Read Online Books/Novels:
Bad at Love
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:
She’s bad at love, but he’s even worse…
Marina is hot, blonde, and wickedly smart, but when it comes to men? She’s hopeless. Between her quirks and her lack of filter, there isn’t a man in Los Angeles that will stick around after the third date.
Her handsome, charming friend Lazarus has the opposite problem. Everyone wants to be the sexy Brit’s girlfriend, but he gets bored and moves on quickly.
There’s only one way to figure out why neither of them has cracked this love thing– they’ll date each other. On paper, it’s the perfect experiment. But in reality, things between Marina and Laz get complicated quickly.
They might be bad at love, but they are even worse at being friends.
Note: This full-length romance is a complete standalone with no relation to any other books and was inspired by the Halsey song “Bad at Love.”
|Books by Author:|
Four Years Ago
* * *
“Tonight is going to suck,” Naomi grumbles.
I give her a withering glance but quicken the pace as we walk down Pico Boulevard toward The Mint where our friend Jane is playing tonight. We’re already running a bit late and her band, Magic 8 Ball, is first up. At a place like The Mint, they could have already started and finished their set by now. Or they might not go on for another few hours. It’s always up in the air.
Not that I’ve ever seen them perform live before, but I have spent many nights at The Mint during college weekends, drinking draft beer, watching bands, and vomiting outside. Ah, the good old days.
Which is probably why Naomi thinks it’s going to suck. We’re twenty-five now, not twenty-one, and what passed for good music when you’re wasted probably doesn’t when you’re (relatively) sober.
“It’s not going to suck,” I assure her. “It’ll be fun.”
She rolls her dark eyes. “Right. Fun. You know we don’t have that kind of fun anymore.”
“Always the grump,” I mumble under my breath.
“I can hear you,” she says.
“I know.” I sigh and check my phone again. We’re still a few blocks away. I wish I had my own car already instead of having to rely on the Los Angeles bus system. By the time we get to the venue, I’m going to be an even sweatier mess than usual. It may be October, but fall means nothing in LA. “This is about supporting Jane, just remember that.”
“What has Jane ever done for us?” she says. “The damn woman slept through last semester. If it hadn’t been for me stepping in and practically writing her papers for her, she would have flunked.”
“I don’t know? Professor McGill did have it pretty bad for her. I’m sure he would have given her a passing grade.”
Naomi giggles. We all study at the University of California in Riverside together, and though our fields and interests are different, we had some classes overlap and everyone knew that the Professor loved Jane.
Jane, however gorgeous she is with her tall, lithe body, killer tattoos, and long pink hair and piercings, was never the type to indulge him. Never mind the fact that he was thirty years older than her, came up to her boobs, and smelled like ham.
Finally, we get to The Mint and the bouncer is already looking the two of us up and down as we try to get ahead of the small line of smokers outside.
We tried to dress up from our usual day uniform of jeans and a tank top. I upgraded to ripped jeans and a sequin tank top with a little extra eyeliner. Naomi has me beat, wearing faux-leather pants that make a farting sound when she walks. I don’t have the heart to tell her.
“We’re on the list,” I tell the angry-looking dude with the bald head and beard down to his knees, the prerequisite bouncer uniform for music venues. I’m willing to bet he has a tattoo on him somewhere that says Mom but I’m not willing to find out.
He continues to give us the once over. “Name?”
“Marina Owens and Naomi Harris.”
He squints at Naomi. “The actress?”
“No,” she says flatly. “It’s spelled differently.” It wouldn’t kill her to smile. Because as annoying as it is to have the same name as an actress, she actually looks like said actress. And both of them are extremely beautiful, my friend even more so when she smiles.
But Naomi keeps her grump face on so I have to turn on my smile for the bouncer. Which I hate to do. It makes me look like a kid. I have a lot of teeth.
“We’re guests of Jane. Magic 8 Ball.”
“The band that should be playing right about now?” There’s a dull crunchy rock sound coming from inside but it doesn’t sound like they’ve hit the stage yet. Thank god.
“Let’s go.” Naomi tugs at my shirt. “Jane’s on the drums. She’s not even going to notice if we came or not.”
“No, we came all this way, we can’t just bail,” I protest, but my words sound feeble. It would be so wrong to go back home but feel so right. My bed is calling me. Comfy socks. Fluffy robe. I could have a bath and light some candles and read. I know that I’m young and your mid-twenties is about getting out there and partying and meeting guys, but both Naomi and I have accelerated to old lady status really fast. We’re like the Golden Girls over at our apartment.
“Come on,” she says, and I’m about to turn around and follow her like the weak woman I am when a tall, dashing man steps out of the door, digging a cigarette out of his pocket.
Okay, I know I just described him as dashing but my mind is fumbling for the right words to convey what I’m seeing, and I’ve read far too many historical romances lately.