The Dating Disaster (Franklin U #2) Read Online Saxon James

Categories Genre: M-M Romance, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Franklin U Series by Saxon James

Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)


Thousands of students on this campus, and I keep being set up with the roommate I can’t stand.

One date.
That’s how long it takes for Marshall Harrows to end up on my bad side.
Luckily I have no plans to see the giant teddy bear again. Except when he shows up as my new roommate, I can’t escape him, and he’s just as irritating as I thought he’d be.
He leaves cupboards ajar and puts empty milk cartons back in the fridge. His bedroom door is always open, I find his underwear on the laundry floor, and he has this whole bashful sweetheart thing going on that I just … can’t … stand.
But the most completely, horribly irritating thing about him is that he’s totally my type.
And my friends won’t stop setting us up on blind dates.

One date.
That’s how long it took for Felix Andrews to steal my heart.
The sparky little spitfire is everything I’m not. Confident, adorable, and completely outspoken.
He also wants nothing to do with me. Which is a real problem when I want to give him everything. Including my virginity.
But the more I try to gain his attention, the more I see the real him. The one who doesn’t feel worthy of being treated like anything other than a one-night stand. So I decide to take matters into my own hands.
A total do-over. One night. One date. Where hopefully I can steal his heart too.

Full Book:



Two months ago

The guy—no, man—no, beefcake across from me should have been a slam dunk. Blue/gray eyes, dark brown hair, five-o’clock shadow, and arms that could break me in half. He has to be over six foot and is the exact mix of strong and soft-bellied that makes all my limbs weak—well, except the one in my pants.

And yet this entire date has been more painful than anal bleaching post-crack wax.

My gaze keeps slipping to the Christmas decorations adorning the bar, and I remind myself again to focus.

Marshall’s deliciously big hands twist and twist over the table. “Ah …” He swallows. “So … you’re from Massachusetts.”

“We did cover that, yeah,” I say, trying not to laugh. The thing is, he seems like a total sweetheart, but—and it’s a big but—there’s no way someone like him would be able to handle someone like me.

He’s so … wholesome. Which is a pity because he’s hot as fuck, and I’d do anything to be handled by him.

“Huh. Right.” He’s squinting, which is really ruining the eye candy, and blinks way too much to be healthy. And I swear he hasn’t looked at me directly once. His eyes keep darting around the bar like he’d rather be anywhere else.

All my expectations that had skyrocketed at seeing him are shriveling. It’s not his fault though. It’s mine for putting so much pressure on this date. Sure, I love me some sex, every night of the week if I can get it, but after seeing my dad and godfather get married last year and watching some of my friends start to find their someones, I’m craving that connection too.

I’ve put my friends on Operation Find Felix a Boyfriend, and so far, they’re failing. Though, to be fair to them, none of them actually know about their mission. As far as they’re concerned, I’m on the hunt for more guys to sleep with.

And yeah, I’ll probably end up in bed with the teddy bear across from me, but the disappointment is setting in thick. He’s not my Mr. Right, and it’s really starting to wear on me that I can’t find one guy who’s halfway decent and wants me for more than a quickie.

I really like me, and I happen to be someone who likes a lot of sex, but I’m not an idiot. I know the word some guys call me. Even after they’ve been with me.

Most of the time, I don’t let it get to me, but times like these—sitting across from a guy who makes my heart feel all funny just from looking at him—it hurts to know I’ll never be good enough.

“What do you do on the weekends?” Marshall asks, hurrying to take a sip from his beer and dripping some down the front of his shirt. His Shenanigans polo, to be exact. Because apparently, he finished his shift five minutes before our date time and thought us meeting in the college bar where he works would be a smooth move. After I spent literally hours obsessing over what to wear. For him. To make him like me.

I put in effort for him, and he clearly didn’t think I was worth doing the same.

Determined to shake off my funk, I lift a shoulder and try to smile. “Fuck around, mostly,” I say. Because hey, if he’s not future boyfriend material, he can at least bang me senseless before the night is over. Might as well get something out of this date.