Frisky Business (Chick Flick Club Book 3)
Page 1
FRISKY BUSINESS
CHICK FLICK CLUB #3
LILA MONROE
CONTENTS
Copyright
Also by Lila:
Prologue
Frisky Business
1. Eve
2. Eve
3. Eve
4. Noah
5. Eve
6. Eve
7. Eve
8. Noah
9. Eve
10. Eve
11. Eve
12. Noah
13. Eve
14. Eve
15. Eve
16. Noah
17. Eve
18. Eve
19. Eve
20. Noah
21. Eve
22. Eve
23. Eve
24. Noah
25. Eve
26. Eve
27. Eve
Epilogue
Also by Lila:
About the Author
Copyright 2019 by Lila Monroe
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including emailing, photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ALSO BY LILA:
Billionaire Bachelors Series:
1. Very Irresistible Playboy
2. Hot Daddy
3. Wild Card
4. Man Candy
5. Mr Casanova
6. Best Man
The Chick Flick Club Series:
1. How to Choose a Guy in 10 Days
2. You’ve Got Male
3. Frisky Business
Cupids Series (2019):
Cupids Anonymous
What’s Your Sign?
The Romeo Effect
The Break-Up Artist
The Lucky in Love Series:
1. Get Lucky
2. Bet Me
3. Lovestruck
4. Mr Right Now
5. Perfect Match
6. Christmas with the Billionaire
The Billionaire Bargain series
The Billionaire Game series
Billionaire with a Twist series
Rugged Billionaire
Snowed in with the Billionaire (holiday novella)
***
Want more sexy romantic comedy reads?
Sign up for my mailing list and receive a FREE copy of my novel RUGGED BILLIONAIRE.
CLICK HERE to claim your book.
***
Follow me on BookBub:
https://www.bookbub.com/authors/lila-monroe
Frisky Business
Chick Flick Club: Book 3
Get frisky with the sizzling new standalone romantic comedy from USA Today bestselling author, Lila Monroe!
Noah Hathaway is infuriatingly hot, annoyingly charming… and my new room-mate?! This pet-sitting gig was supposed to be a vacation from drama, but that was before the hunky guy in the pool-house started sticking his nose (and his annoyingly chiseled abs) in my business.
I’m looking for Mr. Right, not Mr. Most Likely to Sneak Out of Bed (And Steal Your Breakfast Pop Tart On the Way Out the Door), so despite the red-hot sparks between us, I’m determined to stay away. But when one little party gets way out of hand, we’re suddenly both on the wrong side of trouble. Unless we can come up with ten thousand dollars in the next three weeks, we’re screwed. And not just when it comes to the adorable pooches.
With the clock ticking, we have no choice but to team up and embark on a madcap scheme to save our asses - with the help of a few furry friends. But with the chemistry between us reading Defcon-69, can I keep my hands (and heart) to myself? Or will this pup-tastic scheme leave us both in the doghouse?
Find out in the latest hot and hilarious rom-com from “the queen of romantic comedy”, Lila Monroe!
The Chick Flick Club Series:
1. How to Choose a Guy in 10 Days
2. You’ve Got Male
3. Frisky Business
1
EVE
“MY NAME IS EVE BRAITHWAITE, and I believe in true love!”
My friend, Gemma, gives a hum. “Maybe dial it back a little. It’s a dating app, not a Romance Anonymous support group.”
“But it asks for your personal statement,” I protest, waving my cellphone screen at her. Gemma takes it and starts typing.
“What are you writing?” I ask, anxious.
“You’ll see.” She waves me away.
My other BFF, Zoey, lounges back on the couch. “Try something like . . . ‘former gymnast-slash-erotic romance author seeks leading man for ‘research’ sessions . . . in bed.”
“What?!” I snort with laughter. “I’m none of those things!”
“Yeah, but they’ll definitely click on you.” Zoey grins. “Guys on there are looking to hook up. You need to play it casual, otherwise nobody will swipe.”
“Well, maybe I don’t want them to swipe.” I fold my arms, defensive. “If they’re looking for meaningless sex, they can keep right on scrolling.”
Zoey laughs. “You’re looking at this all wrong!”
“It’s a numbers game,” Gemma agrees. “Sure, they start out wanting meaningless, no-strings, manwhore sex, but then they show up for drinks and, ta-da! Fall madly in love with you.”
“Sure, because that happens all the time,” Zoey smirks.
“It’s alright for you two,” I say, exhaling a wistful sigh. “You’re both happy and in love.”
This year, both my besties managed to go tumbling head over heels with hot, awesome guys. I’m happy for them, sure . . . but I’d be happier if I had a man of my own to stop me from being fifth wheel every Friday night.
Plus, you know, to give me love, affection, and sizzling hot sex.
I’m not asking for much, right?
“Aww.” Gemma gives me a hug. “I’m sorry. Want us to dial back the heart eyes?”
“No, it’s fine. It gives me something to believe in.” I give them a smile. “Because Lord knows, my dating history isn’t helping me keep the faith.”
She winces. “I guess whatshisname didn’t call?”
“Do you mean the one who took me dumpster diving because he’s morally opposed to food wastage?” I ask. “Or the one who calculated my share of the meal on his calculator app, right down to the three French fries I had off his plate?”
I wish I were kidding.
I’m really not.
Dating these days is an adventure, that’s for sure.
Zoey passes me another of her famous cinnamon buns—perfect for eating my feelings. “You don’t have to force yourself to get out there, you know,” she says gently. “You should take a break. Relax. Wait for Mr. Right to find you.”
“I’ve been waiting!” I exclaim. “But nobody’s called in to my late-night radio show or reached for the same pair of gloves in the department store,” I say, naming some of my favorite romantic comedy plots.
“Or made a bet to transform you into the hottest girl in school,” Gemma adds with a grin.
“Or showed up outside your door on Christmas with a dozen flash cards confessing his true feelings. Which is probably a good thing, since that was super creepy.” Zoey laughs.
“I want to find my soulmate, and if all anyone does these days is stare at their phones, then I can play that game too,” I say, feeling determined. “This will be the year I find love. Or at least, have great sex with someone who cares about me.”
I pause.
“Well, decent sex,” I correct myself again. “With a guy who doesn’t think that coming all over my breasts counts as a grand romantic gesture.”
My friends laugh. “Oh, Tom the Tit man!” Zoey hoots. “Whatever happened to him?”
“I don’t know.” I make a face. “I changed my whole schedule to avoid his route to work.”
“You’ll find someone,” Gemma reassures me, looking up from my cellphone. “You deserve a guy who knows just how amazing you are.”
“And also knows where your clitoris is,” Zoey adds.
“Ah, romance.” I grin. “And to think, when I was a kid, all I wanted was a guy with hair like JC Chasez.”
“From N*SYNC?” Zoey asks. “I always thought you were more of a Justin girl.”
I shake my head. “No, because that would have meant him breaking up with Britney. And I couldn’t stand in the way of true love, not even in my fantasy world.”
“And who would want to come between that matching denim?” Zoey agrees.
I flop back into the couch cushions with a wistful sigh. When I was younger, the world made it seem so easy: like the moment you grew up, great guys would be flocking to you, and life would be a 24/7 montage of fun dates and hot makeouts. They somehow left out the part where I’m twenty-six, perpetually single, and have no career or direction in life.
“OK, I’ve got it!” Gemma cries. “Your irresistible, man-catching profile.”
I grab the phone and read aloud. “Blonde bombshell seeks partner in crime. I love dogs, classic movies, and snuggling together on the couch.”
“But—” I’m about to object to the very loose version of the truth, when their advice comes back to me. Who knows who’ll walk through that door? I can play it cool.
“OK,” I agree, and click to confirm it before I can change my mind. “Fingers crossed!” I say, offering up a prayer to the Gods of Happily Ever After . . . who, to be honest, haven’t exactly been shining their love down on me. I put the phone down and turn to my friends. “So, who wants to pick the movie—”
My phone makes a chiming sound.
“Ooh! You’ve got a match!” Gemma scoops it up. “Let’s see . . .”
Despite my promise to play it cool, my heart leaps. My very first match on the app . . . now that would be a romantic story to tell.
We all crowd around the phone. “Kyle, aged twenty-nine . . . He works in tech and lives in the city,” I read.
“You can’t really see his face.” Gemma peers at the pics. “He’s got a hat in this one, and sunglasses here . . .”
“And a scuba mask,” Zoey continues. “But hey, at least he’s active and adventurous.”
“And look, he has a dog!” I exclaim, scrolling to the last pic. His face is still shadowed by a baseball cap, but he’s hugging a gorgeous golden retriever. It’s a rule of mine that my dates have to love dogs. In fact, I think there’s something suspicious about men who don’t. But considering I volunteer at the animal shelter and work as a dog-walker/pet-sitter/groomer, it’s pretty much a deal-breaker for me.
“That seals it. Clicking yes,” Gemma says, hitting the button. A moment later, a message pops up.
“How about we skip the small talk and move straight to drinks, face-to-face?”
“That came way too fast,” Zoey smirks. “He totally copied and pasted it.”
“Sure, where’s good?” Gemma reads aloud as she types.
“What? Gemma, slow down!” I protest, but there’s no stopping her; she snatches the phone out of my reach and types some more.
“OK, you’re meeting him at nine at Sylvie’s.”
I gasp. “That’s in twenty minutes!”
“Then we better do something with that outfit.” Gemma grins. “Luckily for you, you just happen to be friends with the best stylist in the Bay Area.” She gets up and practically skips to her overstuffed closet.
“Umm, aren’t you forgetting something?” I fold my arms. “Like the fact I’m four inches shorter and, like, twenty pounds heavier than you.”
“Ten,” she corrects me. “And it’s all in the right places.”
“Just ask Tom the Tit Man,” Zoey quips.
I toss a pillow at her. “But it’s Chick Flick Club night!”
“And what better way to celebrate than to go meet your future husband?” Gemma starts tossing outfits down. “Wouldn’t you rather go have a real-life romance than sit around watching one on screen?”
I bite my lip. “Will he be as swoon-worthy as Ryan Gosling?”
“It’s up to you to find out.”
I BARELY HAVE time to throw on a Gemma-approved outfit, refresh my makeup, and jump in an Uber to make it to the bar on time. I wince at the cost of the trip. Considering the sparse state of my bank account, I usually try and get around with buses or the subway, but I guess you can’t put a price on romance.
Or at least, the distant possibility of romance.
I step inside Sylvie’s and take a deep breath—and a look around. It’s a cute neighborhood bar, with dark wood, cozy booths, and a romantic candlelit vibe. There are already a bunch of couples here, flirting over their cocktails, but also some friends just hanging out. The perfect first-date mix.
I slowly approach the bar, looking around for Kyle. There’s a guy on his own a little further down who could maybe be him, so I edge closer. He’s got brown hair, a medium build, kind of nondescript . . .
He should have worn his scuba mask. Maybe then I would recognize him.
The guy checks his phone, then places it back on the bar. It looks like he’s waiting for someone.
Here goes nothing.
“Kyle?” I ask, feeling awkward.
He looks over.
“Eve,” I say, with a little wave.
His expression relaxes into a smile. “Hi, Eve.”
I exhale in relief. “I wasn’t sure it was you,” I explain, taking a seat on the barstool beside him. “Your pictures were all kind of undercover.”
“Well, I am in the CIA,” he says, deadpan, then gives me a wink. “Kidding.”
Did I say this guy was nondescript? Because once he smiles . . . wow.
“You’d have to say that, if you were a spy,” I say, smiling. “Classic double bluff.”
“So now you’ll never know.” Kyle grins. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Yes please,” I smile. “A mojito, please.”
Cute, with a sense of humor, and not obsessed with going Dutch. Score one for dating apps, I think, surreptitiously sneaking another glance as Kyle chats with the bartender. He’s wearing a casual button-down and dark-wash jeans. Comfy.
Classic.
“So, tell me about yourself, Eve.” He turns back to me.
“I thought you said we were skipping the small talk?” I say playfully.
He chuckles. “I did, didn’t I? Well . . . ask me anything.”
“Anything?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Ladies’ choice.”
Hmm . . . I could ask something super personal, but then he might do the same. And I’m going to need a couple more drinks before I spill my deepest secrets to a complete stranger.
“What’s your dog’s name?” I ask instead.
“My dog?” He looks amused. “I give you an all-access pass to my life and you ask me that?”
“Dogs are important!” I protest. “You can tell a lot about someone by whether or not they like dogs.”
“Why?”
“Because!” My drink arrives and I take a sip. “Having a dog means you care about something, that you can take care of it, and show affection. Dog lovers are loyal, and trustworthy, and devoted . . .” I tick them off my fingers.
Kyle still seems amused. “What about snakes?” he asks.
“What?”
“Or pet ferrets, or a teacup pig,” he continues, smirking. “They all require loyalty and affection, don’t they? It’s the same thing.”
“Snakes are not the same.” I give a shudder.
“Sure they are,” Kyle grins. “You have to take care of it, feed it those little mice . . .”
“But it doesn’t love you back!” I exclaim.
“Au contraire. My grade school teacher kept one in a tank in the supply closet,” Kyle grins. “It loved slithering around, was always happy to see him.”
Now he’s just trying to get a rise out of me. “You’re just being difficult,” I say, mock-scolding.
His grin widens. “I’ve been told I do that sometimes.”
“By who, your ex-girlfriends?” I quip, and he laughs.
“Probably why they’re all my exes. What about you?” he asks. “Why are you walking up to strangers in bars?”
“I’m looking for my soulmate.”
I realize too late that this definitely breaks all the “cool and casual” rules, mentioning the S word, but Kyle just looks curious.
“Soulmate, huh. You really believe in that?”
I nod. “Definitely. There’s one person out there who we’re destined to be with.”
“What if he’s in Cambodia?”
I frown. “What?”
“Or Western Australia,” Kyle adds. “Or he lives two blocks over but you never wind up meeting him. Are you really saying that nobody else could make you happy?”