Sleet

There are a few things that life doesn't prepare you for. Like what to do when a super-hot guy catches you sneaking around in his basement, or what to do when a mysterious package shows up with tickets to a hockey game (because, apparently, he's a professional athlete). Nor how to handle it when you get to the game and realize he's freaking famous, since half of the 20,000 people in the stands are wearing his jersey. I thought I was a well-adjusted adult–reasonably prepared for life. But one date with Jackson Wilder, a viral video, and a "I didn't know she was your mom" incident, and I'm suddenly questioning everything I thought I knew. But he's fun. And great. And I think I might be falling for him. But I don't know if he's falling for me, too, or if he's as much of a player off the ice as on.

Mother-freaking hockey players. My friends found their happily-ever-afters with a couple of sweet, doting, over-the-top, in-love athletes. They got nicknames like Kitten and Sugar. But me? I got stuck with a dickhead who riles me up on purpose and calls me Banshee. Yeah, he might have a voice made explicitly for wet dreams. And he might have a body and face carved by the gods. And he might have a level of Alpha-hole that gets me all hot and bothered. But when he presses my buttons, he presses ALL my buttons. And I'm not the type of girl who takes things sitting down (I mean, I only got caught on my knees that one time. In the museum). But when my decisions get one of my friends hurt, I can't stop blaming myself. And him. Except he can't take a hint. And I can't keep my panties on.

My trip to Mexico for my cousin's wedding was only supposed to be a few days of obligation and oceanside. I wasn't expecting Luke. Wasn't expecting the hot hockey player, with the smirks and the tattoos, who kept bumping into me. And I certainly wasn't expecting to spend a night on the beach, under the stars, underneath him. It was magical, but I thought it would end there. Instead, we exchanged numbers and stayed in touch. So when Luke invited me to watch him play in Vegas, I went. And it was great. Until we woke up the next morning and found the wedding certificate in my pocket. Turns out that the dance party we snuck into was actually a group wedding ceremony. And now we're married. Which is bad. Because I think our wedding was actually our first date. And if my dad finds out, he'll cut me out of the family business. So when footage leaks of Luke and me hot and heavy in an elevator, I have to make up a new plan to save my reputation and career. Now, all I need is for Luke Anders to act like he's madly in love with me. Should be easy. Right?

My friends have convinced me: no more hockey players. With a dad who is the Head Coach for the Minnesota Sleet, it seemed like an easy decision. My friends have also convinced me that the best way to boost my fragile self-esteem is through a one-night stand. A dating app. A hotel bar. A sexy-as-hell man who's sweet, and funny...and did I mention sexy-as-hell? I fortified my courage and invited myself up to his room. Assumptions. There's a rule about them. I assumed he was passing through town. I assumed he was a businessman, or maybe an investor, or accountant, or literally anything other than a professional hockey player. I assumed I'd never see him again. I assumed wrong.