Free Suddenly in Love (Lake Haven#1) by Julia London

day.”
    “Okay, all kidding aside,” she said, twisting in her seat toward Wallace. “I don’t want to work up here. Get this—turns out, Nancy Yates has a son she’s been hiding.”
    “Reall y ?” Wallace said, perking up, looking at her with renewed interest. “Please tell me he’s hot. I swear to God, I haven’t had a decent date in a year.”
    “He’s not hot,” Mia said. “And I don’t think he’s gay.”
    “That’s what they all think. Is he hideous?”
    “Semi-hideous,” Mia said. “And obviously high and incredibly rude.”
    “That’s the summer crowd for you,” Wallace said, his interest gone with a flick of his wrist. “They think everyone else exists to serve them.”
    “Exactly. I don’t want to be around that all summer.”
    “Oh no. You’re not going to try and shove this job off on me now that I know there is a heathen involved. Don’t worry about it, toots. He won’t be here long. They never stay here, why would they? There is nothing here . And even if he did stay, you’ll be walking up in your peculiar little frocks. Trust me, he won’t bother you.”
    “Gee, thanks.”
    “I’m telling you this as a friend. Did you find an apartment?” he asked. “Or have you been too busy with your job ?” he drawled.
    “Not yet.”
    “All right, that’s it. I’m taking you to see an adorable garage apartment my friend Dalton has for rent. And you better snatch it up, girl, or you’ll be living with your parents for the rest of your life and painting in the utility shed.”
    Mia didn’t need Wallace to tell her that she’d ended up a wannabe artist living with her parents, and not a celebrated artist living in New York and dining in swank restaurants and entertaining Important People. Nope, she would be doing her painting in a repurposed yard shed. And Wallace couldn’t seem to stop mentioning it.
    Oh yeah, this had all the markings of a great summer.

Six
    The slam of a car door startled Brennan awake. He opened one eye. Maybe two. His vision was so blurry he couldn’t be sure. As he was still slightly drunk, he had to think where he was. He winced at the dull throb behind his eyes and blinked until he could focus on the plaster medallion on the ceiling of his room.
    Right. Mom’s new house.
    Another car door slammed.
    Shit. Brennan desperately wanted to get out of bed and close the damn window—he’d opened it at three this morning, hoping the cool night air would keep him awake, keep him going. He’d been writing lyrics, and for the first time in months, they’d gushed from him with uncharacteristic ease and a flow he’d not felt in years. Were they any good? He was afraid to look. That was the thing about drunken creativity—what seemed brilliant in the moment turned out to be crap by the light of day.
    He would look, he would . . . but at the moment, Brennan couldn’t dredge up the will necessary to actually get out of bed.
    “I’m just saying, you can’t live with your parents forever. You’re going to have to work enough hours to pay rent. Hello, it’s called adulthood,” a man’s voice said, drifting up to him from somewhere down on the drive.
    “Why, thank you, Wallace. I didn’t know what it was called until you came along to enlighten me.”
    Brennan knew that voice—it was the groupie girl. No, no, not a groupie. The decorator. What was her name again? Mary?
    “You’re going to have to move along now, Mr. Pogue.”
    He knew that male voice. That was the dude his mother had hired for security. Some great security—people were in and out of here all day long.
    “Yeah, Wallace, you’re going to have to move along,” said the woman, who was maybe Mary, maybe something else. He couldn’t remember.
    “Perfect. I have the two misfits of East Beach telling me what to do now.”
    She laughed, and the sound of it was lilting and sweet. It made Brennan horny, made him think of hearing that laugh when he was inside her. Now he was hard.