But by now you know we’d tell you to read ANYTHING Christina Lauren put out- and we mean it. We’d read their GROCERY list if they let us because we have it on good authority that when Lo writes down “Eggplant” it’s not for a parmigiana she’s making later that night. And Christina blessedly gave us Ansel’s sweet tooth, so all baked goods are suspect. In the best way.
Since Wicked Sexy Liar is the story of Mia’s EX, Luke, (and first love and first everything) and friend of the group London, we thought Team TN would share OUR favorite Ex stories- and we even got Christina and Lauren to share theirs too!
If you’re just here for the giveaway (rude!) skip to the bottom for an awesome one
Christina
I married my high school sweetheart so the number of ex-boyfriends I’ve had is pretty slim. I know, I know, snooze. But my husband was my ex at one point. We broke up for a summer when I was 17—for a reason that was entirely his fault, I assure you—which in hindsight was a good thing, but felt like The Longest, Saddest Summer of My Life at the time.
We ran into each other at a back to school dance and he was even cuter than I remembered (I was so mad), and were those new Z Cavariccis because his butt looked better than ever. I double checked my blue mascara and made sure my hair was still sky- high, and marched right over. I told him I was glad he’d broken up with me, THRILLED, that I was too young to be wrapped up in one guy and that I was so sooooo much happier without him around. He was . . . impressed. We started talking which led to kissing which eventually led to pantslessness in the back of his truck in a church parking lot, which ended with me in the front seat of a police cruiser belonging to the officer who’d just caught us.
We still drive by that church today.
Lauren
One problem I have writing this post is that I have a lot of ex-boyfriends. Like, I think I have all of them. I’m pretty sure if we drew a Venn diagram of my ex’s and those belonging to everyone reading this post, there would be complete overlap in my circle.
So to speak.
Anyway, it makes it hard to choose. Do I write about the Metallica Fanboy who flipped out after we drunkenly broke up, and ran out into the woods in Yosemite, disappearing for over a day? (He was fine, I swear.) Do I write about The High School Sweetheart my dad forever called ‘Big D’, knowing how completely mortified we were? Do I write about the Hot Boyfriend Who Got Dumped Because
He Couldn’t Stop Clicking His Tongue Ring Against His Teeth? Maybe The Boyfriend Who Moved To New York and Ended Up With A Song on The New Moon Soundtrack? Or maybe The Drummer Who Broke My Heart But I Pretended I WasTotally Cool Just Banging? I think you’d love the story about The Guy Who Surprised Me And Moved Six Hundred Miles To Live Near Me After We’d Been Together Two Weeks. So much fun to be had.
But the truth is, I wouldn’t change a thing. Not one single thing. I have all these stories in my past and some of them feel too insane, or stupid, to be true. The best part is they happened, and these men are all now terrified they’re going to end up in a book somehow.
I am drunk with power.
Amy
I was 23 and living in Chicago, making about $500 a week. PO fo sho. I was dating a real estate attorney. Let’s call him Brian because that is his actual name. Brian was 33 (so old!) and making a decent living, so he paid for everything. It was nice, but I felt guilty at times. So for Brian’s birthday, I scrimped and saved and used my last penny to buy us Les Miz tickets. I lived on Captain Crunch for a week, but I was so proud of my purchase. The day of the show comes, and Brian cancels on me, claiming some real estate law emergency taking him out of town. He said he would make it up to me, but I was hurt and BROKE and we got into a fight. Later that night, after I had had some wine, I called and left a message on his machine (remember, this was like 1996), apologizing.
The next morning I get a phone call. It goes like this. HER: Is this Amy? ME: Yes. Who dis? HER: My name is Pam, and I think Brian is dating both of us. ME: Why would you say that? HER: Because last night, after we had gone to see Les Miz, I heard you leaving him a message on his answering machine. ME: Oh. Hell. No.
She picked me up that afternoon and we went to confront him together. He was busted and while she screamed at him, I went around making sure I had all my stuff. And I also may have stolen the remainder of his White Sox season tickets. Sorry. Not Sorry.
Beth
It was September of my freshman year in high school, and my current ex, Justin, and I were on pretty good terms. He was really sweet. We had broken up mutually months before because he was a year younger, went to a different school, and other middle school things. But for some reason I can no longer remember, I took him to the first football game of the year at my private high school.
Justin was not like these private school kids. He was a wrestler; we didn’t even have wrestling. He was full throttle public school jock, did not care about grades or fine arts or impressing anyone with anything other than his new CK1 and his big brother’s Mustang. We were a prep school where every athlete was also a merit scholar or a thespian and wouldn’t be caught dead in something as prosaic as a Mustang. He wore Hilfiger; we wore thrift store couture and J Crew when we had to.
I was painfully aware of this difference, but Justin was very good-looking, and I had a new guy I wanted to make jealous. Before my dad and I picked Justin up, I told him very specifically what to wear: his green, navy and mustard striped GAP crewneck that I bought him for Christmas the year before, and his Birkis. He didn’t own a single vintage Sonic Youth t-shirt, and I just wanted him to blend in. But instead Justin, thinking he was going to impress these rich, private school kids, had on a crisp color-blocked Tommy Hilfiger polo and boat shoes. I HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE MORTIFIED. I can’t remember any time in our entire relationship where Justin made me MAD. This was it, and we weren’t even dating anymore.
Long story long: I was embarrassed that he was with me that night. He knew it, I knew it. So he kept hitting on my friend, Ana, and the dude I wanted to impress was actually very impressed that I was so over my ex. Mission accomplished. Thanks, bad 90s fashion, and to Justin for being an unwittingly great wingman.
Lindsey
I got broken up with while I was backpacking through Europe with my girlfriends for a month. I was in Krakow, Poland and I had just arrived back at my hostel from visiting Auschwitz. I sat down at the hostel’s computer and found an email waiting for me. One that revealed that not only was my boyfriend breaking up with me, but he had also been cheating on me with his ex for the entire month I was gone. SUPER CLASSY GUY. So to cheer me up my friends ordered pizza from a local pizza joint. Since one of my friends was a vegetarian they ordered the veggie pizza thinking it was probably a safe bet since none of us could read anything on the menu. What showed up? A pizza topped with cabbage, pickles, red onion, and green olives.
Yeah I gotta say that the combo of visiting Auschwitz, the long-distance email break-up, and the cabbage pizza was the absolute worst break-up of my life. Thankfully I was in EUROPE, so yeah, my ex can suck it.
Heidi
I once dated this guy name David…or maybe his name was Daniel. I honestly can’t remember because I dated an absurd amount of guys sophomore year of college and it’s all a blur of bleached tips and Reef flip flops. Anyway, we had gone on a few dates and things were progressing pretty well. He was too politically conservative for me and he ordered Mexican food in 8th grade level Spanish so it wasn’t going to be true love, but he was good for a few walks on the beach in Santa Barbara.
One night after dinner we went back to his place to “watch a movie.” I put that in quotation marks because anyone who has ever been 19 and/or read an New Adult book knows we were fully intending to make-out on his couch while a movie played somewhere distantly in the background. At least that was the plan, until he pushed play and Schindler’s List came on the screen. I kid you not. Since I don’t have some weird holocaust fetish and the movie was ending my free dinner date buzz I asked him if we could cut the night short. I have to give him credit for kindly offering to give me a ride home. Of course, he first had to yell up the stairs to that he was heading out, because HE LIVED AT HOME AND NEVER TOLD ME HIS DAD WAS THERE. We ended things over AOL Instant Messenger later that week, because I’m too old to have had access to text messaging but too young to actually use a phone for you know, talking.
I recently found out that from Amy that something similar happened in an episode of Seinfeld and now I’m wondering if he just had a really amazing sense of humor that I underestimated. However, I like my version of the story better. So thanks, David/Daniel, I’ve been making fun of your movie choice for the past 12 years at cocktail parties. Cheers!
Julie
So, little known fact about me: I worked at Starbucks when I was 18 years old until I hit 20. And yes, I dated a few (coughs) of my fellow baristas. In my last few months at the Bucks, I started dating Mike. We flirted over the frappuccino station and by closing time, we had planned our first date.
I’m not going to sugar coat this: dating Mike was blah. I didn’t feel any sparks, we had very little in common, and to top that all off: when he kissed me, he would like a little bit of spittle on my lip. I think he thought it was cute. I thought I was going to get mono. But it was a slow season for me that year in dating land, and I decided to give it a few more dates with good old Mike before dumping his ass.
One night after dinner, Mike asked me if I wanted to go to his apartment. We took separate cars to the restaurant, so I knew I could bail if I had to. Looking back, I consider that decision to be divine intervention. When we arrived to his place, Mike immediately took me to his bedroom and when he switched on his light, that was when I knew it was time to dump Mike: his entire walls were covered with everything and anything “professional” wrestling. Posters of men in tight spandex underwear with names like “Bone Crusher” and “Drop Kick.” Towels embroidered with the WWE logo. Dolls in their boxes.
At this point Mike mistook my look of horror as excitement and then dropped the bomb on me (and I don’t mean a wrestling move): he was planning on becoming a professional wrestler and would I like to see his costume. Long story short, I came up with an emergency (menstruation is a powerful weapon when needed) and practically made a Julie-size hole in door with how fast I ran out of there.
A few days later, I ended it with The Mighty Barista (name courtesy of my best friend, Annette, who still laughs about to this day) . So Mike, if you’re reading this, I think you figured out that my period didn’t last three months. Sorry!
Laura
I was dating this guy, we’ll call him Ted. Ted was a douche. Ted called me on Valentine’s Day from the beach to tell me that he wouldn’t be able to make it to our plans that night; oh and that we should probably see other people.
So I did what any NORMAL girl would do. I went to Tiffany’s and maxed out my credit card. Then in a guilt driven fit of tears and chocolate I called my two besties at the time and told them about my getting dumped by Ted and then blowing up my credit card. They thought the solution to my problem was going out to dinner with them and spending more money. But, they were going to The Outback Steakhouse and who was I to turn down a Bloomin’ Onion in my time of emotional need? So to the Outback I went, shiny new Tiffany’s ring on hand.
We get there and the waiter comes up to tell us “Good Day!” and I looked up and *BOOM* it was like cupid smacked me in the face with a diaper full of love and emotions. OK, it wasn’t like that at all. But I did think our waiter was pretty damn cute and lucky for me he thought the same, because almost 13 years later, we will be celebrating our ninth wedding anniversary in June. Oh, and I still rock my “investment” piece from Tiffany’s everyday. It’s kind of like my good luck charm now. Or the harbinger of evil depending on if my husband is on my nerves or not.
Win a copy of Wicked Sexy Liar
Share your #ExStories in the comments and on Social!!
