The Dating Experiment

As the owner of Pick-A-D*ck, New Orleans' premier hook-up website, my job is simple. Connect two people for a no-strings, no-expectations hook-up. The plus for my clients is that I'm the one who gets to sift through the d*ck pics - except this time, they're required. My problem? My brother, co-owner of Pick-A-D*ck's sister dating site, doesn't believe it's possible to hook up with someone three times and not fall in love. I disagree. I know it's possible. And my disagreement is exactly how I end up reconnected with my high school nemesis, Elliott Sloane.

Imagine this. You're ready to leave after a one-night stand, and you're figuring out how to - shock horror - leave your number and ask him to be your fake boyfriend for your sister's wedding this weekend. When he wakes up. Well, that happened to me. And over coffee and omelets, I found myself a date. Which was how I ended up arriving at the wedding with a guy I knew nothing about.

If anyone asks, I knew better than to flash my boobs for Mardi Gras beads. I still don't know why I did it. Maybe it was the dare from my two best friends. Maybe it was the guys on the balcony saying they'd throw Fireball shots with the beads. Or maybe it was the quiet guy in the corner of that same balcony with piercing gray eyes, wavy dark hair, and a smile so tempting I wanted to climb up there and lick it off his face. Maybe it was because I never thought I'd see them again. Not that it matters. Not today. Because the hotel I manage was finally bought.

I have a fantastic family, great best friends, a job I love...and now I’m up for a promotion to police sergeant. I need total focus - not a flirty, dirty, irresistible, tattooed hottie riding into my town on his motorcycle. Can I arrest him for being too good-looking? When he kisses me senseless in the back of a waffle truck, it’s criminal, the things he makes me think about hot syrup and melted butter. One order of hot, fluffy hookup to go, please. But the next time I see him, it’s not for our date with benefits. He’s the guy who just rented the room above my garage.  

"Do Not Respond" emails are meant to be sent to yourself only - never to be reread or responded to. Vent about your mean boss and don't focus on the scruff on his chin. Ignore the butterflies that flutter as he stares back at you and concentrate on his condescending tone. I wish I'd listened. I wish I'd never drank my body weight in vodka and sent him a venting email, telling him exactly what I really thought about his Lycra-wrapped package and the way he makes my body hum.  

It’s true. I’m not what most people would call “pretty” and, well, high school was rough. Fast forward ten years and life is good, until a bunch of jerks think it’s hilarious to put the “butterface” (AKA me) on a wedding Kiss Cam with the hottest guy ever - and that old humiliation hits hard. I recognize him immediately. The hottest cop in Waterbury and totally out of my league. But then he kisses me. And we totally forget the room, the crowd, everything. Then he tells everyone we’ve been dating for months.

Awkward? Maybe. But how else is a good girl going to find out if she likes being naughty? I might be sweet as cherry pie, but I'm also bold and damn curious. And Gabe is charming, trustworthy, aces at seduction (or so I hear) and - bonus! - willing to give me lessons. But to guarantee it won’t ruin our friendship, I have some specific requirements for his instruction. I want these classes to be hypothetical more than hands-on. So what if he’s hella sexy? I can handle that, no problem.  

It all started with a sexy selfie. Texted to the wrong number. Oops. Not my finest moment - but I have nothing to be ashamed of. She thought I was no better, and I quote, than the knuckle-dragging douchebags she was never dating again. It was a stupid dare from a girl I’d met online, but since she’d given me a fake number, I didn’t feel bad that my interests were suddenly focused elsewhere - on the fiery and sharp-tongued Peyton that I found myself sparring with over text. The following day, my case of mistaken identity came back to bite me in the banana.

All Beau Montgomery, one of Charleston's most eligible bachelors, wants to do is build boats. He has no interest in marriage whatsoever...until it means he might not get his inheritance and he can kiss his boat-building dreams good-bye. Gwen has loved Beau Montgomery since she used to run barefoot around the marina as a scrappy preteen tomboy. Knowing she'll never fit into his high-society family, she decided long ago she'd become his indispensable best friend rather than not be in his life at all. When he tells her he needs to marry in order to fulfill his dreams, she panics....

Picture this - I’m ready to win back the love of my life, and I’m going big this time. We’re talking boom box, sing her name in the rain, let the whole damn neighborhood know I'm good and ready this time around. After all, if you're going to grand gesture the ever-loving hell out of a second chance, you need to pull out all the stops. There’s only one little problem. My college girlfriend isn't the one who shows up when I play my "I'll do anything to win you back" tune. The woman who flings open the second-floor window tells me my ex doesn’t live here anymore.

An all-star production of a brand new stand-alone romance from number one New York Times best-selling author Lauren Blakely, performed by a full cast of 12 narrators.

Being labelled a player never stopped me from being successful with women. Until I met Truly Harbury. Truly was the first girl who ever turned me down. And she might just be the first woman with whom I ever fall in love. When an emergency means she needs my help running her family’s charity, I’m happy to introduce her to the glitz and glamour of the London business world - taking her to dinners, coaching her through speeches, zipping up the sexy evening gown I helped her pick out. The more time we spend together, the more I want to convince her I’m not a man to avoid.

I'll say this about Christian - he made one hell of a first impression. When I first saw the strapping man, he was doing handstands naked on a dock along the canal. His crown jewels were far more entertaining than anything else I'd seen on the boat tour, so I did what any curious woman would do - I took his photo.  

Working for my ex-boyfriend? Sure. But falling for him again? That's a deal breaker. Dancing around my office in my bra isn't exactly the way I'd have chosen to run into my ex for the first time in 12 years, but what can I say? Wes Lake has always had a knack for showing up at the most inopportune times. Unfortunately, he also has a knack for leaving. That's why I've made every effort to put him out of my head - and my heart. But this time, he needs my help. 

My love wand is on a strike. As bad as that blows, pun unintended, it’s 10 times worse for me. I’m a male escort, but not just any escort, I’m the escort. The one with a mile-long waiting list and a pristine reputation that’s very well-deserved. Only now, I’m on hiatus. Because after years of pleasing women all over the city, my man missile decides to get finicky. And the only woman he wants? Someone I can never have - my best friend’s younger sister, the nerdy and awkwardly adorable Sienna.