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Read Online Books/Novels:

Hard Wood (Big Rock Series #6)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Lauren Blakely

Book Information:

Women often say a good man is hard to find. And a hard man is even better.

That’s why I’m quite a catch— good, hard, loaded, and wait for it…I’m ready to settle down too. But the woman I want to pitch my tent with lives clear across the country. Neither of us wants to get lost in those woods. All I have to do is resist her for the week she’s in town.

I try. I swear I try. But yeah, that doesn’t work out.

And after one fantastic night with my good friend Mia, I’m ready to give her years of nights under the stars. What’s a few thousand miles when love’s involved? But there’s a hitch in my plans — she just hired my adventure tour company. If there’s one thing I’m committed to, it’s running a squeaky clean business. Number one on my list of iron-clad rules?

Don’t screw your customers.

But what’s a guy to do when she’s so hard to resist? How hard can it be to keep our hands off each other for a quick group tour down the hills and over the trails? I’m about to find out, and I have a feeling I’m going to need a new badge of honor because things are about to get very hard in the woods.

Books in Series:

Big Rock Series by Lauren Blakely

Books by Author:

Lauren Blakely Books


By now, most women have met the half dozen or so basic types of men in the world.

Just to be sure, though, let’s review the lineup.

First, there’s the too-cool-for-school playboy who solemnly swears he’ll never settle down. Next to him in the modern-day parade of dudes is the Grouchy McGrouch Pants. This surly, bearded guy is a softie beneath the dickhead exterior he shows to the world, along with his beanie cap. By his side is the guarded businessman in his three-piece suit, housing deep, dark secrets that only one woman can unlock. We have other roles in Guy Central Casting: the lumbersexual, the groomed father, the citified pretty boy, the hot nerd, and the bad boy with a heart of gold.

Trust me when I say the ladies of the world have heard every one of their stories.

I know that because I’ve fucking heard them. I’ve heard them from the guys, and I’ve heard them from the gals. When you take people out of their comfort zone and into the woods, they tend to tell you everything—every sordid detail. I’m honestly kind of amazed that men and women, women and women, and men and men get together at all. There’s so much baggage going around, it’s like a goddamn virus.

As for me?

I’m simple. I travel light. I don’t bring luggage to the table. I hoist my backpack and I’m ready to go.

I’m a man of many skills. Give me a battery and I’ll start a campfire. Show me an old phone and I’ll make a compass. I’m the guy who knows how to get out of jams. I can fix a tire, repair a sink, gut a fish, pick a lock, and survive a bear attack—I’ve been there, done that, and have the merit badges to prove it.

Not gonna lie. Women do tend to like a guy who can get shit done without bitching about it. That’s why I’ve had a nice run of luck with the ladies. But I’m not looking just to get lucky anymore.

I’m ready for a whole lot more.

I’d like to think that makes me the good guy with all the skills when we’re talking about types. I’m the unicorn, and I’m not just talking about the length of my horn, if you catch my drift.

I’m the guy who’s fit, successful, baggage-fucking-free, and—wait for it—ready to settle down.

Just call me a four-leaf clover.

The trouble is the woman I want is off-limits. She’s my buddy’s sister. But don’t worry. That’s not the issue. Max is a cool cat, and he has no problem with the fact that I have it bad for his little sis.

The problem is something else entirely, and I have one week to fix it. This is where all my life-hacking skills will have to come into play.

Let’s do this.


Human beings tend to overthink all sorts of stuff, but a lot of our quandaries are pretty basic. You’re either going out to dinner at the new Italian joint, or you’re staying home to make a turkey sandwich. You’re doing the laundry so you have a fresh shirt to wear, or you’re sniffing the hamper, hunting for an old-but-good-enough-ie. You either carve out the time to run five miles, or you watch another ten episodes of Breaking Bad.

For the record, the answers are Italian, wash on hot, and lace up.

I take the same straightforward approach to the current black-and-white question posed to me by Camilla Montes, the local WRBC Channel 10 morning news anchor.

“Patrick, how will our viewers know if Fluffy wants to go for a hike?” she asks in that perfectly modulated TV reporter voice that matches her coiffed black hair.

“If you’re wondering if Tiger, Tom, or Tabby is ready to become an adventure cat, there’s a simple litmus test any pet owner can conduct.” I sit on the couch across from her and run a hand down Zeus’s back. He arches into my palm and rumbles, his purr so loud he could land a career in the cat sound-effects business. Show-off. But in his defense, if I possessed an Al Green-style purr, I’d make sure the ladies heard it all the time, too. “I like to call it the drag or no-drag cat.”

“Interesting. Tell us more,” she says, her voice dripping with curiosity.

“Your cat either willingly lets you put a leash around his furry neck, or he turns into putty when you harness him, and you wind up dragging his feline butt across the floor.” I mime tugging a gone-limp cat on a leash.

“That does make it crystal clear.” Camilla flashes her practiced grin, then points a polished fingernail at me. “But how did you know to try with Zeus? Did you simply want a famous hiking partner, or did he insist on it?”

“I listened to the cat.” I lean forward, parking one hand on my knee where my cargo shorts end, since the station likes me to dress like an REI model for my segments on Tips and Tricks for Enjoying the Great Outdoors. “His behavior told me he might be willing. For instance, one time, I headed down the hallway to drop the trash in the chute, and Zeus followed me out the door of the apartment, staying by my side the whole time.” I lower my voice, cup the side of my mouth, and speak in a stage whisper. “And I don’t think it was only because there was leftover salmon in the trash.”

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