Not Yours Series by Sara Ney – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Not Yours Series by Sara Ney – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.wownovels.com Sat, 16 Aug 2025 22:26:09 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0.2 http://www.wownovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Not Yours Series by Sara Ney – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.wownovels.com 32 32 Biggest Player (Not Yours #2) Read Online Sara Ney http://www.wownovels.com/biggest-player-not-yours-2-read-online-sara-ney Sat, 16 Aug 2025 22:26:09 +0000 http://www.wownovels.com/biggest-player-not-yours-2-read-online-sara-ney Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports Authors: Sara Ney Series: Not Yours Series by Sara Ney
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Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)

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Bestselling author Sara Ney scores with a fiery romance about online dating, where a single mom and a football pro ignite sparks when they swipe right—even though they know it’s all wrong.

Margot’s a busy single mom juggling teaching, parenting, and trying not to die alone. Dating apps? Total nightmare. But desperate times call for desperate swipes, even if they make her break out in stress hives. When she matches with a guy who looks too good to be true, she’s convinced he’s a walking red flag—or worse—a catfish.

Dex is hot, and he knows it. A quarterback with a killer smile and looks to spare, he’s a good guy looking for a long-term relationship. He wants what his friends someone to come home to…and if they’re naked when he gets there, even better. When he logs on for a casual scroll, he’s not expecting to meet her. One swipe, and suddenly he’s hooked.

Margot’s convinced he’s a catfish. Dex has zero dad bod and no dad energy. But their sizzling back-and-forth leaves them both thinking “what if.” After a surprise run-in leads to a mind-blowing (and soggy AF) kiss, their opposites-attract energy skyrockets. Can they find a way to make it last?

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter 1

Dex

Swipe left.

Swipe left.

Always to the left . . .

I sigh, mindlessly trolling the dating app as if it were my job, my ass planted firmly in this reclining chair for the past hour.

Swipe left.

“Everything in a box to the left . . . ,” I singsong humorously, continuing on my dating journey, proud of myself for having the strength to go on.

I’m not one of those dudes who goes on a binge when scrolling; I do not swipe right on every living, breathing person with a pulse. I look at all the photos and try to get a vibe.

I read the biographies.

I’m picky—some would say a little too picky—but I have my reasons.

Pfft. What does picky mean anyway? I consider it having standards and not settling, but if you want to be an asshole and judge me for it, be my guest.

I take a slice of pizza resting on a plate on the side table and dangle it in front of my face, aiming for my mouth. Take a bite. Chew. Swallow.

Swipe.

Chew.

Swallow.

Swipe.

This is my new favorite Sunday-evening activity, since I don’t have to play in a game tonight.

See, that’s something you don’t know about me. Not to brag, but I play professional football and I’m kind of a big fucking deal.

It’s the offseason right now, which means I have time to fuck around and try dating—which I’ve been going hard at for months. And months. And months of me looking for love in all the wrong places, and those places include these damn dating apps.

I have four of them on my phone, including the new Kissmet app, which my buddy Landon’s girlfriend developed—sorry if that was a mouthful.

I think it’s great he’s dating someone who has her own thing going on—Harlow is a badass in her own right. The fact that she happens to be dating an old teammate of mine is a bonus.

I’m the least romantic guy you’ve ever met, but I have to admit, my best friend is one lucky bastard.

I figured it was time to join the club and be part of “couple goals,” but damn. It’s harder than it looks!

I stare at the profile of a woman named Madisson—yes, with a double s. From the looks of it, Madisson loves fishing, hiking, and new adventures. Has a golden retriever. Loves trying new food and traveling. And has several photos that are heavily filtered.

Already aggravated by the dumb way she spells her name, I swipe left to delete her.

Poof!

Just like that she disappears into oblivion, only to reappear once I run out of local matches. Ha fucking ha.

But the joke seems to be on me because finding someone I click with has been impossible. I’m fun, dude! It should not be this difficult to connect with a woman in person. Unfortunately, that has been my reality.

Landon, my best friend, called me a fucking idiot to my face because on the dating app I am there as myself. He thinks I should create a different profile with a nickname, using photographs that don’t reveal my true identity.

Which makes no sense to me.

Why shouldn’t I be me? Isn’t that what the ladies want?

And so, I use my real name, my real photos, my real age.

I even had my house manager, Ms. Dorothy, help with my bio, though Harlow and Landon offered to write it for me.

Ha. As if.

Dex, 25

Professional Football Player

Nice young man in search of a serious relationship.

Tall, dark, and handsome.

Funny. Sarcasm is my second language.

Loves eating but not cooking, unless you include frozen pizza.

Still discovering what it is I want.

No cat people. Dogs only (big dogs preferable).

The “serious relationship” part at the beginning of the bio? Still on the fence about including it, but I didn’t have the heart to tell Dorothy otherwise. She’s old enough to be my grandmother, which means she’s old fashioned. The only real option with her reading over my shoulder was to write that I’m looking for something long term, even though I wouldn’t mind a friend-with-benefits situation.

Or just the benefits.

See? Mostly honest.

Why should I pretend to be someone I’m not? Why should I use pictures that aren’t mine to avoid gold diggers? Shouldn’t a woman know who she’s going out with before she goes out with him?

They should be so lucky! It’s not my fault I am who I am!

I jam the remaining hunk of pizza down my gullet and thumb to the messages within the Kissmet app, the little heart icon bursting with tiny pink envelopes to indicate I have mail. Or a message. Or whatever.

It’s like a party every goddamn time I log in, confetti and hearts and all that cutesy bullshit.

But it also gives me a confident feeling I don’t get with the other dating apps. I mean, come on—who doesn’t love confetti raining down on them? It’s as if the app is congratulating me for making the correct choice to log in.

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Not Your Biggest Fan (Not Yours #1) Read Online Sara Ney http://www.wownovels.com/not-your-biggest-fan-not-yours-1-read-online-sara-ney Sun, 02 Feb 2025 19:14:20 +0000 https://www.wownovels.com/not-your-biggest-fan-not-yours-1-read-online-sara-ney Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports Authors: Sara Ney Series: Not Yours Series by Sara Ney
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Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)

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USA Today bestselling author Sara Ney sizzles with a quick-witted, sexy romp about an eager entrepreneur and a cocky football star who couldn’t be more different—or more into each other.

Harlow James is destined to rock the dating world. The creator of Kissmet, the app helping singles find love, she’s in New York to secure advertisers. But the sassy, small-town girl can’t help meddling in other people’s business.

When she runs into a muscular stranger at her go-to food truck, Harlow doesn’t realize he’s Landon “Andy” Burke, the NFL’s most-wanted free agent, in town to talk contracts. She just sees a hottie about to get burned by undercooked street food. Though she tries to warn him, he shrugs her off, making a little wager instead.

In a messy twist of fate, Andy finds himself in the same hotel as Harlow. When she collects on their bet, they make a mind-blowing—and bed-rocking—connection. But after the weekend, she goes home to Green Bay to her goofy dad and corgi, ready to focus everything on work again. Kissmet, however, has other ideas, when Andy knocks on her door…

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter 1

Harlow

Being single has its perks.

I have no one to answer to.

I have an entire bed all to myself, no sharing.

I can travel at a moment’s notice, like I am now.

Yup. Life is real good.

“Just a small-town girl, chillin’ in a big, bad world . . .”

I sing off key, as usual, unable to carry the melody, a jaunty pep in my step as I bop along the street, kicking a wayward stone that somehow made its way onto the sidewalk.

As I get closer to the entrance to Central Park, here to people watch and get some vitamin D, I shift my laptop bag higher on my shoulder.

And work, obviously.

I look like a local and feel like a local, adopting the New York state of mind. Low patience for the congested traffic. Basking in the hustle. Harboring a newfound disdain for tourists. Wearing sneakers with every outfit. Walking everywhere.

When I need a cab, I stick my arm out into the street to flag one down as if I’ve been doing it my whole life.

I’m miraculously able to locate an empty bench near the entrance of the park, plop down, and unzip my computer from its sleeve before setting it in my lap and cracking it open. It whirs to life, my desktop icons slowly loading—and while it’s doing that, I scan the area around me with curiosity, nibbling my lower lip.

A tired-looking woman pushes a stroller with an infant in it while a toddler catches a ride on the back. Is she the nanny? Or are these her children?

A man in tiny tight khaki shorts struts past walking a miniature poodle with a pink leash.

I stare down the hot dog cart, which also sells soft pretzels, chicken kebabs, chicken tenders, and a few other things that don’t make sense to sell together. Ice cream. Gyros. Apples.

A few men linger near the truck, obviously on their lunch break, each of them wearing a different version of the same outfit: dress pants, polo shirt, shoes with no socks.

Loafers.

Men back home don’t wear anything like this.

I hide a smile, tucking it into the collar of my crewneck, not wanting to be sitting here grinning like an idiot to myself.

The air is fresh.

The environment is loud.

Busy.

Full of people who always seem to be in a rush to get somewhere.

Yet, somehow, I’m relaxed on this park bench.

Ahh.

This is the life.

I stretch, feeling very much like a New Yorker—heck, I might even leave with an accent by the end of the weekend!

My stomach grumbles.

Guess that bagel and lox I ate this morning on my walk here wasn’t enough.

My stomach grumbles again, this time so loud I can hear it, so I root around in my laptop bag for a granola bar I know is buried in a pocket somewhere; I normally carry emergency snacks for occasions like this, but my hand digs and digs and comes up empty.

No snacks for me.

I rise, stuffing my laptop back into its sleeve, then into my computer bag. Sling it over my shoulder as I meander to the food truck parked at the curb, walking to the back of the short line. Only two people wait in front of me, so I make a show of studying the menu, eyes slowly straying from the menu . . . to the man in front of me.

His shoulders are wide, back tapering to a narrow waist.

Athletic shirt tight, the center column down his back soaked with sweat.

White cords are attached to the buds stuck in his ears.

Old-school headphones. Nice.

He has a thick neck, and is it possible to get physically turned on by the back of someone’s neck? Judging by the butterflies in my stomach, all signs point to yes.

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