Trophy Husband Read Online Free PDF

finally ready to start dating
again. This makes me happier than when my favorite men’s swimsuit
model books me for a massage.” Erin is a licensed massage therapist
and works at a day spa in Noe Valley.
    “And we all know how happy that makes you,”
Julia says.
    “What? He’s hot, and I don’t do anything but
rub him down,” Erin says, then takes another drink of the spiked
hot chocolate that Julia, with her bartending skills, has so
diligently provided for the crew.
    “You know it’s impossible
to use the words rub and down in
the same sentence without it sounding naughty,” Julia
says.
    “I know,” Erin admits with a grin. Then she
raises her mug. “Let’s toast to dating again. And maybe to a good
banging.”
    Erin’s a little, how shall we say,
sex-obsessed? Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But it’s
just the way she is.
    “May the next man in McKenna’s life be one
of those heroes in a romance novel – rich, good-looking and perfect
in every way,” Hayden adds.
    Julia pipes up. “Call me crazy, but I’m
going to toast to you falling in love.”
    A part of me wants to raise
a glass right along with her. To say wistfully, “wouldn’t that be
something?” Because, really, that would be everything I’ve ever
wanted. It would be everything I still want. I was born a romantic,
and bred a romantic, and I’m still one, even though I’ve been on a
most decided detour for the last twelve months. Then I remind
myself to stay focused on the prize because love smacked me hard on
the cheek, leaving a red mark that still stings. I can’t go looking
for it again. If love comes along for the ride, so be it. But that
feels a bit like winning the lottery right now, so I pull out a
sheet of paper printed from a Web page. “This a background check on
one Dave Dybdahl, the requester of said date. I ordered a criminal
check. He comes up clean.”
    I hand the paper to Erin so she can pass it
around for inspection. Then I reach for a printed photo I found on
his Facebook page. “This is a photo of Mr. Dybdahl, otherwise known
as Meter Man. But hold on, my little chickadees,” I say, raising a
hand for dramatic effect. I am going to be tough tonight. This is
my moment, my moving on. “You see, my friends, this isn’t just
about one date, one guy, one parking ticket ask-out. Mr. Dybdahl is
my first candidate for my new project. Project Boy Toy. Operation
Kept Man.”
    A smirk forms on Erin’s face. I have a
feeling she will be my Number One cheerleader.
    “Or even, dare I say it, dare I name it,” I
say, giving a little Rhett Butler twist to my wording, “Shall we
call it the quest for the Trophy Husband?”
    Erin cheers. “I love it.”
    I speak louder this time, as if I were
delivering an impassioned speech, a call to action. “As long as men
have traded women in for younger models, trophy wives have
multiplied, grown their numbers. But what about the women left
behind? The first wives, or almost first wives in my case? Do we
scoop up younger guys? No. We don’t. We cuddle up with the dog, we
get to know the Chardonnay, we watch too much bad reality TV, and
that is not ever going to help us move on. So I say it’s time to
turn this around and show that two can play at this game.”
    “Hear, hear,” Julia says.
    “But there aren’t many Trophy Husbands out
there. So just what does one look for in a Trophy Husband? What
does one require?”
    Erin raises a hand. “This is a relatively
new breed of man, right?”
    “Indeed, indeed he is,” I say, nodding.
    “And has this breed ever been spotted
before?”
    I shake my head. “Not in captivity at least.
Not that we know of.”
    “So this is uncharted territory if you
will.”
    I nod knowingly. “Very uncharted territory,
my friends. Very virginal fields here. In fact, the Trophy Husband
is so rare that few know what he looks like, what he eats, where
one lives. Worse, we’re not sure what he wears or what he requires.
But we are going