Three Dates With You (Rules of Love #3.5) Read Online Lauren Blakely

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Rules of Love Series by Lauren Blakely
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Total pages in book: 13
Estimated words: 12763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 64(@200wpm)___ 51(@250wpm)___ 43(@300wpm)
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Read Online Books/Novels:

Three Dates With You (Rules of Love #3.5)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Lauren Blakely

Language:
English
ISBN/ ASIN:
B09DWM6XJH
Book Information:

A Rules of Love Novella

A flirty friends-to-lovers novella starring a tough but feisty heroine and a hero who’s determined to prove he’s worth a shot…

In theory, dating again sounds easy. In practice, it’s terrifying. Especially if the guy you want to take a chance with is your good friend. But as we gallivant around London, Sam makes his case for taking a chance on three dates with him.
Books in Series:

Rules of Love Series by Lauren Blakely

Books by Author:

Lauren Blakely



1

Maeve

It’s an hour till closing and Trouble has just walked into my bar.

You could set your clock by it—if a customer is going to be a problem, expect it to be one of the last customers of the night.

I eye the tall guy sporting a long ponytail, leaning against my precious jukebox. He runs a finger down the list of song choices, clicks a button, then glances over at me.

Or, more specifically, at my boobs.

I roll my eyes, then grab a dishrag from the shelf behind me to clean the pint glasses while “Pour Some Sugar On Me” blasts over the speakers.

“I think you have an admirer,” Cat says as she grabs a clean glass and pours a beer. She’s my right hand at the bar along with Billy, my new mixologist. Sure, I still miss Dean, my old business partner at The Magpie—but these two make life here fun.

“He’s definitely checking you out,” Cat says, tipping her head toward Ponytail. “And he’s kinda cute.”

Oh, sweet girl. “Tip from one woman to another—stay away from guys like that. Guys like that are trouble.”

“What do you mean, trouble?” She tilts her head to the side as she hands the customer his beer then chalks the drink up to his tab.

I raise one hand, count off the list. “One: he’s been making eyes at my chest ever since he walked in.”

“Well, empirically speaking, your boobs are great.” Cat shrugs.

“Even if I had a porn-star worthy rack, my face is up here, and a little eye contact wouldn’t go astray.” I hold up a second finger. “Reason number two: he’s been here five minutes, and he’s already asked Billy to send a drink to that woman over there”—I point to a lady in red standing with another woman in one corner of the bar—“and that one there.” This time, I point to a woman in a “bride-to-be” sash.

“Ugh.” Cat rolls her green eyes.

“Double ugh,” I agree. “And reason number three: his pickup line. It’s sure to be atrocious.”

“How do you know?” she asks.

“Call it a special skill,” I say as I place a glass on the rack. “When you’ve worked the bar for as long as I have, sometimes you just have a feeling when a man has absolutely no game in the pickup line department.”

“I’ve never met a pickup line I’ve liked,” Cat laments, then darts her eyes to the jukebox. “Here he comes. Need me to run interference?”

“It’s fine. I’ve got this,” I reply, and Cat moves away to serve another customer as Ponytail approaches the bar.

I turn to face him, flashing my most professional smile. “What can I get you?”

“I was hoping for something real . . .” His eyes dance to my chest again. “. . . tasty, if you know what I mean.”

Aaaand we have a winner, ladies and gents.

Cat hides a smile behind her hand, disguising it with a cough, and I heave a deep breath.

“We have many tasty options here on our menu.” I gesture to the folder on the bar. After all, there’s no need to be rude. “But if that was a terrible pickup line and you were hoping to perhaps order some of this?” I gesture to my chest. “I am most definitely not for sale.”

Ponytail shrugs and taps the bar with a too-long nail. “Your loss, lady.”

“Sure it is.” I gesture to Billy as he walks closer. “If you’d like to order an actual drink for yourself—not for another one of our patrons—Billy can help you out. If not, he’d be happy to order you a taxi and you can head on home.”

Ponytail gapes, a la goldfish.

I don’t wait for his reply. Instead, I turn and walk to the other end of the bar to prep the bottles of booze I’ll need for an industry trade show tomorrow, adrenaline pumping through me. It’s not the first time I’ve been hit on here, and it won’t be the last. Something about being a bartender—I guess people figure I’m easy prey.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

I look up, searching for the slow-clapper.

And there he is.

Sam.

My old business partner’s close friend.

And the subject of some of my wildest dreams.

Not that I gave him a second thought until recently. When I first met him a few years ago, Sam was married, which placed him firmly in the “just mates” column.

As Dean’s friends, we always found ourselves at the same parties and events. Sam was the incredibly hot, incredibly unavailable guy with the best dirty jokes.

It was just a shame I hadn’t seen him much since Dean had moved to the States.

“You handled that well,” Sam says, tipping his head toward Ponytail as he lopes out of the bar. “That could have been a challenging situation.”

“Thanks.” I shrug, like it’s no big deal. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“I bet. I’m sure you get hit on a lot.”


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