Nobody Does It Better Read online

  Contents

  Also By Lauren Blakely

  His Prologue

  Her Prologue

  1. Vanessa

  2. Vanessa

  3. Book Club Ladies Group Chat

  4. Shaw

  5. Shaw

  6. Shaw

  7. Shaw

  8. Vanessa

  9. Shaw

  10. Book Club Ladies Group Chat

  11. Vanessa

  12. Shaw

  13. Vanessa

  14. Shaw

  15. Derek

  16. Book Club Ladies Group Chat

  Epilogue

  Another Epilogue

  And One More Epilogue

  Also by Lauren Blakely

  Contact

  Nobody Does It Better

  Lauren Blakely

  Copyright © 2019 by Lauren Blakely

  LaurenBlakely.com

  Cover Design by © Helen Williams, photo by Wander Aguilar

  First Edition Book, April 8 2019

  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 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 ebook is licensed for your personal use only. This ebook 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. 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

  One Love Series

  The Sexy One

  The Only One

  The Hot One

  The Knocked Up Plan

  Come As You Are

  The Heartbreakers Series

  Once Upon a Real Good Time

  Once Upon a Sure Thing

  Once Upon a Wild Fling

  Sports Romance

  Most Valuable Playboy

  Most Likely to Score

  Lucky In Love Series

  Best Laid Plans

  The Feel Good Factor

  Nobody Does It Better

  Always Satisfied Series

  Satisfaction Guaranteed (June 2019)

  Instant Gratification (September 2019)

  Standalone

  Stud Finder

  The V Card

  Wanderlust

  Part-Time Lover

  The Real Deal

  Unbreak My Heart

  The Break-Up Album

  21 Stolen Kisses

  Out of Bounds

  Unzipped

  Birthday Suit

  The Dating Proposal (May 2019)

  Never Have I Ever (Fall 2019)

  The Caught Up in Love Series

  Caught Up In Us

  Pretending He’s Mine

  Playing With Her Heart

  Stars In Their Eyes Duet

  My Charming Rival

  My Sexy Rival

  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

  His Prologue

  Shaw

  Some women are just forbidden. Like . . . oh, just off the top of my head . . . say, my sister’s lifelong best friend. Forbidden, as in if I touch her, it’s sayonara favorite-body-part.

  Do I kid?

  No, and I don’t want to test my sister’s resolve, so I stay far, far away from lovely Vanessa. Sweet Vanessa. Vanessa who wants the real deal. Keep your dirty hands off my best friend Vanessa.

  Hey, that’s what my sister said.

  Look, I’m not scared of my sister.

  But I do respect her. I was raised right. I was taught respect, honor, and duty. And above all . . . family comes first. When Perri told me years ago she’d have my balls in a sling if I put my ladies’-man paws anywhere near her bestie, I listened, because I happen to like the boys a helluva lot.

  Honestly, though, I followed her guidelines not just for the sake of my intact nuts. I did it because she asked. If it’s important to Perri that my dirty hands stay far, far away from Vanessa, I can abide by that.

  I can resist sexy, alluring, flirty Vanessa.

  Witty, clever, oh, look, there’s mistletoe above us Vanessa.

  Oh, did I say that?

  Well, Vanessa did, and I’ll never forget that Christmas party when we were home from college.

  But I swear, it was only a kiss. A sweet, tantalizing, drive-my-body-insane-with-wanting-more kiss. I’ve mostly stayed away, and that’s not been easy, so give a man some points for stellar restraint.

  Especially since I’ve had it bad for Vanessa for years.

  As in decades.

  But sometimes, over the decades, you slip a little bit when you want something. You bend to the left, to the right, and you steal another kiss. Fine, fine. There was one more time—a year ago, when we were at Vanessa’s bowling alley for a New Year’s Eve party, lifting glasses and toasting to the new year.

  It wasn’t like we got it on right there on the bowling ball return.

  (It was beside the dartboard.)

  And it was a chaste New Year’s kiss.

  Too chaste for me.

  When I was home alone in bed, though, nothing was innocent that night. In my mind, it was one hot, sexy, filthy kiss that made us both rip off clothes.

  Except, even then, those words—balls in a sling—echoed.

  I listened. I’ll keep listening. After all, it’s only lust I feel, right?

  I can set that aside, no problem.

  Until the weekend before my sister’s wedding . . .

  Her Prologue

  Vanessa

  Is there any sadder adjective to describe a man you’re jonesing for than off-limits?

  Okay, fine. There might be a few worse qualities in a guy, like woefully dumb, boring AF, and, say, rude to his mama.

/>   Also, dislikes dogs.

  For the record, no dog-disliker is getting under my skirt.

  But let’s say you really dig a guy. The last thing you want is for him to be unavailable.

  That’s the trouble with Shaw. That’s always been the trouble with him, ever since I crushed hard on the guy way back in seventh grade.

  I fell for him because he cracked me up.

  Like that time in history class, when we were studying the English monarchy and he raised his hand and asked in an intensely curious voice, “Excuse me, Mr. Wabash. Which king of England invented fractions?”

  Mr. Wabash turned from the board, his white chalk suspended mid-stroke, his brow furrowed, and said, “I’m not sure that was a king of England.”

  Shaw leaned back in his chair, a naughty grin creeping across his thirteen-year-old face, and coolly quipped, “It was Henry the Fourth.”

  I chuckled.

  Maybe I laughed loudly.

  Fine, I snorted.

  We were both sent to the school office, where he proceeded to fire off round after round of jokes in a murmur as we waited side by side for the principal.

  How did the Vikings send secret messages?

  By Norse code.

  Why should you never trust an atom?

  Because they make everything up.

  They were corny jokes, but hey, that was comedy gold in seventh grade.

  The principal called us into his chambers and folded his hands the way annoyed adults do. He reprimanded Shaw for disturbing the class and rebuked me for laughing too loud.

  He sent us back to class with a warning.

  I was so glad Shaw was only eleven months older than his sister, putting the three of us in the same grade in school.

  He kept up his cute jester routine all through high school, during college when he became more of a sexy jester to me, and even now, as I’m pushing thirty. Like when he juggled five rawhide bones at his parents’ house a few months ago. Their dog was quite taken with his skills.

  Or when he performed a comedy act at the fireman talent show last year. Though, in all honesty, I spent most of his routine focusing on his V line rather than his punch line.

  He was shirtless. I had no choice.

  Big surprise that somewhere along the way, I fell for him.

  For his humor, for his heart, and for his big, strong body.

  That’s the problem.

  He’s fall-for-able, and I’m not the only woman who’s noticed.

  The ladies love him, and he seems to love them too.

  So, stolen kiss or two aside, I simply can’t think about him any longer.

  For many reasons, but first and foremost, this—he’s my best friend Perri’s brother. She’s never said it to me, but I know she doesn’t want me with him. And I hate keeping secrets from her.

  I must be done with this years-in-the-making secret.

  So when I have the chance to meet a new guy who’s coming back to town, a man who’s simply perfect for me, I seize the opportunity.

  So what if there are nearly two decades of longing for my best friend’s brother to get over?

  1

  Vanessa

  I have this fantasy.

  The details vary a little. Sometimes I’m in the town diner, other times I’m walking across the square. Most of the time, I’m right here at the one-stop check-in and shoe counter at my bowling alley.

  The rest of it goes like this: This guy strides up to me. A rush of tingles spreads down my chest at the sight of his dark hair, his five-o’clock shadow, and his big, burly frame. He drums his fingers on the Formica, lifts a brow, then smiles.

  I mean one of those world-class, panty-melting grins that make you swoon.

  But the real swoon is what comes next.

  He’ll say, “Level with me, Vanessa. I’ve had it bad for you for most of the last two decades, and I’ll wager it’s the same for you. If you feel even one ounce of what I feel, let’s shed this whole ruse and make it official. Go out with me. Go out with me tonight.”

  The rest? It’s a montage of oh yeses; hot, wet kisses; and messy lipstick.

  That’s the fantasy. My reality on a Wednesday evening in February?

  The door opens and a familiar figure strolls in. Even from a distance, he catches my gaze then tips his chin and mouths hey.

  My stomach flips, and then it somersaults again when he reaches my post, winks, and asks for a pair of shoes. I know his size, so I hand him the fourteens.

  “You know what they say about big shoes?” His deep, raspy voice makes my chest flutter.

  I quirk up my lips. “That they’re perfect for clowns?”

  And that smile? Oh boy. It spreads into the sexiest grin. “Vanessa Maria Marquez, are you saying I’m a clown?”

  I shrug, a little playfully, looking at the shoes in his hands. “If the shoe fits . . .”

  He leans closer. “The other thing they say about big shoes is that it’s hard . . .”

  I wait for him to make a dirty joke, to lob an innuendo. Breath held, I wait for him to say Let’s do this, because hope never dies. And then I wait for the abject guilt of keeping a secret from Perri to subside. Perri, one of my two best friends in the universe, the girl who’s been there for me through every up and down, who attended the theatrical productions I worked on in high school, the friend who rushed to my side in the hospital room when I broke my leg skiing in college, even though she was two hours away, the woman I gave the kick in the pants to last year with her guy when she needed it.

  Shaw’s hazel eyes flicker, and I know he’s waiting for me to set up his dirty joke.

  My guilt hardens—and my hope deepens too. The longing for this man beats on.

  I return to his “hard” comment. “Hard for what?”

  “Hard to find socks.”

  I laugh, shake my head, and shoo him off. “Go bowl some strikes, Shaw.”

  He gives me a tip of the imaginary hat and heads off to lane twenty, joining a few fellow firemen. I do my damnedest not to stare at his sexy butt, or admire his big frame, or, honestly, even think about him like that.

  It’s something I’ve been trying to do for years.

  When a group of older ladies—twice my age and totally fabulous—comes in, I shift my focus, setting them up at one of the lanes and serving them wine.

  For the next thirty minutes, I don’t even look at lane twenty.

  Well, maybe I peek once or twice.

  2

  Vanessa

  Doris Day had it right.

  Whatever will be will be.

  The future is coming at you, so you just damn well better make the most of your present.

  That’s why I dress the way I do, listen to great tunes, and spend plenty of my days and nights here at Pin-Up Lanes, where I’m living the American dream.

  I love bowling, I love retro clothes, and I love people.

  So this suits me fabulously, thank you, Doris Day.

  As her soulful number pipes through the place later that evening, I carry a tray of chardonnay-filled wineglasses past my cartoonish Let’s go bowling, it’s great for a date sign, and head straight for the vintage scoreboard.

  I don’t glance at lane twenty.

  Instead, I deposit the tray at the ladies’ table, set a hand on my hip, and shoot Miriam a playful look, tapping the toe of my Mary Janes. “You do know that to bowl, you have to send the ball down the lane.” I sweep my arm toward the very empty lane that Chanel-No.-5-scented Miriam and her two friends are not using since they’re gabbing. Which is fine by me. I’m also a gabber, and I love to gab with my besties too, whatever chance I get.

  Miriam laughs—a rumbly, rich kind that matches her presence as the leader of the group. “Then we’d have to take a break from discussing Sara’s new coconut-cake-baking skills.”

  The women break out in peals of laughter. They usually assemble for a book club at my friend Arden’s store, but tonight they brought the book club here.

 
; Narrowing my eyes, I tap a finger against my lip. “Hmm. Something tells me coconut cake is a euphemism. I wonder.”

  From behind her cat eye glasses, Sara lifts a brow as she grabs a glass of the wine. “Not true. I did make a coconut cake after I read this book.” She grabs a paperback from the green-and-white plastic bench seats, slapping a dog-eared The Coincidence of Coconut Cake against her thigh. “Then, my boyfriend and I wanted to see if it was true what they say about coconut.”

  Miriam arches a brow. “Coconut?”

  Sara’s pure deadpan when she answers. “That it makes certain substances taste better.”

  Chuckling, Miriam shakes her head. “Honey, that’s pineapple.”

  Sara wiggles her brows. “No, coconut does the trick too.”

  From her spot on the bench, CarolAnn adjusts her messy bun, shaking her head while laughing. “Ladies, if you don’t watch your euphemisms, we’re going to get kicked out of Pin-Up Lanes.”

  I wave a hand dismissively. “As if I’d ever kick you out for exchanging such useful intel.” I smile then wave toward my usual post behind the counter. “On that note, I’ll leave you to your cake talk. And feel free to not bowl one bit.”

  As I leave, CarolAnn calls out, “Vanessa, I love your dress, and I’m jealous you have the figure to pull it off. But not jealous enough to lay off the wine.”