Asking For a Friend Read online Lauren Blakely (Boyfriend Material #1)

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Boyfriend Material Series by Lauren Blakely

Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 61424 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Asking For a Friend (Boyfriend Material #1)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Lauren Blakely

1696461758 (ISBN13: 9781696461757)
Book Information:

I was only trying to help a friend. I swear. I was legit asking for a friend who was finally ready to date again.
I knew what she wanted in a man — smart, funny, ambitious, well-read (no, the sports section doesn't count), and plays a wicked game of badminton.
So I did what any good friend would do. Posted it for her. It seemed like a good idea at the time — I’d weed through the candidates, and bring her my top picks.
But then he responded. Is it wrong to date the guy I screened for my bestie? Not asking for a friend.
ASKING FOR A FRIEND is a Boyfriend Material series standalone! Three best friends. Three outrageous proposals. Three chances to fall in love. Three brand new standalones from Lauren Blakely!
Books in Series:

Boyfriend Material Series by Lauren Blakely

Books by Author:

Lauren Blakely Books

Her Prologue


A thesaurus is a girl’s most satisfying lover.

I’ve been devoted to the delights of mine since I was eight, and it remains my loyal, pleasure-giving companion twenty years later.

My love for it is omnivorous. I devour synonyms from Roget’s online, and the urban version too.

Growing up, I used to sleep with a well-worn purple thesaurus beside my pillow. Every word I’d looked up was underlined—a smorgasbord of “mint julep,” thanks to Gone with the Wind; “elixir,” courtesy of Harry Potter; and “rapture,” hailing from Pride and Prejudice.

But I didn’t really grasp the potential until I read a Jackie Collins-esque potboiler in which a rich guy dies of a rigor mortis–inducing heart attack while screwing his mistress. Who knew there were so many alternative names for body parts?

Knob, rod, pump, package, slinger.

I did, that’s who. And I didn’t stop there.

Joystick, purple crayon, drive machine.

They sounded deceptively playful, and by middle school, I could recount things I’d read in the dirtiest books and make them sound like they were penned by choir girls.

Later, I learned how the crafty use of words could vault me to the top of English courses, winning me essay contests and opening college doors.

The thesaurus still comes in handy. Armed with one in your holster, you can win any shoot-out. You can go from telling your boss that the new assignment she just gave you isn’t simply a “piece of cake”—it’s a “slam dunk,” a “picnic in the park,” or, wait for it, a “doddle.”

Or you can tell that to yourself when you take on a new project, like, say, writing a list of requirements for a dating profile.

I tackle it with the thesaurus by my side.

What’s another way to say “smart”?

Can sustain a conversation consisting of words other than “awesome,” “cool,” and “dude.”

What’s another way to say “polite”?

Good manners will get you everywhere. (Including in my pants. But I don’t say that. Not yet, at least. That’s for the third date, obviously.)

How about “must like books”?

Please be well-read. Buzzfeed and the sports section don’t count.

Except with great power comes great responsibility.

Because when the responses flood in, I realize I’ve opened a Pandora’s box of problems.

His Prologue


It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Scratch that. It seemed like a fantastic idea.

Because there’s this girl I can’t resist, but giving in to the temptation of her and all her charms—from her delight in words to her obsession with pockets to her flirty-bordering-on-just-a-little-dirty mouth—could be disastrous.

I could keep stepping on the brake with all my flagging willpower, or I could nudge the steering wheel and turn my energy elsewhere . . .

Yes. I’ll do that.

That’s a brilliant plan.

I’ll find a date online, someone who’s equally fantastic and feisty, who’s just as bright and bold, so I’m not tempted by that firecracker.

But you know what they say about resisting temptation.



Two weeks ago

Every workday around three in the afternoon, I sponsor a debate with myself: shut the door and sneak in a snooze, or pop in a piece of cinnamon gum and power through the late-in-the-day doldrums?

Today is no different, and I blame the manuscript I’ve been reading for the last few hours. It’s the story of a plucky thirtysomething woman with a pixie haircut—because, of course, plucky heroines have pixie haircuts—who gives relationship advice to couples based on the candy they buy at her sweet shop.

But—hold the press—love knocks her on her ass one day when a handsome stranger strolls in and buys all the purple Skittles.

Because purple is her favorite color.

My boss pinned the tail of this manuscript donkey on me earlier this week, tossing it onto my reading pile with a droll “Supposedly, it’s Like Water for Chocolate meets Waitress meets Roald Dahl with a side of M&Ms tossed in.”

To which I wanted to say, No one needs that. Literally no one.

But I can’t say that because I’m merely a junior editor and she’s a vice president, and I’ll have to read enough of it to report back. Also, because the agent who sent it to our publishing house sold us a blockbuster roman-à-clef from a shoe magnate a decade or two ago. Therefore, we must read everything she sends our way in case it’s the next big thing.

This isn’t the next big thing.

It isn’t the next anything.

Le sigh.

Also, le nap. The debate tips in favor of snag-some-shut-eye as a siesta brews in my eyeballs. My lids flutter like feathers at a Victoria’s Secret photoshoot. I’m going down for the count as the heroine dishes out banalities over nonpareils.

Until I hear five words.

“Did you hear the news?”

My five favorite words.

Well, after “lunch is on me today” and “cake’s in the break room.”

I snap my gaze up from the document, blinking at the stunning creature in my doorway.

Looking impossibly tall and commandingly gorgeous with carved cheekbones and corkscrew black curls, Lola strikes a pose. Hell, Lola is a freaking pose.