Howdy y'all!

First things first - I'm changing the cover on book 1 of my Snow Pirates series, Two for Interference. So if you love current Linc and want to get a copy of him for your bookshelf, you'll need to act fast. Don't sweat, I'm not changing any of the other Snow Pirates, just Linc!

Secondly, I have my cover for book 5 - Will and Quinn's story, and I couldn't sit on it for another week before sharing. I know, I know, but I really can't help myself and my heart is so sore and heavy this week... I'm sure you'll forgive me when you see this guy...

But first though, here's that blurb...

Awkward. Adrift. Alone.

Fresh out of college, Will Morrison finds himself at a loss. Graduating top of his class was all well and good, but with no idea of what to do next, it’s all meaningless, and his recent mistakes have put him on tenuous ground with his best friend and sister.

His championship hockey teammates are moving on without him, he has too many choices for what to do next, and no clue what makes his heart sing… Until a one night stand with a fiery red-head turns his world upside down. Quinn’s everything he’s not: outgoing, brave and driven.

Being with her shines a light on his dark side. But following the road to redemption means more than making amends with friends and family. Can he forgive himself, and accept that he doesn’t need to know the full path to take the first step? Or will his inability to love himself mean losing her, too?

*FANS SELF* isn't he gorgeous?

You can pre-order Two for Tripping, today. And for those of you who didn't read it last week, here's that sneak peek of chapter one again:

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Two for Tripping

Chapter 1

Quinn

The vibrations rattled through the stage under her feet and into her muscles as Quinn belted out one of her karaoke faves. I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For by U2. Sure, she was no Bono, but the lyrics from one of her favorite songs to sing shifted something in her every time she sang them.

If there was a time in his life when even the legendary Irish singer Bono didn’t know what the hell he was doing, she wasn’t going to hold it against herself that she still hadn’t found what she was looking for either.

Or she’d at least try. Things like that were often easier in theory than practice.

Clutching the microphone with both hands, her gaze skimmed the bar as her lips moved with the music. She didn’t need the lyrics on the screen, not for U2, not for Heart, Alannah, Madonna, Roxette, or Stevie. She knew them by heart and sang them with reckless abandon.

Tuesday nights were only ever busy in Pucks because of karaoke. And, while the place wasn’t exactly booming, she had a modest audience of drunken freshmen who sang along with her. One guy even held up an unlit lighter, swaying in his chair while yelling how much he loved her and wanted her to have his babies.

Flattering though he was, she didn’t date younger men. In fact, she hadn’t dated anyone in a long time. Something she thought might change with each passing Tuesday. Surely odds were that she’d find someone compatible at some point, right?

If Clary Fairchild managed to find Jace, Alec, and Izzy all at the same time outside a bar in the very first episode of Shadowhunters, there had to be some point in time where Quinn would meet a regular guy.

She didn’t even need for him to be a hot Shadowhunter kicking demon ass on the regular. Just an everyday guy who wasn’t a douchebag. She wasn’t asking for much. At least, she didn’t think so.

Just someone who perhaps enjoyed karaoke, sci-fi, maybe even an occasional game of Mario Kart, and who could carry a conversation beyond ‘nice tits’ and sending dick pics so she knew what he was equipped with and where he wanted to put it.

Why did guys think dick pics were hot?

Jen the bartender held up a glass offering her a refill when she made eye contact and Quinn nodded. She’d been singing Tuesday night karaoke in Pucks for just over a year and as she stared down her sophomore year at the University of Minnesota, she knew that wouldn’t change any time soon. It was her happy place.

Two women sat at the end of the bar drinking pink cocktails from tall glasses with orange slices hanging on the rims making eyes at a guy slouched over a half full glass of something golden. If there had been ice cubes in the tumbler in front of him, they’d long since melted.

His shaggy hair was mussed from fingers running through it, and the collar of his shirt was open and tugged to the side. He turned toward the two chatting women, giving Quinn a perfect line of sight to his face.

William Morrison. Will. Team captain of the Minnesota Snow Pirates. Former captain. 5 feet 11 inches, 180lbs, right handed shot on the ice, birthday July 6^th. And the deliciously hot guy who all but made her forget her damn name when they’d met at Cleo’s first book signing. He’d bought her books, like some kind of fictitious too-good-to-be-true man that only exists in women’s fantasies – and romance novels – then lost the receipt with his number on it, and never seen nor heard from again.

Yup. She’d absolutely – and shamelessly – memorized his stats from the team website. She’d also memorized the curve of his jaw and the precise shade of his cognac brown eyes. She’d crushed on him, hard, but considering she hadn’t heard from him and he’d just graduated, she’d thought that ship had sailed.

Yet there he was, leaning on the bar in front of her, the weight of the world pressing his shoulders forward. His sad eyes, downturned lips, and heavy presence almost had her stumbling over her lyrics as she belted out the final few lines of the song. Who was the shell of a man in front of her? And where was the geeky, awkward, smiling team captain she’d met in the bookstore?

She placed the microphone back in the stand and curtseyed to her adoring fans before stepping off the stage.

The two women had moved onto their next drink, chatting back and forth with animated hands and hushed whispers. Their cursory glances at Will suggested one of them was winding up to shoot their shot with him.

Deciding to save them both from potential embarrassment, or worse, ire from Will whose fuck-off vibes were so loud she couldn’t fathom how the women hadn’t picked up on them, she sidled up to him. She bumped her shoulder against his before sliding onto the empty stool next to him.

“So… what’s a guy like you doing in a dive bar like this?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Under his eyes were dark circles, and the bags and red lines behind his heavy eyelids suggested he hadn’t slept well for a while. She wanted to hug him.

“And where is your posse? Isn’t it a well-known fact that hockey players travel in packs?”

“Hey.”

It wasn’t a ‘fuck off,’ but it wasn’t a chatty Cathy answer either. She’d take it.

She hooked a thumb at her chest. “Quinn. I mean, hey. I’m Quinn. We met at Cleo’s book signing a while back.”

When he canted his head an inch and narrowed his gaze, she nodded and took it as an invitation to continue. “Big fan. Congrats on the championship by the way. It must have been a huge deal for you to leave on such a high note. I know it totally sounds like an excuse, but I lost the receipt with your number on it.”

The more he stared the more her cheeks sizzled. Did she have something on her face? Was there something stuck in her hair? She reached up to pat down her wayward auburn waves unable to stop the word vomit bubbling in the back of her throat.

“Anyway. You were about to have company.” She gestured to the two women behind her. “And I… eh… you don’t really seem to be in the mood for company, so I… uh…”

“Thought you’d join me instead?” His eyes dropped back to the half-empty glass in front of him.

“Yeah. I thought I’d save you.” She winked. “You can thank me later.”

Behind the pain and sadness in his brown eyes his sparkle was nowhere to be seen.

“We can just sit for a little bit.”

He nodded but didn’t answer. Jen placed Quinn’s gin and Sprite on the bar in front of her and accepted her credit card.

“Wanna keep a tab open?”

Quinn nodded and swirled her straw around the slice of lime in her highball glass. “Thanks, Jen.”

Jen widened her eyes and jerked her head at Will before mouthing, ‘get it girl.’

His eyes drifted to the left of the bar, fixating on something she couldn’t see as she ached to fill the silence expanding between them.

On stage, someone with all the audacity in the world butchered Love Shack by the B-52’s. Had they no respect for the classics? She cringed at the shrieking.

She shook her head and sipped her drink, ignoring the glares from her now-nemeses across the bar. She wasn’t normally someone to cock-block another woman, but the sadness seeping from Will’s every pore had driven her to act.

If she had to dole out a case of blue balls to a member of her gender to spare Will from even a second more of pain and discomfort, she’d take one for the team.

“I haven’t seen you since the book signing.” Neutral territory. It wasn’t quite ‘Let me count the ways,’ but she didn’t want to spook him either.

He didn’t tear his eyes from whatever was holding him captive next to the bar, but he nodded and took a drink. “Things have been…” He rotated his wrist, swirling the golden liquid around in the glass. “Crazy.”

“I get that. Graduation, am I right?” She took a drink. “I mean, not that I’d know yet, obviously.” She cringed again. What the hell was wrong with her? She was a conversational queen, she could make friends out of strangers, but the reserved hockey hottie was apparently her kryptonite.

She swallowed and tried again. “I was starting to feel like I’d dreamt you up like one of my book boyfriends.” She snorted, coughed to cover her snort, and choked on the fizzy Sprite that had somehow made its way up her nose.

His lips twitched, but his line of sight was still off to the side of the bar. A picture of Gordie Howe hung on the wall, and the more she stared at it, the more she realized it was crooked. Was that what had been holding his attention?

She tried to avert her gaze, but once she’d seen it, it was all she could see. How could he just sit there, knowing it was crooked and not get up to fix it?

Slipping off the stool next to him, she circled the bar and righted the picture. “That straight?”

Over her shoulder he nodded through a wide grin. “A hair more and you’re good.”

It wasn’t much, but she’d take it. She slid the picture frame a tiny bit further before seeking reassurance from him.

“Perfect.”

She settled back onto the chair next to him and signaled another round to Jen, who stuck her tongue out and winked before throwing a double thumbs up. Quinn rolled her eyes.

“You sounded great.” He gestured up at the stage. “Great song choice.”

“U2 fan?”

He shook his head. “A fan of any song that doesn’t make me feel like an epic fuck up for not having my shit together beyond college graduation.”

Wow. Not so reserved after all. “I’ll drink to that.” She clinked her fresh glass against his.

His eyebrow quirked, like he was surprised at her answer.

“There’s no rulebook for adulting, William. We all just gotta fuck around and find out.”

Wrinkles appeared in his forehead. “Did you just call me William?”

She hiccupped a gasp. “Shit. I guess I did. Sorry. I didn’t even think. It just came out.”

He picked up his fresh glass, and drained half of it in one. “I like it.”

When his eyes met hers, something warm swam with his sadness, something that sparked in her chest.

His fingertips, cold from cradling the glass, brushed along the curve of her jaw as her eyes fluttered closed. His palm cupped her cheek and his fingers weaved into the loose strands of her hair falling around her face.

After a moment, neither of them had moved, so she opened her eyes again to find him studying her.

As she opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing, his lips crashed against hers. He tasted of whisky and his lips were cold from his drink. He smelled of apple and cedarwood, a dizzying, warm, comforting aroma that curled around her.

His kiss grew more urgent, his tongue spearing at the seam of her lips, demanding entry. When she parted them on a sigh, he invaded, sweeping his tongue against hers and cradling the side of her face in his other hand.

One of the women behind her muttered ‘bitch,’ Jen hissed out a ‘yesssssss,’ and if Quinn’s eyes had been open she probably would have noted a monumental fist pump from her bartending friend.

She couldn’t wrap her arms around his neck, but instead layered her hand over his on her cheek and stroked his fingers with her thumb as he kissed her until she was breathless. As he kissed her, she tasted a lifetime together, a future, the same connection she’d been hit with at the bookstore when they’d first met. It scared the fuck out of her.

Dropping his forehead against hers, he sighed, not letting go of her face. Her heart swung like Miley Cyrus on her freakin’ wrecking ball. What the hell was that?

They sat in silence for a moment, or perhaps twenty, foreheads resting against each other, his warm hands holding her face and her chest rising with alarming calmness considering the crazy dance her heart was doing.

Dropping a kiss on her nose, he finally spoke. “Ask me anything.” He leaned back and reached for his drink.

She smirked. “Anything?”

He shrugged.

“Okay, favorite TV series.”

“The West Wing.” There wasn’t a beat of hesitation before he answered.

Be still her quickening heart. “I love The West Wing.”

His eyes narrowed. “Who’s your favorite character then?”

“Donna.” She took a drink. “I love her character arc. How she falls in love with her boss and sticks around despite him neglecting to see her true worth because she’s constantly hoping he’ll see her. But then she discovers her own worth and…”

She sent her hand into the air like a plane taking flight. “Beautiful. And I like CJ. Obvs. What about you?”

“Toby.”

“Interesting.” She smiled. “Intelligent, quiet, grumpy, and a secretly soft underbelly, eh? How did you get into it? It’s quite a dated favorite, pretty old and not something you would have watched as a kid.”

“My parents are huge fans. They re-watch it every single year. When we were old enough to watch, it became an annual family thing. Molly loves it too. Though she has a crush on Ainsely Hayes. What about you? How did you find the West Wing?”

A lump formed in her throat. “My gramps. He’s to blame for my entire pop-cultural upbringing.”

As though he sensed her sadness, he cleared his throat. “What’s next?”

She smiled at the President Bartlet reference. “Star Wars or Star Trek?” She held her breath.

There had to be something wrong with him. He’d bought her books in a bookstore, he was delicious, smelled good enough to eat, complimented her on her karaoke and he’d kissed her like he owned her. Not liking sci-fi was where the line was, it had to be.

“Wars.”

Her stomach fluttered. “Trek. But I’m not averse to Star Wars. I’ll watch it. Left handed or right?”

“Only left handed people ask that question.” He pointed his drink at her like it was an accusation.

“Guilty.”

“I’m right handed. You didn’t answer the first question, what’s your favorite TV show?”

“Shadowhunters.”

“Never seen it.”

She gasped dramatically, smacking the back side of her hand against her forehead. “You haven’t?” She held up her hand, showing him the small rune tattoo just under the ball of her wrist.

“What does it mean?”

“Fearless.”

His eyes darted between hers. “I can tell.”

Something flickered in her chest. “Favorite song?”

“I always envy people who can just pick a song, or a book and declare it their favorite.”

“What about a genre?”

He shook his head. “I like just about everything except gangster rap.”

“I love the oldies.”

He pursed his lips. “How old?”

“70’s, 80’s, 90’s.”

“Suitably old. Great decades.”

“Another round?”

“Please.” Will answered for both of them and Jen’s waggling eyebrows had another snort bursting from her before she could smother it with her hand. Smooth. Real smooth. Sure, he’d kissed her once, but there was still plenty of time for her to chase him off by, well, being herself.

“Crunchy or smooth peanut butter?” She jabbed a finger at him.

“Smooth.”

“Orange juice – smooth or with bits?”

“Uhhh… freshly squeezed and not store bought?”

She scrunched up her face. “You’re telling me oranges don’t come in cartons from the store? Lies.”

His chuckle was golden and made her want to jump up and down with glee. The tension in his muscles was easing, the sadness on his face, too.

She folded her arms. It was make or break time. “And where do we fall on the whole pineapple on pizza debate?” She arched her eyebrow and steeled herself to do battle.

“I don’t get why everyone has a problem with pineapple on pizza. I mean. I don’t love it. It’s not my favorite thing. I don’t worship at the temple of pineapple or anything. But I won’t crucify you for it either.”

She heaved out a breath. “Right answer. Wait – there’s a temple of pineapple?”

Another chuckle, longer and more relaxed than the first. Melodic and smooth. “What were the stakes? I feel like I’m on trial.”

She grinned. “I don’t know that I can be friends with someone who likes crunchy peanut butter, and hates pineapple on pizza. I’d have had to wash my hands of you.” She brushed her palms together.

His nostrils flared. “Is that so?”

She nodded.

He leaned closer to her, gliding the pad of his thumb along her jaw. “You’d be done with me even though our kisses taste like that?”

She tilted her head. “Taste like what? I’ve already forgotten how it tasted. You’ll have to remind me.”

“Liar.”

Her cheeks were hot and her pulse fluttered faster and faster the more he stared at her.

“But I can definitely remind you of how it tasted.” He pulled her to him by her waist, an urgency holding her in his grip and a fire burning low in her belly.

Mid-kiss, she pulled back. “How do you take your steak?”

He burst out laughing. “Right now? That’s what you need to know right in this moment?”

She shrugged and slipped her hands around his neck. “If you like your steak cooked until it’s a hockey puck, or still mooing, we’re going to have issues and I need to stop this train.”

“I don’t. Now if it’s all the same to you, I’m not quite finished kissing you yet.”

Her stomach dropped to her feet, her heart took flight, and her fingers burrowed into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. She wasn’t finished kissing him either.

Pre-order Two for Tripping, NOW!

Maybe next week I'll send another teaser ;)

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!

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.