Page 1 of Perfect Boy

prologue

Watson

Growing up, I never put too much thought into getting married. I mean, yeah, I figured I probably would do it one day, but that was the extent of my thought process when it came to getting hitched. I assumed I’d tie the knot, then likely have a few kids, buy a house with a big lawn and porch, which I’d use to cook steaks on the grill. Obviously, a badass grill because, well, I’d be a husband and a dad, and that’s what husbands and dads do. Maybe even have a front porch swing and a few bird feeders—and watch as the squirrels tried to steal all the shit from them. Maybe my wife would be into bird-watching. Who knows? She’d probably want an elaborate kitchen because, hopefully, she’d love to cook and bake. And I’d be able to have whatever she wanted built because I’d be in the NHL and I’d be loaded.

Those details I had thought about. Vaguely, but still…I did. But the actual wedding day itself? Never. Didn’t really care, I guess. Still don’t really. I knew I wasn’t going to be the type of groom who wanted to decide what kinds of flowers were on tables or give a fuck about seating arrangements. Maybe I’d weigh in on the song we had our first dance to and give my two cents on the guest list, but that’s about it.

I never let my actual wedding day cross my mind. Yet here I am. In my jeans and a button-down shirt at city hall on a fucking weekday afternoon. I can’t say it’s wrong because I never planned what it would look like to begin with. Still, I know this, right here…wouldn’t have been it.

I look at Ryann, and she continues looking anywhere but directly at me. She trembles the slightest bit because she’s scared. I can practically hear the thoughts running through her head, asking herself if she’s making a mistake.

She’s promising me forever, and she can’t even look me in the eye.

I continue to look at her, hoping to offer her some assurance—anything to let her know it’s all going to be okay. That I’m here. That I’ll be here as long as she allows me to be. This whole getting married thing, it was my idea. Maybe it was to save her. That’s what I led her to believe anyway. Like I’m some knight in shining armor, showing up and saving the day or some shit.

In reality, asking her to get married was a selfish move. Because deep down, I knew this was the only way I’d get my real, true shot with the girl of my dreams. Where she’d be forced to give me a chance. To finally let her guard down and fucking see me.

Because how could she not at least try to like the dude who offered to marry her just so she wouldn’t get deported back to Canada?

Exactly. I’m a fucking genius.

She might think this is temporary, but it isn’t. I’m going to make her fall in love with me. There’s no other option.

I want to be her husband.

And I want her to be my wife.

Not just until she gains citizenship. Nah, I want this…forever.

1

Ryann

Two Months Earlier

Today sucks. Well, I suppose any day of the month that I have to make my car and cell phone payment does. I count the money I have in my secret stash and cringe. All the money I saved up this summer is slowly depleting. Add in the gift I just bought to send my little sister on her birthday and the shipping cost it’ll take just to get it over the border to Canada? Ouch. But I work this weekend, and that’ll bring in a good chunk of cash to bring my balance back up. Until more payments are due, of course. I can’t complain; there’s food in my stomach, a roof over my head, and I’m in a safe environment.

At least I’m meeting one of my new roommates, Sutton, for coffee in a bit. And coffee is cheap. Okay, it isn’t that cheap. But it’s a necessity. Practically more important than air really.

Even though I’ve only known Sutton for a week, I adore her. And somehow already feel this deep-rooted connection with her. We just get each other. She’s sweet yet feisty. And she isn’t about drama. Which is good, except when I want to gossip.

Last year, it was Lana and me in the dancers’ house with a few girls who have since graduated. This year, we got two new roommates—Poppy and Sutton. The bad part? They hate each other, and it’s practically like having two cats around. One a bit feral and the other the type that just comes out to eat, reminding you it’s here before disappearing again. Poppy being the feral one, of course. Because trust me, her name does not match up to the sweet little pink troll from that annoying kids’ movie. But I love her even if she is extra spicy.

Poppy moved in a few weeks before Sutton. Which basically means Poppy walked around, pissing on everything she could, marking her territory because she knew Sutton Savage would likely be her biggest competition when it came to dance.

While I love them both, Sutton has quickly become one of my favorite people. I even convinced her to come work with me at Peaches. When I’d told her I had a job for her, I didn’t inform her right off the bat that it would be at a strip joint; rather, I let her find out with her own two eyes. I hadn’t expected her to take the job. I mean, she’s the freaking senator of Tennessee’s daughter, and she comes from old, old money. And lots of it. Loads of it. Which is astounding, considering she doesn’t even own a car or dresses and acts like a normal college kid.

I mean, even I own a car, and I’m poor. It’s a pile of shit with the muffler half falling off, and it might not start every time, but still, it’s a means of transportation.

When Sutton accepted the job, I was shocked. But in the best possible way. People can make fun of strippers, but what other jobs are there where you can take home stacks of money after just a few hours of work? And for the most part, I get to choose my own schedule, which usually consists of a few nights a week—or whatever my dance practice schedule allows me.

I started working at Peaches this past spring. When I had come here from Canada, I’d essentially had no money.

My mom had always put herself before her kids. Well, maybe not herself, but whatever lowlife she was dating at the time. She changed her boyfriends like underwear. But not a single one was an actual decent person. They’d use her. Abuse her. Then, they’d be gone, and she’d fall apart. Leaving me to raise myself and my little sister, Riley.

I knew when I got to Brooks, it was up to me to make it work financially. But between classes and being a dancer, it didn’t leave much time for a real job. All last school year, when I wasn’t in class, doing homework, or hanging out with my then boyfriend, I spent my spare time waitressing at a diner just off campus. I enjoyed it, but I wasn’t making nearly enough cash because of how little I could work. Then, after a horrible but much-needed breakup with my boyfriend, another dancer introduced me to the owner of Peaches, and the rest is history.

A few shifts a week, and I can afford rent, my cell phone, and other necessities. It’s not my dream job—that’s for sure. But I also believe there wouldn’t be anything wrong with it if it was. And to make it a little better, I love the girls I work with, and I have the best boss.

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