A game of seduction between two best friends goes deliciously wrong in an irresistible Oxford Novel that brims with wit and sexual tension. Library Journal hails Layne’s work as “exemplary contemporary romance.”
Brit Robbins knows that dating in New York City is hard—she just hoped to have it mastered by age thirty. But after yet another promising suitor says they have no sparks, Brit decides it’s time to torch her dating game and try a new plan. And who better to coach Brit through the art of seduction than the guy who first gave her the “let’s be friends” card?
Hunter Cross has always figured there’s nothing his best friend Brit can do to surprise him. But Brit’s request is a surprise he doesn’t see coming—and one he’s definitely not prepared for. Hunter and Brit have always been careful to keep things perfectly platonic, but the fake dates and faux flirting are starting to feel like the real deal. And soon Hunter realizes he has taught Brit too well. Not only has she become an expert at seduction, the man becoming thoroughly seduced is him.
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“I want you to teach me.”
The silence stretched on and on, until finally Brit forced herself to look up at Hunter.
“Teach you what?” His voice was kind but completely confused.
“How to seduce a guy.”
His head snapped back, and he inhaled through his nose. “No way.”
“Why not?” she said, giving an impatient little bounce of irritation on the couch. It was what she’d expected, but it was frustrating all the same. “You’re the perfect person.”
“How you figure?”
Ah. Now, this she was ready for. She and the girls had talked out this part of her argument, and Brit was armed and ready with her answer. Setting her glass aside, she began to count out the reasons on her fingers.
“For starters, you apparently have some sort of innate charisma. You said it yourself—women are physically attracted to you, even when you don’t want them to be. It’s the very opposite of my problem, and I want to figure out what the difference between us is.
“Second,” she continued. “You date. A lot. You’ve got a ton of experience, and you’re a guy’s guy. You know what makes them tick, especially in the dating world.”
He frowned. “I could name a half dozen other guys who also fit into those categories. Ask one of them. Hell, I’ll ask them for you.”
“There’s one more reason,” she pressed on, ignoring his objections. “You’re you. We’re us. I trust you in a way I don’t trust anyone else. Plus, you’re single. I can’t ask Lincoln, or Nick, or Cole. They could give me advice, probably, but they’re all married or involved with some of my closest friends. I can’t practice on them.”
Hunter choked on his drink. “What do you mean, practice?”
“We’re talking the art of seduction here,” she said practically. “I’m not an expert, obviously, but I know it means more than just words. It’s about looks, and touch, and … moves.
“Don’t you dare laugh at me,” she said quickly, lifting a finger in warning when his lips twitched.
“Moves?” he said, trying to hide the impending smile and failing. “Is this high school in the nineties?”
She leaned forward and gave him a not-so-gentle punch on the arm. “Will you help me or not?”
“Not.”
Brit scowled. “You said you’d do anything for me.”
“Yeah, but not teach you how to … mate.”
“Mate? Okay, that’s worse than moves. And it’s not so tawdry as that. I just need some pointers on how to get guys to stop viewing me as a pal. That’s all.”
“Oh, is that all?” He said it sarcastically, dragging a hand over his face. “It’s weird, Brit. You’re my friend. My closest friend.”
“Exactly the problem. Every other guy wants that role too.”
“Do I have competition in the friend department?” He smiled as he said it, but she noticed he was watching her as though he cared about the answer.
“Of course not. You’re still my number one.”
“You’re flattering me now.”
“Is it working?” she asked hopefully.
“Nope."
Lauren Layne is the New York Times bestselling author of over a dozen romantic comedies.
A former e-commerce and web marketing manager from Seattle, Lauren relocated to New York City in 2011 to pursue a full-time writing career.
She lives in midtown Manhattan with her high-school sweetheart, where she writes smart romantic comedies with just enough sexy-times to make your mother blush. In LL's ideal world, every stiletto-wearing, Kate Spade wielding woman would carry a Kindle stocked with Lauren Layne books.
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