Let's Kiss and Tell

by Joss Richard

Genres: General Fiction; Romance; Contemporary Romance; Workplace Romance

Synopsis

“Intimate, tender, and impossibly hot. This book sizzles!”—Carley Fortune, #1 New York Times bestselling author of One Golden Summer

A sex columnist and a news reporter realize a fake relationship can help them both professionally and personally—but they aren’t prepared for the real feelings that start to develop beyond the headlines—from the bestselling author of It’s Different This Time.

Lucy Reid is a sex columnist whose views on relationships aren’t exactly optimistic. She empowers readers to embrace their sexuality and challenge the idea that you need a partner to be happy—until her editor points out their audience is mostly coupled up . . . and maybe it’s time for something (or someone) new. To buy herself time, Lucy impulsively claims she’s started a new relationship she can write about. Enter Marshall Oakley.

Marshall is the new senior news writer at Lucy’s company. When they meet at a work event, he reveals his ex of nine years is getting married, and he needs a plus-one to keep his family off his back. They agree to fake date until the wedding—Lucy can write about finding “the one” before proving relationships don’t solve everything when they “break up”, and Marshall gets a no-strings date to convince his friends, family, and ex he’s moved on.

But as they spend more time together, the lines blur and each begins to reevaluate their views on love. As fear gives way to misunderstandings, can they find the courage to rewrite their story with a happily ever after?

Release date: August 11, 2026

Publisher: Dell

Print pages: 464

Sample

1

Lucy

Propped on my kitchen table like little dolls are eight silicone vibrators. All different shapes, sizes, and colors. I place a pale pink tool that looks like either a pop star’s microphone or a generous scoop of strawberry ice cream back with the rest and mark in my notepad:

LAYLA WAND: 7 min 45 sec

Picking up a muted beige, teardrop-shaped instrument next, I analyze the weight and feeling of the “Cleo.” It fits perfectly in my palm and it’s surprisingly one of the softest things I’ve ever touched. I make another note:

THE CLEO: feels like skin.

I scan the bullet-point features printed on the side of the box: 11 different intensity settings, waterproof, quiet motor, and bodysafe silicone in colors like clay, sand, onyx, and espresso. I didn’t think I needed those things, but I guess I do. Marketing is witchcraft.

“Clitoris licking and sucking?” I say out loud. That one’s new.

I’m no stranger to self-pleasuring accoutrements, but I’ll admit, there’s nothing quite like the feeling of my dominant hand. It’s not that I’m opposed to having the help, there’s just nothing—or nobody—from my experience that can bring a level of satisfaction the way I can. I know exactly how and when I like to orgasm.

I like doing things on my own.

Unfortunately, what I want is beside the point right now. What matters is what the 4.4 million weekly readers of The Rue want. Well, at least those who care enough to read the sex column of the online magazine.

My job is to put myself in the average woman’s shoes . . . or underwear, all while comfortably sprinkling references to my personal life for entertainment. I’m not paid to write about all the ways you can get yourself off without a vibrator. I’m paid to slip into 1970s magazine jargon and help women “spice things up” with articles titled “5 Vibrators to Make You Orgasm in Under 5 Minutes.”

My eyes cut back to the display of sex toys in front of me. If I didn’t know any better, I would think the Cleo is probably some kind of mini–Bluetooth speaker, or maybe a minimalist contraption for your moisturizer.

Subtlety, I quickly jot down.

On most days, work feels exactly like what it is. Work. But when I have eight adult toys next to my plate of cold, unfinished Eggo waffles, I can only laugh that this is how I make a living. This is the territory that comes with writing about sex. Days mostly consist of writing about the LA dating scene and researching different kinds of yeast infections or reasons why you’re attracted to your stepbrother.

I think back to how this became my life.

My first kiss was in sixth grade. Ryan Young kissed me behind a tree on the last day of school, and it was over before I knew what was happening. I immediately ran home and wrote about it in my diary.

I wish I could say I lost my virginity to my teenage crush by candlelight while his parents were away for the weekend. Instead, I lost it to a guy I barely knew in the bathroom of a high school party. That weekend I wrote a short story called “Girls Are Faster Than Boys, in Everything but Sex.” I got an A.

By senior year, I had never been in love and realized I never want to be. When I was fifteen, I found out my dad was having an affair with another woman. It gutted me. What’s worse is that even though my mom knew, she still chose to stay with my dad. She chose to stay with the man who lied to her, all to protect our “family.” Meanwhile, my father’s actions proved the two of us never mattered to begin with. I was far too embarrassed to tell anyone, so the only person who knew was whoever read my admissions essay for journalism school.

I could blame my labeled “misconstrued views on love and sex” on the fact that I simply haven’t had the chance to romanticize love and sex. At a young age, I was quickly exposed to the realities of relationships. I never cried over a tub of ice cream because John Doe broke my heart. I never sulked about how the dating scene is rotten and it’s impossible to find a decent partner.

Instead, I choose to write about an alternate take on relationships. I empower people to celebrate how wonderful it is to be single, how important it is to explore their sexuality, and why you don’t need to be in love to be happy. Hence, the many vibrators.