The Breakup Support Group
Cheyanne Young
Published by: Swoon Romance
Publication date: November 22nd 2016
Genres: Contemporary, Young Adult
After four years of first love bliss, Isla Rush just got dumped.
Any hope she has of winning her ex-boyfriend back is shattered when the town rezones her neighborhood, forcing her to spend senior year at a wealthy high school in the next town over.
With a broken heart consuming her soul, Isla can’t focus on anything, except maybe Emory Underwood—a ridiculously hot guy who dates a new girl almost every day. She can’t help but crush on him, even though it’s wrong.
When memories of her ex make her cry in second period, the school counselor sends Isla to a club that meets during lunch. The Break-Up Support Group is a collection of broken-hearted misfits who are all helping each other heal.
Just when Isla’s heart is finally on the mend, Emory shows up, forced to atone for all the broken hearts he’s caused over the years. While hiding her massive crush, she helps him understand the seriousness of breaking a heart.
In turn, Emory offers to help Isla get back on the dating scene by agreeing to be her fake date for the homecoming dance. Isla gladly accepts the ruse, because if anyone can make her into a desirable girlfriend, Emory can! There’s just one small problem.
Isla’s little crush on Emory might be exactly full blown. And a homecoming fake date with him could push her over the edge to possibly uttering the “L Word!”
Isla can’t afford another heartbreak so soon after the last one. She will have to resist his charms, refuse to look into those dreamy eyes, and above all else, not make the mistake of letting him kiss her.
If only she hadn’t let her guard down at the end of the night, under the light of her porch in a toe-curling kiss moment of weakness. And now, after months of Break-Up Support Group therapy, and with a heart fully on the mend, Isla has just handed it over to a guy who knows full well just how to break it.
—
EXCERPT:
The first time Nate and I went to the movies was during eighth grade. His dad had picked me up and dropped us off since we weren’t old enough to drive, and I still remember how hard my heart pounded from the backseat of Mr. Mile’s Tahoe. Even over the country music his dad blasted everywhere he went, I feared Nate would hear my heartbeat doing jumping jacks and know I was freaking out. This was an official date after all. My first.
It was the start of December, and it was freezing cold outside. I wore a denim skirt and leggings in an effort to be cute, but the cold had me shivering like a maniac while we waited in line to buy tickets. And then thirteen-year-old Nate took off his jacket, a junior high letterman, and draped it over my shoulders. It didn’t do anything to stop the cold from crawling up my legs, but I was warm all the same. A boy had given me his jacket. I still have that jacket to this day, hanging somewhere in the back of my closet. It officially became mine on that first Christmas we spent together.
We weave our way into the theater, which is oddly packed. Even on a Friday night, this place is usually dead. The theater survives on grant money and Mr. Hasting’s massive trust fund.
The concession stand is whimsically lit up with an old-fashioned marquee hanging overhead. All of the items and prices are meticulously labeled with black plastic letters, and a strand of clear lightbulbs light up the border of the menu, the lights chasing each other around the rectangle. Nate stops at the back of the line, and I take his hand again, glad that we’re finally alone.
The smell of popcorn makes my mouth water. “Large popcorn with butter,” Nate says, taking his VIP member card out of his back pocket. It’s what gets us free concessions. “And two drinks.”
“Two?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow. The large popcorn makes sense—we usually get a medium, but I’d said I was starving. But one drink with two straws is how we’ve always done date nights.
Nate shrugs. “I want my own drink tonight.”
I don’t know why that stings, but it does.
“Is everything okay with you?” The words are out of my mouth, all nagging and whining at the same time. I instantly regret that I even asked. Especially when his reaction is anything but ideal.
He shrugs again and leads the way toward the theater on the left, popcorn in one hand and his own personal drink in the other. “I’m fine.”
My brows draw together as we walk. “You seem weird.”
“Well, I’m not.” He doesn’t even look at me. And when the movie starts playing, we eat our popcorn and we drink our separate drinks. And we don’t kiss, not even once.
Author Bio:
Cheyanne Young is a native Texan with a fear of cold weather and a coffee addiction that probably needs an intervention. She loves books, sarcasm, and collecting nail polish. After nearly a decade of working in engineering, Cheyanne now writes books for young adults and is the author of the City of Legends Trilogy. She doesn’t miss a cubicle one bit.
Cheyanne lives near the beach with her daughter and husband, one spoiled rotten puppy, and a cat that is most likely plotting to take over the world.
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