Genre Fiction
![Kate Goldbeck - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B0BRMS38JT.jpg)
You, Again: A Novel
Can they stop hating each other long enough to fall in love?
A commitment-phobe and a hopeless romantic clash over and over again-until heartbreak and unexpected chemistry bring them together in this clever enemies-to-friends-to-lovers debut romance.
"Fresh, witty, and utterly romantic."-Ali Hazelwood, New York Times bestselling author of The Love Hypothesis
When Ari and Josh first meet, the wrong kind of sparks fly. They hate each other. Instantly.
A free-spirited, struggling comedian who likes to keep things casual, Ari sublets, takes gigs, and she never sleeps over after hooking up. Born-and-bred Manhattanite Josh has ambitious plans: Take the culinary world by storm, find The One, and make her breakfast in his spotless kitchen. They have absolutely nothing in common . . . except that they happen to be sleeping with the same woman.
Ari and Josh never expect their paths to cross again. But years later, as they're both reeling from ego-bruising breakups, a chance encounter leads to a surprising connection: friendship. Turns out, spending time with your former nemesis is fun when you're too sad to hate each other-and too sad for hate sex.
As friends-without-benefits, they find comfort in late-night Netflix binges, swiping through each other's online dating profiles, and bickering across boroughs. It's better than romance. Until one night, the unspoken boundaries of their platonic relationship begin to blur. . . .
With sharp observations and sizzling chemistry, You, Again explores the dynamics of co-ed friendship in this sparkling romantic comedy of modern love in all its forms.
A commitment-phobe and a hopeless romantic clash over and over again-until heartbreak and unexpected chemistry bring them together in this clever enemies-to-friends-to-lovers debut romance.
"Fresh, witty, and utterly romantic."-Ali Hazelwood, New York Times bestselling author of The Love Hypothesis
When Ari and Josh first meet, the wrong kind of sparks fly. They hate each other. Instantly.
A free-spirited, struggling comedian who likes to keep things casual, Ari sublets, takes gigs, and she never sleeps over after hooking up. Born-and-bred Manhattanite Josh has ambitious plans: Take the culinary world by storm, find The One, and make her breakfast in his spotless kitchen. They have absolutely nothing in common . . . except that they happen to be sleeping with the same woman.
Ari and Josh never expect their paths to cross again. But years later, as they're both reeling from ego-bruising breakups, a chance encounter leads to a surprising connection: friendship. Turns out, spending time with your former nemesis is fun when you're too sad to hate each other-and too sad for hate sex.
As friends-without-benefits, they find comfort in late-night Netflix binges, swiping through each other's online dating profiles, and bickering across boroughs. It's better than romance. Until one night, the unspoken boundaries of their platonic relationship begin to blur. . . .
With sharp observations and sizzling chemistry, You, Again explores the dynamics of co-ed friendship in this sparkling romantic comedy of modern love in all its forms.
Editorial Reviews
"This is a ‘When Harry Met Sally' retelling that spotlights two enemies-turned-friends-turned-lovers over the course of a decade in New York City. It's raunchy and lovable and laugh-out-loud funny. We just know this is going to be a huge hit."-USA Today
"This is a romance sung in perfect pitch! A spectacular debut!"-Christina Lauren, New York Times bestselling authors of The Unhoneymooners
"You, Again is a knockout. Ari and Josh are my favorite type of couple-funny, flawed, and complicated, with prickly exteriors hiding tender hearts. I'll be first in line for anything Kate Goldbeck writes from now on."-Ava Wilder, author of How to Fake It in Hollywood and Will They or Won't They
"You, Again reads like a modern rom-com classic in the making, and Kate Goldbeck is my newest auto-buy author-what a voice! I've never read anything like it. This book is raw and sexy and radically vulnerable, and I'm already desperately missing Ari and Josh."-Rachel Lynn Solomon, New York Times bestselling author of Weather Girl and The Ex Talk
"Kate Goldbeck's You, Again is one of those special, singular books you wish you could read for the first time again and again. It's funny and sharp, crackling with wit and chemistry, a clever homage to all the best parts of romantic comedies while making them feel new."-Alicia Thompson, bestselling author of Love in the Time of Serial Killers
"Equal parts a studied homage and decisively modern, Kate Goldbeck debuts with a masterclass in banter. This is a luxurious contemporary romance to savor. Every character is as sexy as they are gloriously messy. I'm officially a fan and can't wait to see what Kate does next!"-Rosie Danan, author of The Roommate
"The humor is sharp, the dia...
"This is a romance sung in perfect pitch! A spectacular debut!"-Christina Lauren, New York Times bestselling authors of The Unhoneymooners
"You, Again is a knockout. Ari and Josh are my favorite type of couple-funny, flawed, and complicated, with prickly exteriors hiding tender hearts. I'll be first in line for anything Kate Goldbeck writes from now on."-Ava Wilder, author of How to Fake It in Hollywood and Will They or Won't They
"You, Again reads like a modern rom-com classic in the making, and Kate Goldbeck is my newest auto-buy author-what a voice! I've never read anything like it. This book is raw and sexy and radically vulnerable, and I'm already desperately missing Ari and Josh."-Rachel Lynn Solomon, New York Times bestselling author of Weather Girl and The Ex Talk
"Kate Goldbeck's You, Again is one of those special, singular books you wish you could read for the first time again and again. It's funny and sharp, crackling with wit and chemistry, a clever homage to all the best parts of romantic comedies while making them feel new."-Alicia Thompson, bestselling author of Love in the Time of Serial Killers
"Equal parts a studied homage and decisively modern, Kate Goldbeck debuts with a masterclass in banter. This is a luxurious contemporary romance to savor. Every character is as sexy as they are gloriously messy. I'm officially a fan and can't wait to see what Kate does next!"-Rosie Danan, author of The Roommate
"The humor is sharp, the dia...
Short Excerpt Teaser
2014
"Excuse me, sir?" Ari stands her ground, feet shoulder-width apart, on the sidewalk in front of the Brooklyn Museum. "I know that someone who waited ten minutes for a six-dollar cold brew has the time to stop and talk to me about protecting the second-largest bobcat habitat in New Jersey."
Always best to start with a provocation. None of that "do you have a moment?" crap. No pedestrian in this city has "a moment" for a canvasser.
The tall man in sunglasses, expensive jeans, and a dark sweater-slightly hunched from the weight of a large backpack- slows down, not quite to a full stop. He glances at her neon vest and binder, realizing his mistake a half-second too late.
"I'm on a f***ing call!" he snaps, angling his body to route around her.
It's fine. Ari is used to people faking calls to avoid engaging with her. She takes a step to the right, blocking his path again.
She needs one more donation to make quota, so Tall Sweater Nightmare Man can give her twenty seconds to make the case for the bobcats.
"Can I have a sip?" She reaches toward his cold brew cup with a minimalist Blue Bottle logo. "I've had a super long day out here." This trick-passed down from Gabe, her coworker-with-benefits-works about twenty percent of the time, which is a phenomenal success rate in the business of pestering strangers for (no) fun and (little) profit.
"Un-f***ing-believable!" He lifts the cup out of her reach and jaywalks across Eastern Parkway, turning his head to look back at her and scowl.
Or maybe to ensure she's not following him.
When Gabe told their improv class about the "lucrative opportunities" with ProActivate, he'd assured them that they'd become accustomed to constant brush-offs, the lack of eye contact, the utter rejection. "It's good practice for comedy," he'd said. "And it pays better."
Everything pays better than comedy.
But at least onstage you can flop in front of dozens of people at once. Ten efficient minutes of agony. On the street, it's like extending your hand every thirty seconds and getting one of those extra-painful envelope paper cuts in return.
Something, something . . . the definition of insanity.
Ostensibly, Ari moved to New York to pursue comedy. When she met Gabe, one of the charismatic leaders of the sketch comedy theater where Ari had planted her flag four months ago, he'd spun tales of casting agents frequenting open mics and late-night encounters with Daily Show writers. He'd become a hero and a crush.
What Gabe neglected to mention is that most of those encounters occurred while he worked the register at the noodle place down the block from the studio.
On the drizzly walk home, she keeps an eye out for one last chance to make her donation quota. The woman with the promotional umbrella, letting her Yorkie pee on a flower bed? The stocky man with a gingery beard and thick-frame glasses, waiting in the doorway of a bar on Washington Avenue? But neither feels likely. Resigned, Ari turns to head toward home.
When she responded to Natalie's posting on Craigslist, looking for someone to sublet the "cozy" second bedroom in her "Prospect Heights–adjacent" apartment, Ari quickly discovered it was actually a twenty-five-minute walk from Prospect Heights. "The room is technically considered a closet," Nat had explained when Ari came to look at it, "but there's already a lofted twin bed in there and a desk would totally fit."
The desk didn't fit. But living with Natalie was definitely preferable to Ari's last living situation, which was a futon in a friend's cousin's living room.
Especially tonight. Natalie spent the weekend in the Hamptons and she won't be back until late. The apartment will be luxuriously empty: the perfect opportunity for Ari to use her noisiest vibrator.
That was the plan, anyway.
"Guess who met quota standing outside Whole Paycheck?" Gabe is leaning against the front door to her building, under the awning, just out of the rain. He has the classic good looks of an Eddie Bauer catalog model or someone who poses for stock photos, with his wavy-but-coiffed hair and twinkling brown eyes. "Like shooting fish in a barrel. How'd you do?"
Gabe pushes off the brick wall, his neon ProActivate vest tucked into the back pocket of his jeans. He's always a big hit with the leashes-and-strollers crowd.
"One short," Ari replies, fishing her keys out of her pocket.
"Bummer." He holds up a Blu-ray of Inception. "Wanna fi...
"Excuse me, sir?" Ari stands her ground, feet shoulder-width apart, on the sidewalk in front of the Brooklyn Museum. "I know that someone who waited ten minutes for a six-dollar cold brew has the time to stop and talk to me about protecting the second-largest bobcat habitat in New Jersey."
Always best to start with a provocation. None of that "do you have a moment?" crap. No pedestrian in this city has "a moment" for a canvasser.
The tall man in sunglasses, expensive jeans, and a dark sweater-slightly hunched from the weight of a large backpack- slows down, not quite to a full stop. He glances at her neon vest and binder, realizing his mistake a half-second too late.
"I'm on a f***ing call!" he snaps, angling his body to route around her.
It's fine. Ari is used to people faking calls to avoid engaging with her. She takes a step to the right, blocking his path again.
She needs one more donation to make quota, so Tall Sweater Nightmare Man can give her twenty seconds to make the case for the bobcats.
"Can I have a sip?" She reaches toward his cold brew cup with a minimalist Blue Bottle logo. "I've had a super long day out here." This trick-passed down from Gabe, her coworker-with-benefits-works about twenty percent of the time, which is a phenomenal success rate in the business of pestering strangers for (no) fun and (little) profit.
"Un-f***ing-believable!" He lifts the cup out of her reach and jaywalks across Eastern Parkway, turning his head to look back at her and scowl.
Or maybe to ensure she's not following him.
When Gabe told their improv class about the "lucrative opportunities" with ProActivate, he'd assured them that they'd become accustomed to constant brush-offs, the lack of eye contact, the utter rejection. "It's good practice for comedy," he'd said. "And it pays better."
Everything pays better than comedy.
But at least onstage you can flop in front of dozens of people at once. Ten efficient minutes of agony. On the street, it's like extending your hand every thirty seconds and getting one of those extra-painful envelope paper cuts in return.
Something, something . . . the definition of insanity.
Ostensibly, Ari moved to New York to pursue comedy. When she met Gabe, one of the charismatic leaders of the sketch comedy theater where Ari had planted her flag four months ago, he'd spun tales of casting agents frequenting open mics and late-night encounters with Daily Show writers. He'd become a hero and a crush.
What Gabe neglected to mention is that most of those encounters occurred while he worked the register at the noodle place down the block from the studio.
On the drizzly walk home, she keeps an eye out for one last chance to make her donation quota. The woman with the promotional umbrella, letting her Yorkie pee on a flower bed? The stocky man with a gingery beard and thick-frame glasses, waiting in the doorway of a bar on Washington Avenue? But neither feels likely. Resigned, Ari turns to head toward home.
When she responded to Natalie's posting on Craigslist, looking for someone to sublet the "cozy" second bedroom in her "Prospect Heights–adjacent" apartment, Ari quickly discovered it was actually a twenty-five-minute walk from Prospect Heights. "The room is technically considered a closet," Nat had explained when Ari came to look at it, "but there's already a lofted twin bed in there and a desk would totally fit."
The desk didn't fit. But living with Natalie was definitely preferable to Ari's last living situation, which was a futon in a friend's cousin's living room.
Especially tonight. Natalie spent the weekend in the Hamptons and she won't be back until late. The apartment will be luxuriously empty: the perfect opportunity for Ari to use her noisiest vibrator.
That was the plan, anyway.
"Guess who met quota standing outside Whole Paycheck?" Gabe is leaning against the front door to her building, under the awning, just out of the rain. He has the classic good looks of an Eddie Bauer catalog model or someone who poses for stock photos, with his wavy-but-coiffed hair and twinkling brown eyes. "Like shooting fish in a barrel. How'd you do?"
Gabe pushes off the brick wall, his neon ProActivate vest tucked into the back pocket of his jeans. He's always a big hit with the leashes-and-strollers crowd.
"One short," Ari replies, fishing her keys out of her pocket.
"Bummer." He holds up a Blu-ray of Inception. "Wanna fi...
