I’m fake dating a romance writer.

All he asked in return was that I promise not to fall for him.

Whoops.

Zane Rosey knows just about all there is about romance. Our town isn’t very big, so I’ve seen him in action with women at the bar. He knows when to say the right thing, where to put his hands, when to kiss your neck or make you laugh.

Asking him to fake date me until the guy I’ve crushed on for years finally notices me was a no brainer. I even laughed when he asked me not to fall for him. Yeah, okay, don’t fall for the playboy romance writer. Check.

I blame myself for the rest of our story. I knew what faking a relationship would mean, but I never actually thought about what it would be like when we put the plan in motion.

When he’d have to hold my hand, or place his at the small of my back.

When he’d kiss me, or hold me in his arms dancing.

When we’d end up sharing a room.

It’s all for show. I know that. But somewhere in there I know that the guy he is with me, isn’t the one he puts on display for everyone else. The man he is with me is the one making me question every choice in my life.

My biggest question yet, am I making him question his?

**Available now**

Chapter One

Zane

I love people watching.

I love observing the different ways people dress, walk, talk, interact, you name it. Everyone in this world acts and reacts differently and studying them never disappoints me. In fact, people watching is one of the top three ways I like to kick back and relax between novels.

I write romance.

I’m pretty damn good at it.

Too good if you ask me. It’s like sipping water. Easy. Easy. Easy.

I’m so good at it that applying it to everyday life is a no-brainer. Women love to be loved. No, scratch that, women love to be noticed and appreciated. As a man, it’s not hard to do either of those things. Fuck, guys, come on—say please, say thank you, open her door, buy her some flowers or books or whatever she loves, put the damn cereal bowl in the dishwasher once you’re finished with it. I could go on, but you get my point. Pay attention and the rest of it, the falling in love part, comes easy.

And when you’re me, Zane Rosey, award-winning and bestselling author of more than fifty steamy romance novels, you also know when and how to back off before things get too serious. Some people, like me, aren’t meant for commitment. Just the fun stuff. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Happily ever after isn’t cut out for everyone in real life. Hence, romance novels. You get the heat without all the work or the heartbreak.

“Another round?” the blonde bartender asks me, her smile lingering and her hazel eyes focused on my lips.

I’d wink, but she wouldn’t notice. She’s cute. Petite. And she’s also wearing a giant diamond on her left hand. Her flirting is more than likely solely for the tip.

From one “I use my job to make the most of it” fellow to another, touché.

I nod. “One more.”

I open my laptop, ready to get in a few hundred more words. A thousand if I’m lucky. There is nothing wrong with my current work in progress, but I need something more challenging. I want something more challenging.

Maybe that’s why I’ve been coming to this bar to write.

I’m not an idiot. When I take my computer to the bar with me, yes, I plan on getting some writing done, but mostly I just plot new scenes. I know that about ninety percent of the women who approach me to ask what I’m writing—being the only guy at our town’s most popular bar, The Black Alcove, with a computer makes me stand out—and learn that I write about sex will just end up distracting me. I welcome it. Can I get my words in and still win a date for the evening? Challenge accepted.

“I knew I’d see you here tonight,” Beck, a good friend of mine, pulls out the stool next to me.

I’m not the least bit surprised that he would know where to find me. Attention to detail is something all writers pick up on and seeing as how Beck is one of five of my best friends slash writing and critique partners, it makes sense. Plus, we’ve known each other long enough to pick up each other’s habits. Mine is busying myself with work when I’m avoiding something. I know it, they know it, and here I am.

“Why change a good thing?” I say as the bartender slips me my gin and tonic.

“Sippin’ Pretty, tall, please. Thank you.” Beck says before he faces me.

I close my computer. It’s not polite to work when your friends want to hang out. Beck has no laptop with him; he’s clearly here for something other than work.

“How are you doing?” Beck asks, raising one brow as if to say, “Don’t lie to me.”

“Dandy.” I sip my drink.

I let out a little hiss as it burns down my throat. This one is stronger than the last one.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.” I nod to drive the point home.

“Okay, well, in that case, tonight was fun. If that’s the kind of party Hero and Nora put together just to celebrate their engagement, think of what the wedding will be like.”

He’s goading me. I’m not taking the bait.

I’m happy for Hero, another fellow romance writer. I really am. He’s already asked me to stand by him on the big day, and I will do it with fucking pride. I’ll do anything he asks of me to help his big day go smoothly, but that’s all. Just because I don’t believe in love for myself doesn’t mean I don’t support those who do.

I know, I know, then why do I write romance?

I’ll give you the short answer. Falling in love is something I dreamed of while growing up. I wanted it more than anything. So I wrote a book about a woman whom I thought was perfect for me. She was based on my first high school crush (yes, I’ve been writing that long). My second book was based on a dancer I met over the summer before senior year, and then my third was about the girl I met while touring the college campus here in Wind Valley. From there, it was just a spiral of girls I’d met and imagined what a future would be like with them.

Then I met her. The one I wanted to spend my life with. There would never be another person that perfect for me. And yet she felt that way about another man.

Now, happily ever after in my books are as close as I ever want to get to the real thing.

Beck nods, taking a big gulp of his beer.

“Look, I know you don’t want to talk about—”

“Ha ha ha, oh my gosh, you’re so funny, Jake. I don’t remember you being this funny growing up.”

I’m immediately drawn from Beck’s words to the giggle of a woman behind me.

“You should be this funny at work.”

I turn slowly, looking over my shoulder for the voice. It’s high. Nervous as hell and cringeworthy. I swear if I turn around and she’s touching his forearm, I will die of embarrassment for her.

Fuck.

And I’m dead.

I spot the hand on this guy’s forearm and follow a slender pale arm to find a woman with long, straight brown hair and a pair of doe-y steel-blue eyes focused on the man in front of her. He isn’t shrugging her off, but he’s angled toward another guy at the table. And yet, this woman, with a button nose and high cheekbones, can’t stop smiling at him. She fidgets, and my gaze drops beneath the table where she uncrosses and recrosses her legs. She’s wearing a short, deep blue dress that makes her eyes pop, and although the fabric is sitting just high enough on her thighs to be enticing, it’s not so high that she’s intentionally trying to draw attention.

“Do you know her?” Beck asks.

“Nope.”

I kind of want to, but her innocent vibe screams “looking for commitment.” and even though I’m upfront with all the women I sleep with, I get the feeling this one wouldn’t take kindly to just one night of fun. She’s the kind who would try to change me. They mean well, but I’m not into breaking hearts.

“Do you want another round?” the waitress asks the table that has stolen my attention.

A collective yes is the answer she gets before the woman in blue and another woman slide off their seats. I turn to face the bar again when they walk toward me. I peek over my shoulder only once to check her out.

Fuck me. Those legs are long, lean, and look smooth as velvet.

I clear my throat when she stops next to me, her arm bumping mine.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, looking right at me with a kind smile. Our eyes lock for only a split moment before I find my words.

“It’s fine.”

Beck chuckles next to me.

“I’m going to go use the bathroom. Here’s my card for the shots.”

The other woman, whom I can’t even be bothered to watch walk away, retreats, leaving me with Blue Dress.

Technically, she left Blue Dress at the bar and not with me per se, but same thing.

Don’t hit on her.

She’s too kind for you.

Kind girls don’t do one-night stands.

Ignoring myself, I turn to find her leaning on her elbows, watching the man at the table.

What is it about him? Jake, I think she called him.

He’s wearing khaki pants and a red polo shirt. He looks like he works at Target. Not that working at Target is bad or anything, but fuck, it doesn’t scream “daydream about me” while you wait for shots.

“So, have you answered your brother yet?” Beck tries to bring me back to the conversation he wants to have, but I ignore him.

I’d rather listen to the woman rave on and on about how amazing she thinks this Jake guy is than talk to Beck about my brother. That’s my excuse for what I do next.

“I could help you,” I say to Blue Dress.

My voice startles her. “Huh?”

I nod to her table. “With that guy. Jake, right?”

Her gaze flicks back to him.

“Oh, I don’t—”

“You do. You want to get him naked.”

“Jesus,” Blue Dress breathes and then spins to lean her forearms onto the bar top, focusing on the mat where drinks are placed instead of looking at me.

“Look, I know this stuff, okay? I can see it in the way you look at him. You want to date him and lick his abs. It’s natural.”

This earns me a glare.

“I don’t even know you,” she says and snaps her fingers. “Oh, no that’s not right. I do know you. You’re Zane Rosey, the romance writer who frequents this bar over and over and uses his love language skills to take the ladies home with him only to return a few nights later looking for someone new.”

Shit. Maybe I need a new bar.

I chuckle and nod. “Fair enough, but that’s a bit excessive, yeah? I only come here a few times a month.”

“It’s enough to make a name for yourself.”

“Is that from the bar or from the books?”

“Well, whatever charm you’re trying to pull right now isn’t going to work on me.”

I won’t lie. I’m digging this sass. Maybe she isn’t as innocent as I thought.

“I’m not hitting on you. I’m trying to help you.”

“I don’t need your help.”

I sip my drink and look back at her table of friends.

“Sort of looked like you do. As you said, I have love language skills. With my help, you could have that man obsessed with you in just a few weeks. Two if you do exactly as I say.”

“No thanks. I’m doing just fine on my own.”

She hands the bartender the credit card and then is quickly holding six shots in her hands as if waiting tables is something she does on the regular.

A glass starts to slip.

Okay, so maybe waiting tables is a part of her past. Either way, she makes it back to her group just as the other woman returns from the bathroom. They all take their shots and the man she’s crushing on goes back to ignoring her.

She looks up at me.

I wink, and she rolls her eyes.

“Are you done now?” Beck asks.

I sigh. I guess my concentration for the night is already over. Oddly enough, the interaction with Blue Dress has put me off for the night. I pack up my computer and toss a couple twenties on the bar top.

“I don’t want to talk about my brother.”

“His wedding is next month, Zane. You really should call him.”

“And say what exactly?” I snap.

Beck glares at me. “That you’re going.”

“The fuck I am. And stand by his side as he marries the woman who left me for him? The woman he was sleeping with before she and I even broke up. No thanks.”

“It’s been almost two years.”

And that isn’t nearly long enough.

Chapter Two

Willa

I have zero game when it comes to the opposite sex.

A part of me thought I had at least a teeny tiny bit, but after last night, it’s official: I have no idea how to get a man to notice me. I’ve had boyfriends before. I’ve dated plenty, but I’ve never really felt that zing or whatever with any of them, so none of them ever lasted long term. I’m okay with that, but Jake, my coworker—wow, he checks off every box on my list, and when I look at him, I have no idea how to form a sentence.

Jake also happens to be good friends with both of my older brothers. So, growing up, I’d seen him plenty at their football and basketball games, but we never really spoke one-on-one. He was always just this guy I had a crush on, who I thought was perfect for me and who I thought I’d never see again once he graduated from high school and went to college.

Then a year ago, he started working at the same place as me. Fate was absolutely on my side the day he showed up.

In every way that matters, we are perfect for each other. Of course, I’m the only one who can see that as of this moment, but that’s just because Jake is very focused on his work.

We work for Best You Nutrition and Chiropractic.

I work on the nutrition side, and he works on the chiropractic side. It’s a fairly large clinic with twenty employees, so we don’t see each other every single day, but often enough for me to know that, given the chance, we’d be perfect for each other.

I type in my notes from my last client, then hit up the breakroom for a glass of cold water, read the announcement for the new office that’s opening in San Francisco and the sign for the annual company summer retreat right next to it, and then I head to the front reception desk. I don’t care so much about the retreat as I do the new office in San Fran. They still haven’t hired anyone to run the new office, and I want it. Badly. I have so many new ideas for this company, and although starting my own company would be better, this would be a great learning experience. Moving from Wyoming to California would be a big adjustment, but I’d do it. The dream would be that they would select me and Jake to transfer, since we are from different departments and both amazing at our jobs.

There’s nothing wrong with a little wishful thinking.

Speaking of which, Jake is standing behind the receptionist’s desk with a clip chart in his hands, holding up the first page as he reads it over. God, he’s so pretty. From his clean-shaven face to his perfectly cut jet-black hair and the way his biceps hug his shirt. Don’t even get me started on his—

“Oh hey, Willa. How’s your morning going?”

As I fall out of my Jake trance, I hit my hip on the counter. “Good.”

Shit, that hurts.

“You okay?” he asks, pointing to the hand now rubbing my side.

“Oh yeah, I do that at least once a week.”

He flashes his perfect smile at me as he passes me to go into the back. “Well, have a good day.”

“You too!” I shout with a giggle as he disappears. “Hope it’s amazing.”

Jesus, Willa. Seriously? Try to look a little more obvious why don’t you?

“Eeek, that was painful to watch,” a woman in the waiting room says.

What is it with people commenting on my life when they don’t even know me? First that writer guy, Zane, from the bar last night and now this one.

As soon as the woman stands, my eyes widen, and a smile hits my lips. “Calla!”

“Willa Boston in the flesh,” she grins. “How the heck are you?”

I dash around the counter and pull her into a hug.

“I haven’t seen you since graduation. What’s it been, five years?”

“We really left college that long ago?” she asks, her face crinkling to think about it. “I guess so, yeah.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Two things, actually. One, I’m moving back at the end of the summer, and two, my brother recommended me to you.”

“Your brother?” Then it occurs to me. “Oh my gosh, is Simon Scott your brother?”

She nods. “That’s the one. He said you’re the best nutritionist on the planet.”

“Oh, that was sweet.”

“Yeah, but even though I want to know all things nutrition, I like your social media accounts a lot better.”

“Thank you?”

I want to laugh. Calla has always been upbeat and quick to move through a conversation. I met her during orientation at the local campus. Wind Valley College isn’t very big, but boy, was I glad to have her when we lost the tour group. We were attached at the hip all four years till she went home to Melody to help her parents run their bookstore. Melody is only a couple of hours away. I should have tried to see her more.

“You should really do more with the fitness side of things,” Calla says, and I’m pretty sure she’s still referring to my social media account. “Nutrition is great and all, but man, the burn of a good workout, that feeling of exhaustion—well, it just can’t be beat.”

“I can’t say I disagree.” I move for the calendar. “I’m pretty booked for the next week and then we have a company retreat, but I can get with you on the Monday we are back. How does 3:00 p.m. on the fifteenth sound?”

“That works.”

“Perfect. Why don’t you write your email here, and I can send you a questionnaire to complete beforehand.”

“Great.”

The bell to the clinic rings to announce a new client. I glance up, and my heart immediately drops to my stomach.

What is he doing here?

Zane Rosey spots me instantly and grins.

“Blue Dress, this is where you work?”

“Blue dress?” I ask.

“I never caught your name last night.”

“You two were together last night?” Simon, who had walked in with Zane, asks. Simon is the only reason I even know who Zane is. Simon also writes romance; it’s something we have talked about during his appointments.

“Not formally. Just a quick run in at the bar,” Zane answers.

I refuse to speak, so I just smile at Calla. “You’ll see the email by the end of the day. I can’t wait to see you again.”

“Same, girl, same,” Calla says, then turns to Simon and Zane. “Let’s go. I’m hungry.”

Zane taps the desk and waves. “See you—”

“Willa, where is Foreman’s file?” Jake asks, walking out from the break room at the absolute worst moment.

Shit.

Zane’s face lights up like a Christmas tree.

“Zane, let’s gooooo,” Calla says behind him as she holds the door open.

Slowly, he backs up toward the door. “My offer still stands.” Then he looks at Jake, who is watching him, before flashing a grin my way. “I’ll see you for dinner tonight, okay, babe? Have a good day.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he’s out the door.

Oh my god. Oh. My. God.

Jake is still staring at said door.

“I didn’t know you were seeing someone,” he says, his voice a little deeper and firmer than usual.

I search his face for my answer because I’m still a bit in shock, and I swear I see his jaw tick.

Holy shit. Is he… is he jealous?

Oh my god! This is a totally new side of him. Oh my god!

I still haven’t answered when Jake’s gaze flicks to my lips.

“Are you dating someone, Willa?” he asks me again.

I’ve never seen him look at me this way. Ever.

What if Zane is right and he can help me? Is that why he said what he said? If I tell Jake that we aren’t dating, will he look at me differently?

Only one way to find out.

“Yep. Yes. That is my… boyfriend.”

“Huh.” He rubs his chin and stares at me.

“What?” I ask as Jake crosses his arms, now looking at the door and back at me.

“Nothing.” He turns toward the back room, and this time it’s him who bumps into the counter.

It’s a good thing he’s gone, because I have no doubt my eyes look like giant saucers. Did that just happen? Did Zane Rosey just help me make Jake jealous?

Do I want him to be jealous?

I think I do.

Shit.

Now what do I do?

“Willa, grab Jake and meet me and the others in the conference room.” I startle at the sound of my boss, Arnold’s, voice and then do exactly as he says.

Jake is leaning over the break room sink with his chin dropped to his chest when I come in.

“We are wanted in the conference room.”

“Fine. I’ll meet you there.”

“Okay.” I retreat to the conference room, and when Jake comes in, he sits right next to me. He’s never done that either.

Do not smile like a fool. Do. Not. Do. It.

“All right, now that you are all here, I have an announcement to make. This year’s annual retreat now has funds for significant others to join you. With the new office opening in San Francisco, we want to take a more family-style approach, so a show of hands for those who would like to bring someone so I can make final arrangements for meals.”

Everyone’s hand goes up except me and Jake.

“Okay, are you two sure?” Arnold asks as he counts the hands in the air.

I’m about to answer yes when Jake says, “Why don’t you want to bring your boyfriend?”

On the spot I answer, “Because it’s for spouses, right? And he’s just a boyfriend. And we are pretty ne—”

“Nonsense,” Arnold says. “Bring him.”

Greer, a fellow nutritionist who is sitting across the table, looks at me, no doubt curious as to what Jake’s talking about. After all, we, too, have been working together for more than a year and I’ve never mentioned a boyfriend. In fact, I never even mentioned him to her last night over drinks while Zane was right next to us when we bought shots. This should be fun.

I shrug. “Okay, I’ll bring him.”

“What’s his name again?” Greer knows I’m lying. She’s not asking in a mean girl way—we are friends—but I can tell she’s entertained right now.

“Um, Zane Rosey.”

Her eyes bug out of their sockets like a cartoon.You and me both, sister. How the hell am I going to pull this off?

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