Trophy Husband by Lauren Blakely Read Free Book Online Page A

expert as I
do, because it’s a crying shame with that face, those eyes, that
hair. Then I scurry back home.
    Once at home, I open my laptop, and hop on
over to Craigslist. Why hadn’t I thought of this sooner? You can
find anything there – new job, new couch, new BOYFRIEND. And I have
Hayden’s evil cat Chaucer to thank. If that dastardly feline hadn’t
peed on my camera then I wouldn’t have wound up in the electronics
store and I wouldn’t have run into Chris McCormick, the Video Game
Guy, with emerald eyes and a stunning smile, and I wouldn’t have
gotten the great idea to check out Craigslist, thanks to him. This
is brilliant. This is epic. Finding a man-boy will be a piece of
cake on Craigslist.
    So I type the URL in and click on “Bay
Area,” while my blonde half-horse, half-dog, trundles on over and
parks herself at my feet with a heavy sigh. She’s probably counting
down the hours until it’s time for a swim in the San Francisco Bay,
her internal doggy clock permanently calibrated to the rhythms of
our day. I scratch her ears, then pet her head.
    I start the Craiglist search with the Personals
section and type “trophy husband” into the search bar. Hmm. Only
one post with “trophy husband” in the whole Bay Area?
    “ I am 50 years old and am a
successful stock trader. I am looking for a younger guy to share my
good fortune with. Send a picture for mine. Be between 18 and 30
years old. I often travel to Europe, Asia, and Moscow on business
and would love to bring you along. Must not have hang ups about
being showered with gifts and being a trophy husband. I am a bottom
as well.”
    This is it? The lone ad for “Trophy
Husband?”
    I soldier on and try “boy
toy” this time, and it returns several options. I tap open the
first entry because it boasts a promising subject line: “Young guy looking for assertive older
womam.”
    So the young guy didn’t exactly spell woman
correctly. But let’s hear him out.
    “ Extreme satisfacktion for the
rite woman. Hansome male seek to belong to the woman who need to
have nothing but the finest at her cummand. If your fantasy is to
be in the company of a beeuutiful, intelligent and discrete, sexy
man than you is getting warmer.”
    Our public education system is much worse than I
thought. After all, is it really that much to ask for one’s
potential next mate to be able to make a noun and verb agree? The
answer, evidently, is yes. I try the next entry.
    “ Let me be your boy toy. I will
obey your every order and serve your every wish.”
    At least his grammar is correct.
And his writing has a nice rhythm to it, so I click through to his
photo.
    Ouch.
    I am just going to pretend I didn’t see
that.
    I squeeze my eyes shut. I remind myself that
I am not a prude. I am not a priss. I am not weirded out by sex, or
sexy people, or public displays of affection. But I am pretty sure
– and I wouldn’t have known this before because I have never seen
one – that I am not into penis piercings.
    So I move on to the next entry, trying my
best to un-see what I just saw.
    “I have a job, my own
place in the city and am clean and well-kept,” the next one writes.
    What, like a lawn?
    I hit the home button on the browser,
returning to the safe haven of Google, then lay my cheek on the
edge of my desk, wondering yet again if I am out of my mind.
Because clearly I am not cut out for a Craigslist match. As much as
I’d love to end my streak, I also wouldn’t mind a bit more than a
fling. I’m almost embarrassed to admit this because I’m supposed to
be an independent woman – hear me roar – but I would really like to
have a boyfriend.
    The word sounds so high school, but I don’t
care. I don’t want to be alone any longer. I want to be in love and
carefree and have someone to talk to, laugh with, make fun of other
crazy people in San Francisco with. Someone who would never even
think of leaving me with two mixers and a vintage white dress.
    I can picture it