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Keep reading for a sample from Boy Toy – the second book in the Confessions of a Chick Magnet series.
Boy Toy
by Jenny Gardiner
Chapter One
Sullivan Forester stared into his underwear drawer for what seemed like the thousandth time over the past year, at the black velvet box nestled between the side of the drawer and a stack of boxers, topped by the pair with embroidered Saint Bernards on them. He shook his head, smacked his lips, then ran his fingers through his wavy caramel hair, which had gotten a little longer than he liked it of late. Finally he took a deep breath and blew it out, deciding once and for all to make it official: today was the day he was going to start getting his shit together, which included trimming this shaggy head of hair.
But first, he had more important business to attend to: the ring.
He pulled the box out of the drawer where it had lurked, taunting him for what seemed like ages now, and flipped open the lid to stare at the Tiffany & Co. two-carat brilliant-cut diamond engagement ring, flanked on either side by fat indigo-blue sapphires. The gems caught the early morning sunlight streaming through the window and winked at him. He took it as yet one more sign that it was time to find a new home for this thing that only felt like bad juju now that it had taken up unproductive space in his life for far too long.
At first, when Gretchen dumped him, three whoppingly inconsiderate weeks before their wedding, it felt like he would never get over it. Why would she do something like that to him? Worse still, how could he have been so clueless and not seen it coming?
A year ago, her words lacerated his heart, where he felt an achy tug that didn’t seem to want to let go of him for months.
“Look, Sully,” she’d said. “I just realized marriage isn’t for me.”
He remembered staring into her brown eyes, the ones that had once seemed so warm and loving, finally seeing them for the cold dark they really had been all along. Her hair had been pulled back into a high ponytail, her make-up fresh. She had on one of those bright pastel sundresses she always wore—what were they called? Lilly something or other. He knew dick about fashion, but he always noticed that she was about the only woman in town who dressed every day as if she was going to a cocktail party at a beach resort. He knew that style of dress only because in a way it was emblematic of what he’d left behind when he’d moved to Bristol, Montana a handful of years ago after selling his start-up for more money than he’d have ever imagined attached to his name—not to mention his bank account.
He’d spent a couple of years dabbling in the lavish me-me-me lifestyle of the very rich in New York: the obligatory summers in the Hamptons, the mandatory charity events every night of the week at somebody or other’s exclusive penthouse apartment the rest of the year. The insincere air-kiss greetings by women who wanted your donations but not a decent conversation, the severe handshakes by the Wall Street assholes who were dipping into the cash reserves of the country to line their own pockets all while sticking their dicks into women young enough to be their daughters, as their air-kissing wives went under the knife for yet more unnecessary plastic surgery to try desperately to compete.
Sully was over that bullshit, which was why he’d come to Bristol. He wanted to start new where no one knew him, where he could be his authentic self and not play the superficial games to which he’d become accustomed.
His mistake, however, was bringing Gretchen Penobscott with him. He and Gretchen had been together even during the leaner years, so at least he could take comfort knowing it wasn’t as if she’d been after his wealth. And to her credit, for a while, she went along with his plan, upending the lifestyle she’d become quite accustomed to. She came with him to Montana, Lilly whatever-the-name-was dresses and all, but it seemed from the minute they’d moved here, things never seemed quite the same between them.
He’d hoped it was just a matter of getting used to things—it was admittedly weird going from endless black pavement and skyscrapers to fields of wildflowers and mountains that touched the skies instead—and that once married she’d settle in more. But then he never got the chance to see if he was right, because on that brutal early summer day a year ago, she slid her ring off of her left ring finger, tucked it into the palm of his hand, closing his fingers around it, gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek, and walked away.
Well. He eventually learned that time does heal old wounds. And that while he once loved Gretchen, he realized she’d done him a solid by not going through with what she knew in her heart would be a mistake. He’d never really understand it, but hey, much better than finding that out after the wedding. Sure, it sucked, worse still having to take the financial hit for everything wedding-related he had to cancel last-minute, but the good news was it hadn’t even put a dent in his bank account, so it was an emotionally costly but not financially detrimental lesson.
And today, he was going to take the first step toward making some other man who couldn’t afford it that much happier.
He called for his Husky pup Blizzard, threw on a pair of shorts, a t-shirt, and a plaid flannel shirt to fend against the morning chill, grabbed his laptop and went out on the deck off of his bedroom. The sun was shining and the fog had just begun to lift off the still snow-capped mountain peaks as he fixed a quick cappuccino at the coffee bar he’d set up on his deck. He sat down at the long farmhouse table and opened his laptop, then snapped a quick picture of the ring on his phone, clicked on Facebook, then entered this:
Looking for a good home for this briefly used treasure, valued at $85,000. Tell me why you want to share this with the woman you love. Please email me at [email protected] Deadline is one week from today. Please share.
He uploaded the image, clicked “post” and sent it off into the ether, then did the same on Twitter and Instagram. He rubbed his hands together, took a sip of his cappuccino, and made a mental note to remember to stop in at Jackson’s Barber Shop for a haircut when he went to town later on in the day.
~*~
Sully had been working on a song he’d been writing, reveling in the beautiful weather. It had started out chilly but by lunchtime it had become a quintessential Montana summer day: songbirds in full throat, the hum of bees vibrating through the air, all against the backdrop of a bluebird sky. Wildflowers were blooming like crazy in the fields surrounding his custom-built farmhouse that overlooked the Rocky Mountains. The place was truly a slice of heaven.
Life could not be any better. Sure, Sully didn’t have a bride at his side as he’d originally expected, but it was all good. He’d gotten some regular gigs playing guitar at local bars, and that made him supremely happy making others happy with his music. He had a great dog that made him laugh with his antics. he got to spend time each morning doing what he wanted to do: reading, meditating, working out at the gym. He volunteered with an animal rescue clinic, thanks to his friend Tanner Eliasson, who was a local vet. He even spent an inordinate amount of time cooking elaborate meals for himself each night, which was admittedly a little lonely, and occasionally hosted dinners with a handful of folks who’d become true friends, not the superficial acquaintances he’d encountered regularly back on the East Coast.
Not to dig a jab at the East Coast—there was nothing wrong with that lifestyle for someone else; it just wasn’t for him. He was happy on his horse, or feeding his chickens, or taking a hike on his hundred-acres of property. And more than happy to not have to deal with rush hour traffic and Type-A human beings ever again.
His phone buzzed and he pulled up a text message, from his friend Tanner:
Dude. What the fuck? Have you looked at your Facebook in the past hour?
Sully squinted, not knowing what exactly he was talking about. Until he remembered.
Oh, that. You saw it?
He waited for the buzz of his phone.
Saw it? Me and a few thousand other complete strangers.
Sully’s eyes opened wide. Huh?
You’re joking, right?
Tanner didn’t comment, but instead sent a screen shot of his post.
Sully expanded the image to see details up close. Holy shit. He grabbed his phone and pressed Tanner’s number.
“Jesus, Sully,” Tanner said. “Next time give me heads-up on these things. I’ve had every female I know within two hundred miles message me about this, and I didn’t even know about it. You’re giving away that ring?”
“I just figured it was time. The thing was just taking up space, reminding me of what was. No need in going there anymore. I’m finally past Gretchen, over that whole break-up, and I just want to make something that left a bad taste in my mouth become something better. Lemons to lemonade.”
“That’s a hell of a glass of lemonade,” Tanner said.
“Yeah well, I thought it could be a fun project. And it would feel good helping someone else out who maybe couldn’t afford to get engaged.”
“Your fun project might turn into a full-time job if my suspicions are right—you’re going to be slammed with people begging for that thing.”
Sully shrugged. “Great! The good news is I’ve got time to do what I want. And right now this feels right. Besides, I’m sure I’ll be able to see through the scammers looking for an expensive ring they could hock, and find someone who is truly in love and has a legit reason for wanting this thing. And to be honest, the sooner I get rid of this, it better. I want to move on without any reminders.”
“Yeah, well, you’d better open up that laptop and start reading your emails because I think you’ve just given yourself a full-time unpaid job for the next year.”
Sully laughed. “No worries. It’s all good.”
“Talk to me about ‘all good’ when you have a million women pounding your door down because they think you’re the swooniest guy on the planet.”
Huh. Sully hadn’t thought about that. Shit. He sure as hell wasn’t looking for women to glom on him for his money. Over the last year since Gretchen left, Sully had been in the habit of one-off flings with women tourists who streamed through Bristol like a hard-running river, looking for sporty outdoors activities by day and even more sporty activities in the sack by night. His music gigs offered the perfect opportunity to meet strangers in town for a short period of time, guaranteeing he could avoid anyone seeking commitment or anything more a few hours of escapist sex. He’d usually return with them to their hotel or Airbnb or rental up on the mountain, only to slip out hours later under cover of darkness, and be back in his own bed before sunrise. Sure it seemed impersonal, but that’s what he’d needed at the time—anonymous sex for the sake of sex, no strings attached, no commitment whatsoever.
But now, crap, did this mean women were going to seek him out? He hadn’t thought about that. He should’ve just donated the damned ring to charity, be done with it. Because the last thing he needed in his life was to have women honing in on him like a heat-seeking missile, wanting love and marriage and all those things he’d grown a bit cynical about.
He opened his Facebook page and saw that his post had been seen by three thousand people and had comments by over four hundred people. Hell, another two thousand had shared it. Ho-ly shit.
What had he gotten himself into?