VBB Exclusive Excerpt: The Regulars by Georgia Clark

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Exclusive Chapter 1 Excerpt: The Regulars by Georgia Clark

The-Regulars-Georgia-Clark

Just this week, Georgia Clark’s The Regulars is out in the world!ย Funny, feisty and sexy, this modern-day fairy tale is already receiving a lot of buzz. I can’t wait to read it myself and I’m so excited to share with you the first chapter from this must-read novel.

โœฆย Amazon U.S.ย |ย Amazon Hardcoverย |ย Amazon U.K.ย |ย iBooksย โœฆ

Synopsis

Best friends Evie, Krista, and Willow are just trying to make it through their mid-twenties in New York. Theyโ€™re regular girls, with average looks and typical quarter-life crises: making it up the corporate ladder, making sense of online dating, and making rent.

Until they come across Pretty, a magic tincture that makes them, well…gorgeous. Like, supermodel gorgeous. And itโ€™s certainly notย theirย fault if the sudden gift of beauty causes unexpected doors to open for them.

But thereโ€™s a dark side to Pretty, too, and as the gloss fades for these modern-day Cinderellas, thereโ€™s just one question left:

What would you sacrifice to be Pretty?

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Despite her motherโ€™s impassioned insistence to the contrary, Evie Selby had never thought of herself as beautiful. There were moments when she felt cute: some high-angle, low-light selfies that made her dyed black hair and small, intent face look pixieish, even sweet. There were moments when she felt cool: the day she started wearing the thickest black-rimmed glasses she could find, the night a line of poetry was inked into her pale forearm. But beautiful? No. That was the domain of women with evenly placed, oversized features, with hair like horsesโ€™ manes and bodies like foreign sports cars: angular, flashy, quietly powerful. Women like the smirking, self-satisfied model who was emblazoned on one of the glossy page proofs that were tucked under her arm. If only she had a quarter, a fifth, an eighth of that womanโ€™s allure, Evie might feel more confident about tonightโ€™s date.

Stop it, she instructed herself. She pushed her glasses up her nose and drew in a breath of summer-thick city air. You are a goddess. You are a catch. You are, like, the outcome of every self-help book ever written. And, she realized on checking the time, you are also late. She was supposed to be at the Wythe Gallery three and a half minutes ago.

Despite what those on the happily coupled sidelines might think, 99 percent of online dates werenโ€™t exciting enough to be fun or nerve- racking enough to be adventurous. They were just . . .ย  awkward. Boring. An hour of small talk with someone youโ€™d think twice about saving from a burning building. Online dating was like Russian roulette. Mostly misses. But sometimes, people Evie knew had met that all-too-rare bullet: a smart, aesthetically pleasing New Yorker who was still single. Maybe tonight, Evie thought, is the night I blow my brains out. The gallery was only half full. Even though it was a Monday, sheโ€™d been expecting a bigger crowd, if only from the cachet of Willowโ€™s last name. A mere smattering of Brooklynites clad in sheer skirts and vintage bow ties stood chatting in front of her friendโ€™s pocket-sized experimental photographs. And they all seemed paired off. Everyone except one girl on the other side of the room. About Evieโ€™s height, but thinner, smaller. Dark hair fell to her shoulders. She was dressed simply in a T-shirt and skinny jeans. When she turned to look at a photograph,ย Evieโ€™s jaw loosened.

Totally cute.

Totally Ellen Pageโ€“y.

Impossibly, Quinn was even more attractive in person.

Panic coursed through Evieโ€™s veins. I should have worn an A-game dress. She needed booze. A small bar offered wine and beer. Willowโ€™s boyfriend, Mark, was playing barkeep.

โ€œHey.โ€ She dumped the proofs onto the folding table. โ€œCan I leave these here? Is my makeup okay? What white wine do you have?โ€ She shot another look at Quinn, not yet ready for eye contact.

โ€œEvie, hey.โ€ The tall, bespectacled boy gathered his replies quickly. โ€œYes, yes, and sauvignon blanc. Rough day at the office?โ€

Evie shook her head. โ€œDate.โ€ She nodded at Quinn. โ€œAh.โ€ Mark handed her a cup. โ€œFun.โ€

โ€œNervous.โ€ โ€œUnnecessary.โ€ โ€œLying.โ€

โ€œUntrue!โ€

Evie cracked a smile.

Mark grinned. โ€œGo get โ€™em, tiger.โ€

Evie grabbed another cup for Quinn and began walking over, trying to quell the irritating kick of nerves. โ€œQuinn?โ€

At the sound of her name, the girl turned, revealing a moon-shaped face, and eyes that seemed more round than oval. Clear skin. Sweet smile. โ€œEvie?โ€

โ€œIn the flesh,โ€ Evie said, trying not to think about her own less-than- clear skin, her own less-than-sweet smile. โ€œHi.โ€

โ€œHi.โ€

โ€œHi,โ€ Evie said again, inwardly kicking herself for sounding like a robot. She offered Quinn the cup. โ€œThirsty?โ€

โ€œActually, I donโ€™t drink. I donโ€™t need to drug myself to enjoy life.โ€ Evie blinked. Fucking online datingโ€”

โ€œIโ€™m kidding.โ€ Quinn grinned and plucked the wine from her hand. โ€œThanks.โ€

โ€œOh.โ€ Evie breathed laughter. Online, Quinn was acerbic and difficult to pin down, qualities Evie found as attractive as the warmer, less artfully constructed person standing in front of her.

Quinn glanced around. โ€œThis is your friendโ€™s opening?โ€

โ€œYeah. Willow Hendriksen.โ€ Only now did she spot Willow pressed into one corner, walled in by some intense arty types. Her formless green silk shift and light ash-blond hair colored with a hint of pastel pink gave the twenty-two-year-old the look of being slightly untethered. There was something distinctly ethereal about Willow Hendriksen, like she might transform into a flock of birds if you snapped your fingers. โ€œThatโ€™s her.โ€ Quinn looked at Willow as if she was nervous to get caught doing so.

โ€œThatโ€™s Matteo Hendriksenโ€™s daughter, right? The filmmaker?โ€ Evie nodded. โ€œMm-hmm.โ€

โ€œWow. Cool. Have you met him?โ€

โ€œYeah.โ€ Evie nodded again, warming to the fact Quinn seemed impressed by this. โ€œSure. Heโ€™s not in the States much these days. But Willow still lives at home, so when heโ€™s around,ย  weย  hang.ย  We chill. Weโ€™re chill buddies.โ€ Evie winced. Did I really just say chill buddies?

โ€œGod, I canโ€™t imagine what that must be like,โ€ Quinn said. โ€œHaving created so much great art that people like and respect.โ€

What Evie couldnโ€™t imagine was how she was in Quinnโ€™s league. โ€œSo, youโ€™re a musician?โ€

Quinn shrugged. โ€œTrying.โ€

โ€œYou sound like youโ€™d have a great singing voice. And you have a great look.โ€

Quinn smiled in pleased surprise. โ€œThanks.โ€ She moved to the next photo. Evie trailed her. โ€œSomeone just told me what you spend most of your time doing is actually what you do. Like, if you say youโ€™re an actor, but you just go to one audition a week and spend most of your time working as a server, then youโ€™re a server. I did the math, and hey, turns out I am a musician.โ€ Quinn smiled up at Evie, almost shyly. โ€œAnd your profile tells me youโ€™re a writer. What do you write about?โ€

Evie didnโ€™t think of herself as a writer in the way Quinn was a musician. She had a blog called Something Snarky, but it was anonymous, and it wasnโ€™t what she spent most of her time doing. That was being a lowly copyeditor for a womenโ€™s magazine called Salty, fixing typos in stories called โ€œHow to Blow His Mind Using the Contents of Your Refrigerator.โ€ That wouldnโ€™t impress somebody like Quinn. โ€œI write for the New York Times.โ€ The words fell out of her mouth, as unplanned as a sneeze.

โ€œWhoa!โ€ Quinn laughed a little. โ€œWow. Thatโ€™s amazing.โ€

โ€œI think theyโ€™re trying to even out their gender ratio, you know?โ€ Evie improvised, recalling the fact the Times had the biggest gender gap in the industry when it came to writers. โ€œIt has its ups and downs. Like everything.โ€

โ€œYouโ€™re a staff writer?โ€ Quinnโ€™s eyes stayed wide.

โ€œYep,โ€ Evie said. โ€œI interned there during college, and just started a few months ago.โ€

โ€œWow. I know I said it before, but that is really impressive.โ€ Quinnโ€™s eyes stayed glued on Evieโ€™s a beat longer than they should have before she slid them away. Warm, liquid desire unspooled slowly in Evieโ€™s stomach, like a cat waking up from a long afternoon nap.

โ€œHave you eaten?โ€ Quinn asked. Evie shook her head.

โ€œOh good, Iโ€™m starving. Thereโ€™s a Moroccan place around the corner.

Any interest?โ€

โ€œSure.โ€ Definitely. Three thousand percent. โ€œGreat. Iโ€™ll just use the restroom.โ€

Evie slung her purse over her shoulder to go linger at the galleryโ€™s entrance. She sipped her wine, actively containing the sheer exhilaration that Quinnโ€™s suggestionโ€”more specifically, Quinnโ€™s acceptanceโ€”had inspired. It had been six months since sheโ€™d had sex. The most action sheโ€™d gotten all summer was a Pap smear. And while (when done properly) sex could be a whole lot of messy, sticky fun, what she really missed was being kissed. The nervous, enthusiastic, almost-always-botched first kiss, memorable in its imperfection, passionately inelegant. This narrative was leading to that kiss. The meal, the drink after the meal, the amble to someoneโ€™s subway, the kiss.

Of course, her lie was stupid. But she could always back out of it later. Or hell, maybe she could get something published in the Times. Sure, she was only twenty-three, but the way Quinn had been looking at her made her feel like she could climb Mount Kilimanjaro without breaking a sweat.

โ€œEvie.โ€

The low, almost musical murmur could only be the lady of the hour. โ€œWillow, hey!โ€ Evie gave her a one-armed hug, pressing her free hand into Willowโ€™s sharp shoulder blade. โ€œCongratulations.โ€

Willow smiled wistfully and let her gaze wander around the half-empty room. โ€œI never wanted to be famous because of my name, but this is sort of depressing.โ€

โ€œNo, itโ€™s not! This is amazing.โ€

โ€œWhich is why youโ€™re leaving after . . . five minutes?โ€ย  โ€œIโ€™m not leaving! Iโ€™m just . . . going to a different placeโ€”โ€

Willow waved the excuse off and gave Evie a knowing smile. โ€œAm I witnessing a rare Evie flirt?โ€

โ€œIndeed you are.โ€ Evie couldnโ€™t help but grin. โ€œWeโ€™re getting food.โ€ โ€œThatโ€™s great. You look really pretty.โ€

โ€œOh please.โ€ Evie rubbed at the dark circles she was sure her glasses accentuated. โ€œI look like someone just punched me in the face.โ€

โ€œStop it.โ€ Willow tugged a lock of Evieโ€™s dark hair affectionately.

Quinnโ€™s voice sounded behind them. โ€œYour friend behind the bar gave these to me. Wanted to make sure you didnโ€™t forget them.โ€

Evie spun around.

Quinn was carrying the Salty proofs. The story on top was about va-jazzling. โ€œ โ€˜Add some ooh-ah to your hoo-ha.โ€™ โ€ Quinn read Evieโ€™s subhead aloud, before fixing her with an odd frown. โ€œWowsers.โ€

โ€œGod, are you still taking work home, Evie? I thought you said you werenโ€™t doing that anymore.โ€ Willow smiled at Quinn. โ€œIโ€™m Willow.โ€

โ€œQuinn,โ€ Quinn replied, but she was looking at Evie. โ€œWork?โ€ย  โ€œIโ€™ve been trying to get her to quit all year,โ€ Willow said. โ€œMaybe youย can help me stage an intervention.โ€

Evie darted her gaze from Willow, to Quinn, to the pages. Her throat had tightened. โ€œTheyโ€™re not actually for me.โ€

โ€œBut your nameโ€™s there.โ€ Quinn pointed to the white ticket stapled to the top, reading, โ€œ โ€˜Copyeditor: Evie Selby.โ€™ โ€

โ€œRight.โ€ Evieโ€™s cheeks were warming. Her breathing had become shallow. โ€œRight.โ€

โ€œCall me later.โ€ Willow melted away.

โ€œSo youโ€™re a copyeditor as well as being a journalist,โ€ Quinn said, sounding as if she didnโ€™t believe herself.

Shit. Shit. โ€œNo.โ€ Evieโ€™s voice was pint-sized. โ€œI mean, Iโ€™m just the first part.โ€

Quinnโ€™s mouth was ajar, set into a look of bewildered confusion. โ€œYou straight-up lied about writing for the Times.โ€

โ€œActually, I was positively visualizing my perfect future.โ€ Evie licked her lips. โ€œItโ€™s a very powerful technique.โ€

โ€œLying?โ€ โ€œVisualizing.โ€

Quinnโ€™s expression became incredulous. All warmth, all interest had been sucked away.

โ€œPlease donโ€™t go,โ€ Evie said. โ€œYouโ€™reโ€”fuckโ€”youโ€™re really cute, and nice, and I am too, nice, I mean. Juryโ€™s still out on cute.โ€ She was babbling. โ€œI fucked up, Iโ€™m sorry.โ€

Quinn backed up a step, slowly, as if not wanting to alarm an angry dog. โ€œSorry, Evie. This just feels wrong.โ€

Her date exited the gallery, leaving Evie with a plastic cup of wine and a guide on how to accessorize a vagina.

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