Crashed by Elise Faber
Gold Hockey
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Blocked
Gold Hockey Book #1
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Brit
The first questionBrit always got when people found out she played ice hockey was “Do you have all of your teeth?”
The second was “Do you, you know, look at the guys in the locker room?”
The first she could deal with easily—flash a smile of her full set of chompers, no gaps in sight. The second was more problematic. Especially since it was typically accompanied by a smug smile or a coy wink.
Of course she looked. Everybody looked once. Everyone snuck a glance, made a judgment that was quickly filed away and shoved deep down into the recesses of their mind.
And she meant way down.
Because, dammit, she was there to play hockey, not assess her teammates’ six packs. If she wanted to get her man candy fix, she could just go on social media. There were shirtless guys for days filling her feed.
But that wasn’t the answer the media wanted.
Who cared about locker room dynamics? Who gave a damn whether or not she, as a typical heterosexual woman, found her fellow players attractive?
Yet for some inane reason, it did matter to people.
Brit wasn’t stupid. The press wanted a story. A scandal. They were desperate for her to fall for one of her teammates—or better yet the captain from their rival team—and have an affair that was worthy of a romantic comedy.
She’d just gotten very good at keeping her love life—as nonexistent as it was—to herself, gotten very good at not reacting in any perceptible way to the insinuations.
So when the reporter asked her the same set of questions for the thousandth time in her twenty-six years, she grinned—showing off those teeth—and commented with a sweetly innocent “Could’ve sworn you were going to ask me about the coed showers.” She waited for the room-at-large to laugh then said, “Next question, please.”
–Blocked, books2read.com/Blocked
Backhand
Gold Hockey Book #2
Get your copy at books2read.com/Backhand
Sara
“Sorry I messed up your sketch,” he rumbled.
She nibbled on the side of her mouth, biting back a smile. “Sorry I stole your hand for so long.”
He shrugged. “My mom’s an artist. I get it.”
Well, there went her battle with the smile. Her lips twitched and her teeth came out of hiding. If there was one thing that Sara had, it was her smile. It had been her trademark in her competition days.
Which were long over.
Her mouth flattened out, the grin slipping away. Time to go, time to forget, to move on, to rebuild. “Thanks,” she said and extended a hand.
Then winced and dropped it when her ribs cried out in protest.
“You okay?” he asked, head tilting, eyes studying her.
“Fine.” And out popped her new smile. The fake one. Careful of her aching side, she shrugged into her backpack. “I’ve got to go.” She turned, ponytail flapping through the hair to land on her opposite shoulder.
“That—” He touched her arm. “Wait. I know I know you.”
She froze. That was the second time he’d said that, and now they were getting into dangerous territory. Recognition meant . . . no. She couldn’t.
There had been a time when everyone had known her. Her face on Wheaties boxes, her smile promoting toothpaste and credit cards alike.
That wasn’t her life any longer.
“Thanks again. Bye.” She started to hurry away.
“Wait.” A hand dropped on to her shoulder, thwarting her escape, and she hissed in pain.
“Sorry,” he said, but he didn’t release her. Instead, he shifted his grip from her aching shoulder down to her elbow and when she didn’t protest, he exerted gentle pressure until Sara was facing him again. “It’s just that know I know you.”
No. This wasn’t happening.
“You’re Sara Jetty.”
Her body went tense.
Oh God. This was so happening.
“It’s me.” He touched his chest like she didn’t know he was talking about himself, and even as she was finally recognizing the color of his eyes, the familiar curve of his lips and line of his jaw, he said the worst thing ever, “Mike Stewart.”
Oh shit.
—Backhand, books2read.com/Backhand
Boarding
Gold Hockey Book #3
Get your copy at books2read.com/Boarding
Mandy
Hockey players had the best asses.
No pancake bottoms, these men—and women—could fill out a pair of jeans. She wanted to squeeze it, to nibble it, bounce a dime—
Mandy dropped her chin to her chest, losing sight of the Sorting Hat cupcakes she’d been pondering.
Blane with his yummy ass had a unique way of distracting her.
No, it wasn’t even distraction, per se. He had always been able to get under her skin.
And that was very, very bad for her.
“Ugh,” she said, tossing her phone onto her desk and standing, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to sit still now.
Nope, she needed about forty laps in the pool and a good hard fu—
Run, her mind blurted, almost yelling at the mental voice of her inner devil. A good hard run.
Unfortunately, the cajoling tone wasn’t completely drowned out. Some sexy horizontal time with Blane would be more fun—
But the rest of the enticing words were lost as the roar of the crowd suddenly penetrated through the layers of concrete. Her stomach twisted. Mandy could tell, even before her eyes made it to the television, that it wasn’t in celebration of a goal or a good hit either.
This was fury, a collective of outrage.
She was on her feet the moment she saw the prone form lying so still face down on the ice.
Her gut twisted when she spotted the curving line of a numeral two on the back of the player’s jersey.
“Not him,” she said and the words were familiar, a sentiment she had whispered, had prayed a thousand times before. She needed the camera angle to shift, for her to be able to see more clearly who was hurt. “Not him.”
Then Dr. Carter was on the ice and the player moved slightly, rolling away from the camera, giving a full shot of his back and the matching twos adorning his jersey.
Fuck. Not him. Not Blane.
And that was when she saw the pool of blood.
—Boarding, books2read.com/Boarding
Benched
Gold Hockey Book #4
Get your copy at books2read.com/Benched
Max
He started up the car, listening and chiming in at the right places as Brayden talked all things video game.
But his mind was unfortunately stuck on the fact that women were not to be trusted.
He snorted. Brit—the Gold’s goalie and the first female in the NHL—and Mandy—the team’s head trainer—would smack him around for that sentiment, so he silently amended it to: most women were not to be trusted.
There. Better, see?
Somehow, he didn’t think they’d see.
He parked in the school’s lot, walked Brayden in, and received the appropriate amount of scorn from the secretary for being thirty minutes late to school, then bent to hug Brayden.
“I’ll pick you up today,” he said.
Brayden smiled and hugged him tightly. Then he whispered something in his ear that hit Max harder than a two-by-four to the temple.
“If you got me a new mom, we wouldn’t be late for school.”
“Wh-what?” Max stammered.
“Please, Dad? Can you?”
And with that mind fuck of an ask, Brayden gave him one more squeeze and pushed through the door to the playground, calling, “Love you!” over his shoulder.
Then he was gone, and Max was standing in the office of his son’s school struggling to comprehend if he had actually just heard what he’d heard.
A new mom?
Fuck his life.
—Benched, books2read.com/Benched
Breakaway
Gold Hockey Book #5
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Blue
“Thanks for the ride.”
“Try not to go out and get a fresh bimbo to ride tonight. I hear STIs on are the rise in the city.”
Blue sighed, turned back to face her. “Really?”
She shrugged, smirk teasing the edges of her mouth, drawing his focus to the lushness of her lips. “Just watching out for Max’s teammate.”
He rolled his eyes. “Not hardly.”
“Okay, how about I’m trying to prevent you from spreading STIs to the female populace.”
“I’m clean, and I’m smart,” he told her. “Condoms all the way.”
“Ew.”
Except there was something about the way she said it that made Blue stiffen and take notice. Because . . . he stared into her eyes, watched as the pale blue darkened to royal, saw her lips part, and her suck in a breath.
Holy shit.
“You’re attracted to me.”
Her jaw dropped. “No fucking way,” she said, too quickly, pink dancing on the edges of her cheekbones. “You’re delusional.”
Blue got close.
Realclose.
Anna licked her lips.
And fuck it all, he kissed that luscious mouth.
—Breakaway, www.
Breakout
Gold Hockey Book #6
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PR-Rebecca
“You should go have your turn.”
“I’ll get mine,” he said with another shrug.
She frowned, honestly confused. “You don’t want—”
Suddenly he was in front of her on the bench, towering over her even though she was wearing her four-inch power heels. “You know what I want?”
Rebecca couldn’t speak. Her breath had whooshed out of her in the presence of all that sweaty, hockey god-ness. Fuck he was pretty and gorgeous and . . . so fucking masculine that her thighs actually clenched together.
She wanted to climb him like a stripper pole.
“Do you?” he asked again when her words wouldn’t come. “Want to know what I want?”
She nodded.
He bent, lips to her ear. “You, babe,” he whispered. “I. Want. You.”
Then he straightened and jumped back onto the ice, leaving her gaping after him like she had less than two brain cells in her skull.
The worst part?
She wanted him, too.
Had wanted him since the moment she’d laid eyes on the sexy as sin hockey god.
“Trouble,” she murmured. “I’m in so much fucking trouble.”
—Breakout, www.
Checked
Gold Hockey Book #7
Get your copy at books2read.com/Checked
“You’re leaving,”he said.
Nope. Not doing this.
Ignoring him, Rebecca turned and started for her car. She’d purposely parked it where she wouldn’t be blocked in.
Girl scout, she was. Always planning ahead.
Always running.
“Rebecca.”
She kept walking.
She might work with Gabe, but she sure as heck wasn’t on speaking terms with him. He’d dismissed her work, ignored her contribution to the team. He’d made her feel small and unimportant and—
She’d had too much of that in her life already.
So she kept walking.
“Rebecca.”
Not happening. Her car was in sight, thank fuck. She reached for the handle, glad her new car’s locks opened automatically when the key fob was near.
He caught her arm.
“Baby—”
“I am not your baby, and you don’t get to touch me.” She ripped herself free, began muttering as she reached for the handle of her car again. “You don’t even like me.”
He stepped close, real close. Not touching her, not pushing the boundary she’d set, and yet he still got really freaking close. Her breath caught, her chin lifted, her pulse picked up. “That. Is. Where. You’re. Wrong.”
She froze.
“What?”
His mouth dropped to her ear, still not touching, but near enough that she could feel his hot breath.
“I like you, Rebecca. Too fucking much.”
Then he turned and strode away.
—Checked, www.
Coasting
Gold Hockey Book #8
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Coop
Without thinking, he caught her arm.
“You’re not okay.”
She shuddered to a stop when he touched her, not fighting the grip, chin dropping to her chest. “No,” she said, “you’re right. I’m not okay.”
“Who was on the phone?” he asked gently.
Her jaw went tight. “My ex.”
Fury blazed through him. “Did he hurt you?” he growled.
A shake of her head. “Not like you’re thinking.” She sucked in a breath. “He broke my heart.”
Coop’s own heart gave a twinge. “I’m sorry, Calle. That’s—”
“Fucking stupid.” Another tear joined the first, dripping down the pale skin of her cheek.
“It’s not stupid to have loved someone,” he said gently.
Her eyes went fierce. “It’s incredibly stupid when the person who supposedly loves you right back doesn’t give a damn that you’re pregnant.”
His jaw fell open. He knew it did.
But Calle? Even, gentle Calle had gotten knocked up and—
“Yup,” she said, brushing by him. “See? Really fucking stupid.”
And without another word, she disappeared into the rink.
—Coasting, www.
Centered
Gold Hockey Book #9
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“Watch out!”
The warning came a second too late.
He’d already stepped off the curb, already put himself in range of the car that was blowing through the red light, tearing through the intersection, not giving a shit that there were pedestrians walking—
Well, of all the ways to go, at least this would be quick.
But just as the car came within an inch of him, Liam found himself jerked back onto the curb, his one-hundred-and-eighty-pound frame becoming unwieldy and clumsy.
Kind of like on the ice over the last few years.
That was his last thought before he found himself sprawled, ass first, on the San Franciscan sidewalk.
Gross.
“What. The. Fuck?” a female voice snapped.
The same female voice that had warned him.
“Do you have a fucking death wish?” she yelled, causing his eyes to snap open, making him look up at an angel . . . a foot tapping, arms crossed, seriously pissed, and seemingly way too small to have been able to haul his ass back onto the curb female.
Liam thought he just might have that death wish.
Especially if it meant he got to be rescued by a woman who looked like an angel. He opened his mouth to reply.
But apparently didn’t work fast enough.
Because the woman, the beautiful, curvy female, made a disgusted noise and strode away from him.
He watched her go, watched that gorgeous ass stride down the sidewalk, and stop outside a storefront.
And suddenly, he thought that, hockey or not, he might just want to stay in San Francisco after all.
—Centered, www.
Charging
Gold Hockey Book #10
Get your copy at books2read.com/Charging
“Your feet hurt.”
Her brows drew together. “What?”
Logan nodded at her feet, clad in a lovely pair of heels that, while beautiful, were also the equivalent of bear traps—and if that wasn’t the perfect metaphor for the man in front of her, she didn’t know what was.
“Those heels hurt you.” His head tilted to the side. “Why do you wear them?”
She scoffed. “None of your fucking business, Walker.”
A smile—slow and hot and sliding like silk over her breasts, her stomach, between her legs. “I knew you’d say that.”
“I—”
He held up a box she hadn’t noticed, pushed it into her hands when she stepped back. “Open it,” he said, voice dropping and joining that silk of his smile to dip between her legs. “If you think you can handle it.”
And then he was gone, the door closing behind him, leaving her with a heavy ass bag packed with who knew what, aching feet, and a box in her hands.
A box given on a challenge.
A box he knew she’d open.
Because Charlotte Harris didn’t give in or back down. She liked that even less than she liked losing.
So, she opened the lid.
And instantly knew she was in trouble.
—Charging, www.
Caged
Gold Hockey Book #11
Get your copy at books2read.com/CagedEF
“Are you seeing anyone?”
Slowly, she spun back, eyes wide.
“That was my question,” he said, when she stared at him in shock. “Dani?” he asked, when she just continued staring at him mutely. “Did I break you?”
A slow shake of her head.
He stepped a little closer, just near enough that she could feel the heat from his body. “No to the breaking you part, or no to the seeing anyone piece?” he murmured.
“The seeing anyone thing,” she somehow managed to whisper, despite the fact that the question from a man like him to a woman like her was absolutely one hundred percent unfathomable.
Circling back to sad and single and—
He smiled.
And she actually felt her brain cells collide and fizzle into smoke. That smile was dangerous, could without a doubt, turn her stupid. Really stupid.
“Good,” he murmured.
Swallowing hard, she nodded, cheeks on fire, and turned away again. “Right, I’ll just—”
“Will you go out with me?”
Her fingers went limp. The tablets hit the ground.
This time, the crunch sounded much more ominous.
Or maybe that was just her heart.
—Caged, www.
