Lane Hayes – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Lane Hayes – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.wownovels.com Thu, 23 Apr 2026 22:52:19 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.wownovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Lane Hayes – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.wownovels.com 32 32 This Guy (Wood Hollow Stories #1) Read Online Lane Hayes http://www.wownovels.com/this-guy-wood-hollow-stories-1-read-online-lane-hayes Thu, 23 Apr 2026 22:52:19 +0000 https://www.wownovels.com/this-guy-wood-hollow-stories-1-read-online-lane-hayes Genre: Angst, Contemporary, M-M Romance Authors: Lane Hayes Series: Wood Hollow Stories Series by Lane Hayes
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >90

The football star, the lumberjack, and a small-town love story…

Silas

Not to sound dramatic, but I can’t decide if I’m a hot mess, a has-been…or both.

My ex’s new relationship with an A-list celebrity is putting me in the spotlight at my lowest point, and I could use a break from LA—just for a little while.

But Vermont in the middle of a blizzard? Probably not a great idea. However, the sexy lumberjack who lives next door is a sweet surprise. And so are his kids and the town.

I like this place. I could be happy here…at least till my new season begins.

Cooper

The football star is an unexpected complication—and a breath of fresh air. Silas is funny, charismatic, and cool. My kids love having a celebrity living next door. And me? I can’t remember the last time I felt quite so alive.

My steady diet of work and carpooling is fine, and sure, I’m happy enough, but with Silas around, everything feels lighter and breezier.

Yes, I’m well aware this isn’t going anywhere. Our lives are just too different.

Too bad ’cause this guy feels like the real thing.

This Guy is an MM bisexual, single dad, small-town romance featuring a football hero, a sexy lumberjack, and some neighbor-friendly shenanigans

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

SILAS

“When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in.” — Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

Twenty-five seconds on the clock, fourth quarter. Score 10 to 16.

The play was at the forty-yard line. A mad sprint to the goal with a hitch route at the center of the field might have seemed like a long shot, but it was doable. Speed was the key. And precision.

All the rookie QB had to do was pass me the ball. I settled into place next to our offensive tackle, Bukowski, a three-hundred-and-ten pound beast of a dude. I chewed the shit out of my mouthpiece, my knee bouncing, my cleats digging into the AstroTurf, ready to bolt into action.

I might have been older than the average tight end, but I was still fast. And if Kronig’s pass was accurate, we could come from behind and steal this one from Tennessee.

Not that it mattered. Both teams had losing records, so neither of us was playoff bound. However, this was my last fucking game in the pros. It was bad enough to fizzle into obscurity on a roster of aging fossils, but after the year I’d had, I really didn’t think it was unreasonable to hope for one fucking win.

Kronig’s play-call technique sucked, if you asked me. It was easy to tell the kid had watched too many old tapes of Manning in his prime and couldn’t wait to say, “Omaha, Omaha” like his idol. I wished I could make eye contact with Vally and share an eye roll, but it was showtime, baby.

I ran my route, shoving a Tennessee blocker out of my way before racing for the goal line. There wasn’t a blue jersey in sight. I was open.

Open.

I held my arm out like a firefighter ready to catch a falling baby from a five-story building at the five-yard line. I was there. Step, step, score.

Seconds were ticking by… One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi.

Where was the fucking ball?

Where was the⁠—

Boom!

I slammed into the ground hard, crushed like a soda can under the wheel of a Mack truck by a Tennessee linebacker. He’d appeared out of nowhere, knocked the wind out of me, and…damn it, I was bleeding.

I sat on my haunches for a beat, wincing at the blood dripping from my nose as pain ricocheted through my body and echoed in my ears.

Along with the sound of raucous cheering.

A hand shot in front of me. “Yo, you all right, old man?”

“Fuck off,” I growled, taking the assistance and squinting at the celebration in the goal. “We scored?”

Vally nodded. “Marius got the TD.”

“I was fucking open.”

Vally smacked my ass. “I know. We don’t do anything the easy way. But on the bright side, we’re about to win this motherfucker.”

I sat on the bench, gulping water with gauze stuffed in my nose as our kicker drove the extra point through the post.

Score: 17-16. We won.

The final whistle blew, signaling the end of my fifteen-year career in the pros. Yep, this was what fizzling into obscurity felt like in real time.

I was numb.

Just…numb.

I scanned the field, bracing against a wave of nostalgia that never came. It would probably hit me in the locker room or the shower or at the obligatory press conference. Or maybe on the drive home.

It didn’t. Still numb.

And the night wasn’t over.

I had to get through a private party later that evening too.

The Sky Lounge was one of those swanky rooftop bars in a high-end hotel with views of the glittering lights of Los Angeles and the dark expanse of the Pacific Ocean beyond. One could count on loud music, eye candy, nose candy, secret corners, and discreet waiters. I’d been here dozens of times and while I wouldn’t say it was my favorite bar, being with my teammates after our last game was the right move. I’d buy a round of shots, replay highlights with my buddies, and flirt with whoever happened to be nearby. And then go home.

I wasn’t in the mood tonight, though. In fact, hanging out with a bunch of testosterone-laden, pumped-up jocks with a season-ending hall pass to make all kinds of bad choices felt like work.

“I don’t want to be here.”

Vally waved at the crowd congregated at the bar. “Tough shit. We can make old-guy excuses or just fade in an hour. Naomi is home with the baby, and I don’t want to be out late, anyway.”

Lawrence Valenz, a.k.a. Vally, was an inch shorter than my six four but outweighed me by at least forty pounds. He had curly black hair, olive skin, green eyes, and killer dimples. Vally had been casually demolishing our opponents’ defense with wicked moves that left sportscasters speechless for years, but off the field, he was the nicest guy I’d ever met.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >90

Advertisement
A Cowboy Holiday Read Online Lane Hayes http://www.wownovels.com/a-cowboy-holiday-read-online-lane-hayes Thu, 25 Dec 2025 22:03:25 +0000 http://www.wownovels.com/a-cowboy-holiday-read-online-lane-hayes Genre: Contemporary, M-M Romance Authors: Lane Hayes Series: Series by Lane Hayes
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 43870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >45

The cowboy, the rancher, and a little holiday magic...

Tanner

I met the grumpiest man on the planet and I’m head over heels in lust. No joke. Oak Ridge Ranch’s new parttime vet slash ranch hand is a bear and he’s built like one too. If I were smart, I'd keep my distance.

In a twist, I’m not so smart.

But I can tell that under his hard as nails exterior, the cowboy is a gentle giant. Axel is a devoted single dad, a dedicated vet, and…I think he likes me. Or he wants me.

I can work with that.

There’s nothing wrong with a little holiday fun, is there?

Axel

I need this job at the ranch through December, then I’m out of here. I have a kid to think of and it’s time to settle old scores and build a new life for her.

But Tanner is making things complicated. He’s smart, intuitive, and charming, and—

Whoa! I’ve learned my lesson. This is temporary and I am not Tanner’s cowboy.

I might be attracted to him, but I can handle it.

I hope.

Okay, fine. I may need some Christmas magic to get out of this with my heart in one piece. Wish me luck.

A Cowboy Holiday is an MM, bisexual romance featuring a single dad-cowboy-grump, a sweetheart of a rancher, and some holiday magic

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

TANNER

“There’s a little cowboy in all of us, a little frontier.” —Louis L’Amour

Cattle grazed in the emerald pasture, gathering in groups nearby like coworkers hanging out at a water cooler. If they’d been gossiping about office conditions, they might have had a couple of complaints, but no one could find fault in the day. The autumn breeze was crisp but not cold, the blue sky was dotted with cotton-ball clouds, and the grass was plentiful.

Not a bad situation…if you overlooked the signs of disrepair. The broken fence, the sagging porch on the house, and the eager owner who couldn’t quite hide the desperation in his tone.

“Damn fine cattle, I’m telling you, and a bargain at half the price,” Dennis bragged, tugging the brim of his trucker cap.

Dennis Tobin was a small-time farmer in his early sixties with salt-and-pepper hair, crooked yellowed teeth, and a potbelly. He claimed he and the missus wanted to sell the business, retire, and see the country in their RV. He hadn’t mentioned that his gambling habit had put him in a bind, but most folks around these parts knew Dennis had an affinity for cheap booze and high-stakes cards. And the poor guy had never learned when to walk away from either.

His bad luck might lead to some good for both of us ’cause I happened to need his cattle. They were a beautiful Holstein breed, known for their distinctive black-and-white markings and their exceptionally high milk productivity. Dennis didn’t have the resources we did at Oak Ridge Ranch, and I had a feeling these cows weren’t given the attention they needed.

“And you want to sell the entire herd?”

“Yep, the whole kit and caboodle.” Dennis propped a muddy boot on the derelict fence and slapped his knee. “I’ve got a four-year-old bull, fiftysomething cows…and at least one of them is pregnant. So fifty-two altogether.”

“Any issues I should know about?” I asked, noting that a few of the grazing cattle seemed a bit too lean.

“Nothing serious. They’re in fine enough shape.” Dennis’s smile didn’t meet his eyes. “So…what do you say? Do we have a deal?”

“It’s a big investment. I’m going to need a bill of health.”

The older man frowned. “You can see they’re right as rain. Is that really necessary?”

“It sure is,” I replied matter-of-factly. “Who’s your vet?”

“I use the new guy, Axel Vogel. He’s here now, deworming some of the gals o’er at the barn if you’d like to meet him.”

“Perfect. Lead the way.”

“Uh…”

I knew Dennis was gung ho to make this sale, so I was a little surprised by his hesitation. He rubbed a palm along his thigh and released a heavy sigh.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, of course not. It’s just that Axel comes with a warning label,” Dennis hedged. “Good man, but he’s a tough nut to crack.”

“How so?”

“He’s an old-fashioned cowboy, but he looks like a damn lumberjack, and he’s a prickly son of a gun.”

“Noted.” I tipped my hat against the sun’s glare and stepped away from the fence, hoping Dennis would take a hint. I didn’t have all day. I had a ranch to run, but— “Did you say cowboy? I thought he was a vet.”

“Axel’s a jack of all trades.” Dennis ambled to the path, fussing with his belt buckle as he moved…like a fucking snail. “He worked for a big cattle operation in Colorado for years and someplace out in Nevada, but he’s got a vet’s license.”

“Oh, that’s⁠—”

“And he’s a single dad—a good one at that. He’s devoted to his daughter, Phoebe. Cute little tyke. She’s five years old, I think,” he continued in storyteller mode. “They moved to Santa Ynez this summer, and they’re renting a mobile home by the creek. Axel works part-time at the veterinary office on Main Street. That’s where we met. He keeps mostly to himself and he doesn’t say much, but when he does, he can be crusty. Don’t take offense or—ha. Never mind. I’m talking too much. Come meet him yourself.”

Buzz buzz

I slipped my cell from my pocket and peeked at the incoming text from my ex. Something about wanting to talk. Huh? About what? I ignored the message and caught up with Dennis as he rounded the faded gray barn.

Three mooing cows stood in the clearing, reminding me of old-timey commercials with talking animals. I could imagine these three at a beauty parlor, griping amongst themselves about anything from the fly situation to sore udders while the vet applied deworming fluid.

I know…silly. I’d been told I had an odd habit of anthropomorphizing my favorite animals. So what? Maybe these cows didn’t speak English, but you couldn’t convince me that they didn’t communicate. All that mooing meant something, right?

I grinned as I moved closer, petting the nearest cow’s neck. “Hey, there, beautiful. How are you⁠—”

“Out! She’s got benzimidazole and macrocyclic lactones on her, and you’re not wearing gloves. Either suit up or step the hell away,” someone barked.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >45

Advertisement
The Roommate Game (Smithton Bears #3) Read Online Lane Hayes http://www.wownovels.com/the-roommate-game-smithton-bears-3-read-online-lane-hayes Sun, 07 Dec 2025 21:05:44 +0000 http://www.wownovels.com/the-roommate-game-smithton-bears-3-read-online-lane-hayes Genre: College, Contemporary, M-M Romance, Sports Authors: Lane Hayes Series: Smithton Bears Series by Lane Hayes
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >67

The hockey player, the figure skater, and the roommate situation…

Gus

No one knows how to make a party last quite like me. Technically, I should have graduated three years ago, but I love Smithton, I love hockey, and the team needs a good captain with a positive outlook. That’s me. I love this town and it loves me.

Well, everyone except my roommate.

Rafe doesn’t like me at all—total mystery. I’m a nice guy. Ask anyone. He’s the one with stick-in-the-mud-itis. However, that might be exactly what I need to curb my compulsion for nonstop fun ’cause like it or not, the excess partying is taking a toll. I need to slow down, switch gears, and maybe use my free time to make things right with my roomie.

In a twist, Rafe’s not so bad. He has a great smile, pretty eyes, cute dimples, and—

Oh, man. I think I have a situation.

Rafe

This cannot be happening. I’m a competitive figure skater with goals and big plans. How did I get saddled with a party-boy hockey-hero for a roommate?

Oh, yeah, I mistakenly assumed the captain of the hockey team would be a serious person. Wrong. Gus and I have nothing in common and I have no idea how I’m going to survive a year of this.

But in a twist, we’re good together in a crisis. So good, that I’m beginning to wonder if we could be something more than a couple of athletes playing the roommate game.

The Roommate Game is an MM light-angst, college hockey romance featuring a fun-loving captain, a serious figure skater, and a chance at forever

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

RAFE

“Winners never quit and quitters never win.”—Vince Lombardi

Rain battered the coffee shop window, rattling the casing and streaking the glass. The forecast called for thunder too, but if there was any, it couldn’t have been heard above the hiss of steamed milk, grinding beans, and general chatter in Coffee Cave. The group in the corner was in the midst of a boisterous debate regarding the hottest video-game heroes, and there was definitely an “it’s not you, it’s me” breakup happening at the next table over.

My woes ranked somewhere in between. More serious than cartoon cuties, but certainly nothing to cry about. Well…okay, I had felt a little weepy when I’d realized my chicken parmesan had gone MIA from the fridge.

“He ate my leftovers. Again,” I groused. “Even the green beans, and Gus doesn’t even like green beans.”

Celine scowled. “Monster.”

“He’s a human vacuum.”

“He can’t get away with that.”

“Oh, really? ’Cause he’s been getting away with it for five freaking months.”

My friend reached across the table to give my hand a supportive squeeze. “Poor Rafey. Did you yell at him?”

“We had words,” I hedged.

“What did he say?”

“Same as always.” I rolled my eyes before lowering my voice to mimic my giant hockey roommate’s stoner dude affectation. “ ‘Oh, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was yours. I got you, though. Double the chicken parm tomorrow, and I’ll do you an extra solid…no green beans. They kinda sucked.’ ”

Celine’s lips twisted with humor. I could tell she was trying hard not to laugh at my plight. “You’re getting too good at imitating him.”

I shook my head mournfully. “I must have done something truly terrible in a past life, like poisoning a well that fed a village or stealing my neighbor’s cows on the regular. Karma might be seeking judgment in arears by saddling me with a roommate who drinks my milk straight from the carton and helps himself to my eggs. And stealing food is the least of Gus’s sins. If I come home to yet another party, I may have to call you for bail money.”

Celine didn’t bother hiding her amusement this time. Her long, golden locks cascaded over her shoulders as she threw her head back and guffawed, capturing a few admiring glances.

Listen, I wasn’t attracted to women in the slightest, but one would’ve had to be blind not to notice that Celine was drop-dead gorgeous. She was a petite blond with big blue eyes and a generous smile, who also just happened to be able to out-axel the competition in women’s figure skating at Smithton…hands down.

We’d been best friends since the day we’d recognized each other as schoolmates at the winter skate camp her parents ran in Pittsburgh. We’d been ten years old, and other than the fifth-grade classroom at Hollister Elementary and an abiding love for figure skating, we hadn’t had much in common. I was and always had been a bit of a dork, and Celine was the epitome of social grace.

Somehow, we’d clicked and become devoted amigos, battling all the ugliest aspects of adolescence like every other pimply-faced junior high and high school teen, then kicking butt in regional competitions on weekends. While our classmates had dabbled in sex, drugs, and partying, we’d perfected spins, worked on choreography, and learned how to navigate the complex mid echelons of the world we’d hoped to make a lasting mark in one day.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >67

Advertisement
Better Than Baby – Better Than Good Novella Read Online Lane Hayes http://www.wownovels.com/better-than-baread-online-better-than-good-novella-read-online-lane-hayes Sun, 12 Oct 2025 20:51:28 +0000 http://www.wownovels.com/better-than-baread-online-better-than-good-novella-read-online-lane-hayes Genre: M-M Romance, Novella Authors: Lane Hayes Advertisement

Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >49

Matt and Aaron’s big moment is here…

We’re having a baby!

The journey to parenthood has been a bumpy one, but we’re so ready for this. Our careers are going well, we have a cool house in a great neighborhood, a supportive family, amazing friends, a new puppy, and…it’s time.

Becoming dads isn’t something we take lightly. We’ve planned for this moment for years. Hey, I’m a lawyer and I know how to prepare. I’ve done the research, consulted experts, and explored our options.

But now that there’s a baby on the way, a nursery to decorate, and a crib to buy…I’m panicking. The fear that something might go wrong is always on my mind. We’ve been crushed and disappointed, and while this should be different, I want to do whatever I can to protect my husband and our happiness.

This is the biggest moment of our lives, and it has to be perfect.

It has to be better than good.

Better Than Baby features Matt and Aaron from my international bestselling book, Better Than Good. The lawyer, the diva, and the happy ever after of a lifetime…and a baby. For readers who know the real love story happens after the first “I love you.”

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

one

“I sustain myself with the love of family.”—Maya Angelou

The country lane stretched between evergreen trees that brushed through wispy clouds in the early spring sky. Other than deer lurking half-hidden under low branches and the occasional bird flitting overhead, it was eerily quiet. I couldn’t decide if it was peaceful and idyllic…or like something straight out of a horror film.

Of course, I immediately realized that I’d only noticed because I wasn’t used to driving in complete silence with Aaron. He always had a story to tell or an observation to share.

“Shira Stevens swears bell-bottoms and culottes are going to be the rage next fall, to which I say, no chance! I’ll give her one or the other…maybe. But not both at the same time. The seventies have had their day, honey.”

Or…

“Matty, did you know that the tiny little pocket in jeans was designed to hold pocket watches? How cute is that! My jeans are far too snug for that nonsense. I could just imagine someone asking me for the time and waiting another ten minutes while I wiggled to free the poor thing from the denim-trap designer wear.”

Or even…

“I don’t think I like milk anymore. At all. It’s so…meh. I still have nightmares where five-year-old adorable me is sitting alone with a plateful of mushy peas and a glass of tepid milk, tears streaming down my cheeks because one of my parents insisted that the horrible combination had to be consumed before I could have a popsicle.” Insert all-body shiver. “We’re not doing that to our kids, Matty. Eat the peas or don’t. No trauma necessary. The world gives plenty without us adding to the mix. Am I right?”

In any of those scenarios, my input might be a grunt of agreement or an off-hand comment like, “If you ask me, mushy brussels sprouts are the stuff of childhood nightmares.”

Aaron would gasp, swivel in his seat, and launch into the story of the brussels sprouts we’d burned the hell out of last Thanksgiving. We’d laugh, and he’d blast his music and sing to whatever playlist he’d thought best fit our travel itinerary—Latin love songs, Gaga za za—don’t ask, I have no clue what that means—or something from his Taylor era. None of it was to my taste, but I happily put up with it ’cause Aaron loved it and I loved Aaron to utter and absolute distraction.

So, yeah…that was why today’s quiet felt a little haunting.

I understood, though. He was tapped out, cried out, angry, frustrated, and sad.

I just wasn’t sure a puppy would fill the void.

“I’m fine, Matty,” Aaron hummed as if reading my mind. “I really am. Am I disappointed? Yes, but I know you are too. It just wasn’t our turn, wasn’t our time.”

I linked our fingers across the console and brought them to my lips. “I know. Hang tight and be patient. We’ll get there.”

Aaron rubbed my forearm and sighed. “I’m trying. And just so you know…I don’t look at becoming pet parents as a placeholder for a having a child. We were always going to get a dog.”

“True.”

“And we don’t have to get one today. We’re just looking.”

I scoffed. “The thing about ‘looking’ at puppies is that you’re going to want to take one home every time…even if you’re not in the market for one. It’s hard to resist a cute little furball with stubby legs, big ears, oversized paws, and a potbelly.”

“And the sweet puppy dog eyes,” he cooed, finally twisting to face me. “Gah! I’m going to fold like a house of cards, Matty! If you find me on the floor under a pile of puppies, let ’em at me. Yes, yes, I know we’re just looking, but I’ve heard animals are so good for your mental health and well-being. They legit have puppy yoga at Om Salon. Can you even? It’s new and it gets booked fast, but maybe I could…”

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >49

Advertisement
Something to Prove (Smithton Bears #2) Read Online Lane Hayes http://www.wownovels.com/something-to-prove-smithton-bears-2-read-online-lane-hayes Sat, 16 Aug 2025 22:25:24 +0000 http://www.wownovels.com/something-to-prove-smithton-bears-2-read-online-lane-hayes Genre: College, Contemporary, M-M Romance Authors: Lane Hayes Series: Smithton Bears Series by Lane Hayes
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >68

The hockey star, the influencer, and the deal of a lifetime.

Ty

I’m going to the pros, baby! Deal made, contract signed. Now all I have to do is finish out my final season at Smithton and stay out of trouble. I like to have a good time, but don’t worry, I’ll behave.

What I won’t do is talk to that double-crossing influencer who’s been badgering me for an interview. No thanks.

I know Walker’s type—sweet as pie on the outside, a shark on the inside.

Get this…he wants to make a deal that sounds a lot like a bribe.

Not interested. No way.

But I am curious.

Walker

I’ve never worked so hard for an interview in my life. Ugh!

Look, I get that Ty doesn’t like me. As in…he won’t return my calls and avoids me like the plague on campus.

Too bad. I’m not giving up.

I don’t want to beg, but I’m willing to barter. Every man has his price—and something to prove.

Even Ty.

Something to Prove is a low-angst, geek-jock MM bisexual college hockey romance featuring a hockey star and the adorkable influencer who’s determined to win him over

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

TY

“You alone are enough. You have nothing to prove to anybody.”—Maya Angelou

Sunshine, blue skies, and good news went together like peanut butter and jelly.

“Congrats, man!”

“Way to go, Ty!”

“Go, Bears! Go, Jackals!”

I smiled, waved, fist-bumped, and high-fived my way across campus, adjusting my Ray-Bans against the late-summer glare from Lake Ontario in the distance through the canopy of trees.

The first week of my senior year at Smithton was off to a sweet start. I couldn’t go anywhere without being followed by an entourage of hockey fans who seemed as thrilled as my folks had been on draft day. Smithton took hockey very seriously, and the idea that someone from our little private college was going to the pros next year was a big fucking deal.

Like…a supersized big deal.

Langley thumped my shoulder, shaking his head with a laugh. “So this is what it feels like to hang out with a celebrity. I like it.”

“Fuck off.” I snorted. “They’ll forget about me after our first loss, so hey…I’m enjoying the love while it lasts.”

“Smart, but we’re not losing to Trinity. No fucking way.” Langley frowned so hard, his thick brows resembled a fuzzy caterpillar in midcrawl.

Gus Langley was the Bears captain and had been for the past three seasons. He was an inch shorter than my six four and built like me, thick and muscular. I had more tattoos, and though it was trim at the moment, I could grow a beard that put most guys my age to shame. Langley, on the other hand, had a scruffy chiseled jaw, a wild mane of chestnut hair, and his eyes almost always had that stoned “I’m having way more fun at life than you are” look.

Probably true.

He was a perpetual senior, a serious party animal, and a very questionable leader. Don’t get me wrong—everyone loved the guy, but Langley usually prioritized a good time over all else—even winning. Getting pre-riled up for an upcoming game wasn’t like him.

I paused in the middle of the quad and lowered my sunglasses. “What’s wrong with Trinity?”

“Their new coach is a prick and—” Gus paused, his attention fixed on something or someone behind me. “Incoming. Your favorite redhead.”

“Huh?”

“The little shit with What’s New, Smithton? Are you still boycotting him, or is that last year’s news?”

I pivoted toward the eager-looking man marching our way and barely suppressed a growl.

Listen, I considered myself to be a friendly dude. I tried to always be fair and congenial. After all, everyone was fighting their own personal battles and had reasons for their actions they might not be able to share. Live and let live…or something like that.

But that rule didn’t apply to the snazzily-dressed dickhead blinding me with a psycho megawatt grin.

“Hello, gentlemen! It’s good to be back at the old grindstone, isn’t it? And on such a gorgeous day. It feels like summer—which, of course, it is! I’ve never understood the rationale of starting school in August. The first week of September is perfect, in my opinion, but…no one consulted me.” The smiley jerkwad chuckled awkwardly, tapping the strap of his leather designer bag as I rearranged my expression into something cold, unapproachable, uninterested, and unfriendly.

So not me…I swear. I went out of my way to be nice to everyone—except Walker Woodrow. He could eat glass or black licorice or cilantro for all I cared. He was a two-faced opportunistic influencer who didn’t think twice about using unsuspecting Smithton students for content to promote his online channel.

Not cool. Walker had shown his true colors, and I didn’t want anything to do with him or his show.

Honestly, it bummed me out that he’d turned out to be a creep. I’d been a fan. Walker was a clever host—engaging, upbeat, witty, smart, and interesting. He took random places, people, and events in our small college town in Upstate New York and somehow made Smithton seem like the ultimate destination. Apparently, tourism had increased by three hundred percent since he’d launched What’s New, Smithton?

Three hundred percent.

His channel had a million subscribers. I shit you not. By all accounts, Walker had done more for our local economy than all of Smithton’s sports programs combined. That was both remarkable and a hard pill to swallow. I mean, c’mon…his tour of the kitchen at Vincento’s, a sixty-year-old greasy institution in a two-hundred-and-fifty-year-old town, couldn’t compare to Smithton’s division conference hockey game, right? Wrong.

People from all around the freaking globe had tuned in for his interview with the owner, Vincento Senior, which included tips on how to knead and throw pizza dough. Yep, hundreds of thousands of folks had watched an octogenarian fire up a woodburning pizza oven while less than a thousand had shown up to cheer on the Bears. And I’d been one of them. Well…after my game, obviously.

Sue me. I’d liked the peppy redhead’s vibe and though I’d deny it with my last breath, I’d thought Walker was cute with his wayward curls, tawny-brown eyes, and tight compact body.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >68

Advertisement
One-Time Shot (Smithton Bears #1) Read Online Lane Hayes http://www.wownovels.com/one-time-shot-smithton-bears-1-read-online-lane-hayes Thu, 12 Jun 2025 17:27:45 +0000 http://www.wownovels.com/one-time-shot-smithton-bears-1-read-online-lane-hayes Genre: College, M-M Romance, Sports Authors: Lane Hayes Series: Smithton Bears Series by Lane Hayes
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 51902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >53

The jock, the geek, and the hockey project…

Jett

My pro hockey dreams are hanging by a thread. I need to have a great season and that means no partying, no distractions, no fun. The grad student pestering me for science-y help on his thesis is the definition of no fun, so…okay.

Pros and cons of agreeing to this

Positive use of free time. (At least that’s what my agent says.)
Malcolm likes big words and his first language is math. He’s also bossy, clumsy, and he doesn’t know the first thing about hockey.

But he’s also cute and he’s got a great sense of humor and—oh no.

I cannot have a crush on the geek. No way. Not now.

Malcolm

Yes, I’m a serious student, but a hockey project is not serious. Who cares about big hunky hockey players zipping around a sheet of ice at warp speed? Not I.

According to my professor, however, the only way to attain the required data is to study the specimen in his natural habitat, AKA, the ice rink.

My thesis should lead to a bevy of job offers.
Jett. He’s impossible—too big, too handsome, too gruff and yet disarmingly charming and—

Okay, fine. I like the jock…a lot.

Lately, I find myself wondering if there’s such a thing as a one-time shot at forever.

One-Time Shot is a low-angst, geek-jock MM college hockey romance featuring a charismatic hockey star and an adorkable scientist.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

JETT

“Knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom.”—Aristotle

The clang of silverware and the hum of animated conversation echoed off the walls and rain-streaked windows of the local greasy spoon. In spite of the crappy weather, there was a line at the reception area and a gaggle of students waiting at the takeout counter.

On the surface, Bear Depot was nothing special—scuffed and cracked tiled flooring, uncomfortable booths with red, peeling and faded leatherette upholstery, and wood tables scarred with the initials of patrons dating back five or six decades ago. But it was affordable on a college budget, and the food was tasty.

Best of all, the waitstaff loved hockey players.

“Your club sandwich and triple-bacon cheeseburger will be up in a few minutes.” A middle-aged brunet, with a megawatt smile and eyelashes so long they didn’t bother pretending to be real, set two large milkshakes down with a wink. “While you wait…a double-chocolate-chip and a cookies-and-cream shake on the house.”

“You’re the best, Shar,” I gushed, stabbing a straw into the chocolate-chip goodness. “Thank you.”

“Mmhmm.” Ty slurped whipped cream like a heathen and nodded enthusiastically. “The best!”

“You’re welcome. That win against Central was absolute perfection. Keep it up, boys.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ty grinned, sporting a white foamy mustache that would have looked goofy as fuck on any other six-foot-four dude with a light beard, copious tats, and muscles galore. Not Ty. He was the kind of confident that got away with sophomoric antics and the occasional lapse of manners.

I rolled my eyes as soon as Shar had moved on. “You’re such a kiss-ass.”

“Jealous? You know the ladies love me, Erickson. What can I say?” He waggled his bushy brows and took another sip. “They like you too, but you’re not as sweet as me.”

True enough. “Fuck sweet.”

“See? You’re an asshole. A lovable one…sort of. Though Coach didn’t agree today.”

“Coach didn’t like anybody today. Did you see him get on Brady’s case and—” I glanced over my shoulder, following Ty’s straying gaze. “What are you looking at?”

“That dude is staring at you. Or me. I can’t tell.”

I twisted slightly in my seat. “Who? I don’t see—oh.”

A willowy, thin guy with wavy dark-blond hair, glasses, a navy V-neck sweater, and khaki cargo pants that gave serious dad vibes was currently craning his head in our direction.

“Maybe he’s a hockey fan,” Ty suggested.

“Maybe.” I shrugged, sucking milkshake through the straw before continuing my earlier gripe session.

I wasn’t the type to complain about teammates who weren’t pulling their weight. Gossiping was counterproductive. However, I wasn’t opposed to brainstorming with a trusted friend who more or less had the same goal as I did—to be signed with a professional team, stat. Ty was two years younger, though. He had time on his side. Me…not so much.

As a kid, I’d had lofty dreams of getting drafted by the Red Wings straight out of high school. Even then, I’d been vaguely aware that it wasn’t how the system worked, but I’d believed the coaches who’d told me I had the potential to do great things. Maybe to even be the next Great One.

Gullible? A touch. At this point, there was a snowball’s chance in hell that was gonna happen.

First up, I was a senior in college now, and my long-suffering agent hadn’t had much luck finding me a postgraduation gig in the pros. Or anywhere worthwhile. A smarter man would have a backup plan, like selling real estate for my dad’s firm—but I couldn’t let go of the idea that I still had a shot.

My success was tied to my team, though, and we were off to a lackluster start. Sure, it was early in the season, and we’d won a few easy games—like our recent one against Central. It was the tougher ones on the schedule that worried me. If Brady didn’t figure out how to pass with some level of accuracy soon, I’d look like a schmuck out there, constantly chasing errant pucks and⁠—

“You’re future-trippin’, Jettster. You gotta quit that shit, or you’ll end up missing out on what’s happening here and now,” Ty advised, stuffing the last of his ginormous burger into his mouth.

“Nothing is happening right now. Only hockey.” I pushed my empty plate aside and vacuumed the remnants of my shake from the bottom of my glass.

To his credit, Ty waited till he’d chewed and swallowed before attempting further conversation. “Incorrect. Langley’s having a party Friday night, and you, my friend, need to be there.”

“Do I?”

“You do. Pretty girls, party favors, and…a chance to do some team bonding off the freaking ice. Trust me. That shit matters, too.” He checked his vibrating cell and tossed a few bills onto the table. “Sorry, man, I gotta run.”

I frowned, but abrupt departures were very much Ty’s style. He was a big-entrance, big-exit kind of guy. No doubt there was a girl waiting for him somewhere. Or a guy. Fine by me…as long as he’d left enough to cover his part.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >53

Advertisement
Puck Love (The Elmwood Stories #6) Read Online Lane Hayes http://www.wownovels.com/puck-love-the-elmwood-stories-6-read-online-lane-hayes Thu, 17 Apr 2025 13:16:26 +0000 http://www.wownovels.com/puck-love-the-elmwood-stories-6-read-online-lane-hayes Genre: Contemporary, M-M Romance, Sports Authors: Lane Hayes Series: The Elmwood Stories Series by Lane Hayes
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >82

Two rivals, one secret, and a shot at forever…

Jake

Favorite things and hockey, family, friends.
Least favorite person in the entire history of the Mason Trinsky.

I have my reasons, but since you’re curious, Trinsky is a showboat and a loudmouth. Sure, he’s a great athlete. Good for him. I accept that we have mutual friends and I grudgingly accept that he’ll be a coach at Elmwood Junior’s Camp this summer, however, I plan to keep my distance.

Of course, some wise guy pairs us up for a camping expedition and everything that can go wrong does go wrong.

Guess who I’m stuck with?

Trinsky

Favorite things and hockey, surfing, and my kid brother
Least favorite person in the entire history of the Jake Milligan

Look, I might be in the minority, but if you ask me, Jake is a nitpicking diva who wants everything his way. I hope my NHL team crushes his, and this summer, I want my campers to out-prank his. Childish? Nah, it’s all in good fun.

Until it starts to feel…complicated. I shouldn’t care if he’s happy, should I? I don’t want to be Jake’s friend. I don’t want to have feelings for him at all.

The only thing that matters is hockey. It's all about the puck. Not love.

Or is it?

Puck Love is an MM bisexual, small-town romance featuring hockey’s hottest rivals, a hiking trip gone wrong, and a shot at forever

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

JAKE

“Love your enemies, for they tell you your faults.”— Benjamin Franklin

Hockey wasn’t complicated. It required mad skills on the ice, strategic thinking, and a high tolerance for pain. But the rules were simple:

Get the puck.

Protect the puck.

Drill the puck into the net.

Repeat.

Unfortunately, I had no idea where the puck was. In my defense, it was hard to see with blood dripping into my eye. At least it hadn’t run down my cheek yet, so I had that going for me. Time was ticking, though, and we needed a goal…like, now.

The familiar scrape of sticks, grunts, and juvenile taunts echoed on the ice as my guys jockeyed for dominance. It was a fierce battle to eke out a win before playoffs. Both teams were going, but we needed this W more than the Condors. They’d had a great season and by all accounts, they’d stayed healthy. We were another story.

My team was counting on me to make something happen, but damn it, my head was pounding in my skull and my ribs hurt from LaMarche’s brutal body check. His minutes in the sin bin hadn’t done us any good. We’d missed four shots on goal and had spent the majority of the power play getting outskated by Denver’s superstars, Mellon and Trinsky. Ugh.

Here’s the thing…I’d known Denny Mellon for years, and I loved him like a brother. Not only did he live up to the hype of being one of the greatest to ever play the game, but he was genuinely a good person who used his celebrity to help underprivileged kids, to fund scholarships, and to speak out about mental health issues and his journey as an LGBTQ athlete. He was impressive and completely down-to-earth.

Mason Trinsky, on the other hand, was just a fucking asshole.

No, he was worse. Trinsky was a conceited dickwad with more confidence than sense. He played dirty and mean and had the audacity to laugh off hits like a seasoned fighter while his opponents limped to safety. Trinsky was a forward who played like a D-man. He was rough and single-minded in his determination to do whatever necessary to win.

According to Smitty, my dad’s husband, who happened to be a former AHL pro, I would have liked Trinsky if we’d been on the same team.

I seriously doubted it.

“You okay, Milligan?” Sergei asked in a heavy Russian accent, bumping my shoulder as he signaled for me to cover him.

I grunted. This wasn’t a great time to admit that my chest ached and the boo-boo near my eye might require stitches. That could wait, and at least the refs hadn’t noticed yet. Puck first.

We just had to outmaneuver Denver’s defense to get to Trinsky, who was currently on a mad dash toward our blue line. Sergei and I were fast skaters, so catching up to him wasn’t the issue. Trinsky’s quick reflexes and the fact that he always seemed to suss out impending danger worked to his advantage. It was as if his radar were tuned in to my frequency.

Danger danger, Jake Milligan is closing in. Right flank, two seconds to impact.

Boom! Trinsky passed to Mellon, who deked around our big guy, Madsen, leaving him in a cloud of dust, cartoon-style. Boston converged on Mellon, squeezing him out. That was it, play killed. But no, not Denny. He created an opening out of thin air and pulled a disappearing act that would have made Houdini proud.

There was no one to stop him now. It was Denny against our goalie. And yeah, Ace was good, but Denny was better.

Unless…I stopped him. All I had to do was shake Trinsky and cut Mellon off from behind.

I bolted forward at full speed, blinking wildly as my vision blurred. Get the puck, get the puck. I was close now. Blood rushed in my head, pounding in my ears. I cocked my stick, angled my hips, and⁠—

Trinsky cut me off with a simple hip check. Not hard or even dirty by his standards, but it slowed me down. “Yo, not so fast, Jakey.”

“Fuck yourself.” I growled in frustration, regained my footing, and hurried after Denny.

But Trinsky was glued to my side now, yapping away. Don’t ask me what he said—it was a mix of gibberish and smack talk.

“Dude, what’s up with you? My kid brother skates faster than you. Someone pissed in your Cheerios, huh? I fuckin’ hate Cheerios. Do you like ’em?”

Denny slowed as he neared the goal, stick poised and ready. Ace was in position, but I had one last chance. I darted left, away from Trinsky, but somehow ended up flying in the opposite direction. And I do mean flying.

I hit the boards with a thump and keeled like a rag doll.

Half a beat later, Denny scored.

The arena erupted—lights flashed, music blared, and raucous fans cheered wildly for their hometown heroes.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >82

Advertisement
Moody’s Grumpy Holiday Read Online Lane Hayes http://www.wownovels.com/moodys-grumpy-holiday-read-online-lane-hayes Thu, 19 Dec 2024 11:50:24 +0000 http://www.wownovels.com/moodys-grumpy-holiday-read-online-lane-hayes Genre: Contemporary, M-M Romance Authors: Lane Hayes Advertisement

Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >46

The geek, the cowboy, and a not-so-grumpy holiday…

Moody

Living in Christmas Town doesn’t make me a fan of the holidays. Quite the opposite. In fact, eleven months out of the year, I’m perfectly happy running my bookstore in peace and quiet. Of course, that changes in December when it’s mistletoe madness and mayhem. Ugh.

But this year, there’s a new cowboy in town and it’s not as easy to grumble about…anything. I admit, Hudson is handsome and hunky, but everyone knows I’m not myself till January, so he’ll have to buzz off and charm someone else.

Bah humbug.

Hudson

Moving to California wasn’t in my plans. I could use the change of scenery, though, and the ranch is a good investment. That’s not a sneaky way of saying I’m hiding from my past…no siree. I’m following a new path to a new town, that’s all.

And so far, so good. Except…my attraction to the nerdy bookstore owner is throwing me off my game.

Look, I’m not interested in anything other than a casual hookup. But Moody is a mystery and I want to know more about the adorable geek with a sunny disposition who turns into a holiday grump every year.

For some reason, he feels like home away from home. December may be the last month of the year, but something tells me this is our beginning.

Moody’s Grumpy Holiday is an MM grumpy-sunshine, romantic comedy featuring an adorkable geek, a hunky cowboy, and a little seasonal humbug.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

HUDSON

“The Grinch hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season! Now, please don’t ask why. No one quite knows the reason.” —How the Grinch Stole Christmas!, Dr. Seuss

Sunlight sparkled on the ocean like a golden curtain across the deep-blue water. The sand was warm and palm trees swayed in the light autumn breeze as seagulls surveyed the scene, prepared to swoop in for the kill or to claim an errant piece of crust from the trash. Someone blasted “Good Vibrations” from their car radio as they cruised Pacific Coast Highway, and you know…it was kind of perfect. Like a movie set or a photo shoot for a travel brochure.

I hated it.

The fact that my ex-fiancée thought a California beach resort would have made a great honeymoon spot for us was yet another missed red flag. I wasn’t a beach guy. At all. I loved mountains, valleys, and rugged wilderness. I loved being on the range, riding horses, minding cows, mending fences.

Don’t get me wrong, there was no denying the beauty here. It was fucking stunning. But it was too…lonely. Or maybe that was just a reflection of my current state of mind.

On that depressing note, I tipped my Stetson, hopped into my rental truck, and headed north, veering inland on Highway 154 toward Santa Ynez and Oak Ridge Ranch.

I’d done some homework and had recently been in touch with one of the owners regarding their aggressive expansion plans. They were looking for investors, and I was looking for…something of my own. A purpose? Nah, that sounded desperate. A new direction, maybe.

My mom worried that I was lost, and maybe she wasn’t totally wrong, but I wouldn’t have made the trip west if the business opportunity hadn’t been interesting. The fact that I was staying at the honeymoon getaway that never happened was a weird one. But Kylie was last year’s news. It was time to move on.

And since I was here, I figured I’d do a little sightseeing and check out the coastline, the local wineries, and get this…a place called Christmas Town in the hills that boasted a ginormous year-round Christmas tree and supposedly had the best homemade chicken noodle soup in the state. Or maybe the country. Sold.

The craggy incline was beautiful with hearty brush giving way to tall eucalyptus trees. When the highway narrowed abruptly in a series of hairpin turns, I lowered the volume on an old Johnny Cash classic as if that might help me concentrate.

Visibility sucked. Tendrils of fog gathered on the horizon, and within a mile, I couldn’t see more than a foot in front of the hood. I white-knuckled the wheel with sweaty palms, cursing Kylie, California, and my pride for staying at the five-star hotel she’d booked.

I could have stayed near the ranch, but I hadn’t wanted to lose my deposit. Smart, right? Not so much. I was exhausted, hungry, and in very real danger of wrapping my rental around a tree.

I didn’t mind a little combat driving, but I’d have preferred to be at home in the Rockies on familiar roads in my own truck. But this was me trying to prove I was fine. This was me trying to come out on top and⁠—

“Christmas Town, next off-ramp.”

Oh. Okay.

I followed the signage, exited the highway, and turned right onto Reindeer Lane.

No joke.

The two-lane road was lined with evergreens and deciduous trees bright with orange and yellow fall foliage. A few cottages with generous porches were tucked in between the trees and shaded by a layer of mist. The effect was picturesque and welcoming.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >46

Advertisement
Winnie Takes Paris – Love and Travel Read Online Lane Hayes http://www.wownovels.com/winnie-takes-paris-love-and-travel-read-online-lane-hayes Thu, 21 Nov 2024 13:35:00 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/winnie-takes-paris-love-and-travel-read-online-lane-hayes Genre: Contemporary, M-M Romance Authors: Lane Hayes Advertisement

Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >64

The stylist, the absentminded professor, and a Parisian adventure…

Winnie

Someone once said, when life gets you down and you’re feeling blue, you should brush yourself off…and go to Paris.

Okay, maybe that was me. I said it and I don’t regret taking an oddball assignment to assist a British professor abroad. I could use a break from my life as an aspiring hair and cosmetic guru in LA. And c’mon, it’s Paris!

So what if I don’t know the language and have a hard time reading maps? I’m nothing if not resourceful. What could go possibly wrong?

Alistair…that’s what.

In a twist, I have a thing for an impossibly smart geek with mismatched socks who just happens to be my best friend’s boss. This can’t be good.

Alistair

I’ve been called an absent-minded professor more than once. I don’t mind at all. My work is important and living on a diet of biscuits and tea while delving into ancient civilization doesn’t seem like terrible thing. But Paris calls. And somehow, I have a new temporary assistant.

Winnie is a technicolor, whirlwind American with a wicked laugh and the subtlety of a steamroller. He’s brash and ridiculous and…funny, warm, lovely, and—

Oh no. This can’t be happening.

Winnie can take Paris, but he can’t take my heart.

Or can he?

Winnie Takes Paris is an MM romantic comedy featuring a fabulous diva, a nerdy professor, and the Parisian adventure of a lifetime!

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

WINNIE

“Paris n’a pas été bâti en un jour.” Translation: Paris wasn’t built in a day. —French proverb

A colorful avalanche of clothing spilled from the suitcase atop the fluffy fuchsia-and-tangerine duvet. Sweaters, caftans, berets, and whimsical scarves in rainbow hues jockeyed for space with velvet slippers, black-and-white wingtips, and gold glitter-bomb high-tops. There was little to no chance of the industrial-sized accessory kit fitting inside the oversized luggage, and the regal Himalayan eyeing the mess from her perch on the nearby desk knew it.

“Liza is judging you.”

The cat purred in agreement, languidly swooshing her tail.

I propped my hands on my hips and glanced at my friend lounging on the chaise in the corner. “I don’t think she’s the only one.”

Max sat up with a gasp, clutching at a strand of phantom pearls. His sun-streaked brown hair flopped strategically across his face, falling neatly along his high cheekbones. “Me? Judge? Never.”

I chuckled fondly.

If possible, Max was a bigger diva than me. And that was saying something. In his watermelon midriff tee, pink micro shorts, and a wrist full of beaded bracelets, he was quite fabulous. And probably a tad chilly, too. The weather had been glorious in LA lately, but it was cool tonight. There was a hint of autumn in the air.

Max claimed not to notice. He was a Minnesota transplant and an unapologetic sun worshiper. Less was more in his book…when it came to clothes, anyway. His dress shirts were a size too small, his pants were all capri length, and if he could get away with wearing his Jimmy Choo slides, he was a happy camper.

In his defense, the poor guy wore scrubs and OMG, Crocs for his day job as a dental hygienist. It only seemed right and fair that he celebrate the real Max under those baggy blue cotton garments and plastic white slip-ons.

God, I was going to miss him…and my spoiled feline friend, Liza. And my human friends, Deacon and Andre and Jace and Bjorn, and my sister, Jazz, and my niece and nephew. I’d definitely miss my salon sisters, Jax and Serena, too. Okay, fine…I was going to miss almost everyone, but I’d be home in six weeks and just thinking about the Halloween-themed welcome home parties I had to look forward to would be enough to keep my spirits up if I ever got homesick.

I sincerely doubted that would happen, though. I was Paris bound, baby! The city of lights, love, croissants, wine, the Eiffel Tower, and ding dang berets…

Winnie is coming for you, gay Par-ee!

Truthfully, fucking off to Paris was probably a terrible idea for a guy hoping to get ahead at work. And tapping into my savings account to pay for my plane ticket…also a bad idea. But screw it. I’d tried being sensible and responsible. It wasn’t fun, and I hadn’t reaped any rewards at the salon.

Nothing, nada, zilch.

I’d pasted a phony smile on when that beach-blond idiot who called everyone sugar got the promotion and the chair that was supposed to be mine. I’d worked my booty off and yes, I’d been disappointed. However, I’d sucked it up, dusted off my go-to happy grin and gotten back to it, razzle-dazzling the clientele at The Lounge.

I’d shampooed my heart out, swept the floors, mixed the formulas, handled basic cuts, poured the tea, and dished the dirt. Same as I’d done day in, day out…year after year. Guess what? I didn’t get the next promotion either. I wasn’t as bummed, because Marcus really was an exceptional stylist.

However, last month’s diss had been a gut punch of epic proportion.

Get this…the new receptionist who’d been moonlighting at another salon was asked to join the team as a color expert, a.k.a. stylist. That was supposed to be my spot. My chair. I liked Kylie and I wanted to be happy for her, but I was oh, so sad for me. And let’s get one thing straight—sad was not in my repertoire.

I didn’t do sad.

Ever.

Sad was drab colors, gray skies, and tacky polyester shirts. It was unfortunate breath, bad sex, and running out of coffee on a Monday morning. Things I would never ever intentionally do or be part of if I could help it.

I was so unaccustomed to the emotion that I wasn’t sure what was wrong with me until my best friend, Raine, FaceTimed me from England and said three dreaded, horrible words:

“Winnie, you’re blue.”

Ugh!

I’d sobbed like a baby, spilling my guts out with mascara streaking my cheeks while my bestie had comforted me from afar. Poor guy. I wouldn’t have wanted to deal with me in that state. I’d been a wreck.

In my mind, I’d been disrespected. The more I thought about my predicament, the more I realized it was never going to get better. Management didn’t want me to be anything other than a glorified shampoo person. I was the comedic relief, the fun-time gal, the bad boy with a broom who had the latest gossip and was quick with a compliment.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >64

Advertisement
Hotshot (The Elmwood Stories #5) Read Online Lane Hayes http://www.wownovels.com/hotshot-the-elmwood-stories-5-read-online-lane-hayes Sat, 31 Aug 2024 08:13:13 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/hotshot-the-elmwood-stories-5-read-online-lane-hayes Genre: M-M Romance, Sports Authors: Lane Hayes Series: The Elmwood Stories Series by Lane Hayes
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >83

The rookie superstar, the desperate cowboy, and a naughty proposition…

Denny
The press calls me this year’s hot shot, the rookie who scores at will and conjures plays out of thin air. Truth is…I’m a PR nightmare. Seriously. Ask my agent.
My anxiety is off the charts. I can’t talk to the media without breaking into a cold sweat, but once I get through the season, I can regroup at home. Life is simpler in Vermont.
Well, not anymore. There’s a new cowboy in town. Literally, a cowboy. At least, Hank looks like one—he owns a horse, wears a hat, and did I mention he’s hot?
And get this…he has a proposition for me.

Hank
Proposition is a strong word. I prefer to call this a mutually beneficial arrangement. See, I could use Denny’s help with a family business venture, and though I was planning to offer cash, the jock has a sexier idea.
Not gonna lie, I’m interested.
This could be a fun distraction while I’m stuck in Elmwood. Nice enough place, however, the locals are wary of an outsider taking over the neighboring mill. Long story short…they don’t trust me. But they love their hometown hockey hero.
I get it.
I’ve never met anyone like Denny—skittish in street clothes and a feral beast with cunning instincts on the ice. He’s fascinating, sexy, smart, and—
Whoa! I’m not falling for the hotshot rookie. No way, no how, no chance…
Too late.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

DENNY

“You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.”—Wayne Gretzky

“This defense isn’t prepared for Denver’s rookie,” the sportscaster commented. “Denny Mellon is quick and agile and—he stole the puck again! It’s a breakaway for Mellon! He’s blasting toward the goal. Oblinsk is ready, but this guy is lightning. Mellon fakes a pass, takes a high shot to the upper left corner, and…scores! NHL’s new hotshot is on fire!”

The Bleacher Report

The hotshot is at it again. Denny Mellon, Denver’s power forward, is earning his ice time and putting his team on the map.

ESPN

There are some talented rookies out there having great seasons, but Denny Mellon is arguably the best. He’s an impact player with speed, skill, and poise, and Denver’s hotshot is a mad scoring machine reminiscent of hockey’s greatest players.

Sports Illustrated

Denny Mellon is the undisputed golden boy in Denver, scoring and assisting at will every time he takes the ice, Mellon dazzles fans, who chant, “Hotshot!” from the rafters.

“Yo, Hotshot! Welcome home!”

I waved at the shadowy figure outside the bar and sighed.

Were you supposed to get a say in a nickname? If so, I wanted a redo.

There had to be something better out there than Hotshot. It was too silly, too flighty, too showy. I was none of those things. How about Speed Demon, or Speedy, or just…Demon? I was open to all ideas and propositions.

Oh, wait. That didn’t sound right. Propositions came with connotations. Nothing good ever came from an opening line like, “I have a proposition for you.”

Interesting, funny, ridiculous, smarmy, terrifying…sure. But not good.

Of course, I had zero to no experience in such matters. Elmwood wasn’t Vegas…or Denver. We didn’t do propositions here. We dared each other to do things we’d planned on doing anyway, like climbing the roof of St. Finbarr’s and chugging beers under the stars or maybe going skinny-dipping in Lake Norman at midnight.

But that was in high school, when impromptu parties and dubious decision-making had practically been badges of honor. I was old enough to know better now, and I did.

I rubbed my hands together and glanced up at the black awning over the bar attached to the Black Horse Inn, a small motel at the fringe of forest in southern Vermont. The bar advertised itself as a charming gem from a simpler time. If you were into sticky tabletops, watered-down beer, a perpetual playlist of hokey songs from the sixties and seventies, and ambient lighting so dim it was hard to see two feet in front of your face, then…yes, this was the right spot.

To me, it looked and felt like home.

And damn, it was good to be back…if only for a short time. The mellow hum of everyday life in Elmwood was a welcome respite from the reality of grueling practices, high-stakes games, and constant travel. I liked my team, and I’d met nice people in Denver. I just couldn’t relax there.

Sure, I was killing it in the NHL, but a rookie had a lot to prove. I had to be a-fucking-mazing every night. I had to put in a thousand percent effort, smile through rough hits, and shake off idiotic jabs meant to fuck with my concentration on the ice. None of that was particularly challenging for me. The hardest part was not knowing who I could trust.

That wasn’t the case here. The second I walked into the bar, I knew I’d be greeted with a sea of friendly faces, high fives, fist bumps, and hugs. However, I was still me, and I didn’t do well with crowds or people in general. Even at home.

Awkward? Yep, that description fit.

I sucked in a fortifying breath, wiped my sweaty palms on my leather jacket, and tapped my thumbs against my upper thigh to calm my nerves before I pushed open the door, mentally preparing myself for a huge helping of unfiltered, in-your-face attention, and—well, you’ll see.

“Denny!”

A whoop of applause and cheers echoed from the rafters of the old bar. Next thing I knew, the whole place was chanting the nickname a sports reporter had given me after my premier game in the NHL a few months ago.

“Hotshot! Hotshot! Hotshot!”

Ugh.

I pushed forward with my chin tucked to hide my certain blush, slapping high fives like a pro on my way to the bar.

Side note: The bartender here knew everyone’s name and beverage preference. There was no waiting or overthinking your poison of choice for the night. Bill took one look at the door, gave the newcomers an up-nod, and got to work. It didn’t matter how long it had been since your last visit to the Black Horse—he never forgot a name or an order.

“Denny Mellon! I saw that goal last night. Your money is no good here tonight, Hotshot,” Bill boomed. “Drinks on the house for you.”

I probably should have insisted that was unnecessary, but I’d done this dance a few times and knew Bill wouldn’t relent. There was no point in expending my finite amount of social energy on an argument I wouldn’t win. So I thanked the older man before heading toward the high table near the ancient jukebox in a dark corner of the bar where my idiot friends were screaming their lungs out.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >83