Thanks For Last Night
A Guys Who Got Away Novel
Lauren Blakely
Little Dog Press
Contents
Also by Lauren Blakely
About
Thanks For Last Night
Her Prologue
His Prologue
1. Ransom
2. Teagan
3. Teagan
4. Ransom
5. Ransom
6. Teagan
7. Ransom
8. Ransom
9. Teagan
10. Ransom
11. Teagan
12. Teagan
13. Ransom
14. Ransom
15. Ransom
16. Teagan
17. Ransom
18. Ransom
19. Ransom
20. Teagan
21. Ransom
22. Logan
23. Ransom
24. Summer
25. Bryn
26. Logan
A Little Epilogue
The Story of Tempest and Martinez
Epilogue
Also by Lauren Blakely
Contact
Copyright © 2020 by Lauren Blakely
Cover Design by Helen Williams.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This contemporary romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This book is licensed for your personal use only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you enjoy sexy romance novels with alpha males. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Also by Lauren Blakely
Big Rock Series
Big Rock
Mister O
Well Hung
Full Package
Joy Ride
Hard Wood
* * *
The Guys Who Got Away Series
Dear Sexy Ex-Boyfriend
The What If Guy
Thanks For Last Night
* * *
The Gift Series
The Engagement Gift
The Virgin Gift
The Decadent Gift
One Night Only: An After Dark Novella
* * *
The Heartbreakers Series
Once Upon a Real Good Time
Once Upon a Sure Thing
Once Upon a Wild Fling
* * *
Boyfriend Material
Asking For a Friend
Sex and Other Shiny Objects
One Night Stand-In
* * *
Lucky In Love Series
Best Laid Plans
The Feel Good Factor
Nobody Does It Better
Unzipped
* * *
Always Satisfied Series
Satisfaction Guaranteed
Instant Gratification
Overnight Service
Never Have I Ever
Special Delivery
* * *
The Sexy Suit Series
Lucky Suit
Birthday Suit
* * *
From Paris With Love
Wanderlust
Part-Time Lover
* * *
One Love Series
The Sexy One
The Only One
The Hot One
The Knocked Up Plan
Come As You Are
* * *
Sports Romance
Most Valuable Playboy
Most Likely to Score
* * *
Standalones
Stud Finder
The V Card
The Real Deal
Unbreak My Heart
The Break-Up Album
21 Stolen Kisses
Out of Bounds
* * *
The Caught Up in Love Series:
The Swoony New Reboot of the Contemporary Romance Series
The Pretending Plot (previously called Pretending He’s Mine)
The Dating Proposal
The Second Chance Plan (previously called Caught Up In Us)
The Private Rehearsal (previously called Playing With Her Heart)
* * *
Stars In Their Eyes Duet
My Charming Rival
My Sexy Rival
* * *
The No Regrets Series
The Start of Us
The Thrill of It
Every Second With You
* * *
The Seductive Nights Series
First Night (Julia and Clay, prequel novella)
Night After Night (Julia and Clay, book one)
After This Night (Julia and Clay, book two)
One More Night (Julia and Clay, book three)
A Wildly Seductive Night (Julia and Clay novella, book 3.5)
* * *
The Joy Delivered Duet
Nights With Him (A standalone novel about Michelle and Jack)
Forbidden Nights (A standalone novel about Nate and Casey)
* * *
The Sinful Nights Series
Sweet Sinful Nights
Sinful Desire
Sinful Longing
Sinful Love
* * *
The Fighting Fire Series
Burn For Me (Smith and Jamie)
Melt for Him (Megan and Becker)
Consumed By You (Travis and Cara)
* * *
The Jewel Series
A two-book sexy contemporary romance series
The Sapphire Affair
The Sapphire Heist
About
A sexy new friends-to-lovers standalone!
Let me list the reasons why dating the sexy, charming pro hockey star is a bad idea:
1. He’s one of my closest friends
2. All our friends are friends
3. The wounds I’ve got from past relationships go deep. And so do his.
* * *
We’re both devoutly single -- it’s just safer for the heart that way. But there’s no reason not to bid on the gorgeous, clever athlete at the charity auction this weekend. If I win, it’ll be a "friendsdate."
And I do win.
I win him big.
And hard.
And all night long.
* * *
The trouble is . . . what happens in the morning?
* * *
Thanks For Last Night is a standalone romance in The Guy Who Got Away series. The other titles are Dear Sexy Ex-Boyfriend and The What If Guy.
Thanks For Last Night
By Lauren Blakely
* * *
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Her Prologue
Teag
an
* * *
Experts tell women some crazy shit.
Like this gem—when you hit twenty-nine in New York City, the creep sets in.
The dating creep.
Sounds like a catchall category for all the jerks and jackholes women learn to avoid, and if you haven’t yet, do yourself a favor—they are never worth it.
But no. When lifestyle gurus say “dating creep,” they mean your dating prospects will—supposedly—slow to a molasses-speed trickle. If you listen to these experts, you should just box up your stilettos and take up your knitting needles.
Sure, twenty-nine is still technically young. But it’s only one year from—shudder—thirty. And in Manhattan, where there is an influx of perky college grads flooding the streets every freaking June, the big three-oh is a deal-breaker for some dudes.
So, chop-chop. Get moving, ladies.
The only glance you’ll get from guys in bars is on their way to checking out that pretty young public relations strategist next to you, or the quirky-cute book editrix and her friends, all less than a quarter-century old.
The only solution is to lock a man down while you can!
Because soon, you can forget the idea of an adorable, glasses-sporting hottie chatting you up while you’re reading travel guides in a cozy indie bookstore in the cutest meet-cute of all, maybe one where you drop a stack of papers and he picks them up, while casting love eyes at you. That is an under-thirty-only scenario.
Are you scared yet? Desperate and ready to settle for less than love?
Don’t be.
Don’t buy into the madness, ladies.
I’m rapidly approaching thirty-three, and I say, bring it on, calendar. I’m not afraid of birthdays, nor am I afraid of being alone.
I like my own company.
I’m that woman. The woman in the red dress, strolling down Lexington Avenue, AirPods blasting pop music, pink handbag swinging sassily from her arm—because where else would a lady carry her mace?—without a care in the world.
Maybe that’s not a daily event, but it’s the single-in-the-city montage unfurling under the opening credits in the romantic comedy flick of my life. It would have a kick-ass girl-power soundtrack too.
And as for the closing shot? No spoilers here, because there are zero guarantees that more than one person will be riding off into the sunset. Because I refuse to accept a Hollywood Ending requires romance.
I’m living proof.
I’m the happiest kitty in the borough of Manhattan, and I don’t need a man on the reg to enjoy the catnip of life.
Catnip tastes fabulous when you’re single.
Even if a smidge more Tinder swipes go left instead of right now that I walk on the—gasp—dark side of thirty.
But I don’t let this evaporation in the dating pool bother me, because those men don’t know what they’re missing.
I’m the woman who knows how to have a good time.
I don’t mean like that—wink, wink—though I do, also, mean like that.
Mostly, I mean this—I like fun and games. I like going out. I like trying the smorgasbord of things this fabulous city has to offer.
So, if and when the dating creep kicks in, I’ll do what I usually do.
Say “No, thanks,” and walk on by.
But here’s what dating experts don’t tell you.
You’ll have to fend off your friends the most when you’re over thirty.
Once they all fall ass-over-elbow in love, they will have zero self-control when it comes to their new favorite hobby—matchmaking.
Once attached, everyone becomes a cupid.
They want everyone to be as happy as they are, and they can’t resist aiming their arrows at your heart—yours and those of whatever single guys they know.
Lately, my coupled-up friends have a particular target in mind and are champing at the bit to pair me up with him.
Ransom North.
Stud hockey player. Dry sense of humor. Laid-back attitude.
We’re the holdouts. The last single people in our group, so natch, we should get together—the happy-go-lucky social media strategist and the chill NHL all-star.
Maybe in a parallel universe, we might have been a good fit. It would certainly be convenient for our circle of friends—until it wasn’t.
In this world, that’s the issue when it comes to Ransom and me.
My friends are my family.
I don’t want to take a chance of ruining the only family I have by messing around with someone who joins us for brunch, Ping-Pong, paintball, laser tag, and so on.
It’s best to keep Ransom at an ogle-distance and out of reach, thank you very much.
At least that’s what I tell myself.
Until the night I told myself the craziest lie of all—that I could get him out of my system and return to the way things were.
But it won’t work.
After Ransom, I’m going to need a whole new normal.
His Prologue
Ransom
* * *
Some guys believe in mottos.
Plenty of women do too.
People plaster their world with their life’s catchphrase—stick it on their walls, print it on their mugs, ink it on their bodies.
I’m not one of those—the motto plasterers. I don’t have posters in my pad or ink on my skin, and all my mugs come from my little sister, who chooses only the snarkiest of sarcastic slogans.
But I am definitely a mantra guy.
I’ve got mine stored nice and handy up here in my head, accessible at a moment’s notice.
Most are pretty basic—respect your family, put down the toilet seat if you live with a woman, and play your motherfucking heart out every time you hit the ice.
My list of dos and don’ts is longer, but if I hit the two biggies—don’t be a douchebag and do be more chill—I pat myself on the back and feel pretty damn good about myself.
That’s how I lived in my twenties, and those guidelines are why I have the life I want now at thirty. They’ve never let me down.
Except once.
That one time they failed me.
So now my number one, never forget, always follow is this: Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
When you’ve allowed yourself to be tricked so cruelly, once you know the sharp, stabbing pain of naivete so deep that it hollows out your heart—you learn your boundaries.
The ones you won’t cross again.
I found my line the hard way, and now I know better.
Love sucks, so save yourself a world of hurt and avoid it at all costs.
Especially if the woman is a friend.
Case closed.
Except I have a sinking feeling I’m about to get fooled again.
So, put that on a mug and drink up.
1
Ransom
She rounds the corner, just a blur of silky red hair, fleet feet, and a kamikaze heart.
Her white-and-orange pistol swings slowly as she hunts me.
From my hiding spot behind a dimly lit doorway, I narrow my gaze, take aim, and fire off a punishing round of green lasers at the lithe redhead. “You’re going down, King!”
I strike a fatal blast to her chest. Teagan goes all-in on the drama, letting her pistol clatter to the floor as she collapses to her knees.
Sputtering, she clutches her heart and coughs like she’s performing Shakespeare, going for the save. Rules are rules, and our mutual friend Bryn devised them for today’s game of laser tag—if you can make your killer laugh while you’re dying in the last round of the battle royale, you can earn another life.
When it comes to sports, I don’t believe in do-overs or mulligans. But sportsmanship also means respecting the rules of the game as they’re laid out, even the silly ones. So my job here is to remain impervious to Teagan’s dramatics, implacable as she twists and writhes, contorting her face and making sounds reminiscent of a cat heaving up a hairball.
Ice.<
br />
I’m the North Pole, just like I am in the rink.
Nothing breaks me, and nothing breaks me down.
Though if something were to chip away at my armor, it might be gorgeous-as-anything Teagan King flopping onto her back, looking like a break-dancer doing the worm while being electrocuted.
Oh, hell.
She’s so ridiculous fake-dying that the seed of a chuckle takes root in me.
A kernel of a laugh sprouts and gathers strength in the center of my rib cage, gaining speed now.
Then she rises like the undead, reaching out her arms and groaning like a . . . sexy zombie.
How the fuck is that possible?