Page 33 of Hot Shot

Working out isn’t my favorite thing to do, but it’s necessary. I’ve accepted it as part of my career, but I also know it’s important for health, so I muster all my self-discipline to make myself do it regularly and now it’s a habit.

As I do dumbbell bench presses, triceps dips, and biceps curls, I think about last night’s outing to Fly Zone. Hayden dragged me along with them. I’m usually up for some kind of fun, but I found myself a little reluctant to be a fifth wheel—ha, literally—with the gang. Especially after how things ended that night with Marco at my place.

Stopping our make-out session wassoooohard. My body definitely wanted to overrule my good sense, but somehow I managed to be smart. Getting involved with Marco, even if just sexually and short term, is not a good idea.

Last night just made that even harder.

I thrust the weights into the air, my teeth gritted.

Damn him. He was so different last night. When he picked up that little kid who’d fallen and looked so at ease holding him, comforting him, looking at him with that warm sympathy . . . my heart did a flip. Watching him fool around with his friends on the trampolines, doing crazy things, laughing and trash talking them. Every time he flashed that smile, my knees went a little weak, and watching muscles ripple on his big body as he slam dunked balls into the net or did flips made my belly flutter. The intense physicality of a man in prime condition with superb control over his body is insanely attractive.

The same could be said of Beck and Cade, but for some reason watching them doesn’t make me tingle like watching Marco does. Of course Beck is off-limits, and Cade . . . well, I like Cade well enough, but my gaze isn’t constantly drawn to him as if I can’t get enough of just looking at him, as with Marco.

Shit.

I wipe sweat from my forehead and move to the next station.

Thinking about how he moves that fine male body with perfect coordination and strength makes me think about what it would be like to have that male body naked and moving over me . . . inside me . . .

“Argh.”

My frustrated noise earns me a curious look from the guy on the bench next to me. I give him a weak smile and continue my exercises.

Dinner was fun too, although why Marco started that conversation was a mystery when he got so uncomfortable with it. It was hilarious, though, even if talking about sexual positions with him sitting beside me had made my mind go there again. Yep, thinking about Marco and all those taut muscles in bed, those big hands on me, controlling me . . .

This time my neighbor lifts an eyebrow at the small whimper that escapes my lips.

Jeez. I need to stop thinking about Marco Hot Shot Show-Off Solis.

I need to think about my parents, and my grandma. How am I going to get Grandma dancing? And will Dad be home if I drop by this afternoon for a little chat? Because my attempts to talk to my siblings about how unhappy our mom is met with uncomfortable denial, assurances of “She’s fine, she just needs to adjust,” and protests of “I don’t have time for that” and “You deal with it.”

I shower and dress in the shorts and T-shirt I wore to the gym, then head out. Next stop is Años Dorados Retirement Village for a meeting I set up with the recreation coordinator. I have an idea and want to get the okay to go ahead with it.

Before starting my car, I pull out my phone to check for emails and messages. My eyes pop open wide and my thumbs still on the small screen as I read the message I just received. And read it again.

“Oh my God,” I say aloud. “This can’t be real.”

Movie star Jessica Farris, who I know follows me on Instagram, wants me to do a fun portrait of her son. The son she has with her husband, Jared Gregoire, former boy band star and now a huge musician and actor.

Holy crapamoly!

With my bottom lip caught between my teeth, I tap in a response. Then I lower my phone and stare out the windshield, shaking my head in disbelief. This is amazing. Maybe it’s not for real. Maybe this is some kind of spam.

Well, I’ll find out.

I drive to my parents’ home in La Jolla, the big two-story house I grew up in. I hear the noise of the lawnmower coming from the backyard as I let myself in the front door with my key. The mouthwatering scent of roast beef greets me as I walk into the foyer. Damn, that smells good.

The house is empty as I expected, since Mom has a regular Friday afternoon spa appointment. I open the oven door to peek in at the roast, but it’s covered in foil. Mom likes to put an eye of round roast into the oven and cook it all day at a low temperature. It’s delicious when it’s done, melt-in-your-mouth tender.

I step out the sliding doors from the kitchen onto the patio. Dad’s just finishing the lawn and waves at me as he cuts the last strip of grass. I wander to the edge of the patio. When Dad was still working, he paid a company to come and cut the grass, trim the hedges, and weed the flower beds, since neither he nor Mom had any interest in doing yard work, both of them with busy careers and four children. It’s still surprising to see him out here doing it himself, but apparently he enjoys it now that he has time.

“Hey, kiddo, what are you doing here?” he asks when he kills the noisy machine. “Your mom is out.”

“I know. I came by to see you.”

“Well, that’s sure nice. Let’s get some iced tea. I could use a cold drink.”

We go back into the cool kitchen together and I pull glasses from a cupboard while Dad gets a pitcher of tea out of the fridge.

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