Hockey Ever After Series by Lauren Blakely – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Hockey Ever After Series by Lauren Blakely – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Tue, 16 Jun 2026 12:51:26 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Hockey Ever After Series by Lauren Blakely – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 Just Playing for Keeps (Hockey Ever After #2) Read Online Lauren Blakely http://www.ilovenovels.com/just-playing-for-keeps-hockey-ever-after-2-read-online-lauren-blakely Tue, 16 Jun 2026 12:51:26 +0000 https://www.ilovenovels.com/just-playing-for-keeps-hockey-ever-after-2-read-online-lauren-blakely Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports Authors: Lauren Blakely Series: Hockey Ever After Series by Lauren Blakely
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Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)

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A grumpy/sunshine fake dating hockey romance from #1 NYT Bestseller Lauren Blakely!

Ever hear the story about the dating coach who got dumped on the hockey arena’s jumbotron?
Everyone did. But I lived it. Including the moment when the team’s broody, tattooed star Lake Axelrod swooped in on skates to rescue me from public humiliation.
Even more surprising? When the famously grumpy (and ridiculously sexy) hockey player insists on being my fake boyfriend for my sister’s high-profile wedding. It’s the perfect sweet revenge plan since my ex is the best man. Bonus – I might even salvage my professional reputation.
We need rules though.

To pull this off, everyone from his teammates to my boss has to believe we’re a real couple.
That means swoony touches and knee-weakening kisses are required.
When it ends, we walk away.
But the intensity in Lake’s eyes after every post-game kiss makes me wonder if he’s pretending. With each whispered secret, the line between fake and real bends. Until it shatters one night in a hotel room.

Soon, he isn’t just playing the protective boyfriend—he’s the only one who truly sees me.
If I’m not careful, I’m going to break the most important rule of all: don’t fall for your fake date.

This is Lake and Remy’s romance. Tropes include: grumpy/sunshine hockey romance, fake dating, workplace romance, best friend’s brother, obsessed hero

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

1

I’VE GOT EVERYTHING UNDER CONTROL

REMY

Twenty-four hours’ notice and I have everything ready. I can’t leave a night like this to chance. Not after spotting a certain little jewelry box hidden among the sweatshirts in my boyfriend’s closet.

Inside the arena, a peaceful warmth floods me, the bliss of thorough preparation for whatever the night brings.

Jameson gestures to the aisle in the arena, letting me go first. I move in front of him, walking down the steps toward our seats as anthemic rock music pipes through the hockey rink, pump-me-up tunes perfect for the players as they warm up on the ice.

Just look at Jameson. He’s all dressed up, wearing his signature vest, of course, and a forest green checked shirt I picked out for him when he asked me to take him clothes shopping a few weeks ago. He’s rocking an undercut, and his jaw is clean-shaven. When we reach the second row, he pats the cushy black faux leather aisle seat. “Isn’t this great, Remy?”

His voice pitches with nerves. My chest tingles from that sign too.

“These seats are amazing,” I reassure him, since he sometimes needs that.

When my boyfriend of eleven and three-quarter months surprised me last week with center-ice tickets to the one thousandth game the Golden State Foxes have played at this arena—seats I can’t even get as the team’s part-time community relations manager—I figured it was an early anniversary gift.

But then last night, I grabbed a hoodie to borrow, and a little gray jewelry box marked “Made by Fable” fell out of the front pocket.

I popped it back in its hiding place, borrowed a different sweatshirt, and shifted into planning mode, stat. A day later, here we are, at a place meaningful to both of us. And Jameson and I did meet by his craft beer brewery on the concourse, so it makes perfect sense he’d pick the arena for the occasion.

Once he settles into the seat, he waves a slightly shaky hand toward the boards. “I know how much you love these games.”

I press my lips together so I don’t burst into confetti. “I do.”

Not the only time I’ll be saying that in the near future.

I smooth a hand over my jeans as Lake Axelrod, the team’s top right winger, glides past the glass, his gaze touring the stands like he’s checking out who’s here. I shed my jacket quickly, revealing my off-the-shoulder soft cream sweater.

Jameson’s gaze strays briefly to my exposed shoulder, then he looks away, toward the ice. Eye contact must be tough when he’s trying to keep a secret.

The game begins, and I focus on the action during the first period while mentally ticking off the arrangements I’d managed in one mere day. Like that slim videographer in the plaid beret weaving his way through the fans during the game breaks, asking them to share favorite memories of games in this arena, which are broadcast on the Jumbotron for all twenty thousand attendees to see.

I told Odin I’d help plan a special date for him and his wife if he’d stick near me during the upcoming fox toss when I think Jameson is most likely to ask the question.

And there’s the curly-haired usher, Selena. I set up a hotspot on her phone once upon a time, and she told me she owes me (she doesn’t), so she was happy to help. She’ll have a bottle of Veuve Clicquot chilled to the perfect temperature and ready for her to bring over at my signal—a double tuck of my hair.

Then a row away is Savannah, the backup photographer I hired in case Jameson didn’t think of it. What if he doesn’t know I’ve always wanted a fun, frothy proposal, or that I’d want pics of every moment?

I stop myself from scanning the seats for photographers Jameson might have hired. It’s best I focus on what I can control.

And I’ve prepared for everything.

I settle in for the rest of the game, trying to contain my excitement as the clock winds down to the second intermission. Finally, the loudspeaker warbles in the arena. “And now…” the announcer booms from the rink, “your Golden State Foxes are coming back to the ice a little early. Get ready to toss your stuffed foxes onto the ice as your home team collects them to donate to the local children’s hospital.”

The hockey stars fly through the tunnel in their purple and white jerseys, sticks in hand. The fans go wild, popping up in their seats to chuck their tawny stuffies over the glass and onto the rink.

The guys skate around, scooping them up with their gloves or sticks. I glance at the clock. The fox toss spans the final two minutes of the intermission—I planned the event. There are ninety seconds left. Plenty of time for Jameson to ask me to be his.

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Just Breaking the Rules (Hockey Ever After #1) Read Online Lauren Blakely http://www.ilovenovels.com/just-breaking-the-rules-hockey-ever-after-1-read-online-lauren-blakely Sun, 01 Feb 2026 09:24:20 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/just-breaking-the-rules-hockey-ever-after-1-read-online-lauren-blakely Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports Authors: Lauren Blakely Series: Hockey Ever After Series by Lauren Blakely
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Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)

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Everyone knows the golden rule of business—don’t bang your business partner.
Especially if he’s your brother’s hot-as-sin, hockey-star best friend.

But when the sexy single dad athlete saves me from a cake contest catastrophe—and shows me how good he is with his hands—I blurt out the world’s worst business pitch: Want to invest in my bakery?
With no loan or backup plan, this is my last shot at proving I’m more than my past mistakes, and shockingly, he says yes.
We set one rule: don’t mix business with pleasure.
Except Corbin Knight’s impossible to resist.

When he’s not scoring goals, he’s staying up late with me to test tempting recipes.
Braiding my hair before we bake like it’s foreplay.
Giving me his jersey to wear to games.

I try to keep a professional distance from the bossy, possessive and dangerously flirty hockey player, but soon we’re testing the limits of the kitchen counter.

This bakery is my chance to finally get my life right, so I fight the messy feelings.
Until one night, he shows up after closing and admits he can’t stop thinking about me.

Suddenly I’m ready to break every rule—no matter the cost to our dreams.
And breaking the rules has never tasted so good

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

1

THE LLAMA-KISSING EX

MABEL

What’s more nerve-racking than decorating a delicate heart-shaped cake in front of a few hundred strangers and the world’s most scathing food judge, who’s scrutinizing every swoop of your frosting?

Doing it thirty feet from the big-screen TV where a promo plays of your douchey ex hitting on a fellow reality-show contestant.

I’m not saying the universe has it out for me. But I’m not not saying that either.

I force myself to stop sneaking peeks at the expo’s nearest high-def monitor. I’ve got exactly five minutes to finish my “Hearts and Flutter” cake. The gigantic kitchen timer ticks ominously on the long table, where the final five contestants vie for the cake-decorating prize at Webflix’s Love Is in the Air romance fair. The local expo, right next to the Ferry Building, is to promote their fall slate of new rom-coms and—thanks, universe!—their hit reality dating show starring none other than my annoying ex.

As I position the last baby-pink fondant heart in the cascade of hearts spiraling around the vanilla cake, I’m hoping—no, make that begging the universe—that the publicity of a win here today will help me finally nab the financing I need to open a bakery in San Francisco. The cash prize would help too.

Not a pop-up shop. Not a ghost kitchen. But a real, honest-to-goodness storefront after years of trying and failing.

To take the top prize, I need to impress guest judge Ronnie Legend—the intimidating British celebrity chef whose own baking show can make or break bakers. He’s been stalking my station the whole time, making me sweat.

All that’s left to do is mount a half dozen dainty rice-paper butterflies onto white chocolate sticks, then insert them on top of the cake. The heart-shaped wings are so light they’ll flutter in the breeze for the ultimate aww effect.

With quick, efficient moves, I line up the first butterfly on the edge of the pretty pink cake. Ronnie prowls in front of me, his bald head shining like a cue ball as he emcees the action on the center stage of the expo’s big tent. He speaks into the mic as if he’s narrating a nature documentary: “And now here we have a local pop-up baker attempting the very risky rice-paper butterflies. They take several hours to make at home. One single misstep in front of the crowd could spell disaster for her.”

Gee, thanks. I’m totally not picturing all my painstakingly prepared butterflies wilting in the San Francisco heat now.

I offer the crowd a small smile, and thankfully, Ronnie moves down the table to unnerve the rest of the bakers. I keep my head down and try to concentrate.

Over the course of the contest, the three hundred or so chairs in front of the stage have stayed mostly full, plus there’s a crew from a local TV station streaming the contest. The expo is stuffed with booths hawking merch and goodies, and the huge screens in the aisles run promos of Webflix romance-themed shows. Romance Beach, among others. The sound is turned down, thank god. My ex—or Dax Strong, as he calls himself on TV—dumped me for that show. I don’t want to even accidentally catch a word of it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a man in a dark suit at the edge of the crowd. Big shoulders, broad chest, messy brown hair—something familiar about him catches my attention. Before I can place him, Ronnie’s back, telling the enrapt audience, “This is the do-or-die moment for the butterfly baker. Hold your breath with her.”

A hush falls over the tent, leaving the conversation on the closest monitor the only sound, just as a woman asks Dax why his last relationship ended.

Ignore them, Mabel. Just ignore them.

I do my best as the man I used to live with lounges beachside in a cabana, a garish blue drink in his hand, holding a very intense conversation with the woman on-screen. “The thing about my ex is she’s kind of a hot mess,” he confides.

What the hell? I whip my gaze to the screen as he blathers on about me. “It was easy to choose this opportunity to find love and a real connection, with someone here who seeks success. My ex can’t really get her act together. She’s been chasing her own tail for years now, and we’re just not in the same league. It’s sad, but the breakup was a long time coming. I mean, this is a girl who dreams of making cakes with two llamas kissing on them but doesn’t do a damn thing to make it happen!”

Lies! I don’t put llamas on my cakes. I put llamas on my logo.

Seething, I go back to work, praying no one will connect the self-absorbed reality-show contestant with the self-made baker on the stage. I reach for the final butterfly oh-so casually—too casually for someone who’s just been cruelly mocked on TV.

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