The One I'm With (A Sweet Somethings Novel Book 3) Read online

  Table of Contents

  THE ONE I’M WITH

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  THE ONE I’M WITH

  A Sweet Somethings Novel

  J. LYNN ROWAN

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  THE ONE I’M WITH

  Copyright©2016

  J. LYNN ROWAN

  Cover Design by Rae Monet, Inc.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN: 978-1-68291-243-0

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  To Rachel

  Just because, coz.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to my many friends and family members, who have continued to support me through the writing of this book, even when writer’s block resulted in wailing and the gnashing of teeth. Especially my mom, who kept telling me to go sit down at the computer and write.

  A shout out to Brian B., the most excellent trolley driver/tour guide in Asheville, though he will likely never know about it.

  Thanks to Cynthia Brannam, my editor at Soul Mate Publishing, for her patience, her keen eye for detail, and for helping me bounce ideas around when needed.

  And, of course, the highest level of thanks to my husband, Aaron, for brainstorming this book’s plot with me, taking me on a research trip to Asheville, and buying me a chocolate Crème brûlée to celebrate our anniversary while we were there.

  Chapter 1

  Girls' Night Out

  Music blares from the Bluetooth speaker on my dresser, and I sing along at the top of my lungs as I buzz between my bedroom and the adjoining bathroom. Saturday’s long-standing girls’ night out tradition dates back to when my three best friends and I moved to Asheville, North Carolina, after our college graduation. This week’s get-together couldn’t come soon enough. Three spring redecorating jobs have kept me swamped for the past month and a half, and today I worked later than usual to wrap up a few odds and ends for my clients.

  My gaze falls on the bedside clock. I slow my steps with a grimace. My ride should be here in ten minutes or so, and I still haven’t decided on shoes or jewelry to go along with the black burnout leggings and clingy thigh-length red tunic dress I’ve chosen for tonight. Normally I’d be waiting patiently on my front porch by now. But a last minute phone call right after dinner pushed the start of my night-out preparations back almost a half-hour.

  Running my fingers lightly through my curly pixie cut, I duck into my closet and grab two pairs of shoes. I haven’t had a chance to wear the red heels yet, but the knee-high black riding boots would be a more sensible choice. Parking near Pack Square tends to be limited, especially on the weekend, and the boots will be more comfortable if we have to walk more than two blocks to the bar.

  I put on one of each shoe and turn to the cheval mirror in the corner. Sexy sometimes trumps comfort, even if it means blisters the next morning. Hands on my hips, I lift my right foot up so I can only see the red shoe on my left. My eyes narrow, and then I switch feet. I alternate my view of the shoes a couple more times, no closer to a decision.

  A phone call interrupts the music playing on my cell phone. I hobble over to my dresser and check the caller ID. My older sister, Beth.

  Figures she’d call just as I’m about to head out the door.

  My hand hovers over the phone. My sister calls me once or twice a month, sometimes more if I haven’t been diligent about keeping in touch. But tonight, given how crazy my week has been and how much I just want to relax with my friends and a cold beer, I don’t feel like talking to her. Pursing my lips, I press the button on the side of my phone and send Beth to voicemail. There will be time enough tomorrow to listen to her well-intentioned lecture on how it’s okay to stay home once in a while, that it’s time for me to focus as much on the direction of my personal life as I have my professional life.

  Which is sister-speak for quit with the casual dating and commit to somebody already.

  Easy for her to say. She married her college sweetheart, and two seconds after landing her dream job at a Manhattan talent agency, she popped out a kid who’s about as perfect as they come. Everyone expected me to follow suit.

  Including myself.

  But then life happened, and all my expectations evaporated.

  Shaking my head, I banish those thoughts. Life is great. I like my life.

  The doorbell rings, jolting me out of the morose track my mind almost took.

  “Marissa!” a familiar voice shouts from my front hall.

  I kick off the red shoe and half hop, half limp to the top of my stairs in time to see Caitlin wriggling her key out of my front door lock—all three of my best friends have a copy.

  “Have you been waiting long?” I ask.

  She glances my way, then shuts the door. “Just pulled up. But since you weren’t out on the porch, I figured you were still getting ready.”

  I shrug. “Sorry. Client call ran long. How late are we?”

  Caitlin consults her phone as she starts up the staircase. “We won’t be late if you can get your ass in my car in the next fifteen minutes.”

  “I’m almost ready,” I say, holding my hands and backing down the hall toward my bedroom. “Accessories, and then I’m set.”

  “And footwear.” She follows me into my room and props her hip against the side of my dresser.

  I grab my other boot and pull it on, then head for my bathroom. “Find me a necklace and some earrings while I check my makeup.”

  Caitlin rummages through my jewelry box. “So when are you going to put this money pit up for sale and move into town like the rest of us?”

  “It’s not a money pit,” I call out to her.

  “Not anymore.”

/>   I pull a face, then apply a thin layer of lip-gloss. My friends, along with my sister, don’t understand why I insist on living in this old farmhouse just east of the Chestnut Hill neighborhood, when there are so many great apartments in the center of Asheville. They forget, as Beth also does at times, that my home is also my livelihood. The time and money I poured into restoring, updating, and decorating every room in this house helped earn me spotlight stories, including a feature spread in six major home and garden magazines earlier this year. If my interior design business was booming before March, it’s virtually exploding now; my phone has been ringing off the hook ever since.

  Plus, I like my privacy, and there’s plenty of that where I live.

  Satisfied with my makeup and hair, I head back into the bedroom. “Are you planning to crash here after you drop me home?”

  “Depends how close we make it to last call.” Caitlin holds out a long silver chain necklace and matching chandelier earrings. “You know, if you moved downtown, it wouldn’t be such a pain for somebody to haul out here every Saturday night.”

  “It’s not every Saturday. One out of four, I have to haul into town to pick one of you up.” After slipping on the earrings and draping the chain around my neck, I face her. “What do you think?”

  She assesses my ensemble from head to toe. “Nice. You might be the only redhead I know who can get away with wearing that shade of crimson. Planning to lure in a couple unsuspecting conquests tonight?”

  “Totally calling dibs.” I wink at her as I grab my phone and stuff it into my purse. “I’ve had a bit of a dry spell.”

  “Fine by me. But you might have to take it up with Ava.” Caitlin chuckles.

  “I think I can talk her into backing off, if it comes down to it.”

  We bustle downstairs and out the front door. After buckling into Caitlin’s Jeep, I fire a text message off to Ava and Mel, the other half of our fabulous foursome, to let them know we’re on the way. Caitlin cranks the volume on the radio, pulls out of my driveway, and heads into town.

  An easy smile settles on my lips as we turn onto Asheville’s main drag, slowing to meet the speed limit. Tonight is all about relaxing after a long workweek for all four of us. If I happen to catch the attention of the next lucky hottie, that’ll just be the cherry on top.

  I prop my elbow on the edge of the window and rest my temple against my curled fist, scanning the parking lots as we pass. The sidewalks bustle with people of all ages—everyone from college students to thirty-something tourists, to older couples and retirees. Soon, Memorial Day weekend will kick off the summer season, as schools let out and people look to find cooler climes in the mountains. But even when vacation season hits its peak, it never feels crowded to me.

  It’s proven a great place to live. Asheville boasts its share of nightlife, shopping, and entertainment. But it’s still pretty quiet, at least by my standards. The girls and I are satisfied with the handful of bars and dance clubs we frequent on Saturday nights. If we want to shake it up, it’s not too far of a drive to Charlotte for an overnight adventure.

  My thoughts drift back to my sister’s phone call that I avoided earlier. Part of the reason I picked Appalachian State up in Boone was to get away from the big city life I grew up with in San Francisco. Beth never quite understood my desire for a quieter corner of the country, where I can sit on my front porch and hear birds instead of cars, busses, and trolleys.

  I found peace in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

  Well, sort of.

  A sigh escapes. Where is this crappy mood coming from?

  “You okay, Marissa?”

  Caitlin’s voice jerks me back to reality. She’s parked at the rear of a packed lot, under a light so we’ll have good illumination when it’s time to head home.

  Realizing I’m fiddling with my hair, I flash a too-wide grin at her, grab my purse off the floor, and unbuckle the seatbelt. “Right as rain. Did we beat Mel and Ava?”

  Caitlin glances at her phone, then checks her mascara in the visor mirror. “They grabbed the corner of the bar and ordered the first round.”

  “Perfect.”

  I fling open the door and hop out. Adjusting the neckline of my tunic top, I draw in a deep, cleansing breath. Caitlin flips her long black hair over her shoulder and links her arm with mine. We set off toward the sidewalk and our favorite bar down the street from Pack Square.

  Chapter 2

  Tall, Bronze, and Handsome

  “Marissa! Caitlin! Over here!”

  As my eyes adjust to the dim interior of the bar, I recognize the tall, sweet-faced brunette waving and calling our names. I tug on Caitlin’s arm. “There’s Ava.”

  We squeeze past a trio of college-age guys milling around one of the pool tables, skirt the length of the bar, and settle on the stools Ava and Mel saved for us at the far end.

  “No drinks yet?” Caitlin asks.

  “Boomer’s swamped.” Mel indicates the bartender currently mixing cocktails for what appears to be a bachelorette party swarming the center of the bar. “He said he’ll hook us up as soon as he gets that crew served.”

  I bump Mel’s elbow with mine. “You could always slip back there and give your sugar pie a hand to move things along a little.”

  She rolls her eyes and makes a fake gagging sound in her throat. “I haven’t tended bar in two years. Besides, Boomer would say it’s bad for my professional image.”

  If only every guy could be that thoughtful when it comes to his girlfriend’s ambitions. A vulnerable spot in my gut starts to ache when Boomer finally sidles over with our drinks and leans across the bar to tug on the blond fishtail braid hanging over Mel’s shoulder. She leverages herself close enough for a chaste peck.

  “Get a room,” Ava jokes.

  “I have one,” Mel replies as she sits back down.

  Boomer chuckles before returning to the center of the bar. The four of us raise our drinks—three bottles of beer and a Cheerwine for Caitlin—and toast to the weekend.

  As I lower my bottle, I catch sight of a tall, broad-shouldered man approaching the opposite corner of the bar. His white dress shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, his tie loosened though not removed. A businessman, just off work. But his sort isn’t typical for a Saturday night. He appears to be alone as he eases onto a stool directly across from me, lifting one hand to catch Boomer’s attention. They speak, and something he says has Boomer throwing back his head in laughter. The man cracks a half-grin, mischief sparking in his eyes.

  He pulls his phone out when Boomer moves away, and the light from the screen catches the contours of his face. Straight nose, strong chin. His skin holds the deep tan of someone who spends a lot of time outside. He flicks an errant lock of what looks to be dark blond hair off his forehead, then raises his gaze.

  Our eyes lock across the room.

  My friends’ voices dim to a tinny buzz, then disappear altogether. In fact, all sound in the room mellows and slips away until I only hear my own breathing and the rush of blood past my ears. Heat rises slowly on my skin, and I flatten my palms, suddenly gone sweaty, against the surface of the bar.

  Mr. Tall, Bronze, and Handsome shifts in his seat. Then the serious slant of his mouth curves into a lopsided smirk that turns my limbs to jelly.

  I release a huff of air, and my chest tightens.

  Mel’s playful shove brings me quickly back to life. “I think we have a sighting.”

  “Where?” Ava hops off her stool and hurries to stand behind me. She, too, notices the guy at the other end of the bar. “Uber hottie at twelve o’clock, ladies. Man, I could camp out under those cheekbones.”

  Caitlin takes a sip from her glass. “Marissa already called dibs.”

  “Seriously?” Ava groans and shuffles back to her seat.

  Pulse still t
humping, I tear my gaze away from Mr. Tall, Bronze, and Handsome and plaster on one of my usual sardonic grins. “What can I say? Besides, even if I hadn’t called dibs, I saw him first.”

  Mel laces her fingers together and rests her hands on top of the bar. “It’s been a while. What’ll it be this time? Will he make it past the chat-me-up stage?”

  “I’m betting on three dates,” Caitlin chimes in. “Maybe even a hot make out session in someone’s car.”

  “I wonder if he has a six pack under that dress shirt.” Ava studies the guy, then turns to me. “If you don’t make it to five dates, can I give it a go? Only fair.”

  “Remind me what happens after five dates?” Mel asks.

  “Five dates and he gets to move furniture,” Ava replies.

  “Then you will definitely get a turn,” Caitlin says to her. “Marissa’s hardly ever gotten to five dates in the past three years. It’s happened maybe, what, twice since Jared skipped town?”

  At the sudden mention of my ex, I swing to face my friends in full. “Hello? Sitting right here, people.”

  Caitlin props her chin on the back of her hand. “Deny it.”

  Grimacing, I pick at the label on my bottle. “You don’t need to bring Jared into it.”

  Fighting a sullen frown, I watch Mr. Tall, Bronze, and Handsome out of the corner of my eye while the girls continue lobbying bets and supposition as if they haven’t heard my comment. He’s now focused his attention on the T.V. above the bar, though I can’t tell from this angle if he’s watching the hockey game or reading the news bar scrolling across the bottom of the screen. Something about him makes my insides go all squishy, and not in that let’s try and make it to five dates way.