Page 1 of The Boyfriend Swap

Chapter 1

Robyn

If asked to choose between a world without music and one without my mother, the choice would be a no-brainer—I’d give up music. I might feel dead inside, without a song to sing or a beat to dance to, but at least my mom would be there to comfort me. The decision was easy, but sometimes, like now, when she put on her matchmaking cap, I was tempted to change my answer.

“He just moved here from Boise to work in the Treasury Service team at JP Morgan,” she said, referring to the guy she’d befriended while standing in line at the DMV for two hours. “He said you reminded him of a blue-eyed Selena Gomez.”

I allowed a small smile at the comparison, but promptly clamped my mouth shut. “I’m flattered, but why did you show him my picture?” I already knew the answer. My mom was always trying to fix me up with eligible men, especially those employed by companies like JP Morgan, where employees were forced to dress business casual and infrequently required to use their imaginations.

“I thought you’d make a great couple. Someone like him—attractive, successful, nice, funny—won’t be single for long.”

I banged my head against my desk in frustration. “I’m already taken. Have you forgotten?” I asked in a hushed voice before glancing at my boyfriend, Perry. He was lying on his back on my bed with his t-shirt riding up to showcase his six-pack abs. I turned down the volume on my phone so he wouldn’t hear.

“Ah yes, Perry. His teeth-whitening commercial aired while your dad and I were watching theLegends of Freestyledocumentary last night. Too bad he can’t cultivate an entire career around his talent for flicking his tongue across his upper teeth.”

I chose to ignore the portion of my mother’s statement aimed at my boyfriend. “You watchedLegends of Freestyleagain? Aren’t you sick of it by now?” My parents were high school sweethearts who performed together and even released a Freestyle album in the early 1980s. They never hit the bigtime, possibly because there wasn’t a smidgen of Latino in them, unless you counted my maternal grandparents, Sephardic Jews from Argentina. But they shared the stage at many New York City venues with some of the best, including Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam, until they gave it up to raise me and my younger brother, Jordon.

“How many times have you seenHigh School Musical?”

“Point taken.”

“Does Perry get a lifetime supply of teeth whitener now? One less expense could come in handy until he catches his big break,” she said, her voice dripping in sarcasm. Perry, my boyfriend of almost a year, was a struggling actor/musician—strugglingbeing the operative word.

“Speaking of Perry, I’m preparing my grocery list for the holidays. Is he coming for Chrismukkah?”

I gulped down the unease of bringing Perry home with me for the holidays. His last callback fell through, which meant he probably wouldn’t have anything promising to tell my folks when they asked about his acting career—which they would. They would then outwardly encourage him to keep on keeping on, while using the famous Lane mental telepathy to invade my brain space and urge me to choose a more “stable” boyfriend. As former musicians themselves, my parents would never discourage a performer from shooting for the stars, but they didn’t want a performer dating their daughter.

Perry sat up. “Don’t forget to tell your mom I want to demonstrate the vocal exercises my voice coach taught me.” Perry didn’t have the money to fly to his parents in Portland for Christmas and, oblivious to my folks’ discouragement of our relationship, was looking forward to an intimate family celebration.

I smiled fondly in his direction. It wouldn’t even matter if he could hear my mom’s side of the conversation. He wasn’t lacking in self-confidence, and any disapproval by others, including my parents, tended to go unnoticed by him. Unfortunately, what attracted me to Perry—his focus on the here and now rather than the long term and his ability to make light of almost every situation—was what repelled my folks. They worried he wasn’t husband material. It was their job as my parents, but at only twenty-six, I wasn’t thinking about marriage yet anyway. Perry made me happy day to day, and that was good enough for me.

“Is he still gluten-free?” my mom asked.

I sighed into the phone. I could picture my mom holding her breath and crossing her fingers, hoping I’d say she didn’t need to stock the house with gluten-free products because I’d broken up with Perry and was now dating someone new, like an attorney in a prominent law firm. Before I could tell her there was no cure for celiac disease, I heard a knock on the door followed by my roommate, Anne Marie, peeking her blonde head in my door.

“Almost ready?” Anne Marie and I had played together in a recreational kickball league a couple years earlier and quickly discovered we were both about to lose our current roommate to a serious boyfriend. Neither of us made enough money to live alone in pricey New York City so we decided to move in together. Our complex was advertised as a “luxury” apartment, but it catered mostly to twenty-somethings like us, who were happy to share very little square footage with a roommate to live in a doorman building with a pool on the roof.

“I’ve gotta run. We’re hosting a wine party tonight. I’ll call you over the weekend, okay? Tell Dad I love him. And you too.” I hung up the phone and let out a deep breath. Then I walked over to the bed and pulled Perry up by his hands. “Time to go.”

“I seriously can’t stay?” Perry asked, pushing out his full lower lip.

I shook my head and gave him a sad smile. “Sorry. Girls only.” Perry’s large eyes were blue like the deepest part of the ocean, and his longish blond hair managed to look masculine even when pulled into a man bun. With biceps that toiled to break free from his well-fitted t-shirts, I was sure if the girls saw him, they’d wish I’d made an exception to the “no boys allowed” rule.

Giving himself a once-over, Perry said, “Suit yourself, but I think a room full of your girlfriends would be more exciting if I tagged along. It would be like an episode ofThe Bachelor.”

I placed my hands on my hips. “Are you in the market for a bachelorette?”

“An episodeafterthe final rose which, of course, I gave to you.”

“Good save,” I said with a laugh.

Perry took my hand and kissed my pointer finger. Running his thumb along the chipped sea-green nail polish, he said, “Maybe you guys can give each other manicures too.”

“It would be a waste of time and nail polish and you know it.” I pushed him out of my room and toward the front door of my apartment. “Will you be home later?”

“Eventually, yes.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Have fun at ladies’ night. If it breaks out into a pillow fight, record it on your phone.”

“Don’t be a douche,” I said before closing the door behind me. Then I smiled at Anne Marie, who was returning the vacuum cleaner to the hall closet. “What can I do to help?”

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