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.”
~ iScream Books
“Lauren Blakely nailed it AGAIN. This man man is perfection! HOT, SWEET, FUNNY, SMART.”
~ Queen of Hearts
Excerpt
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?
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.
Ah,
hell.
Snap
the fuck out it, Summers.
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