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310 pages, Paperback
First published November 10, 2015
“If she’s not careful, I might just fall in love with her. Tonight.”
Fallon meets Ben, an aspiring novelist, the day before her scheduled cross-country move. Their untimely attraction leads them to spend Fallon’s last day in L.A. together, and her eventful life becomes the creative inspiration Ben has always sought for his novel. Over time and amidst the various relationships and tribulations of their own separate lives, they continue to meet on the same date every year. Until one day Fallon becomes unsure if Ben has been telling her the truth or fabricating a perfect reality for the sake of the ultimate plot twist…
“You can’t leave yet. I’m not finished falling in love with you.”
“She’s the only one I want with me today, and here she is.
Just for me. Because she missed me.
If she’s not careful, I just might beg her to stay.
For good.”
“This is real life, and in the real world you have to bust your ass for the happy ever after… When you find love, you take it. You grab it with both hands and you do everything in your power not to let it go.”
“I think about you every second of every day and I don’t know how to get over you,” she says.
“Don’t,” I beg her. “Please don’t get over me.”
“Why would a girl care to find herself when she’ll never be able to make herself feel as good as a guy can?”
I shove the dress back at him. “I don’t want to wear that, I want to wear this.”
“No,” he says. “I’m paying for dinner, so I get to choose what to stare at while we eat.”
“Baby,” he says, his lips forming a smile. “You have already made this the best I’ve ever had, and I’m not even inside you yet.”
“Fallon,” he whispers, dragging his lips slowly across mine. “Thank you for this beautiful gift.”
“my eyes fall to the dress first. i have to give myself props for picking that one out. there’s just enough showing at her neckline to keep me good and happy.”
“But if we’re just going to sit here and stare at each other, it’d be nice if she were showing a little cleavage, instead of wearing this long-sleeved shirt that leaves everything to the imagination. It’s pushing eighty degrees outside. She should be in something a lot less . . . convent-inspired.”
“And of course, this thought leads me to her breasts again. Are they scarred, too? How much of her body is actually affected?
I begin to mentally undress her, and not in a sexual way. I’m just curious. Really curious, because I can’t stop staring at her, and that’s not like me.”
I shove the dress back at him. “I don’t want to wear that, I want to wear this.”
“No,” he says. “I’m paying for dinner, so I get to choose what to stare at while we eat.”
“I’m trying. Ask me again.”
“What’s your favorite food?”
“Pad Thai,” he says. “Yours?”
“Sushi. They’re almost the same thing.”
“Not even close,” he says.
“They’re both Asian food. What’s your favorite movie?”
" It doesn’t matter that Fallon left such a big hole in my heart, I couldn’t help it if someone else found their way in. It doesn’t matter that Jordyn and I were both destroyed after the death of Kyle. It doesn’t matter that things didn’t progress between us until well after Oliver was born. It doesn’t matter that I’ll never feel the same connection with Jordyn that I had with Fallon, but Oliver makes up for anything our relationship lacks. The only thing that matters to Fallon is the unexpected twist in our story. One neither of us saw coming. One neither of us even wanted. And one she’s partly responsible for..."
"She has no idea that Jordyn was there for me when she wasn’t. I was there for Jordyn when Kyle wasn’t. And after losing two people we both loved, only later to be united with Oliver . . . it wasn’t something we planned. I’m not even sure I wanted it. But it happened, and now I’m the only father Oliver knows."
Suspension of disbelief or willing suspension of disbelief is a term coined in 1817 by the poet and aesthetic philosopher Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who suggested that if a writer could infuse a "human interest and a semblance of truth" into a fantastic tale, the reader would suspend judgement concerning the implausibility of the narrative. Suspension of disbelief often applies to fictional works of the action, comedy, fantasy, and horror genres. Cognitive estrangement in fiction involves using a person's ignorance or lack of knowledge to promote suspension of disbelief.
"Baby," he says, his lips forming a smile. "You already made this the best sex I've had , and I'm not even inside you yet."
"Fallon," he whispers, dragging his lips slowly across mine. "Thank you for this beautiful gift."
It felt as if the second we joined together, a tiny piece of our souls got confused and a piece of his fell into me and a piece of mine fell into him.
I just know that there is no way I can tell him goodbye after this. It'll tear me apart, way worse than last year. I can't go another day without him being a part of my everyday life. Not after this.
"You know how much I dislike insta-love."
"Oh, it was still insta-love," I tell her. "But ours is legit."
"It's a little bit like Sleepless In Seattle'" Tate says.
I immediately shake my head. "It's nothing like that. They only agreed to meet once."
"True. I's like One Day, then. That movie with Anne Hathaway?"
Again, I dismiss her comparison. "That just focuses on one particular day every year, but the two people still interact throughout the year like normal. Fallon and I have no contact."
I don't know why I'm being so defensive. I think writers just naturally become defensive when their ideas are compared to other ideas, even if it's done innocently. But mine and Fallon's story is one-of-a-kind, and I feel somewhat protective of it.
"And no matter who is at fault for that, whether it's mine for walking away last year or yours for not knowing I did it for your own good, none of it changes things."
I know this will be difficult for you to deal with, so I've tried to make it as easy as possible. Someone will need to clean up after they take my body, so I've left a card on the kitchen counter for who you should call. There's plenty of cash in my purse. I've left it in the kitchen, on the counter.'
“I’ve never wanted to use physical force on a girl before, but I want to push her to the ground and hold her there until the cab drives away.”
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➥ Ben (H) is actually disgusting. I cannot believe people like him 😭😭. He is a man with a saviour complex, he's objectifying, he's just the epitome of the reason why I'm afraid of and usually dislike men.
➥ Fallon (h) was just kind of bland from what I read, and so fucking insecure, oh my god, enough.
He’s already staring at me again. The same smile he shot at me earlier is still affixed to his face, but this time I don’t look away from him. In fact, my eyes don’t leave his as he makes his way to our booth. Before I can react, he’s sliding into the seat with me. Holy shit. What is he doing?
“Sorry I’m late, babe,” he says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. He just called me babe. This random dude just put his arm around me and called me babe. What the hell is going on? I glance at my father, thinking he’s in on this somehow, but he’s looking at the stranger next to me with even more confusion than I probably am. I stiffen beneath the guy’s arm when I feel his lips press against the side of my head. “Damn L.A. traffic,” he mutters.
Random Dude just put his lips in my hair. What. Is going. On. The guy reaches across the table for my father’s hand. “I’m Ben,” he says. “Benton James Kessler. Your daughter’s boyfriend.”
Your daughter’s . . . what?
I wish I could say I’m mentally preparing a brilliant apology, but I’m not. I seem to have a one-track mind, and that track leads straight to the two things I shouldn’t even be thinking about right now.
Her boobs.
Both of them.
I know. I’m pathetic. But if we’re just going to sit here and stare at each other, it’d be nice if she were showing a little cleavage, instead of wearing this long-sleeved shirt that leaves everything to the imagination. It’s pushing eighty degrees outside. She should be in something a lot less . . . conventinspired.
A couple seated a few tables over stands up and begins to walk past us, toward the exit. I notice Fallon tilts her head away from them and lets her hair fall in front of her face like a protective shield. I don’t even think she realizes she’s doing it. It seems like such a natural reaction for her to try and cover up what she sees as flaws. That’s probably why she’s wearing the long-sleeved shirt. It shields everyone from seeing what’s beneath it.
And of course, this thought leads me to her breasts again. Are they scarred, too? How much of her body is actually affected?
I begin to mentally undress her, and not in a sexual way. I’m just curious. Really curious, because I can’t stop staring at her, and that’s not like me. My mother raised me with more tact than this, but what my mother failed to teach me is that there would be girls like this one who would test those manners merely by existing.
"I've never had a fake boyfriend before," she says.
“I’ve never had a real boyfriend before,” I reply.
Her eyes shift to my hair. “Believe me, that’s obvious. No gay man I know would have left the house looking like you do right now.”
I wasn’t expecting this today of all days. To be sitting across from this girl, watching her lick ice cream off her lips and having to swallow air just to make sure I’m still breathing.
She sighs. Again. I don’t think I’ve ever made a girl sigh this much in such a short amount of time. And they aren’t the kind of sighs that make a guy feel good about his skills. They’re the kind of sighs that make him wonder what the hell he’s doing wrong.
I lean forward to toss my container into the trash can behind her. It’s the closest I’ve come to her since we were sitting in the booth together. Her entire body stiffens with my proximity. Rather than pull back right away, I look her directly in the eye before focusing on her mouth. “That’s what boyfriends are for,” I say as I slowly back away from her.
Now I’m the one releasing a heavy sigh. “You want to know what I thought when I saw you for the first time?”
She tilts her head. “When you saw me for the first time? You mean as in one whole hour ago?”
I ignore her cynicism and continue. “The first time you walked past me— before I interrupted your lunch date with your father—I stared at your ass the whole time you were stomping away. And I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of panties you had on. That’s all I thought about the entire time you were in the restroom. Were you a thong girl? Were you going commando? Because I didn’t see an outline in your jeans that hinted you were wearing normal panties.
“Before you returned from the bathroom, I started to get this panicked feeling in my stomach, because I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see your face. I had been listening in on your conversation and already knew I was drawn to your personality. But what about your face? People say not to judge a book by its cover, but what if you somehow read the inside of the book without
seeing the cover first? And what if you really liked what was inside that book? Of course when you go to close the book and are about to see the cover for the first time, you hope it’s something you’ll find attractive. Because who wants an incredibly written book sitting on their bookshelf if
they have to stare at a shitty cover?”
“You were almost to my booth at this point and that’s when my eyes fell to your cheek. To your neck. I saw the scars for the first time, and just as I noticed them, you darted your eyes to the floor and let your hair cover most of your face. And you know what I thought in that moment, Fallon?”
Her eyes flick up to meet mine and I can tell she doesn’t really want me to say it. She thinks she knows exactly what I thought in that moment, but she has no idea.
“I was so relieved,” I tell her. “Because I could tell with that one simple movement that you were really insecure. And I realized—since you obviously had no idea how fucking beautiful you were—that I just might actually have a chance with you. And so I smiled. Because I was hoping if I played my cards right—I might get to find out exactly what kind of panties you were wearing under those jeans.”
“We’ll be in my room,” I say casually. Ben gives them a quick wave and then removes his arm from around my shoulders, sliding his fingers through mine. “Nice to meet you both.” He points down the hall. “I’m gonna follow Fallon to her room now so I can see what kind of panties she has on.”
“You’re a reader?” he asks.
I look over my shoulder and he’s fingering the books on my shelves. “I love to read. You should hurry up and write a book, because it’s already on my TBR pile.”
“Your TBR pile?”
“To be read pile,” I clarify.
He smiles at me from his position on the bed, and the sight of him sitting there makes my cheeks feel all hot and bothered. I suddenly want to beg him to roll around on my sheets so I can smell him when I fall asleep tonight. But then I remember I won’t be sleeping on them tonight because I’ll be on a flight to New York. I turn around and face my closet again so he doesn’t see the flushed look on my face.
He laughs quietly. “You were just thinking dirty thoughts.”
“Was not,” I quip.
“Fallon, we’ve been dating for two hours now. I can read you like a book, and right now I do believe that book is full of erotica.”
He grins and then peeks over my shoulder at the drawer I’m rifling through.
“Is that your panty drawer?” He reaches around and grabs a pair. I pull them out of his hand and toss them toward my suitcase.
“Hands off,” I tell him.
He walks around me and leans his elbow against the dresser. “If you’re packing underwear, that means you don’t go commando. So by process of elimination, I’ve figured out that you’re currently wearing a thong. Now I just have to find out what color it is.”
I toss the contents of my drawer toward my suitcase. “It takes a lot more than smooth talk to get me down to my panties, Ben the Writer.”
He grins. “Oh yeah? Like what? A fancy dinner?” He pushes off the dresser and stands up straight, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Because it just so happens I have reservations at the Chateau Marmont tonight at seven.”
I shake my head and grab the dress from him, hanging it back in its spot. I grab one of the few long-sleeved dresses I own and I pull it off the hanger. “I like this one.”
His eyes fall to the dress he initially picked out and he pulls it off the hanger and shoves it at me. “But I want you to wear this one.”
I shove the dress back at him. “I don’t want to wear that, I want to wear this.”
“No,” he says. “I’m paying for dinner, so I get to choose what to stare at while we eat.”
"Please don’t ask me again to wear that dress, because I’m much more relaxed in clothes that don’t show too much skin. I don’t like making people uncomfortable, and if I wore something like that, they would feel weird looking at me.”
Ben’s jaw tenses and he looks away from me, down at the dress in his hands. “Okay,” he says simply, dropping the dress to the floor. Finally. “But it’s your own fault people feel uncomfortable looking at you.”
I don’t even hide my gasp. It’s the first thing he’s said to me all day that’s made me feel like I was being spoken to by my father. I’m not gonna lie. It hurts. My throat feels like it’s swelling shut, so I clear it.
“That wasn’t very nice,” I say quietly.
Ben takes a step closer to me. My closet is small enough as it is. I certainly don’t need him standing even closer. Especially after saying something as hurtful as he just did.
“It’s the truth,” he says.
“And your lips. Men stare at them because they want to know what they taste like, and women stare at them out of jealousy because if they had lips the color of yours, they’d never have to buy lipstick again.”
This is going too far.
Too far, too far, too far, but all I can do is suck in a wild breath and let his fingers pop open the button on my jeans, because as much as I wish he would stop, I get the feeling he’s not undressing me for pleasure. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but I’m too immobile to ask.
“Fucking beautiful,” he says with a slow grin. “And red.”
Red?
I look down at the dress, but it’s definitely black.
“Your panties,” he says as clarification. “They’re red.”
“That’s a record,” Ben says, pulling me away from his chest so he can look down at me. “Made my girlfriend cry less than three hours into our relationship.”
He shuts the door, but I can still hear what he says to Amber and Glenn as
soon as he walks into the living room. “They’re red! Her panties are red!”
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And somehow, with the way he’s looking down at me, I even believe I’m beautiful.
I laugh again, and then I press my face to his chest and hug him back, because why couldn’t he have been there the second I woke up in the hospital two years ago? Why did I have to go two whole years before finally being given the tiniest bit of confidence?
“You wear your hair like you do because you don’t want people to see too much of you. You wear long sleeves and collared shirts because you think it helps. But it doesn’t.”
“I don’t want to be your first, Fallon. I want to be your last.”
“Baby,” he says, his lips forming a smile. “You have already made this the best sex I’ve ever had, and I’m not even inside you yet.”
“Does she know, Ben? Does she have any idea that you’re the one who started that fire? That you’re the reason she almost died?”
I make a new pile with the pages I’ve already read. I stare down at the manuscript in disbelief. I know I should be angry that he’s lied to me for so long, but being in his head is somehow justifying his behavior to me. And not only that, but it’s also justifying my father ’s behavior.
We were drawn to each other. We made each other happy. And I know without a doubt there were several times during the past few years that we were madly in love with each other at the same time. Not everyone experiences that Fallon, and I’d be lying if I said I regretted it.
I should have given you the chance to explain it then. If I had just listened to you, then we could have avoided an entire year of heartache. So for that.... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. And I hope you can forgive me.”
“When I woke up this morning, I thought today was going to be one of the toughest days I’ve had in two years. Who knew the anniversary of the worst day of my life might possibly end on a good note.”
“You can’t leave yet. I’m not finished falling in love with you.”
"November 9th or nothing.”
“When you find love, you take it. You grab it with both hands and you do everything in your power not to let it go. You can’t just walk away from it and expect it to linger until you’re ready for it.”