“Shut up, Ryan. There was never any doubt in anyone’s mind but yours that you would settle down someday.”
“If by someday you mean never.”
She hits me with the pillow again, laughing. We do a lot of that. Laughing, not pillow hitting.
Well, maybe that too. We also do a lot of kissing and then . . .
“Let’s turn out the lights,” she says.
“Now you’re talking.” I comply, and the room goes dark like an intoxicating blanket settling over us.
The time for moonlight and passion to shine, with hope and the kind of love that goes on forever, the kind that never had a beginning because it always seemed to be there, underneath and circling around and through us, a part of us. Our eternal connection.
# The End #
Dear Reader,
If you enjoyed Ryan and Chelsea’s story and you want more, you can visit with them in the rest of the Boston Brawlers Hockey romance series books.
Each of the new stories will focus on a different team member and each can be read as a stand-alone, but they will all include appearances by characters from other stories—in the name of team spirit. I want you to feel a sense of community and connection with the Boston Brawlers, to feel part of the team family.
Please consider leaving a review if you enjoyedHe Has It All.It would mean a great deal to me and is massively helpful in spreading the word to other readers.
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Warm Regards,
Stephanie Q
SNEAK PEEKatHe Has Game:
Chapter 1 - Finn
“We need to come up with something fast to convince people you’ve turned over a new leaf, something visible—like an engagement announcement.” Marythe ball-busterDelaney looks pleased with the idea.
I keep my trepidation to myself. Mary is no joke. She may only be the PR lady for the Boston Brawlers, but I know for a fact she carries a lot of clout.
“Ain’t happening. Not even close.” I’m frigging 25 years old. What is she thinking?
Waving her hand, she stands and starts pacing the room. I sit watching her, afraid to hear what she’s cooking up in her sick devious mind. The mouse in the corner—in the form a nerdy girl—watches, looking up from her tablet. I don’t know who she is, but I’m guessing maybe she’s Mary’s teenage daughter—or niece because I can’t imagine Mary having a daughter or a husband—doing homework or some shit.
“I’m not talking about a real engagement—how about an understanding, an arrangement—do you have any women friends who might—“
I laugh. “Women friends? Are you fucking with me? You want me to ask any woman I know to pose as a fiancée and we’re asking for trouble. Not going there. All I know are puck bunnies and starry eyed innocents.”
“Don’t you know any reasonable woman who might go along—“
“No. Fucking. Way.”
The mouse in the corner flinches, pushes her glasses up on her pert little nose in a classic nerd move and I’m about to apologize for my language, but she surprises me.
Standing, she speaks up, albeit quietly.
“Excuse me.” She clears her throat and Mary turns around to look at her.