Ergebnis für "The Fake Date" in Sport

"Ich wollte nur den Kredit begleichen und nun stecke ich in einer Fake-Beziehung, die sich immer mehr zu echten Gefühlen wandelt." Dalton Meyers, der Quarterback der Berkeley Bees, bringt auf dem Spielfeld Höchstleistung, doch sein skandalöses Privatleben stößt dem Club bitter auf. Die Lösung sehen daher alle in einer Fake-Freundin, um seinem Playboy-Image einen neuen Anstrich zu verleihen. Diese perfekte Frau für diese Aufgabe findet er in der unscheinbaren Cafébesitzerin Melissa, welche anfangs wenig begeistert von dem Deal scheint.

My cocky next-door neighbor is the most infuriating person in the world—so why did I just hook up with him? Although we pretty much grew up together, we've never managed to get along. I guess he's good-looking, with his baby-blue eyes, amazing hockey-player physique, and boyish smile . . . if you're into that. Which I'm totally not.

After fifteen years of tending goal for the Boston Rebels, I’m known for two things: the highest save percentage in the league, and never spending more than one night with the same woman. I’m definitely not the guy you should trust with your best friend’s little sister. Especially not when that sister, Jules, is eight years younger and my new roommate. When I witness her on the verge of a panic attack while being intimidated by another man, I don’t think twice about calling her my fiancée and kissing her. Which brings me to the third thing I’m known for: reckless and impulsive decision-making.

I’ve made a lot of dumb mistakes but none dumber than losing her. Senior year. I should be partying and living it up with my friends before graduation, but one more mistake and I’m off the team. Enter Chloe. She comes into my life at a low point, but she becomes the bright spot I reach for every day. She’s the kind of girl who makes a guy want to be a better man. And for a while, I even start to believe I’ve changed enough to deserve her. I’ve got my eye on the future, and I’m letting my past stay where it belongs.

Maddox - The reason I rarely go home is three simple words: I'm a liar. When the pressure to marry my childhood sweetheart became too much, I told her I was gay and then fled to New York like my ass was on fire. Now, five years later and after a drunken encounter, I find myself invited to her wedding. And I have to bring my boyfriend-the boyfriend who doesn't exist because I'm straight. At least, I think I am. Meeting the guy I'm bribing to be my boyfriend for the weekend makes me question everything about myself.