LATEST NEWS & UPDATE:

It's launch day, y'all!

Earlier in the year I was approached and asked to contribute an exclusive short story for a hockey romance anthology. Having written hockey romance for a while now, I'll be honest, this was a bit of a dream come true moment as I'd seen these kinds of anthologies every year and always wanted to be in one. This month, I'm in two!!

First up, we have a charity anthology releasing today. I'm so excited about this as it's for such a good cause.



On The Line: A Hockey Romance Anthology

Lace up your skates, grab your favorite jersey, and prepare for an ice-cold collision between love and the slap shot! Get ready to be swept off your feet by lovestruck goalies, dashing defensemen, and witty women who know their way around a penalty box. The gloves are off when it comes to finding love on and off the ice!

Indulge in this delightful holiday anthology that will have you falling head over skates for these hockey-playing heartthrobs. Love and charity have never been such a winning combination!

Join twelve of your favorite hockey romance authors in this limited edition anthology.

All stories are brand new hockey romance novellas.

Participating Authors:

Kat Mizera

Jami Davenport

Lasairiona McMaster

Gina Azzi

Victoria Denault

Cathryn Fox

Elise Faber

R.C. Stephens

Julia Connors

Jennifer Sucevic

Sierra Hill

Chloe Carr

So what about my story?

Well, let me give you a little sneak peek! August and Rowan came to me shortly after I got the email about the antho. I'd love to know if you want to see more of this couple, I'm toying with expanding it into a full novel to release into the series in the future...

Here's a chapter one sneak peek...

Chapter 1

August

I hate having nothing to do.

Too much time with my own thoughts is never a good thing. So when the Eastern Iowa Airport broadcasts yet another round of delays due to the snow storm, which seems to be taking a dump over Cedar Rapids right now, I can’t help but groan. Waste of fucking time.

At the announcement over the intercom, those on the team who aren’t catching some flies with their Zs groan with me. We’ve been here for hours as evidenced by the snoring hockey players stinking up the departures area. Our collective optimism has long since been buried under the inches of snow falling outside. We’re grumpy, we’re tired, and we’re fucking grounded.

I wish someone would just call it, make the executive decision and say, “Hey, just go fucking home. We aren’t sending planes up in this white, fluffy shit today.” But that would be too close to common sense, so instead, we wait. And we wait.

Raffi and Apollo both dig out their guitars from their cases. I guess excess baggage isn’t an issue for people with deep pockets. They start strumming some tune I’ve never heard before, but even my tone deaf self can admit they sound pretty good together.

I close my eyes and try to let myself sink into the music, let it weave its restorative powers into my soul. My muscles are tense, wound so tight I’m afraid something simple like a sneeze will break me into pieces. I haven’t slept for four days, not since I got pulled into Coach’s office and told I need to pull my socks up, or I’m off the team.

My chest knots. It’s my final year in college, and all I’ve ever wanted to do was play hockey in the NHL like my uncle Bob. I’ve never been book smart, in fact, most days I feel dumb as a bag of rocks. I never planned to go to college, but the scholarship brought with it a crack in the door to fulfill my dream, so I crammed my toes in there and urged it open, one test paper at a time.

The thought that I could lose it all, that the NHL is within my grasp, and I could fuck it all up just because I can’t math... well, that makes my stomach churn. I found a tutor. Or rather, my hockey coach found me a tutor, Rowan Armistead.

Sounds stuffy. I’ve got to meet her in the New Year and hope she has a magic smart wand she can wave at me, because Coach said the team can’t afford to lose its captain.

I think we both know that I can’t afford to lose the team.

My older brother is in prison for stealing cars. I have three cousins in foster care because their parents are addicts or crooks, and I’m the first in my family to go to college. To go... anywhere. The pressure is immense. Not from my family, but from myself.

I don’t want to fail. I can’t fail, I won’t accept it. So if I need some nerdy know-it-all to teach me how to count, I don’t have the luxury of being affronted. I need to suck it up and find a way to scrape a pass.

I grunt, unable to still my mind enough to drift into the abyss of sleep. Why don’t airports have gyms? Somewhere for us to pump some iron while we wait for them to announce the inevitable cancellation of our flight across the country. I’m half tempted to drop to the floor and do some push-ups in a bid to distract myself from the self-loathing spiral my brain is caught in.

So I can’t math, so what? I can shoot a puck at 93mph and score a goal from damn near anywhere on the ice. I know plenty of people who can math who can’t hockey. I don’t see them getting dragged into the dean’s office. What gives?

The urge to expel energy burns under my skin, heating my blood and making me twitch. Maybe a mindless scroll of social media will keep my attention for a while. The first story on my feed is a post from the team we are traveling to play against. They have already announced that our game is canceled and will take place at another time.

If they know we aren’t boarding a fucking plane, and I know we aren’t boarding a fucking plane, why the fucking fuck hasn’t the airport announced it?

Caged like animals lingering around the departure gate, everything pisses me off. From the de la Peña twins grinning and singing with Raffi, to Justin Ashe’s snoring providing an off-tempo baseline to the music.

I need to hit something. I’m sure the long-haired freshman, Artemis de la Peña, could go toe to toe with me in a ring. I’ve seen him workout. Dude’s a machine. If anyone on the team could dance with me, I think it’d be him. But that would mean I’d have to talk to the spoiled little rich boy, and the thought alone brings bile to the back of my throat.

Sure, they’re on my team, and we all skate for the same logo, we all want the same wins, and to succeed on the ice, but we aren’t the same, them and me. We’re far fucking from it.

It’s not much longer before I’m put out of my misery. Flight canceled, game canceled, go enjoy Christmas vacation, and we’ll try again in the New Year, Coach says. I wait in my seat for a couple of minutes now the announcement is official, my thumb hovering over Rowan Armistead’s contact. I told her I couldn’t connect with her until school starts back up in January.

Traveling with the team, busy with the holidays, I gave her every excuse I could come up with so I don’t have to see her Judgy McJudgerson face staring at me with pity when she realizes I’m a dumb jock. The dumbest of dumb jocks. Clicking on her name, I suck in a breath.

August: I’m staying in town for the holidays. If you’d like to get together sooner than the date we arranged, I’m available. Just let me know.

Rowan: Hey August, sounds good to me. What about Wednesday morning?

I won’t have classes or practice on Wednesday morning so that sounds good to me, too. I don’t want to meet at my place. She’s going to pity me enough without needing to witness the sad state of my tiny room in the hockey house. I don’t want to go to the library either, that place scares the shit out of me, and I’m not easily scared.

August: Bitches Brew at eight?

I want to go early so I’m done before whoever is left on campus gets up and needs their caffeine fix from Taryn and the gang.

Rowan: Sounds like a plan. See you there.

I’d rather eat dirt than have some snooty geek tell me everything I suck at, and how I’ve no chance of passing my final year, but I have no choice.

Coach says it’s this way or the highway, and having seen where the highway leads for people like me, it’s got to be this way. 

ON THE LINE will donate all proceeds to After Action, a 501(c)3 non-profit that seeks to increase economic outcomes after trauma recovery.

Let me know what you think of August and Rowan - and if you'd like to see more of them in the Raccoons-verse!

Until next time,

Have you joined my reader group yet? If not, then head over to: Margaritas, Men and Mischief with Lasairiona. As the name suggests, it's a place for my readers to chat about all things romance - with a healthy dose of sarcasm, sharp wit, conversations comprised entirely of GIFs, sneak peeks, giveaways and a plethora of memes. It's one of my absolute favorite places on the internet and I'm really enjoying getting to know readers that bit better over there. Don't be shy - we don't bite... much! Come on over!

Justin

I thought I’d left my past in Minnesota when I moved to Iowa, but it was right there waiting for me.

Long blonde hair, curves in all the right places, and a death glare that hits harder than a slap shot to the solar plexus. On the ice, I’m a pro at blocking shots, but Savannah Bowen has slipped behind all my defenses and made a home in my heart.

I had no intention of revisiting the past, but when she’s damn near everywhere I go, I’m a goner.

Savannah

Hell freakin’ no.

It doesn’t matter that Justin Ashe is seven feet tall and sexy as sin, or that I’ve had a crush on him for years. He cheated on my best friend in high school, and that makes him off limits.

I can’t be with him, but damn, it’s impossible to stay away from him. Girl Code says uteruses before duderuses.

He’s supposed to be my enemy, but the more I see of him, the blurrier the lines get.

Welcome to UCR hockey, where fierce AF heroines and hot as puck heroes find their hockey ever afters. If you pucking love college hockey romance series, you’ll adore UCR Raccoons hockey.

FREEZING THE PUCK is a delicious slow burn, enemies-to-lovers, ovaries before brovaries sports romance. This interconnected full-length stand-alone is the first in a new series with no cheating or cliffhangers and has a guaranteed happily-ever-after.

Bookish. Bold. Beautiful. And entirely out of his league.

On paper, all-American boy next door, Lincoln Scott, has it all. But behind his slap shots, straight-A report card, and easy going charm, Linc hides a secret only his best friend knows.

When he attempts to return a misplaced bra, a wrong number gets him way more than the hook-up he bargained for. No one has ever looked beyond the star hockey player, until the mysterious woman he can’t stop texting sees him for who he really is.

Does Linc have the skills off the ice to keep up with her? Will he follow in his father’s footsteps? Or will he step out from the shadows and chase his dreams?

If you’re pucking obsessed with Helena Hunting, Pippa Grant, and Elle Kennedy, you’ll love this hilarious, hot-as-puck, secret identity, opposites attract, curvy girl sports romance. Two for Interference is a full length standalone with no cheating, cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

Welcome to the Minnesota Snow Pirates, where skilled and sexy mother puckers’ lives get turned upside down by strong and badass heroines. Curl up with your next book boyfriend today.