The Worst Best Man by Mia Sosa

Tuesday, February 4, 2020


by Mia Sosa
Genres: Contemporary, Romance, Adult
Publisher: Avon
Publication Date: February 4th 2020
Source: ARC received for review
Star Quotient: ★★★★1/2
Kiss Factor: ✷✷✷✷1/2

Mia Sosa has penned some of my favorite romantic comedies and I know to expect two important things when I'm reading her books: lots of humor and lots of swoony moments. Her newest title, The Worst Best Man, was Mia Sosa at her finest.

I have a confession to make: I have a secret fetish for wedding planners in my romance novels. I don't know what it is about wedding planners in books, but they always bring me a ton of joy. Imagine my delight when I found out that Lina, the protagonist of The Worst Best Man, owned a wedding planning company. In the book, she is given the opportunity to apply for a position as an in-house wedding planner for a hotel that could take her career to the next level. The only catch? She will have to collaborate with a marketing expert, Max. Max, it turns out, also happens to be the brother of the man that left Lina at the altar three years and the man she partly blames for the end of her relationship. You can probably just already imagine the tension and awkwardness that is bound to bubble between these two, right? Anyways, Lina was a star of a heroine, in my opinion. Mia Sosa always writes compelling characters who not only make me wish they were my BFF but who I also find myself easily connecting with despite our differences. There was so much depth to her character. Her strong work ethic, her loyalty to her family, and her passion and respect for her heritage are just a few traits that I loved. Not to mention, she is fiery, sassy, and one funny girl! And no, she is not perfect. She is stubborn to a fault at times and makes a few mistakes along the way, but that's what made her more real to me.

Max too was an excellent character. I don't think there has been a single love interest from Mia Sosa that I have not fallen head over heels in love with. Max was no different and he had me swooning hard from the minute he was introduced. He is such a genuinely nice fellow and how he handles the situation with Lina with patience and kindness had me falling even more in love with him. As you can imagine, any relationship between Max and Lina is not an easy one with all the pent-up anger and frustration that Lina has towards his brother and him. The progression of the relationship from somewhat enemies to more is so well-executed. You really do feel the chemistry between these two and you root for them to end up together. And let me tell you, the steamy scenes? HOT. Besides the main characters and the romance, I also loved the focus on family. Lina shares very close ties with her family and they play an important role in this book. They are a big family and are very meddlesome, but provide for quality entertainment. While Max himself did not share as strong of a connection with his douchey brother, he had a brother from another mother who was his rock.

I loved The Worst Best Man and I sincerely hope you give this book a chance. Really, I don't see why you should miss out on it. It's good a swoony romance, lots of funny moments, and a cast that will steal your heart. Now doesn't that sound like the perfect book?


If my review didn't convince you to give The Worst Best Man a try, read on for a fun excerpt that is sure to lure you in!

By Mia Sosa


Max clears his throat. The staccato sound disrupts my stream of
consciousness, and the significance of the situation truly hits me.
I’m not getting married today.
My throat constricts and my chest tightens. Oh, no, no, no.
Hold it together, Lina. You’re a pro at this. I wrestle with my tears
and body slam them back into their ducts.
Max inches forward. “What can I do? Do you need a hug? A
shoulder to cry on?”
“I don’t know what I need,” I say hoarsely, unable to pull off
the unruffled demeanor I’d hoped to convey.
His sad eyes meet mine and he opens his arms. I step into his
embrace, desperate to connect with someone so I’ll feel less . . .
adrift. He holds me with a light touch, and somehow I know
he’s restraining himself—as though he wants to keep me afloat rather than pull me under. Through the fog, I notice Max is damp, fresh from a shower possibly, and
I’m struck by the absence of any detectible fragrance on his skin.
“Are you okay?” he asks in a whisper-soft tone.
I don’t move as I consider his question. Maybe remaining still will help me assess the
damage. By all rights, I should be hurt, angry, ready to rail
against the injustice of what Andrew’s done to me. But I’m none
of those things. Not yet. The truth is, I’m numb—and
more than a little confused.
Andrew’s supposed to be “the one.” For two years, we’ve
shared interesting conversations, satisfying sex, and stability.
Most important, he’s never pushed my buttons—not
even once—and I can’t imagine a better choice for a lifelong partner
than someone who doesn’t trigger my worst impulses. Until this
morning, Andrew and I seemed to be on the same page about
the mutual benefits of this union. Today he’s apparently in a different
book altogether—and I have no idea why.
Max fills the silence, babbling for us both: “I don’t know
what’s going on with him. One minute he was fine. And then we
talked last night. We went barhopping, you know? Somewhere
between the shots of Patrón, I said some foolish things. It went
sideways from there. I’m sorry. So damn sorry.”
The anguish in his voice snags my attention, gives me a hook to
sink my psyche into. He’s apologizing for something rather than
consoling me, which doesn’t make sense. I slip out of his arms and
back away. “What do you mean you said some foolish things?”
He drops his chin and stares at the floor. “Honestly, I don’t
remember all that much. I was drunk.”
I skirt around him so I’m not blinded by the sunlight
streaming in from the arched bay window—the better to see
this fuckery. The cloudless sky chafes, too; wasting perfect
wedding-day weather should be a petty crime punishable by at
least a few days’ jail time. “How’d he tell you? Did you speak to
him face-to-face?”
“He sent a text,” Max says softly, the floor still the object of
his undivided attention.
“Let me see it,” I demand.
His head shoots up at the command. For a few seconds, we do
nothing but stare at each other. He flares his nostrils. I . . . don’t.
His gaze darts to my lips, which part of their own volition—until
I realize what I’m doing and snap my mouth shut.
My body temperature rises, and I’m tempted to tug at the lace
on my arms and chest. I feel itchy all over, as if millions of fire ants
are marching across my skin to the tune of Beyoncé’s “Formation.”
I mentally push away the discomfort and hold out my hand. “I
need to see what he wrote.” When he doesn’t budge, I add, “Please.”
Max blows out a long breath, then reaches into the back pocket
of his jeans, pulls out his phone, and taps on the screen. “Here.”
With my lips pursed in concentration, I read the jumble of
sentences confirming that I, Lina Santos, up-and-
coming wedding planner to DC professionals, am officially a jilted bride.
Wow. Okay. Just. Yeah. I couldn’t be more off-brand
if I tried.
Still studying Andrew’s text, I narrow my eyes on the sentence
that annoys me the most: Thanks to you, I can see the truth now.
Oh, really? And what truth did you help my fiancé see, Max?
Hmm? God, I can just imagine those two
talking crap about me in some grimy pub. Makes me want to scream.
I shove the phone back into his hand. “So to sum up: You and
Andrew got shit-faced last night, chatted about something you
claim not to remember, based on that conversation he’s decided
not to marry me, and he doesn’t have the decency to tell me any
of this himself.”
Max is slow to agree, but eventually he nods. “That’s the sense
I get, yes.”
“He’s a dick,” I say flatly.
“I won’t argue with that,” Max replies, the beginnings of a
smile daring to appear at the corners of his trash-talking
“And you’re an asshole.”
His face sours, but I refuse to give a rat’s ass about his feelings.
Whatever nonsense he spouted off last night convinced my
fiancé to tank our wedding. I’d been so close to marrying the
right man for me, and a single drunken conversation derailed
I straighten and grab my own phone off the dressing table,
sending out an SOS to my mother, aunts, and cousins:
Eu preciso de vocês agora.
Telling them I need them now will get their attention; doing
so in Portuguese will get them here within seconds. In the
meantime, I scowl at the worst best man I could have ever asked
for. “Max, do me a favor, will you?”
He takes a step in my direction, his eyes pleading for forgiveness.
“Get. The fuck. Out.”

Have you read any good romantic comedies lately?
Let me know in the comments below!

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