How to Date Series by Lauren Blakely – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

How to Date Series by Lauren Blakely – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Thu, 13 Jun 2024 07:54:57 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png How to Date Series by Lauren Blakely – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 The Accidental Dating Experiment (How to Date #4) Read Online Lauren Blakely http://www.books2020.com/the-accidental-dating-experiment-how-to-date-4-read-online-lauren-blakely Thu, 13 Jun 2024 07:54:57 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-accidental-dating-experiment-how-to-date-4-read-online-lauren-blakely Genre: Alpha Male, Chick Lit, Contemporary, Erotic Authors: Lauren Blakely Series: How to Date Series by Lauren Blakely
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Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)

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A dating experiment ignites a secret attraction in this steamy new rom-com from number one New York Times best-selling author Lauren Blakely!

I’ve spent the better part of eight years resisting my best friend’s little sister. What’s one more week? The hardest week ever when it includes a proposition to be her dating coach.

Eight years ago I fell into a secret summer fling with the bright, big-hearted Juliet before our lives went in different directions.

Now, I’m the grumpy to her sunshine on a popular dating podcast we host, and when a wealthy fan gives us a charming coastal cottage as the biggest thank you ever, we head to the town where I grew up to give it a makeover.

And find the house has only one bed.

Located under a mirrored ceiling.

To make matters even harder, the woman I’ve been pining for tells me she wants to try to find the one and would I please be her dating coach for the week?

Like hell I’ll let her date other men. I’ll coach her on three dates with me.

But the second I take her out, I don’t feel like her teacher. I feel like she’s mine, especially when the first night ends with us tangled up together in that bed.

Each night we grow closer, but this dating experiment forces me to face my greatest fear – whether a man like me is worthy of her love.

Even though I’m already head over heels for her.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

PROLOGUE: THINGS I DIDN’T KNOW

Monroe

We don’t agree on when this thing started.

We never agreed on anything. Not when we were younger. Not when we worked together. Not even in bed most of the time, but that only made it more fun.

But I’m telling the story of our so-called dating experiment, and someone has to pick a starting point, so it looks like that’s me.

Maybe it began the day we walked into the house we were gifted. She’d disagree, of course, rolling those feisty green eyes and insisting it started with the suit I wore a few nights later.

You know. That suit, she’d say.

Well, I do look damn good in a three-piece.

But, with the advantage of hindsight, I’d say it began with the bet.

My intentions weren’t entirely friendly when I made that impulsive wager that afternoon in the studio. Not that I realized that at the time. For a smart guy, I didn’t know much at all.

It took a cheese date, all sorts of mirrors, a can of paint, and a whole lot of role-playing in a small town to show me what had been right in front of me the whole time.

I should never have let her get away.

1

DATING IS MY SUPERPOWER

Juliet

A few months earlier…

He’s so wrong. Monroe thinks he can analyze my prospective date for tonight, but my co-host is wronger than wrong. He issues his prediction from his podcast throne, jaw set, blue eyes steely, expression a little unnerving.

“I’m calling it now. There won’t be a second date with this guy,” he declares into the mic.

“Yes, there will. And not just because I’m overdue for a second date.” I give it right back to the infuriating man across the sleek, metal table in the podcast studio. “Want to know why?”

“Enlighten me,” Monroe says with too much amusement. “Tell all the Heartbreakers and Matchmakers listeners how well you think this date will go with…Who’s the guy tonight? A gym bro? An art critic? A get-in-touch-with-your-chakras guru? A hot suit? You love the hot suits.”

“I am a sucker for a suit,” I admit. “But he’s not a suit.”

“A mysterious, inscrutable dark knight, then?”

I square my shoulders. “None of the above.”

Ha. Not even close.

“Is he a hot nerd? You love the hot nerds.” Monroe fake coughs as he mutters, “Slang for a tech bro bad boy.”

Narrowing my eyes, I grip the edge of the table for a second, but nope, I don’t give in. I let it go. I am calm. I am peaceful. I won’t let him wind me up, not even for the “Predict Juliet’s Date” segment of our podcast, where he always tries to push my buttons. Listeners love it when he does.

Besides, my recent string of bad dates is a relatable problem for single women. It’s part of modern dating in your thirties. When you first join an app, you’re a hot new release. But if you’re not paired up and happily ordering monogrammed hand towels with your new love interest a few weeks later, the algorithm drops you to the bottom of the sea of single despair.

That’s why I took extra time, did extra research before swiping in the lead-up to tonight’s match. It’s one I feel pretty good about, so I counter the know-it-all across from me with, “Tonight’s date is with an artist, and we’ve been having a great exchange on the app about⁠—”

“—poetry and wine?”

Grrr. “Song lyrics,” I grumble.

“So, poetry then.”

“But not wine.” Details matter, after all.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure he knows everything about every vintage. But the song lyrics? Yeah, that’s a sign.”

“Of what?” I ask, a little indignant.

“That you won’t be headed on a second date together.”

“Are you saying I’m undateable?” That irks me. It’s not my fault the algorithm is evil.

Monroe folds his arms across his chest. “I’m saying he is.”

Wait. What? How could Monroe say that? “You don’t even know him!”

He gives me a look like, Sweetheart, I know him. Then, with a thoughtful hum, he strokes his lightly stubbled jaw.

That’s a little distracting, because…stubble. Nice, golden-brown stubble, a little lighter than his thick brown hair. Also, the pose displays those tattoos on his left forearm. He lowers his hand, making life a little easier for me. “Actually,” he says, “You might even cut out early.”

Blasphemy. Utter blasphemy. “As if I’d do such a thing. I give all my dates a fair chance.”

“I know you’re not the problem. But why don’t we take a listener on Mister Song-lyrics-and-wine’s prospects for a second date?”

“Bring it on,” I say. I love hearing what listeners think. They’re always more hopeful than Monroe, but that’s what I’d expect for a relationship call-in advice show.

Monroe turns to our wunderkind producer at the other end of the table. Sadie’s in the studio with us for every episode, occasionally piping in with a sidekick comment but mostly running all the gadgets and doodads. “Sadie, want to work your magic?”

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Advertisement The Almost Romantic (How to Date #3) Read Online Lauren Blakely http://www.books2020.com/the-almost-romantic-how-to-date-3-read-online-lauren-blakely Mon, 25 Mar 2024 04:51:42 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-almost-romantic-how-to-date-3-read-online-lauren-blakely Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary, Funny Authors: Lauren Blakely Series: How to Date Series by Lauren Blakely
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Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)

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“Marry me.”

They were the last words I expected to say to my fake fiancé, but I’m the kind of guy who doesn’t back down from a challenge.

Pretend I’m engaged to my gorgeous and talented business partner to secure a business deal?

No problem.

Agree to a no-touch rule even though she’s been driving me wild since I met her?

Challenge accepted.

Resist grinning like a damn fool every time that same big-hearted, sunshine-y woman laughs with my little daughter?

Done.

So, yeah, when my fake fiancé’s vindictive business rival threatens to expose our make-believe romance, I can handle that too.

I’ll prove our engagement isn’t fake – by marrying her for real.

A marriage with an expiration date at the end of the year.

But that’s when I run smack dab into the biggest challenge ever – not falling madly in love with my wife.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

THE BAD SEX CHALLENGE

Elodie

Pretty sure I shouldn’t have come to a bar staffed by the world’s most droolworthy bartender after hosting a chocolate as an aphrodisiac class.

After teaching all those oh-so-in-love couples at my shop tonight about the sensual powers of chocolate, I should have marched straight home and taken an antidote in the form of organizing the junk drawer or scrubbing the kitchen floor while thinking deep thoughts on how to adult better.

But the rosemary fries at Sticks and Stones lured me here, and as I wait for the kitchen to finish my to-go order, my libido takes the wheel.

That man mixing a mojito at the other end of the bar is seriously scorching. This place should come with a warning sign reading: Enter this establishment at your own risk.

I need to tap the brakes and stop staring at the ink on his arms, the scruff on his jaw, the sin in his dark eyes.

I pop in my earbuds and scroll through my podcasts for a distraction. I hit start on a new episode of my friend’s dating show, and after the Heartbreakers and Matchmakers intro, a soprano-pitched guest host immediately begins: “Who wants to take the bad sex challenge? Tell us your sex troubles and we’ll help you figure out how to do it…better.”

Intrigued, I listen for another minute. But while the guest hosts—a disgustingly happy married couple—offer to tackle the between-the-sheets troubles of the single listeners by recreating the bad sex, off-air of course, my attention strays once more to Mister Droolworthy. I’ve seen him here a few times when I’ve swung by. Exchanged a word here or there. And admired the view.

Right now, he’s dropping a sprig of mint into a frosted glass. I’d let him fix my sex life. I’d let him fix it so hard. I bet he could fix it with those hands, those arms, that firm body…that’s coming my way.

Ack!

He delivers the mint-sprigged drink to a woman behind me, then stops right by my side. I smile a little innocently then pop out my earbuds.

“Something amusing?” he asks when he reaches me, with a tease of a smile coasting over those lips. Why does he have to have a bedroom voice to match those bedroom eyes?

Because the universe likes to taunt me with things I can’t have—like a mortgage and a hot-ass man.

“Very much so. It’s the bad sex challenge,” I tell him, after hitting stop on the podcast.

He frowns. “Who would take that?”

“Apparently lots of couples are taking it without even knowing it.”

He wiggles his fingers, beckoning me to share more. “Details.”

“I hate to break it to you, but there’s a lot of bad sex out there in the world. People suffering from this condition are calling into this podcast with their sex woes, and then this happily horny couple are offering their fixes.”

“Sex and woe. Two words that should not go together.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I’m definitely right,” he says, but he’s clearly intrigued. He hasn’t even asked me for a drink order. He tips his forehead toward my phone. “So do they fix them? These…sex woes?”

It’s said with a shudder.

I make a seesaw gesture. “Sort of. They say they’re going to try out the bad sex to diagnose what others are doing wrong. Then, they’ll share tips to help make the sex lives of others great again.”

“I did not know Good Sex Samaritans existed,” he says, deadpanning amazement.

“You learn something new every day.”

“I guess it’s actually the great sex challenge then.” He takes a beat, his gaze lingering on me for several long, delicious seconds. “Right?”

Sign me up for that, I want to say. Right now. Right here. But even I’m not that impulsive. “That doesn’t sound like such a terrible ordeal,” I say with a bob of my shoulder.

“Challenge accepted then,” he says, then clears his throat, and almost like it’s hard for him, he shakes his head and shifts to business mode. “Need anything while we finish up your order?”

To sit on your face.

I smile like the superhero I am. Classy by day. Horny by night. “Just the food,” I say, surprised he knows I’m here for a pickup rather than a drink since he wasn’t behind the bar when I arrived earlier to place my order. “Margo said they should be ready soon. But how did you know what I was waiting for?”

“It’s my job to know. I own the place.” Bartenders are already unfairly sexy. Now I learn he runs it too? Responsible men are so hot. I’m not and have never been in a bad boy era, so my hormones are waving the white flag.

“And you own it well. It’s one of my favorites.”

“Good,” he says with a smile that melts me even more. “Let me check on that order for you.”

He turns to go, and I shamelessly watch as he strides to the end of the bar. He has an athlete’s physique, and I’m not complaining. Except when he disappears out of sight.

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Advertisement Plays Well With Others (How to Date #2) Read Online Lauren Blakely http://www.books2020.com/plays-well-with-others-how-to-date-2-read-online-lauren-blakely Thu, 20 Jul 2023 19:19:59 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/plays-well-with-others-how-to-date-2-read-online-lauren-blakely Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports Authors: Lauren Blakely Series: How to Date Series by Lauren Blakely
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Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)

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Am I fake dating my best friend? Hear me out...
So I'm throwing myself a breakup party, a glittery fete where I envision I'll lift a glass and celebrate being free and single again.
What I actually do: Drink too much champagne and blurt out to my best guy friend that I'd really like to get back on the horse.
But what I truly don't expect is Carter's answer - he volunteers as tribute.
With his sinful brown eyes and too-good-to-be-true body it'd be no hardship for me to say yes, though I certainly don't want him to feel obligated to, um, service me, just because my failed, loveless marriage was a s-e-x desert.
But since the charming and confident pro football star owes five public dates to his dating app sponsor, we make a deal to help each other out.
Pretty soon, our public how to date lessons turn into, ahem, very private ones. And I'm a star student, graduating quickly from flirty banter and lingering looks to toe-curling, sheet-grabbing, mind-blowing hours of physical education.
The problem? Turns out learning to date again feels a lot like the real thing. Can our friendship withstand all these late-night bedroom sessions?
Especially since I'm suddenly longing for my best friend and there's nothing fake about my feelings.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

DID I JUST FLASH HIM MY BOOBS?

Rachel

Where are my lucky spatulas? I swear they were in this box in the corner of the kitchen. The one marked Very Important Things.

Because my baking supplies are vital. They’re therapy, dammit.

Wait.

There’s a box next to the stove labeled VIP Things 1 and a box on the counter designated VIP Things 2.

Which one has my spatula in it? And why didn’t I label any of these things specifically?

Oh, right. Because I fled Los Angeles faster than a twelve-year-old could stack plastic cups on social media. That, too, was a Very Important Thing.

Now, I’m scrunched in with the boxes in the itty-bitty kitchen of my new townhome in San Francisco, hunting for the necessities of life—spatulas. How can I bake lemon cheesecake blueberry bars for my breakup party tomorrow night without them?

Think, Rachel, think.

I close my eyes, remembering the packing frenzy last week in my Venice Beach home, seeing clothes flying, hearing the screech of packing tape, feeling the skittering of my pulse. The ink was finally dry on my divorce papers, but the news of the birth of my ex’s newest child was still fresh in my head. I couldn’t spend any more time in Los Angeles with those painful memories chasing me wherever I went.

Ah! I remember now. I jammed the spatulas into the underwear compartment of my carry-on, in between my new Valentina lacy bra-and-panty set and the scorching-hot burgundy bustier, the one I’ve vowed to wear…someday.

Because someday soon is a fool’s wish.

I rush to the bedroom, unzip the suitcase, and grab the pretty little kitchen darlings from their place of honor next to the pretty little bedroom darlings.

“There you are,” I say, relieved, then I return to the kitchen and set the spatulas down on the counter, pushing aside Badly Labeled Box 2. I head to the pantry and grab the flour, sugar, and baking soda.

Thank you, Elodie, for stocking the pantry for me. You’re the best friend ever.

I’ll bake tonight, but I want to make sure I have everything I need ready now. Carter is coming by soon to help me move heavy objects.

Every gal should have a muscular and helpful guy like Carter to call on to lift things, move things, and carry things.

Also, his shoulder is quite nice to cry on. I’d give it a five out of five for sturdiness and absorbency.

As I sort my baking supplies, I review the day ahead. We’ll rearrange the living room so I can have a better view of California Street, and after that, I’ll spend the afternoon in my jewelry shop. Fable has been handling the shop while I’ve been absent, and while she’s great, business hasn’t been smashing while I’ve been flying up and down the coast of California, managing two shops. This evening, I’ll shut myself off from the world and devote the night to baking and, well, wine.

My shrink will be so proud. She’s always advocating self-care, and that sounds like baking and merlot to me.

Now that I have a plan for the day, my pulse starts to settle a skosh—then the doorbell rings.

Oh, shit. Is Carter here already? I glance down at my outfit and cringe. Three-day-old yoga pants and a white T-shirt with a red splotch design that says Of course it’s wine, Officer. The shirt is courtesy of my friend Hazel. But when I sniff myself, I find I’m desperately in need of a shower, and that’s courtesy of me.

I race to the window in my slippers, dodging a peace lily to peer from the second story to the stoop below. Oh! It’s the delivery guy from the wine shop.

“Coming!” I shout, even though he’s already trotting down the steps to the street. But wine gets lonely quickly, so I leave my townhome, rush down the stairs, and hold open the front door of the building to grab the box.

Tucking it under my arm, I spin around, when my feet go out from under me—

Buttplant.

I wince. There must be grease, or powder, or something on the foyer floor. But I make a quick scan and the floor is pristine.

Great. I slipped on my own enthusiasm for discount wine. But hey, I shielded the wine from harm. The box is still safe and sound in my arm, so I get up, precious cargo in hand, and head up the stairs and back to my townhome, ass aching the whole way.

I set down the goods on the kitchen counter and check my phone. Twenty minutes. Just enough time to look presentable.

Note to self: add showers to your to-do list.

As I hightail it to the bathroom, the device vibrates with a text.

Elodie: Guess what I got for you?

That’s such a trick question. I don’t even want to play her guessing game, since I’ll get it wrong. But I do love gifts from all my friends fiercely. As I strip off my stinky shirt, I reply.

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Advertisement My So-Called Sex Life (How to Date #1) Read Online Lauren Blakely http://www.books2020.com/my-so-called-sex-life-how-to-date-1-read-online-lauren-blakely Fri, 24 Mar 2023 15:25:59 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/my-so-called-sex-life-how-to-date-1-read-online-lauren-blakely Genre: Contemporary, Funny, Romance Authors: Lauren Blakely Series: How to Date Series by Lauren Blakely
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Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)

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I’ve got a list of people I absolutely don’t ever want to be stuck with on a boat, or a plane, or a train, and it starts and ends with the broody, grumpy, too-sexy-for-my-own good Axel
Huxley.
Also known as this romance novelist’s number one nemesis.
The man is legendary for his mighty pen and his even mightier scowl. I tried to work together with the cocky thriller writer once upon a time, but the two of us are like vodka and good decisions. We don’t play well together.
Only now, our publishers are sending us on a joint trip across Europe to mingle with our most devoted readers on an old-fashioned luxury train. And thanks to a booking snafu, we have to share a sleeper car.
You guessed it–there’s only one bed.
I’m not sure I can survive the next seven days and nights with my dangerously sexy enemy and all our fiery tension.
Which explodes one night in a desperately needed hate bang.
But the bigger plot twist is this – the more time we spend together, visiting the most romantic cities in Europe by day and discovering each other at night, the more I’m forced to face our past.
To let go of the hurt.
To see the man he’s become.
And when I do, I wonder if it’s too late to write a new happy ending for us?

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

THE ANTI MEET CUTE

Hazel

Obviously, I believe in love.

If I didn’t, I’d be the worst kind of romance writer—the kind who lies to her readers.

But there’s something I believe in more fervently than love, and that’s the meet-cute. You can’t get to the happy ending without the unputdownable beginning.

The start of the story is my writing church, and I worship at the altar of those delicious moments when the hero and heroine meet for the first time.

Or meet again.

Tonight, I’ll be researching a new here’s-how-they-met possibility as I head to dinner in New York.

I’m one block away from the restaurant. My short, black ankle boots click against the sidewalk on Twenty-Fourth Street as I gaze up at the numbers on the buildings. I pass a tattoo parlor where a goth gal inks a burly man’s arm, and then I acquire the target.

Menu.

“It’s as trendy as it is annoying,” my friend TJ said of the joint when he told me about it last week. “And I promise it’ll inspire your next chapter one.”

I was sold. I made a reservation right away.

Now, I’m here at the minimalist-style restaurant. Under the sign for Menu are the words Meet, Eat, Mingle.

Change your life.

Ambitious, but the way I see it, this place is going to be full of fodder. I can’t wait. I draw a deep inhale of the May night air, then square my shoulders. “Cover me, I’m going in,” I say to, well, no one.

Sometimes I talk to myself. It’s a thing. Whatever.

I head inside, marching to the hostess stand. A woman wearing a black tunic and sporting a blonde undercut shoots me a bored look. Yeah, that’s on point for a place called Menu.

“Hello. I have a reservation. Valentine. Party of one,” I say.

“It’s all parties of one,” she says, monotone.

“Old habit,” I say with a friendly shrug. “In any case, it’s for seven-thirty.”

With an aggrieved sigh, she scans the tablet screen, then meets my eyes. “The other party isn’t here yet. If he or she is five minutes late, we’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Okaaaay.

It’s a new world order. Restaurants have rigid rules. But I knew what I’d signed up for. “Works for me,” I say. You catch more flies with honey and all.

“Fine,” she says, then she nods toward the dining room behind her. It’s small and bare, in keeping with the theme, aka we’re cool, you’re not. The tables are black wood, the walls are steel gray, the tiles are white. Everything is ordinary, except the experience.

This restaurant is très chic because it seats strangers together.

As I follow her, I smile, giddy at the thought of an inspired meet-cute. Two sexy strangers happen to be seated together at a hipster restaurant just like this. They hit it off. Get it on that night. Then, oops! The next day he turns out to be her brand-new boss, perhaps?

But who is he? A mafia king? A sexy CEO?

The muses will let me know who the next hero is. Maybe he’ll even reveal himself tonight.

Undercut brings me to a table at the back. She waves a limp hand in the direction of the framed QR code on the black wood surface. “We use QR codes. You scan them with your phone. Have you ever used one before?”

I’m thirty-one, missy. I can work a phone, a power drill, and a twenty-speed vibrator. Not all at once though. “I’m familiar with the concept of QR codes. Also, phones,” I say.

“Cool,” she says blandly, then walks away, her tunic swishing against her leggings.

Once I sit, I rub my palms on my jeans, a tiny bit nervous. What if I’m seated with an over-sharer? An endless talker? A dullsville candidate?

But I’m excited too.

What if my companion is an enigmatic billionaire like in a romance novel? A broody rock musician? A hot tech nerd who’s looking for a matchmaker?

Gah. The meet-cute possibilities are endless, and when I write this as the opening of my next book, it’s going to be epic.

I just know it.

I’m making some notes on my phone about the vibe when a man’s voice interrupts my thoughts.

“Four minutes and forty-five seconds.” His tone is a little gravelly and a lot know-it-all-y.

Say it isn’t so.

I was already dreading sharing a stage with Axel Huxley at the reader expo I’m doing this weekend. I can’t believe fate would inflict him on me any sooner than necessary.

I turn my gaze toward the front of Menu, praying that’s not my archnemesis. Maybe he has a vocal twin. Maybe that’s a thing now.

But my prayers are unanswered. Standing tall at the hostess stand is the smart-mouthed, glasses-wearing, smirky-faced romantic-thriller writer.

Wearing black because of course he wears black.

And of course he’s arguing with the hostess. He never met a statement he couldn’t debate and dissect into a million julienned pieces, then pepper with disagreement.

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