Asking for a Friend (Boyfriend Material #1) by Lauren Blakely
I was only trying to help a friend. I swear. I was legit asking for a friend who was finally ready to date again.
I knew what she wanted in a man — smart, funny, ambitious, well-read (no, the sports section doesn’t count), and plays a wicked game of badminton.
So I did what any good friend would do. Posted it for her. It seemed like a good idea at the time — I’d weed through the candidates, and bring her my top picks.
But then he responded.
Is it wrong to date the guy I screened for my bestie? Not asking for a friend.
Excerpt Asking for a Friend (Boyfriend Material #1) by Lauren Blakely
I do enjoy the hell out of bumping into her. Especially when fate presents me as perfect a conversational entrée as it does in the break room on Friday.
After all, helping a colleague isn’t flirting. I point as she opens the door to the fridge. “You have a paper clip stuck in your hair.”
“I do?” Her hands fly up to her head and she begins patting around furiously. The pose lifts her shirt the slightest bit, revealing a sliver of soft, kissable flesh at her waist.
That’s definitely not helpful.
“No. The back of your hair,” I say, and I’m tempted to reach for the paper clip, like in a movie.
Theme music would play, and the video would slow, and we’d have a moment when my hand touched her hair. Our eyes would lock, then we’d blink. I’d cough, she’d laugh it off, and I’d say, Paper clips, am I right?
Or maybe I’ve seen one too many romantic comedies. Or one too many dirty videos, since I’m alternating between wanting to sling quips at her and wanting to kiss my way down her stomach . . . then up it, past her shirt, higher and higher still.
I’m so screwed if merely one visible inch of her belly can hypnotize me.
Betty Boop: I’m not offended. I feel like if you were trying to pick up a woman for BDSM play, you’d be on a different app.
Dax Powers: Whew. Thank you. Which also reminds me that I need to switch over to my Paddle Me Please app and keep up the convo there with Ms. Bend Me Over the Chair.
Betty Boop: No worries. I’ll be on Spank Me Tonight, so I guess we’ll miss each other.
Dax Powers: Good luck. I hear all the pongers hang out on Spank Me Tonight.
Betty Boop: Oh damn, you are good!
Dax Powers: Thank you. I am indeed quite good. *inserts devil emoticon*
Betty Boop: And a little cocky too?
Dax Powers: Just a little. But you know what it’s like when you’re champion of a nerd sport, Miss Badminton Champion.
Betty Boop: Hey, you’re assuming I’m a nerd.
Dax Powers: Am I wrong, Miss Badminton Champion? *smirks*
I gulp, nearly dropping my phone in the drain as I cross the street. Shitballs on fire. How do I reply to this? I glance around as if I can locate the answer on the sidewalk.
Am I Peyton? Or me? Do I remind him I’m asking for a friend? It was in the profile though. The description closed with “asking for a friend,” for Pete’s sake.
It must be obvious.
Okay, fine, maybe he thinks I meant it to be tongue-in-cheek.
Someone could certainly read it as tongue-in-cheek.
Because the entire saying is tongue-in-cheek, and no one is ever asking for a friend—they’re asking for themselves.
So I was only honest on a technicality.
My stomach swoops, and a teeny bit of guilt weaves through me.
Who am I kidding? This is a massive, crushing tsunami of guilt.
Ping-Pong Lover Mad Flosser Dax Powers is a darling. Chatting with him is better than drinking a vanilla latte.
And I can’t lie. I won’t lie to this potential suitor.
As I walk along the park, making my way toward Little Friends, I return to the chat, drawing a deep breath.