A Little Big Rock Read online

  Contents

  Also By Lauren Blakely

  About

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Also by Lauren Blakely

  Contact

  Also By Lauren Blakely

  Big Rock Series

  Big Rock

  Mister O

  Well Hung

  Full Package

  Joy Ride

  Hard Wood

  One Love Series dual-POV Standalones

  The Sexy One

  The Only One

  The Hot One

  Standalones

  The Knocked Up Plan

  Most Valuable Playboy

  Stud Finder

  The V Card

  Most Likely to Score

  Wanderlust

  Come As You Are

  Part-Time Lover

  The Real Deal

  Unbreak My Heart

  Once Upon a Real Good Time

  Once Upon a Sure Thing

  Once Upon a Wild Fling

  Unzipped (Fall 2018)

  Far Too Tempting

  21 Stolen Kisses

  Playing With Her Heart

  Out of Bounds

  The Caught Up in Love Series

  Caught Up In Us

  Pretending He’s Mine

  Trophy Husband

  Stars in Their Eyes

  The No Regrets Series

  The Thrill of It

  The Start of Us

  Every Second With You

  The Seductive Nights Series

  First Night (Julia and Clay, prequel novella)

  Night After Night (Julia and Clay, book one)

  After This Night (Julia and Clay, book two)

  One More Night (Julia and Clay, book three)

  A Wildly Seductive Night (Julia and Clay novella, book 3.5)

  The Joy Delivered Duet

  Nights With Him (A standalone novel about Michelle and Jack)

  Forbidden Nights (A standalone novel about Nate and Casey)

  The Sinful Nights Series

  Sweet Sinful Nights

  Sinful Desire

  Sinful Longing

  Sinful Love

  The Fighting Fire Series

  Burn For Me (Smith and Jamie)

  Melt for Him (Megan and Becker)

  Consumed By You (Travis and Cara)

  The Jewel Series

  A two-book sexy contemporary romance series

  The Sapphire Affair

  The Sapphire Heist

  About

  A Big Rock short story told from Charlotte’s POV

  By Lauren Blakely

  My best friend is freaking awesome.

  But don’t just take my word for it. Consider all his attributes.

  First, let’s start with the obvious one.

  Size.

  He has this one fantastic bone in his body. It’s bigger than other guys’. It’s thicker, longer, more powerful.

  C’mon. I’m talking about his funny bone.

  Spencer Holiday makes me laugh like no one ever has. Sarcastic, self-deprecating, and always at attention with a joke—that’s him.

  Except, it’s no joke when he asks me to be his fake fianceé for a week.

  The trouble is I’m already falling for him before we even start.

  Oops.

  Prologue

  My best friend is fucking awesome.

  But don’t just take my word for it. Consider all his attributes.

  First, let’s start with the obvious one.

  Size.

  He has this one fantastic bone in his body. It’s bigger than other guys’. It’s thicker, longer, more powerful.

  C’mon. I’m talking about his funny bone.

  Spencer Holiday makes me laugh like no one ever has. Sarcastic, self-deprecating, and always at attention with a joke—that’s him.

  Plus, how about his arms? Let’s just take a moment to admire his biceps and their abilities. The guy can totally lift heavy objects for me, and what woman doesn’t want her own personal furniture lugger at her disposal?

  But honestly, none of this would matter if Spencer didn’t possess the most important attribute of all.

  Reliability.

  Ultimately, a guy friend should be measured by the times he’s there for you.

  And by the times you’re there for him.

  Spencer and I are each other’s rocks. I helped him develop the business plan for his first company over many late nights of Thai takeout, and when he needed assistance picking out sheets and towels for his new pad, yours truly did the deed, holding his hand at Bed Bath & Beyond since he’s allergic to shopping.

  Then there’s the big one. He’s my business partner, and there’s no one I’d rather run The Lucky Spot with than my best friend.

  But most of all, he’s fucking awesome because of our game—Captain Fiancé. We’ve played it since college. When either one of us needs a pretend boyfriend or girlfriend at a bar, party, or event, we help each other.

  Our game also works because I’ve never found him attractive or vice versa. Doesn’t matter that he has sage-green eyes, a great jawline, and a strong, tall build. He’s a friend, and only a friend.

  But that’s about to change. In fact, everything about Spencer and me is about to change big-time.

  1

  “You have to see this one. I love it. It’s a two-bedroom on the fifth floor, all new amenities, stainless steel fridge, and get this.” I grab Spencer’s arm for emphasis, practically bouncing as I prepare to share the best feature of the place Bradley and I are considering buying.

  “Lay it on me.”

  It’s past closing time, and we’re enjoying a beer at The Lucky Spot. I tap on the photo album and nearly squeal. “It has two bathrooms.”

  Spencer laughs, running a hand through his dark hair. “Nothing says true love like two johns.”

  I roll my eyes and slug his arm. “C’mon. If you ever move in with a woman, wouldn’t you want your own bathroom?”

  “One, I don’t plan on moving in with anyone. Two, shower sex is awesome and I see no need to limit its opportunities by having two bathrooms. And three, see point number one.”

  I harrumph. “Well, I do. Bradley is excited about this place. He even already picked out a spot where he thinks I should put my periwinkle-blue end table.”

  “The one I carried upstairs for you?”

  “I wasn’t dating him then. I’m sure he would have carried it.”

  Spencer flexes a bicep, and I roll my eyes at his antics. “He has plenty of arm strength. Anyway, don’t rain on my two-bathroom parade.”

  He laughs, then his laughter fades as he finishes his beer, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Listen. You know I’ll support you whatever you do, but are you sure you’re ready to move in with him?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn't I be? We’ve been together almost a year, and he’s great. Thoughtful, smart, funny. Maybe not as funny as you, but close enough,” I say with a smile.

  Spencer blows on his fingers. “Why, thank you for noting my superior use of the funny bone. But I guess what I mean is . . .if you’re really going to buy a place with that guy, maybe consider something in a hood where the values are rising faster.”

  I arch a curious brow. It seemed like he was going to say something else. “That’s your concern? Whether it’s a wise investment?”

  “I’m just looking out for your portfolio.” He glances away, like that’s not quite the reason.

  I squeeze his shoulder, reassuring him. “I’m ready. Bradley is great, and we’re go
ing to get engaged after we move in. We’ve talked about it, made plans, we’ve even looked at rings. Which brings me to my big question.” I straighten my shoulders and smile brightly. “When we get engaged, would you be my bride’s man?”

  He laughs, then answers seriously. “Is that a thing?”

  “If not, it should be, and I promise I won’t make you wear lavender.”

  “Damn straight I won’t wear lavender. But for you, yes, I’ll be your man of honor.”

  I raise my bottle and tip it to his, sealing our vow, loving the image of Spencer standing by my side at my wedding.

  2

  You know that scene in Aladdin when he’s jumping through the lava pit in the Cave of Wonders, trying to escape imminent molten doom?

  That’s dating in Manhattan.

  And boy, am I ever a lucky girl that I escaped that horror.

  The next morning, my breath comes fast and my heart hammers hard as I crest a 5 percent incline, hitting the 40-minute mark on the treadmill at the gym, with “I’m Not Throwing Away My Shot” from Hamilton blasting in my earbuds.

  Triumphantly, I hit the cooldown button when I feel a soft brush of lips against my forehead. I startle momentarily, then smile when I see Bradley. He’s the opposite of molten doom. I take out my earbuds.

  “Hey, gorgeous. You look beautiful.”

  He bends closer, dropping a quick kiss on my lips as I walk on the slowing treadmill.

  “You’re affectionate this morning. Does the prospect of a fifteen-mile ride on the stationary bike make you frisky?”

  He makes a play growling sound. “Or maybe I’m just excited that we’re finally going to move in together. Just think of all the things we can do in the walk-in closet.”

  I shudder. “Don’t get me too excited at the gym. You know what a walk-in closet does to me.”

  “Or silent dishwashers. Does that turn you on too?”

  I moan dramatically. “You know it does.”

  He moves closer, his face near mine, his eyes darkening. “How about a washer-dryer combo? You’d never have to send laundry out again.”

  I hit stop on the treadmill and stare at him. “But the apartment doesn’t have one.”

  He lifts an eyebrow playfully. “Or maybe it does. I’ve been talking to the realtor and a place just opened up on the tenth floor that includes one. I know that’s your dream come true.”

  My eyes pop, and I do a victory dance. “There is literally nothing better in the world than an in-home washer-dryer combo in Manhattan. It’s the real estate equivalent of multiple orgasms.”

  “Then let’s make sure you get both when we christen it.”

  I’m not sure I will, though, since the last few times we had sex I didn’t climax. But that’s normal, I suppose. One out of three times isn’t bad.

  3

  Later that week, we’ve crossed our t’s and dotted our i’s, and we’re ready to sign the papers on the new place. Bradley asks me if I can meet him there at twelve-thirty with the realtor. Since I need to be at The Lucky Spot for a liquor delivery in the late morning, the timing works perfectly. Shortly before the delivery, he texts me that he’s heading over with an inspector to check out the pipes.

  I’m all too happy to sit out building inspections, so I make my way in time for the signing, pen in hand, ready and eager to give my Jane Hancock. The door to the apartment isn’t locked, and when I open it, a masculine grunt hits my ears.

  Then a high-pitched feminine moan.

  My cheeks redden, and I grab the handle of the door, turning around to hightail it out of this pleasure den I must have accidentally walked into, when I stop in my tracks at the next words.

  From Bradley.

  “That’s it. Give it to me.”

  My purse slips from my arm, smacking the floor. My throat goes dry. I turn the corner, stepping into the kitchen, when I blink in horror.

  Like I’ve stumbled across a crime scene.

  The floor buckles as Bradley, with his white dress shirt untucked, his pants unzipped, and his tie tossed around his neck, drives into the realtor.

  She’s bent over the counter, skirt hiked up her legs.

  She screams. He growls. They finish together.

  Shame curls through me, as I utter a shocked sound of disgust.

  He snaps his gaze to me, and a sheet of mortification slides over his stupid, stinking, cheating, two-timing face.

  But it’s not shame that takes hold of me. It’s righteous anger as I tap my unpolished fingernails against the kitchen counter and lift my chin. “I never did care for these counters.”

  I turn on my heels and take off, fury and hurt coursing through me. When Bradley calls out to me—it’s not what you think, I can explain, I love you, Charlotte, I want you back—I spin around and glare at him.

  “It’s exactly what I think, and I hope you enjoy checking out the pipes on that washer-dryer combo. You better give them a thorough inspection since you’ll never get your hands on me again.”

  I don’t even bother waiting for the elevator. I grab the door to the stairwell, yank it open, and once I’m three flights down and he’s no longer following me, I let the tears fall.

  And they do. Oh, how they do.

  4

  A few weeks later

  I punch my sister.

  She asks for it.

  “Hit me again.” Natalie holds up a punching pad in front of her chest.

  “I don’t think this is how karate works.”

  She shakes her head. “It’s not, but that’s why you’re not getting the karate tutorial. You’re getting the punch-your-anger-out tutorial.”

  I slam a fist against the pad, picturing Bradley’s face.

  “Attagirl. Do it again. Give me a right hook now.”

  I’m not sure how to administer a right hook, a left hook, or even a fish hook, but I take all my anger, hurt, and shame and slam my fists against the pad.

  I might have been tough in the moment, but walking in on that was devastating. That’s why I’m here. A few more punches, a few more slams, and I imagine the last of my feelings for him extinguish. I’m not quite there yet, but this is helping. When I’m done pummeling the pad, Natalie hands me a bottle of water, and I take a thirsty gulp.

  She squeezes my shoulder. “Look on the bright side. Now that you’re free of the Worst Cheating Jackass in the World, you can finally date your best friend.”

  I jerk my head towards her. “What are you talking about?”

  She rubs her palms together, bouncing on her toes. “You and Spencer. I’ve always thought you two would be so cute together.”

  “But he’s just a friend.”

  “He could be more than a friend now. You’re single, and you could make a move.”

  She seems utterly delighted with her matchmaking suggestion. I’m utterly flummoxed by it, though, for a million reasons. “He’s a committed bachelor, Nat. He’s a self-avowed playboy.”

  She shrugs happily. “He’s only a playboy until the right woman tames him. That could be you.”

  I scoff, shaking off her crazy idea. “Then you’ll nominate me for Playboy Tamer, and somehow I don’t think that’ll ever happen.”

  Even though she’s not the first person who’s asked if we’d ever be more than friends.

  5

  A month later

  Spencer: Hey, I know you’re still sad and I get it. You liked the dude. But all I can say is this. You dodged a bullet. You avoided an alligator. You crossed the fire swamp.

  Charlotte: Fire swamp? Now I learn you’re a Princess Bride fan after all this time?

  Spencer: Of course I am. I have taste.

  Charlotte: I would have pegged you as James Bond or bust. I know how much you love the spy.

  Spencer: Of course I love Bond. There is no one cooler and never will be, but The Princess Bride is right up there with Castle. Also, don’t think you can distract me from my mission to cheer you up. I have gelatin-free gummy bears, sea salt popcorn, and
season three of Castle all cued up in my Netflix account.

  Charlotte: Ooh, and I have your Netflix log-in.

  Spencer: The height of friendship. Also, don’t think you’re going to get away with watching without me.

  Charlotte: Well, get your butt over here, and don’t forget the popcorn and gummy bears. Show starts in thirty.

  That night, we binge-watch several episodes, shouting whodunit guesses at the screen as we indulge in gummy bears, popcorn, and beer.

  At the end of a particular nail-biter, I turn to Spencer. “I didn’t need cheering up. I’m not sad over Bradley anymore. I’m enjoying myself again.”

  “Good, because you deserve someone who treats you like a queen.”

  I lift my chin confidently. “I’ve always liked the idea of being a princess. My vote is for the princess treatment.”

  He smiles. “All right, Princess Charlotte, that’s what you’ll get, then, and tonight it comes with one more episode.”