You've Got Male (Chick Flick Club Book 2)

by Lila Monroe

  “Cam,” I say. “This is . . . God,” I blurt as he presses me back against the counter.

  “It’s been too long since I fucked you, Zoey,” he groans. “How long has it been?”

  “I don’t know,” I breathe. “Like, five hours?”

  “An eternity,”’ he chuckles.

  Suddenly, a throat clears.

  Cam freezes. Then I feel my shirt get pulled down.

  “Um, so . . .” Gemma says, the laughter in her voice loud and clear. “I feel like I should say something like, ‘I’ll have what she’s having,’ but really, I’m just here to ask you to put bacon on my burger.”

  I press my lips together to keep from bursting into hysterical laughter. Cam is still up against me. He turns his head toward my best friend.

  “Sure thing. We’ll be out in ten.”

  “Make it fifteen,” I say giving her a wink.

  “Atta girl.” She leaves the truck.

  “All right, folks,” I hear her voice yell. “Gonna be a bit before we get any food. Who brought Pringles?”

  Cam and I laugh. He drops his forehead to mine. “I love you, Wafflegirl. You know that, right?”

  “Sure do, Butter,” I say. “Now. Where were we . . .?”

  And he shows me.

  Twice.

  THE END

  Thanks so much for reading! The fun’s not over yet - you can catch a sneak peek of the next book in the series, Eve’s story, FRISKY BUSINESS and preorder your copy today! Plus my next release, BEST MAN. Keep scrolling…

  FRISKY BUSINESS

  Chick Flick Club: Book Three

  Get frisky with the sizzling new standalone romantic comedy from USA Today bestselling author, Lila Monroe!

  Noah Hathaway is infuriatingly hot, annoyingly charming… and my new room-mate?! This pet-sitting gig was supposed to be a vacation from drama, but that was before the hunky guy in the pool-house started sticking his nose (and his annoyingly chiseled abs) in my business.

  I’m looking for Mr. Right, not Mr. Most Likely to Sneak Out of Bed (And Steal Your Breakfast Pop Tart On the Way Out the Door), so despite the red-hot sparks between us, I’m determined to stay away. But when one little party gets way out of hand, we’re suddenly both on the wrong side of trouble. Unless we can come up with ten thousand dollars in the next three weeks, we’re screwed. And not just when it comes to the adorable pooches.

  With the clock ticking, we have no choice but to team up and embark on a madcap scheme to save our asses - with the help of a few furry friends. But with the chemistry between us reading Defcon-69, can I keep my hands (and heart) to myself? Or will this pup-tastic scheme leave us both in the doghouse?

  Find out in the latest hot and hilarious rom-com from “the queen of romantic comedy”, Lila Monroe!

  The Chick Flick Club Series:

  1. How to Choose a Guy in 10 Days

  2. You’ve Got Male

  3. Frisky Business

  Frisky Business

  Chapter One

  “My name is Eve Braithwaite, and I believe in True Love!”

  My friend, Gemma, gives a hum. “Maybe dial it back a little. It’s a dating app, not a Romance Anonymous support group.”

  “But it asks for your personal statement,” I protest, waving my cellphone screen at her. Gemma takes it, and starts typing.

  “What are you writing?” I ask, anxious.

  “You’ll see.” She waves me away.

  My other BFF, Zoey, rolls onto her back. “Try something like… ‘former gymnast-slash-erotic romance author seeks leading man for ‘research’ sessions… in bed.”

  “What?!” I snort with laughter. “I’m none of those things!”

  “Yeah, but they’ll definitely click on you.” Zoey grins. “Guys on there are looking to hook up. You need to play it casual, otherwise nobody will swipe.”

  “Well, maybe I don’t want them to swipe.” I fold my arms, defensive. “If they’re looking for meaningless sex, they can keep right on scrolling.”

  Zoey laughs. “You’re looking at this all wrong!”

  “It’s a numbers game.” Gemma agrees. “Sure, they start out wanting meaningless, no-strings, manwhore sex, but then they show up for drinks and, ta da! Fall madly in love with you.”

  “Sure, because that happens all the time,” Zoey smirks.

  “It’s alright for you two.” I say, exhaling a wistful sigh. “You’re all happy and in love.”

  This year, both my besties managed to go tumbling head over heels with hot, awesome guys. I’m happy for them, sure… but I’d be happier if I had a man of my own to stop me being fifth wheel every Friday night.

  Plus, you know, to give me love, affection, and sizzling hot sex.

  I’m not asking much, right?

  “Aww,” Gemma gives me a hug. “I’m sorry. Want us to dial back the heart eyes?”

  “No, it’s fine. It gives me something to believe in,” I give them a smile. “Because Lord knows, my dating history isn’t helping me keep the faith.”

  She winces. “I guess whatshisname didn’t call?”

  “Do you mean the one who took me dumpster diving because he’s morally opposed to food wastage?” I ask. “Or the one who calculated my share of the meal on his calculator app, right down to the three French fries I had off his plate?”

  I wish I were kidding.

  I’m really not.

  Dating these days is an adventure, that’s for sure.

  Zoey passes me another of her famous cinnamon buns – perfect for eating my feelings. “You don’t have to force yourself to get out there, you know,” she says gently. “You should take a break. Relax. Wait for Mr. Right to find you.”

  “I’ve been waiting!” I exclaim. “But nobody’s called in to my late-night radio show, or reached for the same pair of gloves in the department store.” I say, naming some of my favorite romantic comedy plots.

  “Or made a bet to transform you into the hottest girl in school,” Gemma adds with a grin.

  “Or waited outside your window blasting 80s music from a boombox. Which is probably a good thing, because that would actually be super-creepy in real life.” Zoey laughs.

  “I want to find my soulmate, and if all anyone does these days is stare at their phones, then I can play that game too,” I say, feeling determined. “This will be the year I find love. Or at least, have great sex with someone who cares about me.”

  I pause.

  “Well, decent sex,” I correct myself again. “With a guy who doesn’t think that coming all over my breasts counts as a grand romantic gesture.”

  My friends laugh. “Oh, Tom the Tit man!” Zoey hoots. “Whatever happened to him?”

  “I don’t know.” I make a face. “I changed my whole schedule to avoid his route to work.”

  “You’ll find someone.” Gemma reassures me, looking up from my cellphone. “You deserve a guy who knows just how amazing you are.”

  “And also knows where your clitoris is,” Zoey adds.

  “Ah, romance.” I grin. “And to think, when I was a kid, all I wanted was a guy with hair like JC Chasez.”

  “From N*SYNC?” Zoey asks. “I always thought you were more of a Justin girl.”

  I shake my head. “No, because that would have meant him breaking up with Britney. And I couldn’t stand in the way of true love, not even in my fantasy world.”

  “And who would want to come between that matching denim?” Zoey agrees.

  I flop back into the couch cushions with a wistful sigh. When I was younger, the world made it seem so easy: like the moment you grew up, great guys would be flocking to you, and life would be a 24/7 montage of fun dates and hot make-outs. They somehow left out the part where I’m twenty-six, perpetually single, and have no career or direction in life.

  “OK, I’ve got it!” Gemma cries. “Your irresistible, man-catching profile.”

  I grab the phone and read aloud. “Blonde bombshell seeks partner in crime. I love dogs, classic movies,
and snuggling together on the couch.”

  “But—“ I’m about to object to the very loose version of the truth, when their advice comes back to me. Who knows who’ll walk through that door? I can play it cool.

  “OK,” I agree, and click to confirm it before I can change my mind. “Fingers crossed!” I say, offering up a prayer to the Gods of Happily Ever After… who, to be honest, haven’t exactly been shining their love down on me. I put the phone down, and turn to my friends. “So, who wants to pick the movie—“

  My phone makes a chiming sound.

  “Ooh! You’ve got a match!” Gemma scoops it up. “Let’s see…”

  Despite my promise to play it cool, my heart leaps. My very first match on the app… now that would be a romantic story to tell.

  We all crowd around the phone. “Kyle, aged 29… He works in tech, and lives in the city.” I read.

  “You can’t really see his face,” Gemma peers at the pics. “He’s got a hat in this one, and sunglasses here…”

  “And a scuba mask,” Zoey continues. “But hey, at least he’s active and adventurous.”

  “And look, he has a dog!” I exclaim, scrolling to the last pic. His face is still shadowed by a baseball cap, but he’s hugging a gorgeous golden retriever. It’s a rule of mine that my dates have to love dogs. In fact, I think there’s something suspicious about men who don’t. But considering I volunteer at the animal shelter, and work as a dog-walker/pet-sitter, it’s pretty much a deal-breaker for me.

  “That seals it. Clicking ‘yes’.” Gemma says, hitting the button. A moment laster, a message pops up.

  “How about we skip the small-talk, and move straight to drinks, face-to-face?”

  “That came way too fast,” Zoey smirks. “He totally copied and pasted it.”

  “Sure, where’s good?” Gemma reads aloud as she types.

  “What? Gemma, slow down!” I protest, but there’s no stopping her, she snatches the phone out of my reach, and types some more.

  “OK, you’re meeting him at nine at Sylvie’s.”

  I gasp. “That’s in twenty minutes!”

  “Then we better do something with that outfit.” Gemma grins. “Luckily for you, you just happen to be friends with the best stylist in the Bay Area.” She gets up, and practically skips to her overstuffed closet.

  “Umm, aren’t you forgetting something?” I fold my arms. “Like the fact I’m four inches shorter, and like, twenty pounds heavier than you.”

  “Ten,” she corrects me. “And it’s all in the right places.”

  “Just ask Tom,” Zoey quips.

  I toss a pillow at her. “But it’s Chick Flick Club night!”

  “And what better way to celebrate, than to go meet your future husband.” Gemma starts tossing outfits down. “Wouldn’t you rather go have a real-life romance than sit around watching one on screen?”

  I bite my lip. “Will he be as swoon-worthy as Ryan Gosling?”

  “It’s up to you to find out.”

  I barely have time to throw on a Gemma-approved outfit, refresh my makeup and jump in an Uber to make it to the bar on time. I wince at the cost of the trip. I usually try and get around with buses or the subway, but I guess you can’t put a price on romance.

  Or at least, the distant possibility of romance.

  I step inside Sylvie’s and take a deep breath – and a look around. It’s a cute neighborhood bar, with dark wood, cosy booths, and a romantic candlelit vibe. There are already a bunch of couples here, flirting over their cocktails, but also some friends just hanging out. The perfect first-date mix.

  I slowly approach the bar, looking around for Kyle. There’s a guy on his own a little further down who could maybe be him, so I edge closer. He’s got brown hair, a medium build, kind of non-descript…

  He should have worn his scuba mask. Maybe then I would recognize him.

  The guy checks his phone, then places it back on the bar. It looks like he’s waiting for someone.

  Here goes nothing.

  “Kyle?” I ask, feeling awkward.

  He looks over.

  “Eve,” I say, with a little wave.

  His expression relaxes into a smile. “Hi Eve.”

  I exhale in relief. “I wasn’t sure it was you,” I explain, taking a seat on the bar still beside him. “Your pictures were all kind of undercover.”

  “Well, I am in the CIA.” He says, deadpan, then gives me a wink. “Kidding.”

  Did I say this guy was nondescript? Because once he smiles... wow.

  “You’d have to say that, if you were a spy.” I say, smiling. “Classic double bluff.”

  “So now you’ll never know.” Kyle grins. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Yes please,” I smile. “A mojito, please.”

  Cute, with a sense of humor, and not obsessed with going Dutch. Score one for dating apps, I think, surreptitiously sneaking another glance as Kyle chats with the bartender. He’s wearing a casual button down and dark wash jeans. Comfy.

  Classic.

  “So, tell me about yourself, Eve.” He turns back to me.

  “I thought we were skipping the small talk?” I say playfully.

  He chuckles. “I did, didn’t I? Well... ask me anything.”

  “Anything?” I raise an eyebrow.

  “Ladies choice.”

  Hmm... I could ask something super personal, but then he might do the same. And I’m going to need a couple more drinks before I spill my deepest secrets to a complete stranger.

  “What’s your dog’s name?” I ask instead.

  “My dog?” He looks amused. “I give you an all-access pass to my life and you ask me that?”

  “Dogs are important!” I protest. “You can tell a lot about someone by whether or not they like dogs.”

  “Why?”

  “Because!” My drink arrives, and I take a sip. “Having a dog means you care about something, that you can take care of it, and show affection. Dog lovers are loyal, and trustworthy, and devoted…” I tick them off my fingers.

  Kyle still seems amused. “What about snakes?” he asks.

  “What?”

  “Or pet ferrets, or a teacup pig,” he continues, smirking. “They all require loyalty and affection, don’t they? It’s the same thing.”

  “Snakes are not the same.” I give a shudder.

  “Sure they are,” Kyle grins. “You have to take care of it, feed it those little mice...”

  “But it doesn’t love you back!” I exclaim.

  “Au contraire. My grade school teacher kept one in a tank in the supply closet,” Kyle grins. “It loved slithering around, was always happy to see him.”

  Now he’s just trying to get a rise out of me. “You’re just being difficult,” I say, mock-scolding.

  His grin widens. “I’ve been told I do that sometimes.”

  “By who, your ex-girlfriends?” I quip, and he laughs.

  “Probably why they’re all my exes. What about you?” He asks. “Why are you walking up to strangers in bars?”

  “I’m looking for my soulmate.”

  I realize too late that this definitely breaks all the ‘cool and casual’ rules, mentioning the S word, but Kyle just looks curious.

  “Soulmate, huh. You really believe in that?”

  I nod. “Definitely. There’s one person out there who we’re destined to be with.”

  “What if he’s in Cambodia?”

  I frown. “What?”

  “Or Western Australia,” Kyle adds. “Or he lives two blocks over but you never wind up meeting him. Are you really saying that nobody else could make you happy?”

  I shake my head, smiling. “You think I haven’t heard that before? If you never meet somebody, you’re not meant to be together.” I shrug.

  “Oh, so it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy,” he smiles. “If you’re with someone, you’re meant to be with them. And if it doesn’t work out, then you’re not. Nice cheat.”

  “It’s not a cheat!�
�� I protest, defensive now. “It’s romantic.”

  “Oh...” he draws out the word. “You’re one of those.”

  Something about the way he says it makes me tense. “One of who?”

  “Those girls who have watched way too many cheesy movies,” Kyle says, rolling his eyes. “And think real life should come with a soundtrack and someone serenading them on a balcony.”

  “What’s wrong with romance?” I blurt, getting madder.

  “Where do you want me to start?” Kyle asks. “With the false expectations, or overblown gestures, or the idea that any characters in their twenties could live in massive apartments with bullshit fake jobs?

  “They’re not supposed to be real,” I protest. “It’s a fantasy.”

  “But here you are, spouting all this stuff about soulmates and ‘the one’.” Kyle points out, smirking.

  Did I say I liked his smile? Now it’s just plain smug and infuriating.

  “But—“

  “Eve?”

  A voice comes from behind me. I turn. A guy is loitering looking awkward.

  “I’m Kyle.”

  I blink. What?

  “Kyle, from the app?” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry I’m late, I got a flat tire on my bike. I cycle everywhere,” he adds, “Lowering my carbon footprint.”

  That’s all very environmental, but I’m still stuck on the first part of what he said.

  “You’re Kyle?! But...” I turn to the guy formerly known as Kyle who’s sitting beside me, taking a casual drink of his beer. “Who the hell are you?!”

  “Noah,” he gives an amused smile. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Uh, hi.” Kyle is frowning, confused, and he’s not the only one.

  “You lied to me?” I scramble down from the bar stool so fast, I nearly take a tumble.

  “Technically, no.” Not-Kyle replies. “You just assumed I was him, and I didn’t correct you.”

  “So, you just pretended to be somebody else?!” I can’t believe this guy. I’ve been sitting here trying to make an honest connection and all along, he’s been stringing me along in some kind of sick game?

  “You’re disgusting!” I tell him angrily.