It was one of those perfect mornings, the kind that only ever seems to happen on a Sunday. You know the ones I mean, don’t you? Just before noon, all lazy and warm.

The city of Los Angeles was steeped in sunshine, snuggled about as deep into the weekend as it could get. It seemed like everyone was laid back and happy, except for me and the dozens of other drivers who were trying to move west along Hollywood Blvd, headed toward Fairfax, going nowhere fast.

They’ll tell you Pisces is a patient sign, but you can’t really label the fish. We’re complex people. We combine the best and worst of all the other signs. And the truth is, I hate to wait.

So, there I was, stuck at yet another red light, when it hit me. It wasn’t just me who was waiting and it wasn’t just now. All of Los Angeles was in the same boat, all of us, all the time, waiting for the big one.

For most of us, that means our big break, our shot at seeing our name in a star on the Walk of Fame. It’s the role that’ll lift us out of obscurity. It’s the hit that’ll soar to the top of the charts. We’re all hopeful romantics—like Kathleen Turner in Romancing the Stone. We’re always certain it’ll happen with the next deal we make, the next audition we go out on, the next person we meet.

Take me, for instance. Any day now, with just a little bit of luck, I could go from being plain old Gabby Browne, aspiring actress and dog walker, to Academy Award Winner, Gabriella Giacomo.

And if fame doesn’t get us, no doubt the earthquake will. That’s the other thing everybody’s waiting for, the big eight point, nine point, ten point shaker that scientists say is bound to occur. The one that’ll rock this town to its knees. Even hopeful romantics have to admit it seems inevitable. How could any place with this much surface glamour not be doomed?

But this morning, I was waiting for something a little more personal. I was waiting for The Big O: the elusive, G-spot, ultra orgasm, the kind I’d heard about, read about, yearned for, but had not yet experienced.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not as if I’d never had an orgasm or anything. But, to date, they’d all been the standard issue, plain vanilla kind. Nice, but nothing I couldn’t give myself any day of the week if I wanted. What I was hoping for was something more life-altering, soul-searing, rock-my-world passion. I knew it was out there, waiting for me. All I needed was the right guy to help me find it.

I knew he was out there, too. He was my Twin Flame, my Split Apart, my Tantric Soul mate; the man who would love me madly, passionately, loudly. All night long. They say good things come to those who wait, and I was certainly counting on that being true, but he was taking a long time to get here, and I was growing impatient.

Finally, the light turned green and I made it to where I was trying to get—The Body Electric—for my first workout of the week, and definitely my favorite.

Power Yoga with Derek Novello was never an easy class, but with Derek calling the shots, getting whipped into shape was almost a pleasure. I hurried up the walkway toward the two-story Hollywood Deco building, smiling in anticipation, enjoying the trickle of the fountain in the courtyard, the tinkle of the wind chimes in the topiary, the sweet scent of sandalwood.

“You’re late,” a voice growled the minute I set foot inside the deserted anteroom.

I froze for an instant, heart pounding in my chest, as I recognized Derek’s dark-chocolate voice. Then I turned, making one of those slow, graceful pivots I’d been practicing.

Derek has the kind of chiseled features the camera loves. Even now, with his thick, black brows drawn into a frown that had them almost meeting over the bridge of his classically perfect nose, his face was sensual, expressive, intense.

He was looking yummier than ever today, with his two-hundred-push-ups-every-morning-before-breakfast arms folded across a tight black tank, putting all those lovely muscles on an in-your-face display. The black workout pants he wore, on the other hand, were disappointingly loose, at least in front. But experience had taught me that when he turned around…ooh, baby. They’d likely mold to his glutes in a way that would make my own pants grow damp.

Was I in a rush for him to turn around? Uh-uh. ‘Cause he’s also got the fiercest brown eyes, the most delicious looking lips and, oh, I thought with a tinge of sadness, if only we weren’t friends.

“Traffic,” I explained, trying to rein in my runaway lust, trying to resist the urge to run my fingers through the dark waves of his short hair. I’d always made it a policy never to mix sex and friendship. It was something Derek knew full well, though he continued to tempt me. “You wouldn’t believe all the cars on the road today.”

“So? There’s always traffic, that’s no excuse. Besides, you only live twelve blocks away. You jog, you hike, you exercise—give me a break, Gabe. Are you really going to tell me you couldn’t walk that far? You could get here on time if you wanted to.”

I sighed, feeling even more regretful. The truth is he looks even sexier when he gets worked up, and since he’s a Scorpio, that happens a lot. “Don’t be silly, Derek. This is LA—no one walks here.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Go get dressed.”

Sexy or not, I hate it when anyone’s annoyed with me. It’s a Pisces thing. We want everyone to be happy. Luckily, I knew just how to make Derek’s day.

“I’m sorry, Sensei,” I murmured in my breathiest, most contrite sounding voice. I dropped my chin, laced my fingers together, and peeked up at him adoringly, like the blondest damned geisha you’ve ever seen. “Won’t you please forgive me? I promise it’ll never happen again.”

A muscle twitched at the corner of Derek’s mouth, showing me how hard he was trying not to smile. “It better not. You know the rules. Don’t expect me to make exceptions for you just because we’re friends.”

Well, that was ridiculous. Scorpios always make exceptions for their friends. That’s still the best way to tell when they’ve written you off. But as I bit my lip and took a step closer, I knew that wasn’t the case with us—yet. There was a hot, hungry look in Derek’s eyes, though he was still pretending to be indifferent to my act. ‘Course that all went to hell in an eye-popping, jaw-dropping hurry when I flashed him the twins.

“Damn,” he muttered, blinking appreciatively as I tugged my top back into place. I gave him a wink, then turned on my heel, and marched off toward the lockers.

“You still have a few minutes before class starts, Der,” I called over my shoulder. “You might want to use the time to rearrange that package of yours. It’s bulging.”