FROM THE DESK OF CJ CARTWRIGHT:

Friends! Hello! It's been a while since I sent out a newsletter. I would say that the delay has been because it's a busy season of life, but that wouldn't be entirely accurate. It has been intensely busy, yes - but it's also been overwhelming.

Vulnerability moment: My household has had a rough time of it of late. We're recovering from COVID and bronchitis and I'm dealing with the aftermath of falling down a stair and injuring my foot. Add in the tragic headlines of late and the weight of the world - I'm feeling overwhelmed and hurtling towards burnout. 🥺

My heartfelt thanks to everyone who has reached out and sent their love and well wishes. I appreciate my readers so much. Thanks for hanging in with me during this difficult season. If you're also struggling through this season of life, know that I'm sending you all the good vibes. We're in this together. Cheers to the summer and adventures to come!

One of those good things is the release of Body Checked (Astoria Bay Thunder Book 2) on MAY 30th! As a special bonus to my newsletter subscribers, I've included the first chapter as a sneak peek. :)

🚨During release week (May 30 - June 3) you'll be able to get Malicious Compliance (Astoria Bay prequel) for FREE and buy Power Play (Astoria Bay Book 1) for only 99c. Complete your collection today! :) All books are available in Kindle Unlimited as well. 🚨

Body Checked is Bridger & Tia's story and I can't wait for you to read it. It's sexy, snarky and full of feels, flaws and hockey. Someone asked me to describe the driving trope the other day, and I landed on frenemies-to-lovers meets magnetic chemistry. Is that a thing? Well, it is now! Read on for the blurb and special sneak peek.

Blurb:

It was just supposed to be a wild weekend - no one said anything about catching feelings.

Bridger McKelty is a self-avowed bachelor for life. Relationships? Commitment? Monogamy? No, thank you. On or off the ice, he's known for being a player - and that reputation is just fine. What's the point of being a professional hockey player if you can't have the lifestyle too?

Getting involved with yet another unreliable playboy? Been there, done that. Never again. But when sparks fly and the opportunity for a no-strings-attached wild weekend with a sexy hockey player comes up, Tia Ferris can’t say no. It’s just a weekend, right? One weekend. The only rules: No strings and no feelings allowed. That's easy enough, right? Right??!

What happens when a fling turns into an obsession that dominates his mind both on and off the ice? How far will Bridger have to go to get what he wants? Will Tia be able to hold her ground?

Come back to Astoria Bay and witness a battle of wills that will light center ice on fire! Bridger and Tia battle their feelings, trust issues, (and sometimes each other) in this frenemies-to-lovers hockey romance.

Body Checked is a full-length contemporary hockey romance full of snarky banter, sizzling chemistry, and all the will they/won't they lusty feelings of frenemies-to-lovers. This is book two in the Astoria Bay Thunder series by CJ Cartwright. Each installment is standalone and features a different couple, however they have recurring characters, so it's best to read in order.

Preorder Here!

CHAPTER 1 - BODY CHECKED

Copyright, CJ Cartwright 2022. All Rights Reserved. No unauthorized distribution permitted.

“He shoots, and he… misses. Wow, Stan - that was a narrow miss from Thunder #32, Bridger McKelty. That’s his fourth miss in the last two games. Add in the three penalties, allegations of checking misconduct, and the injury-producing brawl from last night, and fans want to know: has powerhouse Thunder enforcer Bridger McKelty peaked already? Or is this a rough patch stemming from his disastrous personal life? Whatever it is, this can’t be the direction hockey legend Maxwell Valente had in mind when he took over the team last year.” 

 A mixture of shame and rage fills me and I hurl the remote at the flickering image on the TV screen. A grim sort of satisfaction fills me when the spider-web cracks start from the point of impact and spread across the talking head’s grinning face. 

“I haven’t fucking peaked!” I yell at the broken TV.

My laptop is open on the couch beside me, the bright white headlines of my latest scrape glow at me in the darkness. 

I don’t need to read them again. They’re burned into my freaking brain. 

“McKelty: Playboy, Parties and Penalties.” 

“Bridger McKelty: Hockey’s Golden Boy, or Gilded Disaster?” 

“Drugs and Orgies: Exclusive Look Inside the Bacchanal Lifestyle of a Hockey God!”

Fuck. 

My hand shakes as I run it through my hair and exhale. My life is imploding and I feel helpless to stop it. I have been on thin ice with the team. There are only so many antics they’re willing to put up with if you don’t win games.

Missing shots. 

Fights that turn into brawls. 

Chirping instead of paying attention?

If you’re making goals, you get leeway.

If you’re missing easy shots? Not so much. 

When Coach handed me the tapes from our last three games and told me to “learn something” from them, I could tell he was holding back. 

That’s when you know it’s bad. 

If they still believe you can bring it in, they yell. They do everything they can to motivate you. 

But when they’ve deemed you a liability? You don’t have to be a genius to know what happens to players when they become liability. 

The silence is louder than words. They stop coaching you and admonishing you and move to damage control. 

You are no longer an asset, available to guard and protect the players and the reputation of the team. You are the thing they defend against. 

Judging from the tapes, the commentary, and the headlines: I’m a liability. 

My phone rings and I cringe as I see the familiar face on the caller ID. Part of me wants to mute it but I know if I send her to voicemail one more time, she’s liable to hop a plane to kick my ass in person. 

“Hi, Harriet,” I answer weakly, taking a long swig of beer while I listen to her erupt in rapid-fire questions and fury.

Harriet has been my agent for years…. But she’s an acquired taste. She’s brash and loud. Her filter is non-existent. In a world where most sports agents aspire to be Versace or Chanel - Harriet aspires to be Waffle House. 

She may not fit in with the crowd, but she’s one of the fiercest negotiators in the business and her knowledge of hockey and contract law is second to none. She used to help her late husband Alan run their sports agency firm. When he died in a freak accident, I was one of the first clients to agree to let her take over. 

As much as she yells at me like a banshee (and charges me an arm and a leg), I owe my career to her and I wouldn’t trust anyone else to guide me. Especially out of this shitshow. 

“You’re playing like a shit-filled dumpster that caught fire out there, boyo. And don’t even get me started on the fecking headlines you’ve been generating. Have you considered being less predictable? My god.” 

I press the cold beer bottle against my forehead and slump back into the couch.

“I don’t know what’s going on with me. My head is all messed up.” I mumble. 

“You don’t know? You can’t guess?” she snaps back. I can almost visualize her sitting at her scarred old wooden desk, leaning back in that rickety old chair that she insists is finally broken in. Her gray hair is probably wild and a glass of red wine would be perched on the corner of her blotter. Probably acting as a paperweight. 

“Perhaps it’s time to stop playing the role of company fuckboy and grow up, huh?” she continues. 

My hackles raise at that, but I stop myself from snapping at her. 

She’s not wrong. 

Bridger McKelty plays hard, on and off the ice. It’s basically my entire brand and my fans have eaten it up. 

Or at least, they have until the on-the-ice part falters. 

My silence catches Harriet’s attention, and she lowers her voice. “Are you ok, kid?” she finally asks. She almost sounds concerned. 

To my horror, tears prick the back of my eyes. I don’t remember the last time someone asked me if I was ok.  

Jesus. Pull it together. 

“Yeah. No. I don’t fucking know.” I sigh. 

“They give you a lot of leeway- to date your party girls, be seen with the models and all the puck bunnies. But drugs are a hard no. Swinging your stick at a player? That ain’t brawling - that’s assault. The Thunder won’t tolerate it and your fans won’t either, especially when you’re playing like absolute shite and missing the simple stuff.” 

Anger sweeps through me again at the entire situation. I’ve spent years of my life building up to this point in my career. Literally years on the ice - training, pushing myself, growing as a player. Hockey is the only thing I have ever wanted. I refuse to be derailed now.

Especially by my own worst enemy. 

Me.

“I didn’t do any drugs, Harriet. That’s not my jam and you know it.” I grit out through clenched teeth.

“I did not know Lakelyn had ketamine on her or that she was dealing. She was supposed to be arm candy for a fundraiser and maybe a halfway decent lay if we got that far. That’s it.” 

“Classy.” Harriet’s flat voice cuts through me like a knife. 

“Yeah, well - that’s who I am, isn’t it? Bridger McKelty - a different girl on my arm every night. Just a party animal fuckup who brawls out on the ice.” The words are bitter on my tongue. 

Truth hurts.  

Harriet is silent for so long, I genuinely wonder if she had a heart attack and died. She’s never silent. 

“Bridger, my darling boy... Do you still want to play professional hockey?” she asks finally. I can hear the condescension in her tone, even when she’s trying to be maternal. 

My heart seizes and I clench my phone so tightly that my knuckles turn white. “It’s the only thing I want.” 

“Then you need to change your image. Throw yourself into some charity work - get some good press and start making yourself indispensable to the Thunder. Because, kid? If you keep messing up, your head is going to be on the chopping block and there ain’t nothing I can do to save you then.” 

Pacing around my apartment, I nod as she outlines her new plan for me. Harriet is a lot of things - but no one can ever accuse her of not being thorough. She tells me she’s hired a new assistant to manage my social media and take back the narrative. The plan is to use my fame to my advantage. 

The more she talks, the calmer I feel. It’s why I pay her the big bucks. No matter what kind of scrape I get myself into, Harriet has a plan to extricate me from it. She has a sixth sense that seems to know exactly how to spin it. 

“The girls all love you, my boy. You’re a walking wet dream,” she cackles at me. “I’m sending Maria to you. She’s going to help you redefine your image. With her help, you’re going to go from Bad Boy to Charitable Sex God. Mark my words.” 

I smiled for the first time. Harriet has a plan. A plan to save me from myself. 

“But kid?” she warns as we get ready to sign off, “You’re a role model. The league and the team won’t tolerate another drug-fueled orgy headline. Know that.” 

“Yes, ma’am. No more party girls. Positive headlines only.” 

“That’s my boy.” Her gravelly voice has a hint of a smile in it. “Make me proud.” 

//

Grab Body Checked here!

Want to join my ARC Team? I am taking applications on BookSprout this week. Apply here.

Want to win something cool? Enter this giveaway! https://michelle-a-bailey.com/giveaways/michelle-a-baileys-contemporary-romance-newsletter-builder-giveaway-8/

Hang in there, friends. Until next time!

Best,

CJ