Typecast , livre ebook

Girl Friday Books - Andrea J. Stein

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179 pages

English

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Description

Fans of Emily Henry’s bestselling meet-cute tales of quirky millennial protagonists and almost-failed romances will love And In the Role of Callie Dressler.
For anyone who ponders the roads not taken, questions their decisions for far too long, and worries that the transition from 20s to 30s is heading for more dead-ends.
This book has all the elements of a perfect beach read: a long-lost college boyfriend, a competitive older sister, and a handsome architect who may just be looking for love.
Readers of Emily Henry, Katherine Center, and Jennifer Weiner will enjoy this tale of an American every-girl who finds herself in the starring role of a story she’s tried to put behind her.
As a publicist, author Andrea Stein has strong contacts and will be seeking blurbs from bestselling women's fiction writers.

Sujets

Contemporary romance

Informations

Publié par	Girl Friday Books
Date de parution	13 septembre 2022
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781954854666
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	4 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0500€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Praise for Typecast
“A smart, endearing heroine; an enjoyable, entertaining story; and a hopeful, satisfying ending. Callie revisits the past with her ex to make sense of her present love life, making Typecast a fun mix of rom-com and women’s fiction. Full of heartfelt charm, humor, and truth, Stein’s debut is exactly the book I’d been craving. Perfect for fans of Marian Keyes and Josie Silver. A very delightful read!”
—Angela Terry, award-winning author of Charming Falls Apart and The Trials of Adeline Turner
“With patience and realism, Andrea J. Stein explores the complexities of first love, family dynamics, and adulting. A relatable journey fraught with growing pains, Typecast reminds us that in order to truly evolve—and find new, lasting love—we must first accept the past and ourselves.”
—Nora Zelevansky, author of Competitive Grieving
“Insightful and bighearted and oh-so-deliciously page-turning, Typecast is like a road trip with friends, complete with detours and surprises and wildly satisfying moments. A perfect next read for fans of Camille Pagán and Kristy Woodson Harvey, Stein’s Typecast is a don’t-miss debut!”
—Amy Impellizzeri, award-winning author of I Know How This Ends and In Her Defense
“In lively, sparkling prose, Andrea J. Stein’s Typecast offers keenly observed insights about family, friendship, and figuring out who you want to be when you grow up. Alternating between the heroine’s past and her present, Typecast is a portrait of a woman rewriting her own future.”
—Jenn Stroud Rossmann, author of The Place You’re Supposed to Laugh
“ Typecast is an excellent first novel! I could totally see this in movie form . . . It would surely be a standout rom-com that everyone would love.”
—Kyle Wendy Skultety, gimmethatbook.com
“I adored this book! . . . Callie was a fantastically written character whom I grew to love as each chapter went on. I highly recommend!”
— @doingitbythebook

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2022 by Andrea J. Stein
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Girl Friday Books™, Seattle
Produced by Girl Friday Productions
Cover design: Bailey McGinn Production editorial: Laura Dailey Project management: Kristin Duran
ISBN (paperback): 978-1-954854-65-9 ISBN (e-book): 978-1-954854-66-6
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022901292
First edition

For Bablu, Ravi, and Kieran

Chapter One
Before
When I woke up, my arm was asleep. It was neither surprising nor unusual, considering Ethan and I were snug against each other in the twin-size dorm room bed. It would be the last morning we’d wake up together on this thin mattress sagging in the center, tilting us toward each other more than strictly necessary in the narrow space.
I opened my eyes and took inventory of the institutional square I’d worked hard to turn into a home. The framed Spellbound poster I splurged on for Ethan’s twenty-first birthday hung across from the bed. Other movie posters— Marathon Man and Jaws —decorated the other walls, and the huge bulletin board for which I had painstakingly chosen fabric was a collage of photos—mostly of Ethan and me—flyers for rallies, on-campus plays, and concerts I meant to attend but never did; takeout menus; birthday cards; and hastily scribbled notes so heartfelt they became keepsakes. A gauzy piece of batik-printed fabric draped the window, hiding the plain white window shade. Two blond wood dressers stood side by side near the closet with its accordion door, the trio of them housing our clothes—Ethan’s jeans, plaid shirts, and white T-shirts, and my random assortment of hoodies, loose sweaters, flippy skirts, tights, and a handful of body-hugging scoop-neck tops that I wore occasionally because Ethan liked them. I preferred my “girls”—bigger than oranges but not quite grapefruits—to be a little less conspicuous.
Ethan and I moved in together at the beginning of junior year. Well, kind of. The truth was we each had a single room across the hall from one another. This one we used as our bedroom. The other, as our study. That’s where our two desks lived, along with a mini fridge and the other twin bed—which we’d tried to move into this room to create a king, but gave up on when we discovered we’d never be able to open the closet. Besides, we didn’t mind having to sleep so close together. A few of my sketches and paintings hung on the walls of the study. A few were from a drawing class I took, and a couple I did on my own, when I realized how much I enjoyed trying to capture images on the page—Ethan’s profile when he was studying, his brow furrowed; my favorite tree near the library entrance with its gnarled roots and twisted branches.
This room with this boy had been my home for two straight years, and we’d been together for nearly all four years of college. But yesterday we graduated, and today we were moving out. I was going back to Brook Hill, New Jersey, and Ethan was returning to the suburbs of Chicago. Soon he’d drive out to San Francisco and get us an apartment. The plan was for me to meet him there in September, after spending the summer temping, reconnecting with my parents, and visiting my older sister, Nina, in Manhattan—if she could tear herself away from her office in one of the city’s ubiquitous glass towers.
I felt Ethan stir behind me; his hand, which had been resting on my hip, slipped down onto my belly and then slid up toward my breasts. I didn’t think our bodies could get any closer, but instinctively, my lower half pushed back toward his as he caressed me exactly the way he knew I liked. I turned toward him, and he pulled my T-shirt over my head.
Afterward, we lay naked and spent. Ethan pushed my hair off my forehead. I’d conducted an unfortunate experiment with bangs a few months prior—they were finally growing out and were at that awkward stage.
“Wow,” he whispered. “How am I going to live without that for the next three months?”
I smiled and reached for his hand. “There’s always this,” I said, giving it a squeeze.
“Ha, ha. As if it’s the same.” He grinned, his eyes crinkling, but then his face turned serious. “Come on, Callie, spend the summer with me. You can still go home and see your folks first. And then fly out to Chicago so we can drive to California and start our life together.” He ran a finger down the side of my face, along my neck, and past my collarbone. “Just think of all the fun we can have on the road.”
I giggled. “I’m sure we could,” I said, brushing my own hand across the junction between his thighs. But then I looked into his blue eyes, their sandy lashes visible without the barrier of his glasses, and something clenched deep inside me. I swallowed. “But you know I need to spend some time at home. I want to spend some time at home. I’ve barely been there since I left for Welford. Besides, you know what my mom would be like if I changed my plans. She can’t stop talking about having her baby back, even if it’s just for the summer. If I’m moving all the way across the country from her and my dad, the least I can do is be with them for a while before I go.”
Ethan sighed. “Fine—but don’t forget, you’re my baby, too. And come September, you’re all mine.”

Chapter Two
After
“Do you know what I have in my pants?”
Jacob looked up at Callie with a cherubic smile, his formerly round cheeks having recently thinned as he proceeded through the predictable transformation from squeezable toddler to more angular preschooler. She smiled at him.
“No, Jacob. What do you have in your pants?”
He grinned. “A green snake! Do you want to see it, Miss Callie?” His hand started to slide into his waistband.
It was not unheard-of for her three- and four-year-old students to display a completely age-appropriate lack of embarrassment about their private parts, and Callie immediately started to shake her head. “No, Jacob, why don’t you keep it—”
But he beat her to it, quickly pulling a piece of yarn out of his jeans. “Look! My green snake!”
Callie laughed and made a mental note to share this story with Tess later.
Jacob rewarded her with another big smile before turning toward the boys playing on the carpet with cars. Teachers aren’t supposed to have favorites, but they’re human, so of course they do—and Jacob was one of Callie’s. How could this good-natured child, whose cowlick caused his brown hair to perpetually stand up in the middle of his crown, not be any teacher’s pet? There was no question that Callie would have preferred to focus on him and his classmates, but instead, to her annoyance, she was preoccupied with the voicemail message her sister, Nina, had left her earlier that morning.
“Hey, Callie. It’s me. Look, I stopped by yesterday to drop off a few things, and it doesn’t look like you’ve done anything about moving out of Mom and Dad’s room. I thought we’d agreed on that, but if you’ve changed your mind, you need to tell me. The movers are coming next week, you know. I mean, I know you know that. Anyway, give me a call.”
Callie sighed deeply, wondering if it was fair to be irritated that Nina had let herself into the house while she’d been at work. True, it really wasn’t Callie’s house—it was their parents’. And come next week, Callie would be sharing the space with a pregnant Nina; her husband, Michael; and their four-year-old daughter, Zoe, while their own home was undergoing a major renovation.
As she watched Jacob and the other boys racing Matchbox cars, Callie once again