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Funny – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Sun, 16 Aug 2026 18:36:38 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0.4 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Funny – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 Chasing the Rush (Football and Feels #2) Read Online Lauren Rowe http://www.ilovenovels.com/chasing-the-rush-football-and-feels-2-read-online-lauren-rowe Sun, 16 Aug 2026 18:36:38 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/chasing-the-rush-football-and-feels-2-read-online-lauren-rowe Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Forbidden, Funny, Sports Authors: Lauren Rowe Series: Football and Feels Series by Lauren Rowe
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Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)

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Rudy meets Moneyball in a sexy yet warm-hearted, second-chance football romance for fans of Sarah Adams, Tessa Bailey, Monica Murphy, Kristen Callihan, Lucy Score, and, of course, “Tayvis,” as the analytical, math-nerd, type-A daughter of a tough love coach is assigned to babysit the team’s adrenaline junkie pass rusher.

**DELUXE LIMITED EDITON with interior 4-color character art, designed chapter headers, and stenciled edges!**

Chelsea Parker, 26, knows football, thanks to growing up with a football coach for a father and two linebackers for brothers. But Chelsea’s true passion has always been math: crunching numbers to predict statistical outcomes for everything from football to stocks to romance. Chelsea dreams of merging her two passions to become the first female head of analytics for an NFL team. But for now, she’s got to convince the powers-that-be at her father’s new team, the Mastodons, the worst in the NFL, to give her that entry-level position in the front office.

Luca Maguire, 26, a pass rusher and adrenaline junkie with a famous last name, knows this upcoming training camp with his new team, the Mastodons, will likely be his last, if he can’t get out of his own way long enough to make the cut. The dire nature of his circumstances is the only reason Luca didn’t quit on the spot when Coach Parker assigned his daughter, Chelsea, a statistics-loving, spreadsheet-making math nerd, as Luca’s “personal coach” for the duration of camp. More like his babysitter, if you ask Luca.

Well, okay, Luca didn’t quit for that reason and another one: the thing that happened seven years ago between Luca and Chelsea as strangers, when Luca’s college football team stayed at the same hotel as Chelsea’s mathletes squad. Luca would never admit this to Chelsea, especially not with her being Coach’s daughter and the newly assigned bane of his existence, but the truth is Luca hasn’t stopped thinking about that cute little mathlete who ditched his ass seven years ago, right before their clothes came off, ever since

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Chelsea

Bloomington, Indiana

“LOOKS LIKE OUR serenity is about to get shattered by a pack of starving hyenas.” Daisy snorts. “They’re hot, though. I’ll give ’em that.”

My new friend’s comment prompts me to look up from the color-coded spreadsheet I’m working on for our math team. A college football team—Nebraska’s, based on the logos printed on their T-shirts and sweats—has blasted into the breakfast area of our budget hotel.

“You think they’re a team of some kind?” Daisy asks innocently, surveying the rowdy young men as they raucously descend upon the tepid buffet offerings and jockey to pile soggy scrambled eggs onto paper plates.

I smirk to myself, amused but not surprised my friend hasn’t instantly recognized this breed of athletic young men as football players. For my part, thanks to my upbringing, I’m already mentally sorting them into their positions on the football field, based on body type: running backs, receivers, cornerbacks, offensive linemen, and so on. And let’s not forget my all-time favorite position: linebackers. Better yet if they’re an outside linebacker. And better still if a guy is an OLB that’s an edge rusher—the guy tasked with breaking through the opposing offensive line and taking down his opponent’s quarterback. Yum.

“Maybe they’re a wrestling team?” Daisy offers nonchalantly, her gaze continuing to drift across the testosterone-laden chaos.

Her suggestion is ludicrous, quite frankly, but I refrain from saying so. Daisy knowing I come from a die-hard football family that includes a head coach and two NFL players is one thing; scaring her off by saying something that could make me sound like a know-it-all blowhard would be another.

Daisy’s the only good friend I’ve made so far since starting at Northwestern two months ago, and I’d really like to continue building the friendship. Daisy’s the sort of person I’ve always dreamed of having in my life—a fun, wild-child type—so I’m determined not to give her the ick by revealing Stat-Keeping Football Fanatic Chelsea too early.

“I feel like they’re most likely football players,” I murmur vaguely.

“Well, if anyone would know about that, it’s you.” Daisy scans the melee for another long beat. “Although I’m kinda thinking they look like soccer players.”

I press my lips together. Those are football physiques, as surely as my name is Chelsea Parker. Also, Indiana’s campus is only a few miles away, and today is Saturday—game day in the world of college football. Plus, they’ve all got NEBRASKA plastered all over their clothes, and that particular university is in the Big Ten Conference, along with Indiana, which means the two schools are likely opponents in today’s game. So, put all those facts together, along with the approximate number of them being exactly what I’d expect to see for a traveling football team, and there’s not a doubt in my mind those young men are Nebraska’s football players, come to Bloomington as the visiting team for today’s home game at Indiana.

I don’t feel the need to convince Daisy I’m right, however, so I simply shrug and return to my spreadsheet. But only a few seconds later, Daisy pokes my arm and whispers, “Hey, do any of those hotties catch your eye?” She waggles her eyebrows. “I know you said you don’t want a boyfriend for at least a couple years, but maybe you could have your first fling tonight after the competition.” She smiles mischievously. “I bet any of those boys would be more than willing to make out with you for your first time.” She snickers. “Or with me for my twentieth.”

I roll my eyes and return to my spreadsheet. “You do you, Daisy. But that’s not what I came here for. I came to win.”

“Why can’t we do both?”

I look up from my screen. “Even if I were going to let myself get distracted like that, why would I do it with someone I’d never see again? They’re Cornhuskers, Daisy. From Nebraska.”

“That’s exactly my point. You could have some fun checking off some of those boxes you keep talking about and never have to worry about the guy turning into a cling-on and suddenly thinking he’s got the right to tell you what to do.”

She’s parroting my own words back to me. That’s what I told her during freshman orientation when the topic of boyfriends came up, because that’s how it went down for two of my best friends from back home, once they got their first boyfriends. After living under the watchful, protective eyes of my father and two big brothers my whole life, why would I want any man thinking he’s got a say in what I do, now that I’m finally free and on my own?

“Well, regardless, I couldn’t possibly do that tonight because I’m one hundred percent positive we’ll make it into the finals, which means we’ll need to come back here and prepare as much as humanly possible before getting to bed at a reasonable hour so we maximize brain function with a full eight hours of sleep.” As Daisy well knows, the top six teams in today’s first round of the competition will advance to tomorrow’s finals, and it’d take an act of God to keep a team like ours out of them.

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Runaway Rockstar Read Online Kylie Scott http://www.ilovenovels.com/runaway-rockstar-read-online-kylie-scott Sun, 16 Aug 2026 18:23:59 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/runaway-rockstar-read-online-kylie-scott Genre: Action, Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary, Funny Authors: Kylie Scott Advertisement

Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)

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New York Times bestselling author Kylie Scott returns with a hot new rockstar romance...

Nash Porter is a rockstar who wants out. He’s had enough of nonstop grinding tours and the pressure of success and fame. It’s time for a taste of normalcy. And his retired housekeeper’s home in a charming small town, is the last place anyone would think to look for him.

Having been dumped and evicted by her idiot ex, June Calloway is ready for a change of scenery. When her grandmother suggests June visit, she jumps at the chance. What could be better than quiet time in a quaint picturesque town to restart her life and take her mind off her woes? What she doesn’t anticipate is that a rockstar-in-hiding will be her new roommate—and she’ll have to help keep him away from the media and adoring fans.

Concealing a platinum-selling, award-winning musician’s true identity isn’t going to be easy, but June has some ideas. It starts with a shave and haircut, and ends with June claiming Nash is her very ordinary, not the slightest-bit-famous, ex who has come to woo her back. Surely nothing can go wrong

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

PLAYLIST

“Tití Me Preguntó” by Bad Bunny

“Dial Drunk” by Noah Kahan

“SS26” by Charli xcx

“Bitches” by Kassi Ashton

“Something To Dance To” by Willie Jones

“Blue Bayou” by Linda Ronstadt

“HUMBLE.” by Kendrick Lamar

“Bitin’ List” by Tyler Childers

“Crazy” by Patsy Cline

“Babydoll” by Dominic Fike

“Are You Ready To Love Me” by The War And Treaty

“Lover, You Should’ve Come Over” by Jeff Buckley

“Tennessee Whiskey” by Chris Stapleton

“Don’t Delete The Kisses” by Wolf Alice

CHAPTER ONE

There’s never a good time to find a stranger asleep on your front porch. But after having walked home from happy hour with your grandma is possibly the worst. The stars are shining, the cicadas are singing, and the whole world has a fuzzy distant feel to it. Like I need to focus, or there’s a chance I’m going to fall on my ass. I’m in no condition to be dealing with a trespasser, or much of anything.

My last vodka berry bramble might have been a mistake. Though an argument could be made that processing a breakup requires one drink too many and bitching about your ex to complete strangers in a bar. We had such a good night. Give or take the shadowy figure passed out on the daybed beneath the soft glow of the fairy lights strung from the rafters.

“He’s a big sucker,” I whisper-hiss from the steps. “What do we do?”

Grandma silently picks up the walking stick from beside the front door. The one she uses when wet weather sets off her bad knee. It’s wooden with climbing roses carved into it by a local artist. She swings it once or twice, testing its weight.

“You can’t just hit him.”

“I wasn’t planning to, dear,” she says. “Or not at first.”

“Should we call someone?”

“Let’s just assess the situation,” says Grandma. “Shine some light on him, June, would you?”

I aim my phone at the unconscious stranger. The sad fact is there’s a dearth of perfect asses. So it’s surprising to stumble across one in a small town in Washington State. And while I’m busy objectifying him—there’s nothing wrong with the width of his shoulders and breadth of his back. Same goes for his thick thighs and tree-length legs. The stranger passed out on Grandma’s porch is yoked. No idea about the rest of him. His long brown hair is a tangled mess, and his face is turned aside and cast in shadows.

Which doesn’t stop Grandma from recognizing him. “Oh, for goodness sake. Wake up, Nash.”

The stranger mumbles incoherently, and Grandma pokes him none too gently with her walking stick.

“Ow,” he says. Nash, she called him.

“What are you doing here?”

Nothing from him.

“Nash…”

“Please don’t poke me again,” he says in his deep, smooth voice.

“Then get up and give me some straight answers.”

He moans and groans and gets to his feet. My fear of heights would kick in if I were that tall. But not this guy. He just pushes his hair out of his face with a heavy sigh. The nerve of him to look hot as fuck with bloodshot eyes. He doesn’t appear to have slept in days. No wonder he was out cold. And I have the weirdest feeling I’ve seen his face before. Like this dude is seriously familiar. It’s the wild hair and beard and general air of deshabille he’s got going on. Ripped black jeans, a matching tee, and cowboy boots.

Nash squints down warily at my grandmother with her weapon and says, “I thought little old ladies were supposed to be nice.”

“I will beat the shit out of you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

“Is that how they say ‘I missed you’ where you come from?” Given the circumstances, he still sounds surprisingly cool, calm, collected, and amused.

There are many reasons why I admire my grandma. Not only is she great to go out with, but she tolerates no nonsense. “I haven’t heard from you in over two years and now you turn up here. Are you all right?”

“Of course, I am. I was just on tour. You know what it’s like. But I decided it’s time for a change.”

“What does that mean?”

Which is when it hits me. “Porter. You’re Aaron Porter. Oh my god.”

His smile is a brief flash of white teeth soon hidden by the tangle of brown hair again. I don’t know how he puts up with it.

“Nash,” says Grandma in a stern voice. “Answer me.”

Hands on hips, he announces, “I decided to quit being a rockstar and need somewhere to hide out for a while. What do you say?”

This feels like an alcoholic fever dream. Sitting at the kitchen table with a famous person drinking chamomile tea. Life comes at you with both speed and strangeness sometimes. I keep wanting to pinch one of us to see if this is real. But I settle for tugging on the end of my dark braid and frowning in confusion.

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A Lick and A Promise (Avenging Angels #5) Read Online Kristen Ashley http://www.ilovenovels.com/a-lick-and-a-promise-avenging-angels-5-read-online-kristen-ashley Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:12:26 +0000 https://www.ilovenovels.com/a-lick-and-a-promise-avenging-angels-5-read-online-kristen-ashley Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Crime, Funny, Suspense Authors: Kristen Ashley Series: Avenging Angels Series by Kristen Ashley
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Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 139088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)

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Luna Nelson and Knox Chambers fell together fast, and they did it hard. It was so big, so special, they wanted it just for themselves and kept it a secret from their found family: the Avenging Angels and the Hottie Squad.

They both knew this was it. Together forever.

What Luna didn’t know was that Knox had secrets.

Secrets that tore them apart.

But when Knox asked for them to continue being friends—for the sake of their crew, and so he wouldn’t lose her—Luna loved him enough to say yes. Yes to the torture of being in the life of a man who was the love of hers, but he let her go.

Then, Knox gets shot. He gets shot not because he’s got a dangerous job (which he does), but because his family is an absolute mess.

With the man who means everything to her recuperating, Luna can’t keep away.

While Luna tries to keep the Angels safe from interfering in Knox’s family’s criminal enterprises, she and Knox circle each other, drawing a different kind of blood.

Will Knox continue to keep his secrets?

And will both of them be safe in the Chambers Family Feud?

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

ONE

HE WANTS YOU

I shouldn’t be here.

I knew I shouldn’t be here.

But when Raye called, even though my mind said one thing (that I shouldn’t be here), my body (okay, my heart) said another.

So I was here.

The good news: I was just one more body in the mix, so it wasn’t like I was the cast-off chick hanging around, embarrassing herself pining for some dude.

In other words, that hospital waiting room was a crush seeing as all the Hottie Squad was there, all the Angels along with Tex, Nancy, Shirleen, Marjorie. Even Tito was there.

So I was just another person in a sea of people worried as fuck Knox got shot.

That was the bad news, Knox had been shot.

Twice.

He’d been shot…twice.

Oh yeah.

That was the way bad news.

He did not get shot while conducting Nightingale Investigations & Security business, which it was my understanding was a possibility, if not a probability in their line of work due to them not being your average, everyday private investigations and security business, but a whole lot more.

He got shot because his family was a nightmare.

More good news, the surgeon came out and told us he was out of surgery, stable, resting and no lasting damage had occurred. Though he’d need some time to mend and do physical therapy to regain full strength in his shoulder and leg.

Okay, so that was mixed good news because, absolutely, no lasting damage was obviously a good thing.

But he had to recuperate from two gunshot wounds he got because his family was borderline ready for their episode of Evil Lives Here, and that totally freaking sucked.

More of that mixed good news, my staring contest with Cheyenne was over.

Although I sensed why she hated me—even though it was lame as hell, since she’d had him for a while, and I didn’t (well, I did, but it wasn’t a very long while)—what I didn’t know was why she was there at all.

They’d broken up.

But by damn, when the surgeon came out, the bitch popped out of her seat like a demented jill-in-the-box and shouldered even Cap and Mace out of the way (respectively, Knox’s best bud and his boss) to belly up to the doc.

She also lied and said she was Knox’s partner, so she got to be the first to go back and see him.

Usually, the dudes were super cool with chicks. Lots of patience (needed), lots of understanding (also needed—what could I say? we were a bunch of nutso broads), all kinds of room to be who we were and do what we did (as, of course, it should be—save Knox in that scenario, but that was a longer story).

But when Cheyenne did that, everyone got pissed, and even the dudes didn’t hide it.

And when she did it, Raye took my hand (again, she’d been holding it on and off for the last three hours), and Brady shot me a look.

Truth: Brady and I had screwed the pooch.

Honestly, it seemed a good idea at the time.

Okay, not a good idea. A demented, in-your-face, heartbroken idea. But when you were heartbroken, demented ideas often seemed like good ones.

Then again, I was learning not to lead with the heart. Though, admittedly, I was learning this by messing up royally because I’d done something stupid at the edict of my heart.

My heart had me sitting right there, benched, because I meant nothing to Knox except being a member of his friend posse.

A distant one.

Someone he was around who he tolerated.

And that was it.

And my heart led me to pretend-flirt with and, okay, semi-kinda fake-date Brady (really, it was just two friends hanging out, but we wanted Knox to think it was something else) after Knox got together with Cheyenne.

We did this so he might feel a little bit of what I was feeling since Cheyenne was suddenly at all of our AAHS shindigs (Avenging Angel/Hottie Squad, for your information, of which I was a member of the former, and for more information, that former was unprofessional, unpaid chicks who stuck our noses in places they shouldn’t be, but someone had to do it, and the latter was professional, trained, skilled badasses).

And since Knox scraped me off, and he knew where I was at with him, he had to know how that would sting.

Sure, he’d made himself clear, and as such, I had no claim, so who was I to engage in some harebrained fake-dating scheme to make the guy I liked (right, okay, dammit…loved) jealous?

The idea was doomed from the start.

Why I couldn’t get a guy like Cap, like my bestie Raye did—a man who struggled with our whole Avenging Angels vigilante gig, but he got a lock on it because he knew how important it was to his woman—I did not know.

Or an Eric or Gabe, my other friends, Jess’s and Willow’s dudes, who were super chill and didn’t kick up a fuss at all.

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Married to the Scottish Player (Axes & Endzones #2) Read Online Sara Ney http://www.ilovenovels.com/married-to-the-scottish-player-axes-endzones-2-read-online-sara-ney Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:11:21 +0000 https://www.ilovenovels.com/married-to-the-scottish-player-axes-endzones-2-read-online-sara-ney Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Funny, Sports Authors: Sara Ney Series: Axes & Endzones Series by Sara Ney
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Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >90

From the author of Falling for the Fake Lumberjack comes a laugh-out-loud scorcher about a burned-out wedding planner and broken-down linebacker brought together by fate—and a booking snafu.

Wrangling lumberjacks for Star Lake’s Fall Fest has wedding and event planner Annabelle Franklin ready to saw some serious wood. When her best friend suggests a staycation, she’s all in. Too bad the cabin she books is already occupied—by a brawny Scot who just won’t budge.

The good news? Callum “Maverick” McBride has abs to spare and a voice that could fell trees (and drop panties). Did I mention he owns two kilts? Recuperating from surgery, the Arizona linebacker just wants privacy. And since he was there first, he refuses to give an inch.

As sparks start melting the ice between them, they concede to sharing the cabin. But after crashing a wedding—and waking up hungover with matching gold rings—any boundaries established are quickly forgotten.

Turns out Annabelle and Callum’s marriage is legit. And fate has another wee surprise in store. They discover that sometimes the best mistakes in life are the ones you choose to keep

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Prologue

Annabelle

Lucy was right.

I need a break.

If one more person tells me I look tired, I’m going to scream.

But I do look tired. Because I am tired. Because running the Lakeside Fall Fest was basically like hosting a royal wedding, the Super Bowl, and a three-day lumberjack circus all rolled into one, minus the helpful minions and with way more syrup emergencies! Ugh!

The funny thing is—and by funny, I mean cruel and ironic—after it was all over and we’d counted the $80,000 we raised (I’m still suspicious someone added a zero), my first thought wasn’t relief.

It was I need a vacation.

A real one.

One where no one calls me at 6:00 a.m. asking if they can bring their cousin’s boyfriend’s dog to the pancake breakfast. One where I don’t have to talk to the fire marshal about whether or not axe throwing constitutes a “controlled hazard.” One where I don’t have to hear the question “Are we out of syrup?” ever again in my natural life.

But I can’t take a real one because There is No Time.

I text Lucy to complain, thumbs flying across the screen like a woman possessed: I need a vacation. I need three vacations. Possibly a sabbatical. Maybe early retirement. How do I make this happen without abandoning the town or faking my own death?

I stare at the chat bubble, waiting for those three glorious dots to appear.

Nothing.

I hate how impatient I am, waiting for her to reply. I hate how envious I am that she left for Arizona without me, because Harris freaking Bennett, NFL linebacker for Arizona, swept her off her feet like some kind of romantic comedy hero with biceps carved from marble.

She deserves it.

Obviously she does . . .

But also?

Rude!

I’m here, running on caffeine and stress fumes, my hair in a bun that hasn’t been undone in four days, answering emails about lost-and-found jackets, backpacks—and whether or not we can “make the lumberjacks come back for Christmas tree lighting in the square.”

I tap my phone impatiently. Still nothing.

I let out a dramatic sigh, leaning my head back against the porch railing, staring at the gray sky. Even the weather is judging me.

My phone dings.

Lucy:

Omg. Stop. Come to Arizona. Get on a plane. Do It.

Come to Arizona?

I stare at the screen, wanting to reply with a resounding Yes! Yes, you’re right! I’m on my way! Free place to stay! Sunshine!

My thumbs hesitate over the keys.

Except . . . I can’t.

There’s a pancake breakfast meeting on Tuesday. And the Christmas committee kickoff on Wednesday. And Madison Rodriguez and her fiancé are coming to tour their wedding venue on Tuesday afternoon, and her parents will finally be in town.

Annabelle:

You know I would love to, but I can’t.

Lucy:

There is always going to be reasons not to do something. I shut down the studio to fly here, because I couldn’t get anyone to cover for me. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices for our mental health, for example . . .

I sigh. She’s not wrong—there is always going to be a reason not to do something. Still, that doesn’t mean I can drop everything and fly out of town.

I am not like Lucy.

I am not spontaneous.

I don’t live on the edge.

I stare out the window, in the direction of the lake. Yes, I live in a resort town. No, my apartment isn’t anywhere near the water. Too expensive.

But that’s me in a nutshell, isn’t it? Practical. Predictable. Sensible to a fault. I make grocery lists and stick to them. I budget down to the penny. I plan vacations twelve months in advance and still double-check hotel confirmations the night before. I don’t wake up one morning and decide to book a flight somewhere on a whim. I’ve never been that girl.

I wonder what it feels like to be that girl.

To act first and figure the rest out later.

To leap without worrying if the net will appear.

Lucy:

What about a staycation? Go to the lodge and relax! Let them pamper you! Hang out with the tourists . . .

Annabelle:

The lodge is the least quiet place in town. What I need is peace and quiet and not to stare at the white walls in my apartment, day in and day out . . . UGH!

Lucy:

Okay. What about one of the cottages? I had never been in one until I was inside Harris’s and they are So Darn Cute. You would love it.

I chew on my bottom lip, staring at her message. Spontaneity? No, thank you. That’s how you end up lost, sunburned, and accidentally eating something you’re allergic to.

But . . . what if?

What if I did take a staycation?

What if I closed my laptop, threw some clothes in a bag—no, not even pack a bag, just take whatever I can grab in ten minutes—and got the heck out of here?

Annabelle:

Wouldn’t that be weird?

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Serial Bangers Read Online Sheridan Anne http://www.ilovenovels.com/serial-bangers-read-online-sheridan-anne Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:10:50 +0000 https://www.ilovenovels.com/serial-bangers-read-online-sheridan-anne Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Funny, Suspense Authors: Sheridan Anne Advertisement

Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 102942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >111

I’m many things—sarcastic, ruthless, and offensively good at my job.

What I’m not is tolerant of my brand-new neighbor—Raiden Kane.

He’s infuriating, smug, and far too criminally attractive for someone who treats our shared parking like a declaration of war. Sure, I could handle all of that, but what I can’t handle is his Energizer Bunny stamina and apparent addiction to beautiful women—an addiction that plays out for hours every night through the insultingly thin wall between our bedrooms.

Raiden Kane knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and I’d dare say it’s the best game he’s ever played. My tolerance meter is wearing thin. Especially when he looks at me with those lazy bedroom eyes that suggest he already knows exactly how I taste.

Work is supposed to keep me sane. It’s my escape. Until it isn’t. Our worlds collide, and the man I’d happily strangle on principle starts turning up where he doesn’t belong.

Coincidence? Please.

There’s something off about Raiden Kane. He’s hiding secrets of his own, and I fully intend to pry them from his cocky, sinful soul … one delicious mistake at a time.

Living next door to him was a mistake.

Falling for him would be worse.

But underestimating him?

That might be the one thing that gets me killed

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

KIARA

Okay, call me crazy, but I am willing to bet everything I have, even my pet cactus, Spikezilla, that there’s no single view more stunning than the coastline off the South of France. Nice, in particular. Especially standing at the top of the mountainside in a private estate, overlooking the breathtaking alcove beach below.

Alcove? Is that what they call it? Horseshoe, perhaps? A beach U-turn? I don’t know, either way, it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, until the view is stolen with the impact of a heavy, black boot kicking right between my legs, slamming smack-dab against my precious vagina.

“Ahhh shit,” I screech, jumping back from the man I thought was dead on the patio of his beautiful estate. I clutch my bits and gape at the asshole, my sweet cookie silently screaming in agony. Good God, that hurt. “What the fuck, dude? That was a low blow.”

His only response is to gurgle around the blood he’s currently choking on. Though that may or may not have something to do with my favorite polished steel, curved double-edged blade that’s currently protruding from his throat. How it got there is a mystery to me. At least that’s what I’d say if I got caught. Not that I ever get caught. I’m just that good. Though apparently not good enough because my vagina was power-rammed by steel-toed boots, but I guess that’s what the South of France will do to a girl. It’s nothing more than a picturesque distraction. It leaves the vagina wide open for a railing—and not the good kind.

Letting out a sigh, I crouch down and grab the black ornate handle of the intricate blade and yank it free from its sheath, otherwise known as this corrupt politician’s esophagus, only for the floodgates to let loose and send blood spurting across the courtyard, and more importantly, all over me.

“Damn it. I’m gonna have to get this dry cleaned,” I grumble, pulling away from the dying politician as he quickly finishes bleeding out on the terracotta pavers. I have a great relationship with my dry cleaner. He doesn’t ask questions, but he’s definitely curious as to the constant blood stains on my clothes, and this little black corset top has seen way too many incidents like this. But what can I say? It’s my favorite.

After wiping the blade against my thigh, I go to leave when I turn and glance up at the massive home. It truly is beautiful. The epitome of French countryside living, and while I know I shouldn’t, I find myself itching to go inside.

I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. And yet . . . I really want to.

You miss all of the opportunities you don’t take, right? What could it hurt anyway? It’s just a peek. I won’t get caught. From the research I did, this magnificent property was bought by the family as a holiday home. The wife visits every few months with their daughter, whereas this scumbag is here every other week, using it as a meeting place for all his shady business deals and women he runs through—women young enough to be his daughter.

No wonder the contract came my way. It was only a matter of time.

It was too easy to lure him here, and now that all is said and done, I don’t see why I shouldn’t take just a quick peek at how the upper class truly lives.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m in no way on struggle street. I’m at the top of my game. One of the best contract killers across the globe, and I get paid handsomely for what I do, but I’m not flashy.

I live in a small apartment, just outside the city limits of LA, where it’s still busy enough to blend in. I can go out for a run every morning without people asking questions, can stop by my local barista, and have a decent conversation while I wait, and can be my edgy little self without drawing the wrong attention. It’s exactly what I need.

While I can more than afford to purchase a luxury estate in the South of France, all in cash, it’s not my style. So, what do I spend my money on, you ask? Black-market weapons. Nothing gets me more excited than a sleek, intricately designed blade with a matching set of brass knuckles and throwing stars. Fuck, I’m getting hot just thinking about it. It’s like that feeling as a kid when you’ve been begging your parents forever to go to Disney World, and they finally agree.

Shit. There’s truly nothing better.

Scanning over the massive estate, I take in the location of the cameras, though I don’t need to. I already have every last one of them committed to memory, but old habits die hard. I will never stop covering myself in these situations. No job is worth my life. The second my cover is blown, I’m as good as dead.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >111

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Big Mad – A RomCom Read Online Amarie Avant http://www.ilovenovels.com/big-mad-a-romcom-read-online-amarie-avant Tue, 16 Jun 2026 12:51:22 +0000 https://www.ilovenovels.com/big-mad-a-romcom-read-online-amarie-avant Genre: Alpha Male, Funny Authors: Amarie Avant Advertisement

Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >77

Judge Bald & Order. His salty ex-wife. And a second chance romance messier than the bayou after a storm.

MADISON
I did something illegal. Don’t ask. Now it’s prison or agreeing to my ex-husband’s ridiculous “date me” ultimatum. Judge Washington Babineaux is tall. Caramel. Judgy. And that sexy bald head is an entire violation.
But me? I’m BIG MAD.
No, he didn’t cheat. We buried our son … our baby … and somehow Wash kept living. Kept smiling. Kept existing like the world didn’t end. Meanwhile, I’ve been surviving on spite and boxed wine. So, I’ll sip my drink, nurse my anger, and pretend my pulse doesn’t act brand new every time he stares at me like he still owns me.
Spoiler alert: I may not keep my hands to myself.

WASHINGTON
Madison Spencer Babineaux is the love of my life. She’s also the most stubborn woman breathing ever since we lost our boy. That day, she left me and took all her light with her.
Now, she’s in trouble, and I’m her only hope.
So, I made her a deal: three high-profile dates. She thinks it’s blackmail. At least it includes a side of second chance. But Maddy’s still the sexiest storm I’ve ever survived. Sharp tongue. Gorgeous dark skin. And I’ll take every ounce of her anger.
Because underneath it, she still loves me, and I’ll be damned if I let her run again.

This romcom includes the theme: loss of a child

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

All humor is rooted in pain.

~ Richard Pryor

#

With gratitude to a few of my beta readers: Char, Denise, & Nene.

For your strength, beauty, and resilience.

And for my Uncle Kevin, because you would’ve

laughed your ass off on page 43.

While this story is purely fiction,

I hope I brought the characters to life,

especially Big Mad(ison).

mad

. . .

Why did I go to that masquerade ball, anyway? I should’ve let endless rivers of champagne, king cake, and maybe a couple of selfies with the Valentine’s Mardi Gras centerpieces tempt me. Hell, I could’ve photobombed the newly engaged couple during what was obviously a proposal party on steroids. But no … I spotted my ex-husband’s new car. And I got MAD.

“Are you listening? That. Is. You!” The detective I’d dubbed Bad Cop sat across from me, pointing at an enlarged photo.

He must’ve thought he was grilling me like a two-dollar burger. Bless his heart. At least my ex-brother-in-law’s girl said yes to the dress. But did I get some crawfish and shrimp? Nope. I hadn’t even entered the venue before that shiny import made me snap!

Panic had my forehead shimmering brighter than the shores near the Bermuda Triangle. I almost brushed my bangs away but rethought any sudden moves. Because I’d be damned if this New Orleans interrogation room weren’t the place where common sense vanished.

But it wasn’t the blown-up picture on the metal desk between Bad Cop and me that cooked my anxiety. Video footage took those honors. Good Cop silently towered near a flat-screen television paused on … let’s call her the Epitome of Excellence.

Not me.

That beautiful, masked Black queen used a metal bat on her ex-husband’s Bent- ahem, somebody’s baby-blue, two-door Bentley.

Bad Cop, a melted Ken Doll in a crumpled suit, leaned forward across from me. An audio recorder sat between us. Hands resting on the table, he growled, “Admit it, Madison! That’s you.”

“First of all, with a shape like that, I’d absolutely take the compliment. Unfortunately, she’s wearing a Mardi Gras mask. Sounds like this might make a good episode for Unsolved Mysteries. Second, honey, I don’t even mind if you use this recording.” I nudged my head toward the audio recorder. “But this ain’t a museum, and I ain’t an exhibit. So, you gotta hit my Cash App, Venmo, Zelle. I could go on, I got ‘em all.” My bottom lip poked out with its own attitude problems.

“We’re over the jokes, Madison!”

“Good! Me too! I have an important meeting tomorrow morn-, well, this morning. That’s another thing. I don’t appreciate y’all arresting me in the middle of the night.” I stared down at my fuzzy pajamas. Dummies should’ve found me a week ago. Now, I was missing out on sleep.

“You ain’t gonna make that meeting.” Bad Cop chuckled.

We glared at each other for a solid ten Mississippis.

Somewhere close, a juicy fly did a U-turn just to increase the tension in this interrogation room. My glare flicked toward Good Cop, up to his tangled bird’s nest, and back into his icy gaze. What you gotta say?

“The footage is clear, ma’am. That’s you!” Good Cop squeaked. Well, damn, he’d been silent this entire time. Now I understood why. His voice was at least two feet shorter than his imposing six-and-a-half feet.

“You should’ve asked for the director’s cut, boo.” I winked. “That footage could be clearer.” Kidding. New Orleans PD must’ve confiscated this television from a kingpin. At least seventy-five inches and probably 4K too.

Bad Cop slammed a hand on the table. “You vandalized the honorable Judge Babineaux’s Bentley⁠—”

“Baby No,” I corrected.

“Babineaux. That’s what I said.”

“And Madison said, ‘Baby No.’ ” Another voice, seasoned with a deliciously rough Louisiana Creole accent, came from the door behind me. “Question. Did you call me Baby No when you were my wife?”

I tried not to look, but my stiff neck needed a stretch. And when I turned … mercy.

Standing in the doorway like a gift-wrapped pair of red-bottom heels with an apologetic matching bow, all of which I didn’t need, stood my ex-husband, Washington Babineaux.

He had the eyes and jaw of Shemar Moore. No, Boris Kodjoe’s eyes and build.

Okay, so, he was the pure beauty that ChatGPT would spit out if a greedy woman asked for Shemar and Borris combined. All in a tailored suit.

How could I do this to myself? Be slightly, ever so slightly, addicted, I mean, attracted to that man. He forced me to commit vehicular vandalism. I didn’t wake up on Valentine’s and say …

Wait. I did.

I had that plan. And it went off without a hitch. Until some secret Ring camera or whatever caught me. But why take a week to find me?

“What?” I snapped, staring at the top of his shiny bald head. A safe spot. No. Never mind. He had that big scalp energy, all shine, no chill … and I remembered humming while I massaged his scalp with tea tree oil.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >77

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The Muse (The Chain of Lakes #2) Read Online Jewel E. Ann http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-muse-the-chain-of-lakes-2-read-online-jewel-e-ann Tue, 16 Jun 2026 12:50:36 +0000 https://www.ilovenovels.com/the-muse-the-chain-of-lakes-2-read-online-jewel-e-ann Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary, Funny Authors: Jewel E. Ann Series: The Chain of Lakes Series by Jewel E. Ann
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Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >97

Flynn Morley has spent his life getting by with as little as possible. No girlfriend. No real home. No money to speak of. Raised in the system, he learned early not to trust people who seemed to have everything. So when he takes a job as a “muse” for a wealthy Minneapolis couple, it feels like crossing a line he never thought he would.

Then he meets June.

June is a bike tour guide with a quick smile, a calm confidence, and a way of making Flynn feel seen without being judged. Their connection is immediate and playful, built on shared humor, quiet moments, and a mutual longing for a simple life.

As Flynn adjusts to his bizarre new job, he starts encountering something he never planned for: kindness without strings attached. It challenges everything he believes about money, power, and who gets to be comfortable in the world. And falling for June only complicates things, especially when it turns out she’s carrying secrets of her own.

When June’s past surfaces, Flynn has to decide what scares him more: becoming someone he’s always sworn he’d never be or letting her see his darkest secrets. If he can’t let go of his fears, he might lose the one person who finally feels like home

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Playlist

“Wi$h Li$t” | Taylor Swift

“Complicated" (Triple J Like a Version) | GRAACE

“Iris” - Live Sessions | Josh Ross

“Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major Prélude” | Johann Sebastian Bach, Yo-Yo Ma

“Serenade” | Franz Schubert, HAUSER, Robert Ziegler, London Symphony Orchestra

“Dangerous Woman” | Power-Haus, Tom Evans, Future Cello

“Nothing Else Matters” - Cello Version | Jodok Cello

“Moon River” | 2CELLOS

“Tired” | Sarah Proctor

“Hellos On The Loose” | Bo Staloch

“Everywhere, Everything” (With Gracie Abrams) | Noah Kahan

Maybe the journey isn’t about becoming anything. Maybe it’s about unbecoming everything that isn’t really you, so that you can be who you were meant to be in the first place.

—Paulo Coelho

Chapter One

Flynn

“My wife doesn’t like sex, so keep it in your trousers. I’d hate for you to embarrass yourself.”

Dude …

What’s happening?

First: Nothing about my “it” is embarrassing.

Second: What does it say about him if his wife “doesn’t like sex?”

Third: Who calls jeans trousers?

I force a tight smile and nod because, this morning, I took Rupert Rawlings’ cypress green Chevelle convertible for a joyride after giving it the platinum mobile detail service. He said he was golfing. I thought that meant four hours at a golf course, not thirty minutes with a simulator in the basement of his old mansion overlooking a lake just outside of downtown Minneapolis—a hub for outdoor enthusiasts, owners of designer dogs, and anyone who shops at Whole Foods.

I’ve been sitting in this same spot for forty minutes while he’s dicked around on his computer and stepped out of his office, twice, to make calls. At least he’s finally explaining the job he’s offering me in lieu of going to jail for grand theft auto—which it was not.

I inhale the scent of lemon furniture polish and musty old books. “What exactly are you hiring me to do besides keeping it in my trousers?” I ask, sprawled out on the cool, tufted brown leather sofa in Rupert’s office. The value of this single room exceeds that of any place I’ve ever lived. The arched doorway and floor-to-ceiling windows open to a view of the lake beyond the trees. Custom walnut cabinetry and shiny brass fixtures. Must be nice having money to burn on stupid shit.

“Do you know who you remind me of?” he asks, reclining in his cushy desk chair, hands laced behind his full head of black and gray hair.

“Yup, because I read minds.” I tear my gaze away from the wood-paneled ceiling to observe his reaction.

Rupert smirks. “You remind me of myself at your age.”

“Are you implying you were awesome or I’m destined to be a gazillionaire?”

“You’re the mind reader, so you tell me.”

I roll my eyes and sit up, running my hands through my hair. Maybe a ride in a police cruiser is the better option. “If your wife has to get herself off,” I say, “then awesome is off the table. Guess that means I’m gonna be a rich fucker.” I twist my lips. “They say money can’t buy happiness, but everyone I know thinks that’s bullshit. Personally, I hate rich people. They’re so out of touch with reality.”

This rich guy clears his throat, lifting an eyebrow at me.

I shrug. “Prove me wrong. I don’t think money buys happiness. I think it’s a burden. Money makes it too easy to become an entitled asshole.”

“Like me?”

“Dunno yet. I’ll let you know.” I scratch my chin. “But blackmailing me isn’t helping your case.”

He eyes me for a second before gripping the arms of his chair to stand. “I don’t need a case, because I have nothing to prove to anyone. I believe it’s called FU money. And no, it doesn’t buy happiness. Happiness is a fleeting emotion—at best.” The top of his crystal decanter clinks on the marble counter before he pours half a glass. Just one. This guy could work on his hospitality.

“Are you a shrink or something?” I ask. “Sounds like something a shrink would say.”

Rupert chuckles, facing me while leaning his backside against the edge of his desk. He sips the alcohol, dark eyes trained on me. I’m not afraid of much, but this guy could turn a simple joyride into a grand theft auto charge.

What must his life be like? I bet he has a dozen other suits just as fancy and expensive as the one he’s wearing. A person to shine his shoes before they get a single scuff. Maybe he’s a lawyer, and that’s how he knows he could put me in jail. I’d guess he’s in his fifties, but his hands are devoid of calluses. It’s unnatural. Not a speck of dirt under his trimmed nails. Does he get manicures with his wife?

I glance down at my grease-stained hands folded between my spread legs. Thick callouses. Two knuckles larger than the others from jamming them.

Pins and plates hold me together. I have so many scars from stitches that my friends call me Frankenstein’s monster.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >97

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All’s Fair in Love and Pizza Read Online Lane Hayes http://www.ilovenovels.com/alls-fair-in-love-and-pizza-read-online-lane-hayes Wed, 20 May 2026 17:51:44 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/alls-fair-in-love-and-pizza-read-online-lane-hayes Genre: Funny, M-M Romance, Novella Authors: Lane Hayes Advertisement

Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 49490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >51

A bake-off between enemies…what could go wrong?

Mateo

Can you believe this? Haverton’s football hero is opening a bagel shop next to my pizzeria and he’s selling—wait for it—pizza bagels. The nerve!

And this guy isn’t above using his fame to attract clients. It’s annoying and yes, I’m feeling a little crusty about the situation. My temper has gotten me into a few binds, but a pizza bagel war? This is a first.

I’m gonna crush him.

Rob

After years of playing in the pros, I’m beat. All I want is to open a bagel shop in the town that gave me a shot at the big time. I’d love some peace and quiet too, however, I won’t be getting that with Mateo Cavaretti next door.

Geez, I can’t believe I had a crush on that guy in college. Sure, he’s still incredibly good-looking, but he’s a grouch. And while I like my business partner’s idea to settle our dispute with a classic bake-off, Mateo and I can’t be in the same room without fireworks going off.

Okay, some of those fireworks are extra sexy and that might be a problem.

Or is all truly fair in love and pizza…and bagels?

All’s Fair in Love and Pizza is an MM grumpy/sunshine, small-town romance featuring former teammates, a culinary challenge, and a HEA worth fighting for.

*A portion of All's Fair in Love and Pizza was originally included in the Delicious Anthology. This new version has doubled in size to 40k words and a whole lot of bake-off shenanigans!

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

MATEO

“The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.”— Sun Tzu, The Art of War

Boardwalk Pizza’s lunchtime rush was the usual medley of starry-eyed tourists, loyal locals, and a smattering of students and faculty from the nearby college. Like now.

A family of five sporting sweatshirts advertising the roller coaster at the pier studied the menu on the wall behind the register while an old man with a newspaper folded under his arm and an unlit pipe in hand chatted with the professor of humanities. A gaggle of female students huddled at the end of the line, gazes locked on their cellular devices.

The family was currently vacillating between the extra-large meat lover’s pizza and my cousin Sal’s special with double pepperoni. They couldn’t decide which sounded better, which meant they’d probably drag me into the decision-making process. I’d happily push the meat lover’s, but I was feeling a little stabby that I was running the register at all. I was supposed to be in the office, finalizing tomorrow’s grocery list. This was Giovanni’s job.

Where the hell was he?

“Everything just looks so good. What would you suggest?” the middle-aged mom asked, fluttering mega lashes at me.

See, I told you so.

“The meat lover’s. Hands down, my favorite.” I flashed a flirty smile, ignoring Mr. Smith’s eye roll. The old geezer got testy when forced to wait too long for his daily slice of ’za and a side salad…hold the onions.

“Sold!” the woman twittered. Thankfully she and the rest of her family knew what they wanted to drink.

I rang her card and slid a plastic marker across the battered wood counter. “Thank you. Here’s your number. Your pizza should be out in ten minutes or less.”

Mr. Smith toddled forward, his signature deadpan expression in place. He stuffed his newspaper into the front pocket of his tweed coat and tapped his pipe on his thumb. “I’ll have the usual.”

“You got it.” I narrowed my eyes mischievously. “You sure you don’t want to try Sal’s special?”

“The last time I tried Sal’s special, I had heartburn for three days. No, I’ll stick to the usual.” He pulled a ten-dollar bill from his pocket. “Keep the change.”

Our prices had gone up a couple of times since the older man had last bothered checking—however, no one corrected him. Mr. Smith had been a regular for forty-or-so years, which meant that other than on my days off and during my short stint after college playing pro football, I’d seen this man more often than I saw some family members. He was a bit of a curmudgeon, but he’d played poker with my grandpa and had coached Little League with my uncle once upon a time, so yeah…I wasn’t about to let him know he owed me an extra five bucks on the daily.

“Thanks, Mr. S.” I held my hand up for a fist bump, chuckling when he raised his brow and shuffled off.

The college girls were next. No problem. I locked and loaded my most charming smile just as Vanni rushed in, tying a marinara-stained apron around his slim waist.

“Sorry about that. I had some snoopin’ to do. You’re not gonna believe who’s moving in next door, Cuz.” Vanni bumped my elbow and grinned like a fool at the pretty girls waiting at the counter.

My cousin was a little scatterbrained. However, he was great with customers. I let him take over, hanging the new orders on the line for Sal and Jimmy in the kitchen. I should have ducked out and made a beeline for the office, but I poured drinks instead. Yeah, I was curious.

“Who?” I asked, arranging a tray of drinks.

Vanni closed the register, waiting for the counter area to clear before he replied, “A football buddy of yours.”

“Really? From Haverton?”

“Yeah, a big guy—a linebacker, I think. Rob something or other? He was standing outside with an inspector, talking about permits. I said hello, all friendly like. Introduced myself. He says, ‘Nice to meet ya. I’m opening a bagel shop.’ ”

“Rob? I don’t know who—oh, Rob Vilmer?”

Vanni snapped his fingers. “That’s the guy. Rob’s makin’ bagels. Not regular bagels, either. Savory ones. Whatever the fuck that means. Heya, Mrs. Sanders. What can we get started for you today?”

Rob Vilmer. Huh.

Talk about a blast from the past.

I delivered the drinks to table fourteen, pausing to inquire about their meals. How was the pepperoni today? Do you need any parmesan? That kind of thing. I made my rounds, strategically stopping near the entrance with the tray tucked under my arm to open the door for a group of students, then sneaked outside to peek at the flurry of action at the neighboring store.

The former owners had operated a candy emporium for decades. You know, the kind with big barrels of saltwater taffy and walls filled with classic treats—Pop Rocks, Abba-Zabas, and Sugar Babies. It had been a staple of my childhood, and my cousins and I had been sad to see it go.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >51

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Oops I’m Wanted Again – A Dark Prison Break Rom Com Read Online Sheridan Anne http://www.ilovenovels.com/oops-im-wanted-again-a-dark-prison-break-rom-com-read-online-sheridan-anne Wed, 13 May 2026 18:50:19 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/oops-im-wanted-again-a-dark-prison-break-rom-com-read-online-sheridan-anne Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Funny Authors: Sheridan Anne Advertisement

Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >118

Okay, so I didn’t mean to break the guy out of prison and become his pretty little hostage. It just kinda happened. Can you blame me? Vicious murder tendencies aside, he’s one hell of a snack!

Stone Blackthorne. Even his name rubs me the right way.

Sure, he might be a convicted felon and be the most wanted man on Earth, but under all of those red flags, he’s probably a really nice guy. Just misunderstood.

Screw red. Stone’s flags are pitch black, but that’s the way I like it.

Want me to be your filthy little hostage? Okay. Just tell me how loud I should beg.

Need me to scream and make a break for it through the woods while you chase me, mask optional? You won’t see me complaining.

But want to put me at the top of your kill list for reasons completely beyond my control? Now that’s where I draw the line.

I know I’m a good girl at heart, but sometimes even the good girls need to be a little bad

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

ARIA

Holy mother of all things hot and juicy. There’s no way this is real.

I stare at my computer screen, my jaw hanging open as I scan the email confirmation for the biggest interview I’ve scored during the entire span of my short career.

Stone Blackthorne. The most notorious killer to walk the planet, currently serving four life sentences at Hartley Creek Maximum Security Penitentiary for Men, and a bona fide heartthrob.

His case has baffled me for years. I’ll never forget it.

During my recovery from the accident, his case appeared on the small TV in the corner of my stale hospital room. Its brutality made national headlines, and despite not knowing anyone involved, I found myself tuning in every day, invested in a way I had never been before. I needed to know every little detail. The hows, whats, and whys of everything that went down.

Stone was charged with the ruthless murder of six men in the span of three minutes, but what really got me was the way he didn’t even try to defend himself. He wasn’t fazed by anything that was going on around him. He looked as though he wanted the judge to hurry up and sentence him so he could be left the hell alone to put his feet up and chill in his new cell.

There were multiple holes in the stories woven by the victim’s representation, and if Stone’s lawyer had half a brain, he would have had every last charge against him dropped. Yet Stone just sat there, accepting his fate. It’s almost as though he wanted to be thrown behind bars.

Stone didn’t speak a single word throughout the whole case. I suppose he was invoking his right to remain silent. Actually, that’s not entirely true. He spoke just long enough to tell the judge and the court security to go fuck themselves, but apart from that? Nada. Not a single word.

When asked if he was guilty, he shrugged. When asked if he wanted to defend himself, he stared straight ahead. And when asked if he had anything to say for himself and the brutal murders he’d committed, he yawned. Yawned! The man yawned like the case was boring him.

There wasn’t a single attempt to save himself. Not a single scoff when they described the brutality of the vicious murders. Not a smirk. Not even a twitch of his lips. He was stone cold, and it was the most terrifying thing to watch. I can’t imagine how it would have felt sitting in that courthouse with him, feeling the wrath radiating out of him. Even his lawyer shrank beside him.

That’s what I’ve been spiraling over for seven long years. Even well after sentencing was complete, and his case had faded out of the headlines, it’s all that’s occupied my brain.

Stone Blackthorne. Occupation: Professional Moron.

I don’t get it. Why not attempt to defend himself, even if he was guilty? Which I’m sure he is. You can tell he’s bad news with one look. He’s the poster boy for Red Flags “R” Us. But why face four life sentences when he could have walked and been free to commit all the vicious murders his fucked-up black heart desired?

Like I said—professional moron. And I’m completely baffled by it.

But what baffles me the most is why now? And why me?

Stone has been behind bars for the better part of seven years, and for the past four of them, I have been so far up the ass of his lawyer begging for an interview that I could tell what he ate for breakfast. I’ve been blocked three times, but nothing is holding me back from this, and every curt blocking is met with a swift new email address, prepped and ready to continue hounding.

Every few months, I request an interview, determined to get to the bottom of this because I know, without a doubt, that Stone is hiding something. There’s his lawyer’s version of the story, the prosecution’s version, and then there’s the truth, which I believe is buried deep inside the mind of Stone Blackthorne. And for whatever reason I can’t seem to shake, I need it.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >118

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The Secret Baby Power Play (That Steamy Hockey Romance #4) Read Online Lili Valente http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-secret-baread-online-power-play-that-steamy-hockey-romance-4-read-online-lili-valente Thu, 23 Apr 2026 23:04:30 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-secret-baread-online-power-play-that-steamy-hockey-romance-4-read-online-lili-valente Genre: Alpha Male, Funny, Sports Authors: Lili Valente Series: That Steamy Hockey Romance Series by Lili Valente
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Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)

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Sleeping with my teammate's sister? Rookie mistake.
Getting her pregnant? Career-ending penalty.

They call me the Guru—the guy who never loses his cool, never breaks the code, and definitely doesn't knock up his best friend's little sister after one perfect, reckless night.

But judging by Beatrice's new baby bump, six months ago, I did just that.

Now she's back in New Orleans, gorgeous, glowing, and determined to do this solo. She doesn't need my money, my help, or my suddenly inconvenient feelings.

Too bad. Because I'm not the kind of man who skates away from the woman I haven't been able to stop thinking about since the moment she left.

So I show up. I prove I'm not just the guy who got her pregnant, but the friend who listens, the partner who's got her back, and the lover who knows exactly how to make her forget why she ever thought romance might be dead.

And if keeping us a secret protects her peace? Fine. I'll play along.

But secrets have a way of hitting the ice when you least expect it. And when ours does, I'll have to prove to her brother, my team, and the woman I'm falling for that I'm not just chasing a win.

I'm playing for forever

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

BEATRICE NIX

Six months ago…

My big brother’s getting married.

My wild, party-loving, only-dates-cougars-on-the-rebound-due-to-suspected-commitment-issues brother is going to marry an amazing woman and live happily ever after.

I’m so happy for him.

So, so happy!

So happy that I haven’t stopped crying since he called me to tell me that Charlotte said yes…

What’s wrong with me?

I sniff, speeding my steps down a quieter street in the French Quarter, grateful for the spring breeze on my face. I have no idea where I’m going. I just had to get away from the noise, the people. Away from all the shiny surfaces outside the bar, reflecting what a mess I am.

I love Charlotte. Seriously love her. If someone told me I had to choose between Baylor, the brother who’s had my back my since the day I was born, and this woman, who came into my life just a few months ago, I would struggle to decide where my loyalty should lie. She’s been ten toes down for me from day one, even when things with my ex got seriously ugly. She never wavered or made me feel like a burden. She simply opened her heart and her home and took me in.

Charlotte is an incredible human being who loves my brother with every bit of her big, beautiful soul, and he feels the same way. Thanks to the love they’ve found, Baylor is an even better man than he was before. There’s no doubt in my mind that their marriage will be one for the ages.

So why is there a boulder in my throat?

Am I jealous? Is that it? Deep down, am I that petty?

“If so, then you’re a horrible person,” I mutter, words slurring as I swipe at the tears still leaking from my eyes. I’m tipsier than I almost ever get, but a hurricane on an empty stomach will do that to a girl. Food was on the way to the table, but I left before I could take a single bite of my fish tacos.

Thank God.

Thank God, I stepped outside the bar to take that call. Thank God, I texted my friends an apology for bailing early when the sniffling began, and started walking. If anyone else had seen me like this, I would be even more ashamed of myself.

Seriously, what is wrong here?!

Baylor and Charlotte basically saved my life. Not only did they help me escape Kai with minimal fallout, but they also provided shelter, support, and connections to the New Orleans music community. Hell, Charlotte even sang backup on the first solo release of my career.

They did everything in their power to smooth my transition from dysfunctional coupledom to peaceful single lady life. From a member of a mid-list band to a potentially mainstream solo artist. My first single, The Labor of Leaving, is still charting months after its release, and my forthcoming solo album has been named one of the year’s most anticipated releases by several well-respected industry publications. If I don’t seriously fuck something up, I’m on the verge of being famous.

Only I never wanted to be famous.

I wanted to make amazing music, live a happy life, and find someone incredible to share it with.

And so far?

Well, so far, aside from the new album, I’ve made formulaic music, lived under the thumb of a controlling asshole, and what I know about “true love” could fit inside a thimble.

I know it’s precious.

I know it’s rare.

And I know I might never find it.

Since the split with Kai, I haven’t been able to get laid, let alone anything more. I only started dipping my toe into the dating pool a little while ago, and meeting people is next to impossible when you spend most of your time in a recording studio, but still…

I’ve been on enough dates to know that men feel as foreign to me as the opposite sex did when I was a teenager. That’s how I ended up with Kai in the first place. He was problematic, yes, even back then. But he was also the first boy who seemed to “get” what it was like to be a woman, to see me as a main character, too, not a sidekick in his dude-centered adventure. I thought maybe that was because he was older than the other boys I’d dated—twenty-one to my seventeen.

Over a decade later, the hypothesis gave me comfort on my way out the door. Maybe finding connection would be easier the second time around, now that my dating pool was full of proper adults.

But after six months of disastrous first dates, I now suspect most men are simply dumb.

No, not dumb. That isn’t quite right.

They’re not dumb, they’re…willfully ignorant. Most haven’t bothered to educate themselves on what it’s like to navigate the world as a woman because they don’t have to.

They don’t have to be afraid of walking outside at night, or losing control of their reproductive systems, or being told they’re inherently inferior because they were born with girl parts. So, they don’t care.

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