Read on for a Sneak Peek of No Pants Required.
All of the chapter titles are named after Taylor Swift songs. I did my best to match the title to the feel of the chapter. I spent a lot of time listening to her music for inspiration, and I found Maggie in this amazing artist.
The way Maggie loves men especially, and the way she finally found the one she needed without even knowing she was looking.
Everyone has a favorite TS song, I’m sure. Nina, Jody, and Serena went on this journey with me and we all have our TS favorites. My very favorite song by Taylor Swift is “I Knew You Were Trouble.” And Nina Grinstead’s is “Red,” which comes in a total second for me. Jody’s is “Fearless.” And Serena’s is “Blank Space.”
What’s yours?
Please note: If you enjoyed meeting Makayla and Cam, you can read more about their relationship and how they met in No Pants Required . . .
And look for Keen in the opening scene.
Makayla
JUST THE MERE SUGGESTION OF karaoke gets everyone’s heart pounding. Whether it’s out of excitement or pure, blind panic depends on the individual and that person’s frame of mind at the time.
The truth is that most people sing karaoke for the same reasons they go bowling—it’s a fun activity and they can drink while doing it.
With that being said, perhaps some of the people that are here can get up and confidently belt out their most favorite song in the world with no concern for the eardrums they are perforating or the notes they are destroying. Unfortunately, I am not one of those people.
To be honest, I can’t believe I even agreed to do this.
Then again, Bar On is not where I thought I’d find myself tonight. This Chinatown lounge may be packed full of eager-to-sing regulars, but my friends and I are not those people. We are here on a whim after a few too many drinks at a restaurant down the street.
Shuffling through the crowd, I stop when someone taps me on the shoulder. Thinking it’s one of my friends, I turn around to see a tall, leggy brunette with the most vibrant green eyes staring at me. Her face is stunning. She looks like Megan Fox. For a second, I wonder if she is.
She steps closer and right away I can see this woman is a bit younger, though—my age, I’d say. “Do you mind if I get by?” she asks with one of those affluent tones I know all too well from my days in private school.
Definitely not Megan Fox.
Without waiting for me to answer, she pushes past, and in her rush, steps on my open-toed pump.
Ouch!
I glare as her red Louboutin soles make their way to the front of the lounge.
“Come on,” my coworker tosses over her shoulder, not at all bothered by the woman who brushed past her, too. “Sandra found us a table.”
India leads the way, and I follow, making sure not to step on any toes in the crowd. Finally, she stops at the only available table large enough for our group, which just so happens to be right in front of the stage.
Fantastic.
The white leather banquette is awash in the neon light emanating from the human-sized letters that spell the establishment’s name across the back wall. The light is nearly blinding. I look at Sandra. “Are you sure you want to sit this close?”
She hands me a menu of songs. “Yes, this is going to be great.”
“Pour Some Sugar on Me” is coming to an end and once I’ve slid all the way across the bench, I look up to see a group of very pleased guys jumping off the stage in unison. The Def Leppard wannabes are staring at us.
This must have been their spot.
All clean-cut, all fuck-hot, all about my age. Immediately, I can tell by their walk that they are definitely Upper East Siders. Prep school, riot club types turned Wall Street wolves would be my guess. You know—the kind of guy your mother warns you about.
The type I should have stayed away from.
The guy closest to me is wearing a red tie and has his black jacket slung over his shoulder. The others are dressed in dark suits too. Hmmm . . . either dressed up for an occasion or still dressed up after the occasion. Not a wedding, since it’s a Thursday night. An office party maybe? Or perhaps this group of drunken men is here for a going-away party like mine. Who knows? Anyway, the guy with the red tie gives the eight of us girls a quick glance and a smile but doesn’t stop.
He’s cute. Really cute.
At least he doesn’t seem to mind that we took their table. Then again, he’s too focused on the guy without a jacket farthest away from me. “Cam,” he calls out. “Don’t bother with her.” His warning is too late, though, because this Cam, whose white, rumpled shirt and dark hair are all I can see, is already allowing himself to be dragged away from his group by that Megan Fox look-alike who practically ran me over minutes ago.