I’ve spent the better part of eight years resisting my best friend’s little sister. What’s one more week? The hardest week ever when it includes a proposition to be her dating coach.
Eight years ago I fell into a secret summer fling with the bright, big-hearted Juliet before our lives went in different directions.
Now, I’m the grumpy to her sunshine on a popular dating podcast we host, and when a wealthy fan gives us a charming coastal cottage as the biggest thank you ever, we head to the town where I grew up to give it a makeover.
And find the house has only one bed.
Located under a mirrored ceiling.
To make matters even harder, the woman I’ve been pining for tells me she wants to try to find the one and would I please be her dating coach for the week?
Like hell I’ll let her date other men. I’ll coach her on three dates with me.
But the second I take her out, I don’t feel like her teacher. I feel like she’s mine, especially when the first night ends with us tangled up together in that bed.
Each night we grow closer, but this dating experiment forces me to face my greatest fear – whether a man like me is worthy of her love.
Even though I’m already head over heels for her.

Fake engagement. Real marriage. Both have an expiration date in this spicy marriage of convenience romantic comedy standalone…

“Marry me.”

They were the last words I expected to say to my fake fiancé, but I’m the kind of guy who doesn’t back down from a challenge.
Pretend I’m engaged to my gorgeous and talented business partner to secure a business deal?
No problem.
Agree to a no-touch rule even though she’s been driving me wild since I met her?
Challenge accepted.
Resist grinning like a damn fool every time that same big-hearted, sunshine-y woman laughs with my little daughter?
Done.
So, yeah, when my fake fiancé’s vindictive business rival threatens to expose our make-believe romance, I can handle that too.
I’ll prove our engagement isn’t fake – by marrying her for real.
A marriage with an expiration date at the end of the year.
But that’s when I run smack dab into the biggest challenge ever – not falling madly in love with my wife.

I’ve got a list of people I absolutely don’t ever want to be stuck with on a boat, or a plane, or a train, and it starts and ends with the broody, grumpy, too-sexy-for-my-own good Axel Huxley.
Also known as this romance novelist’s number one nemesis.
The man is legendary for his mighty pen and his even mightier scowl. I tried to work together with the cocky thriller writer once upon a time, but the two of us are like vodka and good decisions. We don’t play well together.
Only now, our publishers are sending us on a joint trip across Europe to mingle with our most devoted readers on an old-fashioned luxury train. And thanks to a booking snafu, we have to share a sleeper car.
You guessed it--there's only one bed.
I'm not sure I can survive the next seven days and nights with my dangerously sexy enemy and all our fiery tension.
Which explodes one night in a desperately needed hate bang.
But the bigger plot twist is this – the more time we spend together, visiting the most romantic cities in Europe by day and discovering each other at night, the more I’m forced to face our past.
To let go of the hurt.
To see the man he’s become.
And when I do, I wonder if it’s too late to write a new happy ending for us?

Am I fake dating my best friend? Hear me out…

What I envisioned: Throwing myself a breakup party, a glittery fete at which I’d lift a glass and celebrate being free and single again.

What I did: Drink too much champagne and blurt out to my best guy friend that I’d really like to get back on the horse.

But what I truly don’t expect is Carter’s answer – he volunteers as tribute.

With his sinful brown eyes and too-good-to-be-true body it’d be no hardship for me to say yes, though I certainly don’t want him to feel obligated to, um, service me, just because my failed, loveless marriage was a s-e-x desert.

But since the charming and confident pro football star owes five public dates to his dating app sponsor, we make a deal to help each other out.

Pretty soon, our public how to date lessons turn into, ahem, very private ones. And I’m a star student, graduating quickly from flirty banter and lingering looks to toe-curling, sheet-grabbing, mind-blowing hours of physical education.

The problem? Turns out learning to date again feels a lot like the real thing. Can our friendship withstand all these late-night bedroom sessions?

Especially since I’m suddenly longing for my best friend and there’s nothing fake about my feelings…