Doctor Good In Bed

  Lauren Blakely

  Top Notch Boyfriend Books

  Contents

  Also by Lauren Blakely

  About this book

  Doctor Good In Bed

  Also by Lauren Blakely

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  Copyright © 2021 by Lauren Blakely

  Cover Design by Helen Williams.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This contemporary romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This book is licensed for your personal use only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you enjoy sexy romance novels with alpha males. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Also by Lauren Blakely

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  This short story is dedicated to Gaven Simon (standard pronunciation of Gavin), host and creator of the podcast G&G. Thank you, Gaven, for the inspiration

  About this book

  Look, I’m good in bed, but bad at dating.

  It’s a bit of a problem, but not a hard one to solve.

  There should only be one hard thing when it comes to dating.

  Well, two.

  So I hopped on a dating app and let my fingers do the talking. Who could say no to this profile?

  Smart, fit, hot nerd veterinarian who’s bad at dating seeks fantastic man. Must like dogs, the outdoors, talking, cooking, kissing.

  But here’s what got me a ton of swipes. PS. I like oatmeal raisin cookies.

  This is the story of how that tiny truth changed my dating life.

  Don’t want to miss a single delicious MM romance? Be sure to sign up for my MM mailing list!

  Doctor Good In Bed

  All this talk of dating apps tonight has got me thinking.

  That it’s time for doing.

  Yup. Time to get on the apps again. I’m not meeting anyone in the waiting room at my veterinarian practice.

  Or the exam room for that matter.

  Wait. Scratch that. I’m meeting a lot of people, but generally speaking here in Tahoe, they’re little old ladies with Maltese Poodles, middle-aged ladies with six-toed cats, married couples with kids and huskies, and the occasional smoking-hot snowboard instructor who doesn’t have his own pet but brings in his mom’s Papillon.

  Plenty of the latter are attractive. But I’m not interested in any of them, since making a move on a client while a thermometer is up their dog’s butt is not cool. Especially in a tiny, mountain town where I run a mobile vet business that relies on word of mouth.

  And no one gives good reviews to the sleazy vet.

  Ergo, I’m the non-sleazy vet who’s been dateless for too long.

  I’ve tried.

  I’ve absolutely tried.

  I’ve written dating profiles. But I haven’t met a single guy who I wanted to have a second date with.

  Maybe that can change with a little help.

  After an epic Friendsgiving here at my cousin’s Airbnb, I have a feeling there’s a secret weapon right here in this house.

  Once all the guests retreat to their rooms, I leave mine and return to the living room, phone in hand.

  There’s the secret weapon.

  TJ Hardman.

  Romance writer extraordinaire, and one of the guests from the dinner.

  TJ is still parked in front of the fire, his silver machine on his lap. But he’s not typing. He’s staring at the ceiling.

  “Working hard?” I ask.

  “Or hardly working,” he quips.

  “I hate to interrupt, but . . .” I begin, since I need his help.

  “No problem. I got nothing tonight.” He closes the laptop, then looks me up and down. “What’s on your mind?”

  I flop down on a chair across from him. I have no game, so I just blurt out, “I suck at dating.”

  He holds his arms out wide. “Welcome to the club.”

  I shoot TJ a dubious look. The man is tall, buff, and laid-back. He’s got that ease that big, muscly guys have. “Something tells me you don’t suck at dating.”

  TJ laughs. “Trust me, Tobey. I am incredibly single.”

  “Me too. And I don’t really get it,” I say, going for bluntness since, well, that’s pretty much my MO. “I don’t get a lot of bites on my profiles. I mean, I’m not ugly, am I? I know I’m not some Hollywood stud, but . . .”

  His dark eyes study me. “You’re a good-looking guy, Tobey. And I say that empirically. Plus, you’re in good shape.”

  I beam a little inside. Can’t help it. Compliments feel good. “Thanks. I’m on a first-name basis with all the equipment at the gym. And I have a good job. College-educated, plus vet school, and I graduated early, so I’m young. A young vet. Some might even call me a doctor,” I say drily.

  “Many will call you a doctor since . . . you are a doctor.”

  “Exactly. Doctor Dog. That’s my dating profile handle. Plus, as evidenced by my
last remark, I think I’m funny enough,” I offer, with a hopeful shrug.

  TJ sighs deeply, takes a beat, then says, “I’d classify you as reasonably funny.”

  “I will take that. I will take that and put it on a plaque.”

  “Or keep it in your pocket. Whatever works.”

  I mime putting the compliment in my jeans pocket. Then I lean a little closer, drop my voice, and gesture to my goods. “And I’m decent in bed.”

  TJ laughs lightly. “Is that so? You sure about that?”

  I nod a few times. “No one’s ever left my bed unsatisfied. If you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I’m clear on that. Lots of finishing.”

  “I consider finishing a prerequisite of sex,” I say.

  “You’re doing the Lord’s work, Tobey.” TJ sets down his computer on the coffee table, the fire roaring beside him. “You’re on point between the sheets and you’ve got that shiny degree. You’re basically Doctor Good in Bed. So what’s the issue then? Got any idea?”

  I’ve studied the problem. Analyzed it. Applied my problem-solving skills. “I’ve concluded there must be an issue with my dating profile. That has to be it.”

  TJ wiggles his fingers, beckoning for my phone. “Show it to me. I’m guessing you want the king of scorching-hot sex scenes to write your profile, right?”

  “Yes. But I don’t just want to get laid though. I’d like to have a boyfriend. A boyfriend who also likes to get laid. A lot. But who likes to do other things too, like go snowboarding. Do some volunteer work, taking care of Mother Nature. Go on dog walks. Have more sex. Try new recipes from The New York Times recommended recipes section. Then maybe some blow jobs. Watch a killer documentary on how society is changing for the better for queer people. Mix in a hand job. Go to the gym. Have sex.”

  TJ taps his temple. “You want somebody who’ll kind of be everything and who likes to bang. Got it.”

  I hand him my phone, already open to the dating app. “So, what’s the issue?”

  TJ peers at the profile, then squints, tilts his head. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously what?”

  “It’s like a fucking thesis in here.”

  But isn’t that the point? I gesture to the phone in his hand. “I just thought someone would want to get to know me. Know what he’s getting into.”

  TJ clears his throat.

  Uh-oh.

  “Allow me,” he says.

  I groan. “This is going to be bad.”

  “You can’t fix a problem unless you can diagnose it, Doctor Dog.” He sits up straighter and reads from my screen. “I’m a vet, specializing in companion animals like cats and dogs. I like to listen to murder podcasts, nature podcasts, sports podcasts, adventure stories involving daring rescues anywhere on Earth often executed by Navy SEALs, gay memoirs, and badass documentaries. In my free time I like to play soccer, make twenty-five-minute meals, because who has time for more, and have lots of sex. I believe in taking care of the Earth, planting trees, making homes for animals, and sex. I believe in a lot of sex.” TJ stares at me. “Do you not see the problem?”

  I wince, as I exhale. “I think I do. I sound like a dirty pervert. It’s too sex-centric, right? I need to cut the sex mentions.”

  Cracking up, TJ drops his head in his hand, then looks up. “No. That’s not the issue.”

  “Then what’s the issue?”

  “I would never click on your profile,” he says matter-of-factly.

  I roll my eyes. “Well, you’re like six three and I’m five ten.”

  He blinks. “That’s not the issue.”

  “Then what is it? Don’t guys want to know what they’re getting into?”

  TJ shakes his head. “No. No. And more no. Tobey, you need a little mystery. This is like your LinkedIn bio, plus your interest in getting your dick wet. Tell me something that’s not on here.”

  Hmmm. That’s easy since I have lots of interests. Ah, got one. “I play pickleball.”

  TJ points at me, smiling. “Nice. That’s a start. Pickleball’s interesting. It’s quirky. We could potentially make a pun off it.” The writer stares at the fire, then snaps his gaze back to me. “Do you like pickles? How about a round of pickleball?” He shakes his head, answering himself. “No. It would work better if it were an eggplant you liked to play. Maybe a cucumber.”

  “I could learn how to play cucumber ball,” I offer, since I’m easygoing like that.

  “Let’s table the pickleball pun.” TJ cracks his knuckles. “Tell me something else.”

  “I can fix a flat tire on any vehicle. Also, I can make balloon animals.”

  TJ rubs his palms together. “We’re getting closer. One more thing.”

  I lean back in the couch, digging deep. I shrug and serve up the last data point I’ve got. “Okay, fine. I like oatmeal raisin cookies.”

  TJ’s eyes pop. “Are you serious? You like oatmeal raisin cookies?”

  “A good oatmeal raisin cookie is like heaven in your mouth.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s like sand and disappointment,” he counters.

  I shoot him a you’ve got to be kidding me look. “I don’t even know how you could say that. They are the most underrated, underappreciated baked good of all time.”

  “No, they’re a vehicle for shriveled-up grapes. They shouldn’t even exist.”

  I slap a hand on the arm of the chair. “You’re just wrong.”

  TJ sits back, relaxing, looking pleased with himself. “No. I’m right. That’s your motherfucking dating profile, Tobey.”

  My brow knits. “What are you talking about?”

  TJ spreads a hand across the air like he’s lighting up a marquee. “I like oatmeal raisin cookies.”

  Is he even making sense? “How is that a dating profile?”

  TJ counts off on his fingers. “One. It sparks debate. Two. Everyone has an opinion on it. Three. It leaves a little mystery. Good-looking, intelligent, well-rounded guy like you, intriguing profile like that? I’m telling you, it’s motherfucking gold.”

  But is it? “Are you sure?”

  “I am. And you need a new handle. Doctor Dog isn’t going to cut it.” TJ makes a face.

  “I like dogs. People like dogs!” I protest.

  “But you know what they like more?” He raises his eyebrows. “Sex. Something you told me already you’re very good at and you want the man in your life to enjoy it too.”

  He has a point. I do want to meet someone who wants to be flirty and get dirty with me.

  So when TJ tells me my new handle, I smile.

  What have I got to lose?

  A few days later, I’m in the kitchen whipping up a garbanzo bean dish, listening to the insane details of the Templeton murder case when my phone lights up.

  A burst of excitement pings through me. “Again? How many times am I going to get swiped?” I ask myself.

  But I’m not upset. I’m loving every second of this. It’s like an embarrassment of riches.

  TJ was dead on. That man has some kind of golden touch.

  Problem is, I haven’t met anyone who can talk beyond raisins.

  But I’m game to find that special someone. I click open my notifications.

  And whoa.

  Hello, handsome.

  Check out those hazel eyes that see into my soul.

  And yes, please, to that just-the-right-amount-of-stubble.

  How about that carved jaw?

  And I will take a side order of that broad chest, thank you very much.

  But if that’s not a stock photo I will eat my shoes. In short, this guy is better than an oatmeal raisin cookie.