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Can two drastically different, imperfect people be perfect for each other?It’s been four months since Gray and Dylan have seen each other. Dylan’s been traveling in
Europe, while Gray has college, baseball, and a life rooted in one place. Gray’s determined to
forget Dylan, the girl he fell in love with in First Comes Love. Besides, how do you make a
relationship work with an independent loner?
Just when he decides he’s over her, Dylan makes an unexpected entrance back into his life,
hoping their steamy romance can start right where it left off. Gray realizes you can tell your mind to do one thing, but you can’t always convince your heart to follow. Dylan realizes she finally has to make a choice between freedom and her relationship with Gray.
Hilarious, intense, inspiring, and emotional, Second Chance shows that love is a journey, and
there are never clear road signs or maps to guide you along. You can only navigate with your
heart.
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Featured Excerpt
GrayI can’t sleep tonight because memories are pooling in my mind like a lake and I’m floating
face-down on the surface, trying to see the bottom.
Mostly, I’m thinking about a girl.
Which brings me to my latest theory:
I think falling in love should come with a warning label: CAUTION—side effects may
include breaking up, accompanied by heartache, severe mood swings, withdrawal from people
and life itself, wasted hours obsessing over bitter reflections, a need to destroy something
(preferably something expensive that shatters), uncontrollable tear ducts, stress, a loss of
appetite (Cheetos and Dr. Pepper exempt), a bleak and narrow outlook on the future, and an
overall hatred of everyone and everything (especially all the happy couples you see strolling
hand-in-hand, placed on your path only to exacerbate your isolation and misery). All above
reactions will be intensified with the consumption of one or more alcoholic beverages.
What, me, bitter? Not at all. Just honest.
I turn the music up on my stereo and take a long drag off my joint. The smoke fills my
lungs and I hold it in until I feel a soothing burn. I count the months it has been since I’ve
heard from Dylan. I haven’t seen her since she surprised me in Phoenix over Christmas, and I
was naïve enough to think a long distance relationship could work. Now she’s overseas
gallivanting around Europe like a bird migrating from one scenic landscape to the next. She’s
slowly becoming my past, something like a dream and reality mixed. I forget where one ends
and the other begins because the lines of memories are always a blur.
She flew to England with a family who hired her to chaperone their thirteen-year-old
daughter for two months. They covered all of Dylan’s traveling expenses and paid her a daily
stipend. Only Dylan would fall into such a perfect situation, like fate for her is a waterfall that
rushes her from one exciting adventure to the next with torrid speed because she never seems
to slow down.
After her job commitment, Dylan stayed in Europe to backpack by herself. She sent me
two postcards in the last four months. How thoughtful. It’s comforting to know she spent
about six minutes thinking of me in Melk, Austria and Munich, Germany. I’ve only spent
about six hundred hours obsessing over her.
I’m assuming she met some hot Italian named Francisco or Alfredo. He probably has
haunting dark eyes and chestnut brown hair that flows in the wine-infused wind. He seduced
her with lines like, “I want to make love to you on the stars.” And he can get away with
sounding like an ass-clown just because he has an accent. How am I supposed to compete
with that?
I take another hit from the inch of joint I have left and suck until the warmth of the
burning paper teases my lips. I miss that heat. It feels like a kiss.
Francisco or Alfredo is probably kissing Dylan right now on a piazza that overlooks his
forty acre family vineyard or his private beach front property along the Aegean Sea. I can see
their future as plain as a European honeymoon brochure: He proposes to her on top of the
Spanish Steps in Rome. They marry on a yacht while the sun sets below the Mediterranean.
Something incredibly lame and romantic like that. Lamesauce, as Amanda and I used to call
it. All I know is the European-love-affair would explain how Dylan has so easily forgotten to
call her boring old American boyfriend. No sexy accent. No exotic past. I love to grill out, play
baseball, and quote Ron Burgundy. That’s my idea of culture.
Angry would be one word to describe my current state of mind. It’s part of the
getting-over-your-ex grieving process. It begins with heartbreak, followed closely by denial.
Then comes a little resentment. Loathing. Mega-loathing. At last, anger sets in, and it fuels
you to do what I’ve finally done: Throw yourself a pity party, get stoned for four months and
move the hell on. It’s healthy, organic rehab for only $99 a month, brought to you by Mexico.
Pot has become my new best friend. It’s a natural sleep aid and a much appreciated
brain-numbing supplement that helps turn my life into a joke instead of something I have to
try and make sense out of.
Dylan used to be my drug. When I was with her I was funnier, crazier, smarter and
more creative—this person it felt so effortless to be. Meeting her last summer was like pulling
on a favorite sweatshirt, worn and smooth and familiar, like she was sewn for me. The seams
of her personality aligned perfectly with mine. We meshed.
Then why, in her absence, do I change? Why do I go back to being the old me? The
one that judges everything, that sees the world through cynical eyes? Was I just faking my
way through that whole summer with Dylan?
Or,
maybe, when you meet the right person, it’s like meeting a piece of
yourself that you never knew existed because somebody had to open it up
for you. Pull it out of you. Point it out to you. Is it true you need another person to be complete?
Well, I know one thing for sure. I won’t fall in love that easily again. The next time
around I’m going to be careful. I’m going to take it slow and wait until the timing is perfect.
No more heartache.
It’s time to stop mulling over the past. I need to focus on the present. I’m going to
put one hundred percent of my energy into my friends, roommates, baseball, school,
parents—my life. Dylan gets zero percent.
That story is over.
Finished.
The end.
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Katie is offering a Signed Hardcover copy of First Comes Love to one winner during the blog tour. To enter just go to the Rafflecopter link here:
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