Trophy Husband (25 page)

I said yes on the spot.

Now I want to say yes to this girl.

Jill

My twenty-two years on earth have led me to
this moment.

Every singing lesson I ever took.

Every acting class I ever went to.

Every play I read, every song I heard, every
emotion I called forth from deep inside for every part I’ve ever
played before.

Here. Now. Today.

But really, more than anything, the fact
that I finished five marathons matters most right now. Because of
that, I have the training, the perseverance, and the composure to
not freak the fuck out when I walk across the floorboards of the
St. James theater to join Patrick Carlson on stage. I can barely
see the powers-that-be because the seats are shrouded in darkness,
and the lights are on the stage. But I can make out the silhouette
of the director in the second row, along with the producer, and the
God I bow down to – Frederick Stillman himself, who wrote this
anthemic musical, which I fell in love with. I would enter the
Hunger Games for a chance to perform in something he’s created, but
fortunately all I have to do is nail an audition with Patrick
Carlson.

So, as if I’m running with the kind of focus
I need for 26 miles – blinders on, nothing but blinders – I ignore
the fact that Patrick Carlson is the most beautiful man I’ve ever
seen, that his honey blond hair looks thick and soft and that his
light brown eyes are so inviting I want to swim in them.

Okay, maybe not his eyes. Because. Ew.
Creepy.

But they are magnetic, and they draw me in,
as if they have their own lifeforce.

Wait. Can eyes have a lifeforce? Or are they
more like tractor beams? Or magnets?

Actually, neither image
will help me now, so I implement
The Jill
McCormick Ran Five Marathons Brainsweep
,
and I can hear the silent
boop-beep-bop
of futuristic sounding
computer keys silencing these silly thoughts, as I forget that his
talent alone inspired me in high school. I abandon the memories of
all the times I skipped class in college to second act matinees
of
Rent
to watch
him play Roger, or
Wicked
to see him as Fyero.

I am no longer Jill, aspiring New York
actress auditioning for her first Broadway role, and he is not
Patrick, the man who exudes talent and charisma every second he’s
on stage.

He’s Paolo and he’s my teacher. Right now I
am Ava, a young painter without a family, and he’s a mercurial and
captivating artist. I face the audience – nearly two thousand empty
seats and only a few occupied ones, the spotlights from above
shining brightly, as he steps behind me.

He says not a word. Instead, he breathes
out, “hmmm,” as he places his hands on my arms, as if he’s
considering me, then runs his palms sensuously from my wrists to my
shoulders.

“You must let go, Ava. You try too hard to
make your paintings perfect. You need to make them you.”

I nod, breathless, speechless, because this
man I’ve admired, looked up to, is touching me. My art teacher, and
the renowned painter. He brushes my hair away from my neck, and I
lean my head to the side, letting him trace the vein in my neck
with his finger. Then, as if I’ve just remembered that I’m a good
girl, that I don’t do this, won’t do this, can’t do this, I pull
away.

Because I am, shockingly – me – a good
girl.

“I am only here to learn.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “I am teaching
you.”

Ava wants to correct him, to tell him he’s
not, that he’s crossing lines, even though the crossing of them
feels good to this girl who’s felt far too much of the not-good in
life for far too long. But Ava’s not ready yet for this. Soon, but
not yet, so she – me, because I’m her, completely and utterly
subsumed by her – wheels on him, fire in her eyes, then lashes out
with the first sung lines in a heated duet.

“You don’t have permission to lay your hands
on me.”

He plays the gentleman, giving a gesture of
surrender. “Forgive me then, I only touch you as your teacher,” he
sings softly, but powerfully in that baritone that could melt
igloos.

“That’s not teaching.”

“Then find you own way to paint, child.”

And he starts to walk off.

Ava huffs, crosses her arms, looks away, and
sings roughly of all the ways this man makes her crazy. He tells
her how her brushstrokes are too controlled, her head is too much
in the way, she needs to throw her body into the act of painting.
And I hate it, and him, because he feels like the one thing that
stands between true creativity and me.

I sing an angry lament, a furious plea to
the universe to send me elsewhere. But yet, there is no place else
for me, nowhere to go. I’ve been left all alone, and all I have is
my art, and he’s the only one who can make it better.

Make me better.

So I chase him before he leaves the empty
classroom, and leaves me all alone. Ava detests aloneness, even
though it’s the thing she knows best. He’s nearly off-stage, and I
grab his shirt, and he gives me this look – satisfaction and
curiosity.

“I see you’ve changed your mind…”

My shoulders fall in resignation of Ava’s
reality. I will only succeed with him. “I need you, Professor
Paolo.”

“Don’t call me professor.”

“What should I call you?”

“You can call me anytime.”

And then he casually runs a strand of my
hair in his fingers and lets it fall. I grab him, bestowing a hard,
wet kiss on his lips.

Patrick’s lips. Paolo’s lips.

Oh god. He tastes fucking divine. Paolo.
Patrick. My teacher. The actor I idolize. They all collide at once
– reality, make believe, years of crushing, a moment of pretending.
I don’t know if the way I feel right now comes from me or from Ava,
but all I know is – without even opening my eyes, without even
hearing ‘end scene’ – we have a crazy kind of chemistry that can’t
be faked.

Then I break the kiss and run offstage where
I slam into Alexis Carbone, all bleached blond, bosom, and pipes
like nobody’s business.

I don’t stand a chance.

Coming Next

Keep your eye out for my first books with Entangled
Publishing this fall!

In September: A sexy Halloween novella starring a
scorchingly-hot firefighter who melts hearts and panties...

In October: THE BREAK-UP ALBUM, a story of a rock
star who has to choose between love and music...

Available for pre-order soon…

Dear Readers: I am thrilled to
share a sneak peek of two New Adult romances I can’t wait to read!
The first is
The Impact of You
from Kendall Ryan, releasing June 11, and the
second is
Unbreak Me
by Lexi Ryan, releasing May 27. (Note: These are unedited and
may change in the final version.) Look for these books and check
them out in the coming weeks!

Xoxo

Lauren

The Impact of You
by Kendall Ryan,

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author

About the book…

Needing an escape from her past, Avery
chooses a college where no one knows her. Keeping a low profile was
the plan, falling for the intense frat boy, Jase wasn’t. Yet she
can’t deny how alive she feels when he’s near. Even as common sense
implores her to stay away, her body begs her to get closer. Jase,
numb from his own family drama, has grown bored with weekends
fueled by nameless girls and countless bottles when he meets Avery.
Helping her cope with her past is better than dealing with the
bullshit his own life’s served up. Determined to drive away the
painful secret she’s guarding, he appoints himself her life coach,
and challenges her to new experiences. Getting close to her and
being the one to make her smile are simply perks of the job. But
when Avery’s past boldly saunters in, refusing to be forgotten, can
Jase live with the truth about the girl he’s fallen for?

Excerpt from
The Impact of You…

“Thanks.” I take my coffee and try a sip.
Jase is still watching me, a lopsided grin across his lips.
“What?”

He chuckles softly, the deep timber of his
voice raking over me, then folds his hands on the table in front of
him. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Do what?”

He smirks. “I see no other choice than to
become your tutor.”

This time I’m the one laughing. “You want to
be my human sexuality tutor? That’s original. And not douchey at
all.”

Jase’s determined gaze meets mine. “As
tempting as that offer is – and there’s so much I could teach you –
no. I meant I could tutor you at…life.”

“Gee thanks. Why don’t you just admit you
think I’m a loser with no life and get on with it.”

“I didn’t say loser. Lost…probably. Not
having as much fun as you should be…definitely.”

“Rip the Band-Aid off why don’t you.”

Jase settles back against his seat, sliding
his cup of coffee toward him in the process. “Just calling it like
I see it, babe.”

He’s too relaxed, too smug. I want to lash
out irrationally and say something to wipe that cocky smile from
his face. Instead, I pull in a deep breath and reflect on his
observation of me. I’m sitting stick-straight in my seat, my stack
of textbooks is neatly lined up in front of me, and each time Jase
has seen me – first at the party, then behind the dumpster – I’ve
been hiding. I wish I could tell him those were isolated incidents,
that I’m not really like that, but sadly I am. I realize with a
flash of clarity, Jase is right. And suddenly I want more.

I lean toward him on my elbows, weighing his
offer. “So how would this life-coaching work exactly…I’m not saying
I’m interested, but if I was…”

“We’d need to begin spending more time
together for starters.”

I nod, listening intently. I’m thankful he
doesn’t know my heart just kicked into overdrive at his words.
“What else?”

Jase abandons his casual posture, leaning in
towards me across the table, his brilliant blue eyes piercing mine
with intensity. “I’ll issue you challenges as I see fit. You’d have
to trust me.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “I’m not
running through campus naked or dropping acid or anything weird
like that.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do anything you’re
not ready for.” His voice is calm and sure. I can’t believe I’m
considering this, but I am.

“Why would you want to do all this…I’m not a
project.”

“I didn’t say you were. Let’s just say I
could use the distraction right now.”

I know my expression gives me away. I’m
beyond confused about what’s happening between us and powerless to
stop it.

He brushes his index finger over the crease
in my forehead. “Hey, relax,” his voice is just a whisper. “You’re
thinking too hard. I’m not going to pry about your past unless you
want me to.”

I shake my head, my heart thumping
wildly.

Jase’s thumb caresses my cheek before he
lets his hand fall away. “You’ll let me know if there’s someone’s
ass I should kick, though, right?”

I would have giggled at this, had it not
been for the intensity radiating from Jase. “No. I made my own
choices.”

He’s silent while he studies me –his blue
eyes looking for answers. Answers I can’t possibly give him.

“You were young, too trusting, fell for the
wrong guy…”

I clear my throat. “Something like
that.”

He reaches for my hand and gives it a
squeeze. “Hey, it’s okay.”

I manage a nod, arranging my mouth in a
smile. If he knew the truth, he wouldn’t be sitting here, being so
kind to me. My heart is thudding against my ribcage. “This tutoring
thing…When do we start?”

He glances at his naked wrist. “Now would be
nice.”

I roll my eyes to avoid
chuckling at him. “Fine. What’s my first
assignment
?”

* * *

Unbreak Me
by Lexi Ryan,

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author

About the book…

“If you’re broken, I’ll fix you…”

I’m only twenty-one and already damaged
goods. A slut. A failure. A disappointment to my picture-perfect
family as long as I can remember. I called off my wedding to
William Bailey, the only man who thought I was worth fixing. A year
later and he’s marrying my sister. Unless I ask him not to… “If you
shatter, I’ll find you…” But now there’s Asher Logan, a broken man
who sees the fractures in my façade and doesn’t want to fix me at
all. Asher wants me to stop hiding, to stop pretending. Asher wants
to break down my walls. But that means letting him see my ugly
secrets and forgiving him for his. With my past weighing down on
me, do I want the man who holds me together or the man who gives me
permission to break?

Excerpt from
Unbreak Me….

Technically
, I am trespassing.
Technically
, trespassing
is not part of the New Me plan. But it hardly feels like
trespassing to use the neighbor’s gorgeous, well-maintained pool
when a) I’ve been doing it since I was sixteen, and b) the rich
dude who owns the place is never around. I like to think I’m doing
him a favor. He must spend a crap ton of money to maintain this
place, but he doesn’t get any use out of it because he’s always
away at his house in Vale or wherever. It would be wasteful for
me
not
to use it
just because of some technicality.

I hoist myself over the gate and feel greedy
anticipation at the sight and sound of the water. Surrounded by
lush landscaping and featuring a cascade of water that circulates
from hot tub to pool, the space is more water feature than swimming
hole. I don’t know Rich Dude, but he has excellent taste, and this
little oasis is one of my favorite places on Earth.