Okay. Confession. The idea behind THE LEFTOVER CLUB, which gave birth to today's book boyfriend, Dylan Fenn, was created in part to "rewrite" several instances in my past where I, myself, was Queen of the Unwanted.
I preach all the time that anyone can find love and live the life of their dreams no matter what size they are, and I believe that 100%. But all the same, I am human and I do live in a culture where my appearance isn't necessarily prized. I've been stuffed into The Friend Zone more times than you could count, having been told by EVERY crush trying to let me down easy that "The man who gets you will be so lucky."
I know a fair amount about being rejected by the people you want most.
So I re-invented myself as a completely new character, Roni Lawless, who shared many things in common with me. Her dad died when she was a kid, just like mine. She was raised basically an only child by a single mom, just like me. She had to share her home with another family, just to make ends meet, just like us. She got her first kiss on a playground based on a dare, just like me. She was humiliated in high school PE by a ruthless PE coach who wanted to make an example out of her, just like me. Her best friend was gay, which opened her up to brand new experiences and perspectives she never would have had otherwise, just like me. Her first marriage ended in divorce, just like mine. (My husband wasn't as big of an asshole as Roni's was, but there was a bit of the same anti-fat tough love going on, which only made the fat thing worse... just like me.) She surrounded herself with other outcasts, just to have a place to belong, united in the shared rejection over That Guy, which lasted sadly long into adulthood. Just like me.
Most of all she pined for years over a boy who, by all conventional expectations anyway, shouldn't want her due to her size. While this manwhore adored her as a friend, she got delegated to the very exclusive group of people who *didn't* get to sleep with him, to commiserate together as they watched other people (and generally unworthy people) walk away with the prize of affection, getting all the glory without any of the hard work that comes from loving someone unconditionally.
Just.
Like.
Me.
When I developed Dylan Fenn, I decided that, UNLIKE me, Roni should get her chance to be chosen by the boy who should never, ever choose her. I dug way deep in my history to unearth those frighteningly awkward teenage moments, all in an effort to shade in the memories with a little more hope. A "missed opportunity" is a lot easier to swallow than outward rejection, after all.
If you want to criticize me for overly indulgent writing, in this case it actually might prove true. There's so much "me" in this book it's ridiculous. Well, the old me, anyway. The one who never believed anything good could ever happen to her. She rears her head every once and a while still, despite all my successes and how far I've come. She whispers in my ear whenever I want to try something new to temper my expectations, because the good stuff really doesn't happen to me, at least not for very long.
I'm sure this is no doubt tied to the clinical depression I've suffered with pretty much my whole life. That's why Roni's turning point is to seek therapy, to figure out why she continually self-sabotages.
It all comes back losing her father when she was a vulnerable child. Just like me, she had to wonder what the point of being happy was, when inevitably something wretched always comes along to destroy it. It seemed like the happier I was, the more traumatic the catastrophe. That's a scary place for a kid. And it helps cultivate scared adults.
In the end, her HEA wasn't necessarily about getting the hottest guy on her planet to love her as much as it took her learning to love herself.
Let's just say I'm working on it. Thankfully I was several steps ahead of Roni in righting this particular internal wrong, so there were parts of this story that were hard to tell. Seeing as how so much of it occurred in the past, including those confusing 80s as a lonely teenager, and the tumultuous 90s as a clueless adult, there was no getting away from that kind of self-examination. Making stupid mistakes in hindsight is a lot harder than you'd think.
The only way to get through it was to keep it as upbeat as possible, hence why I decided to write a story in bemused, nostalgic flashbacks. I could lean heavily on the music and movies and pop culture of the time, which immediately connected me to any reader who shared those common experiences. And since she was stronger than I ever was at that age, I made Roni a lot like what I had always wanted to be. She did all those high school things I never did. She graduated high school and went straight to college, like I always regretted not doing.
And then there's Dylan.
What can I tell you about Dylan?
Dylan Fenn is That Guy. He's the quarterback of the football team, he's the big man on campus, he's the star on the verge of breaking out. He's every guy you ever wanted that you thought was too far out of your league to seriously pursue. He's got every possible advantage, except for a father who loved him. This has dogged him his whole life, with only Roni there to understand his pain.
I wanted to tell him I was sorry that his dad flaked out again, but I learned a long time ago that he didn’t like to talk about that kind of thing. Instead it was time for Operation: Distraction. “So what movie do you want to see?”
“I don’t know. I’m not really in the mood to see a movie.”
“Oh,” I said. “What do you want to do?”
“I want to see my dad,” he said.
I turned my head to look at him. That softly worded confession was unexpected. I saw a tear at the corner of his eye.
“Why doesn’t he want me, Roni?”
I turned over on my side and propped up on my elbow. I didn’t know what to say, or do.
He turned on his side to face me, mirroring my posture by propping up on his elbow. “Sometimes I think you’re the lucky one. Your dad didn’t leave you on purpose.”
“Still hurts,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, I know,” he said.
“And your dad can change his mind someday. He can come back.”
His dark eyes were big and sad. “He won’t.”
I didn’t know what to do so I reached for his hand, just to let him know I’d always be there for him, no matter what. He smiled. So did I.
Despite this inward pain, outwardly he's everything That Guy should be. He's hot, he wears all the right clothes, he hangs out with the right people. He's charming so people forgive him when he cycles through girlfriends like tissue paper. He's smart, but not arrogant. He's good looking without being egotistical. Thanks to his absent daddy's money, it looks as if his whole life is wrapped up in a big sparkly bow. Why should anyone like this settle for the high school reject?
Dylan grabbed my arm and propelled me out toward his car. He said nothing as he unlocked the door and thrust me in the passenger seat. He revved the engine once he got in, and then screeched around in an illegal U-turn as he pointed the car towards home.
“That was stupid, Roni,” he finally muttered once we hit the Pacific Coast Highway. “You can’t go alone with guys like that. They’re only after one thing.”
“Not from me,” I said softly.
“From anyone,” he corrected. “All those guys want is an easy lay.”
“I’m not an easy lay,” I snapped. “I’m a virgin.”
He stole a brief glance. “For now.”
I was starting to get angry. “What is that supposed to mean?”
He sighed. “Insecure virgins are a number one target.”
“You’d know,” I snapped.
He pulled off the main road and headed down toward the beach, pulling into the parking lot and killing the engine. He swiveled to face me from his bucket seat. “Is that the kind of guy you think I am?”
I held his gaze for as long as I dared. Finally I looked away. “I don’t know what kind of guy you are.”
“I’m a guy who cares about you,” he said softly, which forced me to look at him again. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
It was hollow comfort. I had been hopelessly infatuated with Dylan Fenn since I saw him ace a spelling bee in the first grade. A lot of good that had done me over the years.
Silence stretched on indeterminately between us until finally he said, “Truth or dare?”
My eyes met his. “What?”
“Truth or dare?” he repeated.
“There are no merry-go-rounds here,” I pointed out.
He conceded that point with a nod of his head. Then he reached across me to pull a joint from the glove box. He lit it up, inhaled deep, and then handed it to me. I took it begrudgingly and gingerly took a hit. “Hold it in,” he instructed, and I did. “Good. Give it a few minutes and you’ll feel like you’re right back on that merry-go-round.”
After I finished coughing and sputtering, I leaned back against my seat and closed my eyes. Just like he said, within minutes I felt like I was flying. “Truth or dare?” he repeated softly.
I didn’t bother to open my eyes. “Truth.”
“Would you have slept with Todd if he had asked?”
I exhaled slowly. “I don’t know,” I finally said. And that was the God’s honest truth. “It’s not like anyone has ever asked.”
“Would you have kissed him?” Dylan persisted.
“I don’t know. Probably. I mean look at me, Dylan. I’m a cliché. Sweet sixteen and never been kissed.”
“I think you’re forgetting something,” he said softly.
I glared at him. “That wasn’t a real kiss.”
A long moment passed before either of us spoke. “You’re right,” he finally conceded. “It wasn’t. We were just kids and it was just a silly dare.”
Though I long suspected it, it hurt to hear him say so. I started to look away but his hand curled around the back of my neck and pulled me back. “This is a real kiss,” he said before he leaned toward me and his mouth landed on mine.
Despite all the starts and stops in their childhood, Dylan and Roni would have likely orbited in the same galaxy had Roni not gotten married. But... old flames die hard, especially with someone like That Guy. It doesn't take much to blur the lines.
Dylan stood to face me. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” he grinned. “You look great.”
“Thanks,” I said as I glanced him over. “Ditto on both counts.”
He laughed. “Thanks. I just came by to drop off Mom’s famous banana bread. She made a thousand loaves, as usual.”
I chuckled. I remembered well overdosing on Bonnie’s famous recipe over the years.
“Do you have a minute, or are you on your way back out?” he asked, looking over my attire which was far too fancy for a night at my mom’s.
“I was leaving, yeah,” I said. “But it was good to see you.”
Those familiar dark eyes were warm as they stared back at me. “You, too. Let’s get together sometime, okay?”
“Absolutely,” I promised, though I had no intention of doing so. I couldn’t afford yet another liability if I was going to try and save my marriage. I waved goodbye to my stepfather and hugged my mom and Meghan goodbye before I headed back out to my car.
I waited until I got back into the driver’s seat before I called Wade. My plan was simple. I was going to ask him to dinner, and we’d have a respectable date where I would promise that I would do whatever he wanted if he would just come home. Meghan needed him. And that was all that mattered.
But when the phone picked up, it was not Wade on the other end. A woman answered, which was odd, considering it was the direct line to his private hotel suite. “Hello?” she answered.
I didn’t say anything at first, but then, before I could stop myself, I said, “Julia?”
“Yes,” she confirmed. “Who is this?”
There was a slight muffling sound before Wade’s voice filled the line. “This is Wade Connor.”
“This is Veronica Connor,” I gritted. “You know. Your wife.”
He sighed. “It’s not what you think, Roni.”
“Right,” I scoffed. “You won’t let me go to a public place with my friends but you allow a woman in your hotel room?”
“There are several people in my room. We’re attending a function this evening and we decided to meet early.”
“And she just randomly answers the phone?”
“I asked her to,” he answered coolly. I didn’t reply. “What did you want, Roni?”
“I wanted to invite my husband to dinner so that we could work on our marriage.”
“Tonight is out of the question,” he dismissed. “I have prior engagements.”
The streetlight glanced off my two-carat diamond ring. “Yeah. I thought I was one of them.”
“Roni…,” he started.
“Goodbye, Wade.” I disconnected the call, threw the phone onto the passenger side of the car and burst into tears. How did it all go so fucking wrong?
I heard a tap on my window. I turned to see Dylan hunched beside my car. I wiped my tears away and rolled down my window. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lied as I smeared more of my makeup by wiping away the tears.
He wasn’t convinced. I could feel his eyes as they scanned my face. “Want to talk about it?”
I shook my head. “I really should go back inside.”
“I thought you were leaving.”
I couldn’t even face him. Tears cut a path down both cheeks. He said nothing further as he opened my door and pulled me out by the hand. I grabbed my purse, but left my phone, and allowed Dylan to lead me toward his Mustang.
It was like old times. He was in the driver’s seat and I was along for the ride. He blasted his music, that familiar heavy rock sound that he had always loved. He merged onto Interstate 5 going north toward Los Angeles. “Where are we going?”
“I know a place,” he said with that grin that still made my knees tingle.
Unlike That Guy, who works only for a season and then you outgrow him like last year's fashion, Dylan is the only constant in Roni's life, despite their long-simmering non-affair. It's a love affair that stretches over decades, because that's how long it took both of them to grow the hell up, despite having each other to lean on for all those years.
“I could not have done this without you. You know that, right?”
I shrugged. “Call Emma and thank her. She was the one who recommended you. We just brokered the deal.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “You’re never going to take credit for anything you do, are you?”
“Credit. Blame. Talk to me in three months, when you’re digging swamp bugs out of your teeth.”
He laughed. They started filming in early January, clear across the country in a small town in Florida. This was good news for me because it meant for six weeks solid, I wouldn’t have to have Dylan Fenn thrown into my face by my family, my friends and life in general.
But it wasn’t January yet.
“We should do something to celebrate this auspicious occasion.”
I shook my head. “Can’t. I have to get home to the kid.”
“So bring her. I don’t think I’ve seen her since she was six. Remember?”
I rolled my eyes. Remembering was not my problem these days. I was reliving every painful experience from my past as that damnable twenty-year reunion loomed. “I have a strict policy not to involve my daughter in my social life. My ex-husband does that enough for both of us,” I added bitterly.
He sighed before he leaned across my desk, linking his hands together as he cornered me in a direct gaze. “Roni, I want to see you. I want to spend time with you. I want to fit in your life somewhere. It’s not a date. It’s not marriage. It’s just friends hanging out. I’m pretty sure she’s old enough to understand that. You should give her a little credit. Me, too, for that matter. And yourself most of all.” He paused before he added, “You deserve a life of your own. It’s okay to be happy.”
But oh... what a ride. Definitely worth going through a second time around.
As for who I would cast, I wouldn't. Everyone but everyone has their own definition of That Guy. (Or that Girl. We're inclusive here around these parts.) Whatever that person was, that holy grail of attraction, the one you thought you'd never get, you can put his (or her) face in the blank spaces.
This is the book for every outcast, every reject, every scorned, friend-zoned, nice guy/girl who never turned That Guy's eye, not for real, not the way it counted.
So raise your glasses, you beautiful weirdos. The book for your HEA is here at last.
Check out THE LEFTOVER CLUB, which is available free to read through Kindle Unlimited. And, for today only, EVERYONE can download a copy FOR FREE!
Welcome to my own teenage wasteland.
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