LATEST NEWS & UPDATE:

Dearest gentle reader,

So, I wrote this newsletter twice because the first time it went poof into a vortex of wtf-ness and disappeared. But I'm drying my tears and typing it again. I'm kidding, I'm not that dramatic.

Okay, fine, I'm totally that dramatic.

I've spent the past week or so binge watching the shit out of Bridgerton season 2, Queen Charlotte (it's my favorite), and Bridgerton season 3. Who else has watched it?

What's your Bridgerton name?

Naturally, I needed to make my Bridgerton name.

Lady Eilish Teaton of Bayshire.

Not bad, eh?

First, you’ll start with Lord or Lady, followed by your middle name. From there, add the last thing you drank with “ton” at the end. To signify where you’re from, add “of,” followed by the first part of your street name with “shire” tagged onto the end.

Okay, okay, fine, here's chapter one of Snowflakes and Slapshots... happy reading!

Chapter 1

Apollo

 (Seven days to Christmas)

For as long as I can remember, my fiancée, mi Princesa, Edith, has hated Christmas. Even after she joined celebrations with mi familia as a child while her parents were off travelling the world, and she experienced the de la Peña madness that is the holiday season, we still couldn’t turn her around.

Not even Ares, and he’s Mr. fucking Christmas. He tries every damn year, but she just won’t budge. She loathes the holiday.

It’s taken years to pry ‘why’ out of her.

She’s been so tight-lipped for our whole damn life that not even me, her best friend in the universe, could extract it out of her.

But, my beloved Edith told Eloise.

Now, usually my younger brother’s fiancée Eloise would keep something like that close to her chest. She isn’t someone to break a friend’s trust. Not under any circumstances. In fact, I’m pretty sure the woman is a vault. But this... she knew I could do something about this one, something that would make her friend happy after all these years.

When we talked, she told me she’d weighed it up and decided to let me in on why my girl abhors the holiday.

“So, wait.” Raffi shoves half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in his mouth and takes an enormous bite. “You’re dropping how much? On a fucking doll?”

Despite the fact that the gang has all graduated, and have their own shit to do, they still make time for our Get Lit book club. I think in part it’s because of the top-class snacks that come with our monthly meetings. There’s a certain level of luxury eats we’ve become acquainted to during book club, and most of the Raccoons, old and new, still make it a point to come over.

Unfortunately, Eloise also told my big-mouthed little brother, who has now told every UCR Raccoon at this fucking table, what my girl’s deal is. He says he didn’t mean any harm by it, but for fuck’s sake, this situation needs to be handled with caution and kid gloves.

“Nah. I totally get it.” Tate leans back on his chair, the back two legs wobbling as he stretches to reach the snack table behind him. Lazy fucker. Part of me wants him to pull it off, to reach the food without falling, but another part of me wants to help gravity along, just a little. And record him falling on his ass for social media.

“I always wanted a hover board as a kid. Never got one.” He thumps his chest with a clenched fist. “Hurt like hell for years.” He takes a swing at the bowl of pasta salad, bringing it back to the table with a gleeful wide grin on his face as he rocks forward again.

“For me it was an Xbox. Mom never let me have one.” Our former captain, Justin Ashe shakes his head. “I get it, too.”

Raffi chugs half a bottle of root beer before letting out a giant burp. “It’s not that I don’t get it. I just.” He burps again before raking his fingers through his hair. “It’s a lot of cash to drop on a doll, that’s all. Just one, not even like, a flock of dolls, or a gaggle of dolls. Or even, like, robots that clean the house for you. Just one doll.”

Edie is over at Savannah’s house for the night with the girls. For a while, they all came to our book club, too, but as the group grew, and more of the team wanted to join our ranks, it felt a bit more comfortable reverting back to our team-only group.

Some of the rookies got weirded out by talking about steamy romance novels around women. Understandable, since some of them have probably never even seen a pussy before.

The Swoon Squad is the girl’s book club. They meet on the same night, everyone makes double the snacks and half goes to each group, and most of the time, they opt to read the same book we do. It’s nice, it means that we can talk to our girlfriends, fiancées, and wives about the books we read.

There was a time I would have thought that was dumb as shit, but, these days, there’s little I love more than lying in a bubble bath with my bae, sipping champagne, eating strawberries, and talking about a shared love of romance novels.

Our apartment is decorated for the holiday. Well, as much as Edith will permit, which means we have a tree, and only because Ares snuck in and put the damn thing up while she and I were out one night last week.

I half expected an electric fence to be set up around it, but considering he gave her a black Christmas tree, and didn’t force anything else upon her, she let it stay.

In fact, I think she might kinda love it. So much so, she even put some white, string lights around it and acts like Bacon the potbellied pig is to blame for turning them on every night. He’s a smart, little piggie, but I’m pretty sure he’s not the one responsible.

Maybe next year she’ll even let us decorate it beyond simple white lights. I live in hope.

The meteorologist on the TV says we won’t have a white Christmas, but Ares doesn’t buy it. Honestly, I think if we don’t get snow, my dude will go buy a snow machine and make it himself.

It feels cold enough for snow. Which is another thing my girl doesn’t like. His girl, loves the cold. She lives for oversized sweaters, hot cocoa, hats, and boots. My girl wants to be on a beach somewhere next to the ocean with salt-air waves falling loosely around her bare shoulders and showing off her long, lean dancer legs in a bikini that barely covers her tits and ass.

I’m not complaining. I fucking love her tits and ass.

Why she lives here in Cedar Rapids with us is anyone’s guess. I suppose she prefers my dick to the sunshine of California or Florida. Hopefully we’ll never have to find out. If she announced tomorrow she was leaving for warmer climates, I’d leave with her in a heartbeat. I know it, she knows it, my whole family know it, too.

Home is where my ballet dancer is.

“Where’d you find it, Hermano?” Artemis leans toward me, nudging me gently with his elbow.

“EBay. Eloise found one on a social media marketplace last week, but it was a scam. Thankfully, she passed it to me and didn’t commit herself to spending hundreds and hundreds of bucks she doesn’t have.” I flex my fingers, still regretting not giving that jerk in Marion an ass kicking for trying to cheat people out of so much fucking money, especially at this time of year.

“So, what’s so special about the doll?” Cooper Duke has finally taken a breather from inhaling half a gallon of rocky road ice cream and joins the discussion.

He’s wearing a Christmas sweater so ugly that I’m surprised Taryn let him out in public wearing that thing. It has a reindeer on the front of it, with creepily life-like eyes, and every time I look at it, it’s as though it’s staring right at me, no matter where Cooper moves in the room. That damn reindeer is staring straight into my soul.

“I don’t know that there’s anything special about the doll, per se. Just like there’s nothing special about an Xbox, or a hover board, or whatever that one thing the rest of us wanted but never got for each and every Christmas as a kid.”

August tries to spear the ice cream in Cooper’s hand but gets spanked with a spoon for his attempt. “Get your own.”

“Dude.” August rubs the back of his hand. “You can’t eat a full gallon by yourself.”

Coop grins. “Watch me.”

“Fifty says he pukes.” Justin’s already opening his wallet.

“The doll.” Cooper ignores the wave of notes that are exchanged under his nose as he shovels more ice cream into his mouth.

I level him with a glare. “If you puke on Edith’s new rug, she won’t let us hold this here again. She hates Christmas enough without hating my friends, too. And she really likes that fucking pink and sparkly rug.”

He shrugs.

“And she’ll hunt you down and sever your balls with a piece of string.” Ares takes a bite of Abuelita’s tres leche’s cake before moaning like it just gave him an orgasm. “She’s savage.”

I can’t help grinning. He’s not wrong. She may have metal in her foot, and is slowly making her way back into the ballet studio, but it’s her spine that’s made of titanium. And she’s got bigger balls than anyone in this room.

“It’s an American Girl doll.” It’s my turn to shrug. It means nothing to me. I’ve never really been one for brand names, that’s Ares. And Athena, our older sister, was never into them as a child. Dolls, I mean. Never mind brand name dolls.

“Apparently she asked for the same doll for years.”

“And her rich-as-fuck parents never gave it to her.” Ares punctuates his sentence with a lip smack.

“Worse.” My stomach hardens. “They got her random American Girl dolls she didn’t want, or doubles of the ones she already had. But they never bought her the one.”

A few of the team around the table hiss like they’re in physical pain, a couple wince and recoil.

“They got her Nellie, and Kailey, and Ruthie. She had Marisol, and Kaya, and Addi.” I rhyme off the dolls from the list I memorized. “She had like a dozen of them. Not including doubles. But never her dream doll, never the one she wanted most, the only one she really cared about, American Doll of the year 2013, Saige Copeland.”

“Ouch. That sucks. Getting almost what you want but not quite is worse than not getting it at all. It’s like hey we half-listened to you, but not enough to fully give a shit.” August’s voice is heavy and hard. “And you found the one? You found Saige?”

The knot in my stomach loosens as I nod. “I did. Tracking says it’s due to arrive tomorrow, just in time for the holiday.”

Chapter two comes next week, but don't forget, this novella will NOT be available in Kindle Unlimited so preorder Snowflakes and Slapshots now so you don't miss out!

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.

Read Freezing the Puck, today!

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.

Read Two for Interference, today!