That changed with you.

  And I want it all with you.

  There is a world out there and so much to see. I want to see it with you. Always with you.

  So, thank you for being the sexiest ex-fiancé of all. Now, it’s time for you to move into your new role, so let me say this . . .

  Dear Sexy-As-Sin Husband—I’m going to love you for the rest of my life.

  THE END

  EAGER FOR LOGAN’S STORY? It’s complicated indeed and comes in THE WHAT IF GUY, a sexy, swoony romantic comedy! Also, Fitz’s romance is told in my MM romance, a sexy, irresistible, epic romance – A GUY WALKS INTO MY BAR. Sign up for my newsletter to make sure you don’t a single sexy new book!

  THE WHAT IF GUY

  It should be an easy rule to follow – don’t bang your boss…

  But I didn’t know who he was when I met him.

  And the first time I saw him, our connection sounded like the stuff of romantic legends — that whole “their eyes locked across a crowded room” moment that turned into more.

  I didn’t believe it. . . . until it happened to me.

  Fine, the charming, clever, sexy-as-sin guy in the tailored suit was only trying to buy the same Snoopy lunchbox (as a gift!), but still, our eyes totally locked, and my lady parts definitely tingled as we vied for the prize.

  Naturally, I did what any badass business woman would do. Negotiated for the lunchbox, then found my what-if guy online and made plans to see him the next night.

  One night only — that was the deal we made.

  But one fantastic night had us both changing our minds in the morning. And making plans for another.

  Until I walked into the office to learn he just bought my company.

  And here’s the biggest rule of romantic legends — no matter what, don’t bang your boss.

  Especially if you’re already falling for him.

  THE WHAT IF GUY is a sexy standalone you can escape into!

  And don’t forget to grab Fitz’s romance as he heads to England and meets a sexy bartender who rocks his world…

  Every bartender should follow one simple rule—don’t go home with the customers.

  That’s been easy for me to stick to, until the night a cocky, confident, and sinfully charming hockey star walks into my bar. This sexy athlete is too hard to resist, especially when he makes it clear how much he wants the “sarcastic, witty, hot AF” guy behind the bar—also known as me.

  Still, I’m not keen on breaking my own rules since I know where that can lead—no place good.

  But when that man makes his case with one bone-searing kiss on the streets of London, I throw resistance out the window.

  What could go wrong with a hot, dirty, no-strings-attached fling before he leaves town in five days?

  Trouble is, soon our nights together lead to days, to long conversations, to getting to know each other, and to something I never expected—falling ridiculously hard for a man who’s getting on a plane to America when I live a world away.

  My life is here. His is there. And no amount of falling or feeling will change that one big problem.

  Warning: contains hot hotel sex, loads of dirty talk, PDA all over London, and two sexy, witty, charming alpha heroes…

  Grab sexy, irresistible, epic romance – A GUY WALKS INTO MY BAR!

  HARD WOOD

  Women often say a good man is hard to find. And a hard man is even better.

  That’s why I’m quite a catch— good, hard, loaded, and wait for it…I’m ready to settle down too. But the woman I want to pitch my tent with lives clear across the country. Neither of us wants to get lost in those woods. All I have to do is resist her for the week she’s in town.

  I try. I swear I try. But yeah, that doesn’t work out.

  And after one fantastic night with my good friend Mia, I’m ready to give her years of nights under the stars. What’s a few thousand miles when love’s involved? But there’s a hitch in my plans — she just hired my adventure tour company. If there’s one thing I’m committed to, it’s running a squeaky clean business. Number one on my list of iron-clad rules?

  Don’t screw your customers.

  But what’s a guy to do when she’s so hard to resist? How hard can it be to keep our hands off each other for a quick group tour down the hills and over the trails? I’m about to find out, and I have a feeling I’m going to need a new badge of honor because things are about to get very hard in the woods.

  PROLOGUE

  By now, most women have met the half dozen or so basic types of men in the world.

  Just to be sure, though, let’s review the lineup.

  First, there’s the too-cool-for-school playboy who solemnly swears he’ll never settle down. Next to him in the modern-day parade of dudes is the Grouchy McGrouch Pants. This surly, bearded guy is a softie beneath the dickhead exterior he shows to the world, along with his beanie cap. By his side is the guarded businessman in his three-piece suit, housing deep, dark secrets that only one woman can unlock. We have other roles in Guy Central Casting: the lumbersexual, the groomed father, the citified pretty boy, the hot nerd, and the bad boy with a heart of gold.

  Trust me when I say the ladies of the world have heard every one of their stories.

  I know that because I’ve fucking heard them. I’ve heard them from the guys, and I’ve heard them from the gals. When you take people out of their comfort zone and into the woods, they tend to tell you everything—every sordid detail. I’m honestly kind of amazed that men and women, women and women, and men and men get together at all. There’s so much baggage going around, it’s like a goddamn virus.

  As for me?

  I’m simple. I travel light. I don’t bring luggage to the table. I hoist my backpack and I’m ready to go.

  I’m a man of many skills. Give me a battery and I’ll start a campfire. Show me an old phone and I’ll make a compass. I’m the guy who knows how to get out of jams. I can fix a tire, repair a sink, gut a fish, pick a lock, and survive a bear attack—I’ve been there, done that, and have the merit badges to prove it.

  Not gonna lie. Women do tend to like a guy who can get shit done without bitching about it. That’s why I’ve had a nice run of luck with the ladies. But I’m not looking just to get lucky anymore.

  I’m ready for a whole lot more.

  I’d like to think that makes me the good guy with all the skills when we’re talking about types. I’m the unicorn, and I’m not just talking about the length of my horn, if you catch my drift.

  I’m the guy who’s fit, successful, baggage-fucking-free, and—wait for it—ready to settle down.

  Just call me a four-leaf clover.

  The trouble is the woman I want is off-limits. She’s my buddy’s sister. But don’t worry. That’s not the issue. Max is a cool cat, and he has no problem with the fact that I have it bad for his little sis.

  The problem is something else entirely, and I have one week to fix it. This is where all my life-hacking skills will have to come into play.

  Let’s do this.

  1

  Human beings tend to overthink all sorts of stuff, but a lot of our quandaries are pretty basic. You’re either going out to dinner at the new Italian joint, or you’re staying home to make a turkey sandwich. You’re doing the laundry so you have a fresh shirt to wear, or you’re sniffing the hamper, hunting for an old-but-good-enough-ie. You either carve out the time to run five miles, or you watch another ten episodes of Breaking Bad.

  For the record, the answers are Italian, wash on hot, and lace up.

  I take the same straightforward approach to the current black-and-white question posed to me by Camilla Montes, the local WRBC Channel 10 morning news anchor.

  “Patrick, how will our viewers know if Fluffy wants to go for a hike?” she asks in that perfectly modulated TV reporter voice that matches her coiffed black hair.

  “If you’re wondering if Tiger, Tom, or Tabby is ready to become an adventure cat, there’s a simple litmus test any pet owner can conduct.” I sit on the couch across from her and run a hand down Zeus’s back. He arches into my palm and rumbles, his purr so loud he could land a career in the cat sound-effects business. Show-off. But in his defense, if I possessed an Al Green-style purr, I’d make sure the ladies heard it all the time, too. “I like to call it the drag or no-drag cat.”

  “Interesting. Tell us more,” she says, her voice dripping with curiosity.

  “Your cat either willingly lets you put a leash around his furry neck, or he turns into putty when you harness him, and you wind up dragging his feline butt across the floor.” I mime tugging a gone-limp cat on a leash.

  “That does make it crystal clear.” Camilla flashes her practiced grin, then points a polished fingernail at me. “But how did you know to try with Zeus? Did you simply want a famous hiking partner, or did he insist on it?”

  “I listened to the cat.” I lean forward, parking one hand on my knee where my cargo shorts end, since the station likes me to dress like an REI model for my segments on Tips and Tricks for Enjoying the Great Outdoors. “His behavior told me he might be willing. For instance, one time, I headed down the hallway to drop the trash in the chute, and Zeus followed me out the door of the apartment, staying by my side the whole time.” I lower my voice, cup the side of my mouth, and speak in a stage whisper. “And I don’t think it was only because there was leftover salmon in the trash.”

  Camilla laughs.

  “Salmon aside, he exhibited this inquisitive behavior often, and that’s when I decided to give a leash and harness a whirl.”

  “And now he’s become The Hiking Tomcat.” She gestures grandly to my long-haired cat, who’s lounging next to me, his white-gloved paws folded in front of his chest and a look of satisfaction on his furry face. I swear this dude is such a ham. He was born for the cameras. “Can you show our viewers how a cat who likes to go for hikes will handle being harnessed?”

  “Why, I thought you’d never ask,” I say as I stand, grab the leash and harness from the couch, and pat my leg.

  Zeus stretches, slinks down the side of the couch, and gazes up at me.

  “Want to go for a hike?”

  His tail swishes back and forth.

  Look, I’m not claiming he understands English. He’s a cat, after all, not some kind of Cesar Milan-trained dog. But Zeus knows the drill, and the leash is dangling in my hand. He stretches his neck out, almost as if he’s inviting me to put the red hiking harness over his head. I slide it on and clip his leash to the end. Zeus struts a few feet.

  Camilla’s smile beams as brightly as the TV lights blasting from above. “There you go.”

  “Would you like to walk him, Camilla?”

  Her glossy red lips part in a wide grin. “I would love to walk this Internet superstar.”

  I place a finger to my lips. “Shh. We don’t want his fame to go to his head.”

  “If he only knew how purr-fectly popular he is.” Camilla takes the leash and walks Zeus around the set. “We brought in something to simulate the conditions on the trails.”

  Camilla escorts my boy to some fake rocks set up for this demo while the on-air screen shows an Internet video I’ve shot of Zeus clambering up a hill on a nearby trail. When they reach the rocks, the shot returns to Camilla, walking alongside in heels as Zeus scurries up the rocks and then down the other side. Note to self—score this cat some commercial work and see if we can retire on Friskies royalties.

  But then, I’ve no interest in slowing down. My life is the textbook definition of so fucking good. My business is thriving, my family is healthy and happy, and my friends are settling down. There’s only one thing I long for more of. Well, not a thing. More like a lovely, captivating, I-just-click-with-her someone.

  But now’s not the time to dwell on a certain woman.

  Camilla returns to her blue chair, and I park myself on the couch again, alongside my loyal companion. I spend the next forty-five seconds reviewing trail safety for those who walk with their cats. After all, hiking with a feline is not for the faint of heart. People with dogs have no idea how easy they have it. Hiking with a feline is a whole other kettle of fish, but well worth it for the photos alone. We’re talking unexpected goldmine. When my sister, Evie, plunked this cat on my doorstep and begged me to give him a home, I had no idea he’d turn out to be, one, totally cool, and two, the best marketing ever for my adventure tour company.

  When the segment ends, Camilla thanks me and cuts to a commercial. “See you again next week, Patrick. I’ve been thinking we could do a piece on first aid in the woods.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And you know what I’ve been dying to have you do a segment on?”

  “Whatever you want, I can do it,” I say, keeping up the easygoing vibe, since that’s what works best for business partners.

  “What if we did a piece on how to glamp?”

  I chuckle lightly, rubbing a palm across my short, neat beard. “I can do that, and I can also give you a simple trick for camping with style right now if you’d like.”

  Her chocolate-brown eyes twinkle with excitement. “Please do.”

  “Do you have your phone with you?”

  “Of course. It’s on silent, but I’m never without my closest companion,” she says, taking it from her skirt pocket, unlocking the screen, and handing it to me.

  I tap a few words into the search bar, and the result I need returns quickly. I hand the phone to Camilla. “This is who you call.”

  Her reaction is priceless—a slow smile spreads as the name and number for the Ritz Carlton appears on her screen.

  “So true. What can I say? I’m not an outdoorsy girl at all. But I love your segments. So does my new intern, Taylor,” she says, lowering her voice and looking toward a bubbly blonde who’s waiting to escort me from the set. Funny, since my job requires me to find my way out of pretty much anywhere on God’s great, green earth. Not to mention, I’ve been the guest commentator for the station’s Friday morning outdoors segment for a few months now and I know the way to the door.

  Then, because I like the furry dude and don’t want to torture him—and taking a cat for a walk on the sidewalks of Manhattan is a unique and terrible form of torture—I drop Zeus into my backpack, slide the straps on, and leave the studio with the perky cheerleader girl by my side and the cat’s silvery head poking out the top of the pack.

  “I made s’mores the other day,” Taylor offers with a big smile, her bright blue eyes meeting mine. “They were so good.”

  Her so has eight syllables and all of them drip with innuendo.

  “That’s great,” I say, since I’m not interested in entertaining any syllables or innuendo with someone barely past puberty.

  “Do you like s’mores, Patrick?”

  “Who doesn’t like s’mores?”

  “I was wondering, though, if you might have any tips for me on how to make them. Like, how do I get the chocolate and marshmallow to come together perfectly?” She stops at the door, leans her hip against it suggestively, and twirls a strand of her hair.

  And I do believe s’mores porn is officially a thing.

  Even though I pride myself on making the world’s greatest version of the campfire treat, I keep my answer simple, but clear. “It’s all in how long you let the ingredients age,” I say, since Taylor is twenty, twenty-one at best. “See you next week.”

  I say goodbye and leave, catching a train downtown then walking through the streets of lower Manhattan.

  Do I get stares because of the cat on my back?

  Hell, yeah.

  Do I enjoy it?

  Absolutely.

  I smile and nod, giving a few salutes and a couple of how are yous and even a meow as a little kid walks by with her mom and whispers while pointing at my shoulder. As if I don’t know there’s a badass pussycat purring in my ear.

  As I turn onto the block with my building, he’s not the only one purring.

  Because right there in front of the lobby, wearing reflective sunglasses and jeans that hug her curves deliciously, is a certain woman I’m very happy to see.

  Mia Summers. Tiny but mighty. A powerful sprite with wavy hair, hazel eyes, a soft heart, and a quick wit I just dig.

  I met her several months ago when she was visiting her brother, Max, and it’s safe to say she’s claimed center stage in my mind ever since.

  When I see Mia, when I talk to Mia, when I spend time with Mia, it confirms my belief that some things are simple.

  Like whether a cat drags his whole body on the floor or he gamely trots alongside you.

  It’s a yes or no.

  A black or white.

  You’re either attracted to your good friend’s sister or you’re not.

  For the record, the answer is I am, so fucking much.

  2

  I haven’t seen Mia in almost a month, since the last time she was in town staying with Max. I didn’t realize she’d be back a full week before her other brother Chase’s wedding, and am I ever glad to see her again.

  She makes all parts of me quite happy indeed.

  By happy, I mean hard as a rock.

  Okay, fine. It’s not like I’m operating at full power this second. I’m thirty-three, not fifteen. I have plenty of self-control in the “when and where to pitch a tent” arena. All I’m saying is this woman gets me going, and I feel that zip down my body when I see her.

  She’s on the phone, her eyebrows pinched, her expression harried. She drags her hand through her caramel-blond hair. As I walk closer, I hear her say, “I understand. Yes, I understand. Things happen.”

  And that’s the sound of someone being disappointed.