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

Love and Hockey Series by Lauren Blakely – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Thu, 25 Dec 2025 22:03:52 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Love and Hockey Series by Lauren Blakely – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 The Flirting Game (Love and Hockey #6) Read Online Lauren Blakely http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-flirting-game-love-and-hockey-6-read-online-lauren-blakely Thu, 25 Dec 2025 22:03:52 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-flirting-game-love-and-hockey-6-read-online-lauren-blakely Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports Authors: Lauren Blakely Series: Love and Hockey Series by Lauren Blakely
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Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)

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Revenge was the plan. Falling for the hockey star next door wasn’t.

My new neighbor is a hot, grumpy hockey player who works out shirtless on his porch every morning. But it’s not technically spying if I just happen to be on my patio at the same time … right?

Imagine my surprise when the sexy grouch turns out to be the client who just hired me to redecorate the house he’s giving his mom.

What’s a ray of sunshine like me to do? Pretend I’ve never noticed his abs while we pick out furniture—since I’d never date a client. And Ford’s made it clear this is his final season, and he wants zero distractions.

Which means I need to exercise some serious resistance …

To his cool blue eyes that track my every move.
To that deep voice that makes me shiver.
And to the mouth that shuts me up one night in our shared backyard with a scorching kiss.

We agree it’s a one-time slip-up—until my cheating ex invites me to a party, and Ford insists on being my revenge date. Our fake night out turns into a very real sleepover.

Now the press and fans think we’re a couple, so we keep it up. One fake date at a charity gala turns into another at a hockey game, and somewhere between fabric swatches and porch picnics, I stop pretending.

But how do I convince Ford that with me, he can have both love and hockey?

Tropes: Neighbors to lovers, hockey romance, workplace romance, revenge fake dating, romantic comedy. This is Ford and Skylar's romance!

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

1

SHARING IS CARING

SKYLAR

I’m nosy by nature.

If a couple decides to whisper their grievances across a diner table, I’m going to lean back in my booth and eavesdrop.

If someone’s reading next to me on a plane, I’m going to peek at their screen to see if the hero’s about to evade an assassin, rocket to Mars, or buy a chocolate shop as a gift for his heroine. I’ll take the latter, thank you very much.

And when I spot my brother’s cat in the mudroom with her unblinking green eyes locked on the corner of the yard, I need to know what has caught Cleo’s attention at the same time every morning this week.

I can’t leave well enough alone.

As my coffee works its magic, I peer through the open window leading to the luxurious catio—an enclosed patio for cats—trying to get a read on her target.

But I can’t tell what it is from inside my home. Hopping onto the mudroom cubbies, I adjust my fuzzy pajama bottoms covered in illustrations of martini glasses and a threadbare T-shirt that says, Everything is Fine Here in a font of flames. I poke my head out, taking another drink from my steaming mug, coffee tendrils wafting into the warm October air.

“Sharing is caring,” I tell the feline, but the regal tuxedo is perched on the highest shelf of the catio maze my brother built in his townhome—before he took off for an assignment in Europe six weeks ago and I moved in—and she’s pointedly ignoring me.

After I set my coffee cup at the end of the first cat shelf—like I’d leave my coffee behind—I roll up the cuffs of my pajama pants.

I hoist one leg over the windowsill, brace myself, and haul my ass out. Why didn’t I venture here sooner? This catio is state of the art, with screened walls keeping the kitty safe and an obstacle course of shelves giving her premium vantage points.

The catio is about fourteen feet long and ten feet wide, so I’ve got some distance to cover. Have I mentioned that each shelf along the catio only has about three feet of headroom?

I take a fortifying sip of coffee, then do my best John McClane impression, crawling through the catio like I’m sneaking through heating vents to save Christmas.

I wiggle forward like a caffeine-addicted snake, and finally—finally—I reach Cleo.

Oh. Hello there, hot neighbor.

My eyes pop. My pulse spikes. Hell, my coffee cup sweats.

Cleo is a naughty girl. She’s been staring for a week at an absolutely strapping specimen on the back porch of the house next door. I’ve never seen him before though. Is he a guest? Or does he live there? And if he lives there, why didn’t my brother tell me?

I jerk my gaze away from the vision of well-muscled glory and turn an accusatory stare to my companion. “You were holding out on me,” I whisper, betrayal laced through every word. “Where is the leaning in, girl? I’m seriously disappointed.”

Cleo lifts her haughty chin like she obviously doesn’t care. Well, she doesn’t. The greedy little thing has been keeping the hottie all to herself.

But not anymore.

I sit next to her, take another sip of coffee, and settle in to check out my next-door neighbor properly—or improperly, as the case may be—as he does porch yoga.

Shirtless.

This is the pick-me-up I needed. Earlier this week, I’d lost out on a project I busted my butt to land. The client went with a big corporate design firm instead of little old solo me. This bit of good fortune is the karmic jump-start I need this morning before I get into the badass business-babe zone to meet another potential client this afternoon.

I swing my gaze back to the man. Should I get my binoculars? I have a mini pair inside—well, they’re opera glasses, technically. I found them on an epic thrifting treasure hunt a few months ago. You never know when you might need them. For birds, obviously. I spotted a red-winged blackbird in the yard just last week, and I’m seriously thinking about taking up birdwatching.

But I don’t know how long the show will last, so I stay put. My gaze roams over the well-built man with all those muscles on display. He’s only wearing compression shorts. They’re bright yellow. I don’t love the fashion choice, but given the free view, I can set that aside.

He stands tall, his sturdy arms raised to the sky like he’s trying to touch it.

I swear I can make out every muscle. The biceps, the triceps, the make-my-jaw-drop-ceps.

His hair flops over his forehead with just the right amount of devil-may-care messiness that begs you to run your fingers through it. Are those golden strands woven through his brown hair, or is it just the October sun haloing this Greek god? If I were the sun, I’d shine on him too.

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The Overtime Kiss (Love and Hockey #5) Read Online Lauren Blakely http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-overtime-kiss-love-and-hockey-5-read-online-lauren-blakely Mon, 30 Jun 2025 19:08:29 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-overtime-kiss-love-and-hockey-5-read-online-lauren-blakely Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Funny, Sports Authors: Lauren Blakely Series: Love and Hockey Series by Lauren Blakely
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Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)

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Just what every bride dreams of—running straight from her cheating fiancé into the arms of a hot hockey star… and then getting hired as his kids’ nanny.

Tyler Falcon is protective, flirtatious…and frustratingly responsible. We almost did something reckless when he found me alone in my wedding dress, and I blurted out all the things I’d never truly experienced.

Now, the sexy single dad is saving me again with a job I desperately need—and a promise to never mention The Night of 1001 Confessions.

I live in his house. Take care of his kids. Pretend I don’t notice his heated gaze lingering on me after they fall asleep.

Until one night, the tension snaps.

Now we have a deal. Five lessons in seduction. No strings attached.

But he’s not just good in bed. He spoils me with thoughtful gifts and supports my dreams. For the first time, I feel like I belong.

Except…this was never meant to last. I’m his employee. He has kids to protect. And neither of us can afford to make a mistake.

The more nights we spend tangled up together though, the harder it is to pretend it’s just physical. Because I’m not only falling for my boss—I’m falling for the man whose kids have stolen my heart.

Tropes: single dad/nanny, runaway bride, forced proximity, spicy lessons, she's his daughter's skating coach, confession of all secrets, love notes, found family

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

1

I HEAR WEDDING BELLS AND VOICEMAILS

Sabrina

This wasn’t the ceremony we’d rehearsed, but sometimes a bride has to improvise.

I gather the billowing tulle of my dress so it won’t slow my hustle toward the Grand Ballroom of The Luxe Hotel in Lucky Falls. I only stop at the end of the hall to swallow my bridal rage and fasten on a smile while I’m still out of sight.

A glance around the corner shows the poised and polished wedding planner outside the ballroom door with her headset and tablet, directing the preparations like air traffic control.

Tessa is such a consummate professional that I almost feel bad for enlisting her unwitting help in this dastardly measure I’m about to take.

Almost.

Because sometimes revenge is best cooked up in the heat of the moment.

“Psst, Tessa,” I whisper around the corner.

She snaps her blue gaze my way and blinks in surprise. Still, her blonde, news-anchor bob barely moves, and she adjusts quickly, abandoning her post to join me in the more private hallway.

“Sabrina, is everything okay?” she asks quietly. “You’re supposed to be waiting in the⁠—”

“The bridal suite. I know.” I give my best I can’t wait to get hitched face. “But I have a surprise for Chad. I didn’t think I’d be able to find it, but I tracked it down at the last minute.” I point to her iPad. “Can you cue up the MP3 I just sent you? It’s the first voicemail Chad ever left me when he asked me out six years ago. And I know it would make him so, so happy to hear it today,” I say, setting a hand on my heart and leaning in on the hearts and flowers.

“That’s sweet. But are you sure you want to change things up now?”

“Positive.” I don’t want the first arrivals for the wedding that my mother planned—from the cloying all-white flower motif to the interchangeable cast of attendees plucked from the country club brochure—to spot the bride in the tiara and ball gown. I don’t want any witnesses. “But don’t tell a soul. It’s a surprise.”

Please don’t ask any questions. Please don’t play the file first.

If she does, I have a backup plan. I’ll keep my phone tucked inside my white lace bra, ready, if necessary, to hit play on the, well, let’s call it the new bridal march.

Tessa scans her iPad, spots my email, and nods. “Here it is. There’s not much time for changes.” Her crisp tone worries me for a moment, but then she adds, “But this is so nostalgic, delightfully so. How can I resist?”

“That’s us.” Romantic nostalgia is the theme my mother chose for the wine country wedding with its throwback vibe and my old-fashioned dress. And since Mom’s nostalgia is paying Tessa’s bills…

“I’ll have it cued up and ready to go,” she says.

“Right after Madison reaches the front.” Somehow, I say the maid of honor’s name without the sharp edge of anger cutting through my carefully composed calm. “And as soon as I take the first step down the aisle.”

Timing is everything.

“Got it.” Tessa gamely rolls with the change, and…fine, I do feel bad that she’ll be collateral damage.

But then I mentally replay the misdirected voice message I received about an hour ago. The one that sent me through the five stages of romance grief in sixty minutes. I’ve reached a sixth stage now—getting even.

“You’re the best. I’ll leave you a five-star review.” I scurry away, holding onto my tiara to keep it in place. It’s the only thing I actually picked for this wedding, and I love it in all its sparkly outlandishness.

Ten minutes later, I stand at the French doors to the grand ballroom. My heart gallops, but my nerves are steel, conditioned by years of cutthroat ice-skating competitions.

My friends in attendance don’t know the plan either. It’s easier to keep it a surprise if I only trust myself with the scheme.

I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and smile without showing any teeth. I’m next to my father, ready to walk down the aisle and tell the world how I really feel about Chad Huntington.

The groom waits under a crystal chandelier in front of two hundred and fifty guests, with his perfectly coiffed blond hair, his perfectly fitting tux, his perfectly ordained life with this perfect wedding to the daughter of his father’s business partner—a merger of a marriage here in the same town where my dad’s business began.

The maid of dubious honor arrives in front of the rows of chairs, and the music on the ballroom’s sound system fades out, ready for “Pachelbel’s Canon” to start. Instead, the crackle of a voicemail booms.

“Hey, hey, Furby.” Chad’s singsong coo addresses the orange kitten I’ve been fostering for a San Francisco rescue. “Guess what today is?”

I’d been pulling on my sheer, white stockings when I first heard the message. Earlier, Chad had called to make sure my uncle Jay knew to go to the grand ballroom, not the band ballroom. I hadn’t picked up in time, and the call went to voicemail. Chad didn’t realize he hadn’t hung up properly before he started serenading the three-pound orange cutie about our wedding.

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The Girlfriend Zone (Love and Hockey #4) Read Online Lauren Blakely http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-girlfriend-zone-love-and-hockey-4-read-online-lauren-blakely Thu, 17 Apr 2025 13:13:01 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-girlfriend-zone-love-and-hockey-4-read-online-lauren-blakely Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Forbidden, Sports Authors: Lauren Blakely Series: Love and Hockey Series by Lauren Blakely
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Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)

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In my defense, I had no idea the tattooed, glasses-wearing, soulful hottie I spent one perfect day—and one unforgettable night—with was a hockey star on my father’s team. And Miles didn’t know I was the coach’s daughter.

That’s the point of a “no-work-talk” date.

But now? He's as forbidden to me as I am to him.

When I land a new gig as the team photographer, we vow to keep it professional. We mostly succeed…except for that time after a game when he couldn’t keep his talented hands off me. And, okay, maybe that other time before a road trip. But I swear, it won’t happen again.

Too much is at stake—I can’t risk my heart or my father’s team.

But when I end up living at Miles’s place to care for his pack of rescue pups, the lines blur fast. Late nights turn into stolen moments and I discover there’s more to him than I ever imagined—a man who’s genuine, thoughtful, and irresistibly real.

He looks at me like he can’t believe his luck. Touches me like he never wants to let go. And listens to my hopes and fears.

My heart’s getting dangerously attached. But if I follow it… am I putting everyone’s dreams on the line?

Tropes: coach’s daughter, the one who got away, starts with a bang, second chance vibes, age gap, forbidden hockey romance, forced proximity, workplace romance

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

PRELUDE: WHEN WE MET

Last summer

1

MY FUTURE WIFE

Miles

I didn’t expect to meet my future wife today.

I had other plans. But as she heads toward me in the coffee shop’s doorway, I know that’s who she is.

Maybe the ink on her arms does it—the stenciled flowers cascading down them—or possibly the mesmerizing sea-blue shade of her eyes. But honestly? It’s probably the cute-as-all-get-out smirk she sends my way.

I’d smirk at me, too, considering the spangled and sequined mannequin I’m lugging down Fillmore Street. The full-size feathered headdress is wider than the door, and the espresso cup glued into the dummy’s stiff fingers seems a little weird. No way is my future wife going to realize I’m her future husband with this level of awkward.

But I’m not the kind of guy to let a six-foot-tall faux showgirl get in the way of Fate.

The inked beauty holds open the door to the shop, and I step up to prove that chivalry isn’t dead.

“I’ve got this.” I manage to grab the door with my free hand, opening it wider so she can exit first. Inside the café, Birdie—AKA Grandma—has caught sight of the byplay and watches, eagle-eyed, from behind the counter.

The brunette with the flower tattoos sweeps her gaze over my cargo. “I hope your date appreciates what a gentleman you are,” she teases as she slips past to the street.

“Actually,” I lean in and stage-whisper, “she doesn’t have much to say.” I glance at the mannequin Birdie asked me to bring to her. Well, insisted, really. Be a dear and grab Dolly from the foyer, will you? I need a greeter for the shop.

“Occupational hazard, maybe,” the woman deadpans. “She’s trained to keep smiling no matter what.”

“She does have a hell of a poker face,” I agree, furrowing my brow at Dolly, then meeting the brunette’s eyes again. “I can’t say I know her opinions on anything, really.”

“But maybe that’s what you want in a date?”

“Nope. A good date needs opinions.”

“Oh? Are you a fan of opinions?” She sounds doubtful as she adjusts the sweater she carries. It’s September in San Francisco, which means you never know if it’ll be warm or breezy—or both.

“Love them,” I say definitively, matching her raised brow. “The more the merrier.”

“Noted.” Her tone is playful, the kind of playful that says keep talking.

“In fact, here’s one for you,” I say, leaning in just slightly as I lay the groundwork for asking her out. “The espresso here is excellent.”

“You’re gallant, and you give free hot beverage advice too? Is it my lucky day or what?”

“It’s mine. That is if you want to share some of your opinions with me.”

She takes a beat, likely assessing me with those curious eyes. Then she nods toward the neon menu behind the counter and gives a sly smile. “Here’s one. Coffee drinks are vile.”

“That’s a bold statement to make in a coffee bar.”

She rolls her beautiful blue eyes. “A ‘bold’ statement? Really?”

I grin, delighted that the future Mrs. Falcon has the quick wits and sense of humor to catch that. “What? You don’t like coffee or coffee puns?”

“I like good puns.” Her lips twitch in a sly, bewitching smile.

With my free hand, I clutch my chest melodramatically. “You wound me.”

“I’m made of pure marshmallow fluff when it comes to helping out my grandmother.”

Her brow arches in a playful challenge. “Did you really just drop that helping out a grandma bit to let me know you’re the kind of guy who helps out his grandmother?”

Taking my arm from Dolly’s shoulder I gesture to the inside of the café—a perfect place for a date. It’s pre-season but there’s no hockey practice tomorrow, so why not lock in the chance right now? “Maybe I did. I’d be happy to explain more over a not-coffee beverage of your choice.”

She taps her to-go cup with polished black nails. “I’m a green tea girl.”

“This is great. You think coffee is vile and prefer to drink something that smells like a just-mown lawn. Look at all the opinions we have.”

“So many more to learn, I’m sure,” she says and we’re this close to a date, but then she dips her face and checks her phone screen.

It’s in her hand, and from the looks of it, someone’s calling, but I didn’t hear it ring.

Odd. I’d think it was a save me tactic, but her phone flashes with the word Dad.

She raises her face, her smile fading, and the playful atmosphere shifts. Before she answers though, she looks my way once more. “I hope you get to enjoy your next not-coffee date,” she says. Then, with maybe some reluctance in her expression, she turns away and answers her phone in a warm voice, “Hi, Dad.”

She walks up the street. Away from me.

I stand there for a second, weighing what just happened. Did she actually turn me down or did she leave the door open? I’d like to think that was a breadcrumb—not-coffee date—but she could just be phenomenally smooth. I’m not sure. But then, I remind myself this wasn’t going to be as easy as asking her out right here, right now. Nothing good comes easily. I watch her go, admiring her attitude, her sass, her banter, and, well, let’s be blunt—her ass.

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The Proposal Play (Love and Hockey #3) Read Online Lauren Blakely http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-proposal-play-love-and-hockey-3-read-online-lauren-blakely Sun, 02 Feb 2025 19:14:38 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-proposal-play-love-and-hockey-3-read-online-lauren-blakely Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports Authors: Lauren Blakely Series: Love and Hockey Series by Lauren Blakely
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Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)

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My plan when I win a date in Vegas with my brother’s hockey star best friend? Poker and go to sleep early. Instead, I wake up with a ring on my finger and the sexy athlete naked in my bed.

But Asher’s my best friend too so we’ll get this annulled and laugh about this secret for years to come.

Trouble is our wedding pics went viral overnight.

Now everyone thinks we’re a real couple. We race back home, where I’ve just landed the big art commission of my dreams and he’s launching a sports charity so we need to look like we meant to tie the knot.

Easy enough. We’ll claim we’ve been secretly in love, while staying in separate rooms for the rest of the hockey season.

The last thing either one of us wants is to ruin a decade-long friendship by falling into bed again.

But I experience a new side of my husband at home. He cooks for me, encourages me…and buys me so many toys.

And, it’s more fun to share your toys with a friend.

We’re just enjoying temporary marital benefits.

Except, the more times he calls me his wife, the more I start to wonder if Asher was ever pretending?

And if my heart is ready to take the biggest risk of all.

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

PROLOGUE

THE MARRIAGE PACT

Asher

Two Years Ago

“The thing about bad ideas is they usually seem like good ideas at the time.”

I take a planned pause from my best man speech to survey the sea of wedding guests. They’re relaxed here under the white tent, rumpled suit jackets and little purses slung over their chair backs as the sun dips below the Golden Gate Bridge behind us.

With a glass of award-winning champagne in hand, I stroll around the head table, flash a we knew better glance at the groom, then shoot a winning smile for the hundred-strong crowd. Time to bring this speech home for Beckett. He deserves the best toast ever, and I’m the one who can give it to him.

“Like, say, that final shot of tequila,” I say, with a curve in my lips. “Always seems like a good idea. But it’s pretty much the opposite.”

A collective groan echoes through the room. Yup. We’ve all been there and done that.

“Or, for instance, a homemade zip line,” I add, shaking my head in disbelief at the antics of our younger selves. I stage whisper into the mic, “College. The genesis of nearly all bad ideas.”

At the head table, the maid of honor—also known as the sister of the groom—laughs, then lifts a manicured hand in solidarity, her sparkly silver nail polish glinting in the soft light. “Can confirm it was the worst idea.”

“We were lucky you were there.” I nod toward the sometimes blonde, sometimes brunette. Maeve’s hair color seems to change with her mood. Tonight at her brother’s wedding, it’s chestnut brown and twisted in, well, some kind of twist, with golden-streaked tendrils framing her face. “After all, she’s the one who took us to the ER the night Beckett and I made a backyard ride out of rope eight years ago.” A handful of guests laugh lightly, and I add, “But the shoulder injury—so worth it.”

“Better your shoulder than mine,” the groom shouts.

“My coach disagreed, but I digress,” I say, then turn back to the audience, which is made up mostly of friends, but some family. Beckett’s family primarily consists of him and his sister, and it’s been that way since we met. I clear my throat, heading into the home stretch. “But luckily, it goes the other way, too, with good ideas. Like when Maeve said she wanted to set up her brother with a gallery manager she knew.” I gesture toward the bride, Reina, who smiles dotingly at my friend. “I thought it was a terrible plan. Especially since there was that little matter of Beckett refusing to go on a setup.”

Maeve smiles faux demurely, maybe a little wickedly. Kind of her specialty. “But we knew better,” she says proudly.

I shoot her a pointed look. “You knew better. Me? I told you setups never work.” I turn back to the guests. “But Maeve insisted, and I went along with her. She’s very clever. Very creative.”

“Very tricky,” Beckett says with a fake cough.

“You benefited from it,” Maeve says and gestures grandly to the evidence—the damn wedding.

“So we organized a game night. Invited…a bunch of friends.” I sketch air quotes since we invited exactly no one. “When Beckett arrived at my place, he looked around and asked where everyone else was. I said they were coming but we could get started, just the four of us. Spoiler alert: No one showed up but Reina, and during a vicious game of trivia where those two tried to one-up each other, Maeve and I slipped into the kitchen to refresh the snacks. And…” I gesture proudly to the newlyweds. “Here we are. Thanks to a fake-out from the maid of honor and the best man.”

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The Romance Line (Love and Hockey #2) Read Online Lauren Blakely http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-romance-line-love-and-hockey-2-read-online-lauren-blakely Mon, 21 Oct 2024 11:27:38 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-romance-line-love-and-hockey-2-read-online-lauren-blakely Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Forbidden, Funny, Sports Authors: Lauren Blakely Series: Love and Hockey Series by Lauren Blakely
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Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)

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The first rule of handling PR for a hockey team? Never hook up with a player.

That shouldn’t be a problem since the last man on earth I want to give an image makeover to is our goalie. He’s infuriatingly hot, famously grumpy and lives to spar with me after every game.

But shining up his rough edges is my path to landing the promotion I desperately need, so I grit my teeth and do my job. No matter how hard he makes it (especially with that sexy smirk and cool blue eyes.) As we travel from pose-with-a-pet photo opps to cuddle-a-kitten fundraisers, we bicker like it’s foreplay.

Turns out it is.

Because as I get to know the man behind the broody iceman exterior, it’s me that melts – right into his arms as he devastates me with a kiss that turns into the hottest, most forbidden night of my life.

Only once turns into every night as Max shows me how much he wants to take care of me. His possessive touch makes me feel adored for the first time in my life.

But the man is entirely off limits and I can’t risk my job for more of those soul-deep kisses.

Because the only thing worse than hooking up with a player is falling head over heels for him.

Tropes: grumpy/sunshine, player and publicist, forbidden romance, workplace romance, hockey romance, secret dates, hate to love

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

1

ZIP IT UP, MAN

Max

Look, I can pull off pretty much anything in the clothing department, but this might be outside my wheelhouse. Especially since I definitely didn’t pack a purple pair of underwear with little flowers all over the waistband and so little material that nothing is left to the imagination. Even mine, and I have a very active one.

Intrigued, I hold the scrap of purple fabric in front of me in my hotel room. Studying this less-is-definitely-more piece of lingerie, I have to wonder—who even wears this almost thong and also, does it hurt?

I should probably stop pawing around in this bag that’s clearly not mine but looks just like it. Must have grabbed it in the lobby by mistake, and I’m guessing this suitcase doesn’t belong to one of my teammates either. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. To each his own and all. But this cornu-fucking-copia of lace and satin doesn’t look like it would fit a pro hockey player.

There are only a handful of women traveling with the team on this road trip to Seattle. The athletic trainer, the team doctor, and the publicist.

My mind catches on that last possibility.

This can’t belong to her.

It just can’t.

Not straightlaced, rule-following, pantsuit-wearing Everly Rosewood. She’s the kind of woman who owns exactly seven sets of cotton bras and panties, in the same matching shade of nude, same matching style, so she can grab and go at the crack of dawn all while devising new ways to torture me with press requests and promo shoot ideas.

No way does Everly own anything that’s not navy, black, or beige. Best I return this bag to its rightful owner, pretend I never saw what’s in it, and then never think about it again. Searching for the luggage tag, I find one attached to the handle and flip it over.

I freeze. Then, I heat up everywhere. We’re talking inferno levels. This bevy of beautiful lingerie belongs to the team’s publicist after all. The clever, mouthy woman who hates me. Yep, the one and only Everly Rosewood, who accomplishes more before her workday begins than most people do in a year. But this does not compute—she can’t possibly dish out a list of promo duties in that teacherly way of hers while wearing a purple thong.

This is a test. This is clearly some kind of test. No, it’s a downright moral dilemma.

Do I slam it shut or hunt around in her things a little more?

I need some distance from temptation. Spinning around, I pace toward the window overlooking the city of Seattle, rainy because of course it’s rainy, and the arena where I’ll be defending the net early tomorrow against one of the toughest teams in the league.

“All you have to do is zip up that suitcase, return it, and go the fuck to sleep,” I mutter.

Great. Just great. Now I’m talking to myself. They say goalies are a little unhinged but this is next level even for me. I grip the windowsill, staring at the Space Needle lit up against the night sky, then I tear myself away, stalk right back over to the bed, ready—I swear I’m ready—to zip that suitcase all the way up and say goodbye to it.

Or, really, I’m almost ready.

I scrub a hand across my beard and gaze a little longer at the treasure trove of lace and satin, like a siren calling to me in the most tantalizing voice.

How do you think the slay-the-world-one-member-of-the-media-at-a-time queen would look in purple lace? Or in soft blue satin?

Does she have a date tonight? My jaw ticks. Is she meeting a secret boyfriend in the rainy city tomorrow? It ticks harder. Does she—oh, hell—wear these every day to work under those pantsuits that drive you crazy?

And it ticks the hardest.

I haul in a breath, trying to locate my moral compass. But it’s hard to find right now. I try again with a pep talk. “All you have to do is reach for the zipper. Pull the teeth closed around one side, then the other. Done.”

But I don’t move. I stand here stupidly because all those sexy things are scrambling my brain. Taking up all the space in my head now that I know Everly Rosewood wears red lace panties, the color of my dirty dreams.

“Doesn’t matter,” I mutter. “It really doesn’t matter what she wears.” Squaring my shoulders, I get ready to perform the most herculean task—zip it up.

As I reach for the bag, my phone buzzes. Saved by the bell. I grab it from my back pocket at Mach speed, grateful for the distraction from a moral dilemma worthy of that vintage board game Scruples.

It’s a text from my agent, Garrett.

Been talking to Thrive about your sponsorship. Need to run some things past you. Let’s chat when you return to SF.

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The Boyfriend Goal (Love and Hockey #1) Read Online Lauren Blakely http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-boyfriend-goal-love-and-hockey-1-read-online-lauren-blakely Mon, 23 Sep 2024 09:21:44 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-boyfriend-goal-love-and-hockey-1-read-online-lauren-blakely Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Forbidden, Funny, Sports Authors: Lauren Blakely Series: Love and Hockey Series by Lauren Blakely
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Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)

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A forbidden romance with my brother’s hockey-playing teammate wasn’t on my to-do list when I moved across the country.

Neither was getting locked out of a friend’s place wearing next to nothing.
Or spending the night with the sexy stranger who rescues me.
But I’m trying to get out of my comfort zone so getting out of the rest of my clothes with him seems like a good way to start.
In the morning, I learn the filthy-mouthed man with the talented hands is not only the hotshot new hockey player on my brother’s team: he’s also – wait for it – my brand new roommate.
I’m a good student turned good librarian. A rule-follower. I’m not the kind of girl who does complicated flings. So we agree to another rule: friends-only.
It’s not easy though. Wes is bossy, flirty and generous.
He gives me rides to work.
Pitches in at my library’s fundraiser.
Takes care of me when I get hurt.
And looks at me like I’m the only one.
Soon, I’m falling hard for my brother’s teammate.
Especially when Wes comes to my door and tells me exactly how he’d like to break our rules.
Every single one.

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

1

WHEN A SCARF’S NO LONGER A SCARF

Josie

Don’t look now, but everything is going perfectly today.

This never happens so I’m going to savor every single second. My flight into San Francisco arrived early. My black-and-white leopard-print luggage was the first to land on the carousel. And the town car my older brother sent for me—since his wife is fifty-nine million months pregnant with twins—cruised along the 101 and into the city easily without hitting any traffic, even on a Sunday afternoon.

The car pulls up in front of a charming yellow building in Hayes Valley that my college friend Maeve has been secretly renting from a trapeze artist, who’s been subleasing it from a foot archer (I didn’t even know that was a thing), so somehow this game of six-degrees-of-circus-separation brought her to this vibrant neighborhood. And it brought this neighborhood to me, since I’ll be couching it here this week until I move into my own short-term rental on Friday. My new job begins on Tuesday. I’m so excited to start this next phase of my life.

Right now.

The car stops and the driver hops out, hustling to my door and swinging it open for me. “Here you go, Josie. Can I help you with anything?”

I smile brightly at the man but decline. “I’ve got it,” I say, since I can’t let myself get used to drivers or special service. That’s my brother’s world—not mine.

I’m a do-it-yourself kind of gal, and my meager bank account thanks me for it. When the driver unloads the suitcases on the sidewalk, I thank him then take a beat to note what’s on this block. A cute café, a record shop, a noodle diner, and a sea of people swimming through the city.

It’s a little overwhelming, but in a good way. It’s also nothing like the quiet little town in Maine where I’ve lived most of my life. But I’m getting out of my comfort zone. I’m starting my first job post master’s degree, and I’ve even got my list from my fabulous aunt Greta.

The list I’ve held onto for two years. The list I will definitely, absolutely finally tackle. Though maybe not item number one. That’s way out of my comfort zone. But the other things on the list are fine.

Well, mostly fine.

We’ll see.

For now, I say goodbye to the driver, then send my big brother a text. Christian still worries about me, so he’ll want to know I navigated the wilds of the big bad city safely.

Josie: I’m here and all is well.

He doesn’t reply, but I’m not worried since he and his wife are about to have their hands full, which will be doubly hard since hockey starts at the end of this week, and it’s his second season as the team captain.

I drag my bags—bought secondhand at a thrift shop, naturally—up the stoop. After checking the front door code that Maeve texted me, I punch it into the keypad, then head up three steep and cardio-inducing flights of stairs to the fourth floor, searching for B4.

Note to self: no need to join a gym this week.

I find the door—it’s purple, which doesn’t surprise me but does delight me—and I try the code Maeve sent again. It doesn’t work. Which, knowing Maeve, also doesn’t surprise me.

The second I rap on the door though, it swings open inside and there’s a half-blonde/half-brunette tornado. In a mad dash, Maeve’s doing up the final button on a starched white shirt, then stabbing a chopstick through her curls of light brown hair, streaked with blonde.

“Ahhhh! I’m the worst. I’m late for a last-minute catering gig for a Dark Futures exhibit at this gallery I’m dying to get my paintings into—the Frieda Claiborne Gallery. It’s a mile away. Meet me there at ten and we’ll grab food.”

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