Excerpt 1: Clara falls into Cade’s arms on the ice
“Oh, man, this is awesome!” Joel declares, holding my phone in his hands. “You guys look sick! Even you, Clara.”

I let out a surprised laugh at Joel’s comment when Asher calls, “And now turn!” and as I do my legs fly from underneath me, and my breath wooshes out as I scrunch my eyes shut, bracing for the impact of cold, hard ice against my poor, under-protected butt.

But the ice-cold contact fails to happen, and when my eyes spring open I see Cade, his eyes wide with alarm as large, strong arms pull me against his firm body.

He grins down at me as my heart beats out of my chest.

I tell myself it’s because I almost fell, but being in Cade’s arms feels…well, it feels pretty dang amazing.

Not that I’m going to tell him that.

“Thanks,” I mumble, the heat rising in my cheeks as I gaze up at him, at total odds with the cold of the arena.

“My pleasure,” he replies, and the way he says those two words sends a flash of something hot through me that I’ve got to work hard at resisting.

But resist it I must, no matter how good this feels.

I haven’t been held by a man since Dwayne left me for my friend. And that was years ago.

I heave out a breath as I drag my gaze from his. I need to remember that this guy is a total player, and I don’t mean just on the ice. He probably catches falling women in his big, strong arms every day of the week—and I bet most of them don’t even bother to resist the heat this feeling elicits.

But I’m not one of those women, and I refuse to act on my physical attraction for this man. There are so many reasons, the non-fraternization clause in my employment contract being right at the top of that list.

Throwing away my new job because I’m attracted to one of the players? Not going to happen.

“You guys, I’m getting so many likes on this!” Joel calls out.

Wait. Likes?

I snap my attention to Joel, who’s still holding up my phone, pointing it straight at Cade and me. “Cade, would you mind putting me down? Like now.”

“I’ll do you one better,” he replies as he glides me smoothly back toward the bench, still holding me close in his arms. Holding me in one arm, he pulls open the door, and returns me to my feet—which I note are now trembling.

 

Excerpt 2: The Meet Cute
I clear my throat as I slide my hands protectively over my son’s shoulders.

“Oh, hi, Mommy,” Benny says, glancing at me momentarily before he returns his attention to his comic book—and the man.

“What are you guys talking about?” I ask lightly, narrowing my eyes at the man, my subtext being who are you and why the heck are you talking with my son?

The man shifts his attention from Benny to me, and as he does, he rises to his full height, all six feet whatever. He’s tall, way taller than me, and, I admit begrudgingly, he’s handsome. With his sandy blond hair kinda scruffy and a touch too long in that effortless, I-woke-up-handsome kind of way, his strong jawline is covered in a cropped beard with a few specks of salt and pepper that somehow works on him. My guess is he’s mid-thirties, maybe older, and he’s got the kind of face that makes your stomach do a slow flip.

In fact, he looks a little like a blond Jacob Elordi, as well as…familiar.

Yeah, definitely familiar.

“You must be Benny’s mom,” he says, his voice deep and sonorous, his gray eyes pinning me in place.

I tighten my hold on Benny’s shoulders, lifting my chin in a vain attempt to appear taller than my five feet three inches against this…this…handsome giant. A handsome giant who thinks it’s okay to talk with young boys they don’t know in bookstores.

“I am Benny’s mom. And you are?” I ask pointedly.

His ludicrously handsome face morphs into a smile as he extends one of his huge hands toward me. “Cade Lennox. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

Ma’am? Oh, no, he did not just ma’am me!

How old does this guy think I am?

I’m too busy gaping at him to respond, and after a beat, he pulls his hand away, giving me a sheepish smile.

“I was talking with Benny here about the latest comic in the The Timekeeper Chronicles. We’re both fans,” he explains. “It’s great that this bookstore gets the comics. I’m new in town and this is a big find for me. I thought I’d have to order them online, which just isn’t the same.”

“Well, that’s very nice of you, Mr.—” I’m about to say “Elordi” when it snaps into place who this guy is. He’s the right winger for the newly minted Ice Breakers. In fact, I’ve got a picture of him in his New York City Blades uniform in my spreadsheet at home. His most recent season stats float before my eyes. Thirty-seven goals, twenty-four assists, average slapshot over 100 mph, and forty-two penalty minutes, mostly for chirping at refs, which he has a reputation for doing.

“Lennox,” he finishes for me, shooting me a look that seems to ask whether my brain is functioning properly.

“I just worked out who you are.”

 

Excerpt 3: Shirtless Hockey Player
I make my way down the hallway and pull the door open, expecting a delivery guy in a uniform.

What I get makes me feel like someone shook up a soda can inside me and popped the lid.

“Well, if it’s not the Triple Threat,” I say as my gaze sweeps over the very woman I’ve just been told not to get anywhere near. Which makes her even more attractive, if I’m honest.

The lure of the forbidden.

I am so here for it.

Just like when we did our TikTok dance, Clara’s in a navy pencil skirt and a pair of heels, this time with a long, pale blue winter coat over a white shirt, her blonde hair tied up in a modest bun at the nape of her neck. She looks like a hot librarian, only she’s a hot social media manager.

At least I hope she still has the job.

She freezes for a moment before she regains her composure. “I’m sorry, did you say ‘triple threat’?”

“That’s what I’m calling you.” I begin to count them off on my fingers. “Mom, social media manager, and, if you don’t mind me saying, all ’round babe.” I pause, hoping I haven’t overstepped the mark. She doesn’t want to like it, but the glint in her eyes says otherwise.

“You are still our social media manager, right?”

“I am.”

“So, the livestream wasn’t an issue?”

“It turns out my boss wasn’t at all worried about me being on the video because it got so many likes, comments, and reposts. In fact, she wants more content with me with…well, with you.”

“Me?”

“She thought we had ‘chemistry,’” she replies, as though saying the word is physically painful for her.

“Chemistry. Yup, I’ve heard of that,” I tease.

She shifts her weight. “The comments reflected that perspective.” She sounds all formal and librarian-y.

Totally on-brand for her.

“Did they now?” I’m playing dumb when the fact of the matter is I watched the video more than once, and I read some of the comments. A lot of them focused on how romantic it was when I looked at her when she landed in my arms (from a chick), right through to how this isn’t a freaking romcom movie, and where’s the freaking hockey? (from a guy).

At the risk of agreeing with @GoalieGirl23, her landing in my arms like that did look pretty freaking romantic.

And it felt pretty freaking romantic, too.

“So, Ms. Reynolds can see what I can see, huh?” I say, but all she does is tighten her lips. “Hey, do you wanna come in? It’s cold out here.”

Her eyes skim over me and she tightens her lips. “That’s because you spend most of your life shirtless, it would seem. You know it’s fall, right?”

I look down at the now goose flesh of my chest as though just realizing my current state of shirtless-ness. “I guess you’re just lucky you caught me, Triple. Come in.” I stand back for her to walk inside and close the door over behind her.

“So that nickname is a thing now? What’s wrong with ‘Clara’?”

“Not one thing,” I say, enjoying the way my comment makes her squirm.

 

Excerpt 4: Hockey players do a TikTok dance
What am I doing? I promised myself I wouldn’t film any cheesy, overdone dancing hockey players when I took this job, and what am I doing right this very moment? Filming three super big guys, wearing all their game day gear, dancing to that catchy Rosé and Bruno Mars’ song “APT” like a bunch of overly energetic teenage kids in High School Musical. It’s cheesier than a bowl of mac and cheese slathered in extra Edam.

Yup, first day of my job and this is my life now.

“No, man, it’s like this,” Asher is saying to the other two as he lifts his foot and taps it with his gloved hand, then does the same to the other foot before spinning around, his arms above his head.

I applaud him from my spot at the team bench as I lean over the boards for a clear shot. “That was awesome, Asher!”

He smiles at me before he returns to the lesson, and I watch once more as Cade and Weston do their best to copy Asher’s moves.

I try not to laugh. Really, I do. But they look so dang funny next to Asher’s sleek, honed dance skills, even the looks on their faces showing they’re completely flummoxed by this new way of moving on the ice.

“Come on, man. I look like I’m having a seizure,” Weston complains.

“Nah, you’re doing great, Smith!” Asher says, not missing a beat. “It’s all in the hips. It’s just like you’re trying to dodge a check, but make it sexy, eh?”

I snort laugh and am glad the guys are too engrossed in their dance routine to notice.

“Make it sexy? Dude, I’m wearing thirty pounds of protective gear and sweating like I just did suicide drills,” Cade complains.

“No one wants to hear about your sweat, Lennox,” Weston says, and he receives a shove from Cade.

“Yeah, sweat isn’t sexy,” Asher says before he transitions into the next move. “This is the move that gets all the likes. Just watch, okay?”

There really is something so endearing about watching some of the NHL’s top players trying to nail a dance move that’s probably meant for lithe teenagers with very different builds than these guys.