The Huckleberry Bookshop

Her hunky, tattooed star forward was supposed to admit defeat this time.
He was supposed to follow her rules.
Not charm his way onto the cover of her upcoming cookbook.

Athena Gavras has a bone to pick with hottie hockey player Chadwick Raul Mullens. He shrugs off her prescribed dietary plans with that stupid, sexy smile that makes her knees shaky, has marched his way into two of her cooking projects and refuses to call her by her real name.

Seriously. Has the man taken too many pucks to the head?

He doesn’t even know the difference between kale and iceberg lettuce. Someone please tell her karma is real and on its way to make amends, because otherwise she’s not sure how much longer she’s going to last…

Chad Mullens has a few secrets. And a crush.

And, this Christmas, she’s just declared war. She’s removed him from her client list which means he’ll be benched until one of them calls a truce.

But two can play her game: he just convinced her publisher that he should be on the cover of her upcoming cookbook as well as join her online cooking show. Merry Christmas, *Tina*.

Of course, he could end their battle. He could suck it up, find the words to apologize, and woo the bookish, culinary Athena into forgiveness via his home library and secret rooftop garden.

Or he could kiss her in the corporate office’s elevator and see what happens. Because there’s no way he’s going to show her how real he is under his bad-boy public persona. He’d rather be traded.

Enjoy this enemies to lovers hockey romance as part of the Hockey Sweethearts series or binge read it on its own. A swoonalicious read with a curvy heroine and an alpha jock who'll win your heart!

Never again.
He was bad news in an irresistibly attractive package.
So of course she had a crush on him.
What woman didn’t?
And what was it about a brawny, confident man, anyway?
Not her type at all. They were all experienced, Class A heartbreakers.
Man, they were soooo her type.
Which meant she needed a new type if she planned to have a still-working heart by age forty.
She coaxed her body to extract itself from Chad’s way-too-tempting embrace. Although her steadying left hand seemed unwilling to leave his abs. And her traitorous torso kept cozying closer, her lungs inhaling that amazing aftershave he always wore, which she considered to be his signature scent of seduction.
He was half standing, his solid form pressing against her in the small space between her stool and the bar. His face was level with hers, and with one innocent stumble forward she could lay to rest the fantasy of how it might feel to kiss him.
No.
Find the anger. That shield of righteous indignation.
But his body was so warm against hers. So tempting…
“Chadwick,” she said calmly, reminding herself by simply saying his name that he was her enemy.
“Nobody calls me that,” he replied, his voice almost gruff. His arms dropped and she wobbled momentarily.
“And my name’s not Tina. Does the team doctor need to check your head for brain damage?” She snatched a nearby paper cocktail napkin and dabbed at the side of her face.
His lips twitched at her dig and his gaze swept over her, taking in her gown. The asymmetrical neckline, the vintage skirt. Slinky, sensual. She noted he took a second, quick sweep as though confirming what he’d seen the first time: that the dress made her ample curves scream va-va-voom.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I’m part of the team!”
Why did everyone assume that the dietician wouldn’t, or couldn’t, come to the black-tie fundraiser? Did they think she didn’t exist outside her small office in the bowels of the arena? She had a life beyond the Dragons. A big, busy life! She was constantly creating new recipes in her mother’s kitchen for her cookbooks and the players, and would soon open a bookstore with her sister.
She was plenty busy. They were lucky she could even make it tonight.
She snatched a stack of napkins from the bar and swiped them down the beads of moisture on Chad’s retro tuxedo. Damn, he wore it well. Not many people could get away with wearing something so painfully out of style. And yet instead of laughing at his ruffled, baby blue tuxedo shirt she was almost drooling over his wide chest and daydreaming of pirates and wanton escapades.
“Are you—” his eyes narrowed “—petting me?”
Her attention snapped upward. His charming smirk was aimed directly at her, hitting like a solar flare to the gut.
“No,” she said breathlessly. “I’m saving this relic you call an outfit. Who knows what that drink might do to the fabric.” Let alone your body’s ability to perform in tomorrow night’s game.
She glared at him and dabbed at her wet cheek and collarbone. The liquid smelled fruity. Apple-spiced whiskey, perhaps? Bold choice.
“Are you trying to get me to notice you, Tina?” he asked, leaning a bit too close. His deep, rough growl was like dirty sex, ripping the oxygen from her lungs. “Falling on me… petting me.”
How did he always manage to make every room feel so hot? Chadwick Mullens was the true cause of global warming.
“I’m wearing heels, Chad. I never wear high heels. I mean, I do sometimes. But not very often, because they can be really bad for a person’s feet.” She cleared her throat, telling her nerves to take a hike. His flirting was not personal. He used it as a universal get-out-of-jail-free card, and she was impervious.
You hear that, uterus and other lady bits? Impervious…