All Shook Up Read Online Free PDF Page A

told every media person to fuck off, and yes, they could quote me on that. I changed my number and carefully selected the people I still wanted to see. And I drank.
    Sitting here now, it's clear to me that this morbid party is over. If I don't accept Mark's offer, I'll lose the house in a matter of weeks. Finding a small apartment with Hondo could work temporarily, but he doesn't make enough money to support both of us. And he shouldn't have to. As much as I love him, I know I can't spend my life by his side.
    The thought brings tears to my eyes. That damned stack of papers Mark brought sits in the back of mind, refusing to let me forget. I down the rest of my drink and take the empty glass to the kitchen, where I face my tormentor.
    I pick up the pen a few times, only to drop it again. Finally, I sweep my arm at the stack. Pages fly across the kitchen. Only the last sheet stays on the counter in front of me.
    I grab the pen in my fist and write across the page in big letters, "HONDO STAYS, TOO." The paper rips in several places from the pressure of the pen. I clip the pen to the paper, toss it on the front porch, and slam the door.
    Twice.

Scene 8 ~ Sophie
    Everything seems to happen at once. I sign my way through the thick stack of paper, transferring ownership of the house to Mark. A U-Haul from L.A. shows up with the things he can't live without, mostly instruments and recording equipment. He's the real thing, obsessed with all the trappings of a musician.
    And for some bizarre reason, Hondo turns into my personal bodyguard. From the moment Mark signed the papers, Hondo has kept a permanent buffer between Mark and me. He's never acted like that with other guys. I don't understand why he's acting like this now, and I tell him so.
    "You begged me to take his offer," I say. I pulled him into my conference room for a chat after he forcibly squeezed himself between Mark and me on the couch.
    "It's business," Hondo says. "He doesn't own you."
    "Well, that sounds vaguely familiar."
    Hondo cracks a smile. I hold out my arms and lock myself to his body. Even if he isn't a real bodyguard, I feel safest with my head on his chest, rocking back and forth in his arms. I can barely remember feeling like this with my mother, and never with Lang. My mother was my private parent, and Lang was my public one. When I lost her, I lost more than I could have imagined. Of course, no daughter is prepared for her mother to disappear at such a young age.
    I look up. Hondo leans down and presses his lips against mine. For an endless moment, we stand there with our lips touching, not quite kissing, not quite not kissing. The electricity of it overwhelms me, traveling on every nerve around my body. I finally look down and take a few steps back to breathe.
    "Sophie," he says. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that."
    "I know," I say automatically, even though I have no idea what I know. This has never happened before.
    Neither one of us moves for a full minute. A minute is a long time when you don't know what to do with it. It's a fourth of a song, a third of the time you have to play a turn of Boggle on your phone, the amount of time someone can slip out of your hands when you're not paying attention.
    "I have to go work on a project. It's late. Client is pissed." Hondo doesn't look at me as he crosses the room and lets himself out.
    "OK," I say, after he's gone.
    One minute.
    That's all it takes.

Scene 9 ~ Sophie
    Mark keeps his distance from me for the first few days. He claimed his bedroom—the master suite—and is busy putting his stuff away. I watch furniture movers take Lang's king-sized bed out of the house, to be replaced by a new mattress set. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I understand it—I wouldn't want to sleep on a dead person's bed—but it seems like I should be sad or upset by the change. I'm not.
    When Mark calls me into the room, I see that his entire wardrobe fits in one small corner of the almost-bare closet.
    "You needed