One Night Stand-In
Lauren Blakely
Little Dog Press
Contents
Also by Lauren Blakely
About
One Night Stand-In
1. Lola
2. Lucas
3. Lola
4. Lola
5. Lucas
6. Lola
7. Lola
8. Lucas
9. Lola
10. Lucas
11. Lucas
12. Lola
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
15. Lola
16. Lucas
17. Lucas
18. Lola
19. Lucas
20. Lola
21. Lucas
22. Lola
23. Lucas
Chapter 24
25. Lola
26. Lucas
27. Lola
28. Lucas
29. Lola
30. Lucas
31. Lola
32. Harrison
33. Lola
Also by Lauren Blakely
Contact
Copyright © 2020 by Lauren Blakely
Cover Design by Helen Williams.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This contemporary romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This book is licensed for your personal use only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you enjoy sexy romance novels with alpha males. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Also by Lauren Blakely
Big Rock Series
Big Rock
Mister O
Well Hung
Full Package
Joy Ride
Hard Wood
The Gift Series
The Engagement Gift
The Virgin Gift
The Decadent Gift (coming soon)
The Heartbreakers Series
Once Upon a Real Good Time
Once Upon a Sure Thing
Once Upon a Wild Fling
Boyfriend Material
Asking For a Friend
Sex and Other Shiny Objects
One Night Stand-In
Lucky In Love Series
Best Laid Plans
The Feel Good Factor
Nobody Does It Better
Unzipped
Always Satisfied Series
Satisfaction Guaranteed
Instant Gratification
Overnight Service
Never Have I Ever
Special Delivery
The Sexy Suit Series
Lucky Suit
Birthday Suit
From Paris With Love
Wanderlust
Part-Time Lover
One Love Series
The Sexy One
The Only One
The Hot One
The Knocked Up Plan
Come As You Are
Sports Romance
Most Valuable Playboy
Most Likely to Score
Standalones
Stud Finder
The V Card
The Real Deal
Unbreak My Heart
The Break-Up Album
21 Stolen Kisses
Out of Bounds
The Caught Up in Love Series:
The Swoony New Reboot of the Contemporary Romance Series
The Pretending Plot (previously called Pretending He’s Mine)
The Dating Proposal
The Second Chance Plan (previously called Caught Up In Us)
The Private Rehearsal (previously called Playing With Her Heart)
Stars In Their Eyes Duet
My Charming Rival
My Sexy Rival
The No Regrets Series
The Thrill of It
The Start of Us
Every Second With You
The Seductive Nights Series
First Night (Julia and Clay, prequel novella)
Night After Night (Julia and Clay, book one)
After This Night (Julia and Clay, book two)
One More Night (Julia and Clay, book three)
A Wildly Seductive Night (Julia and Clay novella, book 3.5)
The Joy Delivered Duet
Nights With Him (A standalone novel about Michelle and Jack)
Forbidden Nights (A standalone novel about Nate and Casey)
The Sinful Nights Series
Sweet Sinful Nights
Sinful Desire
Sinful Longing
Sinful Love
The Fighting Fire Series
Burn For Me (Smith and Jamie)
Melt for Him (Megan and Becker)
Consumed By You (Travis and Cara)
The Jewel Series
A two-book sexy contemporary romance series
The Sapphire Affair
The Sapphire Heist
About
Lucas Xavier is the last person I want to spend 24 hours with, let alone two minutes. Exes are exes for a reason. In his case, for a million reasons. Because he's not only an ex-lover, he's also an ex-friend. We didn't just break up - we combusted in a spectacular bonfire of barbs and doors slammed.
Nothing will change that. Not his clever wit, not his ridiculous good looks, not his unfair levels of charm. And definitely not a wild dash through the city that takes us on an accidental scavenger hunt through our past, where we stop for a tango lesson, pancakes and a visit with some llamas.
And certainly not time together to make amends and say we're sorry.
But, let's say that was enough...it's not like you can fall in love in 24 hours.
One Night Stand-In
by Lauren Blakely
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1
Lola
I remember when a phone call used to be fun.
When your bestie would ring you after school and you’d gab for hours while snacking on Chex Mix as you pretended to tackle math problems together.
Or when the cute boy in art class would finally get the guts to dial you up and ask you to the school dance, resulting in epic squeals of happiness.
Those were the days.
Now, the phone is the enemy.
For instance, it often has the nerve to turn on the flash when I’m trying to take a surreptitious shot of a hot guy reading a paperback on the subway, something I do on behalf of all womankind—since I’m not the only red-blooded female who enjoys the hell out of that Instagram feed that posts pictures of sexy men reading in public.
Because men who read are hella hot. Because a sexy man is a sexy man, but a sexy man who reads? That’s like a unicorn.
Or my device often has the gall to remind me of my fitness inadequacies with its occasional notifications, like Yo
u’ve only walked two miles today, to which I say, Fuck you, phone, I can berate myself just fine, thank you very much.
The phone has also made it far too easy for my romance-and-intimacy lifestyle coach parents to hit me up with every “you should try this” opportunity under the sun.
Like, say, a couples’ retreat.
A couples’ date-night package.
A couples’ massage.
I’m not part of a freaking couple.
Pass. Double pass. Triple bypass.
That’s why I’ve set my phone to Do Not Disturb during my morning workout.
Plus, I don’t need my phone as a distraction to survive three miles on the elliptical. I have Amy as a partner, and she’s better than any TV show I’d binge while working out, especially since she’s on a tangent about deep, dark secrets right this second.
“You think you know someone, Lo,” she says, huffing next to me. “And then they just break out the unicycle news.”
I give her a what are you talking about eyebrow arch, then peer at the readout—one more minute and I am finito on this sweat-till-it-hurts machine.
With her hands tightly gripped on the bars, she shakes her head, then bites out, “My fiancé knows how to ride a unicycle. A freaking unicycle. And he didn’t tell me until this weekend. We’ve been together for more than nine months and I am only just now learning this?”
I scoff, playing along with her indignation while I slow my pedaling. “Well, clearly that’s intel he should have dropped by the third date.”
“And when you learned of this amazing hidden talent, did you demand he show you right then and there?” I ask as I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand.
Her ponytail bobs as she nods. “Of course I did.”
“And then what?” I ask as I near the blissful end of the three-hundred-calorie burner. “Wait. Let me guess. You jumped him?”
She glances at me and offers a sly little grin. “Duh.”
“Gee, I wonder how I knew you’d be turned on from learning your man could ride a unicycle.”
She winks. “Could it be because you know me so well?”
I hit the end button and step off the machine, my heart pounding a thank you for working out rhythm. Amy follows, and as we head to the locker room, my phone chirps—a tweeting sound that’s one of a handful allowed through the Do Not Disturb barrier.
Those are for my best friends—Amy and Peyton—and for my clients.
Alas, Tweety signals neither Peyton nor a client.
The bird trills once more, then stops.
I groan.
Because . . . little sisters.
With dread, I go into the locker room and wash my hands, take ten seconds to dry them, and finish right as the phone warbles once more.
Because Luna doesn’t call like a normal person.
She calls like, well, like Luna.
Rings twice, hangs up. Calls again ten seconds later.
I’ve told her countless times this trick is unnecessary, that my phone does this handy little thing where it blasts her name across the screen.
PITA.
Fine, that is the name I use because that’s who she is.
And okay, it does say PITA WHO I LOVE.
Because I need the reminder.
I love this crazy girl madly, even when she plays her childhood phone games.
I slide my thumb across the screen as a half-dressed gray-haired woman in the corner of the locker room stares ice picks at me. She points to the sign near the door, stabbing the air with her finger. No cell phone pictures. Taking a photo in a locker room is against the law.
“I’m not taking a photo. I’m taking a call,” I say to her.
Sheesh. I wasn’t going to snap a shot of her for Instagram, and that’s not simply because I’m not a lawbreaker. She’s neither male nor reading a book. Those are the only stranger shots I take.
I motion to Amy that I’m on the phone, then I march back out into the hallway, speaking to Luna, “Kit Kat Klub. You’ve reached Sally Bowles. Please leave a message, and I will return your call at a not ungodly hour of the morning.”
Giggles float across the line like bubbles blown through the summer breeze. “Lo! You’re so funny. I love Cabaret.”
“Thank you. Please deposit fifty cents if you ever want this person to answer a call again,” I say, because even though I’m wide awake, it isn’t even seven. Calling at this hour should be illegal.
More laughter spills through the phone. “How do you do that? You’re so fun at nine thirty in the morning,” Luna says, her words gliding out like a song. I’m convinced she’s a nightingale reincarnated.
She also lacks the ability to understand little things like, say, time zones.
“Luna, it’s not even nine thirty where you are. You’re seven hours ahead. It’s . . .” I pull the phone from my ear to check the time in Athens, considering whether I can craft a voodoo doll of the phone because I can’t make one of Luna. And I’ve tried, dear God have I ever tried. “It’s one thirty where you are, and it’s six thirty in New York. That’s ungodly. This is a time reserved for vampires, ghosts, goblins, zombies, and New Yorkers who’ve adopted new workout routines and are trying to stick to them.”
She gasps—such a shuddery little thing, my sister. “Lo, don’t talk about zombies and vampires. You know I can’t handle scary things. I didn’t get your horror-loving genes. Or your morning workout drive either. But you’re awake. Yay,” she says, clapping. “I thought you’d be asleep.”
“You thought I’d be asleep, but you called anyway?” Though the question doesn’t really matter. Luna does what Luna wants. I focus on the mission-critical issues. “Are you dying, sick, in jail, in trouble, drugged, or being held captive by an alien billionaire?”
“No, God no,” she says. “Those all sound horrible, even the billionaire. Besides, who needs money when you can have love instead?”
“Who said alien billionaires were incapable of love?”
“I’ve always thought they were.”
“No. Studies have shown some species of alien billionaires have hearts,” I deadpan as I stop at the water fountain for a drink. When I finish, I say, “And since you’re not in custody, in a billionaire’s chamber, or dead, I have to ask—is Rowan dead? I’m guessing no, because if Rowan were dead, I don’t think you’d sound so happy, despite the dream you had the other night.”
“Just because we had a fight before we left for the cruise doesn’t mean I want him dead. I like him alive, and that’s how he is right now—alive and happy next to me because we made up. I can’t believe I was ever mad at him because of that silly dream. I mean, he’d never cheat in real life. But still, the dream hurt.”
“Of course dream-cheating hurts,” I say as sympathetically as I can, since everything hurts Luna. For all twenty-five years of her life, she’s worn her heart on her sleeve.
“I’m calling for another reason,” Luna says, resetting to her default cheeriness. “But don’t be mad . . .”
I grit my teeth.
Oh, God. Those words would signal danger ahead for anyone, but for Luna it’s more like a hurricane alert.
I lean against the cinder block of the gym hallway. “Okay, what is it this time? Because I’m not going to break you out of science summer camp again.”
“But that was the best! Seeing all the museums in New York with you instead of making silly science fair projects—it changed my life,” she says with a happy sigh. “Mom and Dad still don’t know that you took me on the best field trips ever that week when they were gone.”
“Not that they’d care,” I say.
“Of course they’d care. That’s why we kept it a secret.”
No, they wouldn’t. That’s why I care. That’s why I look out for you.
I have zero regrets about the camp breakou
t, on account of Luna’s tumbling head over heels in love with art, but I still have to deal with this pending request and the dread crashing over me. “Is this going to be something as frustrating as that time I jimmied the lock on your storage unit to track down your good luck faux fur bolero jacket while you were on the road?”
“In my defense, I really thought I’d brought it with me, but it was the leopard-print one instead. I can’t go on tours without my lucky faux fur. And it worked! The Love Birds sang to sold-out clubs. I can’t ruin the luck. Luck is everything,” she says.
“Don’t I know it,” I grumble, since luck is my sister’s motto.
“But this is different. And so fun, I swear. Would I lie to you?”
“No.” That much is the truth. “However, you would definitely embellish. So, bottom line . . .” I cut to the chase—whatever she needs me to do, I’ll have to do it soon. Next week is huge for me. I’m competing for a book cover award at the prestigious Design-Off International, and I have a presentation to prep for the event. Not to mention my to-do list is ten feet deep and peppered with deadlines. “How much do you need for bail, and where do I post it?”