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  He shifts slightly, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. “I knew you’d say that. Which is why I did this. And this. And this …”

  I gape as he swipes through the various social media apps on his phone, my brain barely processing what I’m seeing. “You changed your profile picture to a photo of you dressed like that?”

  “Yup,” he says proudly. “I also stopped by my parents’ house. Thought they deserved to see it in person. And I’ve gotta tell you, these pants are damned uncomfortable, but I’ll wear them every day, to every class, to every frat party, if it means you’ll come back to me.”

  “Why?” I ask quietly. “This isn’t you.”

  He gives me a small smile, running a thumb over my cheek. “I’m still the same guy, no matter what I wear. And you’re the same girl.”

  “You didn’t want me,” I whisper.

  He closes his eyes briefly. “I did want you. I still do. I was scared and small-minded. Stupid.”

  He opens his eyes.

  “I love you, Stephanie. Just the way you are. You can wear pink, or black, or fucking feathers, and it won’t change how I feel about you.”

  Just like that, I feel my heart explode. In joy. In fear. In hope.

  “Your people won’t accept me,” I whisper, throwing up the last defense I can think of.

  He shrugs. “Then we’ll find new people.”

  “But your parents …”

  “My parents like you. And besides, they have their own issues to deal with.”

  His hands are cupping my face now, and I’m relieved to note that even though he doesn’t look like my Ethan, he still smells like him.

  I let my fingers curl into his shirt. “My screenplay doesn’t have a happy ending.”

  His fingers tighten, and his brown eyes flash in panic. “No?”

  I shake my head.

  He rests his forehead on mine, his gaze beseeching. “So which ending do we choose? Indie angst, or romantic comedy?”

  “Depends,” I say, my voice raspy. “Is that tattoo real?” He avoids my eyes, and I grin. “I thought not. And the earring?”

  He clears his throat guiltily. “Clip-on.”

  Thank God.

  I lay my hand against his cheek. “In that case … I choose the happy ending.”

  I see a flash of smile, and then his mouth is on mine and my arms are around his back as he lifts me and swings me around.

  When my feet touch the ground again, I’m aware that everyone is grinning foolishly at us. The only way it could get more cheesy is if they started clapping, but they don’t, for which I’m thankful. I can’t say I ever imagined a scenario in which I’d be in North Carolina and the center of attention along with a guy who I’m pretty sure has a polo mallet in his hall closet. But I’m loving it.

  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.


  Their alibi.

  One thing about Sundale, image is everything. If your churchgoing, button-down, I’m-going-to-run-a-charity-for-sick-kids son or daughter doesn’t live up to all of that, bye-bye, trust fund, hello, working at Dairy Queen. And heaven forbid they want to date someone outside of our perfect little community. There goes your college money. Sorry, guys, that’s not what Mommy and Daddy had envisioned for you.

  But once that trust fund is signed over, that’s when the standing up to the ’rents starts. Since money is everything after all.

  And true love, of course. But not till after you’re twenty-one. Just how it is. I didn’t make the rules.

  It’s a good thing I keep spare packets in my purse. I’ve needed them way more than I thought I would, but it’s all good. One packet equals two hundred bucks. Cha-ching!

  “Okay, how long are we talking about?” I ask, opening my locker and digging through my bag for the red emergency folders.

  He kicks his feet back up. “Till midnight. So around five hours.”

  Two hundred bucks for five hours? I’m making bank on this deal. And he’ll pay it. Alex and Brianne have reached that part in the relationship where I’m needed almost every weekend. Mr. and Mrs. Finnigan are going to start thinking him and I are getting it on. …Well, they would if I wasn’t so dang good at my job.

  I pull out the bright red envelope with the words “Alibi number 7: Movie Marathon.” Good thing I spent last night prepping all the emergency packets. They’re my moneymakers, so I run out all the time since most of my clients don’t know how to plan ahead. The blue envelopes are for my clients who pay me weeks in advance. Yeah … those packets are pretty much covered in dust.

  “This should cover you, Cinderella.”

  He rolls his eyes and yanks the packet from my hand. “You’ve got it memorized?”

  “Yup. And my own copy as well. We watched funny yet tasteful comedies, and you were a perfect gentleman. And since you’ve ‘been with me’ for the last three Fridays, before you left, you gave me a very platonic kiss on the cheek. It rocked my world.”

  He chuckles, standing and tucking the envelope in his back pocket. The epitome of “good guy,” he’s got on a button-down shirt, rolled sleeves to his elbows, and of course it’s tucked into his khakis. His hair is combed over, but it’ll be messed up in a few hours, and that shirt will be crumpled in the middle of Brianne’s floor. Ah, the price some people pay for love. Cliché as it sounds, I mean it literally.

  “Thank you, Kelli.” He gives me that “rockin’ ” kiss on the cheek.

  “Ahem .” I put my hand on his chest and push him back. “Don’t thank me. Just pay me.” I wave my fingers to emphasize my point. No getting emotionally involved. If I actually start caring about the people I’m helping, I may lower my prices. Or start helping them for free. Yeah, that’s not happening.

  He laughs again. “All right.” As he takes his wallet out of his back pocket, I take the opportunity to make sure my towel is still covering all of me. He got one look. He’s not getting another.

  “You said double?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  The two bills—from a stack of about fifteen—crinkle in my open hand and my smile widens.

  “Pleasure doing business with you.” I nudge him in the arm before I tuck the bills in my purse. Now that the money part is over, I can joke around. “Now go have fun. Tell Brianne I say, ‘What’s up?’ ”

  “Will do.” Then without warning, he wraps me in a hug. Awkward … “Thanks again, Kel.”

  He must have it bad. It really is a shame Brianne isn’t Mom and Dad approved. She should be. She’s way nice and supercute, but she’s also a “hippie” child. Her parents are the ones who go around stark naked while they mow the lawn and get the mail. The ones who believe sexuality is something to be experimented with. And Alex, being part of the tightwad Christian community that is Sundale, has better luck telling his parents he decided to date a fish. Poor guy.

  Crap. Must not get emotionally invested here. I wiggle out from his hold and shrug. “Just doing my job.”

  Friday nights are usually spent locked in my room playing online videogames, headset and all. Don’t call me a nerd or a loser or anything, because while I’m exploding fictional heads off and trash talking to strangers, keep in mind I got paid two hundred bucks tonight to do exactly this. So I’m blowing raspberries at anyone who judges me.

  Since I can’t be seen anywhere—I’m supposedly having a movie night with Alex—I stock up every weekend. (Protocol for the successful alibi.) I’ve got a mini fridge in my room, ’cause yes, I’m rich. Not just me, but the fam. Everyone who lives in Sundale is on the verge of ga-zillionairism. Another thing that plays in my favor as an alibi. I’m not sure if anyone who lives here knows how not to live off their parents’ money. Even after they’ve started at the university. Anyway, I’ve got a fridge stocked full of all the stuff I’ll need, and I’ve got my own bathroom so I don’t have to pee in a jug or anything, and I’ve got enough books to fill a library, enough videogames to stock up a GameStop, and enough movies to … Well, you get my point.

  Also, it’s lucky I work at the local Christian bookstore, which is closes early on Fridays, so I don’t ever have to worry about taking time off.

  Why do I work when I obviously don’t need the cash? Well, it’s nice to do something other than go to church, play tennis, and hang out in my room. That, and I’m a bit of a bookworm, and I won’t say no to a discount, even if I don’t need it. And—probably the most important factor—in order for my “business” to be successful, I have to be the good girl. Parent approved. So the prim and perfect Kelli Pinkins who works at the Christian bookstore, plays tennis at the country club, and goes to church every Sunday, has “perfect influence” written all over her.

  I do it all ’cause I totally give my clients what they pay for. And it’s really not a big deal. I mean … I do go to church because I believe in it, not just ’cause I have to. I love tennis. And I do like working at the bookstore. Nice way to pad the pocketbook for college. Not talking tuition since good ole Mom and Dad will take care of that as long as I don’t become a hooker or something. Don’t have to worry about housing because where am I gonna find a place sweeter than the room I’ve got? No, I’m talking for when I travel the world. Set off and see all the places I want to and Mom and Dad never take me to. I’m hoping alibi money and bookstore money (aka, my own well-earned cash) will have me in Europe by Christmas—and then until I get my own trust fund.

  I just found a way to be myself and make money off of it. Win-win.

  “Okay, you think you’re going to creep up on me? I’m standing right behind you.”

  This guy I’m playing against really doesn’t know what he’s doing, but still, he’s the only one on Xbox Live close to my age—or at least he says he’s close to my age—so I may as well teach him a lesson or two.

  Plus, he’s not bad company, considering I’ve never officially met him. I guess it’s easier to talk to people you don’t know about life’s crap. He knows all about my alibi stuff, since I started logging on three years ago and while kicking his butt in HALO, we talk about why we’re the only people alive who don’t do things on Friday nights.

  His army man turns around, and I point the rifle right in his face. “Any last words?”

  “How about … Don’t shoot?”

  I laugh and push RT, blowing his character’s head apart.

  “Whoops, finger slipped.”

  He chuckles; it’s kind of like this guttural thing, like he was drinking at the same time. “All right, another round?”

  “Sure, but I need a pee break.”

  “ ’Kay. Back in ten.”

  I pull off the headset and stretch out on the bed before hopping into the bathroom. I’ve had three Cokes already tonight. Way over my limit. This guy probably thinks I have the world’s smallest bladder. It’s, like, I drink a can, then empty it almost immediately.

&n
bsp; I’m doing gunfire sound effects as I wash my hands, then pounce back into my room, ready for round two. But someone is sitting on my bed. Her long brown hair covers her shoulders and her back where her shirt doesn’t, and her big baby-doll eyes blink as a smile tugs at her mouth.

  “Whatcha doin’?”

  Running at my best friend full speed, she screams as I hit the bed and swing my legs up on her lap. “What’s up, my Sades? Use the window again to get in here?”

  She nods and picks up the bag of Twizzler Bites I have on the bed. “Girl, it’s Spring Break. What the heck are you doing here at home?”

  I hold up a finger and grab the Xbox headset. “Hey, ChazTaz, round two will have to wait till next weekend.”

  “You’re just worried I’ll beat you this time.” He laughs and I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see it. “But it’s cool. Talk to you next week.”

  “Bye.”

  I hold the off button, shut down the console, and wait for the screen to turn blue, then snap the TV off. “It’s not like it’s Spring Break for me since I graduated last semester.”

  Sadie dangles her head off the edge of my bed, talking to my floor. “Yeah, yeah, genius woman. But not all of us graduated early. Come onnn, Spring Break is our last hurrah before we head off to be adults.”

  I snort. Yes, it’s very adult-like to go to frat parties and sorority car washes. I can’t wait. “I can’t leave the house. Working tonight.”

  Sadie shakes her head, leaning up to pop a Twizzler Bite in her mouth. “Who is it this time?”

  “Alex.”

  “Again?”

  “Yep.”

  “You know, he’s going to empty out his bank account. He may as well just tell the ’rents because either way, he’s losing all his money.”

  I shrug. “I don’t tell them what to do, just give them another option.”

  “Uh-huh.” Another bite goes into her mouth as she lays flat on my California King. Sadie’s never been a fan of my “job,” but she’s my best friend, so she doesn’t rat me out. Plus, she’s had to use me for her own alibi a few times so when she gives me crap, I throw that in her face. And it’s not like I can risk my years of keeping up my perfect rep for one night of partying.