Wood Hollow Stories Series by Lane Hayes – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Wood Hollow Stories Series by Lane Hayes – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Thu, 23 Apr 2026 22:53:08 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Wood Hollow Stories Series by Lane Hayes – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 This Guy (Wood Hollow Stories #1) Read Online Lane Hayes http://www.ilovenovels.com/this-guy-wood-hollow-stories-1-read-online-lane-hayes Thu, 23 Apr 2026 22:53:08 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/this-guy-wood-hollow-stories-1-read-online-lane-hayes Genre: Angst, Contemporary, M-M Romance Authors: Lane Hayes Series: Wood Hollow Stories Series by Lane Hayes
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Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)

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The football star, the lumberjack, and a small-town love story…

Silas

Not to sound dramatic, but I can’t decide if I’m a hot mess, a has-been…or both.

My ex’s new relationship with an A-list celebrity is putting me in the spotlight at my lowest point, and I could use a break from LA—just for a little while.

But Vermont in the middle of a blizzard? Probably not a great idea. However, the sexy lumberjack who lives next door is a sweet surprise. And so are his kids and the town.

I like this place. I could be happy here…at least till my new season begins.

Cooper

The football star is an unexpected complication—and a breath of fresh air. Silas is funny, charismatic, and cool. My kids love having a celebrity living next door. And me? I can’t remember the last time I felt quite so alive.

My steady diet of work and carpooling is fine, and sure, I’m happy enough, but with Silas around, everything feels lighter and breezier.

Yes, I’m well aware this isn’t going anywhere. Our lives are just too different.

Too bad ’cause this guy feels like the real thing.

This Guy is an MM bisexual, single dad, small-town romance featuring a football hero, a sexy lumberjack, and some neighbor-friendly shenanigans

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

CHAPTER 1

SILAS

“When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in.” — Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

Twenty-five seconds on the clock, fourth quarter. Score 10 to 16.

The play was at the forty-yard line. A mad sprint to the goal with a hitch route at the center of the field might have seemed like a long shot, but it was doable. Speed was the key. And precision.

All the rookie QB had to do was pass me the ball. I settled into place next to our offensive tackle, Bukowski, a three-hundred-and-ten pound beast of a dude. I chewed the shit out of my mouthpiece, my knee bouncing, my cleats digging into the AstroTurf, ready to bolt into action.

I might have been older than the average tight end, but I was still fast. And if Kronig’s pass was accurate, we could come from behind and steal this one from Tennessee.

Not that it mattered. Both teams had losing records, so neither of us was playoff bound. However, this was my last fucking game in the pros. It was bad enough to fizzle into obscurity on a roster of aging fossils, but after the year I’d had, I really didn’t think it was unreasonable to hope for one fucking win.

Kronig’s play-call technique sucked, if you asked me. It was easy to tell the kid had watched too many old tapes of Manning in his prime and couldn’t wait to say, “Omaha, Omaha” like his idol. I wished I could make eye contact with Vally and share an eye roll, but it was showtime, baby.

I ran my route, shoving a Tennessee blocker out of my way before racing for the goal line. There wasn’t a blue jersey in sight. I was open.

Open.

I held my arm out like a firefighter ready to catch a falling baby from a five-story building at the five-yard line. I was there. Step, step, score.

Seconds were ticking by… One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi.

Where was the fucking ball?

Where was the⁠—

Boom!

I slammed into the ground hard, crushed like a soda can under the wheel of a Mack truck by a Tennessee linebacker. He’d appeared out of nowhere, knocked the wind out of me, and…damn it, I was bleeding.

I sat on my haunches for a beat, wincing at the blood dripping from my nose as pain ricocheted through my body and echoed in my ears.

Along with the sound of raucous cheering.

A hand shot in front of me. “Yo, you all right, old man?”

“Fuck off,” I growled, taking the assistance and squinting at the celebration in the goal. “We scored?”

Vally nodded. “Marius got the TD.”

“I was fucking open.”

Vally smacked my ass. “I know. We don’t do anything the easy way. But on the bright side, we’re about to win this motherfucker.”

I sat on the bench, gulping water with gauze stuffed in my nose as our kicker drove the extra point through the post.

Score: 17-16. We won.

The final whistle blew, signaling the end of my fifteen-year career in the pros. Yep, this was what fizzling into obscurity felt like in real time.

I was numb.

Just…numb.

I scanned the field, bracing against a wave of nostalgia that never came. It would probably hit me in the locker room or the shower or at the obligatory press conference. Or maybe on the drive home.

It didn’t. Still numb.

And the night wasn’t over.

I had to get through a private party later that evening too.

The Sky Lounge was one of those swanky rooftop bars in a high-end hotel with views of the glittering lights of Los Angeles and the dark expanse of the Pacific Ocean beyond. One could count on loud music, eye candy, nose candy, secret corners, and discreet waiters. I’d been here dozens of times and while I wouldn’t say it was my favorite bar, being with my teammates after our last game was the right move. I’d buy a round of shots, replay highlights with my buddies, and flirt with whoever happened to be nearby. And then go home.

I wasn’t in the mood tonight, though. In fact, hanging out with a bunch of testosterone-laden, pumped-up jocks with a season-ending hall pass to make all kinds of bad choices felt like work.

“I don’t want to be here.”

Vally waved at the crowd congregated at the bar. “Tough shit. We can make old-guy excuses or just fade in an hour. Naomi is home with the baby, and I don’t want to be out late, anyway.”

Lawrence Valenz, a.k.a. Vally, was an inch shorter than my six four but outweighed me by at least forty pounds. He had curly black hair, olive skin, green eyes, and killer dimples. Vally had been casually demolishing our opponents’ defense with wicked moves that left sportscasters speechless for years, but off the field, he was the nicest guy I’d ever met.

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