My single versary, p.1
My Single-Versary, page 1
My Single-Versary
Lauren Blakely
Contents
Also by Lauren Blakely
About
My Single-Versary
Prologue
1. Skyler
2. Caleb
3. Skyler
4. Caleb
5. Skyler
6. Caleb
7. Skyler
8. Caleb
9. Skyler
10. Caleb
11. Skyler
12. Skyler
13. Caleb
14. Skyler
15. Caleb
16. Skyler
17. Caleb
18. Skyler
19. Caleb
20. Skyler
Epilogue
Also by Lauren Blakely
Contact
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
Big Rock Series
Big Rock
Mister O
Well Hung
Full Package
Joy Ride
Hard Wood
* * *
Happy Endings Series
My Single-Versary
A Wild Card Kiss
Shut Up and Kiss Me
Kismet
* * *
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
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From Paris With Love
Wanderlust
Part-Time Lover
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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
How to survive a break up -- swear off men for a year.
How to celebrate a successful year long man cleanse -- treat myself to a solo tropical vacation.
It's me time on my single-versary, so you'll find me snorkeling, sight-seeing, and zip lining by the sea. No man companions needed, thank you very much.
Until the hot, hunky and charming adventure tour guide shows up at surfboard yoga. And Caleb's got me thinking about new uses for downward facing dog.
But indulging in an island fling that'll surely put me on the path to heartbreak again is definitely not on the my single-versary agenda.
At least, it shouldn't be on the agenda.
My Single-Versary
By Lauren Blakely
* * *
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Prologue
Skyler
* * *
At some point in your twenties, everyone in your social circle begins pairing off and pairing up. It’s a checklist—one minute you and your three roommates (because how else is a woman supposed to live in the city?) are rescuing perfectly salvageable bookcases from the curbside, and the next, you’re buying thirty-dollar bottles of wine as housewarming gifts. Your girl-power pub quiz team becomes co-ed, then splits off into pairs, and then suddenly you look up and everyone you know is counting down to thirty like it’s New Year’s Eve and they have to find someone to kiss before the ball drops and they’re partnerless at midnight.
The horror . . .
Not that your friends want to leave you out in the cold. No one loves love more than someone in love, and they want all their friends to be just as happy as they are. All my friends know a guy. Or their guy knows a guy.
But I made a decision after my last heartbreak—to take a full year off from dating.
I went on a man cleanse. One I desperately needed to reset myself.
I’ve resisted romance. Each time my friends said, “Can I set you up?” or “I know a guy,” I dropped some coins in a jar.
And every day I stayed off the dating apps, I fed the piggy bank.
My reward? A “me” trip.
To celebrate.
Even if that “me” trip happens to coincide with my cousin’s wedding. I’ll just breeze through that, then hit up the bar, or the spa, or the line of shops all calling my name to indulge in me, me, me.
Here I am. One year, no dating. Achievement unlocked.
At least, that’s the plan.
1
Skyler
With one silver ballet flat in hand, I open my door for Katie before she has a chance to knock. “Come in. The mate to my shoe has pulled a vanishing act.”
My friend stands with her fist raised for another second or two, then follows me into the apartment, closing the door behind her. “Hmm . . . maybe the universe is trying to tell you something, Skyler. To buy new shoes?”
I fish out the missing footwear from under the sofa. “Or it’s telling me to put my shoes away before I fall asleep during the latest Webflix romantic comedy.”
Katie idly picks up the large glass jar from the kitchen island, turning it over so the coins inside jingle loudly. “Skyler, sweetie, you could crack someone’s skull open with this! It’s that heavy.”
“Hawaii heavy.” I slip on the rejoined pair of ballet flats, take the jar of loose change from her, and replace it on the counter with a thud. “I’ve resisted Tinder, Bumble, and Match every day to save up for this trip.”
Katie rubs her hands together. “So, are you ready to go?”
“Ready to go to Hawaii? Absolutely.” I sling my purse over my shoulder and lead the way out, locking up behind us. “Ready to go bathing suit shopping?” I waggle a noncommittal hand. “Debatable.”
< br /> Katie tsks as she takes out her car keys. “Says the professional shopper.”
I pop open the passenger door of her rented Tesla—she’s in town from Los Angeles, where she runs her yoga empire. “People hire me when they don’t have the time or inclination to shop for themselves. Searching for something to fit me and my budget is totally different.”
We both climb in, and Katie turns to me, a challenging brow raised. “Don’t tell me you’re intimidated by a few items of swimwear?”
“It’s not the swimwear that scares me. It’s the fluorescent lighting in the dressing rooms.”
She’s laughing as she starts the car and heads toward the heart of San Francisco’s best boutiques. “Cheap and chicken.”
“I am not cheap,” I protest, which makes her laugh harder as we make our way to Fillmore Street.
Once in the shop, Katie drafts a salesperson into raiding the racks with her. They sort through tops and bottoms with efficiency that I envy as a personal stylist, and when the saleswoman has armfuls of itty-bitty items, she ushers me into a dressing room.
I thank her, and with an encouraging smile, she says, “Good luck. Let me know if you need another size.”
Ugh. I need to not wear bikinis.
Katie taps her chin with one finger as she eyes the array of nylon and spandex hanging before us in the dressing room. When her gaze lands on what she wants, though, she knows it immediately. “Try that one.” She points. “I have a good feeling about it.”
I stare at the scraps of fabric dubiously. “The one with pasties for the top and dental floss for the bottom?”
Katie challenges me with a deadpan look. “You did say you wanted a brand-new style of bathing suit. Surely, a floss-bottom would qualify.”
“Yes, as a new form of sartorial torture.”
“You’re not wrong.” She flicks through the options and stops on a fuchsia two-piece. “How about this cute little number?”
I pick up the suit and try to make sense of it. “Which is the top and which is the bottom? I can’t tell.”
Katie makes a giant show of taking the suit from me and putting it on the “no” hanger. “Help me shop for a bathing suit, Katie,” she mutters. “It’ll be a blast. I won’t be a total pain in the butt.”
“Hey, unfair!” I wave at the dental-floss thong. “This looks like a pain in the butt.”
“Slam dunk.” Katie makes a grudging rim-shot sound effect.
I pick up another offender. “This, on the other hand, is so high-waisted it looks like a pull-up diaper.”
“But that’s trendy. Isn’t it?”
I hang the monstrosity on the “no” rack—with prejudice. “Not all trends are good trends.”
“Hey, here’s an idea. How about you wear one of those swim dresses from a century ago? That will be très sexy.”
“Hmm . . . maybe with some bloomers to give some shape to a pancake-flat butt. And some ruffles here”—I gesture to my chest area—“to make the most of microscopic breasts. We don’t all have perfectly proportioned bodies like our beautiful friends.”
“Pfft. And some of us don’t have perfect noses, adorable freckles, or dimples, like our friends. So embrace your you-ness.”
“Dimples are irrelevant,” I scoff. “I don’t put my dimples in a bathing suit.”
Katie bursts into laughter. “That sounds like exactly what you would put in a bathing suit.”
I laugh too. Katie’s humor is hard to resist. “Fine. You win.”
She claps her hands. “Yay! Does that mean you’ll actually let me find a bikini to put your dimples in?”
With a groan, I picture myself on a beach wearing a few scraps of Lycra. “Or here’s a thought—I could skip swimming. Skip sunbathing. I could go on a sightseeing tour. No need for bathing suits or spas or beaches or sunset cruises . . .”
“Skyler,” she says, no joking in her gentle reprimand this time. “Remember what this trip represents? You made it through a full year of no romance. You saved your money. This is your reward after all those—”
“Failed relationships where I totally lost sight of myself?”
Soberly, she nods. “Yes. This trip is a celebration of you.”
I fidget, uncomfortable with the tough love, even though I appreciate it.
“Have you got an outfit for the ceremony yet?” she asks, her voice a little kinder, a little gentler.
“Yes,” I reply, because while this trip is a celebration of me, it’s also been timed to coincide with my cousin Trish’s Maui wedding. “Mom says she hopes the wedding will inspire me to tie the knot, but between you and me, I think she wants me to go so she’ll have someone to scam on guys with.”
Katie laughs dryly. “Yeah, there are too many things wrong with that last sentence to count.”
“You’re telling me,” I say, but I smile, because while Mom is man crazy, she’s also my mom, and I love her to pieces.
“But the wedding is only one day. The rest of the trip is about pampering yourself with beachside cabana massages and afternoon daiquiris by the pool. It’s time to treat yourself the way you’ve never had any man treat you—the way you deserve.”
I draw a deep breath, trying to pin down my hesitation. “It still feels strange—and as uncomfortable as a thong bikini.”
“That’s called change,” Katie says. “You need to get out of your comfort zone. Do the hard things, starting with trying on at least one bikini.”
I nod, decisive. I’ve spent the last year making my own happiness, learning to be comfortable in myself. This reward is part of that. “You’re right. Let’s do it.”
“Yes!” She bounces on her toes. “Cue the dressing room montage!”
And here we go. Off, on, off, on with the suits, Katie giving thumbs-ups and thumbs-downs, whisking away rejects and thrusting new contenders over the door.
Just when I’m at my limit, I emerge in one last suit, and she takes a look and exclaims, “And we have a winner!”
“Thank God!” I sag against the dressing room door. “Talk about doing the hard stuff.”
“It was worth it. That suit looks fab.” She gestures to the mirror. “Go ahead. Tell me I’m wrong.”
I glance at my bikini-clad image. I love the sapphire color and the way it looks with my auburn hair, hazel eyes, and the aforementioned dimples . . . aflush from the effort of wiggling into strips of elastic and string.
“You’re not wrong,” I say. “Even if I feel like I just swam across the bay.”
She laughs. “How would you know? You hate the ocean. And swimming. And any physical activity that can’t be done at the gym.”
As soon as she says it, the circuits link up with a flash and a spark.
Bing! Light-bulb moment.
“That’s it! That’s what I need to do.”
Katie blinks. “Go swimming?”
“Yes! Or snorkeling. Or zip-lining. Or anything that’s not my jam. I can pamper myself at the spa here at home. Instead, when I go to Maui, I should give myself an experience I would never ordinarily do.”
“You’re going to reward yourself by doing something you don’t like?”
“I know it sounds paradoxical, Katie, but it feels right. As good as I feel in this bikini. It’s time to get out of my comfort zone.”
