Nobody Does it Better(Lucky in Love)
by Lauren Blakely
Kindle Edition, 226 pages
Published April 8th 2019 by Little Dog Press
ASINB07L8LLQ5D
A red-hot forbidden romance! Indulge in this ultra sexy best friend's brother delight!
Some women are just forbidden.
Like—off the top of my head—MY SISTER’S LIFE-LONG BEST FRIEND.
Sis has made it patently clear that Vanessa is hands-off, as in keep my ladies’ man paws far away from her clever, go-getter best friend who’s ready for the real deal. That should be an easy guideline to follow, except Vanessa is deliciously flirty, easy to talk to, and laughs at my jokes. Translation – my libido has been craving her many, many years. So many that we might have stolen a kiss or two.
Can you say pent-up, crazy, raw desire?
That’s exactly what we’re both feeling when the storm of the century hits and it’s 10 inches of snow with Vanessa and me trapped in a cabin all night long…
The trouble is—Vanessa isn’t interested in my playboy ways, and I have one night to convince her that I’m the real deal.
EXCERPT ONE:
~SHAW~
Some women are just forbidden. Like…oh, just off the top of my head…say, my sister’s lifelong best friend. Forbidden, as in if I touch her, it’s sayonara favorite-body-part.
Do I kid?
No, and I don’t want to test my sister’s resolve, so I stay far, far away from lovely Vanessa. Sweet Vanessa. Vanessa who wants the real deal. Keep your dirty hands off my best friend Vanessa.
Hey, that’s what my sister said.
Look, I’m not scared of my sister.
But I do respect her. I was raised right. I was taught respect, honor, and duty. And above all…family comes first. When Perri told me years ago she’d have my balls in a sling if I put my ladies’-man paws anywhere near her bestie, I listened, because I happen to like the boys a helluva lot.
Honestly, though, I followed her guidelines not just for the sake of my intact nuts. I did it because she asked. If it’s important to Perri that my dirty hands stay far, far away from Vanessa, I can abide by that.
I can resist sexy, alluring, flirty Vanessa.
Witty, clever, oh, look, there’s mistletoe above us Vanessa.
Oh, did I say that?
Well, Vanessa did, and I’ll never forget that Christmas party when we were home from college.
But I swear, it was only a kiss. A sweet, tantalizing, drive-my-body-insane-with-wanting-more kiss. I’ve mostly stayed away, and that’s not been easy, so give a man some points for stellar restraint.
Especially since I’ve had it bad for Vanessa for years.
As in decades.
But sometimes, over the decades, you slip a little bit when you want something. You bend to the left, to the right, and you steal another kiss. Fine, fine. There was one more time—a year ago, when we were at Vanessa’s bowling alley for New Year’s Eve party, lifting glasses and toasting to the new year.
It wasn’t like we got it on right there on the bowling ball return.
(It was beside the dartboard.)
And it was a chaste New Year’s kiss.
Too chaste for me.
When I was home alone in bed, though, nothing was innocent that night. In my mind, it was one hot, sexy, filthy kiss that made us both rip off clothes.
Except, even then, those words—balls in a sling—echoed.
I listened. I’ll keep listening. After all, it’s only lust I feel, right?
I can set that aside, no problem.
Until the weekend before my sister’s wedding…
EXCERPT TWO:
~VANESSA~
I have this fantasy.
The details vary a little. Sometimes I’m in the town diner, other times I’m walking across the square. Most of the time, I’m right here at the one-stop check-in and shoe counter at my bowling alley.
The rest of it goes like this: This guy strides up to me. A rush of tingles spreads down my chest at the sight of his dark hair, his five-o’clock shadow, and his big, burly frame. He drums his fingers on the Formica, lifts a brow, then smiles.
I mean one of those world-class, panty-melting grins that make you swoon.
But the real swoon is what comes next.
He’ll say, “Level with me, Vanessa. I’ve had it bad for you for most of the last two decades, and I’ll wager it’s the same for you. If you feel even one ounce of what I feel, let’s shed this whole ruse and make it official. Go out with me. Go out with me tonight.”
The rest? It’s a montage of oh yeses; hot, wet kisses; and messy lipstick.
That’s the fantasy. My reality on a Wednesday evening in February?
The door opens and a familiar figure strolls in. Even from a distance, he catches my gaze then tips his chin and mouths hey.
My stomach flips, and then it somersaults again when he reaches my post, winks, and asks for a pair of shoes. I know his size, so I hand him the fourteens.
“You know what they say about big shoes?” His deep, raspy voice makes my chest flutter.
I quirk up my lips. “That they’re perfect for clowns?”
And that smile? Oh boy. It spreads into the sexiest grin. “Vanessa Maria Marquez, are you saying I’m a clown?”
I shrug, a little playfully, looking at the shoes in his hands. “If the shoe fits…”
He leans closer. “The other thing they say about big shoes is that it’s hard…”
I wait for him to make a dirty joke, to lob an innuendo. Breath held, I wait for him to say Let’s do this, because hope never dies. And then I wait for the abject guilt of keeping a secret from Perri to subside. Perri, one of my two best friends in the universe, the girl who’s been there for me through every up and down, who attended the theatrical productions I worked on in high school, the friend who rushed to my side in the hospital room when I broke my leg skiing in college, even though she was two hours away, the woman I gave the kick in the pants to last year with her guy when she needed it.
Shaw’s hazel eyes flicker, and I know he’s waiting for me to set up his dirty joke.
My guilt hardens—and my hope deepens, too. The longing for this man beats on.
I return to his “hard” comment. “Hard for what?”
“Hard to find socks.”
I laugh, shake my head, and shoo him off. “Go bowl some strikes, Shaw.”
He gives me a tip of the imaginary hat and heads off to lane twenty, joining a few fellow firemen. I do my damnedest not to stare at his sexy butt, or admire his big frame, or, honestly, even think about him like that.
It’s something I’ve been trying to do for years.
When a group of older ladies—twice my age and totally fabulous—comes in, I shift my focus, setting them up at one of the lanes and serving them wine.
For the next thirty minutes, I don’t even look at lane twenty.
Well, maybe I peek once or twice.
~SHAW~
Some women are just forbidden. Like…oh, just off the top of my head…say, my sister’s lifelong best friend. Forbidden, as in if I touch her, it’s sayonara favorite-body-part.
Do I kid?
No, and I don’t want to test my sister’s resolve, so I stay far, far away from lovely Vanessa. Sweet Vanessa. Vanessa who wants the real deal. Keep your dirty hands off my best friend Vanessa.
Hey, that’s what my sister said.
Look, I’m not scared of my sister.
But I do respect her. I was raised right. I was taught respect, honor, and duty. And above all…family comes first. When Perri told me years ago she’d have my balls in a sling if I put my ladies’-man paws anywhere near her bestie, I listened, because I happen to like the boys a helluva lot.
Honestly, though, I followed her guidelines not just for the sake of my intact nuts. I did it because she asked. If it’s important to Perri that my dirty hands stay far, far away from Vanessa, I can abide by that.
I can resist sexy, alluring, flirty Vanessa.
Witty, clever, oh, look, there’s mistletoe above us Vanessa.
Oh, did I say that?
Well, Vanessa did, and I’ll never forget that Christmas party when we were home from college.
But I swear, it was only a kiss. A sweet, tantalizing, drive-my-body-insane-with-wanting-more kiss. I’ve mostly stayed away, and that’s not been easy, so give a man some points for stellar restraint.
Especially since I’ve had it bad for Vanessa for years.
As in decades.
But sometimes, over the decades, you slip a little bit when you want something. You bend to the left, to the right, and you steal another kiss. Fine, fine. There was one more time—a year ago, when we were at Vanessa’s bowling alley for New Year’s Eve party, lifting glasses and toasting to the new year.
It wasn’t like we got it on right there on the bowling ball return.
(It was beside the dartboard.)
And it was a chaste New Year’s kiss.
Too chaste for me.
When I was home alone in bed, though, nothing was innocent that night. In my mind, it was one hot, sexy, filthy kiss that made us both rip off clothes.
Except, even then, those words—balls in a sling—echoed.
I listened. I’ll keep listening. After all, it’s only lust I feel, right?
I can set that aside, no problem.
Until the weekend before my sister’s wedding…
EXCERPT TWO:
~VANESSA~
I have this fantasy.
The details vary a little. Sometimes I’m in the town diner, other times I’m walking across the square. Most of the time, I’m right here at the one-stop check-in and shoe counter at my bowling alley.
The rest of it goes like this: This guy strides up to me. A rush of tingles spreads down my chest at the sight of his dark hair, his five-o’clock shadow, and his big, burly frame. He drums his fingers on the Formica, lifts a brow, then smiles.
I mean one of those world-class, panty-melting grins that make you swoon.
But the real swoon is what comes next.
He’ll say, “Level with me, Vanessa. I’ve had it bad for you for most of the last two decades, and I’ll wager it’s the same for you. If you feel even one ounce of what I feel, let’s shed this whole ruse and make it official. Go out with me. Go out with me tonight.”
The rest? It’s a montage of oh yeses; hot, wet kisses; and messy lipstick.
That’s the fantasy. My reality on a Wednesday evening in February?
The door opens and a familiar figure strolls in. Even from a distance, he catches my gaze then tips his chin and mouths hey.
My stomach flips, and then it somersaults again when he reaches my post, winks, and asks for a pair of shoes. I know his size, so I hand him the fourteens.
“You know what they say about big shoes?” His deep, raspy voice makes my chest flutter.
I quirk up my lips. “That they’re perfect for clowns?”
And that smile? Oh boy. It spreads into the sexiest grin. “Vanessa Maria Marquez, are you saying I’m a clown?”
I shrug, a little playfully, looking at the shoes in his hands. “If the shoe fits…”
He leans closer. “The other thing they say about big shoes is that it’s hard…”
I wait for him to make a dirty joke, to lob an innuendo. Breath held, I wait for him to say Let’s do this, because hope never dies. And then I wait for the abject guilt of keeping a secret from Perri to subside. Perri, one of my two best friends in the universe, the girl who’s been there for me through every up and down, who attended the theatrical productions I worked on in high school, the friend who rushed to my side in the hospital room when I broke my leg skiing in college, even though she was two hours away, the woman I gave the kick in the pants to last year with her guy when she needed it.
Shaw’s hazel eyes flicker, and I know he’s waiting for me to set up his dirty joke.
My guilt hardens—and my hope deepens, too. The longing for this man beats on.
I return to his “hard” comment. “Hard for what?”
“Hard to find socks.”
I laugh, shake my head, and shoo him off. “Go bowl some strikes, Shaw.”
He gives me a tip of the imaginary hat and heads off to lane twenty, joining a few fellow firemen. I do my damnedest not to stare at his sexy butt, or admire his big frame, or, honestly, even think about him like that.
It’s something I’ve been trying to do for years.
When a group of older ladies—twice my age and totally fabulous—comes in, I shift my focus, setting them up at one of the lanes and serving them wine.
For the next thirty minutes, I don’t even look at lane twenty.
Well, maybe I peek once or twice.
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 sweet, sexy and witty. Her heroines are strong and smart and her heroes have hearts of gold and fantastic funny bones. She lives in California with her family, including her smoking hot and hilarious husband and her two brilliant and kind children. She has plotted entire novels while walking her dogs -- she might have four dogs, or maybe five. If she's lucky, she'll soon have six dogs. With fourteen New York Times bestsellers, her titles have appeared on the New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestseller Lists more than 100 times, and she's sold more than 3 million books. In April she'll release NOBODY DOES IT BETTER, in May THE DATING PROPOSAL, and in June SATISFACTION GUARANTEED. To receive an email when Lauren releases a new book, sign up for her newsletter! laurenblakely.com/newsletter
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