Publication date: September 5th 2025
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Synopsis:
Fake marry the smokin’ hot NFL quarterback who dumped me in high school? Hard pass.
…Or it would be, if my Hollywood disaster of an ex-fiancé wasn’t trying to destroy my career—and bankrupt me in the process.
Cue Presley Lowe.
Big-time quarterback. Bigger ego. Even bigger… contract.
The boy who broke my heart, then dared to somehow get even hotter with age.
He says a fake marriage will solve both our problems.
I say he’s lost his mind.
But I’m broke, blacklisted, and backed into a corner.
So now I’m wearing Presley’s ring, taking couple-selfies, and sleeping one wall away from the man who gave me my first heartbreak—and my last good kiss.
I pretend not to notice when he walks around shirtless.
He pretends he doesn’t remember exactly how I like to be kissed.
We’re both lying.
But it’s all temporary. Totally fake.
Right?
So why does every look he gives me scream mine?
And why am I starting to feel like there’s nothing I wouldn’t give to keep hearing him say, my wife?
What happens when your fake husband is also the boy you never got over?
Faking the Pass is a fun and flirty steamy small town romantic comedy ideal for fans of Pippa Grant, Lucy Score, Megan Quinn, Melanie Harlow, Lauren Blakely, and Abby Jiminez.
It’s the perfect next read for readers who love these tropes:
Fake Marriage
NFL Quarterback Hero/ high school ex
First love, second chance
Runaway Bride
One Bed / Forced Proximity
Tight-knit family of football-playing brothers
Swoon-worthy, heartfelt, slow burn romance
Excerpt
At first I thought it was another nightmare.
My sleep had been plagued by them thanks to one of the worst days of my life being closely followed by a full bottle of wine and way too many pre-packaged snack cakes.
But then I came to full alertness and realized that no, there actually was an enormous man staring down at me.
And holding a bat.
Heart rocketing around my chest and hands shaking with adrenaline, I flung the covers back and scrambled to the other side of the bed, sliding off it and attempting to flee for my life from my would-be murderer.
Unfortunately, my left foot was still caught up in the blanket.
When I tried to run toward the attached bathroom, it tripped me.
As I fell forward, my forehead hit the door frame with a loud thwak, and I ricocheted back, landing hard on my butt.
There was movement in my peripheral vision as the intruder ran around the end of the bed, reaching me before I even had time to react.
This was it. Not only was I going to die on my un-wedding night, I would look grotesque in my casket with a purple, misshapen forehead and chocolate in my teeth.
“Rosie.”
The deep male voice repeated my name, causing me to look up.
“Rosie, it’s me. Presley Lowe. It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.”
He knelt beside me, removing my palm from my forehead. “Are you okay? Let me see it.”
Was I already dead?
Maybe that blow to the head had been harder than I realized.
But no, angels probably didn’t welcome you to the pearly gates with a baseball bat in hand—at least I hoped not.
“Presley?” I blinked at him several times. “Are you real? Or wait… is this… Hell?”
Of all people to see me at what was perhaps the lowest moment of my entire life, did it really have to be Presley Lowe?
The guy I’d swooned over pretty much every day of high school, who’d finally noticed me in our senior year and had given me the most blissful three weeks of my young life.
The same guy who’d casually ended it and then crushed my soul by referring to me as a “flaky theater freak” in front of all his cool jock friends.
And now I’d gone and proved every word of that label.
Again.
He chuckled. “I’m real, but thanks for the flattering assumption. How’s your head? Any double vision or nausea?”
My hand went back to my face, probing my forehead, which hurt like hell, even though I was apparently not in the underworld.
What was he even doing here?
“Um… no. There’s only one of you,” I said.
I studied Presley’s handsome face, fighting a combination of hangover brain fog and sleep inertia—with a little head trauma thrown in for good measure.
“Why are you here?” I asked. “Did Wilder send you with my luggage?”
His head jerked back, and his mouth quirked in a perplexed expression.
“What? No, I’m here because this is my house, my bedroom. Why are you here?”
The fog cleared entirely as I realized what had happened.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I sputtered. “When Wilder said the house was unoccupied right now and that it was a family property, I thought it was like a vacation place or something. He didn’t tell me you lived here.”
Presley nodded, his own expression clearing. “Wilder let you in.”
“I had surgery a few days ago, and I’ve been staying at my parents’ house,” he explained. “Wilder probably didn’t tell you it was my place because he didn’t want you to worry about anything, and knowing him, he had a good reason for sending you here. Want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Not… particularly.”
I didn’t want to be in his presence—and look at that ridiculously gorgeous face, which had somehow gotten even more attractive over the years—a minute longer than necessary.
Getting to my feet, I staggered for a moment, trying to get my balance, before I began searching the floor for my belongings.
Presley reached out to steady me, placing a big hand on my shoulder. The warmth of it raised goosebumps all over my body.
“Go slow,” he advised. “You hit your head pretty hard there. In fact, you should probably sit down.”
Mortification heated my skin to scalding when I looked down at his hand on my bare arm and realized all I had on was the fancy bra and panties set I’d worn under my discarded wedding gown.
No wonder Presley was watching me so closely.
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About the Author
Award-winning romance author Tru Taylor writes small town romance that's hot and sunny (and a little bit funny.)
She runs on Coke Zero and dark chocolate, lives for lunches with her girlfriends, and drives to the town beach several times a week to watch the sun set over the water.
She loves LOVE and will attempt to turn any show or movie she’s watching into a romance whether it is one or not. Star Wars? A romance. Lord of the Rings? Clearly a romance. The Expendables? Okay, well not even Tru can redeem that one.
When she’s not writing, Tru enjoys watching movies and reading books with happy endings, spending time with her husband and two kids, and sneaking Hershey’s Kisses from the top shelf of the freezer throughout the day. (Top shelf because… two kids. Enough said.)
Tru is the author of the Eastport Bay small town romance series and loves living in a quaint New England town where she’s surrounded every day by the beautiful coastal setting you see brought to life in her books.
Visit her website at trutaylor.com where you can find a complete book list and get a free story! Join her VIP mailing list at https://bit.ly/TruTales for the latest book news, insider info, and fun freebies.
Tru loves to hear from her readers! Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and email her at trutaylor@trutaylor.com
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