Also, Mom and Dad… Thanks for everything, ever, but in regards to this book… Your support and encouragement have meant the world to me. I also want to thank you for stepping in to help Mike with the boys while I was away.
On that note… Michael! My very, very understanding (and totally hot-hehe) husband. You have stepped up your game these past months, and don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’ve indulged your wife in this little writing venture and have never once complained about picking up my slack with the house and the kids whenever I was in the middle of a creative spurt. I might spend my days with dreamy book boys for a living, but you are the love of my life.
Lastly, but certainly not least… My boys… I want to thank you, again, for your patience. I am amazed by the both of you each and every day, but today you get it in writing: You. Are. Amazing. (And I love you to pieces.)
xoxo
P.S.
There are way too many surprises in store for Book Three, so I apologize that I can’t even offer a teaser excerpt. However, to give you all something extra, I have included a special chapter in Trip’s POV from the original Remember When.
It was originally an exclusive bit posted on Totally Booked Blog, but just in case you missed it, I’ve decided to include it here. Enjoy your Trip fix!
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TRIP
Monday, November 26, 1990
Finally, it’s almost lunchtime. I don’t think I can stand another minute in calculus, not only because Piven’s a boring tool, but because Margie Freakin’ Caputo never seems to be able to just shut the hell up.
She’s chewing my ear off, wondering aloud about where the party’s gonna be this weekend. Yeah, okay, sweetheart. I can take the hint you’re throwing at me. No need to ram it home. And by the way, you and me? It’s never going to happen.
When the bell rings, I have the excuse to ditch Margie. I grab my books and dump them in my locker on the way to the cafeteria.
Layla is already there.
I haven’t seen her since Saturday night, when I went to her house after Homecoming. I’d expected to see her at the dance with Cooper Benedict, but she wasn’t there with him. In fact, she wasn’t there at all. I didn’t know what to make of that at first. Word around school is that the two of them have been dating on and off for years. Which sucks for me, but the thing is, I actually like the dude. He’s a decent guy. We got off to a bit of a rocky start that first week I started here, but I think he finally saw he was being a little too territorial. He eventually backed off when he realized I wasn’t looking for a turf war.
I didn’t realize until the dance that they obviously must be “off” right now, and figured screw it. I’ve waited long enough. Wait too long, and those two might end up back “on” again. I’m a patient guy and all, but I’m not gonna wait forever.
So, that’s why I went straight from the dance to Layla’s house. There I was, standing under her window like an idiot, trying to find a way to ask her out. I was all set to do it. Right then.
And then she invited me inside.
Woulda been nice if her father hadn’t come home, however, because I had to ditch out before I even got my foot in the door. Mr. Warren seems like a nice enough guy, but I don’t think he trusts me. It’s like he can see all the ideas I have running around my head about his daughter. Most of my thoughts are pretty tame. But some of them… Hell, I wouldn’t trust me either.
I left Layla’s house and went home, with the intention of calling her the minute I got in the door. There was no way I was going to ask her out over the phone or anything, but at least I could’ve made plans to see her the next day. At least I could’ve laid the groundwork.
But when I walked into the foyer, I saw that the old man was up. Just sitting there in his fucking chair in the den, a goddamn glass of scotch in his hand. I started to turn, just wanting to get the hell out of there. I didn’t know how many drinks he had in him, and to tell you the truth, I didn’t really want to know.
I really don’t want to get into all the gory details about the whole situation. Just know that the guy tends to drink himself into a stupor most nights, and I’ve learned over time that it’s best to just avoid him when he’s like that. Asshole.
But then I heard him start in. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the pride of the Wilmington family.”