Four Day Fling, an all-new hilarious and romantic standalone from New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Emma Hart is available NOW!
Imagine this.
You’re ready to leave after a one-night stand, and you’re figuring out how to—shock horror—leave your number and ask him to be your fake boyfriend for your sister’s wedding this weekend.
When he wakes up.
Well, that happened to me. And over coffee and omelets, I found myself a date.
Which was how I ended up arriving at the wedding with a guy I knew nothing about.
I didn’t know his last name, or how we met, or how long we’d been dating. I didn’t know where he grew up, what he’d majored in in college, or how many siblings he had.
I sure as hell didn’t know he was Adam Winters, hotshot hockey player, and not only my father’s favorite player, but my little nephew’s freakin’ idol.
Which means I’m in trouble. Big, big trouble.
My mother is suspicious, my sister is bridezilla on crack, and my grandpa will tell anyone who’ll listen about his time in Amsterdam’s Red Light District.
Four days.
I have to keep this up for four days, and then Adam and I can return to our regular lives, where we don’t have sex whenever we’re alone, and my family aren’t interrogating him over his intentions with me.
At least, that’s the plan.
And we all know what happens to those.
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EXCERPT
“Ready?” Adam strolled out of the bedroom, playing with the button on his shorts.
“For lunch with my mother?” I turned and stared at him, expressionless. “I’m thrilled.”
He laughed and adjusted the short sleeve of his white shirt. “It’s what—an hour? Then she’ll be back snapping at your sister’s ankles. Surely you can give Rosie a break for sixty whole minutes.”
“Oh no. I’ve done that guilt trip my entire life. I’m not getting it from my fake boyfriend, too.” I waggled my finger at him before turning back to the mirror to finish my make-up. “And yes, I can give her a break, but it doesn’t mean I need to be happy about it.”
“Do you ever get along?”
“Yes. When I’m in Orlando and she’s in Key West.”
“I mean when you’re together.”
“In the same room together, or having a conversation together?”
“Now you’re just being awkward, Red.”
I brushed a final stroke of mascara over each of my eyes, then stopped, wand in hand, and met his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “Given how you ended up here, I would have thought you knew that awkward was my default mode.”
“That was cute-awkward. This is attitude-awkward.”
“How do you know there’s a difference?”
He pointed at himself. “Four sisters. I grew up with attitude-awkward. I could recognize it blindfolded with hands cuffed behind my back from two hundred miles away.”
“Wow. Someone’s cocky.”
“I thought we established that the night we met.”
My cheeks flushed. Damn it. Why did I have to blush like an idiot? Oh, that’s right. I was a redhead and so pale I was a distant relative of Casper the Friendly Ghost, which meant you could see my blushing a mile off.
“You’re adorable when you blush.” Adam grinned.
“Thank God,” I drawled. “That was my life goal. Be adorable. Now, I can get it in neon lights over my bed.”
“Ready?” Adam strolled out of the bedroom, playing with the button on his shorts.
“For lunch with my mother?” I turned and stared at him, expressionless. “I’m thrilled.”
He laughed and adjusted the short sleeve of his white shirt. “It’s what—an hour? Then she’ll be back snapping at your sister’s ankles. Surely you can give Rosie a break for sixty whole minutes.”
“Oh no. I’ve done that guilt trip my entire life. I’m not getting it from my fake boyfriend, too.” I waggled my finger at him before turning back to the mirror to finish my make-up. “And yes, I can give her a break, but it doesn’t mean I need to be happy about it.”
“Do you ever get along?”
“Yes. When I’m in Orlando and she’s in Key West.”
“I mean when you’re together.”
“In the same room together, or having a conversation together?”
“Now you’re just being awkward, Red.”
I brushed a final stroke of mascara over each of my eyes, then stopped, wand in hand, and met his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “Given how you ended up here, I would have thought you knew that awkward was my default mode.”
“That was cute-awkward. This is attitude-awkward.”
“How do you know there’s a difference?”
He pointed at himself. “Four sisters. I grew up with attitude-awkward. I could recognize it blindfolded with hands cuffed behind my back from two hundred miles away.”
“Wow. Someone’s cocky.”
“I thought we established that the night we met.”
My cheeks flushed. Damn it. Why did I have to blush like an idiot? Oh, that’s right. I was a redhead and so pale I was a distant relative of Casper the Friendly Ghost, which meant you could see my blushing a mile off.
“You’re adorable when you blush.” Adam grinned.
“Thank God,” I drawled. “That was my life goal. Be adorable. Now, I can get it in neon lights over my bed.”
Emma Hart is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over thirty novels and has been translated into several different languages. She is a mother, wife, lover of wine, Pink Goddess, and valiant rescuer of wild baby hedgehogs. Emma prides herself on her realistic, snarky smut, with comebacks that would make a PMS-ing teenage girl proud. Yes, really. She's that sarcastic.
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