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Ten years is a long time to be infatuated with your former best friend, especially when she’s dating your brother. So, when a wedding invitation with his name embossed on the front comes in the mail, it feels like a fastball to the heart. But when I discover my unrequited crush isn’t the blushing bride, all bets are off because I’m ready to take my shot and this time, I’m playing for keeps. Readers who enjoy hate-to-lovers and unrequited romances will consume Make My Heart Malt by Gia Stevens, a standalone sports romance.
Apple Books → https://geni.us/MMHM_AppleBooks
Kobo → https://geni.us/MMHM_Kobo
Barnes & Noble → https://geni.us/MMHM_Nook
Google Play → https://geni.us/MMHMGooglePlay
A sizzling hate to lovers, unrequited crush, standalone sports romance by romantic comedy author Gia Stevens…
Dessa should have been mine... until my brother kissed her first.
Ten years is a long time to be infatuated with your former best friend, especially when she’s dating your brother. So, when I receive a wedding invitation with his name embossed on the front, it feels like a fastball to the heart. But it turns out, my unrequited crush isn’t the blushing bride after all.
Now’s my only chance to make amends for my past mistakes and give her the kiss I’ve desperately been holding onto. Unfortunately, she thwarts my efforts with each drink she throws at me.
When we find ourselves locked in a storage room, we’re forced to hash out the real reason I left town—and it wasn’t for baseball. Turns out, there’s a fine line between anger and passion and it doesn’t take long for her to scream my name.
Even after hitting third base, she still hates me. However, I’m determined to prove I’m not the man who ghosted her all those years ago. This time I’m not walking away.
My last game ended in a devastating miss—costing us the world championship, but this is one game I refuse to lose.
Because when it comes to Dessa… I’m playing for keeps.
Copyright 2024, Gia Stevens
My tongue peeks out, wetting my lips. “Sex on the Couch.”
He chokes on the drink. A small giggle escapes me as I pass him a napkin.
“There’s a little hint of sweetness that caught me off guard.” He holds his thumb and index finger in front of him centimeters apart.
“It’s the agave nectar.” I busy myself with making another drink before he can finish the last one. I roll the rim of the glass in pink sugar. Once it’s finished, I slide it across the counter.
“What’s this one?”
“This one is called Asshole.”
He squints at the pink liquid. “I don’t get it.”
I bite my lips together to hide my laughter. “You slide your tongue around the rim and then toss it back.”
His gaze jerks to mine. A slow smile plays on his lips. “Got it.”
A hint of desire dances in his irises. Either that, or the alcohol is causing me to hallucinate. His tongue peeks out as he swipes it around the edge of the glass. With hooded eyes he wraps his lips around the rim, watching me the entire time before tipping back the shot glass. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows. Why’s it so hot? I tug at the collar of my sweatshirt. When did it get so tight? I should hate him, not want to jump over the counter and ride his face like a jockey at the Kentucky Derby. I pour the rest from the shaker in a glass and swallow the last gulp. It’s a desperate attempt to bring my body temperature back to normal, which I’m almost positive is caused by the dirty thoughts playing through my head. Either way, I need a distraction from Garrett. Or myself.
Vodka. Vodka is a good distraction. With the bottle in hand, I pour two shots into a shaker to make a new drink. Garrett's eyes are on me the entire time from the other side of the counter. My heart races as he tracks my every move. When it’s finished, I slide it over to him. He studies the glass, then lifts his gaze to mine.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“You’re a lot more manageable when you’re passed out.”
He barks out a laugh, then swallows the pink liquid, and I do the same.
After he’s finished, his tongue runs over his bottom lip, and I can’t help shifting my weight, rubbing my thighs together.
“What’s that one called?” he asks.
“Get Me Naked,” I whisper softly.
His normally green irises darken to a hunter green, almost black, and his nostrils flare. I can only imagine he’s having the same thoughts as I am. It looks like he wants to jump over the counter and maul me like a ravenous grizzly bear.
“Say the words, Dessa. Don’t mask them behind drink names.”
Is he reading my thoughts? The glass slips out of my hand and shatters on the linoleum floor. Shards of glass scatter across the floor.
“Shit.” I bend down and grab the large pieces, placing them in my palm.
The stool scrapes across the wood floor as Garrett races around the end of the island to help. He holds out his hand for me to put what I’ve collected in his palm. While he throws the pieces into the trash, I get the broom from the tall storage pantry and sweep the rest. When I’m finished, I return the broom to the closet and close the door. I whirl around and immediately collide with Garrett’s very strong and muscular chest.
“I’m sorry.” My words are barely a whisper as my fingers brush over the cotton fabric covering his pecs. Without saying anything, his fingers rest on my waist as he leans around me to throw a piece of glass into the garbage. When he returns to his full height, he doesn’t move. His gaze wanders from my eyes to my mouth. I part my lips, wetting the bottom one with my tongue. He inches closer, his grip on me growing tighter. My breathing grows shallow. There’s so much electricity flowing between us it could power the entire state. His fingers flex on my waist.
“Garrett,” his name is a cross between a whisper and a plea.
His hand reaches up and cups my cheek as my chest heaves with every passing second. Then his mouth crashes onto mine in a fervent, desperate kiss. With a hand on my hip, he spins me around and without breaking the seal of his lips on mine, he lifts me onto the counter with no effort. My knees instinctively spread to allow room for his body to nestle in between.
He pulls away and runs the tip of his nose over mine. “Tell me you want this.”
Gia Stevens resides in Northern Minnesota with her husband and cat. She lives for the warm, sunny days of summer and dreads the bitter cold of winter. A romantic comedy junkie at heart, she knew she wanted her own stories to encompass those same warm and fuzzy feelings.
When she’s not busy writing your next book boyfriend, Gia can be found binge watching TV shows that aired five years ago, taking pictures of her cat, or curled up with a steamy romance novel.
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