Exes and O's (The Influencer #2)

by Amy Lea

Moving out means I’ll be free to read on the couch for six straight hours without anyone throwing shade,

As a lifelong connoisseur of romance novels, I’m keenly aware that eye contact lasting longer than three seconds is ripe with romantic potential.

Book covers depicting unfairly attractive, half-nude models embracing in a passionate lip-lock are perennial targets of mocking and snobbery. Welcome to the patriarchy.

His question takes me off guard, and he can tell, because he bashfully follows it up with, “I read a little romantic suspense, if you’re wondering.”

“Okay, you got me. I lied. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you. I do read, though,” he adds, his gaze falling to my purse at my feet.

In the span of ten minutes, I’ve learned all there is to know about Nate. He’s twenty-five (five years my junior, but I’m willing to embrace the Cougar Life), works at an investment firm, owns his very own condo, would choose mustard over ketchup if stranded on a remote island, and is secure enough in his manhood to admit his fondness for Taylor Swift’s latest album. Creatures like him are a romance reader’s wet dream.

“Okay, tell me everything. On a scale of Danny DeVito to Henry Cavill, how attractive is he? Spare no detail.”

“Should I trust you, deliriously handsome stranger?” His mouth shapes into a crooked smile as he stands, towering over me on the bathroom floor. “Nah. Probably not.”

Is Trevor Metcalfe really that good in bed? Or is this woman faking it for the sake of his fragile male ego? Must be faking it, I decide.

I refuse to be remotely turned on by the sounds of my roommate and a random woman going at it. Not today, Satan.

“Let me guess: you don’t believe in happily ever afters because of your mysterious, turbulent past?”

“Would you swipe right on me if I were a stranger?” I ask. Trevor huffs a one-syllable laugh, which I interpret as a definite no. Ouch. “ ‘Seeking husband potential only. No test drives’? Is that actually your bio?”

Of course I did. A lady has to keep her options open. You can’t just run into the arms of the first man who gives you a second look. That would be desperate.

“The Facebook is no way to meet someone.”

All the romance books and movies insist true love happens passively. Love, as we’re told, is not something you actively seek out. The best love stories just magically fall into the laps of those who don’t expect or want them.

People love to say exes are exes for a reason, so they don’t have to dwell on the past. But personally, I’ve always thought second-chance love stories were the most satisfying of them all.

“Okay, that’s an exaggeration. It’s not like I sat by my phone waiting with bated breath for you to text me,” I lie. I might have.

For the first time in my life, I’m starting to understand why romance heroines dramatically swear off men. Maybe I should do the same. Love would surely fall into my lap the moment I did so.

“Also, it’s offensive and demeaning to be written off as crazy. Especially given the stigma of mental health. And maybe the real issue here is that some men can’t confront their emotions.

“Please don’t put me and romance in the same sentence.”

“Basically it’s written porn? But with no visuals.”

“You don’t need visuals when you have your imagination. Besides, porn usually caters to the male gaze. Doesn’t really do much for a lot of women.”

“You’re obsessed with the idea of pursuing your exes because you’re scared to meet someone new.”

“Being forward isn’t a bad thing. Am I supposed to pretend to be mysterious? Like the cool chick who acts like a bro, goes with the flow, and has no emotional needs?”

Based on my extensive catalog of romance knowledge from books and film, these are signs of an impending kiss. Trevor Metcalfe wants to kiss me.

“We support you and your battery-operated relationship either way.”

“Because I know how you get. You get obsessed. Dickmatized, as the great Ali Wong would say. You would fall in love with a tree branch if you spent enough time with it.”

“The opposite. I think most people who go through something like that would give up on love entirely. And you haven’t.”

“I don’t switch it up enough. I’ve never had a one-night stand before. I’ve never even touched the penis of a dude whose middle name I don’t know. But I hear it’s liberating.”

Meanwhile, I’m still struggling to understand what the hell happened in that lobby. Have I really had a lifetime of rusted Honda Civic–equivalent kisses? Because comparatively, Trevor’s kiss was like being behind the buttery leather wheel of Mel’s Tesla.

“You like to talk to everyone, though.” He pauses, letting out a one-syllable laugh. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Chen.”

“You’re gonna make some guy really happy one day. And I hope for your sake that it’s Daniel.”

“He doesn’t deserve you.”

Trevor is a walking sign that reads Do Not Enter, wrapped twelve times over in cautionary tape. I know this, and yet I barge through, lifting my chin, brushing my lips to his. It’s the lightest illicit touch.

“Because I can’t be another asshole who breaks your heart. I can’t do that to you, of all people. You deserve everything. Every. Thing.”

“My life isn’t some kind of trope. I’m not a stereotype for you to pick apart and mock.”

“You were right. I—have feelings for you.” The declaration knocks the wind out of my chest. I tamp down the urge to ask a million questions, letting him continue. “Big feelings. To the point where I

don’t even know what to do with myself half the time. I’ve tried to get you out of my head for months, but your stubborn ass just won’t leave.”

“If there’s anyone in this world I want to try for, it’s you,” he whispers.

You’ve been driving me fucking wild.”

“Since the day you moved in, I wanted you,” he manages. “I’ve never wanted someone so bad in my entire life. You’ve wrecked me.”

“I’m well aware of that, thanks to you. And I’m sorry you feel so threatened by depictions of fictional men doing more than the bare minimum.”

“I don’t consider basic honesty, respect, and healthy communication to be demands. And it’s really too bad they’re so unachievable for you. I feel terrible for Ingrid.”

But I will never apologize for loving fiercely, even though you didn’t deserve it.”

My heart has now officially broken for the eleventh time. And strangely, I’m stronger than I’ve ever been.

“Some people struggle with communication. Especially if they’re afraid to get hurt,”

Real life isn’t a ninety-minute movie or a three-hundred-page novel. It takes time to truly understand what someone else needs and how the other person communicates their love.”

“Tara, I’ve had it bad for you for months. You. Are. Everything. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

“You wanted to get to know me. You wanted to know everything about me. And for the first time, I wanted to let someone in. And when I did, it scared the shit out of me. But the time away gave me some clarity.”

needed to come home and tell you that I want all the things you want. That I’m capable of giving you everything. And I don’t want to go slow, because I can barely breathe when I think about living my life without you. I want to complain while you watch Disney movies. I want to alphabetize your books. I want to read with you at night. I want to tolerate your mess. I want . . .” He lets out a weak half laugh. “I want a family. One day. I want to do literally anything as long as it means being with you, because I am so in love with you, I don’t know what to do with myself.”