The Straight Man’s Plus-One
MM Fake-Dating Romance
by Jace Wilder
Free with Kindle Unlimited
Pairing: MM
Heat: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ Inferno
Tropes: Fake Dating, One Bed, Bisexual Awakening, Kissing Lessons, Destination Wedding, Photographer Romance, Age Gap, Opposites Attract, Praise Kink
The boyfriend was fake. The first kiss was not.
My ex-wife is getting married on a tropical island.
Apparently, showing up alone would mean I’m still heartbroken.
So I told everyone I have a boyfriend.
I do not have a boyfriend.
What I have is Miles Fenwick — the tattooed, infuriatingly perceptive photographer hired to document the wedding. He agrees to play the part under three conditions: I cannot use him to make the bride jealous, I cannot act ashamed when people believe we are together, and I have to learn how to kiss him convincingly.
The first condition is easy.
The second is more complicated.
The third becomes a problem the moment Miles touches me.
One practice kiss turns into a shared suite, one bed, and four days of lessons I have spent forty years pretending I never wanted.
Miles says the arrangement ends when the wedding does.
But I am beginning to understand that wanting him has nothing to do with my divorce, the island, or the lie that brought us together.
The relationship may be fake.
Everything happening behind our locked door is dangerously real.
You’ll love this book if you enjoy:
✅ Fake boyfriend at the ex-wife’s destination wedding
✅ Divorced bisexual awakening with a confident younger man
✅ One tropical honeymoon suite, one bed, zero boundaries
✅ Kissing lessons that become something much more
✅ Older reserved hero / younger tattooed photographer
✅ Teach me energy that EXPLODES (🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ — graphic, explicit, emotional)
✅ The ex-wife sees the truth before he does
✅ HEA guaranteed
⚠️ Content Warning: This novel contains explicit sexual content (graphic MM scenes), strong language, alcohol use, and themes of divorce, emotional avoidance, and bisexual self-discovery. Intended for readers 18+.
📖 Read Chapter One Free
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Chapter One: Adrian
The invitation arrived on a Tuesday, which felt appropriate. Not a Monday, when bad news at least had the decency to announce itself alongside everything else you were dreading. Not a Friday, when you might mistake it for something festive. A Tuesday. The most forgettable day of the week, carrying the least forgettable envelope I’d received in six months of otherwise predictable mail.
Cream cardstock. Letterpress. A sprig of pressed lavender tucked inside the fold that I was certain Rebecca had selected personally, because Rebecca understood that details were not details — they were statements, and every statement she made was intentional.
Julian Andrew Shaw and Rebecca Leigh Vale-Shaw joyfully invite you to celebrate their marriage.
Isla Esperanza Resort and Spa.
Four days. Three nights.
Please join us for a weekend of love, laughter, and new beginnings.
I read it twice. Set it on the kitchen island beside a glass of water I’d poured twenty minutes ago and hadn’t touched. The apartment was quiet the way it always was — not peaceful quiet, but the kind of quiet that happens when a space has been emptied of a second voice and hasn’t learned to stop listening for it.
Six months since the divorce was finalized. Fourteen months since Rebecca sat across from me at this same island, both of us holding coffee we weren’t drinking, and said, “I think we’ve been roommates for longer than either of us wants to admit.”
She wasn’t wrong. I’d known she wasn’t wrong while she was saying it.
Three days later, Graham Pike solved the problem for me in the worst possible way. Drinks at a bar we’d been going to since our early thirties. Graham was already two drinks ahead when I arrived.
“If you don’t go, people are going to assume you’re not over her,” he said.
I should have said no. Instead, something in me snapped. Not dramatically — more like a hinge giving way with a soft, definitive click.
“I’m bringing my boyfriend.”
The table went still.
There was no boyfriend. There was an empty apartment, an unworn watch, and a half-read biography. I opened the wedding website. A headshot loaded: warm hazel eyes behind wire-frame glasses, a tattoo visible where his sleeve was pushed to his elbow. Miles Fenwick. Lead photographer.
I stared at the photograph longer than the situation required.
I had approximately three weeks to hire a complete stranger to pretend to love me at my ex-wife’s wedding, or tell every person I knew that the first honest thing I’d said in months was a lie.
The honest thing being that I wanted to walk into a room with a man beside me and not feel like I was performing someone else’s life.
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Istanbul, 6:07 AM — A scene TOO HOT for Amazon
Two weeks after the island, Adrian lands in Istanbul at dawn. Miles is waiting at the hotel. What follows is the reunion they’ve been building toward across twelve time zones, three hundred text messages, and fourteen sleepless nights — a balcony overlooking the Bosphorus, a man who kept his promise, and the kind of homecoming that starts at the door and doesn’t stop until morning prayer call.
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