Love Machine by Kendall Ryan
A best-friends-to-lovers standalone romance from New York Times bestselling author Kendall Ryan.
She says she needs some help … in the bedroom.
Come again? No, really come again.
Sweet, nerdy, lovable Keaton.
She’s my best friend and has been for years. Sure she likes numbers and math, and thinks doing other people’s taxes is fun. And I like … none of that stuff. She’s obsessed with her cat and reads novels I’ll never understand, and yet we just click. There’s no one I’d rather share breakfast burritos with or binge watch hours of Netflix. She’s my person. And so when she takes off her glasses and asks me to help her improve her skills in the bedroom, I barely have to think about it.
Of course I’ll help her. There’s no one better for the job.
I’ve been there for her through everything, why should this be any different?
But what happens when she’s ready to take her new-found confidence and move on?
Excerpt Love Machine by Kendall Ryan
“I can’t believe I struck out every single time,” Keaton says with a whine. “I tried all night and not one goddamn penis wanted me to touch it. God, my fucking feet hurt so bad.”
I loop my arm around her waist, partially to comfort her and partially to hold her up as we stagger down the sidewalk to her apartment. It’s almost two in the morning, and the streets are deserted. Only the predawn stars are watching over us.
“Don’t think of it as striking out. Think of it as . . .” I wave my hand, searching for a positive spin. “Being selective. You just didn’t meet a good match, and it’s better to go home alone than with the wrong guy.”
She growls loudly in frustration. “I’m not looking for a friggin’ husband; I’m just trying to get laid! There’s no point in being picky. Face it, Slate, it’s not me who has the high standards here. Guys just don’t like me. End of story.”
I stop in my tracks. “That’s not true.”
She sways in my arms to face me with tipsy defiance. “Really? Because literally everything that happened tonight says different.”
“So you had one bad night? Big deal. Plenty of guys like you.”
“Prove it,” she insists, her eyes brimming with need and wounded pride.
Her body is so warm, her scent so sweet, and it all feels perfectly natural to just lean in and . . .
Our lips meet. She squeaks in surprise, but before I can pull away and apologize, she kisses me back. Hard.
Her hot, soft mouth crushes against mine, opening with an intense hunger, her tongue demanding entrance, and I can’t help devouring her right back. I couldn’t stop, even if I wanted to.
Why the hell haven’t I done this before? What have I been missing out on all these years?
All my reservations and doubts are swept away in a wave of desire. No overthinking, no self-doubt, just chemistry. Pure, primal instinct. Our tongues touch and my heart rate triples because, holy fuck . . . I’m kissing my best friend.
And, fuck me, I really, really like it.
We break the kiss, both flushed and breathing a little harder, a powerful new tension buzzing between us. Goddamn . . . just that one moment of contact was enough to send every drop of blood traveling from my brain straight to my dick.
Keaton’s never given me wood, not even once. Okay, that’s a lie. There was this one time that she rubbed my shoulders and her boob brushed my arm by accident, but that was just biology. That’s all that was.
“That was . . .” I pause.
It should have felt weird, like kissing my sister. I’ve always had a strictly platonic relationship with Keaton. But I can’t lie. It was perfect. Like a textbook-perfect kiss, chemistry and attraction, and just the right amount of tongue. And I want to do it again as soon as possible.
“Yeah,” Keaton murmurs. Her gaze has darkened. She licks her lips and glances up at her apartment building. “Want to come inside?”