#PublicationDayPush #Extract ~ My Girlfriend’s Perfect Ex-Boyfriend by Peter Jones @peterjonesauth @rararesources

My Girlfriend’s Perfect Ex-Boyfriend by Peter Jones

Genre: Romantic Comedy

Publication Date: 10th October 2017

Adrian Turner, Mountaineer, Secret Agent, Fireman… Ade would dearly like to be any of these things, though he’d trade them all to win the heart of feisty Public Relations Executive, Paige.

Instead, he’s a disillusioned school teacher, on suspension, after an unfortunate incident with a heavy piece of computer equipment. And somebody’s foot. And Paige? Despite being his girlfriend for the past eighteen months, she still seems to have one foot out of the door and hasn’t quite committed to leaving a toothbrush in the bathroom.

Of course, it doesn’t help that she’s working with her ex-boyfriend, Sebastian. A man who in almost every way imaginable is better, taller, wealthier, hairier, and infinitely more successful than Ade.

Is Paige still in love with Sebastian? Why then did she suggest they get away for a few days? Some place romantic…

But when Adrian finds himself in Slovenia – with Sebastian in the room down the hall – he realises there’s serious possibility that he’s in danger of losing his job, his mind, and the woman he loves…

From best-selling author Peter Jones comes this hilarious romp about love, and the things people do to keep it from getting away.

Purchase  Amazon UK

About the Author

Peter Jones started professional life as a particularly rubbish graphic designer, followed by a stint as a mediocre petrol pump attendant. After that he got embroiled in the murky world of credit card banking. Fun times.

Nowadays, Peter spends his days writing, or talking about writing. He’s written three novels; a Rom-Com (Romantic Comedy), A Crim-Com (Crime Comedy), and a Rom-Com-Ding-Dong (a sort-of Romantic-ish Comedy, with attitude). He’s currently working on his fourth novel, which – if it’s a musical – he’ll no doubt describe as a Rom-Com-Sing-Song. (Spoiler: It isn’t).

He is also the author of three and a half popular self-help books on the subjects of happiness, staying slim and dating. If you’re overweight, lonely, or unhappy – he’s your guy.

Peter doesn’t own a large departmental store and probably isn’t the same guy you’ve seen on the TV show Dragons’ Den.

Follow Peter Jones:  Website  Amazon Author Page  Twitter  Facebook

 

 

Extract

One of my favourite scenes where Adrian Turner (burnt out, disillusioned computer science teacher… and our hero) has just discovered that Paige’s ex-boyfriend built his entire house. By hand.

It should have been enough.

But somehow… it wasn’t.

As if the whole ‘my-ex-built-his-entire-house’ revelation hadn’t been emasculating enough, the discovery that I’d been a pawn in a vicious break-up made me feel like I’d been played. What shreds of my fragile ego remained intact, just shriveled up and died.

After that my subconscious wouldn’t let the thing drop. I started to notice his influence everywhere.

Like the time we were sitting in the lounge, one rainy afternoon, and Paige got cross about something she’d seen on the internet about so-called hypoallergenic sheep’s wool, and then, when I dug a little deeper – boom! – there it was! Some tale about how he used to have half a dozen alpaca dotted around his palatial estate in the rolling Basingstoke countryside. Alpaca! Not bees, or chickens, or even sheep – nooo, that would be far too pedestrian! He has to keep a species usually found in South America! But that’s okay, because alpacas adapt really well to the British climate, and because their wool is naturally hypoallergenic, on account of the fact it has very little lanolin – whatever that is – it’s a ‘highly sought-after commodity’ and it would make much more sense to farm alpacas in this country rather than trying to genetically alter sheep.

And what did he do with all that hypoallergenic fleece he was bringing into the world?

He’d trade it. Sometimes for eggs, or milk, or honey… bread? Oh no. No need. He made his own bread. From flour that he’d milled himself – with a mill that he’d fashioned from the stone dug out of the foundations of his manor.

And where had the wheat come from? Did he also own the neighbouring fields, or had he somehow developed a way to mill flour from daffodils?

“Don’t be an jerk, Ade,” said Paige.

“No, seriously,” I said. “I’m interested.”

“A local farmer swapped him a couple of bales for some alpaca wool.”

“Really?” I said. “How much wool? What is the wheat- wool exchange rate these days?”

“Okay,” said Paige. “Let’s talk about something else now.”

“What else is there to talk about?” I asked. “When every conversation seems to lead straight back to him.” Paige let out a long, weary sigh.

“No it doesn’t,” she said.

“Yes. It does.”

“For god’s sake, Ade,” she said, snapping the lid of her laptop closed. “What is your problem?!”

“I haven’t got a problem,” I said, my bottom lip protruding like a five-year-old who clearly has a problem. With everything.

“You can’t even bring yourself to say his name any more!”

“It’s not a name I particularly enjoy saying.”

“Look,” she said, putting her hands to her head and grabbing great fistfuls of curly black hair, “maybe if you met him, you’d realize he’s just a regular guy – and you wouldn’t keep… torturing yourself?”

“Torturing myself?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, firstly,” I said raising a finger to represent item one in a list that might be at least five items long, “that’s not going to happen – I never ever want to meet or even be in the same room as that man ever again.” I added another finger. “Secondly he’s not a regular guy—”

“Of course he is!”

“No, Paige, he isn’t! Because if he was he’d be called Dave, or Patrick, or Donald, or Rob – ”

“Jesus Christ!”

“Even that would be more ‘regular’ than Sebastian!”

“This is what I mean by torturing yourself!” said Paige. Another finger uncurled itself and joined the two upright ones.

“And thirdly I am not torturing myself!”

“Well you’re torturing me!” said Paige. “With your endless… frikkin… jealousy! And if you raise another finger at me I swear I will snap them off one by one and shove them up your ass!”

“I am not jealous!”

“Of course you’re frikkin jealous!”

“Well it’s hard not to be jealous of someone who’s so damn perfect!”

“If he was so damn perfect, Ade, I’d still be with him! Wouldn’t I? But I’m not! I’m here! With you! Being driven slowly out of my mind…”

“You’re only here because I was the first bloke you laid eyes on when you decided to leave him!”

“Which was four months ago! And yet I’m still here – dumb-ass!”

I hate being called dumb-ass. Inside I could feel the fury doing all the cliché things that fury is supposed to do in these situations, and before I could stop myself from saying it…

“If Sebastian hadn’t wanted kids…” I started. And then I stopped. The words just kind of hanging in the space between us.

“‘If Sebastian hadn’t wanted kids…’ what?” asked Paige.

“Nothing,” I said.

“No. Please. Do continue. Finish the sentence. In fact finish the whole goddam paragraph, Ade. ‘If Sebastian hadn’t wanted kids…’”

“You’re right,” I said, “let’s talk about something else. Or watch TV. Shall we see what’s on?” I grabbed the TV remote.

“If Sebastian hadn’t wanted kids, or I was able to have them… that’s where you were going with that, isn’t it.”

“Look, I’m sorry it’s…” But Paige didn’t let me finish. She got up, collected her bag from the bathroom, her coat from the bannister, and then stormed out the house.

 

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