Just my type, p.1
Just My Type, page 1
ADVANCE PRAISE FOR JUST MY TYPE
“With its sharp writing, hilarious banter, and delightful characters, Just My Type is an absolutely perfect romantic comedy. I only wish I could read it again for the first time!”
—Lacie Waldon, author of From the Jump and The Layover
“Falon Ballard delivers a page-turning second-chance romance bursting with crackling banter and delightful characters, anchored by a layered, emotional, and sexy love story at the center. I couldn’t put it down!”
—Ava Wilder, author of How to Fake It in Hollywood
“Just My Type sparks with enemies-to-lovers wit and dazzles with Los Angeles flair. A fabulous, banterrific workplace rom-com, and just our type of romance.”
—Emily Wibberley & Austin Siegemund-Broka, authors of The Roughest Draft
“Everything about Falon Ballard’s writing cuts straight to the heart. With supremely relatable characters, sparkling wit, and a second-chance rivals-to-lovers romance to die for, Just My Type is an unputdownable showstopper! Ballard’s fresh and affirming voice reminds readers what it’s like to fall in love, and what it means to love yourself most of all. An auto-buy author guaranteed to skyrocket straight to the top of TBRs everywhere!”
—Courtney Kae, author of In the Event of Love
“Just My Type is a must read. With the perfect swirl of lovable characters, sizzling chemistry, and perfectly crafted humor, Ballard’s sophomore novel is a story you won’t want to put down. Falon Ballard is an auto-buy author for me and she always delivers stories that take up residence in my heart—this new story is no exception!”
—Denise Williams, author of Do You Take This Man and The Fastest Way to Fall
PRAISE FOR LEASE ON LOVE
“[A] fun and light read . . . Ballard intersperses the book with text conversations (emojis and all) between Sadie and Jack, as well as her group conversation with her friends, that make readers feel like they’re really part of the story. When Sadie’s and Jack’s feelings for each other are finally realized, you can’t help but celebrate alongside the characters.”
—USA Today
“Laugh-out-loud banter, smart characters, and heartfelt charm . . . this rom-com has it all!”
—Woman’s World
“[A] cozy romance.”
—PopSugar
“[A] quirky, heartwarming contemporary romance . . . Ballard’s snappy prose and unconventional couple charm, and she gets some good chuckles out of skewering the New York City real estate market. Meanwhile, stellar supporting characters (especially Sadie’s besties, Gemma, Nick, and Harley) provide a solid underpinning to this enjoyable tale. This is a treat.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Ballard’s debut novel, a fantastic read for fans of The Flatshare (2019), is a sharply funny roommates-to-lovers, opposites-attract rom-com. . . . With profound sensitivity, Ballard shows how therapy and each other’s company help Jack deal with his grief and Sadie with her low self-esteem and negative self-image.”
—Booklist
“This charming story of new beginnings and emotional growth has a sassy and likable narrator in Sadie, and the novel keeps a light tone despite touching on difficult subjects like toxic families and grief. . . . Readers who enjoy female entrepreneurs, found family, and gentle romantic leads will enjoy.”
—Library Journal
“The romantic beats and the slow-burning attraction between [Sadie and Jack] are things to savor. . . . Ballard sweetly explores the ways they complement one another and also how they hope to reinvent themselves following catastrophic personal changes.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Lease on Love is a delight on every level. Ballard delivers a soft, sweet story with enough shadows to make the happily ever after feel that much more earned. Jack and Sadie together are real in the best ways, and the cast of characters shows the abiding love of friends and found family. This is a beautiful love story about finding something precious that seems out of reach. Lease on Love is one of my new favorite romance novels!”
—Denise Williams, author of Do You Take This Man and The Fastest Way to Fall
“A hopeful, heartwarming debut. With a relatable disaster of a protagonist and an adorably nerdy hero, this opposites-attract, roommates-to-lovers romance is a true delight.”
—Rachel Lynn Solomon, author of Weather Girl and The Ex Talk
“Sadie is a firecracker of a protagonist who’s very aware of her flaws, and Jack is her perfect counterpart, embracing all of her rough edges with softness and understanding. Lease on Love warmly and wittily underscores that none of us are perfect, but we are all worthy, we are all enough; we all deserve to be loved, not just by others, but by ourselves too.”
—Sarah Hogle, author of Just Like Magic and Twice Shy
“Lease on Love is a crackling, compulsively readable debut about forging new career and romantic paths, finding strength in found family, and discovering what it truly means to be ‘home.’ I enjoyed every minute of it!”
—Suzanne Park, author of Loathe at First Sight and So We Meet Again
ALSO BY FALON BALLARD
Lease on Love
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
Publishers Since 1838
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright © 2023 by Falon Ballard
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
ISBN (trade paperback) 9780593419939
ISBN (ebook) 9780593419946
Cover design and art: Sandra Chiu
Book design by Ashley Tucker, adapted for ebook by Maggie Hunt
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
pid_prh_6.0_142435014_c0_r0
Contents
Cover
Praise for Falon Ballard
Also by Falon Ballard
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Discussion Guide
About the Author
_142435014_
To all the moms—you’re doing a great job; and especially to my mom, who has always done the best job
1
They invite you to a place that has special meaning to the two of you.
—Lana Parker, “Ten Signs Your Partner Might Be About to Propose”
I’m having an Elle Woods moment.
And not a “wearing a pink power suit, getting into Harvard Law, smashing the patriarchy” Elle Woods moment.
More like a “hysterically crying in a public place because instead of being proposed to I’m getting dumped” Elle Woods moment.
The good news is I haven’t actually started to cry yet. Which is a relief because my mouth is hanging open in complete and utter shock, and adding heaving sobs to the mix would make for a huge, snotty mess. A literal one, not just the figurative one my life has become.
“I’m sorry, what did you just say to me?”
“I said, I think we should break up.”
I stare at the stupid, stupid man sitting across from me. I don’t want to see Evan’s stupid, stupid face for even one second longer, but I can’t seem to look away, my face frozen in a mixture of horror and WTF-ery. I force my eyes shut, hoping against hope that when I reopen them, all of this will have been some kind of sick joke.
But it’s not.
When I open my eyes—eyes Evan once told me weren’t just brown but brown with flecks of gold—he’s still there. Still watching me with a gaze full of pity.
I wish I could channel a Real Housewife and throw my dirty martini in his face, but that would require a level of motor function I don’t seem to have. Also, something tells me I’m going to need the liquid courage to survive the rest of this night.
Finally, after several minutes of painful silence, Evan reaches over and pats my hand. Like I’m some grandma he helped across the street and not the woman he’s been dating the last four years.
“I know this isn’t what you were expecting, Lana Banana.” His stupid, stupid mouth curls up in a condescending hint of a smile.
I always hated that nickname. Lana doesn’t even rhyme with banana.
Stupid. Stupid.
I’m so fucking stupid.
I yank my hand out from under his, the mere touch of his skin on mine enough to give me the icks. “I thought you brought me here to propose.” I mean for it to come out accusatory, but instead my voice hitches with a tinge of whine.
A proposal is a reasonable assumption when the man you’ve been in a committed relationship with for four years plans dinner at the restaurant where you had your first date. Assuming the man isn’t a stupid, stupid asshole.
Evan’s face scrunches up like the very thought of marrying me is painful. “Oh.” He nods slowly, in a way he probably thinks is wise and sage and Gandalf-esque. “I can see now how you might’ve misinterpreted this.”
“How I might have misinterpreted this?” My voice screeches and several patrons at surrounding tables subtly—and not so subtly—turn our way. I reach for my martini and for a second really consider how good it would feel to watch the olive-green-tinted liquid drip down his self-tanned face.
But then I wouldn’t get to drink it. I chug the remainder of the cocktail before holding my empty glass in the air.
A server rushes over and removes the glass from my hand, as if he’s been waiting for me to chuck it at someone.
“Hi, yes, more of these please.” When the server gives me a wary look, I point across the table. “This motherfucker thought it was appropriate to bring me—his girlfriend of four years—to our first-date spot to break up with me.”
He winces sympathetically. “I’ll just keep them coming then?”
I salute him with my invisible glass. “Good man.”
The keeper of the martinis, a.k.a. my new best friend, scampers off.
Leaving us with a silence that now doesn’t feel painful as much as it does heavy. The longer we sit and stare at each other, the more my ire flattens into defeat.
“Can I ask why?” I try to remove any anger from the question so he knows that I mean it, that I really want to know. Even though I’m not totally sure myself.
He sighs and picks up my hand again, but this time the gesture is one of comfort, as if there’s a chance we might actually walk away from this still friends. “Lana, you don’t want to be with me any more than I want to be with you. You know the two of us aren’t actually right for each other.”
“Then why have we been together for so long, Evan?” I might as well be asking myself that question since I know he’s right; the two of us don’t belong together. We shouldn’t be dating, let alone thinking about getting married.
His grip on my hand tightens. “Do you want the real, honest answer?”
I purse my lips, nodding, even though only half of me—the sadistic half—wants the truth.
“Every girl I dated before you hated my mother, and I liked how you two clicked. I get that she and I have a relationship that might be closer than most, but I never thought it’d be an issue in my dating life. But all my old girlfriends complained about her and how much time she and I spent together, and how much I shared with her.” A hint of an apology darkens his eyes, also brown, though with zero flecks of gold.
“Until me.”
“You know, sometimes I think you like her better than me,” he grumbles under his breath.
I don’t refute his comment, which he takes for the confirmation it is. Judy is one kick-ass woman—was I not supposed to hang out with her when she asked?
“It was a nice change for a while, but then I realized I don’t think I want to be married to someone who’s got Olympic-level mommy issues.” He crosses his arms over his chest and an actual pout forms on his thin lips. How quickly we’ve moved from a semi-rational conversation to throwing barbs.
“Oh, is that the newest Olympic event? Damn, I can’t believe I missed the trials.” I slip back into sarcasm like it’s my favorite old Princess Leia T-shirt, comforting and safe.
“Lana—”
“Look, Evan”—two can play the condescending game, and I drip it into my voice like I’m pouring salted caramel on a sundae—“I really have nothing left to say to you other than you better drop some serious cash on this table before you leave. I’m going to be drinking on your tab for the rest of the night.” I happily accept a fresh martini from our server—already thankful I like them light on the vodka and heavy on the olive juice—who glares at Evan before retreating to the bar, where a small crowd of employees are pretending not to watch the reality TV drama unfolding right before their eyes.
This is LA though, so chances are pretty good they’ve seen actual reality TV play out in front of them. In fact, I’m sure the cast of Vanderpump Rules has filmed here more than once, so they’ve most definitely seen top-tier cocktail tossing.
I take a long sip of my fresh drink as Evan clearly doesn’t get the hint. “I’m sorry, why are you still here?”
“I’m not just going to leave you alone when you’re well on your way to being drunk. I may not love you, but I’m not that much of a dick.”
I channel my inner Thor, tilting my head to the side and scrunching up my face. “Aren’t you though?” Another quarter of my drink goes down, chilling my throat and numbing my feelings. I know that once those feelings return, my inevitable sobs will make Elle Woods’s look downright peaceful. Therefore, numb they must stay. “Also, I won’t be alone for long. May is already on her way.”
He sits back in his seat, frowning. “Seriously? Do you guys have some kind of Bat-Signal?”
“Yeah, it’s called a cell phone, dipshit. I texted her while you were in the middle of your it’s-not-you-it’s-me speech.” I stab an olive, imagining staking the toothpick right through his eyeball. I can’t believe that for half a second I thought we might be able to get through this breakup like mature adults. Now I’m taking solace in the image of a plastic cocktail skewer burying itself in his pupil. Anger, keep the anger flowing. It’s far better than sadness. “For the record, I’d like to make it clear that you are one hundred percent right about that. It is most definitely you.”
His pout transforms into a scowl. “Why am I not surprised? You can’t even make it through one breakup conversation without needing someone to lean on.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re incapable of being alone, Lana. And frankly, it’s exhausting.”
“Your face is exhausting.” Ouch. That not-quite-a-comeback slips out before I can stop it.
“Are you sure you want me to leave? I wouldn’t want you to be by yourself for five whole minutes.” At least the maturity level has dropped across the board.
“I’ve literally never been more sure of anything in my life.” I swig the rest of my martini, and before I even set down the empty glass, another full one is sitting in its spot. Someone is getting a very large tip tonight. “And if I were you, I’d blow this joint before May arrives.” Unlike myself, my best friend would never hesitate to throw a drink, and there’s a fifty-fifty chance she might also throw a punch.
The skin beneath his spray tan pales. He reaches into his wallet and throws three hundreds down on the table. He pushes his chair back and stands, lingering for just a second too long. The quips and the insults fade away, leaving space for memories of the good times we managed to have over the last four years. “I really am sorry, Lana.”
Yeah, well, me too.
I expected to be leaving this restaurant engaged, our arms wrapped around each other, both of us happily buzzed on the complimentary champagne that would’ve accompanied my giant rock of a ring.
A ring that probably wouldn’t have looked anything like the hundreds I have pinned to my public wedding board, which I’ve conveniently left open on my laptop any time Evan has been at my house over the course of the last year.
