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Logline
After a humiliating sexual encounter, the last person free-spirited Uma Rawal wants to see is voiceless ex-athlete Adi Deo, but mutual friends, a few twists of fate, and a global pandemic have them quarantined together.
Blurb
Aspiring photographer and tattoo artist Uma Rawal has lived enough of life to know if she wants something, she'll have to go after it herself. The motto applies to everything in her life: hair color, surfing, careers, and sex.
Enter Adi Deo. Assistant coach to the University of Southern California's track team, he's dark, quiet, and broody - totally her type, but a little too much so.
They're begrudgingly set up by mutual friends who are convinced they're perfect for each other. Uma tries for once, only to be met with silence. Her rejection turns quickly to rage until she finds out why he won't. Or can't.
The universe brings them together again and again, despite the worldwide pandemic and the slew of personal traumas that seem to get in the way of their undeniable attraction.
Maybe they are meant to be.
If only Adi could talk. If only Uma believed in soulmates. If only their pasts would stay in the past.
First 1,000 Words
Trigger Warning: Brief description of a dead child.
Prologue
UMA
Bras were invented by the Devil himself, I swear. Today's personal torture device has underwire and padded cups. My hands pretzel behind my torso to clip it closed. As I peer over my shoulder, Travis's blue eyes swim in a haze, chest chasing runaway breaths. He gazes towards the ceiling, brown hair all tousled, satisfaction spread across his face from our recent activity. If you can even call it that.
I blame Tinder and L.A.'s pitiful dating scene for the string of no-strings failures.
"You're amazing, Uma," he sighs, his voice low with the daze of a decent fuck. In his mind anyway.
Yes, I'm good at the sex.
Don't get me wrong, Travis seems like a nice guy, but that was...meh. Nope, no point lying about it. Let's call it what it is. He's got a mediocre cock, no idea what to do with it, and took twenty minutes playing DJ Trying-Too-Hard on the crease between my left inner thigh and labia before I had to interfere and take things into my own hands.
I pull my head through my favorite Madonna print tee as he props himself up on an elbow, tugging at the hem to pull me closer. "When can I see you again?"
"Listen..." I tilt my head, hoping it relays my disinterest. "That's flattering, but I'm not looking for anything more."
Life tip: never bed bad dick twice.
Travis spends the next few minutes failing to convince me otherwise. I fix the skewed frays at the knees of my ripped black jeans, shoving my feet through a worn pair of all-black Converse.
"I'm sorry, man." I shrug. "I'm just not feeling it."
I'm so close to freedom, nearly out the door when he grabs my arm and spins me around. The alarm bells ring loud and clear—I don't let anyone manhandle me like that—but his hold is weak. He reaches around to grab my ass. "One more time tonight, then?" For fuck's sake, he's a beggar, too?
"No, thanks." I pat his chest, letting out a sardonic smile and squirm out of his arms. "I'm good." Another dick bites the dust. My phone buzzes from within my purse while I'm in the Uber home. Could have used the save when I was at the worst dick appointment ever.
Char: Met your soul mate last night.
Me: You know I don't believe in those.
Me: Unless you're talking kindred spirits and bosom buddies.
Char: I'm hungover as fuck but you can't fool me. There's a hopeless romantic in there. Somewhere.
I scoff to myself.
There really isn't.
Chapter 1
ADI
High noon's sun warms the top of my head, the jet black shade of my hair absorbing every ray beaming down. A soccer ball rolls away until it disappears in the long grass. It desperately needs mowing. Sweat trails down my torso, drenching my shirt and shorts.
The light blinds me for a moment. I lose control of the ball. While my eyes struggle to see through a squint, I dart after it. A distant scream makes my heart thud, pulse knocking in my ears until I can't hear anything else.
A shady tree returns my vision, but it's too late and I'm running too fast. I trip over a breached root and fall with a dramatic flourish to the cool ground, knocking the wind out of my chest and my brain flickers off.
When I blink back to consciousness, the damp grass cools my cheek, providing solace. But it's temporary.
Horror lashes like a whip to flesh. An infantile body lies completely crushed next to me, his blood splattered over the earth. Every part of him is limp as if all his bones shattered upon impact. Skull shards circle his head like a grim halo, but his face is untouched. Almost alive. His walnut-brown eyes are frozen open, glassy and inanimate, the lifeless stare piercing into my guilt.
I let out a hollow scream, scrambling backward like a coward as tears burst forth without warning. And I don't stop.
Erratic breaths puff out from my chest as I fist around chunks of the microfiber-covered cushion. Both the couch and I suffer from a film of sweat.
"Damn, dude." A voice muffles through loud chewing behind me. "You still have those nightmares?"
Max sits at my dining table. The tabletop sprawls with food wrappers. He ignores my look of disgust and continues to stuff his face. I wipe the sweat from my brow, rubbing my temples before getting to my feet. "How did you get in here? And what the fuck are you eating?"
"Emergency key, bruh." He smiles and giggles, dipping a Flamin' Hot Cheeto into a fresh jar of mayonnaise before giving me an open-mouthed view of his snack. "I got hungry."
The dopey grin on his face says it all. He's fucking high. "That shit's so bad for you." I frown at him. The asshole shrugs in response.
"The pot or the food?"
"Both, numbnuts." I punch him in the shoulder and plop down into the chair next to him. "I thought you were meeting Char again tonight."
"Oh, I totally fucking did." He titters through more chewing. "That girl is the hottest piece of ass I've ever seen. She smokes, too." He sighs and falls back into the chair. "I think I'm in love, dude."
"And somehow your sad ass ended up at my apartment."
"She has some charity event early tomorrow morning," he explains with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Didn't stop us from gettin' nasty at the club, though." Mayo oozes from the corner of his mouth as he bites down. Absolutely obnoxious. I grimace and narrow my eyes at him. For some fucking reason, he takes that as a signal to keep talking. "She sucked me off in the bathroom." He pumps his eyebrows once before shoving his fiery orange fingers back into the bag of Cheetos. "Dick, balls, everything. She gives awesome head. Mind-blowing. I'll get hard if I just think about it."
"You're fucking gross, man." I shake my head in disapproval. "Dudes take beer shits in there."
"Whatever. Don't knock it 'til you try it."
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