TOP NOTCH BOYFRIEND

  LAUREN BLAKELY

  CONTENTS

  Also by Lauren Blakely

  About

  Top-Notch Boyfriend

  Nate’s Prologue

  Hunter’s Prologue

  1. Nate

  2. Hunter

  3. Nate

  4. Nate

  5. Hunter

  6. Nate

  7. Hunter

  8. Nate

  9. Hunter

  10. Nate

  11. Hunter

  12. Nate

  13. Nate

  14. Hunter

  15. Nate

  16. Hunter

  17. Nate

  18. Nate

  19. Hunter

  Also by Lauren Blakely

  Contact

  Copyright © 2022 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

  Big Rock Series

  Big Rock

  Mister O

  Well Hung

  Full Package

  Joy Ride

  Hard Wood

  * * *

  Rules of Love Series

  The Rules of Friends with Benefits (A Prequel Novella)

  The Virgin Rule Book

  The Virgin Game Plan

  The Virgin Replay

  The Virgin Scorecard

  * * *

  Men of Summer Series

  Scoring With Him

  Winning With Him

  All In With Him

  * * *

  The Guys Who Got Away Series

  Dear Sexy Ex-Boyfriend

  The What If Guy

  Thanks for Last Night

  The Dream Guy Next Door

  * * *

  The Gift Series

  The Engagement Gift

  The Virgin Gift

  The Decadent Gift

  * * *

  The Extravagant Series

  One Night Only

  One Exquisite Touch

  My One-Week Husband

  * * *

  MM Standalone Novels

  A Guy Walks Into My Bar

  One Time Only

  The Bromance Zone

  * * *

  The Heartbreakers Series

  Once Upon a Real Good Time

  Once Upon a Sure Thing

  Once Upon a Wild Fling

  * * *

  Boyfriend Material

  Asking For a Friend

  Sex and Other Shiny Objects

  One Night Stand-In

  * * *

  Lucky In Love Series

  Best Laid Plans

  The Feel Good Factor

  Nobody Does It Better

  Unzipped

  * * *

  Always Satisfied Series

  Satisfaction Guaranteed

  Instant Gratification

  Overnight Service

  Never Have I Ever

  PS It’s Always Been You

  Special Delivery

  * * *

  The Sexy Suit Series

  Lucky Suit

  Birthday Suit

  * * *

  From Paris With Love

  Wanderlust

  Part-Time Lover

  * * *

  One Love Series

  The Sexy One

  The Only One

  The Hot One

  The Knocked Up Plan

  Come As You Are

  * * *

  Sports Romance

  Most Valuable Playboy

  Most Likely to Score

  * * *

  Standalones

  Stud Finder

  The V Card

  The Real Deal

  Unbreak My Heart

  The Break-Up Album

  * * *

  The Caught Up in Love Series

  The Pretending Plot (previously called Pretending He’s Mine)

  The Dating Proposal

  The Second Chance Plan (previously called Caught Up In Us)

  The Private Rehearsal (previously called Playing With Her Heart)

  * * *

  Seductive Nights Series

  Night After Night

  After This Night

  One More Night

  A Wildly Seductive Night

  ABOUT

  A red-hot, witty, feel-good, fake boyfriend novella from #1 NYT Bestseller Lauren Blakely! A delicious introduction to a series of standalone romances starring sexy athletes and charming Brits!

  * * *

  After falling too fast too many times, I’ve got a new game plan—play it cool.

  Just like I do every Sunday on the football field.

  I stick to that strategy when I meet a sexy and swoony Brit at a charity event, and I charm the pants off him. (Hey, I’m an equal opportunity guy—he charms mine off too.)

  Turns out we’ve got more in common than chemistry—the English hottie’s been burned by love too and only wants a rebound fling. And, since I need a date for a weekend in Vegas, I make the wild suggestion that we jet off to the city of sin as . . . fake boyfriends. That’s a winning move in my relationship playbook.

  Until I’m right back where I started—with my heart in his hands . . .

  TOP-NOTCH BOYFRIEND

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  NATE’S PROLOGUE

  I like to play the field: the actual field with grass and yard lines and goalposts.

  The dating field? Not so much. Lately, dating feels a lot like getting clobbered by a safety—the wind knocked out of your lungs as your body hits the ground. Or worse—being intercepted right as you’re gunning for the end zone.

  Dating can go wrong in a ton of ways, whether you’ve been friend-zoned, ghosted, or breadcrumbed.

  They all amount to the same issue.

  I want more; he wants less.

  He, as in, all the guys I’ve dated lately.

  So, I’m turning over a new leaf. When I look in the mirror, I’m saying goodbye to Mister Serious.

  And hello to Mister Casual.

  From here on out, I’m going to play it as cool as guys have played it with me.

  My new plan will go swimmingly.

  At least, that was the plan.

  HUNTER’S PROLOGUE

  Consider the common house cat. With a soft coat and a potent purr, the cat is often cute and cuddly on the outside. But on the inside? Few creatures are deadlier than Fluffy.

  Relationships are about the same.

  They’re cats. Predatory and sneaky.

  A relationship will lull you into a false sense of security, then lash its vicious claws down your back and rip out your throat. Then, it will play with you like you’re a toy.

  I’m not dramatic. That’s simply what relationships do.

  Like, oh, say, my last one.

  But that’s okay. I’ve moved on. I’m firmly on the I’ve learned my lesson side of life, and I’m committed to not committing.

  Or rather, I was.

  1

  NATE

  I’m not a pie guy. This is a difficult concept for my friend Jason to grasp.

  As we walk past the ring toss, he scratches his head. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me you don’t actually like apple pie? Like, at all?”

  “You are correct,” I say.

  “Same goes for peach pie?”

  I shudder. “I believe in au naturel peaches.”

  My buddy rolls his eyes, then continues the pie-quisition. “Blueberry pie? I mean, come on. Who dislikes blueberry pie? There is literally nothing wrong with a blueberry pie.”

  Wait till I blow his mind. I point my thumb at myself, then poke my chest. “This guy. Because there’s everything wrong with it.”

  We walk past the Ferris wheel, the Golden Gate Bridge looming behind it in a majestic arc over the sea.

  “What did pie ever do to you, Nate? Did you get into a fight with pie after school one day? Did pie take your boyfriend, cut you off in traffic, or boo you like our rowdy fans do when you don’t make a catch?” Jason asks.

  Granted, he makes a few valid points and yet—cooked fruit. “Cooked fruit makes me want to gag, and I have an excellent gag reflex, thank you very much.”


  Jason snorts, then offers a fist for knocking. “Dude, that’s a requirement.”

  “Don’t I know it. And don’t I excel at it,” I say, then add a wink. I’m classy, I know. “Also, our fans only hate on me when you fail to execute on a pass,” I tell my quarterback since it’s fun to push the blame back on him. “But still. Who puts warm fruit in a dessert? Fruit salad, I get. Fruit in a pie should be outlawed.”

  Jason seems to consider that as we pass the strongman game where a teen girl with green hair grabs a mallet and lifts it high above her head. “So, your issue’s not with pie then. It’s with fruit?”

  “Yes,” I say as we cut a path through the fairgrounds, heading to the most popular row of games at the Alliance’s fundraising carnival—games that the city’s pro-athletes will participate in to help bring awareness to inclusivity in sports. “But the bottom line is I’m also just one of those people who doesn’t like pie.”

  A twinkle lights Jason’s eyes. “Well, that’s going to need to change then. Because I signed you up for the pie toss. We needed a target. You understand.”

  I groan in misery. “You tricked me. C’mon, Nate. Do the dunk tank. The dunk tank attracts the hottest twenty-something dudes in San Francisco. Trust me on this.” I give him a you-know-you-said-that stare. “I was more than happy to help on any other game. But you did not say step right up and let anyone and everyone throw the worst dessert ever at your face.”

  “And you want to deny a bunch of teenagers the pleasure of hurling pies at you? You’re cruel, Nate.”

  “No,” I grumble.

  But still . . .

  A line of hot men snakes around the dunk tank—hot men waiting to send other hot men into the water. Yes, please. “Yes, but just look at all those options for me. Why can’t I do the dunk tank?”

  Jason thumps me on the back of my head. “It’s a carnival for charity. Not for you to pick up dudes.”

  “Every outing is a chance for me to pick up dudes. I can multitask. It’s one of my great skills,” I counter.

  Jason stops along the path, strokes his chin as a pack of teenage girls weaves past us. “Hmm. Since I’m kind of the carnival king, I could maybe arrange a backroom deal. I’ll get you in the dunk tank if you let yourself be pelted with pie after.”

  I’m easy. I hold out my hand. “It’s a deal.”

  Jason claps me on the shoulder. “Great. And I promise I’ll find some super-hot dude and send him your way to pummel you with pies.”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s how I want to meet my next date. Getting slammed in the face with a coconut cream pie.”

  He smirks. “Life is a metaphor, Nate. That might be a perfect one for you.”

  I give him the bird. It’s literally required.

  But I’m happy to be here, helping out and doing my part. Jason has been supporting the carnival for several years now, and when he asked his friends to volunteer, I raised my hand so fast.

  For the kids, of course.

  Since I’m already in board shorts and slides, I stride over to the dunk tank, yank off my San Francisco Hawks T-shirt, and toss it on the bench behind the water.

  “Come and get me,” I say to the crowds in a taunt since trash talk is my native tongue. “Bet you can’t sink this ship.”

  Then I climb up, park my fine ass on the bench above the water, and wait for someone to hit the target.

  2

  HUNTER

  That was an energizing class.

  My brain is literally pinging with new words as Reese and I leave the community center. “Do you get this feeling when we’re done like your brain is actually stretching?”

  “Yes, but then I also feel like all the new words will fall out of it in, oh, say, ten minutes,” she says as we exit the French language classroom in a small warehouse at the edge of the Marina. I sling my arm around her shoulder, my hands free since our class is conversational French, so I don’t even need to bring a tablet.

  “Ten minutes? Good for you. My brain retains new words for a maximum of five minutes, so I’m jealous.”

  “It’ll be tres merveilleux if we can hold on to them till next week,” she says.

  “Two weeks for me, love. Since I’ll be in London next week,” I say as we head across the parking lot to the path that winds along the water. “So I can’t practice French with you.”

  “Poor Hunter has to travel internationally for his big fancy media business.” She pouts, putting on a big frown for effect.

  “Yes, it’s so rough spending time in the homeland courting TV producers and writers,” I deadpan.

  “That’s why you should practice avec moi maintenant.” She points in the distance. A Ferris wheel turns slowly, framing the San Francisco Bay, a roller coaster next to it. “Come to the carnival with me. I’m meeting Grant there in an hour, but we can wander around and show off our skills with darts and balloons and stuff till he gets there. And parlez en francais.”

  “Can we also try to win a stuffed bear?” I ask in mock excitement.

  She smacks my arm. “Ha-ha. You don’t deserve a bear.”

  “Fine by me. I’m more into jocks anyway,” I say.

  Reese tosses her head back and laughs. “Thanks for the info. So does that mean you’ll go with me?”

  “Hmm. I do like darts. And roller coasters. And maybe you. Only a bit, though,” I joke.

  “Appreciate the ringing endorsement.”

  “Of course I’ll go,” I say.

  She pumps a fist. “I didn’t even have to pull my trump card.”

  “Wait. There’s more than practicing French with you?”

  She smiles like she has the most delicious secret. “Ooh la la, there is. The carnival is amazing. I do work for it every year. And there are so many great athletes who show up there.”

  I hum appreciatively, liking the sound of this. “Go on.”

  “Yes, I thought that might interest you,” she says, flicking her blonde hair off her shoulder as we walk along the water on an uncharacteristically warm San Francisco day. “Do you want me just to list all the hotties who will be there?”

  “I do.” I mime taking notes. “Yes. Ideally, include important details like if he has dreamy eyes, a devilish smile, a sharp wit, and a similar disdain for strings.”

  She clasps her hand to her chest. “Perish the thought of strings.”

  I laser her with a stare. “I have damn good reasons for thinking strings are rubbish.”

  “You do,” she concedes. “But I hear you on the basic requirements. What you want is a hot, charming, funny, available athlete who wants a weekend of hot banging before you jet off to London?”

  “Ding-ding-ding! And we have a winner.”

  “I think I just described virtually every athlete in attendance,” she says.

  “Then this fair sounds like a brilliant way to spend my Friday afternoon,” I say, then we head up to the ticket counter, purchase a pack, and go straight for the dart toss.

  But I do a double-take when the dunk tank comes into view.

  Hello, Adonis.

  I whistle under my breath. “Talk about abs.”