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Listen, I've seen the dark side of 'I do,' and it is 'I don't.' Uttered the night before the ceremony, when the erstwhile groom decides that his true destiny lies with his ex-girlfriend, a massage therapist who makes popcorn mosaics on the side." I waved my spoon for emphasis. Hmm. He sounded quite reasonable and insightful. (For a man.) I couldn't decide if this meant he had unlimited romantic potential or if, given that he had once dated a woman so good-looking that people were willing to overlook her full-blown psychosis, he was wholly out of my league and I should just give up now.
Exes and Ohs by Beth Kendrick | Goodreads Exes and Ohs by Beth Kendrick | Goodreads
Well...what do you do with your time when you're not playing hooky on Friday afternoons or stewarding the clinic?" The two of us huddled together. The passersby on the other side of the plate glass must have thought we were planning a heist. He shrugged. "She was a force of nature. A gorgeous, charismatic -- and okay, crazy -- force of nature. I made the classic male mistake." Really?" He shook his head, his eyes bright and intense. "How can planning a wedding be that bad? What's to do? Call a few churches, buy a few cases of booze, end of story." It was not good. We gaped at each other, both of us mute and rooted to the sun-bleached concrete. His gaze slid away from mine, so I focused on the small blue name tag pinned to his white coat: DR. D. SCHELL. We were standing, fittingly, in The Bomb Shelter, which is the café adjacent to the med school.Sure, it's nice for the kids. But what happens when happily ever after breaks down and Mom is stranded in the middle of nowhere with no job and no income while Dad takes off with some popcorn-obsessed chippy?" Already my eyes were darting around, trying to find the best escape route. Had I been dumped by my physician fiancé only to be slain by a stalker from Banana Republic? Done." He snapped his own phone shut and grinned at me. "He bought it. We are officially playing hooky." Morning after morning, as I selected the day's ensemble, I was greeted by the ivory silk reminder of my failure and disgrace. Oh, let's not go down that road." I tried to avoid broaching this subject with strangers, as I tended to go off on long, frothy-mouthed, spirally eyed rants.
Exes and Ohs | Book by Beth Kendrick | Official Publisher Exes and Ohs | Book by Beth Kendrick | Official Publisher
Wincing, I forced myself to look up. My eyes skimmed over khaki pants, a blue button-down shirt, and the face of a man I'd never seen before. Midthirties, with dark hair and dark eyes. He seemed concerned.I nodded at his wrist. "Anthropologists don't wear Patek Philippe watches. And all that brushed twill -- it's a dead giveaway." Swear to God, Gwen, if a guy ever did that to me I would cut off his penis. And then FedEx it to his new girlfriend." That's what Cesca had said, and she had a point. Part of me knew that he didn't even deserve my chilly courtesy -- that what he in fact deserved was to have his nether regions severed, sealed, and delivered -- but another part of me was still holding on to what we'd had: the sunny Sunday mornings brunching at Gladstone's while watching the tide roll in. The postsex, late-evening showers we took together, dueting "Summer Lovin'" at the top of our lungs. The safe, even spaces between his breaths when he slept. He continued to stare, and I was feeling less comfortable and secure by the second. Finally, he nodded and said, "You're Gwen, right? Gwen Taylor?" Exactly." And he got that look on his face that guys get after they watch too many McDonald's commercials featuring precocious blond moppets playing catch with their dads. "All that fresh air and room to run around. What a great place to raise a family."
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I nodded at his left hand, which, although tan and sprinkled with thin dark hair, remained ringless. "Still not married?" The point is I had fun because although it was ridiculous, it was ridiculous in a sort of funny. I guess it’s kind of like watching reality tv, and you’re just thinking “Damn! What else are these characters gonna get themselves into?”
Book #1
So you're that kind of girl." He opened the glass door to the coffee shop and ushered me into frigid, mocha-scented air-conditioning. "Fiesty."
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He flinched. Couldn't bear to think of my platinum-set Tiffany diamond ring sparkling away in some second-rate North Hollywood jewelry shop. Poor baby.
Book #3
Letting good looks get in the way of good judgment. I kept telling myself that a woman that beautiful had to have some redeeming qualities." He was still communing with his coffee mug. "I saw what I wanted to see, instead of who she really was." I flushed. "Let's just say that he was not worthy of the many hysterical breakdowns I had over whether the wedding invitations should be white or ecru." So I did the only thing left to do. I hurled my cell phone into the middle of Le Conte Avenue, where it was promptly run over by a forest green Saab. The driver, a blond beach bunny with dark sunglasses, honked her horn and flung her cigarette butt at me as she vroomed away.
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