by June Winters
“You sure you're alright?” he asked.
“Uh huh.”
***
When we made it back to the condo, Ryan was having a harder time trying to hide that smile.
“What's gotten into you …?” I asked.
“Nothing. I told you, I missed you.” He pulled me near and smothered me with kisses. “Man, you really look beautiful today. You're glowing.”
“Thanks,” I said shyly, while my insides silently screamed, that glow you're seeing? That's your body noticing that I'm carrying your child!
It was time to tell him.
“Where's Lance?” I asked—because the last thing I wanted was Lance to rush into the room and yell, wait, did I just hear you say you're pregnant?!
“I dunno,” Ryan said. “Hey, why don't we go up to the rooftop? Have a drink? Maybe it'll help you relax.”
“I'm, um—not drinking,” I said.
“Since when?” he laughed.
“Since …” I took a breath, mustering up the courage to say it—since I missed my period and took four pregnancy tests before I managed to haul my sorry ass to the doctor to confirm what I was seeing!
But Ryan stopped me before I could. “We can just drink a sparkling water, then. I just want to be with you up there and look over the harbor. It's a beautiful day.”
I nodded, suddenly thinking that breaking the news to him up there, overlooking the harbor might not be such a bad idea after all. It was one of the first places we started to get to know each other, after all.
“Yeah, okay, that sounds nice.”
We took the elevator to the roof, hand-in-hand. The doors opened and we stepped out—and I gasped with surprise.
Everyone was there, all the WAGs and the friends I'd made in Boston and all Ryan's, too. The entire Brawlers team was there, Lance and Shea and Ilya and Josh and all the other teammates I'd gotten to know. Everyone was dressed so nice and elegantly and my mind flipped through all the dates in my head—was it my birthday? No, of course it wasn't …
“What … what is this?” I stammered.
I turned around, and Ryan dropped to one knee. “I wanted everyone to be here when I asked you if you'd make me the happiest man alive.”
“Ryan …!”
He pulled a box from his pocket and showed me the gold ring. A diamond, big and white as snow, glittered under the bright blue sky.
“Will you marry me, Ella?”
“Yes! Of course, yes!” I yelled, and he put the ring on my finger and I pulled him to his feet and we hugged and kissed in front of all our friends who went yay! and aww!
Lance aimed a champagne bottle into the sky and pop, sent the cork sailing. “Let's get this party started!” My brother began pouring champagne, and gave us the first two flutes. “Here you go! Congratulations, Ella!”
“Thanks, Lance!” I took the champagne from him, but I didn't sip from it.
Lance went passing out his flutes to everyone, and they all milled about, engaged in lively conversation and passing by to give Ryan and I their best wishes and ambush us with questions:
So when I was moving to Boston? (The sooner the better! I'm ready!)
Would we let Lance move in with us? (Ha ha ha—NO!)
During a lull, I found myself in Ryan's arms, just the two of us, away from the boisterous chaos and overlooking the serenity over the harbor.
“So, I have to ask—why'd you pop the question here?” I asked him.
“Remember when we first met, and I showed you around the building?”
“Of course.”
“When we were on the rooftop—that's when we first started to really talk. That's when I realized there was something about you, something that just drew me towards you. I thought you were so cute, Ella, and I was so dumb, thinking I wouldn't fall for you. God, I really thought I could ignore my feelings for you and they'd go away …”
I put my hand on his cheek. “Aw, Ryan. That's so sweet.”
“Yeah, so I figured I had to propose either right here on the rooftop … or at MacAllister's,” he said with a smirk.
“Oh my God. Don't even joke about that!”
Ryan finished off his champagne. He glanced at my glass and frowned. “You haven't had a drop.”
“I told you, I'm not drinking.”
“Not even tonight?” He narrowed his eyes at me. “What's up, Ella?”
I held my breath. Should I tell him now? What if it goes badly and I screw this whole celebration up?
Oh, whatever.
I didn't want to make a big scene out of it. Gently, I took Ryan's hand and simply placed it over my tummy and held it there.
His eyes grew wide. “You serious? Are you saying what I think you're saying?”
I nodded. “Yes, Ryan.”
Any fears or doubts or anxieties I might've had, Ryan smothered with a soulful kiss. “Ella … that's amazing!”
“Yeah?” I asked, nervously laughing.
“Oh my God, yes! We're gonna have a baby, Ella!” Then he hushed his voice and looked around, hoping no one had heard. “Shit, I shouldn't say that so loud, eh?”
“Yeah … we shouldn't announce it just yet …”
“How far along are you?”
“Six weeks. I found out yesterday.”
“Oh, man, that's gonna kill me. We gotta start getting ready! So what do we do now?”
I grinned. “First, let's enjoy our night. We'll start planning later. We've still got plenty of time.”
He nodded and offered me his arm. “Let's go visit with everyone, then.”
A couple hours later, the party had dwindled, and the rest of the stragglers went home or out to the club. News of the baby had put a wild spark in Ryan—and he barely managed to keep his eyes or hands off me all night. Now that we were home alone, Ryan rushed me into his bedroom, his mouth on mine, his hands hungrily groping at my tits, his erection pressed against my rear.
He tore off my clothes in a hurry, and then his own. He mounted me and set the tip of his manhood at my opening.
“Ella, I love you so much,” he said as he widened me open with his thick, throbbing cock.
“I love you too Ryan,” I moaned as his bigness filled me.
About the Author
June Winters believes every romance is hotter on the ice. Born in Minnesota, June grew up knee-deep in hockey and quickly learned to love the sport – but especially its strong and sexy heroes, who will do anything for their teammates … and the women they fall for.
Keep your eye out for more hockey romance from June!
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Also by June Winters
Grudge Puck: A Hockey Romance
A pest from the past ...
Camille Kennedy can't believe who just walked into her tiny bakery. That tall, muscular stud? He's Beau Bradford, famous hockey hunk.
But this isn't a happy high school reunion -- the arrogant athlete was a thorn in Camille's side and had a serious knack for bringing out her worst. And now that he's a star in the pros, he's even more chiseled and cocky.
So when Beau locks his eyes on her, Camille knows exactly what's running through his jock brain.
Game on.
But Camille's too busy for games. And she knows where Beau's flirting leads. Like, a sinfully hot kiss in the back of a cab, for example. Or his giant hand, sliding under her dress and inching up her thighs ...
You know what he's after. Don't fall for it!
A hard-hitting, heart-breaking badboy …
Beau Bradford wears his reputation as the dirtiest player in the NHL like a badge of pride. He's no saint off the ice, either.
When the team rolls into NYC for a road trip, Beau drops in on an old rival: class valedictorian, Camille. Voted most likely to succeed. So why is the prissy bookworm slinging cupcakes, while he makes millions cracking skulls?
Ha ... who cares.
She can deny it all she wants, but Beau
knows better than anyone else that Little Miss Perfect has a dark side -- one that's begging and screaming to be let loose.
Beau's goal? To even the score. Because nothing's hotter than a hate-fueled grudge f***.
***
Grudge Puck is a 50,000 word hockey romance! This stand-alone novel is the second entry in the Colorado Blizzard series. Narrated in alternating first person. No cheating, no cliffhanger, HEA guaranteed.
Excerpt from Grudge Puck:
Chapter 1
New Beginnings
Camille Kennedy
I felt like taking a stroll down memory lane while I busily churned a mixing bowl full of brownie batter.
I cranked up the volume on the kitchen stereo—but not too loud, or the pot-bellied guy that lives upstairs will turn bright-red with anger and march down to yell at me. Today I felt like revisiting the Pixies, a band I was obsessed with in high school. And now, whenever I play their albums, a flash of high school memories come rushing back.
I sang along and bopped about to the music, laughing aloud when I suddenly remembered some silly inside joke that me and my friends spent all of senior year repeating. Or cringing with never-ending embarrassment when I recalled the time I relentlessly pursued that hot nerdy guy who clearly was never into me …
I always get a little lost in my own head-space when I'm working at the bakery. That's one of the reasons it's so hard to get awa—
“Camille!”
The sudden shout scared me so bad, my head nearly rocketed through the ceiling. I almost dropped my mixing bowl, too, fumbling it from hand to hand before I managed to catch it and safely set it down.
I let out a sigh of relief. With a hand over my racing heart, I turned the Pixies down to a whisper. Then I turned around to face Piper, the other half here at Velvet Bakery.
“I'm so sorry Camille! I didn't mean to scare you.” Piper covered her mouth with her hand to politely hide her smile. “But you got some sweet vertical on that jump, dude.”
I laughed too. “It's my fault. I couldn't hear the door over the music.”
Piper put her apron on. “But um. I have to ask: why are you here? You're supposed to be taking the day off, no?”
“Well,” I stalled. “I just wanted to make sure everything went smoothly.”
Piper stared right through me as she tied the apron strings into a knot behind her back. “Uh huh.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer: she wasn't buying what I was selling.
“I'm just wondering. Does this have something to do with the fact that I went out to the club last night?”
“Partly?” I sheepishly admitted. “It's just that, you know, our shop is still so new. We're still trying to making a name for ourselves, and first impressions mean a lot. So we have to be consistent, or—”
Piper cut me off. “And you've got to trust me, Camille. You're not the only one who's put some serious skin in the game, you know? I'm your business partner! And I shouldn't have to remind you that I also quit a pretty decent job to open this shop.”
“I know, I know. I'm sorry. I really didn't mean anything by it.”
“And that also means you've got to take some time off, Camille. I can't have you burn out on me. You've got to have a life outside the bakery. I mean, shit, what does Matt think of you working all the time?”
Saying his name made the wheels in Piper's head turn. I knew what the expression on her face meant: she'd begun to piece the real story together. I flinched, knowing what was coming.
“Waaaait a minute. Weren't you and Matt supposed to go to Rockaway Beach today? Wasn't that the whole point of you taking the day off in the first place?”
I toed at a smudge on the hardwood floor. “Yeah, it was.”
“Did you guys break up?”
“I wouldn't even say we were serious enough to call it a break-up in the first place. But yeah, we won't be seeing each other anymore.”
“But why?”
“Um.” I turned my back to Piper and resumed my prep cooking. “He had this crazy idea that I spend too much time at work and we never saw each other.”
“Wow, that is crazy,” Piper giggled.
“Okay, sure, I work too much. But I'm trying to follow my dreams and carve out an honest living here! And what about him? He's content living the life of a 'freelance audio engineer,' whatever the hell that means. I guess it means living at bars and only making enough money to barely pay your rent.”
Piper shrugged. She didn't think Matt was 'manly' enough for me, but that's a frequent complaint she makes about all the guys I date. It's odd, considering that Piper was raised on a hippie commune. But as free-spirited and open-minded as she is? She likes her guys beefy and manly.
“Not for nothing, but this is just a gentle reminder that Matt failed the bicep-calf test,” she added.
I rolled my eyes. I don't take the “bicep-calf test” too seriously, but Piper swears by her own invention—and any guy she dates must pass the test. Here's how it works, simply: boy's bicep must be thicker than girl's calf. She's dead serious about it, too. Piper will absolutely bust out a tape measure on the first date if it's too close to call.
“I don't think I've ever dated a guy who'd pass that test,” I muttered.
“Uh huh. That doesn't surprise me.”
“And I don't even want to meet a guy that does.”
“Sure.”
“Seriously. I just want a guy that fits my life. Every guy I date wants me to change for him. Why do I have to be the one that changes? Why not him?”
“I dunno.” Piper neared with outstretched arms. She wrapped them around me and squeezed me with a tight hug. “But I'm sorry to hear the news.”
I hugged Piper back. “Oh, really, it's fine. I told you, we weren't anything. And now I can really focus on work.”
Piper pinched my butt and, for the second time this morning, I leaped several feet into the air.
“Yow! The hell was that for?”
She pulled a spatula off the counter-top and waved it at me like a knife.
“You need to take some time off, lady!”
“Never!”
“Well, you're at least going to get out of my kitchen!” Wielding that spatula, Piper chased me out. “Because I'm scheduled to open, and that's exactly what I'm going to do. You can go sit in the office and drum up some hype on social media or something. I don't care what you do, but I'm opening the damn store like I'm supposed to.”
“Fine.”
I surrendered control of the kitchen and stood in the doorway, watching quietly as Piper took over and prepped for the day.
“Hey, how was the club, anyway?” I asked her.
“It was fun! Everyone had a good time. You really should've come out and seen some familiar faces.”
“I know. Maybe next time.”
Piper's ears perked up. “Next time it is—and I'll hold you to that.”
“We'll see,” I said with a doubting smirk.
“I'm holding you to it, Cammy. You need to meet someone to take your mind off Matt.”
“Blech,” I chortled. “Matt's not even a blip on my radar and I do not want to meet anyone else. Period.”
Piper tutted. “Whatever. Next time, you're coming out with me.”
I rolled and slunk away for the office, my mind already busy with the next task at hand to make sure Velvet Bakery gets off the ground.
We'd been open for a month; but it was a 'soft' opening to work out the kinks. Tomorrow was officially our grand opening—complete with a Times write-up to generate opening day hype.
And now it was time to spam the heck out of social media once again to let everybody know about it.
And pray for the best.
Chapter 2
Pest
Beau Bradford
Chelsea Piers Practice Facility, mid-morning.
Me and the rest of the Blizzard players knelt on one knee at center ice while Coach wr
apped up his game plan for tomorrow night's game against the New York Scouts.
“Just like we've been practicing all season long: be strong on the puck, be fast in transition. Get pucks on net and keep bodies in front. Let's come ready to do battle, boys, and start this road trip off with a W.”
We nodded and grunted with determination.
Coach clapped his stick on the ice. “Alright. Hit the showers.”
We popped up and made our way off the ice, but Coach grabbed the back of my jersey and held me back.
“Bradford.”
“Sup coach?”
“I'm matching you up against Dave Leroux tomorrow night.”
Coach apparently didn't have anything more to say. He slapped his palm against my shoulder pad, and I knew exactly the message he was trying to convey.
Here's the deal with Leroux. He's a solid two-way player that plays a heady game. He's not supremely talented, offensively speaking. But with his vision of the game? He doesn't need a world-class shot or stick-skills. Players like him anticipate the play. They have a habit of appearing in the right place at the right time. Guys with his hockey IQ can make a very good living in this league.
And after this past off-season, Leroux is set up for life. He just inked a 7-year, $6.5 million contract extension. Fans and media pundits who don't truly get hockey bleated on and on for months about how that contract was a “massive over-payment” that was going to “cripple the team financially for years.”
They're wrong.
They're dead wrong, in fact.
But that doesn't matter to me. It's not my job to cajole Leroux and ease his mind and tell him to ignore the haters, and let him know that I think he's actually a great player who is worth every cent.
In fact, my job is the opposite. Because tomorrow night, my assignment is to get Leroux off his game. And all those New York fans who screeched about what a terrible deal they got with Leroux have already done my work for me.
