FULL PACKAGE by Lauren Blakely is Here!
A sexy and funny friends-to-lovers standalone romantic comedy, FULL PACKAGE is about a sexy, witty man as he falls head over heels for a woman, who just happens to be his roommate. It takes everything you love about a Lauren Blakely novel –witty dialogue, smoking hot sex scenes, and heartfelt moments –and puts them into one fantastic book! Told in the guy's POV, with a creative look into Josie’s POV as well, FULL PACKAGE is the laugh-out-loud and insanely hot story of what happens when a sexy ER doc falls madly in love with his gorgeous roommate...and they’re forced to deal with all that simmering desire in a mere six hundred square feet of living space.
"Lauren Blakely has mastered the recipe for delightful and delicious. It's called Full Package. I can't find words to tell you how much I enjoyed this friends to lovers romance with enough sweet to melt in your mouth and enough spice to melt your panties.”
“Lauren Blakely nailed it AGAIN. This man man is perfection! HOT, SWEET, FUNNY, SMART.”
I point to the curved wooden stand with a hook at the top. “This. Explain this.”
Josie sets her hands on her hips. “It’s a banana holder.”
I give her a stern look. “I can read. I don’t need to know what. I need to know why.” I poke the object on the shelf at Bed Bath & Beyond, otherwise known as the Nexus of Unnecessary Things. Pretty sure there’s some kind of vortex or force field right smack dab in the middle of this store attracting all the weird, bizarre, and odd home goods. “Why can’t they sit on the kitchen counter? Or, how about in a bowl?”
“Maybe the bananas just like to dangle?” she suggests. “Hang free and all?”
Smacking my forehead, I go along with it. “Aha. That makes perfect sense.”
“I’m here to help.” She tugs on my shirtsleeve. “But can we please get to the sheet aisle? You can’t sleep on a naked mattress.”
“That may be true, but I could definitely sleep naked on a mattress,” I offer, and she laughs as we navigate through another sardine-packed aisle in the mammoth store.
It’s one in the afternoon, and I just moved in this morning. That took all of two hours. Spending my twenties in med school and as a resident gave me very little time for the acquisition of things, so most of my possessions fit in a duffel bag. I have very little. Not even sheets for a queen-size bed. Ergo, I’m spending Saturday at Bed Bath & Beyond, which is a bit like wandering through a Buzzfeed post titled “Ten Things I’ll Never Use.”
More like five hundred. Wait. Make that five hundred and one, because I just spotted the new number one item on the list.
“That,” I say as I make a beeline for a shelf of crème brûlée torches. Grabbing a silvery one, I hold it up. “Please say we can have a housewarming party, and you’ll make crème brûlée, and I can stride all proud and awesome into the kitchen,” I say, puffing out my chest and deepening my voice. “And I can light it with a torch, and we’ll all ooh and ahh at the manly fire I made when I lit up a dessert.”
She arches an eyebrow. “A manly fire?”
I nod vigorously. “And then you’ll let the guests take turns punching me in the face for being a total douche for owning a crème brûlée torch.”
She narrows her eyes. “You actually want people to punch you?”
I’m deadly serious as I answer her. “If I ever own a crème brûlée torch, you have carte blanche to punch me, Josie. You really should.” I drop the torch on the shelf and take her hand, clasping it tightly in mine. “Promise me. From this day forward. Promise you’ll punch me if I ever own a crème brûlée torch, a rotating tie rack, or more than one kind of cheese grater. This is part of our roommate pact.”
She grips my hand tighter, her green eyes glowing with stark seriousness. “I solemnly swear to pummel you under all the aforementioned circumstances. As proof of our friendship and roommate solidarity.”
“You’re a saint,” I say, then wrap a hand around her head and tug her close for a quick kiss on her forehead.
And hello, sweet, sexy scent of Josie. What is this delicious smell? Is it . . . oh fuck me.Cherries. My God, she smells like cherries. Like the perfect summer fruit. Like the naughtiest fruit. And I’ve got to wonder if that cherry scent is her face lotion, her shampoo, or her body wash?
My mind is adrift, and the word association begins. Because what goes with body wash but nudity?
Naked woman in the shower. Washing. Lathering. Soaping.
Snap the fuck out it, Summers.