Home > Single Dad Seeks Juliet

Single Dad Seeks Juliet
Author: Max Monroe

 

 

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Single Dad Seeks Juliet is a full-length romantic comedy stand-alone novel.

 

At the end, we’ve included an excerpt of Taming Hollywood’s Baddest Boy, the first hilarious romantic comedy standalone from our best-selling Hollywood Collection.

 

Now that you know, don’t throw your kindle when Single Dad Seeks Juliet concludes at around 90%. As far as we know, homeowners insurance policies don’t cover e-reader-related damages. ;) ;)

 

Also, due to the hilarious and addictive nature of this book’s content, the following things are not recommended: reading in public places, reading while pretending to work in your cubicle, reading while eating and/or drinking, reading while operating heavy machinery, and reading during your (or your children’s/spouse’s) Zoom meetings.

 

Happy Reading!

All our love,

Max & Monroe

 

 

To 80s music: You were the wind beneath our wings for this book, and we’ll be forever grateful for your greatness.

 

To personal ads: Thank you for your endless entertainment rooted in truth. There is nothing better than a tiny glimpse into the quirks of human nature.

 

To donut holes: We love you so much. Forever and ever, amen.

 

 

Chloe

 

“No, you lunatic! I am not typing those words about my father—ever.”

“Oh, come on!” my best friend and altogether wild woman, Hailie Hargrove, teases, setting her chin on my shoulder and rubbing it into the muscle awkwardly. “Not even if there were a werewolf chasing you? And I’m not talking about dreamboat Jacob Black trying to imprint on you either. I’m talking full-on werewolf with beady eyes and sharp teeth that can’t be deterred by humans or hella sexy vampires.”

I roll my eyes and jerk my shoulder to make her weirdo chin find another home. “For the sake of our friendship, you need to stop rereading Twilight.”

“It’s not my fault Stephenie Meyer released Midnight Sun and I’m back on my Team Edward bull-shizzle,” she responds, acting like her words provide a perfect explanation for the fact that she’s read the Twilight series no fewer than fifty times.

No joke. She’s been reading that series since we were, like, twelve. And considering we’re both seventeen—almost eighteen—now, her obsessive love for a fictional vampire is going five years strong without any signs of letting up.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Twilight, but Hailie could stand to read about some socially conforming mortals every once in a while.

“It would do our friendship some good if you fit in a few John Green or Jenny Han books between your Edward Cullen binges.”

“Speaking of us talking about my vampire boyfriend and your dad’s penis, do you think Edward’s penis sparkles in the sunlight too? I mean, his skin sparkles, but does his—”

“I don’t care about Edward’s sparkly penis, Hail!” I cut her off on a whisper-yell. “And we are not talking about my dad’s penis. You keep trying to. But I am not.” Ew. Just saying those words threatens my gag reflex. No teenage daughter should be forced to think about her father’s…you know what.

“Okay, fine. I’m the one talking about your dad’s penis,” she corrects. “And you’re the one who never answered my question.”

“Because your werewolf analogy was horrible, and the question was so ridiculous. it didn’t deserve a response. Saying illicit things about my father’s penis-power, as you so eloquently put it, would do absolutely nothing for me in a chase with a werewolf.”

“Oh geez. What is that? What are you doing there? Are you trying to be rational?”

I skewer her with a glare, but my best friend is undeterred. She swings her long dark locks over her shoulder and scoffs.

“That’s so boring, Chloe. You need to live a little.”

“Excuse me? What exactly do you think I’m doing here?” I question and scrunch up my nose. “I’d say typing up a personal ad for my dad for the Bachelor Anonymous contest—that he has no freaking clue about and will most likely kill me for—is living a lot.” My laugh is equal parts amused and terrified. “Heck, I should get it all in now. Just live. It. Up. Because when Jake Brent finds out I entered him into a dating contest, I’m going to be D-E-A-D, dead.”

“Don’t be such a worrywart! Chances are, he’s never even going to know you did it. They only notify the winner, right? Out of, like, hundreds of entries, he’ll probably never win. Especially since you’re too much of a prude to tell everyone about his big dick energy.”

“Oh my God. Shut up,” I whisper.

“What?” Hailie questions like it’s no big deal that she’s still talking about my dad’s… Good God, don’t you dare even think it! “You know your dad is hot, right? I mean, back in the day, he was a big bad military god and still has the body to prove it. There is no doubt in anyone’s mind that man is packing some serious heat in his pants.” She laughs, waggles her brows, and then adds, “Just deal with it, Chlo. Your dad is a total babe!”

“Keep your voice down,” I hiss. “He is right outside in the family room.”

“That’s the only thing that’s lame about him,” she whispers and rolls her grayish-blue eyes toward the ceiling. “What kind of parent doesn’t let their almost eighteen-year-old daughter keep their computer in their bedroom?”

“A dad who was a Navy SEAL,” I say matter-of-factly. “Plus, we share this computer. It’s just easier to keep it in the den.”

“Sure, Chlo-Chlo.” She snorts. “You live in the bougie part of San Diego. You have a formal living room, a family room, and a den. Not to mention, you have to go through a gated, Fort Knox-esque entrance to even get to your house. Pretty sure your dad can afford to buy you guys separate computers. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, though. He refused to let you have a phone or the Gram until you were fifteen.”

The Gram—aka Instagram. Hailie’s favorite social media app on the planet. If I had a dollar for every selfie she’s involved me in, I’d probably be able to afford my own college tuition.

Not even kidding. “Do it for the Gram!” should be written on her freaking tombstone.

“Hailie, shall I remind you that you live in the same bougie neighborhood as me? Your house is literally right across the street from mine,” I retort, but she ignores me completely and rambles on about anything but the darn personal ad I’m trying to write.

“Although, I guess I sort of get it,” she continues. “If I had a daughter who looked like you, all long legs, gorgeous blond hair, and big, pretty eyes, I’d probably lock you in a closet until you turned thirty-five.”

We are polar opposites when it comes to looks. Where I’m tall with blond hair, Hailie is short with dark hair. I look like I was born and raised in our home state of California, and she looks like she came from some exotic Mediterranean country.

“The same can be said for you,” I counter. “You’re like a teenage version of Megan Fox and have had boobs since we were in sixth grade.”

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