 by Lauren Blakely.jpg)
Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
When my ex trades me out for a better model—my boss—I don’t take getting screwed over lying down.
Instead, I get a glow up, not only landing a new job with the hockey team but also scoring the city’s hot new hockey player as my plus one to my ex’s wedding. Then, the sexy team captain starts flirting with me, too.
But one night after a win, I accidentally marry that intense new guy after the captain dares us to say I do. One dare leads to another, and I’m experiencing double the pleasure as I say puck yes to both players sharing me on my wedding night.
In the morning, when hubby and I are on our way to get an annulment, the team owner spots our rings and invites the new it couple to attend her upcoming charity golf tournament.
Looks like I have to fake it as Mrs. Hockey for the hockey season and the wedding season. There’s only one problem.
We’re not just a couple. Both guys want more of me.
And pretty soon I’ve got a bigger problem – I’m falling for my fake husband and my secret boyfriend at the same time.
Puck Yes is a standalone hockey, fake marriage, neighbors-to-lovers, spicy workplace MFM romance with a guaranteed why-choose style HEA! No swords cross. This story is perfect for fans of Lily Gold, Emily Rath and Lauren Blakely’s Double Pucked!
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
A PINOT GRANDE
Ivy
Things I didn’t have on my bucket list till right now—watching a hot guy strip naked on a rooftop while watering his eggplant.
It must be my lucky night, though, because my bestie just nudged me and handed over his birdwatching binoculars, whispering: “Free dick.”
Jackson and I are across the street from the show, hanging out on the rooftop patio of our new favorite neighborhood bar, The Great Dane. Usually when I’m here, I enjoy a glass of white and a view of San Francisco. Tonight? I’m enjoying an eyeful of peen with my pinot gris.
Oh, excuse me. Let me revise that drink. “Did I actually order a Pinot Grande tonight?”
“Full-bodied, no less,” Jackson says as I peer at the sight unfolding on the top of the building at the end of the block, where Jackson and I share an apartment. And where, on the penthouse roof, the gardening stud of my dreams has whisked off his gym shorts.
Hello, new neighbor.
The side view leaves little to the imagination. The strapping man is dressed in nothing but big-ass headphones, sunglasses, and slides, and he’s sporting a very nice hose to go with his hose. “Gotta love his commitment to gardening,” I say approvingly, getting a kick out of the show.
Then, the naked gardener turns our way, and all the air escapes my lungs.
He’s going full-frontal fiesta in the sunset, strumming an epic chord using the green hose as his guitar. “This is not a drill. This is a sign that tomorrow I’m getting that promotion,” I whisper. Since I’m nothing if not a good friend, I thrust the binoculars back at Jackson. “Don’t ever say I don’t love you.”
“You love me madly.” Jackson jams them against his eyes while whistling a happy tune. After a few seconds, he lowers the binoculars with a satisfied sigh. “Show’s over. He went inside. Aubrey is so going to curse her bladder for having missed this,” he says, nodding at the hallway leading to the restroom.
“She is.” I lean against the stone railing, gazing at the pink and lavender sky. “Also, I apologize for ever mocking you for carrying pocket binoculars.”
Jackson gives a stately nod, conferring his royal pardon. “You’re forgiven. It’s your night.” He sips his mocktail. “I can practically taste the promotion you’re getting in the morning. That gardening striptease was like your pre-ward for it.”
No one celebrates things that haven’t yet happened better than Jackson, and I’m all in with this pre-ward evening out. After three shitty post-break-up months—cheating exes who insult you can suck it—and late nights busting my ass for Simone, my fashion influencer boss, I have a good feeling about tomorrow morning’s meeting. I’ve been angling for my own channel under her online fashion umbrella, and she’s been dropping hints that she has something big to share with me tomorrow.
My fingers are crossed.
I’m lifting my glass when the quick click of heels on the concrete heralds Aubrey’s return. She charges at us, waggling her phone, nostrils flared, auburn hair flying.
“Your ex,” she hisses when she reaches us.
Prickles of worry slide down my spine. What the hell could that philanderer have done while Aubrey was in the little girls’ room?
“What about Xander?” I ask, not quite alarmed but definitely concerned.
Aubrey shoves the phone at me, her face a cocktail of anger and empathy. It’s open to a pic on her social feed. Grabbing the phone, I squint at the picture, hold it close, hold it far, and then show it to Jackson for a second opinion on everything wrong with this picture. My heart pounds and races, and my blood goes from a simmer to a boil.