Killian (On the Line #1) Read Online Brenda Rothert

Categories Genre: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance, Sports Tags Authors: Series: On the Line Series by Brenda Rothert
Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
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Read Online Books/Novels:

(On the Line #1) Killian

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Brenda Rothert

Language:
English
ISBN/ ASIN:
B08JWP2TM6
Book Information:

Killian

It’s all about the game in the minors. We don’t play for money, glory or fame—we’re in it for the straight-up, all-in love of hockey. And not only do women flock to me as a pro athlete, my reckless behavior only makes the fans love me more. As the star forward and team captain of the Fenway Flyers, my job is secure no matter how much trouble I get in—both on and off the ice.
That is, until our team is bought by a real estate mogul who busts my balls like it’s her job. And while I suppose it actually is, I can think of much better ways to spend my time with the fearless firebrand who’s now my boss.
She wants to control me, and I’m all for it. As long as she surrenders to me in the only place that really matters—the bedroom.
Books in Series:

On the Line Series by Brenda Rothert

Books by Author:

Brenda Rothert



Killian

I ducked, but I was too late. The puck had been fired directly at my head, bouncing off the front of my facemask. I slipped but regained my footing, digging my skate blades into the ice.

“Who the fuck did that?” I demanded, casting a furious gaze at my teammates for the Fenway Flyers. No one said a word, but I saw two of the guys glance quickly at the third man in their line. Anderson. His ass was mine.

“Fuckin’ big shot, are you?” I skated toward him as he tried to flee, but he wasn’t fast enough. I jumped him, knocking him to the ice and making sure he felt every one of my two hundred pounds of pissed off fury.

I was on top of him in a nanosecond and landed my first blow to his gut. He grunted.

The shrill sound of the coach’s whistle made us both stop.

“Get up, ladies!” our coach Orion Caldwell yelled. “Work it out later.”

I got up, pushing off of Anderson’s chest. He gave me a murderous glare, and then silently pulled himself to his feet.

“Everybody on the line,” Orion shouted.

There was a collective groan. Bag skate. We’d lost 5–1 in our game last night, which meant today we were facing a grueling practice. It would start with suicides—rigorous skating back and forth between the rink lines. It was something our old coach wouldn’t have dreamed of making us do. I actually hadn’t done them since my college days.

The three-man lines skated to and from the blue lines on the rink, most of the guys panting and swearing under their breath within a few minutes.

“My fuckin’ thighs are on fire,” my winger Liam said. “We’re paying the price for the dead weight once again.”

“Enough of this shit,” muttered Bennett, my other winger.

I was still too busy thinking about the ass beating I owed Anderson. If the bastard was lucky, this bag skate would probably work out some of the fire in me.

Our punishment ended ten minutes later and, with a self-satisfied smirk on his face, the coach moved us on to running plays. Believe it or not, we couldn’t do that right either. We were worse than we’d been in the game last night, which seemed impossible.

The puck got away from one of the guys twice in rapid succession, and Orion was silent for a few seconds. He was a former NHL player who had only been coaching us for a couple of weeks, but I knew what that quiet meant. An explosion was on the way.

“Boys, if you can’t get this shit done in practice, think about what we’re gonna look like in our next game. I think I need to take some of you over to the fucking peewee practice so you can learn how to move the goddamned puck.” He was looking each of us in the eye and there was no doubt what he thought of us. “OK, again, and this time move it.”

I was getting to know that pissed off glare very well. Two weeks ago he had started off mild-mannered and cool, but after seeing this fucked up team in action his fuse had shortened fast.

Our line wasn’t the problem. Me and Bennett and Liam were the first line, and we knew our shit and worked in tandem. But one line couldn’t hold up an entire team. The other lines were the problem, and everyone knew it. They never failed to blow our lead.

When it was our turn to execute the practice play, I charged down the ice and didn’t even have to look at Liam to know he had the puck I’d passed him. Bennett finished the play by sliding the puck into the net and then we all got back in line. Orion said nothing because we’d done the play perfectly.

However, things weren’t going well for Steve Grayson and his line. He just missed his pass.

“Grayson, you live to fuck with me, don’t you?” Orion yelled. “Everyone get over here so I can go over this play again.”

We all skated over and surrounded Orion, watching as he sketched on his dry erase board. I stood at the back, zoning out. I knew this fucking play as well as I knew all the others, and this was boring as shit. My mind wandered to the brunette bartender who worked at the bar I hung out at. She was much more interesting. Stacy was petite and had nice big tits. She’d slid down the waistband of her pants last night to show me her new tattoo—some kind of flower design right above her bikini line.

She’d asked me if I’d stay until close tonight, which meant she wanted to come home with me after her shift was over. Fuck, yes I would stay until close. Nothing excited me like fucking a woman for the first time. Only a handful ever made it to a second time though.

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