I know his type: slick, stupid, and so far up his own ass it’s a miracle he can still breathe. In other words, he’s exactly what I’m looking for.

 

ANDIE:

Love is fake and so are most people. That’s why I prefer to keep it real by speaking my mind, using posers for my own devices, and protecting what’s mine. So when Ponch Amante swaggers up to my front door with his smirky face and annoying charm, all I see is a solution to a problem. If he agrees to be my fake boyfriend, I can get out from under my parents’ blackmail scheme to pair me up with one of their sanctimonious Ivy League spawns of Satan. Anything would be preferable to that—even putting up with Ponch for a few days. I, of all people, can resist a guy like him, right?

 

PONCH:

I know her type: frigid ballbuster with a huge chip on her shoulder. She wouldn’t know good sex if it hit her between her creamy white thighs. But the family she works for owns half the town, including the building I want to rent for my new motorcycle gear shop. One word from her can get me the shop, so if she needs a fake boyfriend for whatever crazy plan she has, I’ll be her fricking Prince Charming on a white Harley. It’s a no-risk investment as far as I’m concerned, because there’s no way in hell I’d ever fall for someone like Andie. And that’s no lie.