A Love Story

Ebook only. No paperback or audiobook available, per decision of the publisher, Penguin Random House.

Steamy, with explicit sex scenes.

This book is written in first-person, via the heroine's POV.

A superstitious woman is determined to reconnect with all her ex-boyfriends after a psychic tells her she's already met her one-true-love. Not on board with her plan? Her best friend Mark ...



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She’s making a list—and checking it twice. But is there a nice guy among all her naughty exes? The New York Times bestselling author of Blurred Lines returns with a charming friends-to-lovers rom-com.

When a psychic tells spunky, superstitious Kelly Byrne that she’s already met her true love, she becomes obsessed with the idea of tracking him down before Christmas. Kelly immediately writes up an “Ex List” and starts contacting old boyfriends to figure out which one is the one. When her college sweetheart rolls into town, Kelly convinces herself that they’re meant to be. The trouble is, sparks are flying with someone she’s never given a chance: her best friend, Mark.

Mark Blakely has watched the guys on Kelly’s list break her heart, and he’s not looking forward to watching them do it all over again. Mark’s always been there for her, but the timing’s never worked out for their relationship to be something more. Now, just as Mark is ready to move on, the sexual tension between them is suddenly off the charts. With Christmas morning around the corner, he just hopes Kelly will wake up and realize that everything she wants has been right in front of her all along.

an excerpt

A moment later I feel warm fingers on my cheek, and I open my eyes to see he’s pulled off one of his gloves and is using his bare hand to brush the snow away from my face.

His fingers gently glide over my right cheekbone, then my left, lingering just a little.

I want to smile. Or say thank you. Or recapture the playfulness of just a few seconds ago, which is rapidly transitioning into something . . .

Not playful.

His expression is all business as he goes about brushing the ice crystals off my face, but when his palm sweeps over my lower face, I swear he seems to cradle my jaw, just for a second. The way he traces his fingertips over my eyebrows is just as gentle.

He doesn’t meet my eyes. Not once.

Not until he lowers his hand, his fingertips brushing over my lips at the very moment his gaze lifts to mine.

It feels like an electric shock.
The touch of his fingers on my lips, the heat of his gaze, the weight of his body pinning mine to the ground . . .

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