JUST FOR THE CAMERAS, a new enemies-to-lovers, forced proximity, fake dating sports romantic comedy from New York Times, Wall Street Journal and USA Today Bestselling Author, Meghan Quinn, is available now!

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They’re faking it for the cameras. But what if the sparks are real?

They’re faking it for the cameras. But what if the sparks are real?

Graydon St. John doesn’t do drama―or public appearances. The brooding defensive end for the San Francisco Foghorns prefers silence, solitude, and avoiding headlines. But when a league-wide PR scandal forces him into a media stunt at the city zoo, he’s suddenly face-to-face with squawking birds, nosy fans, and the zookeeper who seems to hate his guts on sight.

Maple Baker loves her flamingos. Loud, pink, messy? Sure. But they’re hers. And the last thing she needs is a grumpy football player stomping into her sanctuary with a bad attitude and a bigger ego. Unfortunately, they’ve been paired for the zoo’s new public outreach program, and the cameras are already rolling.

The banter is sharp. The tension is electric. And the more they pretend to play nice for the press, the more their fake flirtation starts to feel like something dangerously real.

But when family secrets, viral fame, and a PR romance gone off-script threaten everything Maple’s worked for, Graydon must decide if he’s willing to fight for love―or let it slip away to protect her.

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EXCERPT:

I stare down at the ground, willing my body to gracefully get into the same position, but every muscle holding my skin and bones together whimpers in pain, begging me to end their
misery and never use them again. From squats to lunges to some weird box jumping thing to more squats to this bench press thing-a-ma-bob to every which way you can move your arm with a weight in it. Nothing was left out of today’s workout.

Nothing.

It’s why when I slowly start to lower, attempting to curtsy down to the ground, my body instead decides to give out on me, seizing in every which way.

Oh no.

Lady down . . . I barely have enough time to pin point where I’m landing before I flop straight on top of the chest of the one and only, Graydon St. John.

“Oof, fuck, what are you doing?” he asks.

Great question.

The only answer that comes to mind is . . .death.

I’m dead.

The fish has flopped and has found the end of their life.

There is nothing left inside me.

There is no shame.

There is no humiliation.

There is no . . . stamina or fucks to give as I lay lifeless on top of Graydon.

Nope, this is where I live now.

This is my new home.

Pull up a potted plant and a picture of a flamingo, because I don’t foresee myself moving in the foreseeable future.

“Hello?” he pokes, trying to get me to answer him.

Mumbling, I say, “I live here now.”

“The fuck you do.”

To my surprise, he lifts me by the shoulders, like I’m one of those wind socks at a car dealership, and flops me to the side, so my head is now right next to his hip.

“Jesus Christ, why aren’t you . . . folding properly?”

I stare up at the fluorescent lights, angels singing to me, pulling me into the heavens where I know I will feel no more pain.

“Is this what death feels like?”

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters as he slides away from me, stands and then looks down at me. “Are you serious right now?”

I blink a few times, his dark gaze breaking me away from my attempt to fly into a safe space where I will no longer feel. “I . . .I don’t foresee myself getting up from here. Please tell Phil to find someone worthy enough to look after my pink-feathered friends.”

He rolls his eyes and then bends down and drags me by the legs, straightening me out across the mat. Then he lifts one of my ankles, kneels between my legs, and holds one down while pushing the other up.

“What on earth are you doing?” I ask as his entire body crowds the juncture between my thighs. “I tell you death is knocking on my door, rigor mortis firmly taking hold, and you get
me into a sexual position?”

His brow cocks up. “I’m stretching you so I don’t have to explain to my coach why there’s a woman face planted in our weight room.”

“I am not face planted.”

“You will be in a second.” He switches legs, making me holler in pain as he stretches the muscles that I thought no longer existed inside me.

“Just leave me for dead. Have them scoop me up with a shovel and deposit me in the back of a garbage truck. Please give my pitiful savings to a bench that sits in front of the flamingos. And for the love of God, tell Big Hermy he was my favorite.”

He rolls his eyes once more and then in one fell swoop, he turns me on my stomach and starts stretching my quads.

“Mother of God,” I shout, burying my head into the mat, a mat that is probably infested with things like ringworm and imprinted with sweaty man balls. But it’s my solace right now, my peace, the only thing keeping me from losing all sense of control.

Oh dear sweet mat, please swallow me into your sanctuary where hairy backs and moist ass cracks find solace. 

Graydon spends the next few minutes stretching me out, maneuvering me around like his own personal lump of Play-Doh, and then, when he’s done, he lifts me to my feet and holds
me by the shoulders, keeping me in place until he finds that I’m steady enough to walk on my own.

“You good?”

I sway for a few moments, and when the darkness around my vision recedes, I slowly nod. “I think so.”

He grumbles under his breath and then takes off for the exit, but when I don’t follow him, he stops. “For the love of God, keep up.”

I take one step forward and feel that my leg can handle it, so I take another, and another, and find myself very slowly, walking toward him.

Thatta girl. 

“I told you not to do the fucking workout.”

About Meghan Quinn:

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author, wife, adoptive mother, and peanut butter lover. Author of romantic comedies and contemporary romance, Meghan Quinn brings readers the perfect combination of heart, humor, and heat in every book.

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A SIMPLE REQUEST, a new forbidden, workplace small-town romance from USA Today Bestselling Author, Lacey Black, is available now!

My simple request is that he doesn’t break my heart along the way…

Collin

I’m not a fan of change. So, when I hear the old bar I work at a couple of nights a week has sold, I wonder if it’s time for me to give up that side gig. It’s not like I need the cash. My job as a full-time firefighter is more than enough to keep me comfortable and plenty busy.

Then I meet the new owner, my new boss, Lizzie Meyer.

She makes me a deal: give her thirty days. If I don’t like the direction she takes the place, I can quit. Simple, right? But nothing feels simple once I’m around her. I try to ignore the pull, but her easy smile, hypnotic green eyes, and that stubborn streak wrapped in determination makes it impossible. The line between professional and personal is clear…until it isn’t.

Just when something real starts to take shape between us, my past stirs—ready to drag its way back into the light and threaten everything we’re beginning to build together.

Lizzie

I’ve spent years dreaming of a place to call my own. Growing up inside the biggest bar and restaurant in my hometown, I learned early on what my calling was. But lately, I’ve wanted something more. Something that isn’t tied to my family’s legacy. I want to build my own.

That dream leads me to Cooper Town, Ohio, a quaint small town with an old bar for sale and enough possibility to make me pack up my life and take a chance.

I know it will take hard work to bring the place back to life, and I’ve got the drive, the grit, and a modest savings account to get started. What I’m not prepared for is Collin Miller, the brooding bartender with a rare, disarming smile and a work ethic that mirrors my own. He’s impossible to ignore, even harder to resist. I try to keep things strictly professional, really, I do, but being around him feels like standing too close to a flame.

My simple request is that he doesn’t break my heart along the way.

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About Lacey Black:

USA Today Bestselling Author Lacey Black is a Midwestern girl with a passion for reading, writing, and shopping. She carries her e-reader with her everywhere she goes so she never misses an opportunity to read a few pages. Always looking for a happily ever after, Lacey is passionate about contemporary romance novels and enjoys it further when you mix in a little suspense. She resides in a small town in Illinois with her husband, two children, and three rowdy chickens.

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JUST BREAKING THE RULES, a sexy new single dad, opposites-attract, workplace hockey romance from #1 New York Times Bestselling Author, Lauren Blakely, is out now!

Breaking the rules has never tasted so good…

Breaking the rules has never tasted so good…

How did I end up opening a bakery with my brother’s hockey star best friend?

Start with one cake disaster, add a dangerously hot pro athlete, and mix in a steamy encounter that definitely wasn’t supposed to happen.

But when the sexy, single dad hockey player saves me from a cake contest catastrophe, I do something reckless: ask him to go into business with me.

I’m out of options—no loan, no backup plan—and this bakery is my last chance to prove I’m more than my past mistakes.
Now we’re partners, and we agree that one moment up against the door stays in the past.

Not that Corbin makes it easy.
He sends flowers when I’m down.
Braids my hair before we bake.
Gives me his jersey to wear to games.
Shows up late to test recipes… then stays way too long.

When we find a box of old love letters tucked inside a bakery cupboard, suddenly, our story feels just as risky—and just as impossible to resist.

Maybe some rules are meant to be broken. No matter the cost to our dreams.

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EXCERPT:

In a flash, he dips his brush into the red paint, then darts out a strong arm, wraps it around my waist, and grips me in place. He lifts the brush and brandishes it.

Inches from my face.

My breath catches.

Everything goes silent between us. The Frank Ocean tune finishes. The air crackles. He’s holding me and staring at me, all while threatening me with red paint in a way I want to be threatened, judging from the heat climbing up my legs.

“I have no choice,” he murmurs at last, then he drags the brush along the hollow of my throat.

It’s cool and soft, the paintbrush slick and surprisingly sensuous as he runs it slowly down to my chest, bristles turning a swath of my pale skin red. He stops at the neckline of my shirt.

All thought flees my head. I’m nothing but atoms and vibrating molecules. I can’t even speak. I’m just breathing—and breathing him in.

The scent of paint, delightfully non-toxic, mixes with his aftershave. Or maybe it’s bodywash. I don’t know, but that campfire-by-the-lake scent is not only going to my head, it’s going to my thighs. I squeeze them together, lick my lips, and try to find a word, a phrase—something to tease him with.

But when his brow furrows again, like he’s at war with himself, I stay quiet. His silent debate stretches a few seconds, then he gives in with a raspy, “You have red paint on your chest.”

“Like a candy apple,” I say.

His gaze strays to the canvas of me, his eyes turning darker, glimmering like emeralds. When he raises his face, he drops the brush to the floor. It clatters against the drop cloth, a spray of red splattering on the ground. But I don’t care where, since the sound of the brush falling feels like a before and after. Mine falls from my hand and splatters too.

Slowly, teasingly, Corbin runs his calloused finger across the paint on my body. I pant ludicrously loud. It feels too good.

“Good enough to bite,” he muses as he traces a circle near my breastbone.

“I don’t think the paint would taste good,” I say.

“Probably not, but this would.”

His lips come crashing down on mine, and I grab him, my fingers roping through his messy hair, tugging him close. He kisses me hard, a little ruthlessly, all teeth and heat and need.

My brain is buzzing, my body humming, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m keenly aware there’s a pretty mural inches from us, and I just don’t want to mess it up.

“The mural,” I whisper with concern.

He backs up, away from our work, scanning it to make sure we didn’t smear it. It’s safe. He spins me around and pushes me against the brass pole.

Is that a sign? “Do you want me to strip?” I ask in between hot, wet, deep kisses.

“Don’t tempt me.”

About Lauren Blakely:

A #1 New York Times Bestselling, #1 Wall Street Journal Bestselling, and #1 Audible Bestselling author, Lauren Blakely is known for her contemporary romance style that’s sexy, feel-good and witty. Her books have been featured in US Weekly and People. Lauren likes dogs, cake and show tunes and she is the vegetarian at your dinner party.

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COME WHAT MAY, a forbidden new age-gap, workplace small-town romance from New York Times Bestselling Author, Corinne Michaels, is out now!

Stolen kisses are the least of our worries…

Sleeping with your client is bad, but what I did is even worse.

When I’m sent to Ember Falls to handle a PR nightmare, I have no idea I am creating a crisis of my own. Killian Thorn is everything I know to resist—older, rugged and handsome with mesmerizing green eyes and a wicked smile—which is why instead of running from him, I end up in his bed.

Forced to work together, our stolen kisses are the least of our worries because the scandal on Killian’s ranch continues to grow.

My job is to fix the issue, but our secret is only making it worse.

My best friend convinces me that being with my client isn’t really such a faux pas. In fact, she thinks I should go for it since I’ve always guarded my heart.

Trouble is, neither of us realize we’re talking about her dad.

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EXCERPT:

“How old are you?” I blurt out the first thing I can think of. He said something about getting to know him, so I’m going to choose a basic question that won’t rock the boat.

Safe is my goal for the rest of the night.

Killian’s eyes widen for a second before his deep laugh shakes the bed. “My age? That’s what you want to know, why?”

“I don’t know, I just…we’ve talked about childhood trauma, but I don’t know the basics. Like, how old are you? What’s your birthday? Favorite color? Those are things most people get to learn before they have sex. We skipped all that and have veered into a little bit of a dangerous territory, so let’s go to the safer topics.”

“All right then. I’m forty-four. My birthday is January 27, and blue is my favorite color.”

It’s weird, but knowing that makes this feel a little more normal. “Forty-four, huh?”

I knew he was older, but I thought maybe late thirties.

“I’m afraid to ask your age based on the look on your face.”

“It’s not terrible. I just didn’t guess right. You do not look forty-four.”

His body definitely did not age.

“And what about you? Who is Tessa Rivers?”

I let out a long breath. “I’m twenty-five. My birthday is August 9, and my favorite color is green.” It was orange my entire life, but as I’ve stared into his green eyes over the last three or so weeks, I’ve found a new color I adore.

He chuckles once. “Twenty-five? God. I feel ancient.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It is when I have a daughter your age.”

Okay, when he puts it that way, I guess it is that bad.

“I didn’t know you had kids—you said you weren’t married.”

“I’ve never been. I didn’t find out about her until a few years ago,” he explains and pushes my hair behind my ear. “She did one of those online DNA tests online to check for medical conditions and it matched that I was her father.”

That’s exactly how Meredith found out when she did her test a while back.

“Wow, and you never knew about her?”

“No. I met her mom in high school, but she left Colorado and moved to Georgia, not knowing she was pregnant. I had a scholarship to play football in Oregon, so I left right after graduation. She met someone and told him she was pregnant with his kid and he raised her. She had no idea he wasn’t even her dad until she got the results back.”

My brows furrow the more he speaks and my mind spins because his story is too similar to one I know all too well. Meredith is from Georgia, and her mother moved there in high school, but…it couldn’t be.

Right?

There’s no way this can be the same because, surely, the universe wouldn’t hate me this much.

Cautiously, I ask the next question that will put all of this to rest. “When did you learn this?”

“Two years ago, I think. She actually lives not too far from me, which is ironic since neither of us is from Virginia.”

My stomach sinks, and I feel lightheaded. It can’t be. What would the odds be?

Oh God. I might die.

Right now.

My heart might literally give out.

I sit up and put some distance between him and I. “Killian, what’s your daughter’s name?”

Please don’t say Meredith. Please don’t say Meredith.

“Meredith.”

My heart threatens to give out as I leap out of bed, holding a pillow in front of me to cover myself. “Oh my God. Is her last name Scarpello?”

He sits up, his eyes widening. “How do you…?”

I let out the loudest burst of air, and I swear I might start hyperventilating. “Oh my God. Oh my God. This can’t be happening. Meredith Scarpello is your daughter? Meredith, who is married to a guy named Jake, and they live like an hour from here?” I ask, praying that maybe, just maybe, there is a God who doesn’t want me to throw myself off a cliff.

“Yes? Tessa, how do you know this?”

I let out a cry. “We are so fucked! And not the kind of fucking we just did. Oh my God. I’m going to have to tell my best friend that I’ve been sleeping with her dad!”

About Corinne Michaels:

Corinne Michaels is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author of romance novels. Her stories are chock full of emotion, humor, and unrelenting love, and she enjoys putting her characters through intense heartbreak before finding a way to heal them through their struggles.

Corinne is a former Navy wife and happily married to the man of her dreams. She began her writing career after spending months away from her husband while he was deployed–reading and writing were her escapes from the loneliness. Corinne now lives in Virginia with her husband and is the emotional, witty, sarcastic, and fun-loving mom of two beautiful children.

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THE EXCEPTION, a new billionaire, age-gap, forbidden workplace romance from #1 New York Times Bestselling Author, Vi Keeland, is available now!

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He lives by a set of rules. She might be his one exception…

He lives by a set of rules. She might be his one exception.

I just wanted a distraction, something to take the edge off before facing a wedding I was dreading. So on the flight back to New York, I signed up for a dating app. Harmless enough, right?

Wrong.

Turns out, it wasn’t just any app—it catered to people with very specific tastes. By the time I realized it, I was already on my date.

Tall, confident, and sinfully handsome, Jagger Langston seemed like the full package. The chemistry between us was instant—electric enough to burn the whole city down. Though things took a turn when we figured out I’d misunderstood who should join the app. We laughed it off, said goodbye, and went our separate ways.

Or so I thought.

Until I walked into my new internship Monday morning, ready to put the weekend behind me, and there he was—my boss.

Now I’m caught between the rules he lives by—and the temptation to make him break every single one of them.

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EXCERPT:

CHAPTER 1
Sutton

“Please tell me you didn’t bring that hideous brown dress to wear to the wedding.”

No hello, no how are you—just straight to the point when I answered.

It was one of the things I loved about Miles Hartley, except when his point was a critique of me.

I took a step forward in line. “It’s a beautiful dress.”

“It is. You should wear it to bingo when you go down to visit your grandmother in Florida.”

I rolled my eyes, but chuckled. “I hate you.”

“No, you love me. You hate when I’m right. Which is often, when it comes to your life. And because you love me so much, I’m currently in your room digging through boxes looking for the red dress you should’ve brought. I’ll bring it in my bag tomorrow. Also, why did you answer the phone? I thought I was going to leave you a message. Shouldn’t you be in the air by now?”

“Hang on a second.” I took another step and handed the gate agent my boarding pass.

She scanned it. “Have a good flight.”

“Thank you.” Once I entered the jet bridge, I lifted my phone and returned my attention to Miles on FaceTime. “Weren’t you just wearing blue glasses a minute ago?”

He shrugged. “These match your panties.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. My best friend had a collection of more than a hundred pairs of glasses, each more colorful than the last. He had a penchant for matching them to his outfits, but pairing them with my panties was a new one.

“I thought your flight took off at eight?” he said.

“It’s delayed an hour. And you better pack everything back up and seal the boxes when you’re done rummaging through my life. The moving company is coming tomorrow morning to bring me those.”

“Ooh. When did you get this red mesh bra? Does it have matching panties?”

“Can you please stop going through my underwear?”

“Seriously, this thing is hot as fuck. It might even make my gay ass a little hard if you put it on.”

“Wonderful. I can finally achieve my life’s goal.”

“If there aren’t matching panties, I’m going shopping and finding you some. Because this is what you’re wearing under the red dress at the wedding.”

“I’m not wearing the red dress.”

“Then how are you going to bang the best man?”

“I am not banging Brendan’s brother.”

Though I was definitely overdue for a good banging. Way, way overdue. And I hadn’t mentioned to Miles that I planned to remedy that problem sooner rather than later.

“Why not? His underbite doesn’t make him look as much like a bulldog as it did before the braces.”

I boarded the plane and found my row. “I have to go. I just got to my seat, and I need to put my luggage in the overhead bin and get situated.”

“All right. But promise me one thing.”

I sighed. “What?”

“You won’t have a couple of glasses of wine and respond to the jackrabbit’s text. You get emotional when you drink.”

“I am definitely not responding to Brendan.” I was stopped in the aisle with my luggage, and the woman behind me didn’t look happy. “Gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After I hung up and stowed my bags, I settled into my seat. The flight from LA to New York was five and a half hours. I’d been annoyed when my mother had called the airline pretending to be me and upgraded my ticket to first class, but the big, comfy seat that reclined to a bed now made this section seem more and more like a little slice of heaven. Especially when the flight attendant walked over carrying a tray.

“Would you like orange juice or champagne before we take off?”

“Oooh. I love mimosas. I’ll take both.”

She nodded. “Good choice.”

It had been a year since I’d flown home to New York, and I’d forgotten how big these planes were. Boarding went on for a full half hour. So when the flight attendant returned with the bottle of champagne and offered a refill, I happily nodded.

“Yes, please. It’ll help take the edge off.”

She smiled. “Nervous flier?”

“No. But I’m going home for a wedding I’m not looking forward to.”

“Is there someone you don’t want to see attending?”

I nodded. “The groom. He’s my ex.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Yuck. You must be a bigger person than me. Not sure I’d go to my ex’s wedding, if I was invited.”

“I don’t have too much of a choice. He’s marrying my stepsister.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh my.”

I sighed. “Tell me about it.”

She refilled my champagne flute to the brim and set the half-full bottle on my tray table. “It’s going to be a bit before we get to pull away from the gate. The runway is backed up since we missed our time slot. I’ll just leave this here. My name is Aileen. Buzz if you need anything else.”

I smiled. “Thanks.”

She leaned down to me. “My ex-boyfriend is a pilot. I got stuck on a flight with him last month, and I accidentally spilled the soda he ordered on his shirt when I was bringing him his dinner. It didn’t make it any less awkward, but it made me happy to look at the stain every time I had to see him after that. Maybe you should have a little accident at the wedding.”

“Who should I bump into, the bride or the groom?”

She smiled. “Both. And maybe order a Bloody Mary instead of a soda before you do.”

“I might just do that.”

We wound up sitting at the gate for another forty-five minutes, during which time I polished off my second glass of champagne and the remainder of what was left in the bottle. I was feeling no pain by the time we started to taxi toward the runway. Unfortunately, I was also feeling—damn Miles for always being right—emotional. So after I switched my cell to airplane mode, I pulled up Brendan’s text. It had come in a week ago, and I’d read it at least twenty times since then.

Brendan: Hey. Could we get together to talk when you get to town? Your mom said you’re coming in Thursday. Maybe we could meet for a drink at Buvette?

A few minutes later, a second text had come in.

Brendan: I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this conversation to Colette.

The latter had made my blood boil. I’d kicked around taking a screenshot of the text and sending it directly to my stepsister, but I wasn’t up for the drama that would inevitably ensue. I also didn’t want Colette to think I was jealous or petty. Even though petty was exactly what you should be when your boyfriend of three years marries your freaking stepsister. I shook my head and swiped the text closed, deciding to watch a movie to keep me distracted. At some point I must’ve dozed off, because when I woke up, the movie was no longer playing and there was only a little over an hour left in the flight. My new friend, Aileen, appeared at my side.

She smiled. “Good nap?”

“Definitely. Exactly what I needed.”

“Glad to hear it. I’m about to wheel around the ice cream cart, so you woke up at the perfect time. The only thing better than champagne and a nap is having a hot fudge sundae when you wake up. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Ice cream sounds great. And just some water, please.”

While I waited for the flight attendant to come back, I dug out my phone and connected to the free Wi-Fi so I could check email. As soon as the three little bars illuminated, a text popped up in preview.

Miles: Who’s better than me?

There was a paperclip at the bottom corner of the message, so I clicked to see the attachment. A photo of my best friend appeared on the screen—he was beaming, holding a pair of red mesh underwear that seemed to match my bra perfectly. I snorted. Only Miles.

Maybe he was right. Maybe I should’ve brought the red dress—though not to lure Brendan’s little brother. What I needed was a stranger, a quick fling with someone who was good in bed. Great in bed, even. My mind leaned into the idea. No-strings-attached, anonymous sex. No names, no numbers—hell, no faces would work at this point. It could be hot if he wore a mask. I just needed to have sex with six inches that didn’t require batteries. Tonight, I was planning to go to a bar and not come home alone. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t shared that tidbit with Miles. He’d been my best friend since elementary school and knew everything else about my life.

Aileen wheeled over the ice cream cart, interrupting my thoughts. I ordered vanilla with peanut butter sauce and chocolate chips, and it was freaking delicious. Devouring it, I decided maybe I shouldn’t object so much in the future when my mother wanted to throw her husband’s money around and spoil me.

There wasn’t enough time left on the flight for a second movie, so I opened the internet browser. Spooning the delicious sundae into my mouth, I checked my email, did the daily Wordle, and finally googled best bar in Manhattan to meet a man for a one-night stand. I was pretty surprised how many hits came back, and not just your typical Reddit chats either. There were articles in legit magazines and entire websites dedicated to the subject. Yelp had a Top 10 Best Hookup Bars in NYC list. Too bad they didn’t have Yelp ratings for the men who frequented them. I clicked into one website that had a map of all the different neighborhoods of Manhattan, and each of those had a clickable list of bars. I double tapped into Gramercy Park and scanned the six places listed. Bullets underneath outlined the reasons each place was good to meet someone. While I was reading the write-up of the last bar, an animated ad popped up showing a bird inside a cage. The door opened, and a bright red finch fluttered its wings and flew out. It was cute and colorful. Underneath read: NY Loves DARE—dating freedom.

Though I’d decided tonight was the night I was finally going to find a man, it had never crossed my mind to use a dating app. I’d joined a few after Brendan and I broke up, but something about the constant cut-and-paste introductions I’d received turned me off. Yet this one had me curious. So I clicked and read. DARE wasn’t your typical swipe-right-and-swipe-left-type deal where you judged people in two seconds based on their looks and a few sentences. Instead, you had to answer a ton of questions before your supposed matches were presented to you. Users didn’t even see photos until the matches had been selected. The site claimed to be ultra exclusive and charged a whopping $599 a year. Considering I was no longer employed, that price was too rich for my blood. So I clicked the X to close out of the site. But rather than shutting down, a banner flashed on the screen:

Try free for five days.

Hmmm… What the heck? Why not? I had another hour to kill. It might be fun to see who a computer would pick as my perfect match. Lord knows I hadn’t had luck finding the guy on my own. So I clicked to redeem the offer and started entering some basic data. The first few questions were simple—age preference, type of looks and physique I was generally attracted to, religious beliefs, languages spoken, hobbies, rating the importance of salary and different values.

I was moving right along until the question about what I was looking for in a relationship gave me pause. There were three choices to select from—a long-term partner, an occasional companion, or no strings attached. I knew the answer, yet it took me a full five minutes to find the courage to check the last box. I’d never had a fling. As I continued, the questions became more personal—did I like a dominant lover in the bedroom, was I open to multiple partners at once, and did pain turn me on. Let’s be real, I had no idea what I truly liked after wasting all those years with Brendan. Yet I chewed my lip, considering my answers anyway. Multiple partners at once? Definitely not. I wanted someone with more experience than I had, so a lover who took control sounded good—yes to dominant partner. And who knows, a little spanking might be fun. The rest of the questionnaire took another fifteen minutes, and by the time I was done and hit submit, I had to admit, I was a little excited. An hourglass appeared on the screen with sand falling from one globe to another. Eventually a message flashed. We’ve found your match.

Match? Just one? Not matches? Why did I think I was going to be given a smorgasbord of men to choose from? I’d wasted almost half an hour for one measly guy who was probably going to be creepy? I sighed, but clicked anyway since curiosity had already gotten the best of me. I was certain I was about to be shown some troll based on a dumb computer algorithm deciding who was my Mr. Right.

But the man whose photo appeared was most definitely not a troll.

Wow…just wow. This had to be an AI photo, right? Real men weren’t this beautiful, certainly not any of the ones I’d run into lately. I lifted my cell to my nose for a closer inspection. Pictures generated with AI, or ones that were heavily retouched, tended to be too smooth or overly blurry. They were also usually missing shadows, or the background lighting was unnaturally even. But this guy wasn’t like that at all. I could see the texture of his skin, the sexy stubble of his five o’clock shadow. The ocean was also in the background, and the water reflected the sun. Not to mention, different shades of blue and turquoise revealed the changes in depths beneath. I was almost certain the photo wasn’t generated by AI.

Jesus, that means this guy is actually real?

I scanned down to his short bio, assuming that was where I would find his blatant flaw, some big smoking gun. His hobbies probably include stalking his exes and poking dead things with a stick.

Though what I found made my jaw fall open.

Hobbies: Snowboarding, scuba diving, and travel.

Those were the same three things I’d written. Astounded, I kept reading. Jagger L.—even his name was sexy—had a well-written bio. It was personable, yet funny. In the languages fluent section he’d written “sarcasm,” and in the looking for section he’d written “no strings attached, except the one you allow me to tie you up with.”

This guy seemed like exactly what I was looking for—even more than I’d thought possible. But it couldn’t be this easy, could it? I was still mulling around the potential pitfalls—he’s a catfisher and using someone else’s photos, he’s made up everything in his bio. Or what if his profile isn’t even real—the company made it up to get people to pay their exorbitant $599 fee. That was probably it. The people at DARE dangle a seemingly amazing guy in front of your face for five days, and it’s only after that when Mr. Perfect responds and says he’s not interested. Yeah, that’s probably it. My eyes slanted to the message button. I was just about to type a short note, see if the guy would even respond, when a chime sounded, alerting me of an incoming message from my new match.

***

God, why didn’t I bring the stupid red dress? I looked in the mirror one last time. I looked nice, but not Jagger L. nice. That man was a dozen echelons up from nice. Though I did look better than I had earlier. I’d blown out my long, chestnut hair and used a curling iron to style a few loose waves into it, swept eyeshadow across my lids that made my green eyes pop from my warm Italian skin, and lined my lips in a bold red. I had on a blue dress that wasn’t as dull as the brown one Miles had forbidden me to wear. This one hugged my curves nicely, but it was high necked and didn’t show any cleavage or anything. Though there wasn’t much I could do about that now. I was already going to be late to meet my perfect match by the time I grabbed a cab and got to the bar. So I took a deep breath, swiped my purse from the counter, and forced myself to walk out the door.

When I arrived, the Copa bar seemed pretty busy for a Thursday night, but what did I know? The last time I’d lived in this city, I wasn’t even legally allowed to drink. My heart raced as I scanned the room looking for my date, though part of me still doubted my perfect match would show. And if he did, I probably wouldn’t be able to find him since he likely looked nothing like the amazing photo in his profile. But then my eyes landed on a man seated at the corner of the bar, and my galloping heart came to an abrupt halt.

Holy. Freaking. Cow. He’s real. And the man might’ve been even better than his picture, if that were possible. My eyes met with Jagger’s, and his lips curved to a seductive smile. He stood, but it took a few beats for my frazzled brain to get my feet to move. I somehow expected the sparkle of his looks to dim as I moved closer, but the exact opposite happened. His broad shoulders and custom three-piece suit hit every one of my hot buttons.

My date waited for me to make my way over, all the while keeping that delicious smile on his face. It was slightly crooked, considerably mischievous, and told me more about him than his bio already had.

This man had oodles of confidence. At the risk of sounding like a sappy romance novel, I felt the air shift as I stood across from him.

He extended his hand, exposing a chunky watch and silver cufflinks, and I stared at his face, unable to form words. Or…apparently function at all. After an extended period of time with his arm outstretched, and me obviously incapable of completing basic etiquette tasks, he leaned forward and smirked.

“I don’t bite.” His deep, raspy voice lowered, and he winked. “Unless you want me to.”

I blinked a few times, finally managing to place my hand in his. “Sorry. I…I…it’s been a long day.”

I’d come for a hook-up, even checked the box that said as much, but suddenly I was a shy, nervous wreck. A man this spectacular had a lot of experience and probably wanted a woman with equal skills—which I didn’t have.

While I stood there drooling and acting like a complete idiot, my date seemed completely at ease. Jagger pulled out the chair next to him, and I miraculously managed to plant my ass on it without falling off. It seemed like a monumental accomplishment in the moment.

The bartender walked over and dropped a coaster on the bar in front of me. “What can I get you?”

Alcohol! Oh! Yes, yes, I definitely needed alcohol! Wine wasn’t strong enough to calm these nerves. “I’ll take a vodka cranberry, please.”

Jagger put his hand out. “Would you give us a moment before taking her order?”

The bartender shrugged. “Sure thing.”

My face wrinkled in confusion as I watched him walk away.

Jagger’s sexy smile was now gone. He looked me in the eyes and spoke matter-of-factly. “No alcohol. Please.”

I felt my brows knit. “What?”

“I don’t want you to have any alcohol.”

My eyes shifted to the bar, zoning in on the half-full drink sitting in front of him. I motioned to it. “You have a drink? Why can’t I have one?”

“Because it’s my preference.”

“Your…preference?”

His eyes narrowed. “Is that a problem?”

Not having a drink wasn’t a problem, but him telling me I couldn’t have one certainly was. I didn’t care how good-looking this guy was, no man was going to push me around. I folded my arms across my chest. “Do you have many other preferences I should be aware of?”

A ghost of a smile feathered onto his lips. “I do, actually.”

His lips were curved, but there wasn’t a trace of laughter in his tone.

“I’ll humor you,” I said. “Let’s hear them.”

“The most important of my rules is no alcohol or anything else to impair your judgment and blur the lines of consent. Other than that, I keep things simple. I demand punctuality—my time is too valuable to be kept waiting. And you’ll also need a safe word.”

“A…safe word?”

Jagger’s eyes swept over my face. Two lines formed between his brows. “Why does it seem like it’s the first time you’ve had rules like these?”

“Umm…because it is.”

He tilted his head, looking as confused as I felt. “You’re new to the community?”

“You mean the DARE dating app?”

“I mean the dominant-submissive community in general.”

My eyes bulged. “The what?”

He rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb, maintaining eye contact, but I could see the wheels in his head spinning. “You have no idea what type of site you joined, do you?”

“Isn’t it a dating site?”

“It is, for people with specific tastes.”

“What kind of tastes?”

“DARE stands for Dominants, Alphas, Roleplay, and Exhibitionism.”

“Dominants? Exhibitionism?” My jaw dropped open, and my hand flew up to cover my mouth. “Oh my God. I guess that site isn’t the best place for a virgin.”

About Vi Keeland:

HOUSE OF BS + LIES, an all-new small town romantic suspense novel from Wall Street Journal and USA Today Bestselling Author, Lani Lynn Vale, is available now!

He was everything a girl like her could ask for…

She was enraptured by the man they called Romeo the moment that he turned those butterscotch-colored eyes her way.

What wasn’t to love about a big, burly, plaid-wearing lumberjack?

He was tall, gorgeous, and knew how to wield a chainsaw better than Leatherface. He could fell a tree in seconds, had thighs that were as thick as said trees, filled out a pair of Wranglers better than any cowboy ever, and didn’t care that she could operate heavy machinery better than him.

He was everything a girl like Mable could ask for.

The caveat? He was a convicted felon that’d just escaped from prison, faked his death, and ran from his home in Texas to the mountains of Montana.

At first, Mable didn’t know what kind of man he’d been before coming to her small, mountain town. He led Mable into a false sense of security, made her fall madly, deeply, and irrevocably in love with him, and then shocked her by sharing his darkest secret.

Now, she’s left reeling, thinking life couldn’t get more complicated.

Until she finds out her stepmother knows Romeo’s secret and plans to exploit him. To make matters worse, Romeo goes on the run to protect Mable from himself, and she realizes that she has a dark side, too. One that’ll stop at nothing, not even murder, to make sure that he can live free.

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About Lani Lynn Vale:

Lani Lynn Vale is an American author of humorous romantic suspense novels. Born in the Great State of Texas, she has lived the majority of her adult life in East Texas where most of her novels are based. She’s married to her high school sweetheart whom her readers refer to as “LLV’s Bearded Half.” She published her first novel, Boomtown, in the summer of 2013 after the birth of her third child. She’s gone on to publish over 100 novels, with most of them going on to become USA Today Bestsellers.

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