Buckle up, Mischief Makers, it's going to be a long one, but it's packed full of a bunch of cool things that you don't want to miss!

Lasairiona on the Radio

December's FREE sports romance

Chapter 1 sneak peek of Freezing the Puck

99c Two for Tacos - get it while it's cheap!

Wicked cool recs in the recommended reads section.

Howdy y'all,

What a wild two weeks it has been since my last newsletter. I've basically become an overnight sensation - okay, not quite, in fact, not at all. But I kind of feel like one, because I did do a radio interview over at Rock108, a radio station in Eastern Iowa to talk about all things books, including stuff about my upcoming series which is based in Cedar Rapids.

It's only about 15 minutes in length, but it's a lot of fun, and Brian (the DJ who interviewed me) wants me to be a regular guest on the show in the new year, so I'm spreading the good Raccoons news!

I've sent myself two tests of this newsletter and every link works except the radio one - I'm not sure why, but just in case, I'm going to paste the ugly-AF link right here for those of you who want to copy it into your browser. Hopefully THAT will work!

https://post.futurimedia.com/kfmw/playlist/13/listen-382.html?cb=1670430760.010289&fbclid=IwAR15eYPb15i47e2frEOPZjmlQnu_PDK2jo9zglm3mHQBBv6pGuo69mPQl_c

This will be the last newsletter I send out before Christmas, so I wanted to take a minute to wish all y'all a very happy holidays. And for those of you who don't celebrate, or who struggle to find joy over Christmas for a variety of reasons, I want to tell you that I'm right there with you, I'm not feeling it this year, and I'm holding space for you all.

What else is new? Well, I'm slowly convincing all my author friends to come visit me in Ireland in 2023 at various times. I'm luring them here with the promise of castles, writing words, great food, and margaritas. It's working, I have three author friends who are thinking about, or have already booked flights.

My kid is also sick again. If you remember, he was down for two weeks in October with a severe chest infection, and now he's down again with Strep A. It's gnarly and not fun for any of us. I'm so thankful for the out of hours urgent care that took care of him over the weekend. The antibiotics have picked him up nicely and he's back to school already.

You guuuuuyyyyys - it's time for a little look-see at what's coming up in the new year from me. My next release Freezing the Puck has a cover and a blurb (Whoop!)

**Blurb**

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.

And because it's Christmas time, I wanted to give y'all an (unedited) sneaky look at chapter 1.

Freezing the Puck

Chapter 1

Savannah

I can’t decide.

Chris-bean-a Aguilera, or Queen Latte-fah?

I’ve been staring at the menu for longer than is considered socially acceptable, and I still can’t decide. I’m going to order what I always do. I know it. The Barbie-pink haired barista giving me sympathetic eyes knows it. And my best friend, Athena, sitting at our usual table shooting daggers into my back while she waits for me to order her first caffeine hit of the day, knows it, too. Hell, even the hero and heroine in the romance novel I’m hugging against my chest know it.

Huh. Perhaps not. Bitches Brew—the best coffee shop in town—has added new things to their menu. The Cocoa Chanel looks drool-worthy. Buttery hot chocolate with hot pink whipped cream, mini marshmallows, and edible glitter.

Ooooh. Come to mama.

But what if it’s not as good as it looks on the menu board?

Nothing is ever as good as it looks on the menu board. And it’s a pretty beautiful looking menu board. Everything in the coffee shop is pretty: striking, hot pink, and sparkly. First appearances come with a pink punch at Bitches Brew. There’s so much interesting stuff, like a pink guitar hanging from the ceiling and a pink bike mounted on the wall over a fireplace that I almost get distracted by it all and forgot I’m supposed to be ordering.

Almost. I need to focus. Turning my attention back to the menu board, I shift my weight. I need to pick something to order. It shouldn’t be this hard.

But I know my Ruth Bader-Brewsburg, their dark chocolate mocha, is delicious. I love the depth of coffee flavour, the richness of the chocolate, and how Taryn—my favorite barista and owner of Bitches Brew—takes the time to draw a music stave and notes with cocoa powder on top of my drink.

I do this every time. Every fucking time.

I convince myself that I’m going to stray from my boring, same old, same old and try something new. It’s on the tip of my tongue, venturing out from my safe space into the unknown, but the comforting familiarity of my old favorite sinks its claws into me, just a little deeper, and I can’t stop myself from blurting out the same thing I always get.

I know one thing, though. If I don’t hurry up and bring Athena her Ariana Grande with an extra shot of Espresso Patronum: they’re never going to find my body.

“You ready to order?” Taryn flashes me her superstar grin. I’ve been coming to Bitches Brew for as long as I’ve been a student at the University of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, AKA: UCR. Three years. And for three years I’ve ordered the same thing, every single time.

Maybe today, first day of my third and senior year, is The Day.

I nod and suck in a breath. “I’ll have an Ariana Grande with an extra shot.” A quick glance over my shoulder tells me that Athena has hit DEFCON 2. She’s starting her junior year. We met right here at the coffee shop, on our first day of college three years ago when she tried to hit on me. I was flattered, but I’m straight. She took it all in her stride, we got to talking, and the rest is BFF history.

She’s the Geena Davis to my Susan Sarandon, the Buffy to my Willow, the Christina Yang to my Meredith Grey.

A grunt, and a string of Spanish profanities indicates she’s at DEFCON 1. “Better make it two extra shots, please, Taryn.”

Her perfectly curled pink hair bobs up and down as she nods. “And for you?” She arches a manicured brow like she’s expecting me to say something different, something new. I can’t blame her, I’ve spent more time than usual examining her new board.

I meet her eyes, warmth bloom in my cheeks. How in the name of all that’s holy does she get her eye liner flicks to be so even?

The gaggle of geese hanging out around the small lake outside are honkin’ up a storm. Even they know what I’m gonna order.

I heave out a sigh. Today isn’t the day. “Ruth, please.”

Her smile softens as she nods again. “You got it. Anything else?”

She’s right. DEFCON 1 requires sugar as well as caffeine. “Hen will take the Lady Lips, and I’ll have a dick waffle dipped in white chocolate. Please and thank you.”

There’s no judgment in Taryn’s eyes. It’s one of the reasons Bitches Brew is so popular, it’s a safe space for all. A hot pink, glitz and glam, safe space. I should be in charge of their marketing with such original tag lines.

You wanna eat a dozen twat waffles and wash it down with a gallon of coffee? No judgment.

You do you, boo.

We can also work for six hours straight and use the free Wi-Fi when we are behind on projects and are butting up against deadlines. That one might just be oddly specific to me, though somehow I doubt it.

Here, people can be their most authentic selves, without apologies. A twinge catches in my chest making my breath stutter. I don’t really know who my most authentic self is anymore.

I thought I knew my most authentic self. I thought—I don’t know what I thought—but finding the piece of paper in my dad’s study telling me that I wasn’t born a Bowen, that I’d been adopted as an infant and my parents hadn’t told me? That shook me to my core.

It still shakes my core. I’ve spent the months since trying to figure out who I really am. I’d love to say that piece of paper didn’t define me, or that it didn’t change a single thing, but it did.

It changed everything.

I don’t know who I am any more. I tap my card against the machine and smile through the pain shredding my insides. My parents—my adoptive parents—kept it from me for almost twenty years. I’ve only known for a couple of months. But… How can I not be changed now that I know the truth?

The almost unhappy beep of the machine suggests a problem, and I frown, wrinkles creasing my forehead. “Can you run it again please?”

Taryn nods and hits a couple buttons before I flap my card against the end of the machine one more time. Heat creeps up my spine and into my extremities. I place my book on the counter—cover up, because there’s no shame in my smut of choice game. I know Taryn loves my hot as hell man-chest-candy covers just as much as I do, then my purse.

Shit. If the card is declined again I don’t think I have another way to pay.

I purged my bag last night so it was ready to collect receipts, tubes of Chapstick, and crumbs from food I don’t eat anywhere near my purse. I thought I tossed my coin purse back into my bag, but the sinking feeling in my chest has me wondering if I left it at home.

Checking again, I confirm it. My coin purse is on my nightstand, right next to my charging vibrator and my half-empty glass of water. I close my eyes and send up a prayer. The Big Guy won’t let me down. Right?

The same sound meets my ears and my stomach drops.

I could ask Athena to front me the cash. It’s my turn to buy, but she won’t mind. Being the daughter of a billionaire, I know she has the dough. But I’ve taken pride in being that person—you know, the one who knows who she is but who doesn’t want her for her money, or her family connections, or to get close to her delicious, hockey-playing brothers.

I love her for her. Not her last name.

“It’s okay, I got it.” A deep, velvety voice from behind me sends a ripple through my body, making my lady bits spark to life.

Huh. I’d thought after all the months of neglect, the occasional buzz with a battery operated boyfriend, that she’d closed up shop. Yet here she is reacting to a tall, dark, and handsome stranger behind me in line at the coffee shop. He has to be tall, dark and handsome, right? With a voice like maple syrup, he just has to be.

A glance at my book cover confirms it, this is my very own meet-cute. Maybe he’s even shirtless already.

Guy saves girl from embarrassment by offering to buy her coffee. A little clichéd, it’s true, but I can totally work with clichéd. Especially if he has a romance-novel-hero sized dick.

I kinda wish I’d shaved my legs this morning. Because of course I’m going from meet-cute to mounting the hottie behind me in zero-point-three seconds.

I spin around, ready to say ‘I do’ and cut right to my happily ever after, and my jaw drops. Sure, he’s tall, blond—not dark—and he’s handsome alright, but he’s also—

“Just tap the end, please.” Taryn’s voice barely registers from behind me.

My hand darts out, blocking his card from touching the machine. “It’s fine. I’ll just… I’m sure I have cash in here somewhere.” I jiggle my bag at him like that’ll somehow make him disappear, an alternative method of payment appear, or my vision will come into focus, and it won’t be who I think it is, who I know it is, standing in front of me.

Instead, my actual not-a-douche canoe knight in shining armor will be here to save me from caffeine withdrawal and a murderous best friend, will be in his place instead.

His brow arches high over his crystal blue eyes as he gives me that lopsided, jock smile that dazzles like a disco ball and makes women’s underwear spontaneously combust. But the acid in my empty stomach bubbles, stomping out any desire I felt when I first heard his voice. Before I realized who he is.

I’d rather saw my arm off than let Justin Ass pay for my breakfast.

I blink. Trying to restart my brain, but his blue eyes just won’t let go of me, and I don’t move my hand from the card machine. The walls are closing in around us at a snail’s pace, like a slow-motion 80’s montage in a movie, and I’m pretty sure everyone is staring at me staring at him waiting for me to say or do something, or even just move.

Taryn clears her throat behind me. “Girl. Sometimes you just gotta let the patriarchy pay for your coffee. Call it reparations.” She moves the machine from my grasp and lets Justin tap the end. I’m still staring, mouth gaping, like another bumfuzzled, brainless idiot who loses the power of speech when a pretty hockey boy looks her way.

I look to the ceiling, to the Big Guy. This isn’t funny. Justin Ashe isn’t my romance novel hero. He’s not my happy ever after.

He’s heartburn after a bad burrito. Ugh.

He’s always been the pretty boy, ever since high school. But his shoulders have filled out, and his biceps are stretching the navy-blue sweater as though it could burst at the seams like a can of Pillsbury biscuits.

I mumble an apology and a thank you—or at least I hope that’s what came out of my mouth—and move to the side, fixing my eyes on… something… anything that isn’t the man who paid for our drinks. His stare is heavier on my back than caffeine-thirsty Athena’s was, and my cheeks are scorching.

What the fuck is he even doing here anyway?

Here. In my coffee shop.

In my fucking space.

He belongs back home, in Minnesota. Not here in Iowa. He’s out of place, like a distant memory showing up out of context. Blindsided, bumfuzzled, betrayed. Ugh. I smooth down my shirt, even though it doesn’t need to be smoothed. Every cell in my body wants me to haul ass out the door but I know he’d probably just follow and make a scene.

Has he been going to UCR this whole time and I just had no idea? I’ve been to a couple of hockey games over the years but I can’t remember seeing him on the ice. Does he still play?

What the fuck is going on right now?

I get it, everyone is welcome in Bitches Brew, but as soon as I get the chance I’m going to add ‘except Justin-fucking-Ashe’ in sharpie to the ‘Everyone Welcome’ sign hanging on the front door. Yeah, it’s also pink.

“You forgot your book.”

My man-chest cover slides into view as Justin’s outstretched arm offers me my novel. I want my fucking money back. J.R. Blake, my favorite romance author, has a lot to answer for. This isn’t what was supposed to happen. Justin is not my fucking hero.

Except he kind of is since he just bought not only my caffeine, but Hen’s too, and he’s returning my current read.

He steps in front of me, still holding the book, giving it a wiggle as though to attract my attention. My face burns hotter still as amusement and knowing dances in his gaze. Jerk. So I like some on-page spice with my love stories, it’s no big deal.

I could be a murderer. Or worse, I could be someone who leaves her toenail clippings next to the bathroom sink. What’s a little bit of sex between the covers? I’m a consenting adult. Or at least I would be if I could find my very own fucking hero.

Justin is still smirking at me. Judgemental asshat.

I snatch the book from his grasp and jam it into my purse. A frown pinches his flawless face, and he purses his lips.

Shit. My stomach tightens. Does he think we’re going to talk now? To start a conversation at the counter while I wait for my drinks?

Hard pass.

100% not going to happen, buddy. Just because you saved me from certain death with Athena for further delayed caffeination doesn’t mean we’re in some way even Steven. Not even close.

I toss a look at Taryn, convinced she’s stalling, taking longer than she normally would to make the drinks, just to give me time to talk to the pretty-boy hockey player still scowling at me.

Doesn’t he remember me?

Another twitch in my stomach. Fuck.

Wouldn’t that just be the kick-in-the-crotch cherry on top? We went to the same high school. Hell, we even ran in the same circles for years. I haven’t changed all that much. Not enough for him not to recognize me. Unless I really was that unmemorable to him.

Fuck.

Does he really not know who I am?

I’m not sure what I want more; him to remember me, or to just forget I ever existed. I know one thing’s for certain, though, I am not getting into a conversation with this man. I don’t care how pretty his eyes are, or how my nether regions react to the gravelly timbre of his voice.

Once bitten, twice shy—that’s the old adage, right?

Justin Ashe took a chunk out of my best friend... out of me in high school and while I’m not shy, exactly, bet your ass I’m not giving him the chance to do it again. I narrow my eyes. Maybe I can scare him away by trying to emulate Athena’s resting bitch face. She is the master of saying everything she needs to say with just an icy stare.

I’m pretty sure my face is as bright pink as the Bitches Brew décor, but my insides are as black as the accent walls. I need this guy out of my space.

He opens his mouth to speak, and Taryn announces my order is ready at the end of the coffee bar. Thank fuck for that.

If he’d said anything to me, I’m not sure what I’d have done. The only words I have for him are venom-coated and fuelled by the misdirected anger simmering in my veins. Maybe not so misdirected. Sure, I’ve been pissed at my parents—adoptive parents—for months, but my rage at Justin Ashe has spanned over years and feels just as acute as it did back in high school.

He’s deserving of my burning rage. Even if he looks... like that.

I gratefully accept the tray from Taryn and grunt my thanks once again at Douchebag Magee before I make my way to Athena like a T-rex is chasing me for my dick waffle. Silly T-rex. Everyone knows I never share my dick waffles.

“We’re leaving.” The strap of my purse slips over the curve of my shoulder and slides down my arm, making the bag land on the floor at my feet with a heavy thud like it’s punctuating my sentence. I’m holding the tray with both hands so I can’t pick it up yet, but I shift my toes toward it like my foot can communicate my irritation that it fell. My bangs are in my eyes, and my skin is on fire. I feel his gaze on my body, probing, curious, amused.

Athena sits back in her chair and tosses me a smirk. “You’re holding plates. Are we stealing plates? I don’t think Taryn would let us back if we steal her shit.”

I groan. She’s right. Taryn did me dirty. She always gives us paper cups so we can eat and run, but today? Today she’s given us the oversized, not at all portable mugs. Damnit. The pink-haired cupid is way off the mark with her arrow this morning. I want to take the sharp ended weapon and shove it up Justin’s ass.

I place the tray onto the table with slightly too much force, and I push my bangs out of my irritated eyeballs.

After a long sip of her coffee, Athena jerks her chin at what I assume is Justin still standing at the counter behind me. “Wanna talk about that?”

I’d rather sever my own carotid artery and watch myself bleed to death on the floor of the coffee shop. I pick up my chocolate covered dick waffle, and lick off the white chocolate jizz at the top before taking a huge bite and pointing to my mouth as if to say: can’t talk, eating.

“Found out anything about your birth parents yet?”

My girl is persistent, I’ll give her that.

I point to my mouth again.

I pull out my phone and open the local classifieds. I’ve searched every single day over the summer for a job. I want a job. I need a job. I need something to do outside of school, not only for the cash, but so I can avoid going back home to Minnesota as much as possible, to my parents—my adoptive parents. Something that gives me a legitimate reason to ignore my phone when their name flashes on the screen. Something to distract me from the hurricane of feelings tearing up my mind.

I shift in my seat. His gaze skims my back, I can feel the pressure of his stare on my skin. Something must show on my face because Hen raises an eyebrow.

“It’s okay. We’ve all had crushes on hockey players before.” She pats my hand, condescension and knowing hanging in the air between us. I wonder who she’s talking about having had a crush on. She hates hockey. Having brothers living and breathing the sport turned her off it long ago—or so she says. Maybe there’s another reason she won’t step into the rink to watch a game. That’s a threat that’ll need pulled on in the future.

She picks up her lady lips and drags her tongue across the seam before making moaning sexy sex noises at its deliciousness. She’s tongue fucking the slit right there in front of me, in front of everyone.

“People are staring.” I’m convinced the dude at Athena’s 3 o’clock is going to come in his pants if she doesn’t stop putting on a show.

She teases where the clit would be—if it were real lady lips— with the tip of her tongue, and the dude groans. Her smirk only grows. 

“I don’t have a crush on anyone.” I take another bite of my dick before my high school self claws out of the box in my chest and spills the ancient history tea to my best friend.

Some things need to remain in the past, and Justin-fucking-Ass is one of them.

Preorder Justin and Savannah now!

Until next time,

December's Sports Romance Monthly Freebie Swap



ONE TRUE OUTCOME by KD Casey

Bookfunnel Link: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/pddiyx1x0h

A sexy veteran/rookie m/m baseball romance!

A veteran player on a new team. The rookie who hero-worshiped him growing up. The unwritten rule they're about to break.

Everyone knows you don't fall for a teammate. Especially the rookie you're supposed to mentor. Tell that to Matt “Big Mack” Mackenzie though. Now at the tail end of his career, the one-time superstar takes an offer from the only team willing to give him a shot.

The hook? The job includes extra practice sessions with the team’s rookie catcher. The tempting, smart-mouthed Jamie DeLuca, who Mack really shouldn’t think about that way. And he definitely shouldn’t agree to after-hours video review sessions with.

The sky’s the limit for Jamie, if only he can keep his spot in the lineup. But the rookie’s on the verge of being cut. If he wants to stay on a big league roster that’ll mean extra work—and extra time with Big Mack. The guy he fantasized about playing like growing up. And then just fantasized about.

Mack’s nothing like Jamie’s fantasies. He’s better. If only Jamie could keep his attraction to the charming, generous veteran under wraps. Easier said than done, especially when the heat between them ignites.

But nothing in baseball comes with a guarantee—and the only outcome they can be certain of is the one they make for themselves.

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.