 by Riley Hart.jpg)
Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
When it comes to The Vers, the queer podcast I host with my best friends, I’m The Romantic. The one who’s looking for love in all the wrong places. If there’s a jerk close by, I’ll find him. I’m beginning to think my Mr. Right doesn’t exist.
It’s definitely not Elliott Delgado Weaver, the shameless flirt who keeps asking me out. We’re not supposed to run into each other in Vegas or get drunk together. We definitely aren’t supposed to wake up married…only, we do.
Before we can figure out what to do, Elliott’s family finds out. He doesn’t want to let them down by telling them it was a drunken mistake. My parents had the perfect marriage until my mom passed, and since I’d hate for my father to discover what I did, Elliott and I decide to pretend we’re in love and stay married for six months. Better to amicably divorce later than own up to our screwup, right?
All I’ve ever wanted is my happily ever after, and now I live with a serial hookup artist who never planned on settling down.
But then, why is Elliott so good to me? He takes me on dates, makes me laugh, and touches me like I’m someone to cherish. He’s shown me I’m a sucker for praise, and lucky for me, he loves giving it to me. Our marriage is playing tricks on my heart because suddenly I’m wishing my happy ending can be with the husband who doesn’t think love is for him.
The Romantic is a wake-up-married, opposites-attract romance with tons of praise, an unforgettable massage, found family, and sweet moments on the pier.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PROLOGUE
Parker
All I’ve ever wanted was to find the perfect man.
Not the perfect man in general. My rose-tinted glasses weren’t that pink. Perfection didn’t exist. I did want to find the perfect man for me, but for whatever reason, that motherfucker seemed to be doing everything he could to dodge me, and I ended up with bad date after bad date. Asshole after asshole. I’ve noticed that guys who just wanted my hole or my dick weren’t too discriminatory in that department. The point was, they didn’t want me. Not the real me. Not for longer than a date or a week or a few fucks—which yes, I was excellent at, but that was irrelevant.
What mattered was that I sucked at dating. This was proven again tonight, as I was currently sitting in a quiet bar in West Hollywood for a first date…and I’d been stood up.
Again.
Fuck my life.
To make matters worse, my ex-boyfriend showed up, saw me sitting at the bar, and was now trying to hit on me. The same boyfriend who knew I was looking for something permanent and had dumped me because he wasn’t. He also thought my laugh was annoying. Who the fuck said that to someone? But Jim was known for saying the quiet parts out loud.
“We should get out of here together. I miss you,” Jim said, giving me the smile I used to find sexy but now realized was smarmy and gross. I had horrible first-date vision; hindsight was, in fact, twenty/twenty.
“No. Why the hell would I want to leave with you? And you don’t miss me. You just want to have sex with me. There’s a difference.”
Ugh. And he was really good in bed. Why were all the assholes really good in bed?
“Because I know you’re sitting here waiting for someone who didn’t show up,” Jim replied, making my heart drop. How the fuck did he know? Did I wear a sign on my back that said desperate and unlovable? Or maybe one that said take advantage of me? “Might as well still enjoy the night,” he added.
“Fuck off, and no, I’m not waiting for someone. I just felt like getting a drink.” In a bar. Alone. He cocked a brow, obviously not believing me. “I have a boyfriend. He doesn’t work far from here. I’m waiting for him to get off work.”
I hated lying and liars, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And the last thing I wanted him to know was that I was a sad, lonely man with no life outside of my business and my friends. Which really should be enough. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew I was capable on my own and that I shouldn’t settle for someone who wasn’t worthy of my time. I did know that. Hence the reason I was still single. But I wanted something more. I wanted to find my person, the way my parents had. They’d been each other’s whole world, and then I had been too. I wanted that kind of love. Clearly, the universe didn’t get the memo because it wasn’t happening for me.
“You have a boyfriend, huh?”
“Yes.” Jesus, why was he acting like it was so hard to believe? I was a fucking catch, and while I didn’t want to sound cocky and I wasn’t a conceited guy, I also happened to know I was easy on the eyes. Apparently, my personality just sucked or I had the worst luck ever in the history of the world.
“I can’t wait to meet him.” Jim winked.
Fuck my life. He was going to sit there and wait to meet my fictitious boyfriend. And if I left, he would know I was lying. How ridiculous would I look then? Why was he such a dick? I couldn’t figure out what I’d ever seen in him.
“Whatever you want.” I shrugged and took a drink of my Sprite. I wasn’t drinking because I was supposed to be meeting the man of my dreams and I hadn’t wanted to be inebriated.
“Hey, babe. Sorry I’m late.” I froze at the sound of the voice I didn’t recognize and the hand at my back.
“Oh,” Jim said as I turned to take in what was, quite literally, the most gorgeous man I had ever seen. He slid onto the stool beside me. His hair was a mocha color, just a couple of inches long and slightly messy, like it had a mind of its own and the guy was too hot to care. He had a bit more length on the top than on the sides. His eyes were a similar color, the perfect shade of brown that made them seem comforting.
His face was stubbled, but neatly so. I could tell he kept up on it, probably liking the fact that it was the ideal length to feel incredible against another man’s skin. Mister Sex on Legs had a bow-shaped mouth, perfect for kissing, and mischief danced in his gaze.