Can a hotshot snowboarder de-ice the ice queen?
At twenty-six, Blake Tremblay is one of the oldest snowboarders in the game. His sights are set on the gold medal, and he knows it’s now or never.
Kelly Johnson has spent her entire life skating and winning. She’s had no time for friends or an active social life, earning her the nickname “Ice Queen” – in and out of the rink.
Blake makes a bet without knowing all the terms. His ego won’t let him back out, even though his target is none other than the American Ice Queen herself.
What are the odds the dreadlocked playboy can warm the frosty figure skater when the real games are unmasked?
Let The Games Begin.
Kelly opened her mouth to speak, but Logan got his words out first. “That sounds great. We could use a night out before the craziness begins.”
She turned, her blonde ponytail practically whipping me in the face as she glared at Logan. “Are you serious?”
Logan just smiled and shrugged. “Why not? We don’t have practice until later in the morning tomorrow, so let’s have some fun. Maybe see the city.”
“Well for one, we’re all world class athletes with a reputation to protect. We can’t just go around and get drunk and then end up on the news with some stupid alibi about being robbed that no one will believe,” Kelly said, the crinkles in her forehead becoming even more pronounced. I hated to admit it, but she was kind of cute when she was mad.
“I think we can all handle our liquor, and this is the winter Olympics, we have better stamina,” I replied, even though it wasn’t directed at me.
Kelly turned in my direction, putting her hands on those oh so curvy hips that I wanted to put many parts of my body on. “And second, we don’t know you. You’re some dreadlocked guy in a Canadian track suit. I’m not going to throw out everything we’ve worked for just for a night of fun.”
“When was the last time you ever had fun,” Logan grumbled.
If I was going to ever win the bet, I couldn’t give up on this. Win or lose, this girl needed to get the stick out of her ass, and I had just the one she could replace it with. “Look, Kel, can I call you that?”
“No.” She shook her head.
I smirked. “Kel. I’m just another athlete like you that has a lot riding on these Games. I promise we won’t do anything stupid. If at any time you want to leave, just tell us or I’m sure Logan here would be happy to take you home if we get too rough.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, and I wanted to run my tongue along her perfectly pouty mouth. I knew this girl was going to be a challenge, but I didn’t realize how much her being a challenge was turning me on. I’d have to adjust my pants before too long if she kept looking at me like that.
About Magan Vernon
Magan Vernon has been living off of reader tears since she wrote her first short story in 2004. She now spends her time killing off fictional characters, pretending to plot while she really just watches Netflix, and she tries to do this all while her two young children run amok around her Texas ranch.