Trophy Husband by Lauren Blakely Read Free Book Online

something about the question startles me. Maybe because
it’s so normal, and he seems legitimately curious. Then, there’s
the simple fact that we’re having a conversation in the middle of
an electronics store.
    “Scrabble, Trivial Pursuit, Monopoly,” I say
with a completely straight face since I know he wasn’t referring to
board games.
    But he picks up the baton easily, raising an
eyebrow as he asks, “Clue?”
    “Of course. And it was always Mr. Plum in
the library with the candlestick.”
    “Interesting. Because Miss Scarlet was
pretty wicked with that rope in the ballroom, if memory serves.
What about Chutes and Ladders?”
    “Let’s not forget CandyLand either.”
    “What was your favorite candy destination in
that game?”
    “The vintage game, right? Not that new King
Candy imitator?”
    “As if I’d even be talking about that game,”
he says playfully.
    I’m about to answer, when he puts his hands
together as if he’s praying and says in a whisper, “Please say Ice
Cream Floats. Please say Ice Cream Floats.”
    I laugh, the kind of laugh I haven’t felt in
a while, the kind that radiates through my whole body and turns
into a huge grin. “Of course. I wanted to live at Ice Cream
Floats.”
    “I was all set to build a chocolate and
licorice home in Ice Cream Floats. And this reminds me that I need
to stock up on the classic games too. But I don’t think they sell
them here.”
    “I came here to stock up on a new camera.” I
pat the camera box. Then I dive into my best infomercial voice.
“Did you know that when a cat pees on your camera it can’t be
resurrected?”
    He shrugs his shoulders confidently, quirks
up his lips. “Actually, I could fix your camera.”
    I give him a quizzical look.
    “I can fix pretty much anything.”
    “Wow. That’s impressive.”
    “Want me to try?”
    “You really want to?”
    “I do. Yeah,” he says, as if he’s digging
the prospect of repairing the damaged device. “I really enjoy that
kind of challenge. It’s kind of like a game to me.”
    “The Fix-It game.”
    “Exactly.”
    “If you really want to, I’m not going to say
no. I have it with me – it doesn’t smell anymore, I cleaned it –
because I wanted to make sure to get the same model.” I reach into
my purse and hand him the plastic bag with Chaucer’s victim in
it.
    “I can have it back to you in a day or
two.”
    “Great,” I say, and smile, as I stand here
looking at his fabulous face.
    “But I would need your info to get it back
to you.”
    Correction: As I stand
here stupidly looking at his fabulous face. “Duh. Of course.”
    I give him my first name and number and he
programs it into his phone.
    “It was fun talking to you, McKenna,” he
says, then extends a hand. “I’m Chris McCormick.”
    We make contact, and I’m not going to lie –
there’s something about the feel of his strong hand in mine that
just seems…right. Maybe it’s the firm grip, or his soft skin, or
the way his eyes light up as he smiles while shaking my hand. I
don’t want to let go. I want to go all black-and-white movie and
have a simmering moment where his eyes smolder and, like magnets,
we can’t resist. He pulls me in, dips me, and plants a devastating
kiss on my lips.
    The kind of kiss that can ruin a girl for
any other kisses for the rest of her life.
    Chris McCormick is gorgeous, in a pure
California sort of way, like sunshine and blue skies, like the
ocean and its tides, but he’s too confident, too steady to be young
enough for my project. I bet he’s, gasp, close to my age. I need to
stay focused on my mission
    “And if you want any more Halo tips, you can
find a ton on Craigslist,” he says.
    “Craigslist!” I practically jump up and down
in excitement, reminded of my overarching mission to find a Trophy
Husband. “That’s it. Craigslist! Thank you so much. I gotta
go.”
    I head to the front of the store, plunk down
cash for my camera, take a quick peek back at the Halo