He’s a player. End of story.
I’m not interested.
Something about her lights me up inside. Makes me reckless.
So what if she doesn’t like me?
I like her—a lot.
And once I turn on the charm, she doesn’t stand a chance.
Fine. Maybe we can use each other for sex.
And the occasional late night conversation that nobody else will understand. That doesn’t mean anything…
* They don’t like each other, but they both like sex—and watching
* They have more in common with each other than they want to admit
* Sometimes the best f**k buddies are friends, too
* This is a hockey romance heavy on body-checking and double entendres, and light on ice-time. Let’s call it hockey-adjacent. We make up for that with angsty fighting, happy screwing, and a love story so secret even the main characters don’t see it coming.