The Hookup Handbook
Kendall Ryan
About the Book
My love wand is on a strike.
As bad as that blows, pun unintended, it’s ten times worse for me. I’m a male escort, but not just any escort, I’m the escort. The one with a mile-long waiting list and a pristine reputation that’s very well-deserved.
Only now, I’m on hiatus. Because after years of pleasing women all over the city, my man missile decides to get finicky. And the only woman he wants? Someone I can never have—my best friend’s younger sister, the nerdy and awkwardly adorable Sienna.
She’s working at the agency this summer, keeping me organized, handling paperwork, and most importantly, keeping me on track to finish writing my book about sex and intimacy, which is due to my publisher in thirty days.
She thinks I hate her, that I don’t want her here. The truth is much more twisted. I get hard every time she walks into my office. Her wide blue eyes and pouty mouth drive me wild with desire, and if she stays, I’m not sure how much longer I can stay away from her.
Little Miss Overachiever says she’s here to help? Fine. I’m going to put her nerdy, curvy tush to work.
Chapter One
Case
“Charlie, you’re the best agent in the biz—and you know I love you—but you’ve got to stop worrying. I have everything under control.”
Wedging my phone between my ear and my shoulder, I stand up to stretch my back and rearrange some client folders behind my desk. It’s been six months since I signed a book deal with Smith and Collins publishers, and honestly? Things aren’t going great. But there’s no way in hell I’m letting my agent know that.
“That’s all well and good, Case, but your final deadline is in thirty days. Sure you’ll have a finished manuscript by then?”
Christ. Thirty days? When did that happen?
“Listen, I’ve been an escort for eight years now. You don’t get a waiting list of beautiful women a mile long by having no clue what you’re doing in the sack. Every man who reads this book will be a freaking sexpert in no time.”
“That’s what they’re paying you for, champ. As long as you deliver.”
My stomach churns. If I don’t figure something out soon, I’ll be completely screwed. I already used the advance they gave me for a down payment on a home for my mother. And more than anything else on the table right now, I can’t let that deal fall through.
“I’ll buckle down and get it done, okay? I promise. Look, I have a lot of paperwork to process, but I’ll talk to you later.” I hang up, dropping back into my chair and dragging a hand over the scruff on my face.
You want to know the truth? Thirty days until the deadline, and I’ve got nothing. Nada.
When I signed up to write a book on sex, I thought it would be a piece of cake. And in some ways, it is. I know exactly what I want to say. It’s just the whole putting-words-on-a-page thing that’s holding me back. Which I realize is kind of the entire point.
My computer dings with a new email, reminding me that I still have a business to run. The email is from another woman hoping to schedule a date, plus a little extra after dessert. She requests me by name—a friend of hers gave her a referral—which only makes the knot forming in my stomach tighten. I email her back to tell her I’m on hiatus, and refer her to one of the other guys on my payroll.
I know my line of work is a little out of the ordinary. I’m aware that most guys my age are busting their asses for the man, and that I’ve got it pretty fucking good. It’s not exactly a hardship to fuck beautiful women for a living. Unless the one thing you’ve always been able to rely on suddenly goes out of commission.
That’s right. The last three times I took a woman to bed, I haven’t been able to get it up.
Let’s get one thing straight: there’s nothing wrong with my dick. I still wake up every morning with the little man saluting like a proud soldier.
But when it comes time to actually perform on the job? He’s been as limp and lifeless as a dead fish. Not even a twitch in my pants. Which means that unfortunately I’ve had to come up with an excuse at the last minute to rush out on my most recent dates—and give the ladies a refund, of course. So, yeah, my little problem is starting to cost me. And if I’m not careful, it might cost me everything I’ve worked for.
If word gets out that Case fucking Smith can’t get a hard-on, I’m finished. Thank God those women don’t know each other and won’t be able to swap stories. I can’t let anything stand in the way of me making it big—something I’ve been telling myself is just around the corner for months now.
I grew up with nothing, and now I own a home and run a successful business that allows me to employ a half dozen of my friends. Plus, I’m in the process of buying my mom a home close by, something I’ve wanted to do from the moment I understood what bills were, and how difficult it was for us to pay them. My dad split when I was two years old, leaving my mom to work her ass off to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads.
It’s always been just the two of us, and it’s about time I returned the favor. Business has been booming these past few years, and I’m so close to finally taking care of her, I can practically smell that fresh coat of paint. Only now, out of nowhere, my dick decides not to cooperate. Which is super inconvenient.