Her biggest fantasy is about to become a reality. . .
MISTER HOCKEY
Hellion's Angels #1
Lia Riley
Releasing July 11, 2017
Avon Impulse
Jed West is
Mr. Hockey. The captain of the NHL’s latest winning team, the Denver
Hellions—and the hottest player on the ice—at least according to every
magazine. .and Breezy Angel. Breezy has been drooling over Jed at games for
years, and he plays a starring role in her most toe-curling fantasies. But
dirty dreams don’t come true, right?
Then Jed
saunters through the doors of her library, a last minute special guest for a
summer reading event, and not only is he drop dead gorgeous up close, his
personality is straight up swoon-worthy. He even comes to the rescue when she
has an R-rated “Super Book Worm” costume malfunction. But when he mistakenly
assumes she’s more into books than pucks, she’s too flustered to correct his
mistake. And then comes a big kiss, followed by a teensy-tiny problem. Jed’s
dating policy is simple: Never date a fan.
So what’s a
fangirl going to have to do to convince her ultimate crush that he’s become
less of a perfect fantasy, and more like the perfect man. . .for her?
Jed
West’s stomach curdled faster than overheated hollandaise sauce as
he squinted at the menu for
Zachary’s, Denver’s most popular all-day breakfast hangout.
Ghost-like shadows haunted the specials list, blurring the
descriptions for peanut butter French toast, country fried steak
benedict and sweet potato pancakes.
Ah, shit. Not fucking now.
There went the prices too–the dollar signs and numbers blurring
until barely legible.
No
point blinking. He knew the drill. Jaw tight, he reached for his
orange juice, took a swig and waited. Short bouts of double vision
had dogged him ever since Game Seven, the pattern the same. After a
minute or two, his focus would snap back to normal as if nothing had
happened. Until then, he needed to follow
one of coach’s favorite axioms: “Suck
it up, Buttercup.”
Who
cared about the damn menu anyway? He pushed it to one side, having
already ordered the “Manwich”, chorizo and eggs smashed between a
jalapeno cheddar biscuit–the kind of breakfast that wanted to kill
you in the best kind of ways–and crunched ice. Too bad the cubes
didn’t pass on their chill, because this. . .situation for lack of
a better word, was getting under his skin and it shouldn’t.
No–Scratch
that. It couldn’t.
Unexplained
double vision wasn’t a walk in the park, but facts were facts. And
the ugly truth was that if he didn’t quit batting his lashes like
Scarlett O’Hara with a fly in her skirt, The
Post’s toughest sports
columnist would glance up from across the table, mistake his tic for
a cheesedick wink, and go Lord of the Flies on his nut sack.
At
least for the moment, Neve Angel was occupied. She hunched over her
digital voice recorder, dark bangs obscuring her sharp gaze as she
fiddled with the control settings. Her lips moved to the upbeat Buddy
Holly song piping over the sound system while she plucked a mic from
her messenger bag. His vision came back online in time for him to
read the orange button pinned to the front.
Had
a Ball at The Rock Creek Testicle Festival.
Christ,
looked to be an authentic souvenir too.
Slamming
his knees together, he forced a grin, the one that had potential
endorsements lined up around the block, eager for him to shill
everything from vitamin infused coconut water to shaving cream. He
unwrapped the paper napkin from around the fork and knife, and began
tearing the corner into neat strips.
No
doubt the eye thing was fatigue-related, an inevitable toll from the
grueling NHL season and subsequent hard-fought playoffs. Everything
would be all right in the end. If it wasn’t all right, it wasn’t
the end.
“You
plan on telling me what’s up with Mount Napkin Shreds?” Neve
leaned her elbows on the recycled wood tabletop, a signal they were
shifting into interview mode. Her brows arched beneath her thick-cut
bangs. “Nervous about being in the hot seat, princess?”
“Yeah,
terrified,” he answered laconically, not missing a beat. Hiding his
true feelings behind a mask of confidence was a reflex; it came with
the territory of having the “C” stitched on the front of his
jersey. A good captain never showed fear to an opponent. “A
jackal’s bark is worse then it’s bite.”
“Jackal?
Don’t tell me you’re using Gunnarisms now.” She rolled her
eyes. “And I’d so wanted to enjoy my bagel without gagging.”
The
Hellions Head Coach, Tor Gunnar, had a reputation for dismissing the
press as “jackals.” He fostered a tense relationship with
journalists, in particular, the tiny woman sitting opposite. Neve had
run a piece on his divorce a few years ago. He retaliated by refusing
to call on her during press conferences. Neve hit back with
increasingly critical op-eds. Their mutual enmity had devolved to the
stuff of local legend.
3.5 Stars
Mister Hockey is the first title in the Hellion's Angels series, and was my first time reading anything written by Lia Riley. I found this title to be a fun, sweet, quick, engaging and entertaining read with an element of humor.
The two main characters Jed and Breezy are both quite endearing. Breezy is kind, sweet and her family is kind of quirky and fun. Jed on the other hand is a hot, sweet, sexy, kind, alpha professional hockey player.
Although this title is very well written, with fun and flirty banter, I did find the story line to be on the predictable side. I will look forward to reading more of Ms Riley's work in the future.
After studying at the University of Montana-Missoula, Lia Riley scoured
the world armed only with a backpack, overconfidence and a terrible sense of
direction. She counts shooting vodka with a Ukranian mechanic in Antarctica,
sipping yerba mate with gauchos in Chile and swilling fourex with stationhands
in Outback Australia among her accomplishments.
