Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 82(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 82(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
A Steamy, Fake-Dating, Hockey, Forced-Proximity Opposites attract, Fire’n’Ice romance.
***
Sebastian Clay
I don’t give a damn if my reputation is circling down the drain faster than I can blink.
One photo of me grabbing some asshole paparazzi by the collar, and suddenly I’m hockey’s biggest villain.
Thirty million in endorsements? Almost gone.
Family-friendly cereal deals? Dead.
My squeaky-clean image? Buried six feet under.
But here’s the thing nobody knows—I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Because that piece of shit was talking about Maddison, and nobody disrespects my girl, my Mad.
Maddison Lowden.
Yes, my girl … even if she doesn’t know it yet.
She’s been fixing my messes for three years, calling me out on my bullshit.
I’ve been obsessed with her since day one, and she treats me like an overgrown toddler who can’t tie his own skates.
Now my franchise PR team has proposed the perfect solution: a brilliant solution.
Marrythe woman I’ve been fantasizing about for years.
Fake engagement, real chemistry, one year of playing house with the only person who’s ever made me want to be better. Win-win! Ker-ching!
What could possibly go wrong?
***
Spoiler alert: everything.
And I wouldn’t change a damn thing.
______________________________________________________
🔥 When desire crosses the line,
boundaries don’t stand a chance
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
SEBASTIAN
Mad, looks mad as hell.
Get it? Mad and mad.
It's what I like to call her because she looks perpetually pissed off at me … even at our own wedding.
Her forehead furrows, and her nose scrunches like she smells something bad. Is it me? Do I stink?
Then, I realize … nah, it's not me. It's just specifically due to whatever this entire situation is.
I know, I know. She's mortified she's here and forced to do this. But…
Is it wrong that I feel like the happiest man in the world right now? Luckiest, too?
It's like being handed the Stanley Cup without playing or winning the lottery without buying a ticket.
Well, well, well. The stars did align for me today.
Mad's fingers tremble against mine, and I try to tamp down the all-too-familiar longing. My trousers grow tighter as my cock strains against the zipper, and I dig my heels into the floor.
Not now, buddy. Don't embarrass me in front of her and over a hundred guests.
If my teammates ever see me getting hard with the simple act of hand-holding, I will never live that down.
The officiant drones on about commitment and partnership while I focus on the soft press of her palm. Three fucking years I've wanted to touch her like this. Three years of watching her storm into Anya's office after my media disasters, clipboard in hand, those big brown eyes narrowed at me like I'm the biggest problem in her life.
Now she's mine. On paper, anyway.
"Sebastian," she hisses under her breath. "You're crushing my hand."
I loosen my grip immediately. "Oh, sorry."
Someone's pinned up Mad's dark curls with tiny white flowers that match her simple dress. Nothing like the massive princess gowns most hockey wives choose. Mad's dress hugs every curve, stopping just above her knees. Professional enough for a business meeting, sexy enough to make my mouth dry.
Although, to be fair to her, she can wear a burlap sack, and my cock will roar to attention all the same.
Yep, I need help. And maybe some therapy, too.
She shifts her weight, all five feet four inches against my 6'6 frame. So much attitude in one short, curvy body. I fucking love every inch of it.
"Try to look less like you won the Stanley Cup," she says, smiling the fakest smile I've ever seen in my entire life. "This is supposed to be a reluctant arrangement."
"Nothing reluctant about my end of this deal, baby. You know me, I go big or go home. I'm all-in."
Her cheeks flush that perfect shade of pink I like so much. "I keep trying to convince myself I won't regret this, and you keep giving me reasons I should."
I smile at the frustration in her voice. "You're stuck with me now, wife."
"Don't call me that."
"Emergency contact?"
"I'm not."
"Tax write-off?"
She shoots daggers with her eyes. "Clay, shut up."
I can't help it, so I chuckle softly. "Mad, you're a Clay now, too."
"God, I hate you so much."
The rooftop restaurant offers a panoramic view of the city. String lights overhead, flowers everywhere, champagne flowing.
Anya didn't half-ass our fake wedding.
My teammates fill three tables near the makeshift altar, Coach Anderson beside them looking uncomfortable in his suit. The photographer circles us like a shark, capturing every moment for the press release.
A perfect PR spectacle. Exactly what we needed.
Two weeks ago, I wouldn't have believed this possible. But then again, two weeks ago, I was still just fantasizing about Mad, not slipping a ring on her finger.
The locker room stinks of defeat.
Two goals down in the third period, and we couldn't claw our way back. I slam my locker shut, still in my base layers, hair dripping from the shower.
Coach's voice cuts through the silence. "Clay, the PR team's waiting."
"Tell them to fuck off." I pull my shirt over my head. "I'm not in the mood."
"That attitude is exactly why they're waiting." He gives me the look that usually precedes bag skates at practice. "Get your shit together and do your job."
I throw my gear into my bag. It's immature, I know, but I'm beyond caring. PR bullshit is the last thing I need after a loss like this. Some rookie reporter asking what went wrong when it's fucking obvious what went wrong. We played like shit. I played like shit. It was a shit game, period.
***
The media room's empty by the time I drag myself there. Just Mad standing with her tablet, checking her watch.
"You're late."
"Plus points for being a keen observer. Another one for stating the obvious."
Her lips twitch. Not quite a smile, but I'll take it. "Everyone's gone. You missed the press conference."
"Tragedy."
"Anya's going to hear about this."
"Add it to my tab." I step closer, towering over her. Mad never backs up, never shows fear. Her eyes flick up to mine, that spark of challenge I live for.
"Your tab's getting pretty long, Clay."