by Leila Lucas
PERFECT
Leila Lucas
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Leila Lucas
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.
Book design by Arijana at Cover it! Designs
Edited by Lawrence Editing
Formatting by Champagne Book Design
www.leilalucas.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
CHLOE
“Ohmigod, I love having a proper girl roommate!” Vikki squeals as she rummages through my overflowing makeup case. Even though I don’t wear a lot of makeup I still managed to collect a whole bunch of it. Same goes with my two boxes of shoes and way too many boxes of clothes.
It’s early morning and Vikki somehow has the energy to snoop through my things while I’m unpacking. The delivery truck arrived at an ungodly hour this morning, so I greeted him with my hair sticking up everywhere and unforgivable morning breath. But it was their fault. You can’t expect a girl to look put together when you surprise her two hours earlier than expected. Luckily for me, Vikki managed to furnish my entire bedroom in three days. Everything from the bed to the candles on the bedside table were waiting for my arrival. Current me hates past me because past me decided to throw all the clothes in the boxes without folding them. Current me now has to spend the next two days ironing all her clothes.
You suck, past Chloe.
“Was your college roommate an improper girl?” I laugh.
“She was nice, but she was on the wrestling team and a fitness fanatic. Makeup and all this wasn’t her thing.” She shrugs.
“I had twins, both total Barbies. They did teach me everything I need to know about makeup, frat parties, and slutty Halloween costumes.” Unfortunately for me, the girls were too wild and I barely ever saw them aside from the couple of big annual parties I was forced into going.
“Oh, please tell me you went as a sexy nurse!”
“First year.” I nod. “Then it was a sexy teacher followed by a sexy pneumonia patient who ended her Halloween night with a trip to the ER.” We both laugh.
I’m not a drama queen, but I was convinced I was about to die. I even texted my mom to let her know I love her and that I was going to the hospital. Most moms would drop everything and be in the hospital within seconds. But my mom? She made sure she finished her dinner at some fancy restaurant before she came to check on me. But that just sums up our relationship. I was what some like to call an accident baby. She had an affair with a married real estate mogul and ended up pregnant. When she told him, he gave her a huge check and child support to keep quiet. That’s the day she fell in love with money, and being a stunning five-foot-eight curvy blonde she had no issues finding rich men to fund her extravagant shopping sprees. This led to me basically raising myself while she was attending posh events as the token trophy wife. My mom isn’t motherly or particularly loving, but she paid for my entire tuition and calls once a week to make sure I’m alive. But she’s all I have, so I take what I can get.
“Is that it?” Vikki starts flattening the empty packing boxes with her huge stilettos.
“I think so. I’ll take these down to the recycling box. You’re going to be late for your meeting. It’s almost eight.” I remind her.
“Oh shit, I better run. See you tonight, babe!” She grabs her bag and coat and runs out the door. Her car keys lie forgotten on the table and I dart out the door to give them to her, at the same time she’s running back upstairs. “This is why I need coffee before work.” She shakes her head and catches the keys I throw to her.
“Have a good meeting!” I wave as I close the door.
Vikki is the only childhood friend I have. We bonded in elementary school over our Polly Pocket toys. Even though she moved from Australia to the US when we were in ninth grade we kept in contact, and when I moved to L.A. we visited each other every summer. When I struggled to decide where to go after college she suggested I stay with her for a while and promised me I’d love Nashville. As much as I loved the constant blue skies in L.A., it never felt like home.
I place some of my books on the two shelves Vikki left empty for me. I added a photo of us two in between her huge collection of frames. We both have a sad look in our eyes and noticeably forced smiles. It was taken an hour before they left for their new home in the US. I don’t think I stopped crying for a week after that. I guess you could call it my first heartbreak. Most of Vikki’s photos are of her family, consisting of four brothers and their ridiculously cute kids.
When we went to school together I’d spend most nights having dinner at the Hart household. Despite having an already huge family they always welcomed me like I was one of their own. I got to know the boys really well and had my first big girl crush on Liam. He was tall, had the most amazing blue eyes, and every single girl would turn into mush when he spoke. Judging by her current photos, he’s still just as good-looking as he was back then. And very happily married to an equally good-looking man. So I didn’t even have a chance.
Now that the mess and empty boxes are out of the way, I take a step back and look around the room properly. It’s way too early to decide if Nashville is the right place for me, but this apartment already feels like home. Despite living in a luxurious apartment for five years there wasn’t a single personal touch in the place, aside from my bedroom, which was filled with photos and posters. My mom got an interior designer who had very minimalistic style and was fond of white, so our place looked like a hospital waiting room.
Vikki’s apartment is anything but impersonal. Light gray walls with a huge beautiful antique mirror above the TV in the cosy lounge area. An entire side of the wall is taken up by a glass sliding door that leads to the terrace and makes the small space feel a lot bigger than it is. On the bookshelf candles and framed photos are scattered in between stacks of books and magazines. The basic gray couch is brightened by yellow cushions and a teal throw that’s draped on the armrest.
I wouldn’t have expected anything bland from Vikki. On top of working for a very fancy event planning company she also does interior design during the quieter seasons. She got lucky and one of the wealthy women asked her to help plan her daughter’s sixteenth birthday party. She was so impressed that she referred Vikki to all her equally rich friends. And with a clientele like that, Vikki ended up getting a high role with Elegant Events, which only caters to people with a stupid amount of money. Vikki’s family of seven always struggled when she was younger and it made her work her ass off to provide a different life for her own f
amily one day. All through school she had two jobs and worked throughout the entire summer. She may have missed a lot of drunken nights and major parties, but the girl has her life together, which isn’t something many twenty-three-year-olds can say. Myself included.
I got a little lost after high school. There I made good friends unexpectedly fast. I lived in a happy bubble, socialized with a group of girls and guys who I saw every day, and just never really felt lonely. But then college came along and things changed. Maybe I never looked hard enough, but I just couldn’t find my people. It felt like I didn’t belong in any group. My roommates were twin sisters who were sweet, but they had so much going on that they were basically never around. They dragged me to a few parties and that’s when I discovered that my solution to my loneliness were boys. I wasn’t much of a one-night stand girl. I found quickly that it made me feel more alone, but being in relationships seemed to fix my problem. Short term. I was affectionately called a relationship-slut by the twins and it described me perfectly. I had boyfriend after boyfriend. None of them were anything special. It was almost like locking them in as a friend because they had to be. As soon as one relationship ended I found another one.
Class. Work. Boyfriend. Three words that sum up my college life. Anytime I wasn’t in class I was working at the library, and anytime I wasn’t working I was with my boyfriend. After a while I got comfortable in my routine that I didn’t actively try to find a new group of girlfriends. So I’m beyond grateful to have my best girlfriend around every day.
I spend the rest of the morning starting the painful task of ironing my clothes and hanging them up in my wardrobe.
* * *
“You know you don’t have to make me dinner every night, Chlo,” Vikki says as she comes out of the bathroom towel drying her hair.
“It’s barely cooking when I’m just mixing three ingredients together.” I watch as she pokes her finger in the bolognese and licks it.
“Gross.” I hand her a plate of food.
“Oh, so good,” she says with a mouthful. “If I wasn’t straight I’d totally wife you.”
I have Vikki’s mom to thank for the basic cooking skills I do have. Whenever I’d go to Vikki’s for dinner I’d sit at the counter and watch her mom cook. I remember being so amazed at her ability to make meals from scratch. I’m still nowhere near that good, but at least it’s not takeaway.
“And what would you bring to the relationship?”
“This body.” She shimmies.
“Sounds fair.” I join her on the couch to watch a couple of episodes of One Tree Hill while we eat. We’ve only been living together for two weeks, but we have a little routine where we watch at least one episode of something before we go to bed.
* * *
So far the only other friend I have made here is Patsy. She is a cafe owner in her fifties with whom I have a five-minute conversation every morning before I order my coffee and sit at the corner table to work. I almost always work outside my home. Less distractions, harder access to the fridge and it keeps me from living in my pajamas all day every day. I don’t completely dress up, but I do make sure I look put together. Wearing proper clothes tells my brain it’s work time, so I stay in the zone. It took a few years to get my rhythm and discipline myself with my work hours, but I finally found what works for me.
I grab my oversized scarf, which doubles as a blanket from my huge bag, and place it across my lap and get to work. Normally I’d be embarrassed to be sitting in a coffee shop with a blanket and bed hair, but I’ve looked like this for the past month and the regulars are too busy themselves to stare. To say I was unprepared for the cold mornings in Nashville is an understatement. I had two jackets to get me through the Californian winters and they’d usually be paired with a skirt and maybe tights if it was cold enough. And let’s be honest, the jacket and tights were usually just a fashion accessory rather than something necessary.
The cafe door bell rings whenever someone enters and I take the moment to give my eyes a break from my laptop.
And I couldn’t be more glad that I did.
Tall, dark, and handsome just walked in. He’s walking toward the counter with his head down looking at his phone, so I take the opportunity to do a once-over. His Henley’s sleeve is pulled up just enough to show off a chunk of his tattoo sleeve as he brushes his fingers through his messy hair. My gaze drops down to his face and that’s when I realize he’s looking directly at me. I stare back into his brown eyes for a second longer than I should have before putting my head back down into my laptop. I make myself appear busy by typing out completely random words midway through my paragraph until he leaves. It takes me ten minutes before I look up and scan the small cafe to make sure he’s definitely gone. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed that he didn’t come to the table and talk to me.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
I’m glad he’s gone. This is the year of Chloe. I need zero male distractions in my life.
* * *
“Oh my God, I don’t think I’ve ever shopped so much.” Vikki dumps her handbag on the table and sits.
“Me neither. But we won’t be needing any new clothes until spring.” I collapse on the couch, kicking off my shoes.
“I’ve seen your already-huge wardrobe. I don’t think you’ll have anywhere to put all this.”
“Pretty sure our wardrobes are equally as bad.” I laugh. “Is there somewhere where we can donate the stuff we don’t wear anymore?”
“There’s a Goodwill near my office. I’ll take the bags with me on Monday.”
“Perfect. I’m going to get a head start and make room for these.” I pick up all my shopping bags and throw them on my bed. I’m very fortunate to be the same size as my shopaholic mom. She strictly only wears good quality items but clears out her wardrobe regularly, which means I inherit new clothes whenever I see her. But sometimes it’s nice to just spend my own money on the cheap stuff I don’t have to dry clean and take constant care of.
“You forgot these.” Vikki puts two shoe boxes on my bed.
“I definitely never need to shop again.” I cringe when I notice just how much I bought. In my defense I was lacking winter clothes. Which justifies the boots, jackets, and sweaters. The rest? I don’t really have an excuse. Starting a new chapter in my life means a new wardrobe, right?
“We’ll have date nights every Friday, so we’ll get full use of all these amazing clothes. I’ll plan something for next week!” She claps at her own idea and waltzes out of my room before I even have the chance to agree.
Three hours later, my Goodwill bags are packed, my clothes are color coordinated, and my shoes are all lined up perfectly. It’s no secret I love dressing up, and so often I wish I had a job that required me to dress amazingly every day like Vikki does. That being said, I love my job. I know I’m lucky to be able to do something I actually enjoy doing every day. I originally wanted to be an editor but got lucky self-publishing while I was still in college and now I’m a published author working on my fifth book. Admittedly my books aren’t anything groundbreaking. I’m just grateful people love reading young adult fiction as much as I love writing it.
All my books are based on the characters’ very first love story. Something I wouldn’t know anything about at all. Sure, I’ve had—too many—boyfriends, but I’ve never loved them. I never pictured my life with any of them and honestly wasn’t as devastated as I should have been when we broke up. I knew I had to break that habit and figure out what it is I really want in a relationship. When I found out I was moving here I decided to use the opportunity to start a clean slate. No men. No sex. No relationships. No sexy guy who walked in at Noah’s Corner Cafe.
Not until I find myself.
Whatever that means.
Chapter Two
DYLAN
“Oh, come on, the only reason I get the least amount of fangirls is because I’m at the back and you fucknuts are right under the lights.” Chester sulks.
“If I
were the drummer I’d still be the most popular one.” Ben laughs to himself as he scrolls down the comments on our video. We were fortunate enough to start using YouTube before we got lost amongst the billions of other artists. We have a pretty big following, so we make sure to upload regularly. Chester, the band’s drummer, is by far the most tech savvy, so we leave him in charge of all that boring stuff. “Actually, fuck that, even if I wasn’t in the video I’d still be the hottest one. You guys ain’t got nothin’ on me,” Ben adds.
“Always so humble.” Jackson, our secondary guitarist, rolls his eyes.
“I’m just self-aware of my good looks.” He pretends to flip his non-existent long hair.
“Stop scrolling! I see my name!” Jackson jumps up and shoves his head close enough to the laptop to block the view. “You guys sound awesome. Would love to see you if you’re ever in New York. Especially the blonde guitarist. Winky face.” He turns to look at us and lifts his eyebrows up and down.
“Awww so nice of your mom to comment,” I say and everyone erupts in laughter.
“Fuck off, Dyl.” Jackson closes the laptop. “Back to work now, you arrogant assholes.”
“Which song are we doing first?” Ben waves my notebook in front of my face. The notebook is so old that the cover has gone missing a couple of years ago. It’s rare for me to be seen without it. It was with me in every class, every road trip, camp, and work. I got an iPad for Christmas one year to replace the notebook, but it just didn’t feel the same.
* * *
I left the guys to do all the boring video editing so I can make it to work on time. Being in a college town means there’s a lot of bars around, so picking—and getting—a casual job wasn’t too hard. Serving a bunch of loud drunks isn’t my dream job, but bills need to be paid and equipment needs to be bought. As kids Ben and I have always been spoiled on our birthdays with any single item of our choice. And without fail it was always something for the band. There was always a newer guitar or a better microphone we just had to have. A couple of years ago when things picked up for us we needed more things, things we had to pay for ourselves. We needed good quality equipment for the bars that didn’t supply it and a van to accommodate us and everything we had to take with us. Nobody really prepares you for the financial aspect of being in a band, but it’ll be worth it one day.
