Well and Truly Pucked (My Hockey Romance #4) Read Online Lauren Blakely

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Funny, Sports Tags Authors: Series: My Hockey Romance Series by Lauren Blakely

Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)

I swear I only asked one hot hockey-playing friend to give me romance lessons for the week, but three hockey stars volunteered…

The post breakup plan was simple – escape from my toxic ex to a vacation rental and stay far away from men.

But thanks to a booking snafu I’m accidentally sharing it with three hot hockey players. One’s flirty, one’s broody, one’s a cheeky Brit, and they’re all the most attentive men I’ve ever met.

After a couple of glasses of champagne, I’m telling them about the contest my ex is running on his dating advice web site. The topic? What makes a great boyfriend, and I want to submit a column.

All three offer to show me every single thing I’ve been missing in and out of bed.

We make a deal for one week only. It’s only for revenge, of course. I work for the other hockey team in the city so it’d be a big mistake to truly get involved with a rival, let alone three .

Even though I melt under their touch. They show me what it means to be adored, cherished and romanced .

But as the week ticks on, what started as revenge fast turns into me giving my heart to three men I can’t have. Looks like I’m well and truly pucked.

Tropes: friends to lovers, rivals to lovers, why choose, no swords cross, hockey romance, force proximity, romance lessons, one week only, world's cutest dog

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




“I can’t believe you told your new girlfriend she can have my cat!” I’m still seeing red but try to dodge past my newly minted ex-boyfriend and slide into that sliver of space where the door’s still open, but the jerk slams the door shut before I can answer the call of the meow.

“Madison really bonded with her, and she’s always loved silver tabbies,” Steven the Cat Burglar says, unrepentant in his thievery.

“Oh well, since Madison likes her, it’s just fine!”

My sarcasm is lost on him since he says, “Yeah, Madison’s great. It’s so cute how they love on each other. Madison said to tell you she’ll take great care of the kitty.”

Like his word means anything while I’m standing outside my apartment—correction: my former apartment—with all my things stuffed into garbage bags.

Except my dog, Donut, who’s at my feet, side-eyeing Steven.

“You can’t just take my cat when you kick me out for no reason,” I say, livid and exasperated. I’ve been trying to reason with him since I returned from a trip thirty minutes ago to the biggest surprise of my twenty-six years of life.

Donut barks, backing me up.

But Steven tilts his head, his perfectly gelled black hair not moving an inch, a placating smile on his I-know-best face. “I explained what happened. It wasn’t really no reason.”

I hold up a hand, my jaw ticking. “I don’t need to hear it again.”

“I understand you’re hurt. It’ll take some time,” he says, all smooth and calm, like I’m just some irate advertiser with his man’s man dating advice website rather than the girlfriend he kicked out because he fell into a whirlwind romance in one freaking week while I was out of town. “But someday you’ll understand that you’ll do just about anything for love.”

“Including stealing,” I sputter, then gesture wildly to all my things. “It’s bad enough you threw all my things out like garbage to move her in while I was at a conference.”

“Briar, calm down. Those are lawn and leaf bags, and I bought the extra-strength ones just for this.”

“Well, that makes all the difference,” I say, rolling my eyes.

He pats my shoulder. I jerk away, Donut moving with me. She never liked him. I should have trusted her. Dogs always know best.

“Maybe you need to do more downward dog rather than trying to make a business from your little hobby,” he says.

That’s it. Red billows from my eyes. This guy. What did I ever see in him?

“It’s not a hobby. It’s my business,” I say as I tie up the ends of one of the bags.

“Sure, sure. I bet your little yoga fitness app will go big and then you’ll be able to get another cat,” he says with a slick smile, and glances at his watch, then to the bags littering the hall in his apartment building in Russian Hill. The one he moved me into four months ago when he fell into a whirlwind romance with me. When he told me I was special. When he said he’d never felt this way before. Now, those bags are filled with my underwear, leggings, and books.

It’s official. I have the worst taste in men in the history of the world.

While I knot the final garbage bag, I race through options to get the cat myself. Maybe I can pick the lock since he told me he’s already changed them.

He clears his throat. “Do you need my help to get them in your car before I pick Madison up from her life coaching session?”

Seriously? He met someone else, screwed her, moved her in while I was gone, kicked me out, and thinks I want his help?

I tie the knot tighter and shoot death rays at him from my eyes. “There is absolutely nothing I need from you. Except MY CAT!”

Adjusting the cuffs on his purple paisley dress shirt, he nods toward the door to my former home. “Let’s go before you make a scene, Bri.”

Maybe that’s the trick. He always did hate scenes. I could shout and let the neighbors know what he did when I remember…the balcony.

My lips threaten to curve up in a grin. But I fight off my evil genius-ery.

He’s leaving, and Madison’s not here, which means the apartment is empty except for…my cat.

“Of course,” I say, doing a one-eighty and flashing a grin. I wind Donut’s leash around my wrist, hoist two bags on one shoulder, and drag the other down the hall.

Bump, bump, bump.

Then the steps.

To the front door while Steven holds it open for me. Like that’s gentlemanly. “There. Told you I’d help.”

“You’re so generous,” I lie, faking a smile as he heads to his sleek SUV parked at the curb. He hops in, waving goodbye.

My smile burns off.

And I hustle. With Donut trotting on her tiny Dachshund legs, we race to my little car in the parking lot. I load the garbage bags into the backseat and set Donut in the front. “Be a good girl,” I tell my rescue pup as I crack the window a little for her.