Accidentally in Love Series by Sara Ney – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Accidentally in Love Series by Sara Ney – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Wed, 19 Oct 2022 22:42:22 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Accidentally in Love Series by Sara Ney – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 The Secret Roommate (Accidentally in Love #4) Read Online Sara Ney http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-secret-roommate-accidentally-in-love-4-read-online-sara-ney Wed, 19 Oct 2022 22:42:22 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-secret-roommate-accidentally-in-love-4-read-online-sara-ney Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports Authors: Sara Ney Series: Accidentally in Love Series by Sara Ney
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Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)

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All I need is a place to hide for a few weeks.

The paparazzi were on my ass 24/7 and I needed a bit of breathing room—an escape from the madness—before the media frenzy begins.

Sure, I could have gone to a secluded cabin in the woods—but I didn’t want to be bored out of my mind. I’d seen enough wide open spaces as a kid from Texas to last me a lifetime.

So instead, I let my agent hook me up with a modest house in the burbs where we didn’t think anyone would find me hiding in plain sight.

I’d have a roommate; but supposedly, she was going to give me space. Stay out of my way and respect my boundaries. According to my agent, I wouldn’t hear a peep from her.

Wrong. He was wrong about everything and now my life was never going to be the same.

* THE SECRET ROOMMATE is a slow-burn, stand-alone, opposites attract romance

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

duke

I hated New York.

Hated everything about it, from the weather to the social scene, to the hectic, fast-paced lifestyle. Then again, maybe I just hate it because it’s not where I thought I belonged.

It’s not the place or team I thought I’d be drafted to.

Texas.

Texas is that place, and it’s where I belong. And Texas is where I’m going to play now that I’ve just signed a new deal with a team I’ve wanted to play for since picking up my first football.

The Longhorn State is in my blood.

I wasn’t drafted to the Dallas Steers as a rookie like I thought I’d be; prayed to be, actually. Instead, I was fucked over by my agent and signed to New York, a deal I remained furious about even coming off a Super Bowl win.

Fuck you, New York Condors.

And fuck you, Aaron Lightner, my former agent.

Fuck him for screwing me over when I was too young to know better; too young to know I had a choice when it came to who I wanted to play for. I had options, and he didn’t tell me about them.

The greedy bastard decided for me.

Hefting my bag, I lower the ballcap over my eyes and put on sunglasses despite the fact that I’m inside the airport. It’s not easy concealing my identity—in fact, it’s damn near impossible—but I’m quick, wearing a disguise, and don’t dick around.

It’s not long before I’m climbing into a waiting black SUV at airport arrivals and on my way into the thick of the suburbs.

I’ve never visited the Midwest; not to play tourist, not to sightsee, and I’ve certainly never lived here.

Well, today all that changes.

Today, I’m hiding out there.

See, my agent lives in Chicago and has the keys to the house where I’ll be holing up—hiding—in what he calls a “family-friendly neighborhood,” where I’ve been guaranteed no one will bother me.

No one will notice me. I won’t have to go out in public, won’t have to be seen, won’t have anyone breathing down my neck—paparazzi or otherwise.

I only need a place to lay low for two weeks. The only one who knows I’m here is my new agent, Eli.

Should be easy to stay out of trouble, yeah?

Speaking of places to hide—when the driver pulls up to a red-brick house covered almost completely in ivy vines, I almost gag in my mouth at how stereotypically wholesome the entire scene is.

White picket fence out front, mailbox attached to the house on the front door, doormat on the brick stoop.

It reminds me of the brick cottage from Hansel and Gretel or, better yet, The Three Little Pigs.

The doormat says Shut the Front Door!

Great.

My roommate thinks dumb shit like that is cute and clever? Awesome.

Rolling my bag over the cobblestone sidewalk, I frown when no one answers the door after I knock. My eyes do a quick scan for any forms of life and find none; I even peer into the front room through the window, shielding my eyes with the palm of my hand against the glare.

Everything is as quaint as Eli described, complete with a pineapple-shaped doorknocker in lieu of a doorbell.

Who doesn’t have a doorbell?

What the hell kind of setup is this?

Also—no one is here to let me the fuck inside! I feel like a dickhole standing out here. Knocking again, I shoot my gaze around the yard to the sidewalk and down the quaint street. I’m absolutely paranoid that someone may see me standing here and get nosy.

I’ve been given clear instructions by my agent to keep a low profile.

“Is anyone home?” I bang on the door with my fist.

So what if I’m early by several hours?

I helped myself to an earlier flight to get a jump start on my mini-non-vacation, thinking I’d be doing everyone a favor by leaping into obscurity sooner rather than later.

Time to relax while the powers that be did their jobs behind the scenes. According to Eli, my departure from the New York Condors will be the top news story the sports world will have seen in a decade. I’m not sure if that’s true, but I guess I have to learn to trust him.

Hell, I might even read a book or two while I’m here.

Start a woodworking project like my pops would have done. Hang a hammock and nap in the sun. Shit—the world is my oyster!

The world was supposed to be my oyster ten minutes ago, so it would be mighty helpful if someone would come to the gall dang door.

What was her name, the girl who lives here?

Peoney?

Patricia?

Pa…Pa…

P.

I open my phone to look at the address, her name a headline at the top of the screenshot.

Posey Kettner.

Posey, that’s right.

My temporary roommate’s name is Posey, like some goddamn flower or storybook creature, one of the single dumbest names I’ve ever heard, and I made no secret about it.

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The Make Out Artist (Accidentally in Love #3) Read Online Sara Ney http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-make-out-artist-accidentally-in-love-3-read-online-sara-ney Mon, 15 Aug 2022 21:11:16 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-make-out-artist-accidentally-in-love-3-read-online-sara-ney Genre: Contemporary, Funny, Romance, Sports Authors: Sara Ney Series: Accidentally in Love Series by Sara Ney
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Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	The Make Out Artist (Accidentally in Love #3)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Sara Ney
Language:	English
Book Information:
From USA TODAY Bestselling Author Sara Ney comes a new series about strong, single girls falling in love: accidentally... Love finds you when you least expect it. That’s what my nan always said. Love? I wasn’t looking for it so how will I know when I’ve found it? I’m not romantic like she was—I’m realistic and practical. Quick with my wits and hilarious when I’m in the mood, it’ll take more than a handsome face to win my affection. Speaking of handsome faces—Elias Cohen is nothing special (no offense); smug, arrogant. Too flirtatious for his own good. He won't charm me with that crooked smile and dimple in his chin. When Elias comes knocking on my office door during a house party after I play wingman for a friend, I'm tempted to slam the door in his face. But I don't. Because If there's one thing I am, it's curious. And wouldn’t you know it—Elias needs a favor. Begs for one, actually. He might not be able to make me swoon, but he does need a wingwoman.
Books in Series:	Accidentally in Love Series by Sara Ney
Books by Author:	Sara Ney

one

molly

“I’m not a matchmaker.”

“I know that, Molly.” Claire—my roommate’s best friend—is leaning her hip against my dining room table, looking polished and glamorous as usual—basically the opposite of how I look. “I’m not asking you to play matchmaker, but…” Her voice trails off as she trails a finger along the silver platter on my dining room table.

“You’re not? That’s good because I’m into computers, not people.”

Claire doesn’t take the hint, looming longer than I prefer, graceful fingers now grazing the edge of the table.

She tries again. “You’re better with famous guys than I am.”

This time, my head rises. Better with famous guys?

What is she even talking about?

“Who on earth told you I was better with famous guys?” I stop picking at the vegetable tray and gape at her incredulously.

Famous guys? Who on earth is she talking about?

I don’t know any famous people, let alone famous guys, and why would there be any at this party?

“Posey told me your neighbor plays football.”

My neighbor? I rack my brain. Football player, football player, football play… Finally, it clicks.

“Ah.” She’s referring to my parents’ next-door neighbor, Tripp Wallace. “Was my neighbor. Past tense.”

Claire is impossible to ignore, breathing up my ass, invading my personal space with her questions and her perfume, and her froofy skirt keeps touching me, too.

“Still—you have experience with these sort of guys, yeah?”

Not in the real world.

“Claire, what on earth are you talking about? Why would you ask me that?” I laugh. This whole conversation is getting on my last nerve.

“I just need an introduction.” She snaps her fingers, gold bangles on her wrist clinking. “Easy!”

“An introduction with who? Cut to the chase.”

“With…” Her eyes scan the room, and she leans close so no one can overhear us. Not that anyone is trying. “Elias Cohen.”

Who the hell is Elias Cohen?

“I hate to be the one to break it to you, Claire, but you hardly seem like the type of woman who needs my help flirting. Or with an introduction to some random guy.”

“Some guy?” She snorts. “How long has it been since you’ve had a proper date?”

I snort back before popping an olive in my mouth. “That’s none of your business.”

She’s done lost her damn mind. Can’t she see that I’m busy filling a plate?

In sweatpants?

And when I say sweatpants, I don’t mean cute, sexy athleisurewear; I’m talking straight up sweatpants, the kind with the drawstring and elastic around the ankles. Stole them from my dad, actually, during my last visit home—along with a few candles from my mom’s secret candle cabinet.

Ha ha.

“Don’t you want your friends to be happy?”

I turn to face her dead on. “Are you gaslighting me, Claire?”

Her expression is blank, so I assume she doesn’t know what gaslighting means. But she’s still so close I can feel her breathing.

“I’m shy and awkward, and plus, I’ve never hit on anyone who was a sports agent before.”

A sports agent? Big deal.

“No offense to him, but just because the man has famous clients does not make him a celebrity himself.”

Very few agents are famous in their own right. Their job is to fade into the background, not hog the spotlight.

Right?

But Claire? She’s clearly seduced by any brush with fame, and I have to shimmy around her to steal a slice of red pepper off a tray, dip it in dill, pop it in my mouth, then chew.

“Just because my neighbor growing up was a famous football player,” I explain again, “doesn’t mean I’m better with famous people. That’s one person, that was ten years ago when I was a teenager—and I drove the man bonkers.”

Still drive Tripp Wallace batty, but that’s neither here nor there.

Constantly skirting around her to graze at my own dining room table, Claire is like a bad rash or a pet that’s underfoot, too small or too big to avoid. I change direction twice, moving to the opposite side of the table, uninterested in socializing at a party taking place within my own home.

This isn’t my shindig—it was the brainchild of my roommate, Posey, and I’m imprisoned here because this is my house. I love Posey to death, but I’m trapped amongst her yapping friends (like I typically am when she decides to throw a gathering), one of which has me cornered at a round table.

Game night.

Wine night.

Date night.

Christmas parties, Valentine's parties, Easter egg hunts.

POSEY LOVES IT ALL!

The woman is ridiculous—she even insists on decorating a tree for each holiday and displaying it in the front window, much to my chagrin. The last thing I need is our neighborhood thinking crazy cat ladies live here.

I can feel Claire creeping in. She won’t let the matter of Elias Cohen rest.

I should amend Posey’s rental agreement and tack on an addendum about midweek parties or any kind of midweek cheer that interrupts my inner peace because her friends are clingy.

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The Mrs. Degree (Accidentally in Love #2) Read Online Sara Ney http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-mrs-degree-accidentally-in-love-2-read-online-sara-ney Tue, 10 May 2022 07:45:42 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-mrs-degree-accidentally-in-love-2-read-online-sara-ney Genre: Angst, College, Contemporary, Romance, Sports Authors: Sara Ney Series: Accidentally in Love Series by Sara Ney
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Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 84930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >86

Read Online Books/Novels:	The Mrs. Degree (Accidentally in Love #2)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Sara Ney
Language:	English
Book Information:
Penelope Halbrook never intended to get pregnant in college, never intended to drop out, never intended to be a single mom. She thought by leaving Jackson Jennings, was doing him a favor—he had a bright future ahead of him; the last thing he needed was her (and a baby) standing in his way. She thought he would forget about her. She thought she would never see him in person again. How very wrong she was... about everything.
Books in Series:	Accidentally in Love Series by Sara Ney
Books by Author:	Sara Ney

Chapter 1

Penelope

Today is over, thank god.

It started off with a bang. I was late getting my daughter to school, which is… honestly? My lateness is nothing new.

We’re late most mornings. Usually, we’re about to run out the door, and I’ll look down to see that my daughter, Skipper, isn’t wearing shoes after I told her to be ready. Or she won’t have school clothes on and still be in pajamas.

Or she won’t be wearing anything at all.

Today, Skipper decided to take the braids out of her hair as we walked through the front door because one of them felt too loose. She then insisted on having me redo them, crying until I relented on the front stoop while squirming and wiggling around like she had ants in her pants.

It made me late for work.

Then I couldn’t find anyone to grab Skipper after work, so I spent my entire lunch break on the phone texting every mom I knew. At the same time, my boss stuck her nose over the top of my cubicle for a status update on an overdue report.

After word-vomiting an excuse, I snuck off to the bathroom a short while later and continued my mission there.

My boss? She isn’t a parent—doesn’t even own a pet—and has a lack of sympathy for working moms that rival any dictator’s. It’s not that I don’t like her. Maxine Wallaby has her redeeming qualities, but compassion and patience are just not included.

In any case, none of this is my boss’s fault.

None of it is Skipper’s fault, either.

The little shit—who was picked up by my new hero, Raina, the mom of a little girl named Ivy, and let Skipper swim in their pool until I could pick her up—gives the back of my seat a kick with the toe of her shoe, causing the peppermint mocha I’d just splurged four dollars on to spill out of the cup and onto the front of my blouse.

Great.

Perfect.

Awesome.

With a loud sigh, I reach blindly for the package of baby wipes I keep wedged between the center console and the passenger seat, grappling for it with my fingertips. It seems they’re wedged a bit too far down for an easy grab.

With a sigh, I settle for a dry napkin from the glove box and dab to no avail.

The blouse is ruined.

Skipper kicks me again, but I know it’s not intentional. She’s dancing to the music on the car radio, happily bebopping to the upbeat pop song, head tipping back and forth and side to side as she sings along.

Her cute little voice makes me smile despite the dark-brown sludge staining my powder-pink silk blouse.

“Mom, is Uncle Davis going to be there when we get home?”

Home.

My brother, Davis, lives next door. Technically, my house is his house because he owns it. Back in his glory days, he played professional football. I was a teenager when I got pregnant with Skipper, and Davis had gotten his first big paycheck. With it, he bought two houses side by side—one for him and one for me—and the day I brought Skipper home from the hospital, he moved me in.

He’s looked after me for as long as I can remember. Our mom was single, too, and worked her ass off to keep a roof over our heads. Davis was tasked with babysitting when she was gone, and he still watches out for me.

Davis Halbrook is my brother, my neighbor, and one of my best friends.

I glance at my daughter through the rearview mirror. “I’m not sure, honey. I think he has a date tonight with Juliet.”

Skipper bops her head to and fro. “Where are they going?”

“I don’t know, sweetie. He didn’t say.” Now that my brother is seeing someone, he hasn’t been around as much as he normally would. It’s a nice change but a foreign one. I’m used to him being at the house and spending loads of time with us.

“Can we stop and get chicken nuggets?”

I glance back to see that she’s munching on something already, probably something she fished from the cushions of her booster seat.

Hmm. “No, baby girl, I think I’m going to bake chicken tonight.”

“Can we eat at Uncle Davis’s?”

He has better apps on his television because he actually has a television with apps, and his refrigerator is stocked with more food. Plus, he buys Skipper snacks she likes, and his pantry is always bursting.

Unlike mine.

“Sure.” I know I should ask my brother before I barge in on his evening now that he’s dating someone, but I’m almost positive he won’t be around. And if they come back to his place afterward, it won’t take me but a few seconds to make myself scarce.

Besides, he won’t care.

I don’t have to run to the grocery store to bake chicken tonight. I have some things, and Davis will have the rest. I always know what he has stocked in his kitchen because I help make a list for his housekeeper when she does the shopping. And yeah, every so often, I steal a roll of toilet paper and a roll of paper towels, but that’s what little sisters are for, aren’t they?

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The Player Hater (Accidentally in Love #1) Read Online Sara Ney http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-player-hater-accidentally-in-love-1-read-online-sara-ney Wed, 23 Feb 2022 19:28:08 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-player-hater-accidentally-in-love-1-read-online-sara-ney Genre: Contemporary, Romance, Sports Authors: Sara Ney Series: Accidentally in Love Series by Sara Ney
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Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 70528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >71

Read Online Books/Novels:	(Accidentally in Love #1) The Player Hater
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Sara Ney
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B09GNT3M84
Book Information:
From USA TODAY Bestselling Author Sara Ney comes a new series of stand-alones about strong, single girls falling in love: accidentally. I would do anything for my best friend. Well. Almost anything. When she begs me to come on a weekend getaway so I can bond with her new boyfriend, I can’t say no—no matter how badly I want to. After all, who will keep an eye on the guy; he’s your stereotypical, professional football player (emphasis on PLAYER) and I don’t trust him with my friends heart. Worse? He has the nerve to bring his single best friend Davis on the trip, too. Davis is too handsome, so funny and smart he can’t possibly be human. Grandma’s, babies and kittens fall for his smile. In fact, everyone adores but me narrows eyes What’s he hiding? I refuse to fall for his act; at some point he’ll will drop the Good Guy act and show his true colors: he’s a player, too. He must be. You know the saying: if he seems too good to be true, he probably is.
Books in Series:	Accidentally in Love Series by Sara Ney
Books by Author:	Sara Ney

Prologue

JULIET

“I want you to get to know Thad better so you can know and love him the same way I do.”

My best friend is watching me earnestly from across the table at our favorite restaurant; we’re here so Mia can bamboozle me into getting closer to her new boyfriend, a man she’s been dating for around five months now whom she wants me to bond.

Bond with how, you say? A weekend trip with them to some place she saw online and has been begging him to take her.

Why would I want to be the third wheel with just the two of them?

I stir the ice around my cocktail.

Mia thinks she can woo me with drinks at this posh bar we’re sitting in—a bar that serves their concoctions in funky glasses and has the most incredible desserts—will win me over.

And under normal circumstances, she’d be right. If she were, say, asking to borrow a favorite dress or a pair of my insanely expensive high heels—I would cave at the first sip of this delicious nectar I’m drinking.

I take a sip from a glass shaped by the gods—it’s shaped like a canary—filled with pink alcohol, and warms my stomach in the most scrumptious way.

But alas, Mia is not asking to borrow clothes or expensive shoes.

She’s asking the impossible.

“I don’t want to love Thad the same way you love Thad.”

I’m never going to get giddy about him during a weekend getaway, no matter how hard she tries to make me and her boyfriend buddies—I’d rather love him from afar.

First of all, his name is Thad.

Secondly, he looks like a douchebag—your stereotypical professional athlete who turns into a charmer when he’s around women, at least from what I can see.

Megawatt smile.

Flexes when anyone looks at his arms.

Long, flowing hair he wears in a man bun.

Textbook player.

Mia—who is still looking hopeful on the other side of the table—is blissfully swirling her gold drinking straw around a pretty glass containing a shiny liquid with edible gold glitter floating on the surface.

Eventually she sighs. “Juliet. I love you, you know I do. And I also love Thad.” I cringe again at the sound of his name while she continues. “You have got to start trying—he’s getting a complex and beginning to think you don’t like him.”

I don’t like him.

At all.

And why do I care that a grown man is getting a complex because he and I are not BFF’s? It’s not my job to make him feel secure.

This is a him problem, not a Juliet problem.

“Why does he care if I like him or not?” Does he seriously expect all women to drop at his feet to worship him because he’s good-looking, successful, and famous? Well, let me tell you something: I’m not signing up to be the Vice-President of his Fan Club anytime soon, even though my best friend is the President and currently recruiting new members.

No, thank you, sir.

“He cares because you’re my best friend and he wants you to like him.” This time, she delivers her sentence with an eye roll, laying on the sarcasm like syrup on waffles. “That’s why we’re going on this quick trip. It’ll be the best way to bond instead of staying in the city with all the distractions.”

I’m being difficult and we both know it.

To be honest I didn’t actually think I was giving her boyfriend an ‘I don’t care for you’ vibe when I was around him—I legitimately thought I was being pleasant, faking the good times and laughter for the sake of my best friend while all along finding the dude suspect.

Guess I’m not as good an actress as I thought I was.

“Mia—you know I don’t want to third wheel it on a vacation with the two of you.” That would be torture. “Plus, I don’t have the money to go galivant to some expensive resort for the weekend.” I cross my arms to punctuate my sentence, daring her to argue about my financial situation.

I will not be peer pressured into a vacation with a man I don’t want to go with, although a piña colada does sound rather tasty.

“You won’t be third wheeling it, and it would be his treat. All expenses paid.”

Free trip?

My ears twitch.

Dammit. I would kill for an all-expenses paid trip.

Mia knows I’m a sucker for a bargain and obviously plans to exploit the fact.

“So now he’s trying to bribe me?”

She laughs. “I wouldn’t use the word bribe; I would use the word coax. You’re like an animal at the Humane Society that needs to be given treats so when an arm reaches into your cage, you don’t gnaw it off.”

I turn my nose up at the comparison. “I object at being equated to an animal in a shelter, but also—accurate.” I lean forward. “Tell me more about how I won’t be the third wheel. How is that possible?”

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Read Online Books/Novels:

The Make Out Artist (Accidentally in Love #3)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

English

Read Online Books/Novels:

The Mrs. Degree (Accidentally in Love #2)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

English

Read Online Books/Novels:

(Accidentally in Love #1) The Player Hater

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

English

B09GNT3M84