Howdy y'all,

What a weird couple weeks it's been since I last sent y'all a newsletter. For those of you new to my world, I live in Northern Ireland, and while I'm not a royalist, the death of Queen Elizabeth II shook my world a lil.

We had a national day of mourning on Monday for her funeral, and television coverage of the event lasted for about eight hours. I think it wasn't so much about her death speficially for a lot of us (though it was all terribly sad), I think her death gave many of us permission to just sit with the grief we usually tuck away out of reach. I think her death allowed us to mourn our own losses, and it hit kind of hard. I thought I was alone in how I was feeling, but as it turned out, a lot of my friends were in a similar space.

So if you found yourself sad, thinking about lost loved ones, and a bit wobbly - it's totally okay. You aren't alone.

ICYMI: I dropped a teaser for Clare and Elliott on my socials last week:

Signed Paperback preorder (US)

Two for Interference is FREE for the month of September

99c Preorder: Two for Tacos

Chapter three of Clare and Elliott's story

Wicked cool recs in the recommended reads section.

It's another chock-full newsletter this week, folks. Don't miss out!

I finally booked flights, y'all.

I can hardly believe it. But thanks to a dear friend for loaning me the cash to cover my travel to the US, I'm going to Iowa to visit my best friend of 20 years (some of you may remember that she surprised me with a visit her back in January) and her family, then it'll be on to Vegas to speak at an Author conference and hang out with some readers at a reader event.

I'm hanging out in Cedar Rapids with some ARC readers one of the days I'm in town - if you live close by or in driving distance, hit me up. If you live in/near Vegas - the details of RAVE are in the graphic above.

Because I'm finally getting back to the US, this means I'm opening up my signed paperbacks to my North American readers. If you have been waiting for some signed Snow Pirates and swag - now is your chance.

Order Signed Paperbacks

Two for Interference is still FREE for the month of September, with only a few days left to go in the month, it's time. If you haven't downloaded your copy, grab it before it goes back into KU and I can't give it away for free anymore!

Gimme my FREE copy of Clinc

If you read my last newsletter, you know that I am sneaking in another release this year right before 2022 finishes. It's a 99c novella (price will increase in the new year, so if you want it, grab it at this price before it goes up!) and it's a crossover between my current world - our beloved Minnesota Snow Pirates, and my next world, the Cedar Rapids Raccoons.

Preorder Two for Tacos for 99c

Are you ready for the next installment of Clare and Elliott, y'all?

Chapter 3

Elliott

Even though the junior high-aged team was training on the ice pad, Elliott sat in the stands surrounded by loose pages and highlighters. Something about the cool, crisp air in the rink and the sound of skates cutting through ice, no matter who was skating, made it easier for him to think.

Down below, the AAA team finished their warm up and were breaking out into small groups to work on their puck handling and skills. Like putting together a championship winning team wasn’t hard enough, rebuilding when star players graduated college and stepped out into the big bad world all by themselves felt unachievable some years.

Coach of the AAA team, Will Morrison, had been the best damn captain the Snow Pirates had seen for as long as Elliott had been the coach, and filling the kid’s shoes…well, it felt kind of impossible. Picking up the print out of the roster, he studied his team’s stats again. He could probably recite them in his sleep.

Every season it was as though the details of his players were tattooed onto the insides of his eyelids. He knew them better than he knew himself.

Their strengths, their weaknesses, their women, their superstitions. He knew it all. And he also knew that it always took a little time for things to settle and the guys to find their flow, but this season felt insurmountable given what had gone before.

It didn’t help that his ex-wife Denise was busting his balls yet again. You’d think considering the fact they had no kids, they didn’t work together or live together, that she already had someone new, and she’d gotten everything in the fucking divorce would mean that she had no business anywhere near him. But you’d be wrong.

It would seem he had been a serial killer in a previous life, being punished with the most unrelenting, manipulative pain in the ass woman to ever walk the face of the earth.

Like it wasn’t bad enough she’d gotten the house and all their shit, while he got all the goddamned bills, but she still called him when the faucet was leaking, or she had a fight with her boyfriend. She drunk dialed Elliott in the middle of the night to regale him with their good ole days. While he struggled to recall any good ole days at all.

With a frustrated sigh, he slammed the pages onto his thighs before collecting them into a semi-tidy pile and tucking them under his arm. Maybe working at the rink wasn’t what he needed today. He stood up and descended the steps down to the boards to watch the maneuvers on the ice for a few minutes before leaving.

The thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds were his favorite to watch play. Hungry, determined, and not quite old enough to know how good they were or let their egos get in the way of just playing some damn good hockey.

The ice was split at the top of the circles for two-on-one drills. The play area was cut in half so two smaller drill teams could work side by side. It was a fun exercise he loved to use for his own team, and one that worked on moving, thinking, being creative and some decision making thrown in there for good measure, too. A great all-round drill to see what skills the kids on the ice actually had.

The puck was dumped in the middle, forcing the players to work hard to get it to their side and create a two-on-one situation. At that point, the team who didn’t win the puck had the opportunity to make it a three-on-one, or a three-on-two if they wanted by crossing the middle line and joining the guys who had won possession.

As the drill unfolded, one of the forwards remained in his zone while his teammates made a three-on-two situation in the other side of the ice. The rule was he could be anywhere within his space—a high-risk, high-reward ploy, leaving him by himself as his teammates pursued the puck in the other zone.

Whoever the kid was needed to bend his knees and move his stick a little more, but he smacked his blade on the ice, calling for the biscuit as his linemate picked up the puck and sailed it back into their area to his waiting stick. He glanced up at the net, didn’t hesitate, took a swing and scored.

Nice.

Their coach—Will Morrison—, was busy explaining something to the defenseman on the other team so Elliott decided to bestow a little wisdom on the boy.

“Hey, kid.”

Three kids glanced his way, but none of them was the one he wanted. He pointed at number six, and his teammate tapped his stick on his shin before pointing it towards Elliott at the edge of the rink.

Elliott jerked his head in a c’mere motion.

As the kid skated, he removed his helmet and jammed it under his elbow. “Yeah, Coach?”

Elliott was surprised by his response. Most of the young teens on the ice wouldn’t have had the first clue who he was yet. “Nice play. Patience is important out there, and you stayed aware of the puck despite the fact it probably wouldn’t have come back to you.”

He was saying things the kid already knew, but he liked to start his feedback with the good stuff. That way his players knew there were things about their game that were solid before he got to what they could improve on.

“Bend your knees a little more, it’ll help.”

The kid nodded like he’d been told that a thousand times.

“And keep that stick active.”

That one seemed to give him pause and his brows crashed together in a frown.

From center ice, Morrison yelled, “Run it again.” And the players reset.

“Thanks, Coach.” The kid skated away from him and back to position.

Something about him was familiar, but Elliott couldn’t figure out what. When he got home he was going to Google some ways to help the kid bend his knees more. It had been years since he’d taught anyone below college level. He was rusty, but as good as Will was, coaching the minor teams was his first coaching gig, and he would probably be glad for the assist.

“Coach.” Morrison came to a stop next to the boards Elliott was leaning on. “How’re things?”

“Oh, you know.” He shrugged. “Same old. Trying to put together a championship team when some of our best players grew up and moved on.”

Will smiled. “It’s funny, because when you’re out there on the ice, none of us ever feel like we’re the best players. We’re just cogs in the team machine, Coach. Doing our part to bring the team to glory.”

“Repeating my words back to me, eh?” He brushed his palm along his jaw. “Kid’s good.” He jerked his chin to the player he’d been talking to.

“Mason? He is. Still can’t get him to bend those knees quite right, but he’s got potential.” Will nodded. “They all do. I just need to figure out how to tap into that and bring it out of them. Like you did.” He elbowed Elliott. “Gotta get them ready for their bright future with the Snow Pirates.”

“Is it okay for me to watch for a bit? Helps my thought process.”

Will grinned. “All your secrets are coming out now, Coach. I had no idea how complex your method is. We all just figured you woke up and shit greatness.”

If only it were that simple. The pressure to succeed—especially after having delivered a championship season—was stifling. It was never enough. There were always better players, new objectives, teams to beat and another cup to win.

For the next thirty minutes, Elliott strategized plays and drills to the background music of teenagers yelling and skating. When their practice ended, he figured it was time for him to head out also.

And finally he realized why Mason seemed familiar.

Clare stood next to a beat-up white Camry in the parking lot with her hands planted on her hips and her face stern as she stared down at the kid who had her eyes. She wore a black graphic t-shirt that said I’m too clumsy to be around fragile masculinity, a long yellow cardigan and dark wash jeans with black ankle boots.

Her lips were pursed and her eyes narrowed. He’d seen that look a million times before—hell, he’d been on the receiving end of it more times than he cared to remember. He turned his head in case she saw him grinning at the memory.

“But Mooooooom.” Mason’s whining carried through the air as Elliott made his way to his SUV. “Dad said—”

She practically snarled. “Mason, I’ve talked to you before about playing your father and me off of one another. You knew I wouldn’t be happy about it and you did it anyway. I’ll be talking to your dad when we get home.”

Elliott winced. Clare’s daughter hadn’t mentioned that Clare was with someone when she’d given him her number. Maybe she thought her mom needed to connect with an old friend. Maybe Elliott had just hoped to find her unattached.

But Clare had another kid and was still with their father. Of course she was. Any guy who gave her up would be dumb as a bag of rocks. But until he’d heard her mention Mason’s father, he hadn’t realized how much he’d hoped to find her single. If he’d been a better man and committed to her all those years ago, he’d never have given her up either.

Guilt swirled in his sour stomach as he watched the exchange between the two. She was married, taken, unavailable, but his heart—and his dick—didn’t seem to be understanding that meant a big old “nope” was painted across the entire situation like caution tape at a crime scene.

He remembered how soft her skin was as he’d brush her wispy, dirty blond hair behind her ear. How plump her lips were, always shiny from the clear gloss she wore daily as a teenager. How stubborn she could be, how fiercely determined to accomplish anything she damn well wanted to without hesitation or self-doubt.

But he also remembered the betrayal in her eyes when he told her he had to go back on their deal and leave to play hockey. He remembered the sadness in her voice as she pleaded with him not to go and the tears as they trickled down her flushed cheeks as he walked away.

He pressed against his sternum with a clenched fist, but the welling pain wouldn’t abate. She was married, with kids, happy, albeit a little disheveled and somewhat odd but that was always who she was.

He couldn’t have her. He’d missed his chance. She was in his past. There was no future for them. It did no good to stew over roads not taken.

As he crossed the parking lot, he heard a gear bag fall to the ground and turned in time to see Mason storming away from Clare. Elliott beeped open his SUV with the key fob but didn’t take his eyes off her.

Anguish paled her delicate features as she chewed on her thumbnail. She covered her face with both palms and stood, shoulders curled forward and bobbing with what had to be quiet sobs. He wanted to go to her, to wrap his arms around her and tell her it would all be okay. But he couldn’t.

He never had kids with Denise, though there was a time he’d have given anything to have them. She kept putting him off and putting him off until she finally confessed she had never actually wanted kids at all. It had been the beginning of the end for them.

Married under the pretense of wanting the same things out of life left only mistrust and heartache when the truth came out, and a marriage built on mistrust was no marriage at all.

He rubbed his chest again. So many things he could have and should have done differently over the years. He’d come home ready to settle down with Clare only to find her pregnant with another man’s kid. When he’d met Denise he thought he could maybe be happy with her, until it came out that she’d lied about wanting kids. The kicker came when she stepped out on their marriage with her boss.

He grunted. Clearly his instincts couldn’t be trusted. Women couldn’t be trusted.

The unexpected trip down memory lane was giving him indigestion and the bitter taste of betrayal coated the back of his tongue. He needed to get in his car and leave, to go home, throw some leftovers into the microwave and watch some game tapes to see if he could figure out how to fill the shoes of the hockey giants who’d left his team.

If that was truly what he needed, then why could he not urge his feet to move until Clare had pulled herself together and driven after Mason?

In the driver’s seat of his car in the empty parking lot, he picked up his phone and hovered his thumb over her name in his contacts. His brain condemned the idea entirely, but his heart spurred him forward. Sure, she was out of bounds romantically, but they could be friends again, right? She certainly looked like she could use a friend. And what could be the harm in sending her a message telling her it was nice to see her?

***

Elliott had been gone from Minnesota for a year, playing hockey and traveling the country. But he was back—albeit temporarily—and he wanted to see his girl. Just thinking about Clare loosened the straps around his chest.

He’d missed her. So fucking much.

He’d missed her seventeenth birthday, the Fourth of July, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas—all their favorite holidays. He’d missed it all. Had she done everything they used to do, but with someone else?

They had so much to catch up on. What they’d been doing, how things were going, and they sure as hell needed to talk.

Christ, did they ever need to talk.

She worked in a small, family-owned frozen yogurt place after school and on the weekends. Her parents had told him what shift she was on so he could surprise her, and when he hopped off the bus and tossed his equipment bag in the trunk of his parent’s car, butterflies warred in his stomach.

Would she have forgiven him for leaving? Maybe. But probably not.

Clare Reynolds could hold a grudge better than anyone else he’d ever met. Sure, he’d hurt her by going to play hockey, and the look of soul-deep betrayal on her face when he’d left was forever burned into his memory. But hopefully her love for him, for their friendship, their history together, would make her see reason and forgive him for chasing his dream across the country.

She hadn’t broken her radio silence and called him, nor had she answered any of his ten thousand—okay that might have been a slight exaggeration, but it didn’t feel like it—messages. But now he was back in town and going to stand in front of her—she couldn’t ignore that.

Well, she could try, but he wouldn’t let her. She meant too much to him not to fight for her. And he was going to fight with all he had.

He’d tell her that, too. That he loved her. That he’d always loved her. He’d fought it at first, then feared it, then as their friendship grew, so did his fear of fucking everything up by telling her he had more-than-friend feelings for her.

But he wasn’t afraid anymore. He missed her. Every single fucking day he was away from Minnesota left deep gashes on his soul and he was going to tell her. He was going to kiss her until she stopped being mad at him, and for backup, he was going to bring her peonies as a peace offering—she fucking loved peonies.

He had a plan, he had a bouquet of fragrant peonies on the passenger seat next to him, and a nausea so fierce he almost changed his mind and drove home for Mom’s meatloaf. But he needed to tell her how he felt, even if she hated him.

If she hit him, he’d take it like the hockey player he was. Then he’d kiss the fight right out of her.

Creamy Dreams was bustling. They had a killer two-for-one deal on Thursday nights that brought damn near everyone in the city to their doors. He squeezed through the tightly packed bodies clumped around the entrance and scanned behind the counter.

Her back was to him as he stood against the far wall, peeking between customers to steal a glimpse of her, but he could pick out that mousy brown, messy bun anywhere. When she turned, she took his breath away, flushed pink cheeks, bright red lips and a matching red bow tied around her bun.

She pressed the heel of her hand to her temple and blew air upwards, making her bangs flop against her forehead. It was hot as Hades in the small store. She wore a lime green polo shirt that seemed snug fitting around her tits.

Holy shit, she’d filled out.

She took a step away from the counter, pushed her hand into the small of her back and arched her body, bringing the rest of her torso into view. Was that a…bump? He stopped breathing. Stared dumbfounded at the woman he loved more than life itself.

She was pregnant? Why hadn’t his parents told him she was with someone?

Prepared him for the fact he was going to show up to win her back by telling him to expect to find her ready to pop out a fucking kid. Why hadn’t they saved him from the soul-tearing agony and embarrassment crawling all over his body at the sight?

But he couldn’t look away. She was an incredibly stunning mother—though he wasn’t sure whether the glow was from the overhead lights, the temperature of the room, or the fact that she was so beautifully pregnant.

Either way, she was the most breathtaking vision in a lime green polo shirt he’d ever seen. But she was someone else’s now. He’d lost her for real and there was nothing he could say or do to get her back. And even if there was, he wasn’t the kind of man to break up a relationship for his own benefit.

Fuck.

Backing out through the crowd, he was careful not to be seen. On the sidewalk outside, an elderly woman ate froyo at a table. When she met his gaze, he handed her the flowers without a word, and trudged back to his car.

Every step away from Clare hurt more than the last, and by the time he closed the car door and started the ignition, the pain was so deep, so acute, that he was sure he would die on the spot.

How could this have happened? How could she have moved on from him so quickly? Every day he’d been missing her, pining for her, and she’d been sleeping with someone new.

Bile rose in his throat as he gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. Sparks of anger and betrayal flared inside his chest and blazed through his pain. He was pissed. Pissed at her for not answering his texts, pissed at her for holding his dream against him, pissed at her for finding someone new, for getting pregnant, for not telling him…

But most of all he was pissed at himself for losing the one thing he cherished the most. He’d lived without her in his world for a year and it had been too much.

How could he face the rest of his life without her?

Preorder Clare and Elliott

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!

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.