Dating Mr. Right: A Collection: Four Standalone Romantic Comedies

by Lauren Blakely

  “Why not? That’s what love is.”

  “This was just a date.”

  “It seems like it’s one fantastic date that’s lasted a few weeks.”

  I shrug in admission. She’s not wrong. “Maybe it has.”

  “And that brings me to my big question.”

  I furrow my brow. “What’s that?”

  Before she can answer, though, the bell above the door rings and the UPS man strides in, handing her a package.

  “Must be supplies,” I say, offhand.

  Lulu smirks as she looks at the front of the envelope. “Supplies for you, lover boy.”

  My interest is piqued. “And why do you say that?” I ask as the man leaves.

  Lulu holds a package behind her back. “This might as well be tied with a satin bow.”

  “But it’s not tied with a satin bow, is it?”

  She waves it above her head. “It’s from your mystery woman. Kristen.”

  My heart thumps faster. I have no clue what Kristen sent me, but whatever it is, I want it. I reach for the package.

  Lulu holds it behind her back.

  I roll my eyes. “We are not playing these games.”

  “Promise me something.”

  “What on earth do you want me to promise you?”

  She tells me what she wants me to do after I open the package. I laugh in disbelief. “That’s bonkers.”

  She shakes her head. “That’s what you told me to do when I was all up in the air over Leo.”

  I shoot her a quizzical look. “I don’t believe that is exactly what I told you to do.”

  She waves her hand. “Just open it.”

  Like a college prospect waiting for a scholarship notice, I rip open the envelope. And then I grin. Then the grin grows entirely naughty when I read Kristen’s note.

  Lulu shakes a finger at me. “Don’t break your promise.”

  I don’t plan to. I definitely don’t plan to.

  Later that night, Jeanne texts me with an idea. But I’ve beaten her to it.

  Cameron: I’m on it already.

  20

  Kristen

  Piper taps her chin, considering the lavender dress at the bridal shop. “So much lavender. I wish the bride chose yellow. I have twenty lavender dresses.”

  I arch a brow. “Twenty? That seems an exaggeration.”

  “Come to Manhattan. Check out my closet. I solemnly swear I have twenty.”

  As Piper holds up the dress to her mirrored reflection, I sink onto the plush pink chair. “I’ll stow away in your bag. Go back with you.”

  She spins around, looking at me with sharp eyes. “You could.”

  I scoff. “Hide out in your bag?”

  “No, goofball. Come back to New York with me.”

  “You’re right. I don’t need a job. I’ll leave my condo. And my family.”

  “For. The. Weekend.”

  “Then what happens after the weekend?”

  She taps her chin. “Gee, I don’t know. Fly up another weekend if it works out.”

  “Just jet back and forth from Miami to New York?”

  She nods exaggeratedly. “Yeah. It’s called a long-distance relationship. You do know it’s been done before? You didn’t invent this scenario of falling for a guy who lives a thousand miles away.”

  “Thanks for clarifying. I thought I had.”

  “It’s the modern age. People meet online. They date long-distance. They make it work.”

  “That’s a lot to make work.”

  “And how many evenings have you been talking or texting him on the phone all night long?”

  I cast my gaze down, grumbling, “The last several.”

  “And I bet some of those texts weren’t entirely safe for work.”

  “I did not sext him. I didn’t send any nudes.”

  She arches a brow.

  I huff. “I sent him a shot of my legs. But it was a tasteful shot.”

  “I’ve no doubt he wants a taste of you.”

  I laugh, but my stomach is swooping, because I’d like that too. “Maybe,” I say noncommittally.

  She laughs, sets the dress on a hook, and strides over to me. She lifts my chin. “You could get on a plane to New York and surprise him, and I bet he’d be ecstatic.”

  “That seems a little presumptuous.”

  “Then ask him if you should . . . presume.”

  But can I ask him that? Are we at that point? I marinate on Piper’s advice as I return home, then I reread the last few nights of texts.

  I stare at the photo from our date.

  I close my eyes and I recall how it felt.

  I open my eyes and grab my phone.

  Kristen: This might be crazy, but is there any chance you might want company this weekend? Or want to be my company this weekend?

  He doesn’t reply.

  And I do my best to pretend that doesn’t equal one very sad Kristen.

  21

  Cameron

  The car rumbles through the streets, and in the back seat, I reread my most recent chat with Jeanne.

  Jeanne: I’m keeping her busy till you arrive.

  Cameron: You’re a good woman.

  Jeanne: Also, I beat you with a full house.

  Cameron: It’s about time.

  Jeanne: Hey, be nice to the little old lady.

  Cameron: As if that description fits you at all.

  Ten minutes later, my Uber arrives at my destination. I thank the driver and bound up the steps, then knock on the door.

  For a second, maybe more, I wonder if this is crazy. If I’ve gone insane, presumptuous, and all kinds of soft inside for trying to pull off this surprise.

  Maybe I have.

  Maybe I’m jumping off the nutty end of the diving board.

  Maybe that’s okay.

  Hope rises in me. A big balloon of it. Nerves expand too, relentlessly.

  But what’s life without a big chance now and then? After all, she’s worth the risk.

  Kristen opens the door. Her chestnut hair is piled high in a messy bun, her glasses are sliding down her nose, and her cute pink skirt makes me think very bad things.

  Her expression, though, is priceless.

  It’s hope meets wild hope.

  It’s Is this really happening?

  It matches mine.

  She parts her lips to speak, but I go first.

  I smack my forehead. “My bad. You texted me and asked if I wanted company this weekend. Figured I’d tell you in person that the answer is yes.”

  She grabs my shirt collar and yanks me inside, crushing my lips with hers in a hot, searing kiss. The door isn’t even closed, and I don’t care. She’s on fire, devouring me, and I want to be burned. My head is a haze, and my body is rocketing to five-alarm levels.

  Then she lets go.

  “Whoa. Why’d you stop kissing me? You should do more of that. Never stop kissing me. Also, do it all night long.”

  She laughs and kicks the door closed. “All night long can be arranged. Also, this is perfect timing. My grams just left about ten seconds ago.”

  “Good. I told her to keep you occupied till I arrived.”

  “Wait. Did she engineer this too?”

  I laugh as I slide my hands around her waist. “No, but she did tell me she thought I ought to get my butt down here. And I told her I was already on it.”

  She ropes her arms around my neck. “Good. Because I like your butt. Also, you had me worried.”

  I tug her closer. “Woman, when you send me a deck of cards with a note that says Want to play strip poker sometime? I am on it. I booked the next flight out of town to see you. Yes, maybe Lulu made me promise that I would get on a plane to see you, but it was all I could think about anyway.”

  She brushes a kiss to my lips. “Maybe let’s stop talking and thinking and texting, and start doing.”

  That I can do.

  I thread a hand in her hair and seal my mouth to hers. It’s one of those slow burn kisses,
the kind that takes its time, heats you up, and warms you inside and out.

  But it’s only slow burn for so long.

  Because weeks of longing? Late-night phone calls? Flirty, dirty texts? And the kisses we shared on that first date?

  The time for slow burn is over after one delicious minute of soft, gentle, open-mouthed kisses.

  My circuits go haywire, and my desire rockets to sky high.

  I grab her ass, lift her up, help her hook her legs around my hips, and then I carry her to the couch.

  “Kiss you everywhere?” I ask, arching a brow, as I tug off my shirt. “I believe that was one of your requests?”

  Her eyes blaze, and she’s stripping at the speed of light too. There goes the shirt, the bra, and hallelujah. My brain is officially fried because . . . breasts.

  “Yes, but right now, I kind of need something else.”

  “And what would that be?”

  She sits up, reaches for my jeans, and makes her intentions clear. “You naked, fucking me.”

  What do you know? Her intentions match mine. “I aim to deliver on all your needs.”

  A few more seconds, and that pretty pink skirt pools on the floor, and my boxer briefs join it.

  She reaches for my shoulders, bringing me close, whispering, “Hi.”

  “Hi,” I say, as I roll on a condom.

  “Also, please get inside me right now.”

  I laugh. “You are so damn direct and it's a hell of a turn on.”

  Her eyebrows wiggle as her hand darts down, clasping my erection. “I can tell. You are definitely turned on.”

  I groan from the red-hot pleasure, the wild thrill of her hands on me. Then, I groan from the sheer perfection of sliding inside her. This woman I adore. The woman I crave. And the woman I want badly.

  She lets out the sexiest sigh in the entire galaxy as I fill her, and then she arches up into me, gripping, moving, owning her pleasure.

  She’s so alluring, so unabashed as she seeks the right angle, the right friction, then as she asks me to go a little faster, a little harder.

  “You’re going to kill me,” I murmur.

  “Don’t die till we both come,” she says, then she shudders, and lets loose a fantastic oh god.

  My own lust shoots higher, but I stave off my finish, needing to get her there first. Needing to make sure she’s all good.

  And judging from her trembles and moans, from the flush in her cheeks, the part of her lips, she is way more than good.

  So am I, in fact.

  I’m great as her body quakes, tightening around me, then she cries out.

  And that’s my cue to follow her there.

  We lay sated and spent, but not for long. There is kissing, and cuddling, and showering.

  And then there is even more kissing.

  Everywhere.

  I give her what she wants, and she gives in to the sensations, wrapping her legs around me, moaning, groaning, and calling my name as I bring her there again with my mouth.

  That’s what we do all weekend.

  And we make plans to do it again the next one.

  I’m not going to let a little thing like distance stand in the way any longer. Life is complicated; love is even more so.

  But there is nearly always a solution.

  This is ours—we’re making it work.

  Epilogue

  Cameron

  A few months later

  My phone flashes with a text. The words “hot tip” scream at me.

  Jeanne: Word on the street is there’s a seized red Ferrari coming up for auction this weekend. Maybe if you’re nice to Joe, he’ll hold it for you.

  Cameron: Maybe if you’re nice to Joe, he’ll hold it for me.

  Jeanne: I’m always good to Joe.

  I roll my eyes and show the phone to Kristen, who’s curled up with me on her couch on a lazy Sunday morning.

  “Once a dirty bird, always a dirty bird,” she says, then tugs me in for another kiss.

  I’m all too happy to oblige. But there are things to discuss, so I pull back, running my finger down her nose.

  “So . . . should I get the car?”

  She lifts a brow. “What would you do with a car in Manhattan?”

  It’s an excellent question.

  I tap my chin as if deep in thought. “True. When you come see me in New York, we spend most of our time in bed anyway.”

  She swats me. “Not true. We went to museums, and we walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, and we went to the planetarium, and we took pictures in front of Lincoln Center’s fountain. But we were never in a car, Cameron.”

  I run my fingers through her hair. “We were never in a car in Manhattan . . .” I trail off, waiting for her to get my meaning.

  “Right. And . . .?”

  “But we do have to use a car . . . here.”

  She sits up straighter. “What are you saying? That you want a Ferrari to drive around in when you come visit me every other weekend?”

  I shrug, grinning.

  “Fine. But that seems like quite an indulgence.”

  I crack up. “I like indulgences. You’re an indulgence.” I press a kiss to her forehead then cup her cheek, meeting her gaze. “But what if it wasn’t an indulgence? What if, say, I needed a car to get around town more regularly?”

  Her face freezes. She goes stock-still, then she speaks in a whisper. “What are you saying?”

  I can’t resist toying with her logical head. “Work the problem, Kristen. What’s the solution to the long-distance problem of you and me that would merit a car?”

  She licks her lips. “Are you saying . . .?”

  I shake my head. “I’m not saying. I’m asking. Or rather, I’d like you to ask me.”

  I smile, waiting.

  She takes a deep breath, trembling. “Do you want to move in with me?”

  “Why, I thought you’d never ask.”

  “But what about your job?”

  “I’ll run it from here. I’ll make it work. I’ll go back to New York from time to time. But I can’t take being away from you a minute longer.”

  “Have I ever told you I love you more than the Milky Way?”

  Her smile is wider than the galaxy.

  Kristen

  I’m cheering Cameron on at the auction. So is Grams. She’s by Joe’s side, since she’s been helping him run it from time to time over the last few months.

  “They’re a perfect couple,” I say to my mom, who wanted to come along today.

  My mom hums, nodding like she has a secret up her sleeve. “They truly are. It’s like they were meant to be together.”

  “What’s that smile all about?”

  She tilts her head and grins wider. “Just that I had a feeling all along about them.”

  “Right, that’s what you said.”

  She clasps her hand to her chest. “Oh, allow me to clarify. It was more than a feeling.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I might have a little cupid in me too.” She blows on her red fingernails.

  “Is that so?”

  She shimmies her shoulders. “I met him at the hairdresser’s and had a hunch he was right for her. So I started sending her to the auctions.”

  I squeeze her arm. “You little matchmaker, you.”

  She winks. “And you know what that means, my little genius?”

  “No, what does it mean?”

  “Put two and two together.”

  “Four?” I ask playfully.

  She shakes her head. “It means I’m essentially responsible for you and Cameron getting together too. If I hadn’t sent Grams here, she’d never have met him. And now look at the two of you.”

  I look at my guy as he bids and wins a hot red sports car. Then I turn to my mom. “I do owe you a thank-you. You knew exactly what I needed to be happy.”

  She shakes her head. “No, I simply hoped you’d find someone you loved. Someone you connected with. You made all that happiness
happen on your own.”

  That afternoon, Cameron drives off the lot in his new sports car, looking all kinds of sexy behind the wheel, with me in the passenger seat.

  He drapes an arm over my shoulder. “What do you say we go drive around my new city and buy towels or shaving cream or whatever it is that I’ll need to live here?”

  “Nothing says sexy like driving your hot new Ferrari to Bed Bath & Beyond.”

  We drive off into the sunset.

  Two wild cards that turned into a perfect match.

  If you enjoyed this novella and want to read Lulu’s love story, please check out Birthday Suit. Piper’s love story will be told in Never Have I Ever, coming soon.

  Once Upon a Red-Hot Kiss

  A Heartbreakers novella

  ABOUT

  A man needs to stay far away from falling into bed with his best friend.

  Even if she’s sexy as sin, sweet as candy, and damn near irresistible every single day.

  But not only are Macy and I best friends, we’re also complete opposites. She’s perky, upbeat, outgoing and I’m . . . how shall we say . . . a little bit broody.

  Then, she reveals something to me that just might lead me to revise all my rules on friends in bed…

  1

  Kirby

  Red.

  Everywhere I see red. Hearts, flowers, balloons, candy, cards, ribbons, streamers, and Cupid.

  That dumbass angel is everywhere. On windows. Winking from billboards. Shooting arrows in stores.

  As I head down Eighth Avenue to the rehearsal studio, it’s as if New York City has grown red octopus arms, and every storefront spews pink paper hearts, teddy bears, and every possible valentine decoration, topped off with candy-bearing, soul-sucking sayings like Be Mine, Let’s Kiss, and the worst one of all—Soul Mate—mocking the non–soul mate seekers of the world.