Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24614 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24614 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Kingston
As a professional hockey player, I'm used to getting fan mail.
I never send it.
Until Evie Alexander sings the national anthem at our game.
She has the voice of an angel, the eyes of a siren, and a mouth I can't stop thinking about.
The whole arena watched me make a fool of myself trying to meet her.
They also watched her walk away like I didn't exist.
She thinks I just want her in my bed.
She's wrong.
I want her in my bed and wearing my ring.
If writing my way into her life is what it takes? I'm all in.
I don't quit…and I definitely don't lose.
Evie
As a musician, fan mail comes with the job.
But nothing prepared me for this.
Kingston Monroe's letters are charming and dangerously sincere, not at all what I expected from the cocky hockey star who embarrassed me at his game.
I promised myself I wouldn't fall for him.
Then he shows up at my concert…and I fall anyway.
Hard enough that the whole world hears it.
Now I have to decide if the sweet, shameless man in my inbox is real… or if I'm just another game he's determined to win.
About the Series
Falling in love wasn't part of the plan for these feisty heroines, especially not via letter, text, and email. But when they find themselves in a war of words with four delicious alphas, their plans go awry in unexpected ways.
These over-the-top men are determined to write their way to happily-ever-after, and they aren't taking any prisoners along the way. But when things move off the page to reality, not even they are prepared for the sparks that fly and the chaos that ensues.
Letters in Love is a spicy rom-com series featuring a bossy hockey star, a gorgeous mafia boss, a growly cowboy, and a protective mountain man
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
Evie
"You know you're going to die on the ice, right? Just bam!" My sister smacks her hands together hard enough for the sound to echo around the small conference room we're using as a staging area. "Down you go."
Her diabolical grin should be studied in a lab. There's no way it's natural.
"Gee, thanks," I mutter sarcastically. "Why'd I bring you again?"
"Bring me? Please!" She crosses her arms, sinking down onto a plush chair at the head of the long table. "As if I gave you a choice."
She's not lying. As soon as Everly found out I was singing the national anthem at the game, she insisted on coming for "moral support".
Her support leaves a lot to be desired…you know, like actual support. She's just here to watch sweaty professional hockey players fight each other for the puck. But there was no way she was telling our father that.
Are you kidding? He just got out of the hospital and would have insisted on coming along, too. Kasen Alexander goes nowhere without causing a scene. After thirty-five years in the entertainment industry, that ability is encoded in his DNA. Actually…I think it's just who he is.
Everly is just like him—loud, dramatic, and destined to be the problem in any given scenario. Don't ask me how I ended up being the normal one in this family. It's a mystery to me, too.
"I'm not going to die on the ice."
I'll probably die on the ice. But I'll also die before I admit that to my sister. Singing, I can do. Hell, I can even dance with something resembling actual rhythm. But walking across a slippery surface? Yeah, not so much.
"We'll see," Everly says, her blue eyes shining.
I just ignore her and finish pulling my hair up into a high pony, studying myself in the mirror set up on the table. My nerves don't show on my face, thank God. The flush to my cheeks looks more like excitement than anxiety, and my blue eyes are calm. I look cool and collected, not at all like I'm ready to throw up.
I am so ready to throw up.
Singing on stage is easy. I have a band to back me up and room to move around. I can riff and cover little mistakes. There is no covering it if you fuck up the national anthem at a televised sporting event. You'll always be that one artist who screwed up the words or couldn't hit the right notes. No one wants to be immortalized in clips of a failed national anthem performance.
Someone taps on the door.
"She's decent!" Everly shouts.
I shake my head at her, which only makes her grin. There is no stopping her. It's terrifying, really.
"Ms. Alexander?" A man with a clipboard pokes his head into the conference room.
"Evie," I correct.
"Right," he says, not even looking up at me. "A few members of the team have asked to meet you before the game."
"They want to meet me?" I frown, caught off guard. This wasn't part of the plan. I'm just supposed to sing the anthem, not meet and greet people far more talented than I am!