LATEST NEWS & UPDATE:

Howdy, y'all!

It's cover reveal day - and there's something for everyone with these covers. Aren't they just lickable? *nods* I know, right? Mmm mmm mmm.

Lighting the Lamp

Main Tropes:

College Hockey romance

Amnesia/Memory Loss

Secret Baby

Second Chance Romance

Other points to note:

Gone for her

FMC hates hockey players

No 3rd act break up

Reconciliation of Family

Wears his number

Miscommunication and Misunderstanding

Child brings them together

FMC likes giving bl0wj0bs

Golden retriever/Cinnamon roll

MMC speaks ASL

Blurb:

The night she’ll never forget is the night he can’t remember.

Tori

How dare he act like we’ve never met?

I thought we connected, but after a steamy one night stand, the hockey hot shot ghosted me, leaving me with nothing but wounded pride and two pink lines on a stick. And not the hockey kind.

Well, not this time, bud. You fooled me once, and I’m never giving you a second chance to fool me again.

We don’t need you.

Raffi

She’s not a forgettable woman, so why does she insist she knows me?

One look at her son and it hits me like a slap shot to the chest. The resemblance is undeniable.

How can I convince the mother of my child to let me be part of their lives, when I don’t even remember her?

Chapter 2

Raffi

Three years ago

Cheese is my favorite food.

But even I cringe at just how tacky the words are that come falling out of my mouth. I usually have more game than this. Better game. Jeez. I’d take any fucking game at all right now.

Dunno what it is about the enchanting, fiery-haired goddess next to me in this pseudo prison, but she’s got me tangled up in knots.

Her eye roll confirms two things. One, I’m most definitely lacking in game. And two, she has the most beautiful jade eyes I have ever had the pleasure of staring into.

A rap on the bars makes me jump.

“Bail’s paid.” Sawyer smirks at me.

Bolting across the cell, I shake my head before dropping my voice. “Got the wrong man, officer. I’m staying put.”

“You’ll have to match the bail to stay put for the duration. Them’s the rules of the fundraiser.” He shrugs like there’s nothing he can do about it despite the fact we both know there’s something he could do about it. That’s what I get for pissing him off with the Sy thing, I guess.

A quick glance over my shoulder at the redhead who’s pretending to assess her nails confirms it. The money I’ve been saving up to buy new Airpods is going to be spent on time with this woman. If I can’t make her love me in the next ninety minutes, then I deserve to lose the hundred bucks anyway. And the girl.

Even if the American Society for Deaf Children isn’t a charity near and dear to my heart, it’s a damn good cause. “Give me an hour.”

He shakes his head before holding out his hand. With a dejected sigh, I drop my wallet into it. I’m now officially on the hook for a hundred bucks. I can’t say I’ve ever paid to have the pleasure of the company of a beautiful woman, but something about this one tells me she’s worth it.

Unsure of how much my cellmate has heard, I pause to evaluate my next steps.

How can I make her adore me in the next ninety minutes?

Mom tells me almost every day I have a winning personality. But she’s my mother, and she’s supposed to say that. Not only that, but the firecracker pretending not to stare at my ass has declared she hates hockey players. I’m already starting at a deficit.

Definitely don’t lead with the fact I play hockey.

Considering this woman has—as recently as five minutes ago—sworn off men forever, most notably hockey-playing men, giving her a fake name feels safer than not.

“Loki.” My outstretched hand hovers in the space between us.

She cants her head, not taking her gaze off my fingers for a long moment.

“Really?” Her single, perfectly manicured brow arches high.

With a shrug, I try smiling again. Don’t think she fell for it the first ten times, but if it makes her smile back at me, even once, even just a half smile, I bet it’ll be worth it.

Another eye roll, a sigh, and her pale hand slides into mine. “Sigyn.”

It’s my turn to tilt my head. “Huh?”

“You went the Marvel route, didn’t you?”

Heat fills my cheeks. “God of Mischief.” Brushing the back of my neck does little to cool my face.

“Loki’s wife is Sigyn in Norse mythology.” She says it so nonchalantly, just tossing it out like it isn’t the coolest thing someone’s said to me today.

“I guess if he had a wife in the movies it would piss a hell of a lot of women off.”

That makes her…not quite smile but there’s a flicker of amusement that’s hard to miss and I want to try harder. Damn, this woman is a tough nut to crack.

Her expression is locked up tight and surrounded by barbed wire. Her impassive face rivals Mom’s, and that’s saying something. It’s a truth universally acknowledged that mothers have the best poker faces.

This firecracker hugs her stomach like she’s protecting herself. The slight slump of her shoulders and how she holds herself, is she self-conscious? My mom used to contort herself to hide her body.

It’s a guess based on nothing at all other than having lived with Mom my whole damn life and having seen her act the exact same way. Why the hell do beautiful women think they need to be skinny to be beautiful? I dunno. But lots of them certainly seem to.

“I mean, I’d do him.” Her shoulder hitches and that flicker of amusement is back as the corners of her lips curve just a bit.

Him who? I got pulled out of the moment by the counterpoint of her vocal confidence with how she’s defensively curling her arms around her stomach.

I doubt she’s talking about doing me. Though it would kinda be nice.

Sy? Oh, Loki. Right. I mean, who wouldn’t do him? “I’m straight, but even I’d consider doing Tom Hiddleston.”

She nods. “Makes sense. I’m straight, but I’d totally consider doing Scarlett Johansson.”

My heart skips faster. “You like Marvel?”

That impassive look tells me I asked a stupid question. Does she look at herself in the mirror and spend time practicing casual poker face?

“I might,” she allows.

“What else do you like?” I’m leaning toward her now, like I’m being pulled into her orbit, as though one morsel of information about who she is, what she likes, might be the key to unlocking why I’m so drawn to her.

I can’t say it’s love at first sight, but I’m definitely smitten, and her cool, don’t-give-a-fuck vibes only serve to lure me in even more.

“I didn’t say I liked Marvel.” She has me there.

“Didn’t say you didn’t either. Well, I know you like PB&J.”

“I liked your PB&J.” That tiny crumb of praise makes my soul leave my body. But I’m determined to play it cool. Or at least pretend to. Externally. If only my brain could communicate the message to the dumbass smile spreading across my face.

“And you don’t like hockey? Or just hockey players?”

She levels me with a flat stare that shrivels my balls.

“Okay. Noted. What about other sports? Do we hate all sportsballs and sportspeople? Or just the frozen ones?”

Her eye rolls are so impressive I might make it my mission to outdo myself with every single one. She may even have strained her eyeballs with that last one.

“I like football.”

“Go Hawks. Am I right?” Hope has my heart on a fraying string. If she’s an Iowa State fan, I’m going to cry right here in fake prison.

We have our own football team here at the University of Cedar Rapids, but it’s fairly new. And we suck so damn bad that most of us wish we didn’t have a team at all. Even though we outwardly cheer for our own school, everyone has an inside voice cheering even louder for the Hawkeyes.

Most of us cheer out loud for them too.

“I dunno.” Her tongue trails along her full bottom lip as she flicks her auburn curls over the shoulder of her orange jumpsuit. “Cy is kinda cute.”

Cy is the Cardinal bird mascot thing for Iowa State. I can’t quite tell if she’s fucking with me until she bursts into laughter so melodic I don’t care that it’s at me.

“I can’t even say Herky is cute. Dude’s kinda scary,” I say.

She laughs again. “I wouldn’t fuck with him.”

“Please tell me you’re not a State fan, Firecracker.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m not sure I can date someone who cheers for the wrong team.”

She laughs again. “I’d fuck you. But I won’t date you.”

I shake my already spinning head. So she’d fuck me, huh? Good. Glad to know whatever spark of attraction I felt goes both ways. Though trying to send the message to my dick that this woman is a lady, and we’re in a public space is taking longer than I’d like. “Oh, yes. I forgot. No more men. Ever. Except…” I gesture to my crotch. “When you need to scratch an itch.”

Her nose wrinkles and a stray curl falls forward into her face. “If it’s itchy, it’s not coming near my vagina.”

Her frankness is refreshing. I take it back. It might be a love at first sight story after all.

I want to listen to her read random words from the dictionary, rub her feet, and eat her pussy until death threatens to take me from this mortal plane.

I’ve played guitar since I was five years old. I wrote my first song when I was eleven and Brianna Price broke my heart by dating my best friend instead of me. I lost both my crush and my best friend, and the only outlet I had was soothing my beat-up heart through my beat-up guitar.

Never once has the urge to write music about the stranger I’m staring at crashed into me like this before.

Have I just met my muse?

I haven’t picked up my guitar since the summer. Hockey has taken up all of my time. Hockey and making sure my grade point average doesn’t drop.

If I fail, I get kicked out. It’s that simple.

When I first earned my hockey scholarship, I foolishly thought I was home free. But if I don’t maintain my grades, I lose my scholarship, and if I lose my scholarship, I’m out on my ass. My family can’t afford to pay for college tuition. It’s become a whole thing.

I thought I’d be fine with the pressure, but the exhaustion weighing down my muscles and the bags underlining my eyes tell a different tale.

I didn’t think college would be so fucking hard. Do they want to break us before we become real adults?

What happened to all the keg parties and coasting your way through class?

I guess whoever made all those stereotypical college movies weren’t athletes. If they had to factor in practice, and gym time, and game time, as well as keeping the hockey house clean, as well as, as well as, well, everything on my plate makes my head spin.

“Oh my god, is it actually itchy?” My fellow inmate leans back, face contorted in disgust as she eyes my crotch.

“Huh?”

“You went all quiet and got this weird look on your face. If your dick has issues, I’m out.” She shakes her head.

A chuckle rumbles through me. “It’s not itchy. I was just thinking I want to write a song about you.”

Her brows furrow. “Excuse me?”

My cheeks heat again as my brain-to-mouth filter seems to be all-the-way broken. “I’m a musician.” That much is true. I’m a songwriter and guitar player.

That’s not a lie.

The lie of omission that I play hockey digs into my skin as she takes me in.

“And I want to write a song about you.”

She snorts, derision as clear as the smattering of freckles across her nose. “How many songs have you written about women?”

I pop my hip with a dramatic flourish of my hand. “A bunch actually, but generally only after they’ve broken my heart into tiny pieces. Never when I just meet them.”

Again, her eyes widen. I don’t know if she’s not used to people being as frank and honest with her as I am, or if she’s surprised I’ve had my heart broken, or surprised I have the higher brain function to write songs. Either way, I wouldn’t blame her. I haven’t exactly put my most competent foot forward with this woman. She has me flummoxed.

I kinda like it.

“Anyway. My point is, nothing’s itchy. And since we’re on the subject, everything works the way it’s supposed to. Y’know. In case that piece of information matters to you.”

She smirks. “I’ll be the judge of whether it works the way it’s supposed to or not.”

Her brashness is alluring. We’re bantering back and forth, sure, but something about her tone tells me I’m going to be buried balls deep in this woman by the end of the day.

And my dick, along with the rest of me, is very enthused at the idea. “One date.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I want one date. Let me take you out when we get out of here.”

She does a slow shake. Head, shoulders, torso, they all move from side to side with a resounding no. “No dating.”

“No date, no dick.” I’m showing all my cards, stepping through brave and going right to stupid. It could very easily push this woman the wrong way, but something deep in the center of my chest tells me I need more from her than just a good romp between the sheets.

From the way her brow and nose wrinkles, she doesn’t seem as convinced as I am. Not by a long shot.

She hisses air through her teeth, her assessing gaze weighing heavily on my face. “Twenty questions. Then I’ll decide about the date…and the dick.”

I do a gleeful dance that ends in a mid-air heel click. The resulting eye roll is a thing of beauty. She looks around, presumably to see if anyone’s watching my dorky, semi-public outburst.

“Person, place, or thing?”

She rolls her pouty pink lips before tapping a finger on her chin. “Thing.”

I have about sixty minutes, and nineteen questions to make this woman agree to come on a date with me. Convincing her she loves me and we’re destined to be together is going to take a little longer.

That’s okay.

I’ll believe in it enough until she’s ready to accept that love at first sight is a thing and can happen in real life. In the meantime, I’ll write songs about her auburn curls and jade eyes and hope she doesn’t shank me with a filed-down toothbrush she has hidden under her bright orange jumpsuit. 

Preorder it now!

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.