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Howdy, y'all,

This wasn't how my year was supposed to go. I had cancelled all my preorders for 2025, accepted that this book wasn't going to get written when I thought it was, and moved on to sorting my sock drawer and testing all my old pens to see if I needed to throw any out because I couldn't work and was going out of my mind. (Yes, is the answer, I did need to throw out a bunch of old pens because they no longer worked - not surprising since I've owned some of them since... eh... college.)

Anyway, then this book possessed me. These characters consumed me. And now I'm a couple weeks away from publishing their book. Can you believe this? I sure as hell can't. I mean... JFC they stopped talking to me. They went dark. And I was soooooo high on pain meds for my back that I couldn't focus on spelling my own name.

And then this thing happened. The stars aligned, the words poured, and I now have a book. My favorite book. Possibly my best book...

To preorder Athena and Scott, go here

Link to copy: https://books2read.com/rtp

For those of you who like to be teased and worked up into a fervor... here's a chapter 1 teaser just for you:

Chapter 1

[Author Note: Please excuse my intrusion, but in case your Kindle opened at Chapter 1 and not at the content warnings, please be advised that this book contains an on-page rape as well as ethical non-monogamy (one of the main characters sleeps with someone who isn’t the other main character with their partner’s permission) in later chapters.]

Athena

(Seventeen years old)

November 2019: The Meet Cute

I hate people.

Generally speaking, I’m not the kind of person who’ll stop for a broken down car at the side of the highway. Stranger danger and all that jazz.

But it’s cold as balls, and that dilapidated Camry with a rusty, discolored trunk lid and a UCR Raccoons bumper sticker next to an annoyingly flickering tail light, has been parked outside my house more than once lately.

And the well-wrapped up guy—Scott, if memory serves and assuming he’s the one driving—seems to be struggling to change a tire. I haven’t met him, but I’ve seen the back of his head as he walked toward his vehicle a couple weeks ago.

Crouched next to his car, he blows into his clutched hands, steam pluming into the air before he flexes his fingers then presses down on the end of a tire iron with both hands.

Having three younger brothers has its perks, they’ve taught me well. If it were left to our parents, I’d be hopeless. “Just call the tow truck, mija. Let someone else fix it.” Story of my fucking life.

That seems to be the family motto: Let someone else fix it. Papá in particular. Not one to get his hands dirty. If he can outsource it, he will, especially if it’s cheap to do so.

I, on the other hand, don’t like to be reliant on other people, not anyone, not for anything. Especially not my three younger brothers. Despite the easily accessible wealth I was born into, throwing money at things to make them go away isn’t really my thing. I like to get my hands dirty, and I fucking love cars.

I don’t really have time to change someone else’s tire, though, and I’d rather not get frost bitten nips in the sub-zero Iowan temperatures. But, this guy is on my brothers’ high school hockey team. If he’s late for the same game I’m on my way to, he’ll undoubtedly earn laps for everyone on the team. That asshole of a coach thinks he’s putting NHL players through basic military training rather than high school kids trying to win the national championship crown.

Plus, I’m going to the game anyway. It’s not like it’s out of my way.

“Need a hand?” I’m speaking as soon as I crack the door open, my words landing in the frigid air on a puff of steam. Fuck, it’s cold.

He doesn’t look my direction, but shakes his head. “Think I’ve got it.” He presses down with both hands, but the tire iron doesn’t budge. Certainly doesn’t look like he’s got it.

“Are you sure?” I inch closer to him, his cheeks and nose are bright red. It’s a colder than average Iowan November, and he’s bundled up like the Michelin man with an oversized puffy jacket shrinking his body.

He turns to answer me, nose scrunched up. “I can figure it out.” When his eyes meet mine, his face softens, and surprise flits across his features. “You can change a tire?”

I huff out a sigh. “Anything you can do, I can do better.” I snort. I’ve spent my entire life living in the shadow of a penis, lots of penises, in fact. First, my father, billionaire, aeronautics mogul, and all-around asshole, and then, once my brothers were born, the enormous peen-shadow grew.

They’re not particularly dickish, and when they are, I remind them of their inordinate privilege for being the superior gender which is apparently determined just by having a cock and balls dangling between their legs.

If only life was so clear cut.

Nothing raises my competitive hackles more than a dude telling me I can’t do something, or questioning my ability.

This guy’s lucky I haven’t ripped the tire iron from his trembling hands and knocked some sense into him.

He smirks, amusement lighting up his eyes as his brow twitches. “Is that so?”

I nod, folding my arms and hoping they’ll keep the quickly dwindling heat supply from escaping my body. “Seems like you’re struggling to figure it out yourself. Did you try reading the instructions?”

He snickers, pushing down on the bar once again. “Cars don’t come with instructions on how to change the tires. And I don’t need instructions, I know the how. The lug nut is stuck.”

“A likely excuse. And for your information, they do come with instructions, it’s called an owner’s manual.” I nudge him out of the way with my knee. “Let me try.”

He inches back, pursing his lips like he’s fighting a grin and waves an open hand at the conundrum in front of him. “Be my guest.”

I don’t get nervous under someone’s watchful stare, in fact, I tend to excel under pressure. So the expectant look on his face doesn’t make me waver. I press down on the bar and... Nothing. It doesn’t move.

I try again, the damn thing isn’t budging.

To his credit, he doesn’t so much as smirk in my direction. Instead, his brows furrow even deeper, like he’d secretly hoped I’d be able to make it work. He pulls his phone out from his pocket and sneaks a glance at the screen.

“In a hurry?”

He gnaws on the inside of his cheek. “You could say that.” 

With a nod, I put my Ugg-boot-clad foot on top of the bar and lift my other foot from the road. It’s not recommended, and given the frosty conditions it’s probably stupid, but sometimes you need your whole body weight and a helping hand from gravity to loosen the nuts when they’re stiff.

And I’ve never really been one to half-ass anything. I’m a whole-ass kind of girl.

It sounded like a good idea at the time, but when my feet both slip, go out from under me, and I’m somehow falling in slow motion onto my brothers’ teammate, I instantly regret my decision.

Not even into his arms, nope, I’m not that lucky. My fall catches us both off-guard, and instead of a graceful, dainty fall into the open arms of an attractive hockey player, I splat on top of him like a fucking cartoon character.

“Oof.” A puff of breath-vapor meets the air as he takes the weight of my fall.

“Shit.”

I’m on my back, lying on his chest like an upended freakin’ turtle, legs and arms flailing. My frozen brain seems unable to figure out how to get back up on my feet, so I simply flap harder.

He bands an arm around my waist and flips us like a double-yolked egg.

Except now, he’s the big spoon to my little spoon, and his crotch is perfectly aligned with my—

“Whoa, whoa, whoaaaaa.”

I turn just in time to see his hands, which were on my hips—and dangerously close to my ass cheeks—a fraction of a second ago, fluttering in the air as he tries to find his balance. He backs away from me. “I didn’t mean to... I wasn’t trying to... I...” His hands are crossing back and forward in front of him like he’s trying to wave off a goal.

At the same time I make a dismissive wave with my hand, he jerks his body, and my glove-covered hand brushes against his crotch.

This isn’t quite what I expected to happen at the side of the highway, and if anyone is watching us they’re going to think we’re doing some kind of fully-clothed fornication dance. I’ve known this guy for less than five minutes, and already he’s had his cock pressed against my ass. And I’ve touched his junk.

Shit. Pretty sure I’ve just gone to second base with my brothers’ friend, and now we have to endure an hour-long car ride to Waterloo together.

Well, shit. This is awkward.

Preorder Riding the Pine

Until next time, don't do anything I wouldn't do,

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Thor:

Protocol. Routine. Control.

Not anymore.

My life turned on a dime in the blink of an eye. From making pancakes for the curvy redhead I met at the club, to being the single dad of an autistic, eleven-year-old boy.

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She needs a job.

I’m usually a one-and-done kind of guy, but she draws me in, holding me hostage with her green eyes and sass.

I’m playing with fire. But maybe this time, I want to burn.

Addison:

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Read Control, today!

Justin

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Hell freakin’ no.

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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.

Read Freezing the Puck, today!

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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.

Read Two for Interference, today!