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Howdy, y'all,

First things first, who's looking for a sneaky, quick, spicy novella to get some reads in to hit their 2025 reading goal? Well, if it's not just me... I have a suggestion:

August 

Sweat streams down my neck as I step out of the gym. When my hot, sticky face hits the cold, December air, a shiver skates down my spine. The weather report said we have snow on the way, and from the bite in the breeze, I’d say it’s not too far from falling.

Mom would lose her mind if we got a white Christmas.

Me on the other hand? I could do without the reminder of the festive season, but everywhere I go, there it is. The gym had at least three fully decked out Christmas trees. Snow is on the way. And if I was playing that stupid Whamageddon game where you try to last from the first day of December until Christmas without hearing ‘Last Christmas’ by Wham! I’d have lost on the first day of the month.

This time of year is just another reminder of everything I don’t have, including the empty seat at the dinner table where my brother should be. We’ve never been well off, never had a lot, but when my big brother, Todd, decided to try to take stuff that didn’t belong to him, he got himself fifteen years in prison for a string of armed robberies.

Don’t get me wrong, he deserves to do the time for his crimes, but the impact it’s had on my family, my own life... Woof. Some days the pressure feels like it’s crushing my ribcage.

I sigh as I sling my duffel bag into the trunk of Rusty, my faithful motor. My twenty-year-old, falling apart vehicle should probably be in the car heaven by now, but she’s as stubborn as I am, and refuses to quit.

Thank fuck, since I couldn’t afford to replace her any time soon.

When I slam the trunk closed, movement in my periphery draws my attention from the flecks of rust that fall onto the ground of the gym parking lot.

A short, curvy woman with long, auburn waves, stands poised like she’s walking toward the gym. She turns on her heel, and heads back to a car a few rows behind Rusty.

I’ve forgotten shit for the gym in my car damn near every time I come, so it’s nice to know I’m not alone. When I start the engine, I realize that funky smell permeating the confined space is me, so I open the driver’s side window.

In my wing mirror, the beautiful woman stands a few feet behind Rusty, frozen in place, eyes wide. She quickly disappears out of sight, and from the slam of a car door close by, I’d say she got back into her vehicle.

Weird.

I’m almost out of the parking lot when I catch her running into the gym in my rear-view.

Wait.

Was she... afraid of me?

Shit.

I’m a big dude. Fine, I’m fucking huge. Close to six-and-a-half feet, built like a fucking tank, broad chest, wide shoulders, thick thighs, but I’m not scary. At least, I didn’t think I was all that scary off the ice. On the ice I’m happy to make my opposition shit their pants.

The honk of a horn behind me stops me from thinking about the fear in her wide eyes and how she avoided my gaze. I didn’t do anything, other than open my window—fuck, she probably thought I opened it to talk to her. Talk about inconvenient timing.

Shit.

This is why women would choose getting stuck with a bear in the woods over a guy, right?

I rake my hand through my hair, shaking my head when the fucker behind me honks again. Asshole. I flip him off and tear out of there like someone’s giving chase.

Or, at least that’s what I would have done if Rusty could do zero to sixty in less than ten minutes. Exaggeration? Perhaps, but some days it feels like it.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m at my dorm. It takes less than fifteen to shower off the gym filth, get changed, and pick up some stray dirty laundry that might have been stinking up my floor for longer than I care to admit.

Before you can say “Cedar Rapids Raccoons,” I’m sitting at my favorite table in Bitches Brew with a dark chocolate and raspberry mocha cradled between my palms waiting for some of my teammates to come and kick my ass. I don’t have a lot of money, but I love Bitches Brew, and once a week I do everything in my power to afford a little luxury. Ramen noodles are my best friend.

It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that it’s what keeps me out of a cell next to my brother. Okay, fine, another exaggeration, but orange really isn’t my color.

The cafe looks like Christmas threw up in it. Instead of the usual Christmas cheer, everything’s pink. Pink trees, pink lights, pink Santa hats... just... pink.

Am I early? If so, I’m taking up a huge table just for me, when the place is starting to fill up. I scroll back through group chat to make sure I’ve got the time right.

“There he is.” Justin Ashe makes a beeline for me as soon as he steps into the cafe, but the twins, Apollo and Artemis de la Peña, go to the counter. Raffi says something to the brothers as he passes before joining me at the table.

“You good?” Raffi cocks a finger at me.

I shrug, because not really.

Fuck, I should have brought a hip flask to this intervention—that’s absolutely what this is—because no matter what comes out of the guys’ mouths, I’m not going to be happy with their solution to my problem.

Apollo grabs my shoulder, squeezing as he sits down. “Are you good for a drink? Want a refill?”

I’m tempted to ask for a second mug of mocha to survive the next few minutes—please God let it only be a few minutes—but I shake my head with a grunt. “I’m good. Thanks.”

After a few minutes of waiting for their drinks and getting situated, it’s Justin who opens the discussion. “We have a plan.”

That should loosen the knot in my chest, but it doesn’t. There’s no guarantee I’m gonna like their fucking plan. In fact, ten—very precious—dollars say I’m not going to like it.

Without breaking eye contact, Apollo slides a piece of paper across the table. “It’s not charity.”

Fuck. Any sentence that starts with those words is bound to raise my hackles. My grip on my mug tightens as Justin and Raffi get extraordinarily interested in their drinks.

“Don’t scowl at me, August. I mean it, it’s not charity.”

“But?” I jerk my head at him to continue because his sentence was most definitely punctuated with a pause, not a period.

“We found a tutor to help you out.” He lets the words hang between us while he takes a long, slow sip from his steaming mug.

A tutor. Crap. I mean, it makes sense. I’m flunking two classes, and Coach says I can’t play if I fail. Not to mention my scholarship is tied to good grades. Getting someone to help me get my shit together in the classroom makes sense but I can’t affo—ah. That’s where the charity comes in. The de la Peñas are going to pay for me to be tutored.

Fuck.

“You must be desperate, eh?” I stare into my mug, not wanting to make eye contact with my friends, my teammates, my brothers, as my voice thickens with shame and embarrassment.

“You’re the best defenseman on the ice.” Raffi cringes. “Sorry, man.” He shrugs at Artemis who shakes his head.

“He’s right,” Artemis pokes my arm like he’s trying to get me to look at him.

“We aren’t desperate.” Apollo takes up the conversation baton. “But we need our captain, the heart of our team. If we throw some money at the problem, we get to keep you.”

Justin touches my forearm. “Please just go with it, August. Please?” His voice is soft, like he’s afraid I’m going to blow my stack.

I weighed up my options the day Coach called me into his office and told me I was flunking. Like I didn’t know my grades were in the fucking toilet. If I don’t get into the NHL for a regular hockey gig, or even for coaching, my prospects are limited. And without a college degree or a trade of some kind to fall back on, they’d be limited even further.

I can’t afford not to get a good job.

Now that Todd’s serving out the next decade and a half in Fort Dodge Correctional Facility, and my parents are approaching retirement age, I need to step up. I need to bring in a good wage to make sure my folks are looked after in their senior years. They gave up so much for me to be able to play hockey, I have to pay them back somehow, even a little.

Guilt swirls in my gut as I gulp down some of my drink. I’ll pay my teammates back when I’m a rich and famous defenseman in the National Hockey League. It won’t be forever, it’s not charity, it’s just a loan, and it means we all win. The team will do better with me on the blue line, and I won’t flunk out of the team, and school because I lose my scholarship.

“Okay.”

Raffi opens his mouth, presumably geared up to argue because he snaps it shut just as fast.

“Okay?” Justin tips his head to the side. “Just... okay?”

I shrug. “It’s better for everyone if I’m on the ice, and to do that I need to do better in class.”

Apollo nods slowly, like he’s expecting me to have something else to say. “It’s better for everyone,” he repeats.

Artemis simply stares at me like he’s not sure whether I’m being serious, or telling them what they want to hear. Justin and Raffi start talking about a hockey game they watched on TV last night while I gaze out the window. I shift in my seat drawing Artemis’s attention to me, and, if possible, he stares at me even harder.

It’s temporary. It’s a loan. I’ll pay them back. It’s for the good of the team.

My knuckles are white again around the almost-empty mug in my hands. They all stay until their drinks are empty, and I get by with the occasional grunt as my addition to the conversation. I think they probably know I need to sit with things for a bit.

“You’re in for the holiday parties, right?” Raffi asks, slurping at the dregs of his drink. “Christmas and New Year?”

I know he’s talking to me without lifting my head. The twins are hosting, apparently they love any excuse to throw a shindig. The holiday itself doesn’t even matter. Justin wouldn’t miss it for the world, my dude fucking loves Christmas, so that leaves me. “Maybe.”

In my periphery, Apollo shakes his head at Raffi like he’s telling him not to force it.

“It’d be good if you could.” Apollo adds his own sentiment and mercifully redirects the conversation to something that isn’t about Christmas, the Christmas party, or the snow that’s starting to fall outside the window.

When everyone’s on their way to the door, Artemis hands me a gift card for Bitches Brew.

I arch a brow, because while I’m a grumpy fucker, I’m not a Sagittarius or a Capricorn. December is not my birthday month, we don’t do secret Santa on the team or any kind of gift exchange, and these guys know how much I hate being considered a charity case. Especially considering I just accepted their help for tutoring fees.

It doesn’t slip my notice that it’s Artemis, the badassiest of the group, who hands me the small, plastic card, and no one else. That said, it’s kind of cute they probably assume I wouldn’t start something with him.

I could still take him. “What’s this for?” I wave the card back at him.

Artemis shrugs back at me. “Coffee?” Just like that, no big deal, casual, smooth.

A growl rattles in the back of my throat. “I don’t do charity, Artemis. You know that.”

He pats my shoulder. “Merry Christmas? Just take the gift card, Gus. Use it on your tutor if you want to, give it back to Taryn behind the counter, I don’t care. But don’t let your stubbornness and pride stop you from drinking good coffee.”

I fucking hate when they get logical. And the idea of having a few weeks of free coffee is hugely enticing. Christmas is expensive as fuck, especially when you start off broke. I don’t get a lot of gifts, but Mom loves the holiday so much and with Todd gone... I guess I try to overcompensate for his absence by going big with a gift.

I have zero regrets, even if my wallet is crying and filled with nothing but dust mites.

“And write to Rowan.” Artemis gestures at the piece of paper with her name and number on the table. “Today.”

Keep reading Home for the Hockey-Days

I’m writing this from my sofa, bundled under a blanket like a tragic Victorian heroine — minus the glamourous corset, plus a hot water bottle, an oversized Psyduck, and my son's 'chunky seal' and a chicken to keep me company. Oh, and a truly disrespectful coldsore.

Honestly, the audacity of my body right now. I had surgery yesterday. Everything went well, I’m okay, I’m sore in a “please someone wrap me in bubble wrap and let me hibernate” way, but despite the fact I can't effing sleep (hello general anaesthetic!!) I’m healing. Slowly. Grumpily (who, me? Never!) But healing.

If you’ve messaged me, emailed me, screamed into the void hoping I’d hear you — thank you. I’m moving at the speed of a sloth, but I see you, and I appreciate you.

Now, because I refuse to send you a doom-and-gloom newsletter all about my sore vagina (for no fun reasons,) here’s your non-Depresso Christmas Moment:

I’ve decided that this year I’m embracing the festive season with the same energy as a toddler in a tinsel factory: chaotic, sparkly, and slightly unhinged. Fine, all-the-way unhinged because I never half ass anything.

If Santa wants cookies? He’s getting shop-bought ones.

If the tree’s crooked? That’s “whimsical.”

If I can’t wrap presents properly because of my back pain? They’re “rustic.”

I've been reliably informed by my friends that I need to get my bake on this year (they all missed it last year because I couldn't stand) but I've cut my recipients list down a bit.

We’re leaning in.

And because I know some of you are also limping emotionally toward the end of the year:

Here’s your reminder that nothing about Christmas has to be perfect to still be good.

Not your tree, not your house, not your mental health, not your Christmas dinner and definitely not your wrapping paper situation.

I’ll have some fun bookish things coming your way soon — I'll have a bookish sale on Boxing Day, maybe a sneaky sale in January, Fly-Half coming in February (I got my final edits back, I'll make those, send it to author friends and my proofreader and get that finalized and up ready to drop!) and a hockey release coming in May.

Artemis and Xavier have consumed my entire body from head to toe. They're stealing my sleep, demanding I write their book. And honestly, I don't think there's ever been a book that has possessed me like this, nor that I've loved writing like I'm loving these men.

Since I'm writing this on the 2nd (hello, post-op insomnia and super organized, Lasairiona,) and the book is just sitting at 60k words, there's a good chance I'll be close to 80k by the time you get this newsletter (Update on the 9th: I'm at 82.5k!!) and that's mindblowing to me. For a character who evaded me for over a YEAR to suddenly be whispering sweet nothings in my ear all night... y'all... Y'ALL... I am CONSUMED.

Here is the last freebie of the 2025 round robin, and I hope you've found some new authors you love!

Instacrush by Kate Meader is a hockey romance that features a grumpy FMC, secret crush, unexpected pregnancy, golden retriever hero, and opposites attract.

Anyways, take care of yourselves, stay warm, drink water, and if the holidays feel heavy, remember: we can always lower the bar and still call it festive.

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!

PREORDERS:

The Fly Half & the Fling: https://books2read.com/flyhalf

The Rival Bet: https://books2read.com/therivalbet

Stolen Rebel: https://readerlinks.com/l/4913488