Page 1 of The Last Love Story
CHAPTER ONE
JUSTIN
Listeningto your best friends bang isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
I’m grateful I’ve had a couple of weeks to spend with Devon and Kennedy. We don’t get to see each other nearly enough being in different parts of the country for the last few years. And I’m thrilled theyfinallyrealized their feelings for each other and are happily together after being complete idiots for most of their lives. I just wish the spare room didn’t share a wall with their bedroom.
Guess it’s back to reading for me. What better way to spend the next hour?
Even if they don’t fuck for that long, they’ll be busy for that long. And while I could go out and roam around the small suburb they live in, I don’t have any connection to the area. It’s another town that doesn’t feel like home.
I’m starting to wonder if anywhere ever will.
That train of thought can go fuck itself because the last thing I need is to be depressed while my friends put on a show in the background.
Grabbing my wireless earbuds and my e-reader, I get comfortable in the oversized chair by the window and get back to my latest binge.
I’m not one to complain about some extra time to read, especially when the series I’m reading has lodged itself in my brain the way this one has. I started it on the plane out to California from Georgia, and I’m already on book six. This author has several other long-running series, and I have a feeling her books are going to be all I read for the next few weeks.
I’m not ashamed to admit I’m a sucker for a romance novel. They’re an essential part of my life as both a voice actor and a model—known for romance novel covers and narration now. I love a good love story, and I always have. As a kid, I had to hide that from my dad—the fun of misogyny—but now I flaunt it. It’s a part of me I never want to hide. Some of the best books I’ve ever read have been romance novels, and my favorites tackle far more than love. Whether it’s societal issues, mental health, or family dynamics, I love getting into the nitty gritty with characters.
The current author I’m reading—Jade Jackson—is incredible at knitting everything together. She also writes long-running series that have a real-life feel and doesn’t shy away from topics that some people are more afraid of in the romance genre, like cheating and how a relationship can either be broken or heal afterward. I don’t know which way it’ll go for this couple, but I’m desperate to find out. Even though there’s only one more book out in this series so far, and I don’t think their storyline has been resolved yet.
I find my playlist of reading music and put it on, then think twice and head to the author’s social media, hoping I’ll find links for audiobooks. I love to listen along while I read, but when I searched in one of the bigger apps for audiobooks, I couldn’t find any for this series, which surprised me. I’ve been seeing it pop upa lot.
I scroll through her social media, which has a perfect aesthetic vibe with pictures of her books or things that inspire her. Noting a pinned post with FAQs, I click on it. On the third slide, she notes that, while she has audiobooks for one of her previous series, she doesn’t have any audiobooks for this series because she’s saving up to do them all at once. She wants to release them close together so people who depend on audio don’t get stuck with cliffhangers for too long.
I love that she’s thinking about that, but it sucks she doesn’t have that financial freedom. As a narrator, I stand firm behind the prices I and my fellow narrators charge, but I’m also well aware how big of an investment that is for an author, and I wish there was a way to make it more affordable for authors and still get paid. There should be loans or grants tailored for authors like there are other small businesses. They deserve to have those opportunities too.
The selfish side of me wants these books in audio, and for a hot second, I wonder how ridiculous it would be for me to offer to record these for her with a royalty-share agreement. I could do it in my spare time. But she might see that as charity.
I need to let this go and just enjoy the story, but before I can navigate away from her page, I catch the pinned “about me” post and click on it. The second slide features a picture of her smiling as she sits on the floor, surrounded by piles of her books.
I stare at it for a moment, then zoom in, getting a better look at her. She’s absolutely gorgeous. Curves everywhere and a smile that’s so captivating I don’t want to look away. Her hair is a deep brown that’s almost black and done in soft waves. I blink a few times before I finally swipe to the next slide.
Then I scroll back and look at the picture again, something inside me firing up.
I don’t exactly have a type. Not in terms of looks.
I’ll fully admit, I’m a manslut sometimes.
I’m not going to apologize for it, though. I love women—everything about them. Every size, every shape.
While I don’t indiscriminately sleep around, I also hook up a decent amount.
Not because I’m afraid of falling in love or catching feelings or anything else. IwishI would. But most of the time, it’s a passing night with someone who is fine but I don’t have a connection with besides the physical.
Like finding a town that feels like home, one day I want to find the right person to settle down and share my life with. I’m open to it right this second if they randomly walk through the door, but I know that’s unlikely.
I’ve always loved reading and watching love stories. Someday, I hope I get to live my own.
Until then, it’s back to reading them and living vicariously.
Kennedy breezespast me where I’m sitting at the kitchen island, a mug in her hand, looking pointedly at me as she hums something. It takes me a second to figure out what it is.
BellefromBeauty and the Beast.
“Are you implying something?”
