it a little.” Colin tilts his head a hair closer to my mouth. It’d be so easy to dart my tongue out and taste his skin.

My other hand glides down his shoulder to the arm holding the back end of the cue. “Good,” I whisper. “Now pull this back as far as you can and thrust it forward.” I keep my hand where it is while he sucks in a shuddering breath and takes his shot.

He manages to get close to a pocket, but not sink a ball. Probably because his shot was too wobbly to be effective. I remove my hand from his arm, and he blinks at me like he’s coming out of a trance. We stand to survey the table, and I notice Stuart and Meredith staring at us. Meredith with a cocked eyebrow and an I knew it smirk. Stuart with his usual goofy grin.

Heat races to my cheeks, and I move to tuck my hair behind my ear, but Colin beats me to it. It’s such a quick, fleeting touch, and then he picks up his beer and takes a long swallow, never taking his eyes off me.

This feels like more than flirting, and I’m now on a mission to keep this night going as long as I can.

I’VE PROBABLY HAD one cocktail too many. I can always tell because I start listing to the left like I’m looking for a lamp post to lean on. The closest solid object is Colin, who could take a lamp post in a fight hands down. But lamp posts don’t have arms or legs, so maybe Colin has an unfair advantage. I giggle at the thought of Colin doing a boxer’s dance around a lamp post, his fists raised and ready to fight.

The ice in my glass has mostly melted, but I still get smacked in the face with the last few cubes when I try to take a sip. The lamp post fighter next to me reaches for my glass. “Okay, Shark, it might be time to call it a night. I can only imagine what your writer brain will come up with tomorrow.”

“Right. Yes. You’re right. Very yes. Time to go home.” I take a deep breath before I try to stand up. Alice had a heavy hand with her pours as the night went on. That lady should come with a warning label.

I wobble a little on my feet and almost stumble into the table before Colin’s heavy, warm arm comes around my shoulders. “So muscly,” I say out loud. Whatever. Fuck it. “You smell good,” I mutter as he hands me my bag, waves goodnight to the other Basers, and guides me out of the bar.

I can feel his rumbles of laughter as I continue to sing his praises. “And can we talk about your beard for a second? It’s all shiny and thick and filled with...with salt.” I might burp at this moment. Seriously, what did Alice put in those drinks?

“I’m glad you like my beard and all its salt.” I might be wrong, but I think Colin is twinkling. Not like a vampire, but like he’s got fairy lights buried under his skin. Or maybe it’s the way the streetlights hit him.

“Shiny,” I mutter. That earns me a humming mm-hmm. “There’s a lot of salt in there. How seasoned are you?”

“Are you asking me how old I am?”

“Maybe. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

He sparkles down at me as we weave towards my house. At least I think we’re headed in the right direction.

“Forty-three.” He holds my gaze, like it’s a challenge. Like he owns his age but is wary of my reaction.

“Oh, age gaps are hot. Did you know I’ve written five age gaps? It’s one of my favorite tropes.” My face heats when I realize what I just said. “Not that we’re...you know...in a thing...with each other.” His lush lips split into a wide smile.

“And if this was one of your books, what would the age gap be?” he asks with a little quirk of his eyebrows. I like this game.

“Eleven years.”

“Older or younger? Because fifty-four looks great on you.” He’s awfully puckish for such a big guy.

I gasp in mock horror and smack him on the shoulder—which I immediately regret. The back of my hand stings. The guy is solid.

“I’m thirty-two, thank you very much.”

“Alright, Shark, let’s get you home and hydrated.”

“How are you sober? I saw you drinking beer all night.”

“I’ve always been an overachiever when it comes to holding my liquor.”

“Liquor...I didn’t even know her,” I mutter, the joke escaping me automatically.

“You did not just...”

“Shh.” I press a finger to his lips, and it immediately becomes the best thing I’ve ever done. It’s a struggle to hide my reaction. He doesn’t bother hiding his. His eyebrows wing up into his shaggy hair and his eyes grow molten for just a second. But when is Colin not molten or smoldering or explosively attractive?

“It’s just something I do with most words that end in -er. Back in college, when I worked on the school newspaper, the editorial staff made it our go-to inside joke. Now I can’t stop myself. It’s like knocking on wood or saying, ‘bless you’ after someone sneezes.”

His smile kicks up a bit. “Adorable.” I do a simultaneous small curtsy and two-fingered salute, dispelling any hint of cuteness, grace, or sanity when I wobble a tiny bit. Colin’s got me all turned around, more than my usual state of being.

We take our time walking the few blocks to my place. The fog has rolled in, and I tuck myself deeper into his side. He tells me about working with Zane, living in Wavecrest for ten years, and that he has a cat that adopted him.

“You have a cat?” I exclaim.

He pulls his phone from his pocket and shows me the lock screen. “Her name’s Gonzo.” There, perched on Colin’s shoulder is a tiny gray tabby. In the picture she’s sniffing Colin’s ear and the small sliver of Colin’s face in the picture is scrunched up. The whole scene is cuter than it has any right to be.

“I must meet her. Where do you live?”

“What? Now?” I start to turn away from the direction we’re heading even though I have no idea where he lives.

“Yes, I insist.” It must be well past midnight, it’s Friday night, and I never stay out this late. Yet, I’m tugging on Colin’s sleeve while he barks out a laugh. It doesn’t mean anything. It has nothing to do with the feelings I have for Colin, that I want to know him even more, or that he’s insanely attractive while being kind and funny.

It's not about the salty beard, the sky-blue eyes that give off atomic levels of heat, the sheer size of the man, or the fact that I want to hear him sing every damn day.

He grabs my hand and turns me back the way we came. Nothing to do with the feel of his hand engulfing mine.

COLIN

“Wow, you must really like cats.” I laugh as Joanie tugs me down the block, luckily in the right direction. “I mean, you could be home, tucked in bed with some ibuprofen and a tall drink of water.”

“I got the tall drink of water right here,” she says, moving her eyes up and down me in an exaggerated way. Then she snorts at her own joke. “Sorry, sometimes I can’t turn off the romance writer thing.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for—I like your romance writer thing.” She stumbles a little and I quickly catch her around the shoulders.

I steer her down a side street lined with trees. The sidewalk is uneven where the roots have pushed up through the pavement, so I pull her closer to make sure she doesn’t face-plant. The breeze picks up and a silky strand of her hair brushes across my shoulder. Just under the floral scent, she smells like the night fog and a notebook with fresh pages. She’s intoxicating. This whole night’s been a surreal trip, and it’s not over yet.

I tighten my hold on her while willing my cock to calm the fuck down. But it always seems to get excited when I’m in Joanie’s orbit.

I’m not sure how tonight happened. Joanie and I have always been distantly friendly, but I’ve made sure to keep a little space so she doesn’t figure out who I used to be. But tonight is another example of why my attempt to keep us friendly-but-not-friends is doomed to fail. There’s no keeping her out, even if I wanted to. And I don’t think I want to anymore.

Not with her leaning into my shoulder, giggling to herself, looking and feeling like my own personal dream. I’ll have to figure out another way to keep the past where it belongs, far away from Joanie and my life now.

JOANIE

I’m mostly sober at this point, but fatigue has taken over, and I know tomorrow’s headache will be a doozy. But I’m determined to see this cat who gets to live with Colin. Not that I’m jealous of a cat. I just don’t want this weird, rambling night to end and meeting the cat feels like the perfect excuse to keep it rolling.

Colin’s had his hand on my elbow or my shoulder for the last two blocks, and I miss it when he lets me go to dig his keys out of his pocket. His house is a typical Wavecrest bungalow, probably built in the early fifties. Warm light pours out of the front windows, showing off a small brick porch and a couple of wooden garden chairs. This would be a great place to have coffee in the morning.

We step inside, and I take off my shoes. He kicks his Chucks to the side, revealing sensible gray athletic socks. Why is that sexy? Is it, though? Maybe on anybody else gray athletic socks wouldn’t even register.

The front room of his house looks cozy and inviting filled with Colin-sized furniture on top of original hardwood floors. Framed illustrations of San Francisco and the California coast break up the white walls.

He leads me further inside to the kitchen where he pulls down a glass from one cabinet and a bottle of pain reliever from another. He fills the glass at the sink, hands me two pills, and folds his arms across his broad chest. “Hangover prevention first, cat later.”

“Thanks.” I pop the pills and drink the whole glass of water. He stares at me, and my skin heats despite the cool water I’m gulping down. I need to break the tension, so I wink at him. He winks back, and my brain spirals into what does that mean acrobatics. Friendly wink? Flirty wink? Too tired to keep both eyes open wink?

I smack my lips when I’m done and hand him the glass back. “Cat, please.” After so much insistence, meeting Gonzo feels necessary. As I turn back towards the living room, I hear a soft meow and look down to see the lady herself. She ignores me and winds through Colin’s legs, purring.

Then she climbs him like a tree, kind of like what I want to do. She digs her claws into his pant leg and shimmies up him until she’s perched on his shoulder. Colin winces every time her claws sink in, but he doesn’t move until she settles. A couple ear licks and sniffs later—again, I’m waiting my turn—Colin presents his shoulder to me.

“Gonzo, this is Joanie. Joanie, this is Gonzo. She likes chin scratches, but she’ll nip when she’s done being loved on.”

How do you explain to the people at the ER that cuteness overload caused your burst ovaries? You see, doctor, he and his cat are adorable together. Here, let me show you a picture. I probably wouldn’t even get a bill.

I feel all loose and squirmy. Big ol’ Colin loving on his cat is doing all sorts of things to the inside of my brain. And panties. Those need to be buried in the backyard deep enough so raccoons can’t dig them up and drag them through the streets.

Gonzo sniffs the hand I slowly reach out to her, then headbutts it. I wonder if this is what it feels like to win a Pulitzer Prize.

“Hello, sweet Gonzo,” I coo at her. Colin stands perfectly still as I get closer and closer. To pet his cat, of course. She manages to stay perched on his shoulder as she rubs her head all over my hand, purring at the attention. I’m in love. With the cat. My brain tries to claw its way back from the edge of admitting more. Just pet the cat, Joanie. You’re too tired to trust your feelings right now.

CHAPTER 5

LATE NIGHT CHAT WITH A CAT

COLIN

Joanie’s standing so close that I’m wrapped in her subtle floral scent. So close that I can see the gold flecks in her warm brown eyes and the few freckles across her nose. So close that if I leaned down a tiny bit, I could put my lips to her forehead, something I’ve been wanting to do since I met her. I crave other, physical things from her, but a vision of me wrapping my arms around her and fusing my lips to her forehead plays on a loop in my mind.

I don’t feel even a little bit bad about using my cat to get close to Joanie. I’m just glad they get along. I shouldn’t be surprised. Joanie gets along with everybody, because she’s chaotic sunshine in human form.

Creative, funny, kind, beautiful Joanie here in my house, late at night. Closer than I ever dreamed, but I’m still full of a dull dread that she’ll figure me out.

“I like your shampoo.” Okay, not my smoothest line, and I kind of want to sink through the floor. But I don’t have a time machine to be able to take it back.

She lets out the cutest snort, and I notice that she’s still slightly glazed over from the handful of increasingly strong gin and tonics Alice poured her. “Thanks. It mixes well with all the cocktails I had tonight. Let’s call it eau de drunk girl.”

“Enchanting.” I’m only half kidding. She’s still giving Gonzo pets, but the cat, being a cat, decides it’s time to launch herself off my shoulder, out of the kitchen, and under the couch. I guess we’re doing witching hour now.

Joanie lets out a little whimper of disappointment when she loses access to the cat and every part of me wants to make her whimper for other reasons.

Like me touching her…

As I blink out of that fantasy, Joanie follows the cat out of the kitchen, settles on her stomach in front of the couch where Gonzo has hidden, and starts a full-on conversation with my cat.

“Why are you hiding, pretty kitty? I’ll give you more head pets and maybe some belly rubs if you come back out here.” To her credit Joanie doesn’t reach under the couch to grab the cat. That would mean me hunting for the first aid kit.

Joanie’s resting her cheek on her folded hands as she tries to coax Gonzo out, and I’m not sure she’s aware of what she’s saying. It’s a string of sweet nothings I imagine her whispering to me. It makes all sorts of delicious visions hit me like a truck.

Joanie in my bed, wrapped in my sheets, her cheek on my chest, whispering things like, “I just want to pet you and love on you.” Fuck, I need to snap out of it.

I stand in the kitchen doorway watching the scene. I can hear Gonzo chirping back at Joanie whenever she says something sweet. Joanie’s words grow quieter and drowsy. Her blinking slows down. She can’t be comfortable down there.

“Hey, it might be time to call it a night,” I say, but she ignores me because apparently her conversation with my cat has gotten deep.

“Gonzo, you ever ponder the meaning of life? Of course you don’t, because you’re a cat and you already have it figured out. Sometimes I find meaning in my writing. Ugh, nope, that definitely sounds pretentious.” She hiccups and I almost sprain something holding back a laugh.

“Speaking of precious,” she continues. “Have you seen yourself? Perfection. I’m going to put you in my next book. Maybe your papa too. He’s so...well, you know. You get to live with him every day, lucky little girl.”

I feel myself blush at her words, my chest squeezing as she keeps murmuring to my cat.

I’m exhausted, feeling the beer, and reluctant to interrupt this very important meeting of the minds. I flop down in my armchair, waiting for Joanie to run out of steam.

She looks so right in my living room, even spread out on her belly on the floor, peering under the couch. I try to keep my eyes from traveling across her body, but her perfectly peachy backside in tight jeans is right fucking there. A sliver of pale skin peeks out above her waistband where her sweater has ridden up. I wonder what that little spot, the indentation of her spine smells like. Tastes like. I’d bet all my flannels that it’s warm and soft.

I grind my teeth when I feel my cock jump behind my zipper. It’s been doing a lot of that tonight, every time Joanie gets close. My mind is lost in thoughts of what she would feel like pressed up against me when I hear a soft little snore.

Joanie’s fallen asleep on my floor, her cheek pressed to her folded hands, her sweet-looking lips slightly parted. I need to decide if I leave her there or wake her up. Gonzo finally scoots out from under the sofa, sniffs Joanie’s face, then goes looking for food.

The night’s taken an unexpected turn, but I can’t say I mind.

JOANIE

Sunlight smacks me in the face, and I let out a miffed little growl at how someone moved the sun because that’s not where it usually is. Or maybe that’s not where the window usually is. Someone moved the sun and my window. What kind of asshole would do that? And are they the same asshole who set up a percussion section in my head? Someone’s manager is getting a very strongly worded email.

It takes a few moments for my brain to catch up to reality. I’m hungover. I’m not in my own bed. I’m wearing last night’s clothes. My breath probably smells like a barn. And there’s a heavy something slung across my hips. Please let it be Gonzo. Or better yet, Colin.

“Morning, Shark. You sleep okay?” the rumbliest voice I’ve ever heard says into the back of my head. I groan at the shot of heat that ignites sparks in my fingers and toes. He withdraws his arm, and I turn over as slowly as my rattly brain will allow.

And there he is.

Colin’s on top of the duvet, but under his own blanket. His midnight black hair covers one cheek and eye, and he peeks at me with a wary look on his face. I can see that he’s wearing a dark T-shirt, but I wonder if he’s got any pants on.

I can’t believe I fell asleep on his floor, but it’s exactly the annoying, too-much thing I would do. I can hear my mother’s voice in my head. That’s just not done, Joanie. Take it down a notch.

“Morning.” It comes out sounding like a question. What happened between last night on the floor and this morning in what I assume is his bed? “How’s it hanging?” Not the question I wanted to ask, and now I have to leave the state of California. I shut my eyes, seeing if the one million and twelfth time I try to erase something inane that’s come out of my mouth works.

Colin chuckles, so I guess it didn’t work.

“I wasn’t sure what to do after you fell asleep on the floor, so I brought you in here. Then I realized I had nowhere to sleep because there’s no bed in the guest room and the couch is too small.” He sounds nervous, like I’m going to be mad that he’s laying in the same bed as me.

“What’s in the guest room then? Is it where you store your thousands of pairs of black Converse? A library with a rolling ladder? Oh, is it a room filled with LEGO sets?”

He huffs out a laugh, and I get a hint of minty breath, which tells me that at some point before I woke up, he brushed his teeth and got back in bed. This is very interesting information. But it also makes me wonder how abominable my breath is. I pull my shirt up over my mouth and he laughs again.

“I love the places your brain goes,” he says with what sounds like affection. “Feel free to explore while I make some breakfast. There’s a spare toothbrush in the drawer under the sink.”

“I knew it,” I cry. His eyebrows wing up. “I knew I had dragon hangover breath.” I hide my face in my hands as Colin laughs and leaves me to my own mortification. I peek out through my fingers to catch a glimpse of him in navy joggers that do amazing things for his ass and my imagination.

Before I get up, I take a moment to get my bearings. I’m in a huge bed under a warm, lofty duvet. There’s a glass of water and two pain relievers on the nightstand next to me. The dove gray walls have some photos and art prints on them, and a tall walnut dresser stands in the corner next to a deep armchair.

Because I’m me and my behave-like-a-human setting isn’t fully engaged, I do something I’m not proud of. I grab the pillow next to me, shove my nose in it, and groan the mightiest groan. It smells so fucking good, just like Colin’s woodsy, fresh cotton smell, but concentrated for my enjoyment. I suck in another whiff, nearly suffocating myself with the pillow over my face. I file away the scent notes in my brain, determined to use them in a future book.

A throat clears, and I scream. Now I really need to go to the bathroom. I slowly peel the pillow from my face and put it back in place like nothing happened.

Colin’s leaning against the door frame like he’s just walked off the pages of the Effortlessly Sexy Man catalog. Lord, I’d order a full dozen. He smirks at me, but I’m focused on how his T-shirt stretches across his broad chest and belly.

“The last I remember, I was chatting up your cat on the living room floor.” This is me trying to change the subject from the embarrassing way I was sniffing his pillow to the embarrassing way I harassed his cat.

“I moved you in here.” His meaty shoulder lifts in a shrug. But his eyes are still twinkling like he doesn’t want to let me off the hook.

“You carried me?” I may be short, but I’ve got a lot of mass in my ass.

“Well, I certainly didn’t roll you.” He chuffs at his own joke.

“And then you slept on top of the covers...” I’m still wrapping my brain around the idea of us sharing a bed, no matter how innocent. “You could’ve stuck me on the couch.”

“But then I would’ve missed you sniffing my pillow.” He says it with such a straight face, but he looks like he’s barely keeping it together.

“Oh my god, I thought we were going to forget that happened,” I shout.

“That doesn’t sound like something I’d agree to.” His body shakes with quiet laughter. My eyes are still a little blurry from sleep, but I’d give anything to see the little laugh lines around his eyes and mouth.

“Let’s never speak of it again.”

“Sure.” He doesn’t sound convincing.

“What’s that smell? And what time is it?”

“Heating the pan for French toast, and almost nine.”

“You’re making French toast?” He nods and I flop back on the bed. “Marry me.” It’s hard to tell with the beard, but I think he’s blushing. He glances down at his feet, his beefy arms still crossed over his chest.

“Okay.” Then he turns around and leaves. Well, looks like I’m engaged now. To be fair, I’d sell my kidney for some breakfast. But marrying Colin sounds heaps better than black-market organ selling.

After taking time in the bathroom to make sure I don’t look like a bridge troll, or smell like one, I make my way to the kitchen. The whole scene is too much for my foggy brain to handle. There stands Colin, Gonzo perched on his shoulder, his joggers revealing just enough ankle to be scandalous, and his bare feet doing something to bits of me my doctor would have to show me on a diagram.

He’s singing “Ring of Fire” by Johnny Cash with gusto and doing a pretty good job of it. He flips a slice in the pan without using a spatula, and I’m done. Absolutely fucking done. Last night’s version of me deserves an award for landing present me in a place where I get to witness Colin’s effortless sexiness.

“Hey, Pipes. Smells delicious,” I say. Clearing my throat, there’s no getting past the come to mama sound of my voice. Colin turns to me and gives me an unrestrained grin, like he’s happy to see me and doesn’t care about hiding it. There go the remains of my ovaries. By the time we’re done eating, I’ll be in total organ failure.

We chat easily, accompanied by Gonzo’s purrs and my yummy sounds. I praise his breakfast making skills but tease him about how bad at pool he is.

“Yeah, but you have to admit I’m the GOAT at karaoke.”

“Wow, cocky much?”

“About that? Absolutely.”

I tilt my head and study him. “You know, for a guy who looks the way you do, I’m surprised you’re not cockier.” My human behavior setting is still not fully warmed up.

Colin slowly sets his fork down and reaches for his orange juice. He doesn’t look at me when he takes a sip, but I see the tension in his shoulders. I don’t know what I said, but the shift in his mood is palpable.

“I’ve matured, hopefully.” He blinks a few times and seems to shake it off.

After that we make our way back into an easy companionship, aside from the distracting buzz under my skin. I desperately need a shower before tackling today’s word count, and I want time to process last night and this morning.

Are Colin and I now officially friends? No more of this amiable coworker bullshit, but honest to goodness friends? Maybe heading for something more? A girl can dream. The idea unleashes something warm and gooey inside my chest.

I clear our plates and put them in the dishwasher, despite Colin’s protests. Gonzo leaps off his shoulder and winds around my ankles, purring endlessly. I fall a little more in love with her when she presents her chin for scritches before she hops back on his shoulder.

“Thanks for breakfast, thanks for introducing me to Gonzo, and thanks for not leaving me asleep on your floor.” Colin’s standing inches in front of me after I’ve gathered my shoes, bag, and jacket.

I reach up and give Gonzo a few more pets, bringing me closer to Colin and his warm coziness. “My pleasure,” he says, his breath coasting past my mouth. “You’re welcome to come back and love on my cat any time.”

I don’t know what comes over me—lies—but I quickly bounce up on my toes and lay a kiss on Colin’s rough cheek. A deep rumble escapes him before I bolt out the door.

My lips tingle for the rest of the day, and that rumble echoes in my ears until I go to bed later that night, dreaming of French toast and a man whose friendship feels monumental.

CHAPTER 6

I'LL TAKE YOUR PICKLE

COLIN

I’m almost done with one of the software features Zane contracted me to build, and I’m pretty happy with the result. It needs to go through testing, but I’m looking forward to sending it to him. I take a break to stretch in my chair, feeling a few things pop.

Before her eyes dart away, I catch Joanie staring at where my T-shirt rides up above my jeans. I used to hate my body, used to punish it and try to force it into a certain shape. That was then...now I’m content with how I look, belly and all. So I choose to believe that Joanie’s look means she appreciates what she sees.

She swallows hard and turns back to her laptop, chewing on the cap of her pen with even more vigor.

“You want something that’s not plastic to eat?” I wasn’t planning on asking her to lunch, but Joanie’s lack of filter might be rubbing off on me. I tilt my head toward the front door. “I was thinking of grabbing something at Gordo’s.”

She bites her pen one more time and nods. “Yeah, sure.” She gets up from her chair and does her own stretch, her wavy brown hair bounces around her shoulders as she runs her nails over her scalp and yawns like she’s waking up from a nap.

The walk to Gordo’s is a few blocks, but their carnitas burrito is worth any distance. Joanie and I chat about my work and her book, the conversation easy as always. I was expecting a little awkwardness after Friday and Saturday’s marathon hang-out, but there’s none.

As we grab a couple menus and sit down at a window table, Joanie tilts her head to the side and looks at me like she’s puzzling me out. I’ve seen the look before, but at this tiny little table, she gets an up close view.

Before our food arrives, she scoots her chair in and her knee brushes mine. I don’t move and neither does she. The warmth of her leg pressed against mine has an ache spreading from where we touch, to my cock, up through my chest. I can feel my ears turning red.

“What’s up?” I ask her. Totally casual, but I can feel the cracks in my mask spreading.

“You’ve always looked so familiar to me. And in this light, even more so.” She nods at the window where bright midday sun streams in. The morning fog burned off, leaving Wavecrest bathed in bright sunlight. I glance out the window as if to give the strong sunlight a piece of my mind.

“There! That profile...I know I’ve seen it before. I’d say I never forget a face, but I have a terrible memory.” Thank goodness for small mercies.

I shrug. “I have one of those faces.”

“Bullshit, that’s like saying Aretha had one of those voices.” Now the tips of my ears are on fire. I dip my head and pay very close attention to the glass of water in front of me. It has the added benefit of letting my hair swing forward to partially hide my face.

“So how’d you get into writing?” It’s the clumsiest change of subject but I’m desperate. My heart is hammering in my chest, partly from the fear that Joanie will finally realize where she knows me from, and partly from how open she is about the way she sees me.

“Wow, you’re worse than Meredith when it comes to changing the subject. It’s adorable.” She waves away the thought with her hand. “I worked a series of jobs I hated, and reading has always been my favorite way of escaping daily life. Much to my parents’ dismay, I was a creative writing minor in college, so in my spare time I started writing romance. I didn’t think it’d go anywhere, but my first book took off beyond my wildest expectations. I got lucky.”

“Lucky might’ve been part of it, but you’re really fucking talented.”

“You weren’t bullshitting when you said you read one of my books?” She gapes at me like the idea of me reading her writing is beyond the realm of possibility.

I shrug and take a sip of my water. It’s impossible to hide my smile though. “I like the way your voice comes through.”

She plops her elbows on the table, her leg jolts against mine, and her lips are right there. “Holy shit, I can’t believe you’ve read something I’ve written. What was your favorite part? No, wait, don’t tell me. What was your least favorite part? Never mind.” She buries her face in her hands. “I can’t believe it.” She’s spiraling, and it’s adorable.

I put my hand on her wrist and tug a little. “Hey. Thousands of people have read your books. What’s the big deal if me, just one more random person, has read them too?”

“Them? As in you’ve read multiple?” She’s having a Joanie-level freak out. It’s a ride, and I don’t want it to end.

I lean in and lower my voice, accepting that the smell of her hair will do things to me that make me grateful I’m sitting down. “Hey, I love your books. They’re very you. I read all sorts of genres, including romance. No big deal, okay?”

She nods her head and smooths her napkin over her lap. “Yep. Okay. Totally fine. Glad you enjoyed them.” Her face is the color of the salsa the server placed down in the middle of the table.

“Here, have some chips. They’re known to cure unwarranted embarrassment.” I scoot the basket of warm tortilla chips across the table.

She giggles, shakes her head, and straightens her shoulders, like she’s decided to shed whatever awkwardness she was feeling.

Our food arrives, and we dig in. We end up talking about the office anniversary party coming up in a few weeks. Stuart managed to secure a small ballroom at the local resort, and I’m going to have to go shopping for fancy clothes. Something tells me showing up in a flannel and jeans won’t cut it.

We spend a little time talking about what she wants to do with her website and how I can help. Hopefully by this evening her website headaches will be over—it’s a simple fix for me but she looks at me like I’ll be rescuing puppies from a burning building. I could get used to Joanie looking at me that way. Or any way, really.

As always, conversation flows easily, but I’m constantly aware of how close we are, how I can see the shades of brown and gold in her eyes and breathe in every note of what makes Joanie smell like my deepest fantasy.

Being this close to her, eating lunch like we’re nothing more than friends when I can imagine so much more, it’s the sweetest torture. The best kind. The kind that makes me want to show her all my hidden pieces. But there’s a difference between wanting to and being brave enough to do it.

THAT AFTERNOON I migrate Joanie’s website over to a new service, one that hopefully won’t cause her any more headaches. I forward her the confirmation email and get up to stretch my legs. There’s a chocolate protein bar in an upper kitchen cabinet calling my name.

Before I can get more than a couple steps, Joanie’s out of her seat, around the desk and flinging her arms around me. Her warmth surrounds me as she presses her softness to me, and I’m failing at keeping my body from responding. A feeling of yes, this burrows deep into my chest.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She squeezes me tighter with each one. Carla, sitting across the desk from me mouths you’re so fucked and laughs to herself. She’s not wrong.

JOANIE and I spend the next few weeks having lunch or taking breaks together. Nothing planned, just a raise of the eyebrow or a tilt of the head and we end up grabbing coffee in the kitchen or lunch at one of the restaurants downtown.

I feel myself letting go of the tightly held reins of control, allowing myself to believe that my past won’t matter to Joanie. I tell myself that all that matters for this friendship to thrive is the here and now. She hasn’t mentioned that I look familiar again, and maybe that’s why I stop ducking behind my hair and dropping my gaze when she looks at me.

Or I’m a man who’s falling ass over teakettle for Joanie, even though there’s no way she’d go for a guy who’s more than a decade older and looks nothing like those romance heroes she writes.

I’ve been in a few long-term relationships, but nothing that felt so...easy. Every lunch, every cup of coffee, I learn something new about her.

She hates tomatoes unless they’re diced up in salsa. If she wasn’t writing romance, she’d write mystery. No, her parents have not read her books, but her aunt has and has been dropping copies in her neighborhood Little Free Library. And Joanie’s landlord won’t allow pets, otherwise she’d have at least five cats.

Over the course of a dozen lunches and coffee breaks, and the occasional group get-together at Foggy’s, I’ve learned that she’s perfectly and uniquely Joanie.

On a lazy Saturday, I ran into her sitting on the beach, staring out at the ocean, and doodling in the sand with a stick. Her notebook was perched unopened on her knee. We sat and talked until the sun went down, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. The way the wind caught her hair and the sun kissed her face the way I wanted to. That’s when I knew I wanted her to be more than a friend.

She’s messy and funny and unfiltered. Sometimes the most random thoughts come out of her mouth, and I can’t imagine her any other way. Her controlled chaos brings a spark to my life that I didn’t realize was missing.

My dick has gotten so frustrated at being uselessly hard that I think it’s about to go on strike, but that’s nothing compared to how every waking moment is taken up with thoughts of her. Thank the paycheck gods that I can still do my work without fully focusing on it.

Every time she trades me her tomato slice for my pickles. Every time she throws her head back with a laugh, every time her hair catches in her lip gloss, or she covers her face with her hands because she’s just said something that mortifies her, I slip a little further. I’m a man clinging to the edge of a cliff by the tips of my fingers. One more brush of her pinky, one more slightly too long glance, and I’ll fall to the jagged rocks below.

But on the outside, under my long hair and thick beard, I’m still just Colin. It’s physically painful to maintain my cool, but I do it. Because this budding friendship with Joanie sustains me. But the temptation for her to know me...all of me...is becoming impossible to ignore.

CHAPTER 7

THE WRITER IN HER ELEMENT

JOANIE

“Okay, you see how the woman working at the deli counter keeps looking at the guy behind the bakery counter?”

Colin nods, but I can’t tell if he’s just humoring me. He takes a moment to observe the two, who are both helping customers. I hold my snack-filled shopping basket while we stand off to the side of the aisle. I wish I hadn’t left my notebook at home, because I could write a whole story based on the sparks flying between the deli and the bakery.

“They’re either together or really want to be.” The way Deli looks at Bakery, I’d bet money they’ve at least hooked up.

“You got that from just looking at them?” Colin looks between the two of them, his eyebrows knitted together.

“Can’t you see it? He’s wanted her since he first saw her. Probably gives her extra cupcakes and cookies when he can.”

“Is that a euphemism?” The corner of his mouth kicks up, and I’d pinch him for making fun of me but I’m a little smilemitized. I imagine it’s not quite as potent as being dickmitized by him, but still effective. And now I’m thinking non-friend things about Colin’s dick.

I set my basket down and go digging through my bag. I might not have a notebook with me, but I do have a CVS receipt. That’ll do for a detailed outline, maybe a first chapter. “Turn around.”

Colin stares at me for a good long while, huffs out a breath, and gives me his back. I pull out one of the two books I have in my bag to use as a hard surface, then start jotting notes down on the receipt. I have to keep dipping my head around Colin’s broad back to catch glimpses of the two lovers.

I write words like smolder and ache, salami and rising dough. I avoid words like yeast and tuna. If there’s nothing going on between these two, at least I can write it into existence. I pause, trying to think of their meet-cute, and end up with employee orientation.

“How’s it going back there?” Colin’s shoulders start bouncing with suppressed laughter.

“Hold still, I’m getting to their first kiss.” I glance around his back again and spot another employee behind the deli counter. Is he flirting with Deli Lady? Is this going to be a why-choose story? I’ve never written one of those.

My brain sparks with a gazillion ideas, all while Colin stands there patiently. He probably thought we were making a quick snack run before watching the Giants game at his place. I love baseball, but it’s only the gravy on the Gonzo and Colin mashed potatoes.

And now the poor guy is my battlefield writing desk. I pause my scribbling, and my forehead hits his back. What am I doing? Normal people don’t stop in the middle of a grocery store and start making up stories about the unsuspecting people around them. My cheeks flame with the oncoming embarrassment.

“Why’d you stop?” Colin’s voice interrupts my flustered thoughts. “Trying to come up with a grand gesture?”

I blink at his back. As much as I enjoy looking at Colin’s face, at this moment I’m grateful to be close to him but not caught in his too-perceptive eyes.

“I’m sorry. I can’t believe I thought this was a good idea. You’re not a piece of furniture, and a grocery store is a ridiculous place to plot a book.”

He starts to turn around, but I put a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him facing the other way.

“I don’t know who told you having a big personality that takes up space is a bad thing, but I’d like to have a quick conversation with them,” he says in a low, intense voice.

Trying to blink away the sudden sting in my eyes and nose, I force out a laugh that sounds horribly fake.

“It’s okay.” It’s really not. “We’ve all got our baggage. Mine is a suitcase filled with parents who constantly told me to hush, and a little cosmetic case of their disapproval of my career choices.”

“No offense to your family, but that’s some bullshit. You’re Joanie fucking Ferrell, writer of beloved romance books with a personality that shines so bright people can’t help but gravitate to you. I’m sorry they can’t appreciate you the way you are.”

Oh my heart. It’s trying to beat a path out of my chest. The lump in my throat takes several tries to swallow down. I quickly lean my forehead against his back and nod.

“Thank you,” I whisper, still grateful he can’t see me.

“Anytime, Shark. Now, if you’re almost finished writing your next great love story, let’s get home so we don’t miss the first inning.”

“Wouldn’t want that. Maybe next time we make a snack run we can bring Gonzo. If you put her in a harness or baby carrier, I bet grocery shopping would be that much more fun.” I’d give up caffeine for a week to see Colin carrying her around in a Baby Bjorn.

“I find that I’m already having a great time.” Now I wish he was facing me so I could see his expression.

I want to bury my smile in the soft flannel of his back. I make a couple more notes on the receipt and slip everything back in my bag.

“Thanks. You make an excellent writing surface.” I pat his shoulder and tell myself to stop touching him. Just one more pat.

He chuckles and turns around. He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Any time you want to use me, I’m here for it.”

Reader, my mind goes to fifteen different filthy places. And he sees it because his eyebrows wing up and his cheeks turn pink. A blush has never been so adorable on a burly man. Heaven help me and my runaway imagination.

Colin clears his throat, but nothing is going to save me from visions number eight and nine. They both involve the contents of my nightstand and a whole lot of pre-shenanigasm warm-ups.

“Come one, Gonzo’s probably getting impatient. She was extra clingy this morning.” He nudges me with his elbow, snapping me out of my dirty little daydream.

“Yes, please.”

If I had known grocery shopping could be this much fun, I would’ve brought Colin with me a long time ago.

CHAPTER 8

PARTY OF TWO

COLIN

“Were the unicorns necessary?” I ask Stuart as he straightens an inflatable one in the corner of the small ballroom he rented for the anniversary party. A large banner spans the space with the words, “Here’s to Another Five Years!”

“I think they add a bit of class,” he says with a grin.

We’re just outside of Wavecrest at the Cliffside Resort and Spa, a hotel that’s been part of the local landscape for at least forty years. Rumor has it that this is the place Zane was supposed to get married but didn’t.

Stuart asked me to get here early to help him with a little setup. “I can’t get over the suit, man. You clean up nice.” Stuart claps me on the shoulder.

“Thanks. You, too.” He’s wearing suspenders of course, but with a bow tie and pink tuxedo shirt. “When’s Meredith getting here?” Stuart melts at my question. I’ve watched those two fall harder and harder for each other over the last few months, and honestly, I’m a little jealous.

Not that I have a thing for Meredith. I don’t, even though I appreciate the audio engineer’s spiky personality. She’s like Gonzo—takes a while to warm up to strangers. Except Joanie...Gonzo loves Joanie because my cat is smarter than most humans.

“People should start arriving soon. I hope Sylvie and Will like it.” Sylvie owns The Base, and her husband Will is an active member. I’d bet good money that they’ve had sex in every room at some point. I’ve seen him stumble out of Sylvie’s office with a dopey grin more times than I’d like to remember.

The doors to the ballroom open, and people start streaming in. I recognize a ton of colleagues and Wavecrest locals. Servers in neat black shirts begin passing around trays of champagne and tiny bites of food, but my attention stays on the door.

Stuart walks off to mingle, but not before elbowing me. “She’ll be here.” I don’t even bother responding or denying who I’m waiting for. I smooth a shaking hand over my tie.

We’ve hung out almost every day for the last few weeks. Why would this evening be any different? It’s just like Foggy’s but with nicer clothes and no karaoke. The anniversary party isn’t black tie...far from it...there’s someone here in a baseball jersey and Crocs. But most people are dressed up in cocktail dresses and suits.

I make my way to a group of people surrounding Sylvie and Will but keep an eye on the door. Where is she? I try to pay attention to the conversation. Carla cracks a joke about Mars always breaking the coffee maker, which makes the poor guy dip his head and smile. Ivy lays a quick hand on his forearm as she giggles, and I watch a fierce blush race up his face.

Mars and I should form a Men Who Crush On Their Coworkers support group. Stuart can be our inspiration.

I’m listening to Sylvie talk about how she decided to leave her job in San Francisco before she opened The Base when the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. They’ve been doing that whenever I’m within fifty feet of Joanie, so I turn.

And there she is. Standing in the doorway, smiling at the people close by, like it’s no big deal that my ability to breathe has failed me. Her hair’s out of its usual bun, a riot of waves and curls around her shoulders. Her bare shoulders, heaven help me. Her emerald green dress hits just past her knees and looks to be held up with thoughts and prayers. Women’s clothing is nothing short of a miracle.

I want to touch the textured fabric. I want my hand around her waist all evening. But friends don’t do that. Friends don’t swallow their tongues at the sight of their friend in a stunning dress.

Joanie spots me staring, and I don’t have it in me to act cool. My cool left the moment she entered the room. I feel an elbow in my ribs and wince. Carla serves me a wicked little smile. Considering she sits near Joanie and I during the work week she’s probably not surprised at my reaction. “If you don’t go talk to her right this moment, I will drag you over there myself.” Carla’s using her mom voice and frankly it’s terrifying.

I stumble over my feet as I make my way over. Joanie takes a couple of steps in my direction, a beaming smile on her face. “Colin, look at you. You’re so...gah, so...” She waves her hand up and down my body.

“Thanks?” She shakes her head and lets loose a disbelieving laugh. I pull up a pant leg to show her the new pair of Chuck’s I’m wearing. I gave up dress shoes a long time ago.

She rolls her eyes at me and smacks my shoulder, and I feel some of the tension leave me. This is still Joanie, just wrapped in a fancy package.

“You look gorgeous, Shark. Does the dress have pockets?” My cheeks hurt from how wide my smile is.

She gasps. “You stole my line. I wanted to do that whole little curtsy people do when they say, ‘Thanks, it has pockets.’ Now I feel robbed.”

I extend my arm to her. “Let me make it up to you then. I’ll buy you a drink.”

“A free drink?” She’s done some pencil wizardry to her eyebrows, which I notice as she lifts a sardonic one at me.

“The best kind.”

And now I have the beautiful, talented, funny Joanie Ferrell on my arm, and I feel like I could take on the world. Stand tall and face any demons that come my way. I feel invincible.

Her hand stays tucked in my elbow as we make our way to the group still hovering around Sylvie and Will. Joanie grabs a glass of champagne off a passing tray and takes a long sip. I’m so distracted by the way her throat moves when she swallows that I almost run into an inflatable unicorn at the edge of the dance floor.

She giggles, giving the unicorn a little shove like she’s protecting my honor. Honestly, I’m still trying to figure out the theme of this party. It’s like the interior of Stuart’s brain exploded inside Cliffside’s ballroom. There are unicorns and a photo booth, the food is a mix of Hawaiian luau and Spanish tapas, and the music goes from ragtime jazz to hip hop to seventies yacht rock. Every detail is exuberant, and the guests are eating it up.

I give Stuart a fist bump when we reach the group. He’s got his arm around Meredith’s waist as she leans into him. She spots Joanie’s hand tucked in my elbow and gives me a look that says I’ll be getting shit for this later.

And I can’t seem to make myself care.

Throughout the evening Joanie and I separate to mingle and chat with our favorite Wavecrest people, but somehow we keep ending up in each other’s orbit, her hand on my arm each time.

With every person we talk to, I want to shout, “Are you seeing this?” Like I can’t believe she’s standing next to me, touching me, and I need other people to confirm it’s not a dream. Even if it’s only friendly affection, I can’t believe my luck.

The DJ plays a series of pop songs from the last four decades and the dance floor floods with people shaking their money makers. I look around for Joanie and spot her at a table chatting with Rocky, the owner of Coastline Books.

Stuart and Sylvie drag me out to the middle of the crowd. Stuart shouts, “I’ve seen your moves at karaoke. Don’t claim you can’t dance.”

Oh, I can dance. The music turns even more upbeat, and I end up tossing my suit jacket onto a random chair and getting in the middle of what’s become a mass of dancing, jumping, bumping bodies.

I close my eyes and dance. The music and champagne flowing through me, everybody’s collective joy lifting me. I move my body in ways it hasn’t moved in years. I’ll feel it tomorrow, but right now is perfect magic.

And then I feel the hand on my arm, and I open my eyes. Joanie. She’s beaming up at me, dancing and jumping along to the music, laughing with her whole body. Fuck, she’s perfect. This moment is perfect. I want to kiss her more than I want to breathe. And she sees it. Her eyes flicker to my lips, and mine do the same, and the music fades. Or maybe it doesn’t. I couldn’t tell you either way.

She moves closer, pressing herself to me, and my arms wrap around her waist, pulling her into me. I feel her suck in a breath and the hair on the back of my neck stands up at the sound. Other things do too, but I’ll think about that later.

Right now I want to dance with Joanie and kiss her and then dance some more. The tiny logical part of my brain that’s still in command reminds me that we’re surrounded by friends and colleagues on a dance floor at a party. Not alone, not in a place where we can explore what’s happening, what’s going to happen.

The music shifts to something slightly slower. A groan goes up from the crowd and half the dance floor clears. But I’m still here, holding her. And then the best thing happens. She wraps her arms around my neck, brushes her lips across my cheek in the softest, sweetest way, and lays her head on my chest. And then we sway. I wonder if she can hear my heart hammering in my chest. I can certainly feel it everywhere.

I keep my lips pressed to the top of her head, breathing her in. I tighten my hold and hope this song goes on forever. But it doesn’t, and when it ends, I feel a little lost until Joanie grabs my hand and drags me towards the large photo booth set up in the corner of the ballroom.

Inside, we’re breathless, hidden behind a half curtain. She pushes a button that starts a countdown timer, and before I can think about what it means to have my picture taken and have Joanie see me on film, she gently pushes me to the seat and sits on my lap.

All thought leaves my head when she kisses my cheek again as the flash goes off. I’ll probably look like I’ve been struck by lightning. I turn towards her, and there’s a split second where everything stops. And then she touches the tip of her nose to mine, making my heart knock against my ribs. Flash. I suck in a breath because these sweet touches are destroying me in the best way. The slow build of something makes my body tight with anticipation. I have to keep myself from sealing my lips to hers and never coming up for air.

But my bold Joanie jumps right in and presses her lips to mine. Flash. A jolt of desire shoots from my head to my feet and I wrap my hand around the back of her neck. She sighs into the kiss, and I want more of her little noises. More of the feel of her in my arms. More of everything.

Before we can take it further, her warm breath ghosts across my lips as she pulls back, brushing her nose against mine one more time. The kiss is over before I’m ready, but this isn’t the place or time to explore her the way I want.

My chest cracks open at the sweet smile that spreads across her face.

There’s another flash and the moment is over before I have a chance to kiss her again. She brushes my hair out of my face, her eyes taking me in. I’m considering telling her everything. I want to tell her about my past, about how I feel about her now. How we could be perfect together if she doesn’t mind loving an old guy who worships her.

In the last two pictures, all I do is stare at her. She makes a funny face in one of them, but I don’t think I have control over my facial muscles anymore. I’d rather sit here with my arms around her middle, her soft curves pressed into me like they’ve always been there.

While waiting for the photos to print she ducks her head, her cheeks reddening. Almost like what happened in the photo booth stays in the photo booth. But that won’t do because once she brushed her lips against mine all bets were off.

The photos drop into the dispenser, and she grabs them. “Huh,” she says, then looks at me with her eyebrows drawn together. She glances back down at them. I know what she sees, and I panic a little.

I’m probably making a bigger deal out of this than I need to, but at this point I have no idea how she’ll react. And because I’m a coward, I decide tonight’s not the night for revelations.

“That bad?” I pull the pictures from her hand and study them. She of course looks stunning, and it’s difficult to look away from her smiling face or the way you can almost see the sparks between us. But when I look at myself, I see what she probably sees. Not only a guy who’s fully besotted, but someone familiar. Someone hidden behind a thick beard, long hair, and a few added pounds.

I grab her hand and tuck the pictures in my pocket. “We’ll sort out picture custody later,” I say as I drag her back out to the dance floor.

CHAPTER 9

THE ROMANCE OF FOG

JOANIE

The party’s winding down but I don’t want this evening to end. It’s like the night at Foggy’s, where Colin and I rode a metaphorical tilt-a-whirl the whole evening, bouncing from one bit of fun to another. I can’t believe I kissed him in the booth, but I couldn’t help myself, and he didn’t seem to mind.

My lips and cheeks still tingle from where his beard tickled my skin. I try—I really do—not to think about what his beard would feel like against my skin a little further south. A lot further south. The Bermuda Triangle south.

“Joanie,” I chastise myself, and Meredith cocks an eyebrow at me. We’re slumped in chairs, leaning on a table, watching the last few people on the dance floor.

Ivy plops down in the chair next to me and lets out a mighty groan. “Fuck, my feet are toast.” She takes off her sparkly shoes and wiggles her toes. “Mars stepped on them at least three times when we were dancing.”

Meredith leans past me and nails Ivy with a look. “Slow dancing?” Ivy immediately turns red. I need my notebook, and I need it now. There is some juicy stuff going on that needs to be written down.

“I’d tease you back, but honestly you scare me a little,” Ivy says to Meredith.

“Good.” Meredith winks at her and sits back in her chair with a satisfied smirk.

Stuart’s still going like a spinning top, but most people are gathering their coats, saying their goodbyes, and heading for the door.

Colin is deflating a giant unicorn, and I snort at the image. “You’re so thoroughly fucked, and I love it,” Meredith says. “Sweet revenge.”

I don’t try to deny it—what would be the point? “Is it really revenge if I don’t feel bad about it? I mean, look at him. He has a face that could stop traffic, and a personality I couldn’t even put in a book because nobody would believe how good he is.”

“You’d need some specialized equipment to climb that mountain of a man,” Meredith says, like she’s discussing the weather.

I choke on nothing, coughing out a laugh.

“And he looks like he’d blow your back all the way out,” she continues, ever the romantic.

“Yeah, he does,” I sigh. As if he can sense we’re talking about him, he looks up from his task of murdering a unicorn and smiles. I want to take that smile and freeze it in time. My heart might not survive the fierce beats I feel everywhere. Everywhere. I’d like to drag him up to a hotel room and do about forty-six different things to him.

I also want to go home and fall into bed because I’m drifting into that late-night head space of exhaustion and giddiness. Like karaoke night, but in a prettier outfit.

“My guy is still going,” Meredith mutters. She yawns and stands, slinking her way over to Stuart who’s thanking some of the catering staff. She wraps her fingers around one of his suspenders and gently tugs him from the room. I can see his grin from here.

Ivy slowly stands up, grabs her shoes, and pads out the door with a wave over her shoulder. I notice Mars watching her go and follow her out. I file that away for later.

My own feet are aching, but I make my way to Colin where he’s retrieving his suit jacket. “Ready?” He gives me a long look and nods. “Stuart said there’s a line of cabs outside that he arranged for people who didn’t want to drive home.”

His large, warm hand ghosts over my lower back, and I shiver at the weight of it. As we walk towards the lobby he drops his jacket on my shoulders.

“Thanks.” I’m instantly distracted by the woodsy, clean cotton smell of his coat, and try not to pass out from inhaling too hard. I smile up at him as he helps me into the backseat of a cab. He pauses for a second, looks back at the line of cars, and then slides in next to me. My body gets exponentially hotter as I stare at his profile. His jaw is clenched like he’s just reached a monumental decision. We don’t say a word, but there's a silent understanding that this night isn’t over.

Tonight’s taken on a feel of inevitability. Like we were always headed in this direction. Sharing the back of a cab, me leaning my head on his shoulder, his hand brushing light circles over my thigh.

Our friendship has built and built over the last weeks, but Colin feels like he’s always been a part of my life. A big, solid presence that I can’t remember ever being without.

The Wavecrest fog rolled in sometime during the party, and the town is cloaked in cottony mist. The fog at night is magical, diffusing light and muffling sound, giving everything a dream-like quality.

I want to wrap us in it. I want to stand under a streetlight with Colin and let the fog surround us and hide us from the world. I want to bury my fingers in his beard and pull him in for a kiss that never ends.

His hand tightens on my thigh and his eyes roam my face like he can hear my thoughts. When we pull up in front of my house he pays the driver, gets out, and offers me his hand.

I don’t hesitate taking it. I tug him a few feet down the sidewalk to the streetlight that stands between my house and my neighbor’s. The light casts Colin’s eyes in a shadow and plays with his cheekbones. He’s a giant beast in the mist that I have to kiss right fucking now.

He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t crack a joke. He follows me until I grab his forearms and press him against the streetlight’s pole. His head quirks to the side, and I let out a little sigh. “Perfect.”

I press myself to him, my head barely coming to his shoulder, and shiver when he wraps his arms around me.

“Joanie,” he starts, his voice husky and rough. I run my hands up his chest, feeling the strength there and tangle my fingers in his beard, go up on my toes, and kiss him.

Really kiss him—nothing gentle or sweet. No subtle caresses. Because this kiss is no tease, no testing of the waters. This is where it’s all been leading. Every smile, raised eyebrow, meal together, and touch. This constant pull between us. It begins and ends with this kiss.

And oh my stars, this kiss is...it’s everything. There’s no hesitation with Colin. His arms band around me tighter and our lips explore and taste. Discover and nip. He tastes like mint and heaven. His beard tickles my chin and cheeks as he takes the kiss deeper. Groaning into my mouth as I open for him, our tongues meet and the fire ignites. Sparks turn into flames that lick down my body.

We take our time savoring each other, with him delving deeper and me welcoming him in. His groans are met with my gasps, as if we each can’t believe the fucking perfection of this kiss.

He lifts me off the ground, my toes nearly coming out of my shoes. This is what I wanted. To kiss a beautiful man...this beautiful man...in the fog. To hear our sighs and moans bounce off the thick mist and feel it settle on my skin.

But fog is cold, so I shiver even wrapped in Colin’s arms and his jacket. “You must be freezing,” I say against his lips. He shakes his head but sets me down and grabs my hand. I see the realization hit that he doesn’t know which house is mine.

“Lead the way.” Then, as if he can’t help himself, he leans down and kisses my cheek. Zings of electricity race through my body and I shiver again. We’re a few steps from my front door and it already feels too far.

I grab the keys out of my clutch with shaking hands, unlock the front door, and pull him inside. I drop my keys somewhere, shed his jacket, and launch myself at him. Heaven love a man who can catch me. With his hands cupping my ass Colin carries me through the first door he finds, which leads to the kitchen.

He sets me on the counter, finds a glass, and fills it with water. His eyes sparkle when he hands it to me. “Drink up. You need to be hydrated for what happens next.”

I’d laugh, but he’s not wrong. I take a long drink of water, watching him watch me. His eyes dart down to my thighs where my dress has ridden up. He licks his lips and steps closer. That’s right sir, these babies are about to cradle you like you’ve never been cradled before.

He brushes his thumbs from my knees to just under the hem of my dress, pressing himself between my thighs to bury his face in my neck. His lips graze my skin, and I almost drop the glass I’m still holding. I manage to set it down next to me before I rake my hands through his hair.

I’ve written dozens of scenes like this, but they’ll never compare to the real-life feeling of my legs wrapped around his sides, him pulling back and cupping my face, and gazing into my eyes. I’m a live wire before he lays his lips on mine. After...after I’m filled with lightning.

“Joanie,” he says against my lips. It’s a question. A plea. A demand.

“Yes,” I sigh. It’s an answer. A declaration. A surrender.

One more searing kiss, one that steals my breath, and then his lips trail away from my mouth, to my cheek, my ear, my neck. My hands are on his very solid biceps, and I squeeze hard to keep myself anchored to the here and now.

Colin’s beard tickles along my collarbone as he nips at my shoulder. I melt a little more into him, swaying into his chest and wrapping my arms around his neck. My fingers tunnel through his hair, and it feels like heaven. He moans with every tug and brush.

“You can never cut your hair, Colin,” I babble. “God, I can’t wait to see the rest of you.” I can’t begin to play it cool. I’m holding nothing back. He opens his mouth to say something, but I need more kisses. Now. So I tug him down and breathe him in. Our lips come together, only separating when we need oxygen. I’m so wet for him that I feel my arousal on my thighs.

He pulls back for a second, his hands squeezing my waist and keeping me rooted in place on the counter. “Joanie, I need to...” He swallows heavily. “I need to...”

“I need it too. I need you. Now, Colin. I need you now.” There’s a split-second where it looks like he’s going to say something, but I reach for his tie and start to loosen the knot.

His eyes lock on mine, and he licks his lips. “God, I want you.” Need and want are too inadequate to express what we’re feeling, but they’re the only words we have.

He pecks me on the lips, crouches, hoists me over his shoulder, and carries me down the hallway. I squeal. I can barely breathe, but that’s beside the point. I brace my hands on Colin’s lower back because I can’t reach his butt. My shoes drop to the floor along the way. It’s fine, they were little pinchy assholes anyway.

A minuscule part of my brain takes note of what it feels like to be carried like this and to remember to add it to my next mountain man romance. Honestly, this is delightful. Colin is a book boyfriend come to life. I laugh but it comes out sounding like an air horn that’s lost most of its air.

Colin’s warm hand is on my ass, and I have zero complaints. Bonus points for the squeeze he gives it just before he sets my feet on the bed. When I straighten, I’m standing at the end of the mattress and his face is boob-level.

“Nicely done, mister.” My hands are on his shoulders to keep myself steady. His hands are on the backs of my legs, just above my knees, and warmth spreads from his fingertips.

He looks up at me with an expression that makes my breath hitch. This gorgeous man looks at me like I’m the sun and he hasn’t seen daylight for months.

“I like your face,” I say to him because it’s the truth. Not just his eyes and his cheekbones, but the life there. His personality, his experience—it’s all there on his beautiful face, etched in the lines around his eyes and between his expressive eyebrows.

“Want to see what I can do with it?” His wicked grin is slow to spread, but when it reaches maximum wattage my heart flip flops. Those aren’t simply butterflies in my belly...they’re griffins and dragons. Fireflies and hummingbirds.

“What was the question?” He laughs as his hands trace up my thighs, under my dress. A tiny mewl escapes me as his finger plays with the edge of my panties. With me standing on the bed his lips are at the perfect place to lick and nibble at my neck. I don’t know if my legs are going to last much longer.

“I’m going to play with this pussy, Joanie, until you’re screaming my name.” His fingers go back and forth, back and forth.

“Oh my,” I whisper. “And then what?” Look at brave little me.

“And then I’m going to taste you because I’ve been dreaming about that sweet cunt for months. Months.” Sweet baby Jesus, light me on fire—I’m done. All the air leaves my lungs when his fingers find the sides of my panties and tug them down. I quickly step out of them, clinging to his shoulders so I don’t tip off the bed. He shoves them in his back pocket and then his hands are back on me in an instant.

I flail at the zipper on the side of my dress, finally getting the tiny little thing undone. I hear a ripping sound when I try to shove the dress down over my hips. Oh well, fuck it.

Colin’s jaw drops open then snaps shut. I laugh at his reaction even as I’m impatient to get him on top of me, inside me. His eyes laser in on my black strapless bra as he licks his lips. His beard is going to feel amazing brushing against my breasts.

I tug on his beard. “Eyes up here, Pipes.”

He blinks slowly. “But your tits are down here.”

“You make an excellent point.” I reach around and unclasp my bra, letting it drop to the bed in one swift motion.

“Joanie, you gotta warn a guy,” he groans. He looks like he’s in pain.

“Oops.” I shrug and his eyes track the bounce of my boobs. His hands are still kneading the backs of my legs, and I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous, Joanie. So fucking perfect.” I’m not, but I appreciate that he thinks so. I want to say thank you but all thought leaves my brain when his mouth comes down on my cleavage. He inhales deeply, and then I feel the wet heat of his tongue and lips tracing over my curves.

It feels like I have red wine in my veins—his languid caresses and tastes making me sway into his hold. He finally takes mercy on me and gently lays me down on the bed, capturing a nipple between his lips and sucking hard.

I arch off the bed, growing slicker between my legs. “Colin,” I whisper. His lips on my skin have a direct line to my pussy. “Colin, please.” I don’t even know what I’m begging for. More of his mouth, his fingers. His cock inside of me. All of it.

My hands find the back of his head, gripping his hair tightly. He growls when I pull harder, so I keep pulling. “Why are you still wearing clothes? How is that fair?” I sound like a whiny little brat but I’m selfish. I want him naked and inside me right now.

He laughs into the skin under my left breast. “I think this is my new favorite spot.” He inhales deeply, holding it, then blows out a breath that tickles my skin. I squirm under him and tug on his hair.

“Lovely thought. Can you please fuck me now?”

He rests his chin on my stomach. “Very romantic coming from a romance writer.”

“Colin. Dear, dear Colin.” I try to sit up, but I’m caged in by his giant arms and body. So I pull him closer instead. “Take. Off. Your. Clothes.” I punctuate each word with a tug on his beard and a kiss. He laughs but something flashes in his eyes. A moment of hesitation.

But he does it. He stands up, quickly unbuttons a few buttons and drags his shirt over his head. I grunt in frustration at the undershirt he has on, although Colin in a tight white T-shirt is the stuff dreams are made of. The way it pulls across his chest and stomach, the way his biceps strain the sleeves. I couldn’t write this guy if I tried.

My head gets a little fuzzy and my pussy gets a lot wet when he pulls his undershirt off. I’ve always liked my guys on the larger side, and Colin is beyond any middle-of-the-night fantasy I could conjure up. Dark hair covers his pecs and belly, and I want to roll around in it like it’s a bearskin rug. I want to press my lips to his stomach and never move.

I spread my legs a little wider, telling him to keep going. “More, please.” His shoulders relax, and he drops his pants. The bulge in his boxers makes my mouth water.

“Colin...how are you real?” He ducks his head for a second, but when his eyes meet mine again there’s a fire there—determination. I spread my legs wider.

He grabs my ankles and drags me towards the foot of the bed. My squeal of delight fills the room. I love a man who can toss me around.

I get a swift, punishing kiss on the lips and then he quickly nips and licks his way down my body. “Oh, shit.” My breath stutters out of me.

“Don’t get all serious on me now, Shark. We’re going to have so. Much. Fun.” He nips and sucks at my skin, swirls his tongue in my belly button, and then flings my thighs over his shoulders like he’s putting on a scarf.

I’m wide open to him, my most vulnerable parts exposed and aching with need. But I trust Colin to take what I’m offering with the same care he looks at me with. His touch sends goosebumps racing across my skin, but it’s his solid, steady presence that bathes me in warmth. This moment, with just the two of us together in the dead of night, this moment is right.

It takes my breath away and he’s barely touched me.

On his knees he closes his eyes for a split second and inhales deeply. “Better than I dreamed.”

“You dreamed about what I...oh.” His head is between my legs before I can finish my thought. And...poof...it’s gone. As soon as his tongue touches my center my hands fly to his head where I grip his hair. I’m afraid of hurting him so I start to loosen my fingers. But he squeezes my hands where they rest on his head.

“That’s right, sweetheart, you guide this ride. Pull as much as you want.” Well okay then. I get great big handfuls of his hair and press him closer to me. He growls into me and then flattens his tongue against my clit. I drag in great gulps of air trying to stave off an orgasm that wants to happen too soon. My body writhes in his grip. His mouth consumes me, and it feels like flames caressing my skin.

I ride his face like he’s the last train out of town. I consider making his tongue a whole character in my next book. Colin licks and sucks my clit slowly, quickly, and everything in between. When I let out a deep moan, he keeps that pace, and I’m so close.

“Fingers, please,” I beg. I need to be filled with something. He pulls back just a little, and I sob with the cool air that rushes into the space between us and the loss of his tongue. But he’s quick to slide two meaty fingers into me and all is forgiven. “Oh, fuck.” A moan rips from my throat.

“Like this, Shark? You need filling, don’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll give this beautiful pussy everything it needs. Everything you need.”

He finds my g-spot within seconds, then his tongue is back on me. My clit is throbbing, and I’m seconds away from the edge. And when his lips suck my clit hard, I’m done. With sparks and confetti and static, my release hits me like a wrecking ball and I scream his name. My heels bounce against Colin’s back because I’ve lost control of my legs.

He doesn’t stop and my body stays locked in this marathon of an orgasm. I can’t tell if it’s another one or the same one that’s hanging on for dear life. Either way, I’m along for the ride.

When I finally come down, I realize I’m still gripping his hair when he taps the back of my hand. “Sorry,” I mumble as I release him. His head pops up between my thighs, and I can’t help it. I laugh when he grins at me. His beard is coated in me, and his hair looks like it met the wrong comb. He’s a mess, and he’s stunning.

I let out a contented sigh as Colin plants a series of kisses along my thighs and stomach. I can’t stop touching his hair...gently this time. But then I stop.

“Hang on, are you wiping your face on my skin? There are towels in the bathroom you heathen.”

He shakes his head and keeps kissing everything below my belly button. “I like this better.” We’re going to need the longest, hottest shower.

“Come here.” All the post-orgasmic hormones crashing through my body require snuggles. And there’s nobody more snuggle-worthy than Colin Breton.

I almost swallow my tongue when he stands up and shucks his boxers. My dude is...proportional. Oh, hell yes. I want to give myself a high five. Good job, me.

He grabs me and hauls me up the bed, so my head is on a pillow. And then he kisses me. I’m surrounded by the taste and scent of my own release, and it ratchets up my need beyond anything I’ve ever felt. He’s the only man to ever drive me wild and make me feel safe at the same time.

His cock presses against my thigh, thick and heavy. I’m desperate for him to be inside of me. “Pipes, I need you to fuck me good and hard.” I say it like we’re planning a heist and he’s the guy who has to crack a safe. “Are we clear?”

He hums into my neck, and I hear a muffled, “Whatever you need.” I nod towards the nightstand, and he pulls out a handful of condoms, tossing them on the bed next to my head.

I want him any way...every way I can have him. My legs and hips twitch with how needy I am. I need filling. I need Colin.

One last kiss before he tears open a condom and rolls it on. He moves over me, and I widen my legs, inviting him to ruin me. Because I know that’s what Colin is...he’s the man who will ruin all future men for me.

He notches the thick head of his cock against me, giving me a searching look. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I nod.

He slides in so slowly, so deliberately that the gasp that escapes me turns into a long moan.

“Oh god, so full.” I’m stretched around him, on the edge of pleasure and pain. Every hair on my body rises when Colin hits a spot that makes my eyes roll into the back of my head.

“Fuck, the way you grip me...I was made for this pussy.” His mouth against my throat sends shockwaves down my body. I raise my legs to cradle his flanks, and I’m almost folded in half. He puts his hand on the back of my thigh to hold it in place while he glides in and out of me.

Colin treats my body like a beloved musical instrument. He learns every string, every note. He knows which move will have me screaming his name. Where to touch me to make me lose my senses.

My hands are everywhere I can reach. In his hair, scratching down his back, holding his cheeks so I can simply look at his beautiful face and get lost in his eyes.

He looks at me like he can’t believe I’m here, beneath him, moving with every thrust, trying to hold him closer. Colin doesn’t know it yet, but I’m never letting him go.

COLIN

I’m not a spiritual person, but moving inside Joanie, being connected to her must be what heaven feels like. I never want to let her go, and I don’t think I ever will. I try to keep my movements slow, purposeful, but the sparks shooting down to the base of my spine tell a different story.

Just as my thrusts speed up and start to become erratic, just as I’m at the cusp of losing my grip, Joanie hooks her foot around my leg and pushes on my shoulder, flipping us over.

I let out a surprised grunt at our sudden change in position but I’m not complaining. This is the best view I’ve ever had. Joanie riding me, her hands on my chest making her arms squeeze her breasts together. Total fucking perfection.

“I’m going to fuck your tits later. Look at that pretty valley made just for my cock.”

“Yes, just for you.” I don’t think she even knows what she’s saying. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and her eyes are half closed. Her mouth hangs open, begging me to reach up with my thumb and get a feel of the wet heat there.

“Suck,” I tell her. Her eyes flare and she gives me a lick and a nip before sucking my thumb into her mouth. Waves of pleasure rush down my body at the tug of her lips around my thumb. I pull it out and rub her clit with it as I bring my hips off the bed, thrusting into her heat with everything I have. “Need you to come, sweetheart. Need you...”

Joanie screams my name and throws her head back, her release making her body curl forward. Her pussy grips me so hard that I lose my battle to stave off my own release.

“Beautiful. So beautiful when you come,” I babble as I grip her hips tightly, thrust so deep into her that I lift us off the bed over and over, and ride my release until I see stars.

With a sob that sounds like a disbelieving laugh she slumps on top of me. “Jesus Christ on a fucking bicycle what the hell did you just do to me?” Her breath puffs across my chest, tickling the hair.

“The same thing you did to me, I think. Completely ruined me.” My head is spinning with the reality of what just happened. What I want to keep happening every day and every night for the rest of my natural born life.

I can see the bright dividing line in my life. Before I took Joanie to bed, and after. How different the latter will look from the former.

Joanie slowly braces her hands on my chest and pushes herself back up to sitting. I’m still inside her, and I know I need to deal with the condom. But time is frozen, and I don’t want to be the one to restart it.

Her cheeks are flushed and her wavy brown hair curls around her head and face. I can see places on her skin where my beard scraped, and my cock twitches. Her eyes go wide.

“Already? You gotta feed a girl before round two.”

“How do you feel about cereal?” Then I realize we’re at her place. “Do you have cereal?”

She giggles as she climbs off me, and I groan at our sudden disconnection. My dick wants to be inside her again. And again. Probably until it falls off from overuse.

I get up to deal with the condom and come back to find Joanie slipping an oversized T-shirt over her head. “Boo, hiss. Do not approve.” Even if she looks adorable, I’d rather she stay naked.

“How dare you disparage my Buffy T-shirt.”

“Apologies.” I slip my boxers on, pick Joanie up so she has to wrap her legs around my waist, complete with an adorable squeak, and carry her to the kitchen. “I like having access to your perfect tits at all times.”

A blush races up her neck to her cheeks, and I plant a kiss on her before setting her down. I find bowls and she grabs some Cinnamon Toast Crunch and milk. We sit at the dining table like proper, civilized people, even though I know for a fact she’s not wearing underwear.

“So...” Joanie addresses it to her spoon.

“Spit it out, Shark.”

She finally looks at me, and her lips twitch with a suppressed smile. “I don’t want to be the ‘what does this mean’ person but what does this mean?” A lifetime of fucking and loving, and fucking and buying a house together, and more fucking if I play my cards right.

But I don’t want to scare her. I have to figure out a way to tell her all the things I need to tell her. “What do you want it to mean?”

She raps me on the back of the hand with her spoon. “Nope. I asked first, so no dodging the question.”

“Come sit on my lap, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“You dirty old man.” She laughs but stays where she is. I scowl, so she presses her finger between my eyes. “Stop that...your face is going to freeze that way. I’m staying over here where it’s safe from your persuasive hands and dick.”

I bark out a laugh. “Fine. You want to know what I want this to mean?” I lean closer to her and hold her gaze. “I really hope you’re into older men, because I’m not planning on going anywhere unless you tell me to fuck off.”

She lets out a fake sigh that disappears into a grin. “So romantic.” She takes a bite of cereal and a little bit of milk dribbles onto her chin. Before she can wipe it away, I jump out of my chair, wrap my arms around her, and lick her chin. She squeals and giggles, so I keep rubbing my beard all over her face.

When I’m done, she gasps for air, and I can’t stop laughing. I haven’t felt this...lightness...with anybody before. I’m forty-three years old—I’ve had my share of relationships. But this is easy. Being with Joanie is easy.

The smile that splits my face feels permanent. I set her back down, but there’s a gleam in Joanie’s eye when she reaches for the hem of her T-shirt and pulls it over her head. Then she turns and jogs back to her bedroom.

“Come on, Pipes. I’m ready for round two and there’s a whole stack of condoms with your name on them,” she calls over her shoulder. I nearly trip on my boxers trying to keep up with her.

JOANIE

This might be the best Sunday in the history of Sundays. I wake up with a giant bear of a man wrapped around me. Colin’s head is practically shoved in my armpit, and my arm’s flung over him like I have him in a headlock. His arm is wrapped around my hip and my foot is hooked around his calf. We’re a knot I don’t want to untangle.

I’m exhausted, deliciously sore, and could sleep another thirty hours. But I could also mount Colin and ride him into the sunset. Difficult decision, but the thick length of him pressing against me helps make up my mind. I feel his deep, even breaths against my skin and I don’t want to wake him before he’s ready, even if my pussy might protest.

Instead I quietly reach for the notebook I keep on my bedside table, open it, and start writing. Writing while I’m propped on one elbow is awkward, but I have a ton of thoughts I want to get out before they disappear from my brain. I noodle around with the plot of a new series, where the first book would feature a big teddy bear of a man who has brains and humor. I’d call it something like The Cinnamon Roll Who Eats Pussy Like a Champ. My editor might not approve, but I’ll keep it as a working title.

I jot down details of the main character, and unsurprisingly the hero has long black hair and a salt and pepper beard. As I get to the middle of my loose outline, a hand skims up my belly and settles on my boob. A deep hum rumbles through Colin, making me smile.

I close the notebook and roll over. His hair is in his face, and he’s got one eye cracked open. Deliciously rumpled.

“Morning.” I scoot down the bed so we’re face to face. “Sleep okay?”

He turns over onto his back and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Feels like I’m still asleep because there’s no way waking up in your bed is not a dream.” He opens his eyes again and glances over at me like he’s checking to see if I’m still here.

I grin at him like a kook.

“Wow, not a dream.” He folds his hands behind his head and lets out a contented sigh.

“I can prove it to you.” I run my hand through the hair on his chest, swirling my fingers around his nipple. I see his cock jump under the thin sheet, and my smile cracks wider.

“Go on then.” He closes his eyes and tips his head further back into the pillow with faux nonchalance, but I can see his chest move with shallow breaths. He knows he’s about to get the blow job of his life.

“Challenge accepted.”

I don’t worry about dragon breath when I kiss him. One of my hands is in his beard and the other strokes the hair back from his forehead. His eyes fly open in surprise—he wasn’t expecting me to start at his lips.

This perfect Sunday morning calls for light edging, so I very slowly make my way down his body. My hands and mouth exploring every place I didn’t get a chance to spend time on last night.

It turns out that Colin’s nipples are extremely sensitive, and my tongue has a grand ol’ time revving him up. His hands stay behind his head, but his eyes have rolled into the back of his skull.

“Jesus, Joanie. What are you doing to me?”

“Same thing you did to me...ruining you for all future partners.”

I tease my way down his chest and across his belly where I nuzzle and nip him. His hand comes to my hair, slowly combing his fingers through it while I worship every inch of him.

My plan to draw this out is close to backfiring because I’m so turned on I can’t go slowly anymore. I don’t think he’ll mind.

When I wrap my lips around him, he lets out a long, deep groan and his hand tightens in my hair. There’s no way I can take him all in, but that’s what hands are for.

His cock jerks in my grasp when I lick him from root to tip and back down. I glance up at him and his eyes are locked on where I’m touching him, his lips parted with his heavy breathing. “Best thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers.

I settle myself over his legs and take his crown to the back of my throat. My hand squeezes him tightly as I work up and down his cock. Colin’s hand shakes where he grips my hair. I reach up to play with his nipples and he almost comes off the bed. The sound of his growl bounces off the walls.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Just like that. So good.” His voice is thick, and I try to smile at the effect I have on him. I’ve never felt so powerful on a Sunday morning.

His breathing grows faster and shallower, and I know he’s close. I keep him at the back of my throat as I start to play with his tight balls. That earns me another grunt. Then I stroke that little secret spot behind his balls, hum around him, and he tips over the edge.

I swallow down his orgasm as his body locks. His jaw clamped tight around a shout.

When I finally release him, we’re both breathing hard. I drape myself across his body and fall asleep to the feel of his hand slowly caressing my hair and the sound of him humming.

COLIN

It’s difficult to perform basic functions when all your muscles have turned to soup. But that’s what Joanie has done to me, and my plans to run errands and do laundry today will have to wait until she wakes up and I can feel my toes again.

Holy shit, this woman has rocked my world over and over, but last night and this morning bring my feelings for her into sharp focus. Not that they were ever in doubt, but now I know for certain that this sparking chemistry between us is more than flirting, more than imagination and cold showers.

I laugh to myself, marveling at this turn of events, my belly bouncing and jostling Joanie a little. She lets out a little snore that makes me smile wider. I’ve never been a “meant for each other” kind of guy. The relationships I’ve fallen in and out of never felt like this. But Joanie makes me want to dive head first.

While she sleeps on me, I ponder what a committed us could look like, pushing the thoughts of my past career away. What matters is the here and now, and our future.

CHAPTER 10

BIG MAN, SMALL SPACE

JOANIE

Imake a note to research whether three weeks of frequent, vigorous sex can alter the way a person walks. My lower joints might never be the same. Three weeks of being a newer, more limber me. That man has done things to my body I didn’t think it was capable of. I might need to start doing yoga. Is this what it’s like to be a cowgirl? I need to be nicer to my heroines, maybe add joint care and massages to every future book.

Three weeks of us spending every night together, mostly at his house so I can get my Gonzo fix. She’s finally started sitting on my lap. The goal is to get her up to my shoulder eventually, and I’m not above bribing her with treats.

Three weeks of making dinner together, pretending like we’re going to watch television, then ending up in bed...or the floor, or the kitchen counter. One time we didn’t make it past the front door. And I should send a get-well-soon note to his home office chair, because two of us in that old thing was too much. Sorry we broke your back, but he broke mine too.

Colin likes to toss me around and our sex life is...expansive. And we like to use all the available space around us. The whole kitchen counter, the whole couch, the whole king-sized bed. The whole living room floor.

Which makes it surprising when I’m walking past one of the small phone booths at The Base on a random Tuesday afternoon, and Colin quickly grabs my hand and drags me inside. We’ve established that Colin is a Big Guy. And the phone booths here are tiny. Smaller than the sound booth Meredith and Stuart have sex in upstairs. Yeah, that’s right, I know all that happens in this office.

“You need to stay very, very quiet or this is not going to work.” It’s the first thing he says to me when he closes and locks the door. There’s a harsh fluorescent light overhead, a tiny ledge attached to the wall where people can take notes while on the phone, and a generic conference room chair.

I’m a little breathless from the sudden change of scenery. “What’s happening right now?” I blink up at him. He has me pressed up against the wall, the arm of the chair pressing into my thigh and the small ledge against my hip.

He brushes his hand across my cheek and grasps the back of my neck. My body lights up with goosebumps. “I missed you, that’s all.” He kisses me like he didn’t just see me in the kitchen a few minutes ago.

“Pipes, we sit across from each other.”

“Yeah, but I can’t reach you from where I sit, and I need to touch you. Now.”

His hands reach for the snap of my jeans, and he drags them just below my ass. I try to do the same with his, but he grabs my wrist and puts it on his shoulder. “Not enough room in here for us to both get off. Let me do this.”

He gives me a hard and fast kiss, then his thick, rough fingers dive down the front of my panties and find my already soaked slit.

“There’s my Joanie,” he breathes out as he strokes up and down, spreading my arousal. A deep moan makes it past my lips. He presses harder against the wall and puts his hand over my mouth. I almost lose my mind.

“Shh. This is just for us.” His eyes bore into mine, looking for agreement. I nod because I don’t want him to stop, but he better keep his hand over my mouth because there’s no way I can keep completely silent.

He shoves my jeans a little further down and enters me with two thick fingers. I moan into his palm and fist my hands in his shirt. The hard wall at my back bites into my shoulder blades, but it keeps me present. Keeps me focused on the way his thumb circles my clit. I buck against him, chasing my release, but he’s taking his sweet time.

“I want your cock,” I mumble against his palm. I love his fingers, but I need the only thing that can fill me so perfectly. He shakes his head but grinds his hardness against my hip. Colin needs this just as much as I do. “Please,” I beg.

His fingers stop their in-and-out movement, like he needs a moment to figure something out. So I decide to move the agenda along. I grab his wrist and drag his fingers out of me and bring them to my mouth. I taste myself on him as I lick his fingers clean.

“Fuck me, Joanie,” he whispers.

“Yes, exactly.” I turn around and press my front to the wall and wiggle my ass at him. The room is so small that it’s become close and hot.

“God, I love...” He stops himself from saying more, but I hear it in the soft whisper. When he’s ready, I’ll be waiting.

I close my eyes and push my hips further back. “Me too, Pipes. Me too.” I hear him unzip his jeans and tear open the foil wrapper.

“Remember, keep quiet,” he says in my ear as he enters me in one fast, deep thrust. It takes every bit of restraint not to scream with how perfectly he fills me. I nod, but I don’t know if I can survive the feel of his thick cock moving in and out of me without letting out a sound. As it is, little gasps escape me every time he bottoms out.

His hand finds my mouth again, and I clamp my teeth into the flesh of his palm. He hisses and pumps faster. Colin’s other hand finds my clit and he launches me into the hottest, fastest orgasm I’ve ever experienced. It stampedes through me and leaves me flattened and breathless.

Colin follows me into the abyss, the sound of him breathing heavily through his nose filling the small room. We stay locked together as we find our way back to reality.

There’s no way someone didn’t hear us, and I don’t think I care. The room smells like sex, my face is sweaty, and I know my hair didn’t survive the rough dicking Colin just gave me. I’m still breathing hard when he slips from my body, and I shiver with the loss of him.

He’s tying off the condom and looking for a place to toss it when I turn around. My pants are still around my knees, but I’m not ready to make myself presentable. He gives me a little smirk when he wraps the condom in a tissue and shoves it in his pocket, tucks himself back in his boxers, and zips his pants.

I wonder if I look as freshly fucked as he does. His face is red and there’s a small bit of blood on his lip, probably from where he bit it to keep quiet. His eyes twinkle with amusement.

“That escalated quickly,” he says with a wry grin.

“Listen, sir. You can’t pull me into a tiny room and not expect me to go directly to fucking. I appreciate that you wanted to get me off, but there was no reason both of us couldn’t have fun.”

“Believe me, I was having plenty of fun with my fingers up your cunt, Joanie. But I’m not complaining.” He grabs me for a quick kiss, and I melt into him.

“On a scale of one to porn star, how ravaged do I look?”

He bites back a laugh. “Ravaged? Really?” He runs his hands through my hair in a futile attempt to smooth it down. He holds up the rubber band he must’ve found in the mess and takes a moment to smooth my hair back into its usual bun.

My heart squeezes with every brush of his fingers, and I forget that we’re in a tiny room with our coworkers just on the other side of the door. I forget that it’s the middle of the day, and I have a few thousand more words to write for the day. I forget that I haven’t always loved this man. That we were strangers and then mere acquaintances, then friends. Because it feels like Colin’s always been there, and that he’ll keep being there, lodged in my heart.

COLIN

Joanie leaves the room first, but not before I give her another kiss. I don’t want to scare her, but she looks like she’s just been epically fucked. I smile to myself, a little too proud. I wait a moment before following her out and laugh at how ridiculous this is, like nobody’s going to notice two breathless people stumbling out of a tiny room that’s only supposed to be used for quiet phone calls.

I tug at my collar, but I’m probably a lost cause. I wish I had one of Joanie’s hair ties because I know my hair is a sweaty mess.

After washing up in the bathroom and making a weak attempt to look like nothing’s happened, I grab my mug. Joanie’s back at her laptop and the prettiest blush rushes up her cheeks when I walk by her. She bites her lip on a smile and a bubble of giddiness rises in my chest.

My phone buzzes with a text.

Shark: It probably smells like S-E-X in there.

She glances up and gives me a what are we going to do about it look. I wink at her and grab a piece of blank paper off the printer, a Sharpie, and some tape. I make a quick “Out of order” sign and tape it to the booth’s door.

Joanie shakes her head at me from across the office, and I can feel Carla’s raised eyebrow from here. I don’t care—I just got to fuck my girlfriend in the middle of the day and nothing’s going to dent this smile.

In the kitchen, Mars sidles up next to me. He bobbles his empty mug before smartly setting it on the counter. “Y’all are not as subtle as you think,” he says under his breath. I smirk at him. “I mean, I don’t think anybody heard anything, but you’re not going to fool a room full of smart people who saw you both go into that booth.”

I slap him on the shoulder, and he stumbles a little. “Thanks for the feedback. I’ll take it under advisement. And if you ever get off your ass and ask out Ivy, maybe you can find a better place when the moment strikes.”

Mars chokes on his own spit in a rush to deny what is obvious to the rest of us. He’s so easy to fuck with.

I refill my coffee and whistle as I make my way back to my desk. Best workday ever.

CHAPTER 11

DO THE THING

JOANIE

“Ican’t wait to see you up there. You’re going to slay,” Colin whispers in my ear. “No matter what, I’ve got your back.”

I huff out a laugh. “Pretty words from a guy who just got up on stage and nailed Tom Jones.” Colin’s eyebrows wing up. “Nailed a song by Tom Jones,” I correct.

“Shark, it’s just swagger. If you decide to sing, you get your cute butt up there and swagger your way through it. Who cares what you sound like? Everybody here loves you.”

I’ve been working my way up to the idea of singing one song on the karaoke stage, but my nerve is quickly slipping away. Especially if I have to follow my boyfriend, Mr. Vocal Chords of Velvet.

But Colin’s warm arm around my shoulders, his nose nuzzling at my ear and neck calm me a little. The next person to get up stumbles through an Amy Winehouse song but smiles the whole time. The crowd loves the performance. You can do this. Remember, swagger.

“Joanie Ferrell,” the emcee says into the mic. I swallow down a nervous laugh and stand up.

“That’s my Shark,” Colin says, squeezing my hand before I make my way to the stage. I didn’t tell anybody what song I picked or why I picked it.

As soon as I get up there, I try to wrestle my nerves into a manageable thing, but I realize I made a mistake with my song choice when I remember it has no accompanying music.

I picked Janis Joplin’s “Mercedes Benz” because it’s under two minutes and I foolishly thought her gravelly, bluesy style would be kind to novice singers. But this particular song is only lyrics with some clapping to keep the beat. Fuck, what do I know about keeping the beat? What do I know about singing? Sweat breaks out in uncomfortable places.

The lyrics start scrolling on the screen and there’s a couple of woohoos from the crowd. My choice is to either start singing or run off the stage and never come back to Foggy’s again. And since I love this place, I better start singing.

Within a few words I can hear my mom’s voice in my head. Too much, Joanie. You’re wasting these people’s time. You’re embarrassing yourself.

I fight a full-body cringe and look up to see Colin mouthing the words. He winks at me and gives me a thumbs up. Then I notice other people are singing along, lifting me up as I warble my way through this blessedly short song.

The voice in my head quiets, but not before I mentally tell my mom to go away. Who knows if that voice will ever come back, but as I sing the last word of the song with a fearsome voice crack, I know I’ll be able to shut it down before it takes over. Next time it starts to whisper in my ear maybe I’ll hum “Mercedes Benz,” or I’ll picture Colin’s face lit up with pride.

The song ends and the crowd claps and whoops like they’ve done for every other singer, good or bad. I jump off the stage on wobbly legs and Colin’s there, scooping me up and squeezing me tight.

“I’m so fucking proud of you. You did it,” he says into my ear.

“I really did,” I shout too loudly, but I don’t care. I’m me—loud, sometimes cringy, almost always inappropriate, and if people have a problem with it, that’s on them.

My body hums with adrenaline, a shaky giddiness making it hard to focus on anything but Colin’s arms around me and the beating of my heart. “We need to get out of here,” I say. I know exactly how I want to direct this energy.

He pulls back and looks at my face, studying me for a second. A quick nod, a giant grin, and I’m being carried out of Foggy’s, across the street to The Base’s parking lot, where he sets me down long enough to unlock his car.

If I’d known that I got to ride Colin’s cock in the backseat of his car for singing karaoke, I would’ve done it way sooner.

CHAPTER 12

SO THAT'S WHERE I KNOW YOU FROM

JOANIE - WEEKS LATER

“I’ll be reading this one-handed,” the woman standing in front of me says as I hand her signed book back to her.

“Happy reading.” Really, it’s the only way to respond when one of your fans tells you they masturbate while reading a book you wrote.

Every few months, Wavecrest’s local bookstore, Coastline Books, invites me to do a reading and signing. The owner, Rocky, is a good friend and has been a huge supporter of my writing. She and her employees do a beautiful window display every time I put out a new book.

I’m set up at a table near the Romance section, which sits between Memoirs and Science Fiction. A line of readers snakes down the rows and around the perimeter of the store. Seeing so many people holding copies of my books is hugely gratifying.

Except for the one guy who’s been passive aggressively negging me and the people waiting in line. The guy is holding a thick book, leaning against one of the Literary Fiction shelves. He looks like his favorite phrase is “Well, actually...” and that it’s time for his mom to cut his hair again.

He pretends like he’s skimming his book, but I catch the scoffs or a muttered oh, please whenever someone steps up to my table and says something like, “I loved your book.”

Sir Judgy the Tiresome hasn’t said anything overtly offensive, but the unearned over-confidence of a mediocre dude who’s recently obtained a philosophy degree wafts off him.

It’s not the first time some guy with opinions on romance has made his feelings known at one of my book signings. These wet blankets express their displeasure in a range of ways. From a disapproving shake of their head when they walk by, to loudly mocking me or the genre.

Hell, I’ve heard it from my own parents. They probably weren’t surprised I became a romance writer, but they were definitely disappointed. It’s a direct pipeline from a too loud, too dramatic child to a writer of unseemly stories about people banging their way to love.

I gave up trying to please my parents years ago when I realized they were never going to understand me, or make the effort to. Even if I saw their disapproving faces every time I did something mildly embarrassing.

When I get flack from these people at signings, usually the store manager will quietly ask them to move along if they’re disruptive, and I can see Rocky making her way over here to do just that. She’s got the mulish, stomptastic thing going on that her boyfriend must love.

A few people in line look like they’re ready to commit murder on my behalf and protect the honor of the romance genre, and I love them for it. I choose to act like I’m ignoring him, even if he’s as annoying as a mosquito.

From the front of the store, I hear a deep, rumbly, “Excuse me, pardon me.” Over the bookshelves I see the top of Colin’s head as he weaves past people in line. “Just delivering some coffee. Nobody wants an under-caffeinated romance writer signing their books.” The people in line eat it up. Giggles erupt around him.

Colin steps up to the side of my table, sets down the coffee, and gives me a little kiss on the forehead. A collective sigh comes from the first dozen people in line. That’s right, folks, my boyfriend does forehead kisses, and that detail is definitely going in my next book.

Philosophy Bro apparently doesn’t know how to read the room, because he lets out his biggest scoff yet. Other patrons look at him like he’s got a death wish.

Colin’s still facing me, but I can tell he heard the guy from the way his face hardens. There’s probably a ticking muscle hidden under that lush beard. He gives me a wink before turning around and approaching the guy like they’re about to have a friendly discussion. I wish I had some popcorn handy.

“What’s up, buddy?” Colin’s question is seemingly innocuous, but the set of his shoulders tells me something juicy is about to happen. The guy doesn’t seem to know what his arms want to do, but he gives Colin a chin-nod.

“I heard this bookstore was legit, but this is disappointing. I mean, no offense to your girl or whatever.” He waves his hand around as if to say these females and their smut have tarnished all of literature. It’s obvious he thinks because Colin is another dude that he’s found someone to listen to his regressive bullshit.

And I’ve heard it before, almost daily. When you’re a writer of romance, no matter the sub-genre, whether it’s backed by a big publishing house or published independently, we’ve all heard it. People with too much time on their hands and not enough sense in their heads love to besmirch romance. But my readers know what’s what.

Colin tips his head to study the guy. He doesn’t step closer or get in his face, doesn’t use his size to intimidate. But he doesn’t need to. Philosophy Bro shrinks under Colin’s scrutiny.

“First of all, don’t call grown women you don’t know girls.” That earns a surprised laugh from me. “Second, why do you care what other people read?” Bro swallows, finally realizing Colin isn’t going to play nice. But his unearned confidence is apparently hard to dim.

“It’s so predictable—it reduces literature to a formula.” He clutches his book closer to his chest.

“Ever read a romance?” Colin asks. The guy shakes his head and blinks. Predictable. Colin lets the guy stew in his discomfort for a bit. “Tell me, you ever read a mystery that didn’t have the culprit revealed at the end? Ever read a sci-fi novel that didn’t involve spaceships or some dystopian world?”

“Yeah, but those...” He fumbles for a way to finish the thought, so Colin helps.

“Tend to be read by men more than romance does?” Colin smiles at him like the guy is a toddler.

Bro’s mouth opens like he’s got a comeback, but Colin nods at the book he’s holding. “If you enjoy navel-gazing doorstops where the man blames all his struggles on his wife or his mother while pondering why nobody likes him, romance definitely isn’t for you. Best to leave it to people who enjoy it and don’t use their reading choices as a way to virtue signal that they’re unimaginative drips.”

Colin gives him another smile and turns back to my table, looking like he’s already forgotten the guy he’s just verbally walloped.

A smattering of claps and snaps, a damn straight and a what he said comes from the people gathered around my table.

Flames. Ash. Goodbye to my panties—oh, how I’m glad they were only six dollars at Target. Because Colin has incinerated them. I didn’t think witnessing him take down a troll in the real world would be such a turn-on.

The tool has the sense to put down his book and scurry out the door before there’s any more verbal murder.

Colin seems unaware that everybody is gaping at him. He leans down and gives me another forehead kiss and tugs on a lock of my hair. “I have that meeting with Zane in a few. See you later?” I nod because words aren’t possible at the moment. He gives me the cutest little wave and heads out the door.

The people in line have melted into individual puddles. Rocky’s going to need a bigger steam cleaner for this carpet.

One woman leans over to her friend and says, “Hey, wasn’t that...?”

“Yeah, I think you’re right.” The woman pulls her book away from her chest to look at the cover, then at the shop’s door where Colin just exited.

After a big collective sigh, we get back to the task of signing books and meeting readers. Everyone’s enthusiasm reminds me that it’s one of my favorite things to do as an author, even when there’s the occasional small-minded naysayer.

About ten minutes later, a woman steps up to my table and lays down the first edition of my first book. “The Grumpy Billionaire and the Shy Nanny” has gone through three cover updates, so it’s been years since I’ve seen this version.

“It’s so cool that you’re dating your cover model—it’s like a real-life romance novel.”

“What?” I blink up at her.

She taps the cover. “Your cover model. I’d recognize those cheekbones anywhere. I’ve stared at this cover enough.” She laughs like we’re all in on the joke.

And there he is. Colin. Staring up at me from the cover of my own book that I wrote almost a decade ago. Colin, but clean-shaven, with short black hair and no hint of silver, sporting an eight-pack revealed by a strategically open shirt and suit jacket. No chest hair in sight. And the reader is right...cheekbones for days. The blood drains from my face and sound goes cottony for a second.

My vision narrows down to a book-shaped tunnel. All I see is Colin. On the cover. Of my book. Holy. Shit. Fuck, I knew he looked familiar when I first met him. But I thought maybe we had friends in common or went to the same dentist. Now that we’re together, the Colin I know intimately replaced the one with the question mark hanging over him all those months ago.

He’s just...Colin. My Colin. Who kept a secret from me. But why?

Never in a million years would I think he was a cover model. This cover model in particular. I saw Colin’s face and abs on hundreds of books long before I became an author, and my brain can’t reconcile that he’s the same person. My person.

I remember coming across him on a stock photo site and saying, “That guy. He’s the one.” For years he was the go-to cover model for billionaire or mafia romances—there were hundreds, if not thousands, of photos of him on the stock sites, although I never knew his name. He might have been the reason I started writing grumpy billionaires who fall for their sassy assistants or the only nanny that can connect with their precious child.

A throat clears and I blink up at the woman who unknowingly knocked my world on its side. I quickly sign her book, snap a photo of the cover without explaining why and welcome the next reader.

But for the rest of the afternoon my brain buzzes. Am I angry? Do I have a right to be? Why has he been so sneaky about it? Is it sneakiness or embarrassment? Is he ashamed? After that speech he gave about romance it doesn’t make sense that he’d be down on his cover model status.

And make no mistake, Colin is still cover model material, just not that polished, suit-wearing version.

Now he’s all layers of softness and muscle wrapped in flannel and long hair. Is he hiding behind his beard?

The rest of the signing passes in a blur.

Back at home, I stare at the photo I took of the cover, trying to remember if I have a copy of this edition. I find him on the bottom shelf of the bookcase I call the Library of Posterity, where I keep all the editions of every book I’ve published. There he is, Colin scowling at the camera, smoldering all over the place. I start to text him but decide I need to cool down before I ask him to explain.

There’s been a pit in my stomach and a tightness in my chest since the discovery, and I don’t know how to get rid of it. Probably talking to him like a grownup, Joanie.

My mother’s voice in my head is the absolute fucking last thing I want right now, and I tell her to kindly go to hell. She hadn’t popped up in my psyche since the first time I sang at karaoke night weeks ago.

I’ll add that to the list of things I want to be mad at Colin about.

There has to be a story behind why he never told me, and I’ll get it out of him as soon as I see him. Because there’s no way my curious brain will let this go, and I need to figure out what keeping a secret like this means for us.

I need tonight to chew on all of this, so I tap out a message.

Me: I need to get some writing done, so I’ll see you tomorrow morning.

And because I’m three raccoons in a trench coat and a little bit petty, I decide to fuck with him.

Me: Found out something pretty interesting after you left the bookstore.

I try to set aside the hurt and confusion that’s been creeping over me since I saw that cover. But I can feel it taking over. I turn my phone off and pour myself some wine. It’s going to be a long night of thinking.

CHAPTER 13

CAN'T FIX THIS WITH DUCT TAPE

COLIN

I’m fucked. So, so, so fucked. Joanie is brilliantly smart—she’d only need a crumb of a hint to figure out who I was. I couldn’t sleep last night after getting her texts, my stomach in knots and my thoughts churning with what happens if Joanie figured it out.

I tried texting and calling, but I think she turned off her phone. Or she blocked me. No...she wouldn’t. I should’ve gone over there, but I wanted to give her some space.

Her last text could’ve been about something else because sometimes she likes to play the role of shit-stirrer. But my gut is loudly telling me that she knows and that’s why I didn’t have her in my bed last night. That I’m monumentally screwed because I waited too long to tell her and now she doesn’t want to have anything to do with me. My thoughts are spiraling. Gonzo’s stuck to me like Velcro, probably sensing my panic.

This is what I get for trying to protect myself instead of being one hundred percent authentic with the woman I love. Because there’s zero doubt I love Joanie. Probably always have, definitely always will.

And if I’m right about her finding out about my modeling days, I have to do everything in my power to get her to forgive me for not telling her when we started this relationship.

Deep down I knew there was a chance someone would recognize me, but I’ve gotten complacent since Joanie and I got together. The temptation for her and others to know me, know my history, has grown. Coming clean could be the last brick in my wall to crumble.

And the farther from my days as that guy I get, the less important it feels to keep my secrets. But since I met Joanie and realized our connection there’s been a voice in the back of my head wondering if she’d treat me differently if she knew.

She might know about the modeling, but there’s more about that period of my life that colors every memory I have of it.

I don’t advertise my past, but usually if someone recognizes me, I can shrug it off. It might bring my day down a little, but I can bounce back. But if Joanie starts to look at me differently, I don’t know if I can survive it. Building a connection with her, despite my fear of her finding out, is the best thing I’ve ever done.

And now she probably knows the surface truth about a side of me I left long ago, even before she became a romance writer. I stopped modeling more than a decade and a half ago, but I was so prolific that those pictures stayed around on the stock photo sites way longer than I expected.

Last night, I spent a good chunk of time staring at the pictures Joanie and I took at the anniversary party. I’ve been pulling them out of my wallet at least once a day to look at them, to the point where they’ve become a talisman of sorts. Those pictures bring me back in time, to the moment where everything changed. The moment her lips touched mine. The moment that Joanie’s light began filling up all of my dark spaces.

But that light hasn’t hit every corner yet, and that’s my fault. It doesn’t stop me from taking the pictures out of my wallet one more time before stepping out of my car this morning. I quickly run my thumb over her face, sending a silent prayer out into the universe. Please don’t let this be the end.

Work will help clear my head. Solving complex software problems has always laser focused my brain when I have other shit going on.

I couldn’t sleep last night, so I arrive much earlier than usual. I’ll be surprised if there’s anyone here but Stuart.

When I walk through the door, I stop in my tracks when I see Joanie sitting in my usual spot. She’s spinning in my chair, her messy bun wobbling at the back of her head. I clear my throat to let her know I’m here, and she grabs the edge of the desk to stop her spin.

“Aha!” Her eyes light up and she points at me. “I knew I recognized you from somewhere.” Crap. I guess we’re doing this. Looking at her face, her eyes are sparkling, but I can’t tell if it’s from anger or mischief. I can see the shadow of hurt there, and it breaks something in me. I’m the biggest asshole.

“Joanie,” I start, but I don’t know how to get my thoughts in order. Where do I start? “I know you found out something about me yesterday, and I want the chance to ex—”

She cuts me off, like she’s got a rehearsed speech and doesn’t want me stepping on her lines.

“You, Colin Breton, are the billionaire.” She sounds like she’s a Belgian detective who’s just revealed the vicar’s killer.

A scared, surprised laugh escapes me. “The what now?” My brain is not catching up. It feels like Hurricane Joanie is gaining strength.

“The billionaire. Or the mafia kingpin. Sometimes the billionaire mafia kingpin.” I’d smile if I didn’t already know that she’s masking her hurt with humor. I’ll play along for now, but it feels like I’m about to step into a pit of quicksand.

I look down at my blue and green flannel, my worn jeans and the Chucks I wore to the anniversary party. Not a hint of billionaire anywhere.

She leaps up from my chair and marches towards me. I have at least a foot on her, but she backs me against the nearest wall. This is the first time her angry possum energy has been directed at me. It’d be adorable if I wasn’t on the receiving end.

But right now, with a joker’s grin on her face, I’m a little scared, until I feel her breasts press against my chest. When Joanie presses her body up against me—a body that I now know in every sense—scared blends with turned on and my cock is so confused. Now’s not the time, buddy.

“I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you, and it took one of my readers to point out who you are.”

“Who I was,” I say with a little too much force. Her eyes go wide. “Sorry, I’m not...I’m not that guy anymore, Joanie.” Her eyes finally go a little soft, but she pokes a finger into my shoulder. She can be very pointy when she wants to be. I’ve lost count how many times I’ve taken a sharp elbow to the gut in the middle of the night.

“Is that why you didn’t tell me? Does anybody else know?”

“Nobody from this part of my life, no. And I didn’t want things to be weird.” The weakest, shallowest excuse tumbles out of my mouth.

“Have you met me?” Her voice goes up a couple octaves and she flings her arms in the air. “I. Am. Weird. Weird is my middle name. I live for the weird. Gah, now my favorite word doesn’t sound like a word anymore.” She’s two seconds from stamping her foot.

Her mouth drops open like she’s just realized something. “I don’t understand how you, the man who encourages my weirdness, values my quirks, helps me feel more comfortable in my skin, can say that you didn’t want things to get weird. What a complete mindfuck.” Her disbelieving laugh cuts through me.

I want her to get angry at me. I want her to take me to task because this frenzied humor that’s pulsing off her is unsettling. It’s like she’s reining in what she really feels, and that scares me most of all.

I fucked up, and I deserve whatever wrath she wants to unleash. So why isn’t she unleashing on me?

She quickly runs a finger through my beard like she’s not aware she’s doing it. Like I’m her own personal fidget toy. Then she steps back and starts pacing in front of me.

“Mafia Martian,” she shouts. Her non-sequitur throws me, and I shake my head in confusion. “You were on the cover of Mafia Martian.” Right. Here we go.

“Yep.”

“The Billionaire’s Cousin’s Friend.” I can see her gathering a head of steam. She’s just getting started. I groan, but I know there’s no stopping her.

“Adopting a Puppy with the Mafia Boss...lord, I loved that one.” Honestly, I don’t think she needs any more encouragement or confirmation from me.

“The Bridezilla and the Billionaire, which was the best in that series. The Man With the Stern Face where you were your own twin...that one was a miss.”

“Joanie...” Every cover flashes through my mind. It’s like watching a slideshow of someone else’s life. I lean my head against the wall and close my eyes, but she keeps going.

“Three Mafia Billionaire Aliens and a Mermaid was groundbreaking. You looked good even with the green tint.” How hard would I have to knock my head against this wall to lose consciousness? Mortification rolls through me.

Joanie’s litany of my greatest hits stops, and I look down to see her staring up at me.

“Why’d you stop? You have the perfect face for romance covers.” Her hands are on her hips, and she looks like she’s bracing herself for something painful.

“Is that the question you want to ask me right now?” I’m trying to rip off this bandage and she’s making it hard.

Her chin wobbles a little and my heart cracks open. I reach for her, but she takes a small step back. I can feel the tectonic shift, the ground moving. My breathing becomes shallow. I might pass out. I’ve hurt her, all because I was too scared to open up to her.

“Why?” She swallows and sniffles. I’m drowning in cold fear and anger at myself. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” Her voice rises. “What’s the big deal about you being a model? I don’t understand.”

Both of our heads snap to the side when we hear the door leading to the parking lot open and close. We’re about to have an audience, and for now this needs to stay between me and Joanie. Until I can fully explain everything and apologize for being a coward.

In a low voice meant only for her ears, I say, “I had my reasons.” I at least have the strength to look her in the eye when I say it, but just barely. Doesn’t make me feel like any less of an asshole. “I’m sorry, Joanie, but that part of my life was more than those pictures. I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you about it. It wasn’t...it wasn’t good.”

She takes a step closer to me, and that little jerk called hope flickers in my chest. Until I see a tear slip past her lashes. I want to reach out and touch her, wipe her tears away. But I don’t.

“Well, Colin Breton, you better fucking figure it out. Because I don’t keep things from you, because I...” She shakes her head, stopping herself. I feel my own tears gathering, and I try to blink them back. But there’s no stopping them. “I thought you felt the same way I do.”

I reach for her, but she gives me a small shake of her head. “Joanie, sweetheart, you have no idea how deeply I feel for you. And I swear I will make this right, but I need a moment...” I stop myself from saying to get my story straight. No, no more hiding. “When we’re alone, I’ll explain everything.”

But my Joanie’s not a patient woman, and my moment of hesitation is enough to light a furious fire in her. I can see it before it happens—she’s going to walk out of here and I’ll be left to my own self-hatred.

Her beautiful little chin juts out, and her eyes gleam with fire. “Well, you take your time, Colin. No rush figuring your shit out.” She grabs her laptop bag and walks out the front door, leaving me standing in a pile of useless apologies.

I’ll fix this. I have to.

CHAPTER 14

THE BRAIN TRUST

JOANIE

That went exactly not as planned. Last night I’d mostly accepted that there was probably a good explanation for Colin hiding his modeling from me. I mean, just because I can’t think of one doesn’t mean there isn’t one.

I was going to laugh it off, tease him a little about some of the more unhinged books he was featured on, and then move on. I had a plan. But maybe I didn’t realize how profoundly pissed off I am. And the worst part is that I still love the big jackass.

I need reinforcements. My brain—and my heart—are spiraling. I start a group chat to Meredith and Ivy.

Me: Need help. Big dummy fucked up.

Meredith: Are you the big dummy or Colin?

Ivy: Obviously, it’s Colin. It’s always the guy who’s a big dummy.

Me: That’s an over generalization. Who hurt you?

Ivy: ...

Meredith: What do you need?

Me: Time and space to rant. Preferably with ice cream and gin.

Ivy: What is it with you and gin?

Me: Smells like grandma’s kisses.

Meredith: We’ll be at your place in 30.

The tightness in my chest loosens a fraction when I hear the knock on my door precisely thirty minutes later. Meredith gives me a perfunctory side hug and a pat on the head. “There, there.” That might be the best I’ll get out of her, but I didn’t ask her over for squishy hugs. I need to pick her brain.

Ivy, on the other hand, squeezes the living stuffing out of me. It’s like having an angel and devil on my shoulder, or maybe those two old dudes from The Muppets.

We order pizza and crack open the gin. Ivy makes us gin martinis using the dusty bottle of vermouth she found in my cabinet, pouring them into my Powerpuff Girls collectible glasses. “I’m no Dale, but these will have to do.”

I take a sip, and the gin singes my nose hairs. “Yep, don’t quit your day job. But thanks for this.” I toast her with my glass. I’m proud of how completely together I am. Look at me, joking around and socializing. Ready to have a serious session with my brain trust.

Then I burst into tears. It’s like the little assholes have been waiting for my ass to hit the couch before making an appearance.

“Oh, sweetie.” Ivy wraps me in a big hug. Meredith awkwardly pats my shoulder.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” I sniffle, take a big gulp of my martini, and start coughing.

“Clearly,” Meredith says. “Start at the beginning.”

I tell them about how Colin has always looked familiar, and about the bookstore, and the disastrous conversation we had today.

Ivy’s mouth hangs open the whole time. “Where’s the book? I want to see this cover.” I don’t know why I hesitate. It’s a book cover for fuck’s sake, it’s not like I’d be violating his privacy. But something about modeling bothers Colin, even if he’s too much of a jackass to tell me. And if he didn’t want me to know, would he be hurt if I showed the book to my friends?

I don’t get the chance to decide because Meredith is up off the couch and looking around. She doesn’t have to go far because the book is on my dining room table. I sat there most of last night and stared at it. It’s possible I also had a conversation with it.

“Holy hard body, Joanie. This is Colin? It barely looks like him.” Meredith tilts her head and squints. “Maybe around the cheekbones and eyes. But I would’ve guessed this is Colin’s younger cousin.” Ivy stares at the cover over Meredith’s shoulder, her expression pinched.

“This guy is hot, but he’s no Colin.” A tiny vein of jealousy forms in my stomach. Or maybe that’s the gin. “But I can see why he wouldn’t want to tell you.”

“Then can you explain it to me? I thought I knew him.” I throw up my arms, almost spilling my martini, which wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen.

Meredith rolls her eyes at me. “You still know him. Do you know every last bit of his history? No. Should he have told you? Yes. But we all know Colin—he doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body.”

“No, those are all reserved for you, my dear.” Ivy smiles and lays a smacking kiss on Meredith’s cheek before scooting away. Meredith smiles like she enjoys the assessment.

The pizza arrives and we get sidetracked watching the first half of “Legally Blonde.” As Meredith pulls three individual pints of ice cream out of the freezer, the Colin conversation starts up again.

“You need to talk to him. Our collective minds can come up with a million different reasons for why he kept this from you, but the only way to get answers is to sit him down and hash it out.” Meredith is always the logical one, and I love her for it.

Ivy leans over and gently puts her hand on my knee. “And you have to ask yourself a couple questions. How do you feel about him? And are those feelings deep enough to weather this? I mean, don’t play this down...he hid something from you. But in the course of a relationship, people are going to fuck up. You need to figure out if this is his usual MO or if it was one singular mistake.”

I take a deep breath before taking a heaping bite of ice cream. “I’ll talk to him, and I promise to keep an open mind.”

“Maybe let him stew for a few days,” Meredith says. I appreciate the petty, but I don’t know if I can last that long without talking to him or seeing him. I hate this unsettled feeling in my chest, like there’s a piece missing. And I hate how my brain is filling in the blanks that he won’t.

Maybe after a good night’s sleep I’ll have a better plan. Otherwise, I’ll just eat more ice cream.

CHAPTER 15

PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE

COLIN

Stuart: Why did Meredith come back from Joanie’s smelling like gin and muttering something about your abs?

I groan at the text message, feeling instant anxiety that one of my best friends now knows. But if I’m going to get things back on track with Joanie, it means coming clean to the other people in my life. I was going to wait until I’d had a chance to talk to Joanie, but Stuart’s text opened the door. If I’m going to be brave about this, I have to step through it.

I think about it for a moment and quickly find some old pictures of me online. It’s not hard to do considering how many times my face and body were photographed. Adding a few pictures to our text thread, I respond.

Me: Joanie found out about this, and she’s rightfully pissed that I didn’t tell her.

Stuart: Whoa. I mean, not a shock that you were once a model. We all have histories. Did I ever tell you about that time I was a kids birthday party clown in college?

Me: I’m sorry, what?

Stuart: Never mind. Anyway, I get why Joanie was pissed if she had to find out on her own.

Me: Yep.

Stuart: What are you going to do about it? I have visions of us all double dating, and you guys fighting puts a real crimp in that.

Me: Sorry to ruin your plans. I’m working up to an apology.

Stuart: Work faster. Like for karaoke night next Friday. Will you take a request? I’d love to hear you sing Bette Midler.

Me: One thing at a time, but sure I can sing Better Midler.

Stuart: [thumbs up emoji]

A fraction of the tension I’ve been holding in my body seeps out. If my modeling is truly no big deal to Stuart, a guy who could have Drama Queen tattooed on his forehead and no one would be surprised, then how easy would it be to live completely out in the open? Not to hide my history.

I need to talk to Joanie before I allow myself to get too hopeful. Nothing else matters until I make things right with her. The memory of her disappointed, angry face has me breaking out in a cold sweat.

Fuck it, I can’t wait another second to see her. Gonzo’s probably had enough of my sulking. She spent much of this evening on my shoulder but abandoned me when my grumbles and sighs got louder. My own cat thinks I’m pitiful, and she’s not wrong.

I came home from The Base determined to give Joanie some space and come up with a plan to fix this clusterfuck I created. But it’s eleven-thirty at night and there’s no way I can make it until morning without us working this out. Acid climbs my throat at the thought of losing her.

I pull on my shoes and a jacket, grab my keys and phone, and head out the door. The walk to Joanie’s house gives me time to figure out what I want to say and how I want to say it, but all roads lead to, “I’m sorry.”

The streets are quiet this late on a weeknight. The fog swirls past me as it makes its way inland from the coast. I think about when we kissed under a streetlight in the fog. How Joanie’s romance writer brain couldn’t pass up an opportunity to experience the perfect setting for a kiss.

I brush my fingers against that streetlight a few steps from Joanie’s front door as if it can give me strength. I take a few deep breaths and knock, the light pouring out of the front windows fortifying my resolve.

A shadow passes by the peephole and the sound of the deadbolt disengaging is followed by a few seconds of silence, like Joanie needs a moment before she opens the door. My heart breaks a little more.

The door swings open, and even though I thought I had braced myself, I’m startled by the sudden movement. I’ve been on edge since this whole mess started. And whose fault is that, asshole?

The breath escapes my lungs in a pained rush. She’s so stupidly beautiful. Joanie’s standing there in her favorite hedgehog sleep pants and a faded California State University T-shirt. Her cheeks and nose are red, either from sleep or crying, and I’m either an asshole for waking her up or making her sad.

“Hey,” she says quietly. At least she didn’t slam the door in my face.

“Hey. Want to go for a walk?” My hands are shoved in my pockets. I’m dying to reach for her, but not yet.

As soon as she gives me a hesitant nod, I step through the door, go to her bedroom and grab her biggest, thickest sweater from the bottom dresser drawer, and a parka from the closet.

She watches me while I move around her house, her eyebrow quirked, and the edges of her mouth tipped up ever so slightly.

I slide the sweater over her head and suppress a laugh when she frowns at me, her hair partially covering her face. “It’s cold out.”

“Yes, Colin. I’m aware of the weather patterns in Wavecrest. It’s always cold and foggy at night this time of year.” She might be close to kicking me in the shins.

“Right. Shoes?”

“I can put my own shoes on.”

“Okay. I’ll just...” I motion towards her front door and stand there like a statue while she puts on socks and sneakers. I hate this awkwardness almost as much as I hate being the guy who caused it.

“This better be worth me leaving the house,” she says under her breath. Cranky Joanie would be endearing if I hadn’t put us in this uncomfortable situation.

We walk in silence until we reach the wooden stairs leading down to the beach. I don’t know what I’ll do if we can’t get past this.

Time to be brave.

JOANIE

“You’re plotting my murder, aren’t you?” I ask as I follow him down the stairs. It’s absurdly dark, with only a few lamps lighting the way down to the beach. Oh well, guess my ass is ending up on a true crime podcast.

When we get to the bottom, he stares at me, and I want to poke at the corner of his mouth where the tiniest hint of a smile struggles to break free.

This is the perfect place to dump a body. If there weren’t a handful of people hanging around bonfires. This stretch of beach is popular year-round because the cops are lax about enforcing bonfire rules.

Okay, it’s a horrible place to dump a body.

Colin glances down at my feet and gets down on one knee in front of me.

Reader, the way I gasp...it’s mortifying. Because for the tiniest of moments I think Colin is about to ask me to marry him and it’s the silliest thing that’s ever crossed my brain.

He reaches for my foot, sets it on his knee and reties my shoelace. I want to laugh at myself. And maybe cry a little.

We’ve only started dating, for the love of all things insane. And we’re fighting. But my romance writer imagination took over for that tiny moment, forgetting that I’m mad at him.

My heart is still hammering. Colin has no idea what just stampeded through my brain and thank the stars for that.

Obviously, he brought me down to the beach to talk about the covers, not to do something stupid and propose stupid marriage, so my stupid pulse and my stupid breathing need to calm the fuck down.

But my rebellious body is stuck on what his fingers feel like through my thick socks. Warm and strong. I’d run my fingers through his hair if I wasn’t so stinking mad at him.

Before I can tell my libido to calm the fuck down, Colin drops my foot in the sand. He nods towards the south, away from the elephant seal preserve to the north.

With a little hesitation, I slip my hand in his. He stops and looks down at our linked hands like he can’t believe his luck. My heartbeat feels like it’s become synced with the sound of the waves as it pounds in my ears.

Even though he’s ridiculously taller than me, he walks slowly so I can keep up. I realize he’s been doing this since we started having lunch together, even before we started dating. Little considerations and gestures that make my heart squeeze with gratitude that we didn’t stop at friendship.

When we reach a spot about halfway between two bonfires, he turns towards the ocean and sits. I follow him down onto the sand and lean into his side and absorb his warmth. I deserve an award for not burying my nose in his shoulder and taking a big old whiff of his fresh cotton scent. Go, me.

He sucks in a deep, shaky breath and finally turns towards me. His eyes are shining in the dark, the distant fires dancing off his cheekbones and hair. “I’m so sorry, Joanie. I don’t know how else to say it, but I’m so sorry.”

I stare at him, seeing the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way he’s trying to blink back tears. “What are you sorry for?”

He huffs out a surprised laugh. “That’s my Shark, making me work for it.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I should’ve told you earlier, before we started dating. But I was a coward. I lied to myself when I started believing that it wouldn’t matter. That you wouldn’t think it was a big deal. I was more interested in protecting myself than being one hundred percent open with you.”

“Then why didn’t you just tell me sooner? It could’ve been our cute little inside joke.”

He turns back to the ocean and starts chewing on his lip. After a few moments he finally speaks again. “I’ve wanted you since I first met you.” I suck in a breath at his admission. “And yeah, I knew exactly how we were connected, but I’d lived through people finding out what I used to do. It usually prevents any kind of deeper connection. I become the model guy. At my old software company a few people knew—I didn’t try to hide it, and I became ‘Colin, that dude who used to model.’ I’d go out for beers with coworkers and that’s how they’d introduce me. And I got sick of it.”

“I would’ve never done that to you.” I don’t think I would’ve, at least.

“Maybe not, but I had no way of knowing that, so I decided to protect myself.” He turns back to look at me. “But there’s more, Joanie. More about that period of my life that I’m not proud of. I’d like to be able to laugh off my cover model status, but it’s wrapped up in some pretty shitty memories.”

“Tell me…please.” My words are quiet, and I’m not sure he hears them over the sound of the waves and wind. He closes his eyes and points his face at the few stars we can see when there’s a break in the fog. Like he needs them to give him strength.

“I started modeling when I was in college, and I lost myself in it—I became someone I hated. Yeah, it started off as fun, but it quickly took over my life. When I wasn’t sleeping or in school, I was in the gym. Obsessed with every calorie that went into my body. Denying myself the food I really wanted or my body needed. More concerned with my looks than if I was the kind of person my parents raised.”

He swallows hard. “And while I paid attention to every calorie, I didn’t really care what kind of poison I was taking. I never became a full-blown addict, but I skated pretty close to the line. My gym buddies would swear that a steady diet of whatever pill they handed me would help with my workouts or add more muscle definition. I was such an idiot.

“Everything that was important in my life—my family, school, work—fell away. It went on for years. You’ve seen how many pictures of me are out there.”

I don’t say anything, but my fingers wrap around his wrist where he has his hands crossed over his knees. I want to tell him so much with my touch. That I’m here. That I’m listening. That I’m glad he’s healthy. That he’s perfect as he is now.

He gives me a grateful smile, like he knows all the words still locked in my throat.

“What made you stop?” I really want to ask what made him into this version of Colin.

“After I passed out at a photo shoot, I realized I couldn’t do it anymore. I’d just come from a grueling session at the gym, I hadn’t eaten, I was still high, and my body said no more. I’d gotten my degree in computer science a few years before that...so I cleaned myself up, went to therapy, and pivoted. The kicker is, I was destroying my body and only making a few hundred dollars each photo session. A thousand if I was lucky. Nothing compared to runway or high-fashion models. It wasn’t worth it anymore. It wouldn’t have been worth any amount of money.”

“I’m glad you got out when you needed to.” Tears prickle the back of my eyes as I think about the road he was on and what could’ve happened if he kept going. I swallow hard and his eyes find mine. I gasp at what I see there. His gaze is filled with relief, and an intensity that brings every squishy emotion to the surface.

I don’t realize a tear has escaped until he reaches out and brushes his thumb across my cheek. I lean into the roughness of his palm, and he lets out a bone-deep sigh. His body deflates with all the tension that he releases.

“Joanie.” He swallows hard, his voice thick with emotion. “Joanie, I’m so sorry I kept it from you. I wanted to be...” He pauses, hunting for the right words. “I wanted to be a normal, baggage-free guy when we started getting to know each other. Not Colin the model.”

I let out a small laugh. “Pipes, there’s nothing ‘normal’ about you, and I mean that in the best way.” My chest fills with a vibrating warmth. “You can’t hide the guy you are. You’re beautiful.” He ducks his head. “No, don’t you hide from me. You’re beautiful—more beautiful than you were on those covers. Gorgeous. Handsome. Whatever you want to call it. But it’s not about your criminal cheekbones or those alien eyes of yours. I see you, Colin.”

I swallow past a lump in my throat.

“I see you and you see me—that’s the best part of us. Since you, I haven’t tried to be anyone but myself. Still cringe, still weird. But me. I’m so grateful for that, I can’t even put it into words. You…you drowned out that voice in my head telling me I was too loud or too much. You, Colin…you did that.” My voice cracks on those last words.

“I see the kind of man you are. You’re one of the best people I know. Your default setting is kindness. You’re gentle...except when I don’t want you to be. ”

He huffs out a laugh and wipes a tear from my cheek. I lean into his touch.

“I understand why you didn’t tell me—I do. But don’t ever do that again.” He nods, holding my gaze. He opens his mouth to say something, but I’m not done. “Yeah, maybe you would’ve become Colin the model in my head, but I love you so much that there’s no way we would’ve ended there. I wouldn’t have let us.”

I can see him trying to hold back tears, but one escapes down into his beard, and he sniffles.

“God, Joanie. I’m so grateful for you.” His voice is rough and low as he strokes a hand through his salt and pepper beard. “It’s taken me this long to find someone like you...to find you, and the idea that I almost lost...” His voice catches on the last word.

I can’t take his sadness anymore so I crawl into his lap and straddle him. My knees dig into the cold sand, but I don’t care. We’ll warm up later. His hands grip tight to my thick jacket, but I wish I could feel them on my skin.

“Tell me again,” he whispers.

“No, it’s your turn.”

“Brat.” He huffs out a laugh. I watch as the smile drops from his face, and he fights back more tears. “Joanie ‘Shark’ Ferrell, I love you with everything I have. Full stop. Even when you’re at your most caffeinated and your most cranky.”

“I’m never cranky.”

“Right. Sure. I love how your mind finds romance in everything. I will read your stories for as long as you write them, and I promise to be your partner in crime.”

“When you say crime...”

“Just tell me where to bury the bodies.”

I sigh. “That’s the most romantic thing anybody’s ever said to me.”

His arms squeeze around me, and he buries his face in my neck. “I’m going to marry you someday, Shark. Brace yourself.” The cold wind that whips around us has nothing on the warmth that floods my body when he says those words.

I pull back so I can see him. “Okay.” I tug on his beard until his lips meet mine, and we get lost in the best kiss I’ve ever had.

WRAPPED in his duvet and all the blankets in his house, I’m finally warm, except for the tip of my nose. But it’s not the blankets, it’s the man whose chest I’m draped across.

After a hurried walk back from the beach, two mugs of cocoa, and the slowest, sweetest fuck, Colin and I lay in his bed. I swirl my fingers through the hair on his belly, cuddling tightly into the one arm he has wrapped around me.

We ended up at his house so I could get some good Gonzo snuggle time. I missed her the last couple of days. She doesn’t know it, but she’s my cat now.

Between slow kisses, we’ve been talking quietly about his past. I can see it’s not easy for him, but he’s been open with me.

“Is it strange to see yourself on covers?”

I trace his small smile with the tip of my finger.

“The covers aren’t the strangest places my pictures ended up. There are some stock pics of me with my shirt fully buttoned.” He chuckles, making me bounce a little on his chest.

“My sister’s company redid their website, and I’m now on their About Us page in a pic of happy people in a work meeting. My sister almost asked them to change it, but it’s become an inside joke for us.”

“Did you ever end up in a hemorrhoid cream ad?”

He laughs. “Your brain...I swear. No, but there’s a pic of me sniffing my armpit in a men’s deodorant ad.”

“When did you know you were one of my cover models?” It’s a loaded question since it touches on the fact that he knew way before I did.

He closes his eyes for a moment. “When you first joined The Base.” He swallows heavily. “That’s when I read all your books.”

“Shut the front fucking door—I thought it was only some. Do you have copies of all the books you’ve been on?”

He shakes his head. “I used to have some, but I gave away most of them. I’ve been on so many covers there’s no way I’d be able to own them all.” And then he looks at me. Like...looks at me. I wonder if the photographers saw what I see. Aside from his stupidly handsome looks, did they see his warmth? His sense of humor? His kindness? Or was he simply a pretty face with sculpted abs who could give good smolder?

On many of those covers his face looked cruel...all sharp angles and a sneer on his perfect mouth. But that version of Colin doesn’t jive with the man I know. The man I fell for.

“I’ve seen the pictures of your family—you come from some freakishly good-looking parents.” I point a finger at his face like it’s evidence.

He’s blushing. The tips of his ears are pink where they poke out through his long hair. Adorable is not a word I’d normally use for Colin...but this shy version of him can’t be described any other way. And I’m a writer who’s supposed to be good with words.

“My mom’s stunning. So is my sister. My dad’s got his own brand of good looks.” The first time I saw a picture of his mom, dad, and sister I thought Colin had forgotten to take the placeholder picture out of the frame.

I sigh. “I’m glad I finally know.”

His shoulders tense for a second. “You’re going to get sick of my apologies, but for what it’s worth, I promise never to hide anything from you again.”

“Except maybe a ring,” I say brightly.

The biggest, brightest smile breaks across his face, and I suck in a breath. My brain is having a hard time keeping up with my heart, and I can’t quite believe that he’s mine. That he loves me, and I love him.

“Yeah, Shark, except a ring.”

THE NEXT MORNING we both decide to skip work—that’s the beauty of being our own bosses. Fuck the deadlines, I’m not leaving this house for the next twenty-four hours. No writing will happen while we’re on the couch snuggling. That’s the big plan for today...snuggling. And there’s nobody better than Colin and Gonzo.

After he feeds me breakfast, we’re standing in the kitchen cleaning up. I wrap my arms around his waist and press my ear to his chest. The steady thump of his heart settles something deep inside me.

He runs his hand slowly up and down my back, and my toes curl inside the socks I borrowed from him. “Joanie. My Joanie. Do you remember what you said the first time I met you when you started at The Base?” I feel his lips press into the top of my head.

“I don’t remember exactly, but I remember thinking you were the most interesting man I’d ever seen, and that you looked familiar.”

His hands continue to make slow circles on my back. “You stuck out your hand and said, ‘Hi, I’m Joanie and I write kissing books. Apologies in advance for what you’re going to hear from my side of the desk.’ Then you plopped your cute butt in a seat, opened your laptop, and started writing something. You muttered to yourself the whole time.”

“Sounds like me.”

“I was so charmed. I had never been charmed by someone, especially someone I had just met. You sparkle, Joanie—did you know that? Absolutely sparkle. And I remember thinking to myself, ‘If you play your cards right, asshole, you can be in her orbit.’ I wanted to get to know you—really know you. But I thought I had to keep myself back because you could’ve so easily figured out who I was. And I desperately wanted to be just Colin.” I smile at the idea that there’s anything just about him.

“I remember getting a weird urge to start writing mountain men romance. I felt inspired.” Colin’s chest rumbles with a laugh.

We stand there, quietly holding each other, and I marvel at how unlocked I feel. Like the future is wide open if we’re by each other’s sides.

I go up on my toes and kiss him. Just him. Just me.

EPILOGUE

JOANIE - A FEW MONTHS LATER

I’ve torn this house apart every day. No ring. No tiny box. No little velvet bag. I mean, not that I need a ring, but I’m trying to suss out when Colin might pop the question. He could wrap a twisty tie around my finger, and I’d be giddy. I’m really on the hunt for any sign that he’s going to propose soon. A sparkly banner. A collection of illegal fireworks in the garage. Anything.

It didn’t happen on Valentine’s Day—also known as a romance writer’s national holiday. It didn’t happen at Thanksgiving, the solstice, Christmas, or New Years.

And now we’re in March and it’s been raining for two weeks straight, which means he’s not going to propose at the beach—one of our favorite spots to hang out.

Gonzo won’t tolerate a collar, so he’s not going to tie the ring around her neck. He knows that I have mixed feelings about grand gestures. I gave him a whole TED Talk on why a huge public proposal can be problematic.

It’s not in his sock drawer, which is actually our sock drawer since I moved in. It’s not tucked into the pockets of any of his jackets hanging in the hall closet. Nowhere in the kitchen. I refuse to believe he hid it in Gonzo’s litter box.

If he’s been carrying it around with him, he’s managed to keep it from me. I should be writing while he’s out with Zane this evening, but I’m so fucking ready to make Colin Breton my husband that my brain can’t focus.

I told Meredith about my impatience, and she laughed at me. Threw back her head and laughed the loudest laugh that she’s probably ever allowed herself. Weirdly, Ivy did the same thing.

“Why don’t you ask him, if you’re so eager?” Meredith said over some martinis at Foggy’s a couple days ago.

It’s not like I haven’t thought about it. And he’d love it, I think.

I’m standing in the middle of the living room, about to look under the couch when I decide, fuck it, I am going to ask him. These last few months have been the happiest of my life. We managed to move in together without killing each other, his cat loves me, he loves me, and I have almost around-the-clock access to the best guy who can turn my crank like no other.

Here I am, alone in our house, smiling like a toddler who’s just been given a puppy. Gonzo watches me like she hopes my disconnect from reality won’t interfere with her next mealtime.

Yes, I’m going to ask Colin Breton to marry me.

No more hunting for a ring that might not exist, it’s time to formulate a plan. I grab one of my notebooks and turn to a blank page. It’s one of my last ones—I’m going to need to head to the stationery store soon to stock up.

I flop down on the couch, pull a pen from the collection stuck in my hair, and start brainstorming.

I get as far as no grand gestures and get stuck for a moment. Foggy’s? The beach? The Base? Bed? Shower?

I’m caught staring off into space when the front door opens. Gonzo lets out a happy little meow and trots over to greet her favorite human. It takes me a moment to close the notebook and tuck it in the couch cushions because my brain can’t do anything but take in the sight of the man I love. Big, solid, and oh so handsome. And mine as much as I’m his.

He gives me a little wink and a hey as he toes off his soaked Converse. He shakes out his hair, grabs the rubber-band he now keeps around his wrist, and ties it back.

It took me a while after the whole big revelation to realize that Colin had been hiding behind his hair, but now he pulls it back into a sexy little ponytail whenever he’s tired of it hanging in his face.

Without his hair covering them, his cheekbones are deadly. He should need a license to wield them. His face rivals any piece of art, and looking directly at him makes it hard to breathe. It’s monumentally unfair how mind meltingly handsome he is.

He reaches into his coat and pulls out a flat rectangular package wrapped in brown paper and twine. That gets me off the couch. I give him a quick kiss on the lips, running my fingers through his beard.

“Have fun with Zane?”

“Yeah, it’s good to hang out with him now that the project is done.”

“Whatcha got there?” I point at the package he still has in his hands. He blinks down at it like he forgot he was holding it. It’s book shaped, which piques my interest.

He shrugs out of his wet coat, moving the package from hand to hand. I follow its movement, growing more curious.

“Oh this? It looked like you were running low on notebooks, so I picked one up for you.” My bones go all melty.

“Thank you. That’s so sweet.” I reach for it, but he pulls it back. I furrow my eyebrows. What’s the big deal? But he’s got a look in his eyes. Part mischief, part intensity.

“Let me get settled in, and then you can open it. It’s got a really cool cover I think you’ll like.”

I roll my eyes, but I’m secretly thrilled. I collect cute notebooks like crows collect shiny objects. I’m not picky, either. They could have flowers, or stars, or Hello Kitty, or drag queens on the cover, and I would treasure them.

I plop back on the couch, thinking about my proposal notebook trapped under my butt. I’ll deal with that later. Right now I want to unwrap a new notebook and snuggle up with my man.

He goes to our bedroom and changes into his favorite pair of joggers and a thermal top. Relaxed and sexy Colin is one of my favorite versions of him, but right now I’m a little annoyed because he’s still hanging on to that wrapped package instead of handing it over.

He finally sits down next to me and hands it over. Gonzo settles on his shoulder, and I take a moment to scratch behind her ears. He rests his arm on the back of the couch, and I can feel his fingers drumming behind my head. He looks relaxed, but he’s not usually a fidgeter.

I shrug before tearing off the coarse brown paper. A surprised laugh escapes me when I see the cover. It’s a cartoon illustration of the two of us. The woman has my brown, curly hair and about twenty pens stuck in the messy bun at the back of her head. She’s sipping out of one coffee mug while holding another. With the mug tipped to her lips she’s looking up at an absolute giant of a man who has long black hair and a salt-and-pepper beard down to his navel. There’s a cat perched on his shoulder, and tiny pink hearts float around his head.

My giggle turns into a mini sob. The drawing is so perfectly precious. And us. I climb into Colin’s lap and kiss him. “Thank you. This is the best thing I’ve ever seen. Who did the illustration?”

“Mars. Turns out the guy has massive talent.” He nods at the notebook. “But that’s not the best part. Open it up.” Colin’s voice is tight and the hairs on the back of my neck stand-up.

I run my hand over the cover one last time then open it. On the first page, in Colin’s handwriting is one sentence.

“I might not have a way with words like you.” There’s an arrow below it, indicating that I should turn the page.

My breath hitches, and my vision blurs with every new page.

“Joanie, I love you more than I can put down on paper.”

“Every day we’re together I thank the stars you came into my life.”

“My past, present, and future. You’re part of it all.”

“So Gonzo and I have a very important question to ask you.”

A happy little hiccup escapes me. Colin reaches down and taps the notebook. I think I’m coming to the best bit.

I take a deep fortifying breath before turning the page, because I know my life is about to change.

A purple paper clip holds the pictures we took at the anniversary party to the page. The strip of photo paper is a little curled, a little worn, like it’s been well loved. I study it through a haze of tears. Did I know then that it was the beginning?

Looking at our faces, I can see how Colin’s stoicism had disappeared, replaced by a wide open look of yes, please. How I looked at him like he was the best gift I ever received.

Next to the strip of photos is a simple drawing of a diamond ring with the last message written under it.

“Will you marry me?”

I yell, “Yes” so loudly that I make Gonzo dart under the couch in a blur of fur.

“Yes, yes, yes.” I pepper Colin’s face with kisses until he wraps me tightly in his arms and looks down at me.

“I couldn’t hear you. Was that a yes?” His gaze roams over my face, from lips to nose to eyes. I reach up to trace the fine lines that stretch out from the deep blue pools of his eyes. Such a beautiful man.

Reader, the way I kissed my man, my fiancé, would make you blush. And it’s definitely going in my next book.

WILL the friendship between a steely-spined programmer and her awkward coworker survive one tiny little case of fake-dating? Read Ivy and Mars’ office romance in the next Work For It story.

Joanie and Colin’s work break turns into much more in this steamy bonus scene.

Meet Stuart and Meredith in Hear Me Out.

HELP others discover Colin’s quiet cinnamon roll magnetism. If you enjoyed Seen You Before, let your friends know by leaving a review. You can also find me on Goodreads and BookBub.

Thank you for reading! Want more steamy, snarky, sweet stories about the people of Wavecrest and The Base? Visit hillykeen.com to sign up for reader updates.

* DID you catch the Easter egg I mentioned in the Dedication?

Solution: Joanie Ferrell (our romance writer main character) → Ferrell → feral, aka wild → Joan Wilder, the romance writer heroine from one of the best romcom adventures of the 1980s, “Romancing the Stone”

(I’m such a nerd.)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hilly Keen is not a NYT bestseller, but sometimes she does the crossword in pen. Knowing that every childhood memory would someday be fodder for a story (or therapy), she spent her youth causing just a little bit of trouble. When she wasn’t watching classic Cary Grant movies, reading Judy Blume, or making friendship bracelets, she was out antagonizing the golfers on the course bordering her childhood home.

In the small moments she’s not yelling at her computer screen, she ponders the deeper meaning of the first Pixar Cars movie while watching fog roll across the hills of her Northern California town. She’s not above begging her two cats for affection. Leaving the house means either the fridge is empty or she’s hunting for vintage typewriters and boomboxes to add to her collection. Please send shelves.

Visit hillykeen.com to sign up for reader updates, see a current list of her books, and find bonus content. Connect with her on Instagram (@hillykeen), Threads (@hillykeen), and Facebook (@hillykeen).