Isn't She Lovely (Redemption 0.5)(76)

Chris catches my eye and gives me a thumbs-up sign, and I grin at him before my eyes find my dad and Amy. She’s self-consciously dabbing her eyes as she gives me a watery smile, and my dad gives me an inept “A-okay” sign. Classic awkward father.

Family. My eyes water.

Ethan squeezes my hand, and I know he understands. Understands that he’s given me my life back.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“Kendrick, please. Like I didn’t know.”

I’m about to say more. That I’m sorry too. That he was right about me being a scared little moron, and that I’d worn all my black crap that day to drive him away because it was easier than facing my issues.

I glance at his profile, and he winks at me. And then I realize. He already knows all that. And he forgives me.

Because he loves me.

I grin back at him. “I stand by what I’ve been saying all along, you know. You’re a horrible Pygmalion. In no part of the myth or any of the movies based on the myth does Pygmalion himself get compromised with leather and whips and shit.”

“Well, probably because none of the other Pygmalions knew just how comfortable leather pants are. Nor did they look this good in them.”

I laugh, knowing I’ll never get tired of him. Never get tired of us.

His phone buzzes, and he pulls it out as I head to the cooler to grab Ethan something to drink. Everyone is giving us space, although I know it’s only a matter of time before Amy swoops in to ask for the details, and my dad starts asking Ethan about his intentions.

Ethan accepts with a distracted thanks the beer I hand him, and I raise my eyebrows at the bemused expression on his face as he continues to stare at his phone.

“Let me guess,” I say. “The country-club set loves your new look.”

He looks up. “We got an email from Martin.”

It takes me a second to follow. “Professor Holbrook?”

“Yup. He’s read the script and loved it. Took the liberty of showing it to his agent, who also loved it and wants to shop it around for us.”

My jaw drops. “You can’t be serious.”

“Looks like Tyler and Kayla might be headed to the big screen, baby.”

“On one condition,” I say, standing on my toes to brush my lips against his.

“Yeah?”

“It’s got to open with ‘Based on a true story.’ ”

“Okay—that can be your request. Me, I’m pushing for a cameo.”

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure you’ll be too busy trying to get those leather pants off. What are they, like painted on—”

He kisses me to shut me up.

And it’s better than any movie kiss. Ever.





Acknowledgments

As always, I owe so much to my agent, Nicole Resciniti, for introducing me to New Adult books, for gently insisting I write one, and for holding my hand the entire way. You’re the best.

To Sue Grimshaw, who had faith in this book from the very beginning, even if it was little more than a skeletal chapter and a seed of an idea: thank you.

And for the fantastically eager readers out there who love New Adult as much as I do: Your undying enthusiasm for the genre kept me going.





About the Author

LAUREN LAYNE graduated from Santa Clara University with a B.S. in political science that she has yet to put to good use. After dabbling in an e-commerce career in Seattle and Southern California, Layne moved to New York City, where she now writes full-time. She lives with her husband and their plus-size Pomeranian in a tiny Manhattan studio.





Read on for an excerpt from Cassie Mae’s

Friday Night Alibi





Chapter 1


I’m naked in the same room with Alex Finnigan. This is so not good for business.

Of all the places I thought someone would first see the fully grown boobs, I definitely didn’t picture the girls’ locker room at one of Georgia’s many Christian country clubs. But here we are. Alex must have some kind of superpower that pops off dead bolts because I could’ve sworn I locked up.

“Kelli Pinkins.”

Not even a quaver in his voice. He must be used to seeing bare chests. Why should I be any different?

“What do you want?” Yes, I’m confident, too. I don’t even reach for a towel, just continue rinsing the shampoo from my hair. It’s just business with him, after all.

He chuckles and sits on one of the benches, kicking his feet up against a locker. “The usual.”

“And it couldn’t wait till after I’m done getting the stench of tennis sweat off me?” I shut off the water and ring my hair out. Guys and their impatience. He better be paying me extra since he got a look at the goods.

“I kinda need it ASAP. Brianne’s expecting me at seven.”

I sigh and wrap a towel around me, then push his legs out of the way to get to my locker.

“You know that’s going to cost you. Short-notice packets are double.”

“That’s fine.”

Of course it’s fine. It’s always fine with every person in need of my services. They’ve got the money, and if they want to get that lovely thing called a “trust fund” when they turn twenty-one, they need me.