Read Online Books/Novels:

Trouser Snake

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Teagan Kade

Book Information:

There’s a monster in my pants.
It won’t play nice, act soft, or be your BFF.
But it will blow your mother-pucking mind.
I’m the guy who arrives with girl A and leaves with girls B and C.
A hockey rockstar. An ice-cold scoring machine.
I thought coaching the NHL’s newest team would be a walk in the park.
I didn’t expect the exquisite torture that is Rae Walsh.
She’s a pocket rocket of a PR stunt, our latest recruit with a pretty mouth and tight little body to match.
She’ll be the only woman in the league, which means she’s a) completely insane, and b) about to enter a world of pain.
I don’t need that kind of distraction, not when I’m yet to prove my coaching chops.
But the more I resist the more I want to pin her down and prove why I’m the best in the game.
Getting together would be career suicide.
I’d be risking everything to be with her, my legacy included.
But sometimes the risk really is worth the reward.
Sometimes you’ve got to bet everything to score BIG.

Go full throttle or go the hell home with this swoon-worthy new sports romance from best-selling author Teagan Kade. Trouser Snake is a full length, standalone bad boy romance packed full of steamy surprises. There’s no cheating, no cliffhangers and a guaranteed HEA. Don’t miss it!

Books by Author:

Teagan Kade Books



I slid the whistle between my lips and gave two short blasts of air. The sound echoed around the rink as the guys seamlessly switched to the next drill. I had made a few last-minute changes to the roster since preseason training began and I wanted to see how well they skated together. Read: not like a pack of pubescent high-schoolers concerned more with scoring pussy than goals.

The twenty-three men soared through the drill rotation. The cold snap of metal blades cutting up the ice-filled rink.

Music to my ears.

“They’re looking good, no?” my assistant coach Jamie mentioned. He ran a hand over his head, acting as though he was smoothing it out, but the fiery orange strands had long begun to disappear. His finger merely grazed his scalp.

I patted his shoulder as I nodded my agreement. They certainly were, which was to be expected. I had hand-picked each and every one of them. Since the Seattle Krakens were a brand-new franchise, the owners had turned to me to fill the roster. I was not about to disappoint.

“Do you think we have a shot at the Cup, or is it too early to tell?”

I mulled it over. “Well, we’re a completely new team from suits to skates. There will be growing pains, sure, but if we can train like this every day, we could very well be sipping a few beers from that silver beauty come June.”

Yeah, it was my first year as a coach, but I was determined to make that damn cup mine by the end of playoffs. I knew what it took to take home the Stanley Cup; I’d done it three times before when I was flying around the rink as a winger for the Blackhawks. Watching my men on the ice, I knew they had it in them to win the Big One. We were all willing to do anything to have our team’s name engraved onto its lustrous silver side.

Nothing tastes better than success, I thought to myself, my mind casually wandering off the ice. Well, almost nothing…

I blew three blasts into the whistle, the sound shutting out all else.

“Have you found someone to replace Malone yet?” Jamie glanced down at his clipboard, avoiding my eyes. It was a touchy subject.

My team was missing its starting goaltender. Malone, the dumbass, had gone bungee jumping at some bargain outfit while on vacation in Costa Rica and, what do you know, the cord snapped. I knew better than to think ill of the dead, but it was hard not to when he’d been an example of evolution in action.

The Seattle Kraken had two subs on the roster when the incident occurred — one of them got bought out from under me as I was scribbling my signature on the employment contract, leaving us with our third string. He wasn’t bad, but he was young and sorely lacking in experience. Not ideal for the team’s bid for the Cup.

I glanced over my shoulder at the click of high heels clomping down the stadium steps to see the most horrific sight. The woman walking towards me held a manila folder in her hand and a large grin on her unsightly face. Her hair was cut just above her shoulder, and dyed a brassy, copper red. It didn’t suit her. Wanda was a natural black. The lighter color was awkward at best.

She lifted her hand and waved at me. Her cherry nails stuck out over her fingertips.

“Fuck,” I breathed, turning back around. I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t seen her now.

“Oh god. Her again?” Jamie muttered.

“Scott,” she called out to me. Her voice was high-pitched and twittery. I always thought it sounded oddly birdlike. “Scott!” she shouted.

I gave my whistle one long, punctuated blow. All twenty-three players stopped and turned to face me. “Get some water,” I said, before wheeling around to face my arch nemesis. “What do you want, Wanda? I’ve only got a few more minutes here before I need to head out to a meeting with Tripp and Allie.”

Tripp and Allie were the co-owners of this enterprise. They’d placed a certain degree of trust in me. Trust I didn’t want to betray.

Wanda strutted all the way up to the rink barrier, swaying her hips with each calculated step. She extended her arm out to me and pushed out her chest. “I know,” she replied. “I have an idea I want to run past you before you head out.”

I glanced down at the manila folder that hovered three inches away from me. I wasn’t going to touch it. She’d had her hands all over the thing. It was soaked in the smell of her perfume. “What’s that?”

“Open it.”

“Why don’t you just tell me what this is all about?” I folded my arms in front of my chest. I could feel my heart pounding from the other side of my jacket.