Example Social Media Posts:

A train ride. A broody stranger.
One impulsive idea: “I’ll be your girlfriend.”
Now we’re fake dating for real feelings… and there’s only one bed. 👀
One Night Boyfriend — all the angst, all the heart.
#FakeDating #OneBedTrope #TorturedHero #DadBodRomance

📖 Find out more: https://lmoone.com/books/one-night-boyfriend/

Example Post #2

I sat down on a train.
I did not plan to become a stranger’s fake girlfriend on his way to a funeral.
But Chris? Beautiful, bruised, quiet Chris? Yeah… I couldn’t walk away.
Every touch feels too real. Every confession hits too deep.
We’re supposed to be pretending, but my heart didn’t get the memo.
One Night Boyfriend is for the readers who love tortured heroes, fierce heroines, and a fake relationship that starts to feel dangerously real.
(Plus yes, there is only one bed. Obviously.)
#FakeDatingRomance #AngstyReads #DadBodHero #BookTokRomance

Meet Chris → https://lmoone.com/books/one-night-boyfriend/

Example Post #3

I boarded a train with zero expectations—just a book and a quiet seat.
Instead, I sat down next to a man whose sadness hit me like a punch.
Chris is beautiful in that broken, thoughtful way. On his way to a funeral. On his way to confront a past that still claws at him.
I can tell he doesn’t want to go alone… So, I volunteer.
I don’t even hesitate.

What starts as pretend becomes something raw, intimate, and impossible to ignore.
His pain awakens mine. His walls mirror mine.
And suddenly we’re sharing secrets, sharing a bed, sharing moments we were never supposed to have.

One Night Boyfriend is a heart-heavy, chemistry-loaded fake dating romance about two wounded souls healing in the most unexpected place: each other’s arms.
If you crave angst, tenderness, longing, and one very soft, very scarred hero… this one’s for you.
#OneNightBoyfriend #FakeDatingTrope #OnlyOneBed #TorturedHero #DadBodRomance #VirginHero #IndieRomance

👉 https://lmoone.com/books/one-night-boyfriend/

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Promo Images (right-click and ‘Save image as’):

Blurb:

We’re only pretending… So why does it feel so real?

When I board the train, I’m just looking for a seat—not a story. But Mr. Tall, Broody, and Beautiful is sitting next to me, on his way to a funeral and a reckoning with his past.

And somehow, I end up volunteering to be his fake girlfriend.

Impulsive? Obviously. A terrible idea? Absolutely.

But Chris isn’t just a man with broad shoulders and quiet eyes—he’s carrying a weight that makes my chest ache. The more he shares, the more I’m drawn to him. His scars might be more visible than mine, but I have wounds too.

This was supposed to be pretend—a brief escape for both of us. But every glance, every touch, every confession feels achingly real.

Can our two broken hearts make a whole?

If you love tortured heroes, tenacious heroines, and big emotions wrapped in a pretend relationship that feels anything but fake… then get ready, because this one’s got all the feels.

(And yes, there’s only one bed. 😉)

Trope List:

• Fake Dating
• Grumpy / Sunshine
• Instalove
• Forced Proximity (Only one bed!)
• Dad Bod
• Virgin Hero
• Broken/Tortured Hero
• Healing Together

Excerpt:

* Violet *

“I’m going to a funeral, actually,” Chris says, jerking me out of my moment of Zen. I think I very nearly dozed off just there. “You asked: business or pleasure.”

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” I ask.

He shrugs. “We weren’t close. At least not lately.”

The silence between us has become loaded now. Do I ask the obvious question? He mentioned the funeral first. That suggests he wants to talk about it. I glance in his direction. The color has faded from his cheeks again, and he’s twitching his leg—the further one from me—rather tensely.

“Whose funeral? If you’re comfortable telling me…”

I don’t know what I’m expecting in terms of an answer. It’s fifty-fifty between being told to mind my own damn business or a grandparent, considering he looks just a few years older than me.

“My dad.”

That’s not… Fuck. I’m so flustered, I instinctively reach out for him and put my hand on his knee. That’s weird, right? I mean… I don’t know him. But seeing as I’m already pressed up against his leg and wearing his clothes, we’re well beyond weird already.

“I’m so sorry, hey,” I stammer.

In the window, I see his expression twist as he tenses his jaw. He’s so not okay, no matter what he says. Now I know why he’s on this train, looking like he’d literally rather be anywhere else. And I thought I was having a hard time lately! Crap, it breaks my heart.

I wish I could say something to help. But, what? We’ve only just met. Who the hell am I to offer words of comfort to a total stranger!

“Want to talk about it?” I ask finally.

He shrugs. “What’s it matter? Not going to bring him back, is it?”

I shake my head. “No. It sure won’t.”

Wow. This is going to be an awkward four hours at this rate. Open mouth, insert foot, indeed.

“I’m just so fucking angry, you know?” he says after a brief pause.

“Yeah…” I mumble, though I’m not sure what he means.

I turn my hand palm up and wait. He grabs it, almost on autopilot. Jesus, still so warm. I stare down at it, and at how his t-shirt sleeve has shifted slightly, revealing part of a strange round scar.

“You’re resentful that he’s gone?” I wonder aloud. Then again, he said they weren’t close. Maybe there was unfinished business between them.

“When I was little, he and I would go get lunch. Or we’d catch a game at home. Once he took me camping in the Highlands, but that was a long time ago.”

“Sounds nice.”

Chris scoffs. “If he was so nice, then why didn’t he keep me safe, huh?”

My heart is racing now. Shit, did he used to hurt him? Is that what that scar is about? It looks pretty old. I try to sneak a better look at it while squeezing his hand.

“Then why did he let her get away with everything she did?”

“Chris… I’m really sorry,” I tell him, though I’m still not entirely sure what we’re talking about.

He turns to me with tears in his eyes. This poor guy is having the worst time. Something tells me I’m the only person he’s opened up to about this. Awkward as this conversation is, I’m also glad to be of help. He seems like a good person. He’s going through so much and his first instinct after I sat down next to him was to offer me something to wear because I was freezing. Even if he looked damn nervous asking, or probably because of it. That’s a heart of gold, right there. Maybe my instincts about men aren’t as bad as I thought.

“I know it must sound hollow and stupid right now, but it will get better… eventually,” I tell him, while fighting the tears welling up in my own eyes.

He glances at me and inhales sharply through his teeth. “Fuck, now I’ve made you cry. I’m just going to shut up.”

I shake my head. “No, no. It’s fine. Don’t worry about me. We can talk for as long as you want. At least for the next four hours and however many minutes, ’til we get where we’re going.” I force a smile.

He presses his lips together and nods briefly. “Thanks.”

“Thanks for the sweatshirt. I totally owe you for that.” I squeeze his hand again. He squeezes back. That little gesture warms me from the inside out.

“Forget it. You can keep it.”