Just My Type - Softcover

Ballard, Falon

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0593419936 ISBN 13: 9780593419939

Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group, 2023

Inhaltsangabe

To win the job of her dreams, a relationship-prone journalist needs to learn how to stay single in this heartwarming and hilarious new romantic comedy from the beloved author of Lease on Love.

Lana Parker is an expert girlfriend. After a disastrous breakup with her high school boyfriend, she's bounced from long-term relationship to long-term relationhip and even works as the dating and relationships columnist for one of Los Angeles's trendiest websites. But when Lana suddenly finds herself single, she's ready to take a break, both personally and professionally. 

That is, until her high school ex, Seth Carson, takes an assignment at Lana's site. Having spent years traveling the world as a freelance journalist, Seth's finally ready to put down roots. Seth and Lana's chemistry is just as combative—and undeniable—as ever and quickly leads to a competition that could shape both of their careers. Pitted against each other by Lana's boss, they are each tasked with writing an article series that goes against their usual dating type: Lana needs to write about being single and staying single, while Seth must learn to settle down and become boyfriend material. Whoever's series is most popular wins a highly coveted dream job. But when the two square off, it's not only their careers on the line—it’s also their hearts.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Falon Ballard is the author of Lease on Love. When she’s not writing fictional love stories, she’s helping real-life couples celebrate, working as a wedding planner in Southern California.

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Chapter 1

They invite you to a place that has special meaning to the two of you.
-Lana Parker, "Ten Signs Your Partner Might Be About to Propose"
 
I'm having an Elle Woods moment.

And not a "wearing a pink power suit, getting into Harvard Law, smashing the patriarchy" Elle Woods moment.

More like a "hysterically crying in a public place because instead of being proposed to I'm getting dumped" Elle Woods moment.

The good news is I haven't actually started to cry yet. Which is a relief because my mouth is hanging open in complete and utter shock, and adding heaving sobs to the mix would make for a huge, snotty mess. A literal one, not just the figurative one my life has become.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say to me?"

"I said, I think we should break up."

I stare at the stupid, stupid man sitting across from me. I want nothing less than not to see Evan's stupid, stupid face for even one second longer, but I can't seem to look away, my face frozen in a mixture of horror and WTF-ery. I force my eyes shut, hoping against hope that when I reopen them, all of this will have been some kind of sick joke.

But it's not.
 
When I open my eyes-eyes Evan once told me weren't just brown but brown with flecks of gold-he's still there. Still watching me with a gaze full of pity.

I wish I could channel a Real Housewife and throw my dirty martini in his face, but that would require a level of motor function I don't seem to have. Also, something tells me I'm going to need the liquid courage to survive the rest of this night.

Finally, after several minutes of painful silence, Evan reaches over and pats my hand. Like I'm some grandma he helped across the street and not the woman he's been dating the last four years.
 
"I know this isn't what you were expecting, Lana Banana." His stupid, stupid mouth curls up in a condescending hint of a smile.

I always hated that nickname. Lana doesn't even rhyme with banana.

Stupid. Stupid.

I'm so fucking stupid.

I yank my hand out from under his, the mere touch of his skin on mine enough to give me the icks. "I thought you brought me here to propose." I mean for it to come out accusatory, but instead my voice hitches with a tinge of whine.

A proposal is a reasonable assumption when the man you've been in a committed relationship with for four years plans dinner at the restaurant where you had your first date. Assuming the man isn't a stupid, stupid asshole.

Evan's face scrunches up like the very thought of marrying me is painful. "Oh." He nods slowly, in a way he probably thinks is wise and sage and Gandalf-esque. "I can see now how you might've misinterpreted this."

"How I might have misinterpreted this?" My voice screeches and several patrons at surrounding tables subtly-and not so subtly-turn our way. I reach for my martini and for a second really consider how good it would feel to watch the olive-green-tinted liquid drip down his self-tanned face.

But then I wouldn't get to drink it. I chug the remainder of the cocktail before holding my empty glass in the air.

A server rushes over and removes the glass from my hand, as if he's been waiting for me to chuck it at someone.

"Hi, yes, more of these please." When the server gives me a wary look, I point across the table. "This motherfucker thought it was appropriate to bring me-his girlfriend of four years-to our first-date spot to break up with me."

He winces sympathetically. "I'll just keep them coming then?"

I salute him with my invisible glass. "Good man."

The keeper of the martinis, a.k.a. my new best friend, scampers off.

Leaving us with a silence that now doesn't feel painful as much as it does heavy. The longer we sit and stare at each other, the more my ire flattens into defeat.

"Can I ask why?" I try to remove any anger from the question so he knows that I mean it, that I really want to know. Even though I'm not totally sure myself.

He sighs and picks up my hand again, but this time the gesture is one of comfort, as if there's a chance we might actually walk away from this still friends. "Lana, you don't want to be with me any more than I want to be with you. You know the two of us aren't actually right for each other."

"Then why have we been together for so long, Evan?" I might as well be asking myself that question since I know he's right; the two of us don't belong together. We shouldn't be dating, let alone thinking about getting married.

His grip on my hand tightens. "Do you want the real, honest answer?"

I purse my lips, nodding, even though only half of me-the sadistic half-wants the truth.

"Every girl I dated before you hated my mother, and I liked how you two clicked. I get that she and I have a relationship that might be closer than most, but I never thought it'd be an issue in my dating life. But all my old girlfriends complained about her and how much time she and I spent together, and how much I shared with her." A hint of an apology darkens his eyes, also brown, though with zero flecks of gold.

"Until me."

"You know, sometimes I think you like her better than me," he grumbles under his breath.

I don't refute his comment, which he takes for the confirmation it is. Judy is one kick-ass woman-was I not supposed to hang out with her when she asked?

"It was a nice change for a while, but then I realized I don't think I want to be married to someone who's got Olympic-level mommy issues." He crosses his arms over his chest and an actual pout forms on his thin lips. How quickly we've moved from a semi-rational conversation to throwing barbs.

"Oh, is that the newest Olympic event? Damn, I can't believe I missed the trials." I slip back into sarcasm like it's my favorite old Princess Leia T-shirt, comforting and safe.

"Lana-"
 
"Look, Evan"-two can play the condescending game, and I drip it into my voice like I'm pouring salted caramel on a sundae-"I really have nothing left to say to you other than you better drop some serious cash on this table before you leave. I'm going to be drinking on your tab for the rest of the night." I happily accept a fresh martini from our server-already thankful I like them light on the vodka and heavy on the olive juice-who glares at Evan before retreating to the bar, where a small crowd of employees are pretending not to watch the reality TV drama unfolding right before their eyes.

This is LA though, so chances are pretty good they've seen actual reality TV play out in front of them. In fact, I'm sure the cast of Vanderpump Rules has filmed here more than once, so they've most definitely seen top-tier cocktail tossing.

I take a long sip of my fresh drink as Evan clearly doesn't get the hint. "I'm sorry, why are you still here?"

"I'm not just going to leave you alone when you're well on your way to being drunk. I may not love you, but I'm not that much of a dick."

I channel my inner Thor, tilting my head to the side and scrunching up my face. "Aren't you though?" Another quarter of my drink goes down, chilling my throat and numbing my feelings. I know that once those feelings return, my inevitable sobs will make Elle Woods's look downright peaceful. Therefore, numb they must stay. "Also, I won't be alone for long. May is already on her way."

He sits back in his seat, frowning. "Seriously? Do you guys have some kind of Bat-Signal?"

"Yeah, it's called a cell phone, dipshit. I texted her while you were in the middle of your it's-not-you-it's-me speech." I stab an olive, imagining staking the toothpick right through his eyeball. I can't believe that for half a second I thought we might be able to get through this breakup like mature...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2023
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593419936
• ISBN 13: 9780593419939
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 368
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: gpsr@libri.de; gpsr@libri.de; ; Friedensallee 273; Hamburg; 22763; Deutschland