tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9806158987894429572024-03-06T02:58:41.671-05:00Catherine GayleBlog home of bestselling Regency-set historical romance author Catherine GayleCatherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.comBlogger117125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-31884342434329854262015-07-22T13:38:00.003-04:002015-07-22T13:38:25.041-04:00My Blog is Moving!I just wanted to post something to let you know that I'm officially moving my blog. From now on, it's going to be part of my website.<br />
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Head over to http://catherinegayle.com/news for all my latest.Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-61378593113718081942015-06-26T10:22:00.001-04:002015-06-26T10:22:50.953-04:00Ice BreakerI have a surprise for you. :) In fact, it's not just a surprise. It's a free gift.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLa6YN70_mwcn2CeTHMCRrVFye8dAL9OmVJmKmDiH9AKRtG0jb9r8_RUizh9oBfR5vPqvpdA_5iC_Kn9_P0jIhNRw5H_W6BOHWef1RN4NdrKzHHyXMI3nlFodiY63mfBbcQPfkRyw5fB2b/s1600/CatherineGayle_IceBreaker_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLa6YN70_mwcn2CeTHMCRrVFye8dAL9OmVJmKmDiH9AKRtG0jb9r8_RUizh9oBfR5vPqvpdA_5iC_Kn9_P0jIhNRw5H_W6BOHWef1RN4NdrKzHHyXMI3nlFodiY63mfBbcQPfkRyw5fB2b/s320/CatherineGayle_IceBreaker_800px.jpg" width="213" /></a>I'm going to be giving away a free short story called <i>Ice Breaker</i> to all my newsletter subscribers.<br />
<br />
<i>Ice Breaker</i> is part of the Portland Storm series. It's a prequel to the whole series, in a sense. And it's the story of how Jamie Babcock and Katie Weber first met, back when they were both blushing, adorable teenagers.<br />
<br />
In this short story, you'll get an early glimpse at some of the recurring characters in the series: Babs, Katie, Webs, Razor, Zee, Jim, Jonny, and others. I think you'll love it. I know I loved writing it. ;)<br />
<br />
<i>Ice Breaker</i> will not <i>ever </i>be available for sale. You won't be able to find it at Amazon, iBooks, Barnes and Noble, or any other ebook retailer. I won't ever have print copies to give out at book signings or reader conventions. You won't be able to download it from my website. The ONLY way you can get your hands on it is to sign up for my newsletter.<br />
<br />
I should have it available sometime in the next couple of weeks. In the meanwhile, if you want to be sure you get it as soon as I send it out, <a href="http://eepurl.com/GXcwr" target="_blank">sign up here</a>.Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-35240141790996592092015-06-26T07:00:00.000-04:002015-06-26T07:00:07.048-04:00Bury the Hatchet - Sneak Peek - Chapter Two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVBFEUx3HcxjC2STFkfbeLqIbxDPJXJJzBpIjQZSvd-OPtJwjSLWXsBUVK0Q3nW0GfQ5ydxGQMZ6Bb_JhA68qIAq-M-dXNu7QruI5pp48UiKVQgBOxtnPErDr0jXRTmrp0RWzGfuXQIFPC/s1600/CatherineGayle_BuryTheHatchet_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVBFEUx3HcxjC2STFkfbeLqIbxDPJXJJzBpIjQZSvd-OPtJwjSLWXsBUVK0Q3nW0GfQ5ydxGQMZ6Bb_JhA68qIAq-M-dXNu7QruI5pp48UiKVQgBOxtnPErDr0jXRTmrp0RWzGfuXQIFPC/s320/CatherineGayle_BuryTheHatchet_800px.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Who wants another taste of Bury the Hatchet to tide you over until it releases? How about the second chapter?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">If you missed it, I posted the first chapter already. <a href="http://catherinegayleauthor.blogspot.com/2015/06/bury-hatchet-sneak-peek-chapter-one.html" target="_blank">Go on over</a> and read that now and then come back for another taste.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">All right, ready for more?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">P.S. Want to win a print copy? Be sure you enter the <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24484017-bury-the-hatchet" target="_blank">Goodreads giveaway</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Chapter Two</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">TALLIE</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">For
whatever reason</span>, he said he would go along with it. I was still
dumbfounded that Mama and Mrs. Jernigan had come up with the idea of us getting
married to begin with, and I wasn’t positive that <i>I </i>was fully on board, but Hunter Fielding had agreed to marry me,
and now everything was moving at the speed of light. I needed to make up my
mind, once and for all, before it was too late. Yes, Mama and Lance insisted
that I had no choice and was going to have to marry <i>someone</i>, but I was a grown woman. An adult. I had choices. And
marriage? That was a big decision to make, even if it was essentially to be in
name only and would have an expiration date.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The meeting with
the Thunderbirds brass took place on Tuesday morning. That afternoon, Daddy and
I sat down in his office with Hunter and his agent and hammered out the details
for the prenuptial agreement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You’ll live
together as husband and wife for one year,” Daddy explained to the other men. He’d
already gone over all of it with me, Mama, and Lance well before now. He and I
were seated on one side of the long board table at Roth & Rainier, the law
firm where he was one of the two primary partners, while Hunter and John sat
across from us. “All money and possessions that started out being Hunter’s will
remain Hunter’s. The same will go for Tallie. Upon your divorce, everything
that she comes into the marriage with will leave the marriage as hers. You’ll
maintain a single residence but separate bank accounts.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Who will own
the house?” the agent asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Hunter buys a
house,” Daddy answered before I could interject. “He’ll need one to live in
after this all washes over, anyway, since he’ll still be on the team. You’ll
live in it together to give the impression of being as completely head-over-heels
in love as possible. What happens inside that house with the doors closed is
your business and yours only, no matter what her mother and that ass Lance may
have to say on that matter.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Heat raced to my
cheeks as I remembered what I’d said earlier about not necessarily remaining celibate.
The fact was, Hunter was hot. Seriously gorgeous. He was about half a foot
taller than me and solid muscle. His dark hair was too long and curled a little
where it hit his shoulders, and he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, a bit of
scruff lining his square jaw. Everything about him screamed <i>Man</i>, with a capital M, from the defined
muscles of his forearms to the deep, gravelly sound of his voice. He’d been
wreaking havoc on my girly parts since the moment he’d walked into the
Thunderbirds offices earlier, and I couldn’t seem to get my hormones under
control. At least not while he was staring at me like he was right now.
Something told me he was remembering what I’d impetuously said, as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Speaking of
Lance,” Hunter said. There was a surly, grumbly tone to his words that shot
straight through me and made my temperature rise again. “Who the hell is that
guy and what does he have to do with anything?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I blinked, but
Daddy didn’t say anything to answer him. I supposed that meant it was going to
be on me to explain. Daddy and Lance had never gotten along. The sooner he
could get Lance out of my life, the better. I was almost positive that was why,
out of everyone involved, Daddy was the least upset about my mishap in Cancun
and the most receptive to the idea of me getting married. No more pageants. He
assumed that would mean no more Lance. I wasn’t so positive about that,
considering the way Mama was pulling Lance along to participate in every aspect
of the aftermath.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Lance Benton. He’s
my pageant guru,” I said feebly. Anyone who’d been involved in the pageant
world would understand in a heartbeat, but to the rest of the world, a guru was
sort of a mystery. Mama had hired him when I was still just a baby and too
young to voice an opinion on the matter, and she’d kept him regardless of
whatever complaints I might have about him because he was the best. He got
results, and he was the reason I’d succeeded. That was what Mama said, at least.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sure enough,
Hunter just raised a brow in question, his sexy-as-sin face a mass of
confusion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I sighed. “He
oversees everything for me, training me in every aspect of my presentation and
supervising all of the people who help out—my designer, my hair and makeup
people. He runs the show.” Whether I liked it or not, and for a great many
years now I’d been leaning toward the side of <i>not</i>. Hunter still didn’t look like he followed, so I added, “He’s
kind of like my coach, I guess.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Your coach?”
Hunter scoffed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“For pageants?
You need a coach for a beauty pageant?” He raised and lowered his gaze, giving
me a thorough and disbelieving once-over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“They’re about a
lot more than just physical appearances,” I groused, sick to death of having to
explain pageants to people who weren’t part of this community.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He narrowed his eyes
at me, seeming to analyze every minuscule bit of my appearance. “Mm-hmm,” he
said, making me feel all of an inch tall. “So what the fuck does he have to do
with any of this?” he asked, scowling and waving an arm across Daddy’s desk and
the papers littered all over it. “This is a marriage, sweetheart. It isn’t a
pageant. The guru stays out of it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There was no
masking the grin that swallowed up Daddy’s face. “You know, son, I think I’m
going to like you. I think I’m going to like you a hell of a lot.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I might be
marrying your daughter, Mr. Roth, but I’m not your son, and you and everyone
else around here had better get that through your thick fucking skulls.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Daddy just
chuckled and sifted through the stack of papers to find another one to go over.
“Got it. Noted. Not my son.” He winked at me. I had no clue how he could be
laughing and winking at a time like this. My whole world was changing.
Everything I’d known my whole life had been ripped out from under me the day
I’d returned from a summer vacation with my sorority sisters and had to face
the scandal of being stripped of my crown.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Hunter met my
gaze from across the table, almost staring through me. “You understand what I
said about Lance? He has no place in our marriage. At all. Not ever, regardless
of how short or long this marriage may be.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Of course he
doesn’t,” I readily agreed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I didn’t mention
the fact that a <i>wedding</i> was not a <i>marriage</i>, and there wasn’t a chance in
hell that I could convince Mama that Lance couldn’t be involved in the planning
for the ceremony. He had already started working on it, and she would have a
serious conniption fit if I tried to put down my foot about it. The fit that
Lance would throw would be big enough to cause the Gulf of Mexico to swell up so
far it would cover the entire state of Oklahoma. Whether I was happy about it
or not, and no matter what Hunter thought on the matter, Lance’s fingerprints
would be all over the wedding and reception. Heck, he’d already made the
executive decision that I would be walking down the aisle in my competition
ball gown, despite the fact that it wasn’t even close to being appropriate for
a wedding. It was white, there wasn’t time to get something else more wedding
appropriate made, and it would look stunning on camera, especially after they
added some more pizzazz to it. Those were all the reasons he needed to lay down
that particular law.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Daddy finally
found the sheet he’d been searching for and drew it forward, passing it across
so Hunter and John could see it. “This one is more specific to finances. I set
up a trust fund for Tallie years ago. It allows her to have access to the funds
upon her marriage at a set dollar amount per year, so that should cover all her
living expenses during the course of your marriage. In other words, while
she’ll be living in your house, she won’t be touching your money. There won’t
be any need for it. Additionally, I’ll be paying for the wedding since you’re
buying the house.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“The wedding shouldn’t
cost too much, though,” Hunter said, narrowing his eyes. “Not like a house. I
mean, maybe if we were waiting a few months and could plan it properly—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I promise you,”
Daddy interrupted, “my wife can spend money like you wouldn’t believe, on short
notice or otherwise.” He passed over another sheet of paper and pointed toward
a line so he could explain the terms outlined on it, effectively putting an end
to that part of the conversation for the moment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">John took each
sheet of paper as Daddy discussed it, poring over it with a fine-toothed comb
while the explanation continued. For the most part, it was just Daddy talking.
Every now and then, either Hunter or John would pipe up with another question,
or John would point out a section of wording that he wanted to have changed
before he would advise Hunter to sign on the dotted line. I decided to leave
them to it. Daddy and I had already gone over every single detail in these
documents even before my husband-to-be had been decided upon, so there wasn’t
much for me to contribute.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The basic gist
of the rest of our meeting was that Hunter and I would publicly play the parts
of a loving couple, putting off the impression that we were exuberantly happy
newlyweds. The story we would feed the press was that we’d met at an event
while Hunter was in town to meet with his new team, and we’d both been so instantly
smitten that we knew this was it. We couldn’t wait, so we’d dropped everything
and married as soon as it could all be arranged. In that way, we were revealing
things as truthfully as possible without letting the <i>whole </i>truth out. Once we decided to go our separate ways after the
requisite year, we would simply state that we’d rushed into things and hadn’t
thought it through, that love at first sight had turned out to be just a myth,
not reality.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Everything about
this marriage business felt cold and calculated, which I supposed it should.
That was the truth of it. It <i>was </i>all
being decided and arranged in an almost mercenary manner. The craziest part of
it all was that Daddy—the one who was most in line with the idea of Hunter
Fielding being the man I married for this farce—was also the one who was most
able to keep emotion out of the arrangements. Maybe that was to be expected
since he was a lawyer. I supposed it came with the territory.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway, once
everything was hammered out, the contract was drawn up, agreed upon, and signed
by all parties involved. Hunter pushed back his chair and stood, his agent
following suit. I glanced up to find Hunter’s eyes trained on me. I’d never
seen eyes quite like his. They were light, and on first glance, they seemed to
be some sort of blue, almost too crystal clear to be human. But when I looked
closer, I realized they were a silvery sage green unlike any I’d observed
before, both magnetic and impenetrable. Every time I’d caught him looking at
me, his expression had been unreadable, but it grew more and more heated with
each glance. Not an angry sort of heat but more along the lines of sexy and
sensual, causing tingles to race to every nerve in my body.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“So you’re
coming to dinner with me tonight then,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Dinner?” That
was enough to take me by surprise, and I sat back in my seat, eyes wide. “Why
do you think I am coming to dinner with you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Because we’re
supposed to be putting on a show for everyone,” he said, aggravation coming
through in his tone. “If we wait until after the wedding to start that, there
are going to be even more questions than there already will be. Might as well
get started now. See and be seen, right?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I took a gander
at Daddy, but he was no help. At the moment, he was gathering up all of the
documents that we had just gone over and sorting them into stacks. <i>Traitor</i>. “Maybe we can start in a few
days. Mama expects to go over wedding details with me tonight.” I honestly
didn’t know if Mama expected anything of the sort, but there were a lot of
details that needed to be seen to, and she wouldn’t want to put them off any
longer than necessary. Not to mention Lance, but I didn’t see any reason to
bring him into the equation right now. The less Hunter knew about Lance’s
involvement, the better, at least for the time being.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“How many
wedding details can there be? There are only so many things that can be put
together at the last minute like this.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">At that, Daddy
snorted in laughter. “Son, you’ve got a lot to learn about Southern women and
what they can accomplish on short notice.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was sure that
Hunter was about to gripe that Daddy had called him <i>son</i> again, and I was prepared to interject, but John beat me to it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“We should
really get out of here,” he said. He took Hunter by the arm and started guiding
him toward the door. “We still haven’t had time to check in at the hotel, let
alone change clothes. Hunter needs to get a rental car. We can work the rest of
this out tomorrow, can’t we?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Hunter would not
be deterred so easily. He stopped and turned, narrowing those silky green eyes
at me. “Seriously, dinner?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Pick her up at
six thirty,” Daddy said. “My secretary will give you the address, and she’ll
make reservations for you at Giovanni’s Trattoria.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I did a double
take. “Giovanni’s?” Not only was my father blatantly ignoring everything I had
said about needing to work on wedding details with Mama but Giovanni’s was one
of the swankiest restaurants in town, easily one of the most expensive places
we could possibly go. Getting in there at the last minute was next to
impossible. I loved their food as much as I loved anything, and I wasn’t
worried about the cost, but it seemed like a bit much for the first time we
went out together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Daddy raised a
brow in my direction, continuing to sort his papers into stacks. “The goal is
to start putting it out there that you two are an item, isn’t it? There’s no
better place for that in Tulsa.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Hunter quirked
up a grin, a rarity in the brief time I’d known him and an action that made my
heart go pitter patter, and he winked at me. “I’ll see you at six thirty.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“With a ring,
like we outlined earlier,” Daddy said. “Size five. Make sure it’s big enough to
draw notice.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Got it,” Hunter
said, catching John’s eye and jerking his head toward the door. With that, his
agent preceded him out of the board room, and Hunter snaked his way out behind
him, leaving me with a stunning view of his very tight ass, my jaw nearly
hitting the floor at the perfection of it. His jeans hugged every blessed inch
of him, defining all the muscle there and in his thighs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Daddy chuckled
after the door closed. “Just be glad your mama isn’t around to see you gawking
at him like that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“She’ll be seeing
plenty of it soon enough,” I muttered. If all went according to plan, everyone
in Oklahoma would soon be seeing a lot more than me gaping at Hunter as he walked
away. I picked up my purse from the floor, tossing my copies of the pre-nuptial
agreement inside before pushing my chair back from the board table. “Daddy,
tell me something,” I said as I stood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“What’s that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Why is it that
you’re so hunky dory with all of this? Why aren’t you getting worked up?” Lord
knew <i>worked up</i> didn’t even begin to
cover it where I was concerned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The entire
structure of my life until this point had been ripped away from me, just
because of one night’s worth of poor choices. Now my future looked so different
than it had only a few weeks ago that I couldn’t even recognize it. I’d been so
close to achieving the goals I’d been working toward since before I’d
understood what they were, but that was all gone. No chance. I couldn’t be Miss
USA. I couldn’t compete for Miss Universe. At this point, I didn’t even know
who I was anymore, or what my life should be about. I’d always had direction
and a narrowly defined purpose. Now, all I could do was go along with what I
was told. That wasn’t much different from any other time in my life, really. I
was good at doing what I was told. That was how I’d gone as far as I had in the
pageants I’d competed in over the years, so it came naturally to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Still, even with
everyone agreeing that I was going to have to marry in order to help my misadventures
in Cancun wash over, Mama and Lance were spitting mad over Hunter being the man
we’d settled upon. They hadn’t had any better suggestions, and Daddy’s firm had
run a thorough background check on him and come up with nothing worse than a
brother with some drug and legal issues that had nothing to do with Hunter, but
that didn’t seem to make any difference to them. They thought I deserved better
for my fake husband and short-term marriage. They thought he should be someone who
Oklahoma loved, not someone the people in the state hated with the fire of a
thousand suns. They wanted him to sweep in on a white charger and save the day,
not be dragged in kicking and screaming like Hunter was. They wanted the
impossible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But Daddy? I
wasn’t at all sure what he wanted, and that left me feeling as if I stood on
shaky ground. He’d always been my rock, my safe place amid the colliding fronts
of Mama and Lance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Those two pushed
me harder and told me I was never going to be good enough if I didn’t do
exactly as they said; he smiled and told me he loved me just as I was. They plucked
and waxed and airbrushed me, obsessing over my every flaw; he looked at me when
I had bedhead and a seaweed mask covering my face and told me I was beautiful.
They regimented everything I ate, putting me on fad diets that only allowed for
canned tuna and green vegetables one week and hard-boiled eggs and steamed carrots
the next week; he brought home Subway sandwiches and cupcakes and sneaked them
into my room, winking as he backed out with his finger pressed to his lips.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He winked in
that same way now, shoving the stacks of paper aside and placing his entire
focus on me. “I’m not getting worked up because, for the first time since you
were six months old and your mother informed me she was going to enter you in a
baby pageant whether I liked it or not, I’m not worried about the damage she’s
going to do to you. You’re going to get out from under her thumb, and you’ll be
all the better for it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Out from under
Mama’s thumb?” I repeated after him, dumbfounded. It was Lance who had always
ruled every aspect of my life as far as I could figure it, dictating everything
to Mama from my diet to my bedtime, and even the electives I should sign up for
in school. He had determined that I should be in Delta Delta Delta. He’d been
the one to decide that I should major in communications at the University of
Oklahoma. He’d hired and fired the various designers, makeup artists, and
coaches I’d had over the years. It had always been Lance, not Mama, making
those decisions for my life. She’d just been the one to enforce my compliance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Daddy smiled,
but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Tallie, I tried to fire Lance at least a dozen
times over the years, but your mother wouldn’t have it. He’s been the one
deciding how you needed to do things, but it was your mother who insisted he be
in your life at all. She’s ultimately the one behind it, and I couldn’t be
happier to have you finally coming to a point where the two of them can’t
dictate your life.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>My life</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But if I went
along with the plan and married Hunter, just as I’d been told to do, it wasn’t
really my life, was it? I’d just be going along with what they told me to do,
and maybe instead of Mama and Lance dictating everything now, it would be
Hunter taking on that role. Or maybe they would find a way to wheedle their way
in to keep going as they had been.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> It
wasn’t my life. Or at the very least, it wasn’t the life I wanted. Now I needed
to figure out what to do about it.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Want to read more? <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16.8999996185303px;">BURY THE HATCHET releases on July 9, and you can order it now at </span><a href="http://amzn.to/1HBxgmi" style="background-color: white; color: #29033d; line-height: 16.8999996185303px;" target="_blank">Amazon</a><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16.8999996185303px;">, </span><a href="https://geo.itunes.apple.com/us/book/bury-the-hatchet/id959321922?mt=11&uo=6&at=10lLiX" style="background-color: white; color: #29033d; line-height: 16.8999996185303px;" target="_blank">iBooks</a><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16.8999996185303px;">, </span><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/bury-the-hatchet-catherine-gayle/1121090505?ean=2940151466578&itm=1&usri=catherine+gayle" style="background-color: white; color: #29033d; line-height: 16.8999996185303px;" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16.8999996185303px;">, </span><a href="https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/bury-the-hatchet-2" style="background-color: white; color: #29033d; line-height: 16.8999996185303px;" target="_blank">Kobo</a><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16.8999996185303px;">, and </span><a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-burythehatchet-1810416-149.html" style="background-color: white; color: #29033d; line-height: 16.8999996185303px;" target="_blank">All Romance eBooks</a><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16.8999996185303px;">. Add it to your </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24484017-bury-the-hatchet" style="background-color: white; color: #29033d; line-height: 16.8999996185303px;" target="_blank">Goodreads shelf</a><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16.8999996185303px;"> now if you haven't already done so.</span></span>Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-87823954693548038212015-06-20T15:29:00.000-04:002015-06-20T15:29:40.501-04:00Bury the Hatchet - Sneak Peek - Chapter OneIt's almost here! The release of BURY THE HATCHET is only a few weeks away. And that means it's time for another sneak peek.<br />
<br />
If you like what you read below, be sure you pre-order your copy! BURY THE HATCHET releases on July 9, and you can order it now at <a href="http://amzn.to/1HBxgmi" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="https://geo.itunes.apple.com/us/book/bury-the-hatchet/id959321922?mt=11&uo=6&at=10lLiX" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/bury-the-hatchet-catherine-gayle/1121090505?ean=2940151466578&itm=1&usri=catherine+gayle" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>, <a href="https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/bury-the-hatchet-2" target="_blank">Kobo</a>, and <a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-burythehatchet-1810416-149.html" target="_blank">All Romance eBooks</a>. Add it to your <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24484017-bury-the-hatchet" target="_blank">Goodreads shelf</a> now if you haven't already done so.<br />
<br />
Here's the first chapter. Also, keep reading all the way to the very end for some other exciting news. <br />
Enjoy!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
HUNTER<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVBFEUx3HcxjC2STFkfbeLqIbxDPJXJJzBpIjQZSvd-OPtJwjSLWXsBUVK0Q3nW0GfQ5ydxGQMZ6Bb_JhA68qIAq-M-dXNu7QruI5pp48UiKVQgBOxtnPErDr0jXRTmrp0RWzGfuXQIFPC/s1600/CatherineGayle_BuryTheHatchet_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVBFEUx3HcxjC2STFkfbeLqIbxDPJXJJzBpIjQZSvd-OPtJwjSLWXsBUVK0Q3nW0GfQ5ydxGQMZ6Bb_JhA68qIAq-M-dXNu7QruI5pp48UiKVQgBOxtnPErDr0jXRTmrp0RWzGfuXQIFPC/s320/CatherineGayle_BuryTheHatchet_800px.jpg" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">The
August sun</span> in Tulsa was intense enough to melt my bones, hotter even
than the water I’d recently found myself in after making a few drunken,
pissed-off, and ill-advised comments in Vegas last month. I’d been there for
the NHL Awards, hoping to celebrate one of my buddies from the goalie guild
winning the Vezina Trophy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I didn’t quite
make it to that part of the awards presentation because my agent, John Stine,
had slipped over to whisper some unwelcome news in my ear. An expansion draft
had taken place earlier in the day so the league’s new team, the Tulsa
Thunderbirds, could stock up on players for their debut season. I’d known that
was going on, of course. Everyone did. I also knew my team had left me
unprotected, meaning it was almost guaranteed that I’d get claimed by the new
team since I was far and away the best goaltender left in limbo. Sure enough, I
was the first player the Thunderbirds selected.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So instead of
battling it out for the starting gig against Nicky Ericsson, another goalie
with the Portland Storm, I was heading to Oklahoma to play for a team that would
unquestionably be appallingly bad for many years to come. The Storm were a
legitimate threat to win the Stanley Cup these days. Needless to say, I wasn’t exactly
excited about this latest development in my career.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">After getting
the news and being assured there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it, I’d
spent the rest of the night in the hotel bar, drowning my sorrows in an
unending series of tequila shots. It was just my luck that half the contingent
of hockey media present was hanging out just outside the bar. They stopped me
when John finally hauled my sorry ass out of there, blinding my bleary eyes
with their lights and shoving their damn microphones in my face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Hunter, what do you think about the news
that you’ll be playing for the Thunderbirds next season?</i> they’d asked. <i>It’s a real coup that they were able to
claim a star goaltender like you in the expansion draft.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">John should have
jerked my ass away from them right then and there and said something along the
lines of <i>Mr. Fielding isn’t taking any
questions right now</i>. But he’d been distracted by a phone call from one of
his other clients who’d been plucked up in the expansion draft, and I’d shoved
my foot so far down my own throat that I should have choked on it and died.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Who the fuck wants to play in a goddamned
backasswards place like Tulsa, and for a fucking upstart, no less? </i>I’d
replied, ignoring the fact that it might be aired on live TV and the censors
would have to bleep me out, oblivious to the harm I was causing myself with a
few simple words. Truth or not, sometimes it was better to bite your tongue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">At that point,
John disconnected his call and shoved the mics away from me. Too late. The
damage had already been done. The words had left my mouth and been caught on
film. I couldn’t take them back. I was just going to have to face the
consequences.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That was a
little over a month ago, and now I had to pay the piper for my inebriated lack
of common sense. That was why I was here now. I’d come to Tulsa to meet with the
Thunderbirds brass. They wanted to figure out a plan for getting the fans—as if
there were any fans to be found here—on my side. Or so they said. I was just
waiting to hear what my penance would be for my perceived crimes, and the
team’s executives and coaches were apparently my judge and jury.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The second I
stepped outside the airport into the blistering heat—fully expecting farmers to
rush me with pitchforks—I wished I could walk right back in again, get on a
plane, and fly the hell out of here. But I couldn’t. There was no getting out
of this unless I intended to walk away from what was left of my career. I was
only twenty-nine years old. Way too young to hang up my skates and pads and
call it a day. Hell, twenty-nine was when goaltenders tended to hit their
prime. I had many years of hockey left in me, and I didn’t have the first clue
what I’d do with myself if it was taken away so soon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I just wished I
wasn’t going to have to spend them in this hellhole.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">John pulled up
to the curb in a rental car and waved me over. He put the car in park and
climbed out, as dressed down as ever: shorts, a T-shirt, a Thunderbirds ball
cap, and sunglasses. I squinted and wished I had a pair of shades handy,
myself. Just one of many adjustments I would have to make if I was going to
live here. I got the sense that there was a hell of an education about life in
the south in store. He grinned, tossed me a pair of sunglasses that matched
his, and popped open the trunk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“It’s hotter
than the underside of Hades,” I grumbled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He grabbed one
of my bags and tossed it in. “You’ll get used to it. You’ll probably like it
someday, actually. Especially in October and November when it’s still nice
enough to go out without having to shovel a few feet of snow to get your car
out. Spring will arrive here nice and early, too. Short winters; long summers.
There are a lot of good things in Tulsa.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I didn’t want to
get used to it and John damn well knew it. He wasn’t just my agent. He was a
lifelong friend, a guy a few years older than me. I’d grown up with his younger
brother, Darren, and played hockey with both of them when we were kids. Darren
and I had both been drafted while John was in college. Darren had never panned
out with the NHL. He’d played a few years in Europe before deciding to go home
and start his family. While the two of us had been playing hockey, John had
decided to go on to law school. He’d been ready to start his career as a sports
agent by the time the Storm wanted to sign me to my first pro contract.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There was no
chance I would end up liking it here, and he knew it, so trying to sell me on the
city was a waste of his breath. I <i>knew </i>I
should have made him fight harder to get the no-movement clause when we’d
signed the seven-year extension with Portland before the beginning of last
season. Granted, I doubted even that would have kept me with the Storm instead
of landing with the team that would be rock bottom in the league.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I glared at him
to shut him up on all the supposed <i>good</i>
things about life in Tulsa.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He tossed in my
other bag, shut the trunk, and went around to get in the driver’s seat, not
bothering to respond. I climbed in and slammed the door, a good dose of surliness
taking over. At least he had the sense to have the AC going full blast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Good thing he
let the matter drop. Instead of selling me on the positives, he started
shooting the breeze, catching me up on all the goings-on at home since I’d
hardly been back to Prince George over the summer. I sat back and listened to
him prattle, occasionally tossing in a question to keep the conversation
flowing. The more I could get him to talk about that kind of thing, the less I
would have to think about my predicament. But when the car came to a stop, we
weren’t at a hotel. We were in a parking garage in a big complex that screamed of
being the Thunderbirds’ main office.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Already?” I
grumbled. “You’re not going to at least let me settle in first?” I’d hoped to
have the opportunity to shower and change into something more comfortable in
this heat before dealing with the clusterfuck I’d created.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">John shut off
the engine. “The Jernigans want to get things moving in the right direction as
soon as possible. They said to bring you over the second you landed.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I ground my jaw.
The Jernigans were the team’s owners. Tom Jernigan was a minister at some huge
church here in Tulsa, one of those massive congregations that aired on
television and they had to hold four or five services over the course of the
weekend because there wasn’t enough room in the building to fit everyone in a
single sitting. He and his wife, Sharon, were all over the place with Bible
study books and videos. I was sure they didn’t know the first fucking thing
about hockey. At least they’d had the forethought to hire a few guys who,
combined, boasted several decades of experience running NHL teams.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Still sulking, I
ambled out and followed John inside. He led me through a series of halls, all
decked out with various items bearing the Thunderbirds logo and colors—a Native
American warbird with hockey sticks done in turquoise and terra cotta—before stopping
at a board room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A few familiar
faces were waiting in there: Alan Krause, the team president who had been
around the league longer than I’d been alive; Gary Asher, the general manager
who had overseen the Blues for their one and only Cup a few years back; Tim
Harvey, a former NHL defenseman who had been an assistant coach for two other
NHL teams and would do the same here; Chuck Warren, who’d been a goalie in the
league for a while—a <i>backup </i>goalie,
no less, and who had never come close to my level of play—who was supposed to
be my fucking goalie coach. There were a bunch of other guys in Thunderbirds
golf shirts and the like, too. Maybe they were the other coaches, or else some
of the PR people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Off in the
corner of the room near the windows, a slim, gray-haired man in a full
three-piece suit stood next to a blond woman in the sort of conservative
women’s suit that only politicians and clergymen’s wives tended to wear. Her shockingly
blond hair looked like a helmet. She probably used a whole can of hairspray to
keep it like that. No doubt these two were the team owners, the Jernigans.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was the group
huddled together near them that caught my attention, though: a knockout
gorgeous brunette who looked like she should be on the cover of a fashion
magazine, an older woman who could only be her mother, and a couple of older
men. All three of her companions were currently eyeing me. One of the men
seemed curious. The other, along with the mother, were both glaring at me like
I was the devil incarnate. But the young woman? I couldn’t figure out what she
was thinking because she wouldn’t look at me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">On top of that,
I had no clue about the purpose of their presence. It was supposed to be a
meeting about me being an ass and learning what I would have to do to appease
the team’s brass after letting my idiocy show. What the hell did these people
have to do with that?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Alan and Gary
came over to shake my hand. They took me through the room, introducing me
around to most of the new faces before we headed over to the big board table. I
grabbed a bottle of water from a cart along the wall before taking my seat. Alan
sat at the head of the table, folding his hands in front of him. He looked as
intense as I’d always known him to be. Maybe more at present than usual. His
stress had to be at an all-time high right now, trying to get ready for the
Thunderbirds’ debut season, and my issues had only added to it. “All right,” he
said once everyone settled into place and talk died off. “Let’s get down to
business.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Alan picked up a
coffee cup and drank from it. “There’s no point in beating around the bush. We
have twelve thousand new season ticket holders and a whole host of other
potential Thunderbirds fans here in Tulsa who are up in arms over some comments
made by our new star goaltender. They didn’t take kindly to being called <i>backasswards</i>, and they aren’t keen about
one of their players not being fully on board with being a key part of this
team. So now we need to figure out how to win them over.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You mean we
need to figure out how <i>I </i>can win them
over,” I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Alan nodded, a
scowl marring his features.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mollifying
people wasn’t my strong suit and it never had been. I picked up my water,
focusing more on it than I did on the conversation going on around me. Gary and
the coaches all tossed out suggestions like getting me involved in some sort of
community service project with some schools in the area or trying to get a
grassroots youth hockey program started so that the locals could love and grow
the sport here—with me at the forefront of it, of course.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">These were
exactly the sorts of things I’d been expecting, but they didn’t seem to be what
Alan was looking for. He didn’t even like the idea of me starting up a charity
here, or at the very least, he seemed to think there needed to be something
more to go along with it. He kept brushing their suggestions off, telling them
it wasn’t enough. What I’d done was going to take a lot more than a bit of
community involvement to rectify, if Alan’s reactions were a good indication.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As for me? I
kept my head down and my mouth shut while the rest of them batted ideas around,
since John had already made it abundantly clear that I was going to have to
play along with whatever they suggested, no matter how much I might not like it.
I didn’t get a say since I’d already flapped my jaw too much. But then John
kicked my ankle under the table. I shot my head up to find Mrs. Jernigan
looking expectantly at me, a too-perfect smile plastered on her face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Gentlemen,” she
said. “I’ve got the perfect solution. In fact, that’s why we invited the Roths
to join us today, as they’ve got a part to play.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The foursome in
the corner met my gaze when I passed a skeptical glance in their direction.
Well, three of the four did. The brunette ducked her head and stared at the
floor after giving me the briefest glimpse of her honey-colored eyes and button
nose. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, revealing a long, slender neck
that looked perfect for nibbling on. That was absolutely the wrong thing for me
to be thinking about, though—nibbling on her neck. Or other parts of her, like
her pert breasts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“The perfect
solution?” I repeated slowly, one hundred percent positive that whatever whack-job
idea this lady had, it would be the complete opposite of what I thought
appropriate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mrs. Jernigan
didn’t seem to notice the sarcasm in my tone. Either that or she was an expert
at ignoring things she didn’t want to acknowledge. “You see, the Roths have
been members of our church since Tallulah Belle was just a sweet little baby. We
always want to help members of our congregation out where we can, and Tallulah’s
found herself in a bit of a pickle, too, sort of like you have. There was a
dust-up last month while she was in Cancun with her sorority sisters, and now
that she’s been stripped of her crown—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Her crown?” I
interrupted. Who the hell wore a crown? And more importantly, why?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This was quickly
devolving into a nightmare.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One of the men
in the corner rolled his eyes. He, like Mrs. Roth, had been eyeing me since I’d
arrived as if I were a child pornographer or something. “I told you this wasn’t
a good idea, Sharon,” he said emphatically. He spoke slowly with a slight lisp,
drawing out his words so that they seemed to have grown by a few syllables each.
Even in this heat, he had on a blue turtleneck, not to mention a tweed jacket
over it, and he waved his hands with every word he uttered. “The Neanderthal
doesn’t even know who our Tallulah is,” the arm-waving dude bemoaned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Don’t call him
that, Lance,” the brunette pleaded. For the first time since they’d been introduced
into the conversation, she truly met my gaze, her expression a visual apology.
Her face was also quite possibly the most flawless one I’d ever seen. She
looked as though she’d stepped out of the pages of a magazine, without a single
blemish in sight. Lightly tanned skin. High cheekbones. Impeccably arched, full
eyebrows. And that was just her face. Her body? Made me think all kinds of
things that I had no business thinking about a woman whose name I didn’t even
know. She looked too good to be real, but damn if she wasn’t hot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He ignored her,
gesticulating so much he nearly whacked her in the face, which made me want to
pick him up by the scruff of his neck and teach him a thing or two about how
Neanderthals expected a man to treat a lady. I stayed put, though, and Lance
was oblivious to anything but his own agenda. “He won’t work out. He doesn’t
understand the pressure she’s under. The hooligan couldn’t even bother to get
his hair cut before making an appearance. He’s exactly the opposite of the sort
of man we need her to marry.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My head snapped
back upon hearing the word <i>marry</i>, and
I pushed my chair away from the table. “Back the fuck up for a second,” I said.
The movement unsettled my water, and the bottle fell over, rolled to the
table’s edge, and dropped to the floor, narrowly missing my toes. “Who the hell
said anything about getting married? I’m willing to do whatever you need me to
do to make up for my perceived crimes—community outreach, volunteering,
whatever—but how the fuck is getting married—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Which is
precisely the point,” Mr. Jernigan cut in, his voice rising over mine. He
arched an eyebrow in my direction, either daring me to interrupt or putting me
back in my place, one of the two. “You’ll do whatever we need you to do—John
assured us you would—and we need you to marry Tallulah. She’s gotten into a
scrape. She needs a way out of it. You’re it, son. On top of that, <i>she’s</i> the best way to get the people
here in Tulsa on your side.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“How is marrying
her supposed to help me make things up to all the people I pissed off?” I
demanded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Would you <i>please </i>watch your language?” Mrs.
Jernigan demanded, and I just about fell out of my chair. Of all the things to
get worked up over, she was getting her panties in a twist over me uttering the
words <i>pissed off</i>? How on earth was
she going to handle being around a whole team of hockey players? It might be
better if she was one of those hands-off team owners like we’d had in Portland,
but so far it didn’t look like that would be the case.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She put her
hands on her hips, prim, proper, and as incensed as I’d ever seen a woman.
“Really, there’s no reason for all that foul stuff. Your mama should have
taught you better than that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Let’s leave his
mama out of it, Sharon,” her husband said, never removing his gaze from me. No
doubt he sensed that I was about to lose my shit, and he wanted to defuse the
situation before I did something else I would regret. I might not like his
wife, but so far <i>he</i> was okay. Well,
except for the fact that he thought I needed to marry some random chick I’d
never met before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He crossed his
arms and leaned back in his chair. “Here’s the deal, son.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I gritted my
teeth. “I’m not your son.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He ignored me. “Tallulah
won Miss Teen Oklahoma USA several years back, and then she won Miss Teen USA.
She’s the reigning Miss Oklahoma USA, or she was until they stripped her of her
crown last month because of a slight indiscretion. She was expecting to contend
for Miss USA, and most likely Miss Universe after that. She’s been competing in
and winning pageants for years, including some very high-profile ones. The fact
is that Oklahomans love her. We adore her. But now her image has been
tarnished, and she needs a husband so she can repair her image in the public
eye. She fell down a few pegs when…well, never mind that. The point is that
they want Tallulah to appear to be the role model they always assumed she was,
and to do that, she needs to give the impression that she’s growing up,
settling down, and doing the things they’ve expected of her all along.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Which is
exactly why you can’t just shove her in with him,” the hand-waving man
interrupted, pointing a finger in my direction so hard it seemed he might be
attempting to jab me in the eye. “He’ll ruin her worse than she already is.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mr. Jernigan
closed his eyes, shook his head, and sighed. “He’s not going to ruin her.
They’ll rescue each other.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I wasn’t in the
mood to play knight in shining armor to anyone, even if she had legs for days and
killer curves like this Tallulah chick did, and I’d be damned if I needed
anyone to rescue me. I’d dug my own hole; I could damned well figure out a way
to climb out of it myself. “I’m not marrying anyone,” I said, loud and clear
enough to be heard over everyone else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You are.” This
time it was John speaking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I spun my head
to glare at him. “You knew this was going on and you didn’t say a word about
it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Had to be sure
you were going to show up,” he said, shrugging. Like this was no big deal. Like
he wasn’t trying to tell me that my life as I had it planned was all being
tossed out, and I was going to have to bend to someone else’s rules. Like I
should have expected it since I’d been dumb enough to make an ass of myself,
and this was my due penance. “We already discussed this. You’ve got to play by
their rules, at least for a while. Things are different down here. You’re going
to be living and playing in the Bible belt, and there are different
expectations. Besides, it’s not forever,” he added sheepishly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You expect me
to believe that a preacher”—I pointed in the general direction of the
Jernigans—“is going to suggest a marriage that will end up in divorce in order
to cover up some silly scandal.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Well, really,
honey pie,” Mrs. Jernigan said. “It’ll be more like an annulment. It’s just for
a year.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“A year?” I
scoffed. I didn’t know American marriage law very well, but this didn’t sound
like the sort of thing a judge would consider appropriate annulment material. “And
I’m not your honey pie. Either way, doesn’t matter since I’m not doing it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yes,” John
said, more emphatically than before, “you are.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I shot him a
go-to-hell look. “No one can make me get fake married for a year. Not even you,
and don’t fool yourself into thinking you can. Besides, that would mean I’d
have to be celibate the whole damn time.” If the entire fucking state loved
this Tallulah chick, the second I was seen with some other girl, hoping to
scratch an itch, I’d be the bastard who cheated on Oklahoma’s sweetheart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Language!” Mrs.
J shouted at me. The woman reminded me more and more of Effie Trinket from the <i>Hunger Games</i> movies, only minus the pink
hair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Sorry if the
mention of sex offends you,” I spouted off, and I didn’t even feel bad about
the offended gasp she let out. The longer I was in this room, the shorter my fuse
grew. I’d be lucky if I got out of here without them threatening to find a way
to void my contract.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Hell, maybe I
should really let loose. Maybe then they <i>would
</i>try to void it, and then I could sign with some other team. Anything would
be better than being stuck here and getting forced into some sham of a
marriage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You wouldn’t…”
Tallulah had spoken up again, drawing my attention, but she clammed up the
second her mother and Lance shot looks in her direction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I wouldn’t
what?” I asked, more out of curiosity than anything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“It doesn’t
matter,” Lance interjected. He reached across and put a hand over Tallulah’s,
as though to prevent her from saying another word. The guy seriously needed a
good throat-punching, and I was itching to be the one to have that honor. Not
to rescue her. More to fuck with him because the half hour or so I’d spent in
his company was more than anyone should have to bear in a lifetime. The guy was
a serious ass. He met my glare. “No Neatherthals allowed near Tallulah Belle.
Not now. Not ever.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She tugged her
hand free, and my esteem for her went up a few notches. She scowled at him
before turning to me. “You wouldn’t necessarily have to be celibate the whole
time,” she said, staring straight at me. “I mean, I’m not sure I’d want to
stay—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Tallulah Belle
Roth!” her mother interrupted before turning her hateful glare on me. “There
will be <i>no</i> hanky-panky, not with
Tallulah or anyone else. Just enough hand-holding and light kisses for the
cameras, but when you’re not putting on a show for the media, you’ll be keeping
your hands to yourself and your little <i>thing</i>
tucked away in your pants.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“It ain’t
little, sweetheart,” I said before I could think better of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Well, I never.”
She shut up after that, though, crossing her arms and turning her back to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Tallulah didn’t
keep quiet. “Mama, you can’t speak to him like that. And it’s none of your
business—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“My daughter
isn’t my business?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“—what happens
behind closed doors,” she continued, ignoring her mother’s interruption. “The
fact is, we <i>will </i>be married. And
soon.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Soon? I was
about to speak up again, but the other man—the one who, so far, had kept his
mouth shut and merely looked on, mildly amused by the proceedings—leaned
forward and locked his gaze on me. “Saturday, actually,” he said, answering my
unasked question. “And I’ve already got the prenup lined out. I’ll just need
you and my Tallie to drop by my office later this afternoon to go over it so we
can get it finalized.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I pressed my
fingers to my eyes, wishing I could push hard enough that my whole head would
explode like the dude on <i>Game of Thrones</i>.
My head hurt enough that it might explode from the internal pressure without
any outside forces.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“<i>Not him</i>,” Lance tossed in. “We’ll find
someone else.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“By Saturday?” Mrs.
Jernigan asked. “Everything’s already in place for this weekend, and we’ve
already wasted too much time. They’re hounding Tallulah everywhere she goes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Find someone
else,” I ground out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“There <i>is</i> no one else,” the father insisted at
the same time as John said, “Whether you want to do this or not, you’re going
to have to.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Why?” I roared.
“Why this? What the hell is this supposed to do that couldn’t be accomplished
some way that doesn’t involve fucking getting married?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Tallulah stood
up, planting both hands on her hips and drawing my eye exactly there. “Now you
look here,” she said, suddenly turning sassy in a way that turned me on despite
my better judgment—further proof that hormones had nothing to do with the part
of the brain that processed thought. “I’m not any happier about this than you
are, and clearly my mama and Lance don’t think you’re up to snuff, but they’re
right about this one part. Whether you want to hear it or not, they’re right.
The two of us getting married—at least long enough for all of this to blow
over—is the best solution for both of our problems. So we’re going to do it.
We’re getting married on Saturday, so you’d better just accept the fact that
it’s happening. And you should probably call your mama. They don’t like finding
these things out after the fact.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Well,
holy hell. Even Tallulah wanted to go along with it. Apparently, Tulsa wasn’t
just hell; it was also the Twilight Zone, only the people I was surrounded by
didn’t realize it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Well? Did you enjoy that? Good!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So here's what I promised above. Very soon, I will be releasing a surprise for my <a href="http://eepurl.com/GXcwr" target="_blank">newsletter</a> subscribers. What is it? Well, details are still to come, but it's related to Babs. Yes, the same Babs from my Portland Storm series, who everyone loves. I can't reveal what, specifically, this surprise is as of right now, but if you enjoy those books, you will want it. And the only way you can get it is to subscribe to my mailing list, as it is a FREE thank you for my newsletter subscribers. If you aren't already signed up for it, do so <a href="http://eepurl.com/GXcwr" target="_blank">here</a> so you won't miss out.</span>Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-54737498590899341552015-05-30T14:39:00.000-04:002015-05-30T14:39:28.068-04:00Bury the Hatchet - A First Look, Plus a Cover Reveal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVBFEUx3HcxjC2STFkfbeLqIbxDPJXJJzBpIjQZSvd-OPtJwjSLWXsBUVK0Q3nW0GfQ5ydxGQMZ6Bb_JhA68qIAq-M-dXNu7QruI5pp48UiKVQgBOxtnPErDr0jXRTmrp0RWzGfuXQIFPC/s1600/CatherineGayle_BuryTheHatchet_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVBFEUx3HcxjC2STFkfbeLqIbxDPJXJJzBpIjQZSvd-OPtJwjSLWXsBUVK0Q3nW0GfQ5ydxGQMZ6Bb_JhA68qIAq-M-dXNu7QruI5pp48UiKVQgBOxtnPErDr0jXRTmrp0RWzGfuXQIFPC/s320/CatherineGayle_BuryTheHatchet_800px.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
As I'm gearing up for the July 9 release of Bury the Hatchet, I thought I'd give you a little peek at what's in store. Here's a brief excerpt to whet your appetites. :)<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; tab-stops: 376.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The
coaches cleared out of the way, and none other than Sharon Jernigan walked up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; tab-stops: 376.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Fucking
hell,” I muttered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; tab-stops: 376.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Who’s
that?” Razor asked me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; tab-stops: 376.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Owner’s
wife.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; tab-stops: 376.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He
slumped down in his seat like a kid who didn’t want to get called on in class.
“Fucking hell’s right.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; tab-stops: 376.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Her
helmet hair looked even bigger than the last time I’d seen her, at the wedding.
Her smile was as forced as ever. “Welcome to Tulsa and the Thunderbirds
organization,” she said, her thick drawl accented by the all-too-familiar
waving arms. “Tom and I want to be sure y’all feel like a part of the family.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; tab-stops: 376.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I
knew she meant her church family, even if the rest of the guys didn’t. Yet.
They’d figure it out soon enough.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; tab-stops: 376.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">With
that, I decided it was as good a time as any for me to tune out again. I leaned
back, crossing my arms and my ankles, doing my best to relax without quite
falling asleep. I was doing a damn good job of it, too, until Razor elbowed me
in the ribs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; tab-stops: 376.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I
hissed in a breath, rubbing the spot he’d targeted. “What the fuck was that
for?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; tab-stops: 376.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“She
can’t fucking do that, can she?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; tab-stops: 376.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Do
what?” Maybe I should have paid at least some attention while she was talking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; tab-stops: 376.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Put
a fucking swear jar in the room. She says the money’s going into the
Thunderbirds Foundation fund. That’s got to be against some rule in the CBA or
something. Don’t you think?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; tab-stops: 376.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A
<i>swear jar</i>? I’d known since the first
time I’d met her that she was going to have a rude awakening being around
hockey players, considering how she’d gotten her panties in a twist over the
language I’d used that first day, but this was beyond ridiculous.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; tab-stops: 376.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Throughout
the room, guys were shifting in their seats and muttering beneath their breath,
talking to one another.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; tab-stops: 376.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I
don’t have a clue,” I said quietly. “But if she can, we’re all going to be
fucking broke.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; tab-stops: 376.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He
gave me a thorough once over, a single brow raised. “Good thing you’re paid
more than you’re worth.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; tab-stops: 376.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Look
who’s talking,” I shot back. He was making the kind of bank a top pairing
defenseman would normally earn, but on any other team he wouldn’t be placed any
higher than the third or fourth <i>D</i> on
the team. That was probably why the Sabres had left him available in the
expansion draft, come to think of it. They didn’t want to pay him that much
anymore, and they knew the T-Birds would need to add some salary to meet the
cap floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; tab-stops: 376.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We
were still debating who was being overpaid the most when Dima stood up and
walked to his stall. My arguments dropped off. I couldn’t help but watch him,
and apparently I wasn’t alone. At least half the guys in the room were staring
in the same direction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; tab-stops: 376.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dima
dug his wallet out of his jeans pocket. He pulled out a wad of bills and headed
for Mrs. Jernigan, pressing them into her hand. “For first fucking month,” he
said, his Russian accent thick even if his English was only slightly broken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; tab-stops: 376.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She
gaped at him as he returned to his seat next to me. “But you’re supposed to <i>stop</i> swearing,” she said in a daze.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; tab-stops: 376.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I
couldn’t help it. I chuckled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; tab-stops: 376.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The
next thing I knew, every guy in the room got up and followed Dima’s example, me
included. The owner’s wife could do nothing but hold out her hand and collect
the bills she was handed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> I
guess she still had a thing or two to learn about being around hockey players.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsJHBxFR1Elatdo7Zm42tj7dJHQcodOJ5goOcEhbebUo4Yb2hzZv2NGKK6mGpyE9Ih2eRuVzugSpemhTVp2YJGm5dvQuGGIewvIPkhfzE4-NrTzSpTZC9XqCFmE9Ikt4i5qQuHKg3GU-st/s1600/CatherineGayle_SmokeSignals_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsJHBxFR1Elatdo7Zm42tj7dJHQcodOJ5goOcEhbebUo4Yb2hzZv2NGKK6mGpyE9Ih2eRuVzugSpemhTVp2YJGm5dvQuGGIewvIPkhfzE4-NrTzSpTZC9XqCFmE9Ikt4i5qQuHKg3GU-st/s320/CatherineGayle_SmokeSignals_800px.jpg" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">You can pre-order Bury the Hatchet now at <a href="http://amzn.to/1HBxgmi" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="https://geo.itunes.apple.com/us/book/bury-the-hatchet/id959321922?mt=11&uo=6&at=10lLiX" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/bury-the-hatchet-catherine-gayle/1121090505?ean=2940151466578&itm=1&usri=catherine+gayle" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>, <a href="https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/bury-the-hatchet-2" target="_blank">Kobo</a>, and <a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-burythehatchet-1810416-149.html" target="_blank">All Romance eBooks</a>. You can add it to your <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24484017-bury-the-hatchet" target="_blank">Goodreads shelf</a>, too.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The second book, Smoke Signals, will star Razor. It releases on October 22, and you can pre-order it at <a href="https://geo.itunes.apple.com/us/book/smoke-signals/id979026250?mt=11&uo=6&at=10lLiX" target="_blank">iBooks</a> (and at other vendors 90 days before release) and add it to your <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25185012-smoke-signals" target="_blank">Goodreads shelf</a>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRfkTkxsK3MuUBvyPGS-aQJH-ihdxwpE99mdCkT9zYX8CFWKOLSrrdNB8cEQKdHyC44Z3TQvBC7MnuYHwfYe_YwDtYEkIp9g3zlBSR2nMgri0YDnwdDCVGHxtfUlcc_aaqssP2cLbgKMAY/s1600/CatherineGayle_GhostDance_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRfkTkxsK3MuUBvyPGS-aQJH-ihdxwpE99mdCkT9zYX8CFWKOLSrrdNB8cEQKdHyC44Z3TQvBC7MnuYHwfYe_YwDtYEkIp9g3zlBSR2nMgri0YDnwdDCVGHxtfUlcc_aaqssP2cLbgKMAY/s320/CatherineGayle_GhostDance_800px.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Why did I choose that brief excerpt as the one to share with you first? Because, not only does it give you a bit of interaction between Hunter and Razor, but I'm also revealing the cover for the third book in the series, titled Ghost Dance, which will star Dmitri Nazarenko, aka Dima, who you meet in that excerpt. I don't yet have a release date or blurb for Ghost Dance, but you can add it to your <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25571769-ghost-dance" target="_blank">Goodreads shelf</a> now, and I'll share those when they're available.</span>Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-84696930189949469312015-05-21T12:41:00.001-04:002015-05-21T12:41:43.434-04:00Portland Storm: The Second Period is Live<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7KD1bJ3O80ArRZujfzCbW0rnraN_dXJWOngNnkf4p5JM-tmh1TiH7UXngU5IDzZN_kApQw-MLhbp_xD_wIeE-aD12zB9fKYBnt5AYEcW1iVGtvAT8TaK0NC7TPTAMrYGBThB_WSxJyJzC/s1600/CatherineGayle_TheSecondPeriod3DBoxSet_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7KD1bJ3O80ArRZujfzCbW0rnraN_dXJWOngNnkf4p5JM-tmh1TiH7UXngU5IDzZN_kApQw-MLhbp_xD_wIeE-aD12zB9fKYBnt5AYEcW1iVGtvAT8TaK0NC7TPTAMrYGBThB_WSxJyJzC/s320/CatherineGayle_TheSecondPeriod3DBoxSet_800px.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 22.5px;">The box set of the second grouping of books from the Portland Storm series is available now. If you pre-ordered it, you should be able to download it to your e-reader now. If you didn't pre-order it, you can purchase it now from the following vendors.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><br style="line-height: 22.5px;" /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="http://amzn.to/1HthMRf" style="line-height: 22.5px; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/portland-storm-catherine-gayle/1121090504?ean=2940151495110&itm=1&usri=catherine+gayle" style="line-height: 22.5px; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a></span><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/portland-storm-second-period/id959321606?mt=11&uo=6&at=10lLiX&ct=" style="line-height: 22.5px; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">iBooks</a></span><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/portland-storm-the-second-period" style="line-height: 22.5px; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Catherine_Gayle_Portland_Storm_The_Second_Period?id=sL_NBwAAQBAJ" style="line-height: 22.5px; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Google Play</a></span><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-portlandstormthesecondperiod-1810415-166.html" style="line-height: 22.5px; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">All Romance eBooks</a></span><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/511510" style="line-height: 22.5px; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Smashwords</a></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 22.5px;">What, specifically, is in this box set? It's got three full novels and two novellas: Delay of Game, Double Major, In the Zone, Holiday Hat Trick, and Comeback.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 22.5px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.5px;">What's up next? Bury the Hatchet, the first book from the Tulsa Thunderbirds series releases on July 9.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 22.5px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.5px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Tulsa Thunderbirds series is a spin-off from the Portland Storm. It's a hockey romance series following an expansion team in the NHL. You can expect familiar characters, lots of hockey action, and the same emotional backdrop you'd find in the Storm series, but it's all set within a sexier, edgier package.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.5px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><i>He was poised to be an elite goalie for a contending team.</i> </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVBFEUx3HcxjC2STFkfbeLqIbxDPJXJJzBpIjQZSvd-OPtJwjSLWXsBUVK0Q3nW0GfQ5ydxGQMZ6Bb_JhA68qIAq-M-dXNu7QruI5pp48UiKVQgBOxtnPErDr0jXRTmrp0RWzGfuXQIFPC/s1600/CatherineGayle_BuryTheHatchet_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVBFEUx3HcxjC2STFkfbeLqIbxDPJXJJzBpIjQZSvd-OPtJwjSLWXsBUVK0Q3nW0GfQ5ydxGQMZ6Bb_JhA68qIAq-M-dXNu7QruI5pp48UiKVQgBOxtnPErDr0jXRTmrp0RWzGfuXQIFPC/s320/CatherineGayle_BuryTheHatchet_800px.jpg" width="213" /></span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">Hunter Fielding has long since proven himself to be one of the best goaltenders in the NHL. The problem? His former team had another (slightly better) backstop. They left Hunter out to dry, the upstart Tulsa Thunderbirds claimed him in the expansion draft, and he made a few stupid comments about backasswards Oklahomans. Now the T-Birds say the only way he can redeem himself is to make nice for the media with some local goody two shoes who’s made some mistakes of her own. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><i>Oklahoma’s sweetheart could do no wrong until she could do no right.</i> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="background-color: white;">Tallulah Belle Roth was the reigning Miss Oklahoma USA until a night of out-of-control drinking, a naked foray in a hot tub with very bad boy, and a bunch of lowlights on TMZ. Now she’s been stripped of her crown and is facing the censure of the same people who made her out to be Little Miss Perfect. Tallie won’t ever get her title back, but her life is another matter—and the only way the public will allow her to do that is if she presents herself as happily settled with someone else under Oklahoma’s eye. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="background-color: white;">The marriage is to be in name only—one year of sickeningly-sweet lovey-dovey PDA, all to get their detractors to bury the hatchet. Those kisses and tender moments for the cameras take an emotional toll, though. Can <i>in name only</i> be enough?</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20.7999992370605px;">Pre-order Bury the Hatchet now at the following retailers.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="http://amzn.to/1Fw9Gbk" style="line-height: 20.7999992370605px; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/bury-the-hatchet/id959321922?mt=11&uo=6&at=10lLiX&ct=" style="line-height: 20.7999992370605px; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">iBooks</a></span><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/bury-the-hatchet-catherine-gayle/1121090505?ean=2940151466578&itm=1&usri=catherine+gayle" style="line-height: 20.7999992370605px; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a></span><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/bury-the-hatchet-2" style="line-height: 20.7999992370605px; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-burythehatchet-1810416-149.html" style="line-height: 20.7999992370605px; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">All Romance eBooks</a></span><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 20.7999992370605px;">(Google Play pre-orders will come closer to release date.)</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The next Portland Storm book will be a novella titled Home Ice, which releases on August 13.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There’s only one person in the world that Mattias Bergstrom allows to see his soft side: his younger sister, who was born with Down syndrome. She lives with their parents in Sweden, so there’s no worry of accidentally showing his players any part of himself other than the hard-assed former defenseman and current head coach of the Portland Storm. At least not until the doppelganger of Matti’s sister snags one of his young D-men in the corridor before the team’s skills exhibition event, and his frozen heart melts. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Q5E5Eq78y52-531XhSECFcva8aotyYgLTnOMniOtiv3wGYUOwxkkG26a2S-KXs9MD8MgoCexFRcz1-QiDZwVbi47DI01jDV79y2M7btB4kjK6WWOMcTldMtu5IJHtd9RFte0DZDoDev5/s1600/CatherineGayle_HomeIce_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Q5E5Eq78y52-531XhSECFcva8aotyYgLTnOMniOtiv3wGYUOwxkkG26a2S-KXs9MD8MgoCexFRcz1-QiDZwVbi47DI01jDV79y2M7btB4kjK6WWOMcTldMtu5IJHtd9RFte0DZDoDev5/s320/CatherineGayle_HomeIce_800px.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 20.7999992370605px;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: white;">Paige Calhoun has her hands full with four exceedingly boy-crazy, hockey-loving daughters—three teenagers and one pre-teen with Down syndrome. Everyday life is hard enough, but then her ex-husband scores tickets for Paige to take the girls to the StormSkillz Competition. The magnitude of her task is further complicated when her youngest spots the hockey player of her dreams and barrels through the crowd to claim him as her own. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;">The team’s sexy-as-sin coach intervenes, and suddenly Paige feels just as boy crazy as her daughters. This girl might not be Matti’s sister, but he decides to give her and her sisters a weekend they’ll never forget. Too bad it never crossed his mind that in the process he might end up giving himself an unexpected happy ever after with Paige.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.5px;">Pre-order Home Ice now at</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="http://amzn.to/1FwbLE4" style="line-height: 22.5px; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/home-ice-catherine-gayle/1121090506?ean=2940151271455&itm=1&usri=catherine+gayle" style="line-height: 22.5px; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a></span><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/home-ice/id963538206?mt=11&uo=6&at=10lLiX&ct=" style="line-height: 22.5px; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">iBooks</a></span><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/home-ice-5" style="line-height: 22.5px; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-homeice-1810417-149.html" style="line-height: 22.5px; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">All Romance eBooks</a></span><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="line-height: 22.5px;">(Google Play pre-orders will be available closer to release date.)</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.5px;">More to come soon!</span><br />
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Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-53837356686037920172015-04-20T05:00:00.000-04:002015-04-20T05:00:07.710-04:00Happy anniversary to me!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh85k1s_1CB-r40U883gXluKF_5lhM62uR4G00kU64IViV7CJSAs4k3y9Nk-fCkUQsGkxuO3D7J6g3o6hkfBxMGVLoalSfDd4ZDpGDAete-PPWtWJAcjs8wb6IFSXoVpKLcEiIoQOJ7BB_3/s1600/Anniversary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh85k1s_1CB-r40U883gXluKF_5lhM62uR4G00kU64IViV7CJSAs4k3y9Nk-fCkUQsGkxuO3D7J6g3o6hkfBxMGVLoalSfDd4ZDpGDAete-PPWtWJAcjs8wb6IFSXoVpKLcEiIoQOJ7BB_3/s1600/Anniversary.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a>This week marks my 4 year anniversary of being published. Not only that, but I'll be passing 400,000 sales by the end of the week.<br />
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I want to celebrate, and what better way to do it than by offering up presents--for YOU. :)<br />
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There are a lot of prizes to be had including a Kindle Fire HD6 and a Kindle Paperwhite, and the best thing is that it is very simple to enter.<br />
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Click <a href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/share-code/OThiOGYzZTM1NTU3ZjBlY2VlZjZiNGI1YjcxOTdkOjQ=/?" target="_blank">here </a>for more details, and be sure to spread the word to all your friends who might be interested.Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-62061079764486167142015-04-14T07:00:00.000-04:002015-04-14T07:00:11.611-04:00Dropping Gloves is LIVE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQbvdLDkMWdtNAVNNtEhYF0zgC1-eyfP_uPBj72wMeBKF-XyMV_7P50EurZP8K-KbPmRXyXMBzbm1KcxcRjr1dLG021SZluP0udrZqwmA24Ll-CS8q1yAopMa4S9UZbMgWzap3Og5IMAj2/s1600/CatherineGayle_DroppingTheGloves_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQbvdLDkMWdtNAVNNtEhYF0zgC1-eyfP_uPBj72wMeBKF-XyMV_7P50EurZP8K-KbPmRXyXMBzbm1KcxcRjr1dLG021SZluP0udrZqwmA24Ll-CS8q1yAopMa4S9UZbMgWzap3Og5IMAj2/s1600/CatherineGayle_DroppingTheGloves_800px.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
It's here! It's here!<br />
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If you pre-ordered Dropping Gloves, you should have it now. If you didn't pre-order, you can purchase it now at <a href="http://amzn.to/1Nzesu9" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dropping-gloves-catherine-gayle/1120262938?ean=2940151466585" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>, <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/dropping-gloves/id959320767?mt=11&uo=4&at=10lLiX" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/dropping-gloves" target="_blank">Kobo</a>, <a href="https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Catherine_Gayle_Dropping_Gloves?id=q67MBwAAQBAJ" target="_blank">Google Play</a>, <a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-droppinggloves-1781111-149.html" target="_blank">All Romance eBooks</a>, and <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/471631" target="_blank">Smashwords</a>.<br />
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The first chapter can be found <a href="http://catherinegayleauthor.blogspot.com/2015/03/sneak-peek-dropping-gloves.html" target="_blank">here </a>in case you're still undecided.<br />
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Next up, I'll be launching the Tulsa Thunderbirds series with Bury the Hatchet, but then I'll be returning to the Storm for Home Ice.<br />
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I hope you enjoy Dropping Gloves, and I hope the wait for Babs and Katie's story was worth it.Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-23554616192883817562015-04-06T14:11:00.000-04:002015-04-06T14:11:10.841-04:00Dropping Gloves is releasing EARLY, plus more preorders<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQbvdLDkMWdtNAVNNtEhYF0zgC1-eyfP_uPBj72wMeBKF-XyMV_7P50EurZP8K-KbPmRXyXMBzbm1KcxcRjr1dLG021SZluP0udrZqwmA24Ll-CS8q1yAopMa4S9UZbMgWzap3Og5IMAj2/s1600/CatherineGayle_DroppingTheGloves_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQbvdLDkMWdtNAVNNtEhYF0zgC1-eyfP_uPBj72wMeBKF-XyMV_7P50EurZP8K-KbPmRXyXMBzbm1KcxcRjr1dLG021SZluP0udrZqwmA24Ll-CS8q1yAopMa4S9UZbMgWzap3Og5IMAj2/s1600/CatherineGayle_DroppingTheGloves_800px.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Everything in the preparation and planning stages for Dropping Gloves got finished in advance of what I anticipated, so I decided to move the release date up.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: white;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">She left to follow her dreams; she’s back to follow her heart.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Katie Weber left her heart in Portland to chase a career in Hollywood. Now she has returned to sing the national anthem for the Portland Storm for their annual Hockey Fights Cancer night. Her longtime crush, Jamie Babcock, is hurting just as much as she is. One look in his eyes is all it takes to know that. She's done the Hollywood thing, though, and she's over it, but it might be too late to dig herself out of the hole she’s dug with him.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Jamie’s already done everything humanly possible to let go of Katie, but she keeps coming back, and she keeps crushing him all over again every time she leaves. His heart has been trampled on more than enough already. At some point, he has to draw the line. Doesn't he? Only, when it's Katie, he's not sure that's even possible. She's in Portland again right now, but he can’t be sure for how long.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Katie knows she has a fight on her hands, in more ways than one, if she’s going to convince Jamie she deserves another chance, but she’s willing to drop her gloves this time. Because in the game of love, all bets are off.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It's now releasing on April 14 instead of April 23. Yes, 9 whole days sooner.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">If you haven't pre-ordered it yet, you can do so at <a href="http://amzn.to/1xXsDSv" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/dropping-gloves/id959320767?mt=11&uo=4&at=10lLiX" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dropping-gloves-catherine-gayle/1120262938?ean=2940046137194" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a> (they're still processing the change in date, but it WILL release early), and <a href="https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/dropping-gloves" target="_blank">Kobo</a>.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGu5snV4_XJLq4mZwkwaT5ssYcJLjMuv9-wpjLxt8m3qrfAdMrqRnqT2vUGWBAXYauRnvYsdaFr5exzDBpFBw6ZqcFtvyLZnvUfv4jWv5w4rnf7afZXugHbV1lUXl8cwJr6M7ibhshjj2f/s1600/PortlandStorm_Logo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGu5snV4_XJLq4mZwkwaT5ssYcJLjMuv9-wpjLxt8m3qrfAdMrqRnqT2vUGWBAXYauRnvYsdaFr5exzDBpFBw6ZqcFtvyLZnvUfv4jWv5w4rnf7afZXugHbV1lUXl8cwJr6M7ibhshjj2f/s1600/PortlandStorm_Logo.png" height="88" width="200" /></span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Do you know about the other upcoming Portland Storm books?</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkjDsvpfec4wGFQVHT_cZUskbkvE4ZHnow73XKhWYGVZi1E82fG8FbxamnZw4od9axMTQwH6S0qTKv2hiNCijDVieKUr6KDIYmGuG4C-V_-SJZNj_VlBigGanE-spEUSn3gv6l4kRVXSaU/s1600/CatherineGayle_HomeIce_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkjDsvpfec4wGFQVHT_cZUskbkvE4ZHnow73XKhWYGVZi1E82fG8FbxamnZw4od9axMTQwH6S0qTKv2hiNCijDVieKUr6KDIYmGuG4C-V_-SJZNj_VlBigGanE-spEUSn3gv6l4kRVXSaU/s1600/CatherineGayle_HomeIce_800px.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Home Ice will be up next on August 13. It's a novella, and it's about Storm head coach Mattias "Bergy" Bergstrom.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">There’s only one person in the world that Mattias Bergstrom allows to see his soft side: his younger sister, who was born with Down syndrome. She lives with their parents in Sweden, so there’s no worry of accidentally showing his players any part of himself other than the hard-assed former defenseman and current head coach of the Portland Storm. At least not until the doppelganger of Matti’s sister snags one of his young D-men in the corridor before the team’s skills exhibition event, and his frozen heart melts. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Paige Calhoun has her hands full with four exceedingly boy-crazy, hockey-loving daughters—three teenagers and one pre-teen with Down syndrome. Everyday life is hard enough, but then her ex-husband scores tickets for Paige to take the girls to the StormSkillz Competition. The magnitude of her task is further complicated when Sophie, her youngest, spots the hockey player of her dreams and barrels through the crowd to claim him as her own.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">The team’s sexy-as-sin coach intervenes, and suddenly Paige feels just as boy crazy as her daughters. This girl might not be Matti’s sister, but he decides to give her and her sisters a weekend they’ll never forget. Too bad it never crossed his mind that in the process he might end up giving himself an unexpected happy ever after with Paige.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">You can pre-order Home Ice at <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/home-ice/id963538206?mt=11&uo=4&at=10lLiX" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/home-ice-catherine-gayle/1121090506?ean=2940046521627&itm=1&usri=catherine+gayle" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>, and <a href="https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/home-ice-5" target="_blank">Kobo</a>. Here's the <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24489295-home-ice" target="_blank">Goodreads </a>page so you can add it to your shelf. Amazon pre-orders will be available in a couple of months.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhY06Cel6ihBlI7TR1sOSAOD-zWEkEOaJJM3ZvhgNMRJvbD-xiIcquQw3aRzEqU2NqxbIyAETayz9WUrWge4CuznmvbDDHx4nUTg-huJOrj0GIHJJ-rpNyjgsZLQx4nTR3e-4ejlWp0GO5/s1600/CatherineGayle_LosingAnEdge_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhY06Cel6ihBlI7TR1sOSAOD-zWEkEOaJJM3ZvhgNMRJvbD-xiIcquQw3aRzEqU2NqxbIyAETayz9WUrWge4CuznmvbDDHx4nUTg-huJOrj0GIHJJ-rpNyjgsZLQx4nTR3e-4ejlWp0GO5/s1600/CatherineGayle_LosingAnEdge_800px.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">The next novel in the series will be Losing an Edge, starring yet another of those lovable Babcock brothers, Levi. It releases on February 18, 2016, and you can pre-order it at <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/losing-an-edge/id979025576?mt=11&uo=4&at=10lLiX" target="_blank">iBooks</a> or add it to your <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25185024-losing-an-edge" target="_blank">Goodreads </a>shelf. Other pre-orders are coming, but February's still a long way off.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">In any other family, Levi “501” Babcock would have been the golden boy. Instead, he’s lived his entire life in the shadow of his almost-perfect older brother. They both play for the NHL’s Portland Storm, but Levi is tired of being the second-best Babcock brother. He’s determined to find at least one thing he can do better. He thinks he’s found it when Cadence Johnson, Canada’s darling at the last Olympic Games, shows up in Portland; he’s going to land a girlfriend who’s more famous than his brother’s Hollywood-starlet wife.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Gold medals don’t mean much when every day is a living nightmare. Figure skater Cadence Johnson just did the unthinkable; she left her partner and her coach, and she’s starting over from scratch. New partner. New coach. New choreographer. New hair color. New city. She’s looking forward, not behind, keeping her secrets firmly locked up tight. Her bubbly personality and perpetual smiles conceal a world of hurt she can’t let anyone see.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">After Levi charms his way into Cadence’s life, hope that it’s all been laid to rest blooms within her. But even the darkest of secrets eventually seek the light. Soon, Levi comes to realize that life with Cadence might not be all sunshine and roses, and attraction isn’t going to be enough to her. Now being the man she needs in her life seems a lot more important than finally besting his brother, but with every step, he feels like he’s Losing an Edge.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj45RILjL2g51ZPvqbqsA83F_5cRXefRpEkYcwf-loZWW0RLTWohJUaxRQ-u9Mrti8-AENuBOKo90VLkhgLBW28XMnNA0o5RCv9pRA8WWo2x3BJqPtUNXZYythPja7VsjSHaPV4dkXrun2N/s1600/TulsaThunderbirds_Logo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj45RILjL2g51ZPvqbqsA83F_5cRXefRpEkYcwf-loZWW0RLTWohJUaxRQ-u9Mrti8-AENuBOKo90VLkhgLBW28XMnNA0o5RCv9pRA8WWo2x3BJqPtUNXZYythPja7VsjSHaPV4dkXrun2N/s1600/TulsaThunderbirds_Logo.png" height="175" width="200" /></span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">So why will there be so much time between Portland Storm books for the next little while? Because this summer and fall, I'll be launching the first two books of a spin-off hockey romance series called the Tulsa Thunderbirds.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The T-Birds are an expansion team, and they've picked up a few faces familiar to readers of the Portland Storm series: former Storm captain Eric "Zee" Zellinger, goaltender Hunter Fielding, and Babs's best friend, Ray "Razor" Chambers, who was traded to the Sabres during Double Major.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKM0jFtzx046Wflrgt44_V96YK18tkxRICL_WMP698Y2qxq2CQYPS6hyphenhyphenDqmPKZ0SaFQS_h1kAHp7rG5jv-poClHrMbu8kdAOJ-NzyiCRyrtRqDyyucFbhZAd6ASHOKO8IudJtFHoPQv86f/s1600/CatherineGayle_BuryTheHatchet_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKM0jFtzx046Wflrgt44_V96YK18tkxRICL_WMP698Y2qxq2CQYPS6hyphenhyphenDqmPKZ0SaFQS_h1kAHp7rG5jv-poClHrMbu8kdAOJ-NzyiCRyrtRqDyyucFbhZAd6ASHOKO8IudJtFHoPQv86f/s1600/CatherineGayle_BuryTheHatchet_800px.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">The first book, Bury the Hatchet, will feature Hunter.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">He was poised to be an elite goalie for a contending team.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hunter Fielding has long since proven himself to be one of the best goaltenders in the NHL. The problem? His former team had another (slightly better) backstop. They left Hunter out to dry, the upstart Tulsa Thunderbirds claimed him in the expansion draft, and he made a few stupid comments about backasswards Oklahomans. Now the T-Birds say the only way he can redeem himself is to make nice for the media with some local goody two shoes who’s made some mistakes of her own.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Oklahoma’s sweetheart could do no wrong until she could do no right.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Tallulah Belle Roth was the reigning Miss Oklahoma until a night of out-of-control drinking, a naked foray in a hot tub with very bad boy, and a bunch of lowlights on TMZ. Now she’s been stripped of her crown and is facing the censure of the same people who made her out to be Little Miss Perfect. Tallie won’t ever get her title back, but her life is another matter—and the only way the public will allow her to do that is if she presents herself as happily settled with someone else under Oklahoma’s eye.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">The marriage is to be in name only—one year of sickeningly-sweet lovey-dovey PDA, all to get their detractors to bury the hatchet. Those kisses and tender moments for the cameras take an emotional toll, though. Can in name only be enough?</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You can add Bury the Hatchet to your <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24484017-bury-the-hatchet" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> shelf, and you can pre-order it on <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/bury-the-hatchet/id959321922?mt=11&uo=4&at=10lLiX" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/bury-the-hatchet-2" target="_blank">Kobo</a>, and <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/bury-the-hatchet-catherine-gayle/1121090505?ean=2940046521610&itm=1&usri=catherine+gayle" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>. It'll release on July 9.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgszXPF-YOnMeLEsjyCWp3NAvXvEE3sqAR_We3eWWcpBXHnQa74Pw1dNUEYvdK5NAFlb-vJbANra54h7EuKGYzI4rRig2LHkQvonVPstIaOP-DyfY_XTgTDoFftrAofiAf5tdcM2RMNuKye/s1600/CatherineGayle_SmokeSignals_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgszXPF-YOnMeLEsjyCWp3NAvXvEE3sqAR_We3eWWcpBXHnQa74Pw1dNUEYvdK5NAFlb-vJbANra54h7EuKGYzI4rRig2LHkQvonVPstIaOP-DyfY_XTgTDoFftrAofiAf5tdcM2RMNuKye/s1600/CatherineGayle_SmokeSignals_800px.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></span></a><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Following that will be Smoke Signals, releasing on October 22 and featuring Razor.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Growing up poor with a mother who would do anything—even sell her body—to help him get ahead in life had a profound impact on Ray “Razor” Chambers. Now he’s a defenseman for the NHL’s Tulsa Thunderbirds, which allows him the means to make sure his mother never needs to do anything like that again. He’s in Vegas because his best buddy is about to get hitched, but not before Razor and the guys throw him a bachelor party.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Viktoriya Dubrovskaya had been studying ballet in California, but money is tight and there’s no help coming from home in Russia. She started out making some extra money as a dancer in a club, and that eventually led her to the adult film industry. Porn may have paid her well, but it stripped her of everything she was and all she wanted. She’s left the business behind, but too late. Now she’s out of time, money, and options.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">In desperation, Viktoriya makes herself available to Razor on the casino floor. There’s no chance he’ll take her up on what she’s selling, but he offers a counter-proposal—one involving a ring, a green card, and the chance to reclaim her body. It’s an opportunity she can’t pass up. For Viktoriya and Razor, learning to live together as husband and wife is as foreign as interpreting Smoke Signals, but where there’s smoke, there’s usually fire.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You can add Smoke Signals to your <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25185012-smoke-signals" target="_blank">Goodreads </a>shelf, and you can pre-order it on <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/smoke-signals/id979026250?mt=11&uo=4&at=10lLiX" target="_blank">iBooks </a>and <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/smoke-signals-catherine-gayle/1121502726?ean=2940046645835&itm=31&usri=catherine+gayle" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>. Other pre-order links are still to come.</span></span>Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-60879182862460792492015-03-30T17:18:00.000-04:002015-03-30T17:18:04.357-04:00Sneak Peek: Dropping GlovesWe're a little less than a month away from release for DROPPING GLOVES, so how about a look at the first chapter to whet your appetites and tide you over?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQbvdLDkMWdtNAVNNtEhYF0zgC1-eyfP_uPBj72wMeBKF-XyMV_7P50EurZP8K-KbPmRXyXMBzbm1KcxcRjr1dLG021SZluP0udrZqwmA24Ll-CS8q1yAopMa4S9UZbMgWzap3Og5IMAj2/s1600/CatherineGayle_DroppingTheGloves_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQbvdLDkMWdtNAVNNtEhYF0zgC1-eyfP_uPBj72wMeBKF-XyMV_7P50EurZP8K-KbPmRXyXMBzbm1KcxcRjr1dLG021SZluP0udrZqwmA24Ll-CS8q1yAopMa4S9UZbMgWzap3Og5IMAj2/s1600/CatherineGayle_DroppingTheGloves_800px.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Sans Unicode";">She left to follow her dreams; she’s back to follow her
heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Sans Unicode";">Katie Weber left her heart in Portland to chase a career in
Hollywood. Now she has returned to sing the national anthem for the Portland
Storm for their annual Hockey Fights Cancer night. Her longtime crush, Jamie
Babcock, is hurting just as much as she is. One look in his eyes is all it
takes to know that. She's done the Hollywood thing, though, and she's over it,
but it might be too late to dig herself out of the hole she’s dug with him.</span><br />
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<span style="background: white;">Jamie’s already done everything humanly possible
to let go of Katie, but she keeps coming back, and she keeps crushing him all
over again every time she leaves. His heart has been trampled on more than
enough already. At some point, he has to draw the line. Doesn't he? Only, when
it's Katie, he's not sure that's even possible. She's in Portland again right
now, but he can’t be sure for how long.</span><br />
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<span style="background: white;">Katie knows she has a fight on her hands, in
more ways than one, if she’s going to convince Jamie she deserves another
chance, but she’s willing to drop her gloves this time. Because in the game of
love, all bets are off.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="background: white;">DROPPING GLOVES releases on April 23, 2015. You can preorder it at <a href="http://amzn.to/1NvI06z" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dropping-gloves-catherine-gayle/1120262938?ean=2940046137194&itm=1&usri=catherine+gayle" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>, <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/dropping-gloves/id959320767?mt=11&uo=4&at=10lLiX" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, and <a href="https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/dropping-gloves" target="_blank">Kobo</a>. Here's the <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23124651-dropping-gloves" target="_blank">Goodreads page</a> so you can add it to your bookshelf.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">All right...without further ado, here's the first chapter of DROPPING GLOVES.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">KATIE</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Cancer
sucks donkey</span> balls. Great big, ginormous, hairy ones. There’s not really
a better way of saying it, and I’d long since stopped trying to come up with
one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">If anyone
should know how bad cancer sucks, it was me. I was diagnosed with leukemia when
I was a senior in high school. That was why I was here, at the Moda Center,
where the Portland Storm played, staring out the end of the tunnel at the crowd
gathered for their annual Hockey Fights Cancer night. If I could do anything to
help even one person not have to go through all the crap I’d had to go through,
then you could bet I was going to do it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It might not
seem like much, singing the national anthem at a hockey game, but for me it
wasn’t about the singing or the game. It was about awareness. It was about
raising money for research and treatments. It was about being sure everyone in
this building right now knew how important finding a cure was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The teams had
already skated out for all of the pregame ceremonies, and the arena crew had
gone through all of their music and video programming to get the crowd pumped
up for the game. Not that they really needed to do much for that. The Storm had
finally made it all the way to the Western Conference Finals last season before
falling to the Chicago Blackhawks in seven games, and most of last year’s key players
had returned for this season. Expectations surrounding the Storm were high,
regardless of the rough start they’d had. Tonight they were playing the LA Kings,
one of their biggest divisional rivals for the last few seasons. With all that
going on, the crowd didn’t need any extra pumping up. They were raring and
ready to go, whether the team was or not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But now, the
lights dimmed and the music became more subdued, and a video started playing on
the Jumbotron. Mom reached over and took my free hand, squeezing. The thing
was, this video was about me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It showed home
footage and photographs that my parents and some of the Storm’s players had
taken over the years, images of me at various Storm events I’d been part of,
video of me skating at the team’s annual Christmas party, and other things like
that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">A song by The
End of All Things—a local band that had made it big, not to mention my favorite
band of all time—played over the montage. I hadn’t heard this one before. It
must have been from their upcoming album, which made me wonder how Tim
Whitlock, the Storm’s in-arena entertainment director, had managed to get hold
of it. Then again, there were connections between the team and the band. Brie
Burns, one of the players’ wives, was a ballroom dancer who had worked with The
End of All Things in the past.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The lyrics
spoke of holding on to the best parts of life. That, combined with the images
that represented some of the best parts of <i>my
</i>life, had me getting teary-eyed. Not a good thing when I was about to have
to get out there and sing in front of a crowd of eighteen thousand or so.
Crying and talking was hard enough. Crying and singing? Pretty much impossible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now the video
started getting to the point where my cancer came in. Me, bald-headed, wearing
various scarves to hide the physical evidence of my chemo. I wanted to look
away, but I couldn’t. This was why I was here. This was why they’d asked <i>me</i> to sing the anthem tonight instead of
having the in-house singer do it. Looking away wouldn’t change anything I had
been through. I’d already tried that in multiple areas of my life, and it
hadn’t worked yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dad put his hands
on the backs of my shoulders and started to knead away some of my anxiety.
Normally, at this point of the night, he would be behind the bench with the
team. Dad was one of the Storm’s assistant coaches. He had been since the season
after he’d retired as a player. He was my connection to the team, or at least
he had been my first connection. But tonight was different. Tonight, he was
with me. He’d take his spot behind the bench after this was over. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Just as he started
rubbing my shoulders, an image flashed on the screen that choked me up like
crazy and caused the whole crowd to <i>ooh</i>
and <i>aah</i>. It was one of my prom
pictures. There I was, in my ice-blue dress without anything covering my head,
crying while Jamie Babcock kissed me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I hadn’t
intended to go to my prom. Not until Jamie asked me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">He hadn’t even been
one of my classmates. He was one of my dad’s teammates at that point, a guy who
I’d had a crush on since the first moment I’d seen him. But Jamie had asked to
take me, and I would have done anything to be with him, and he’d made it
perfect for me even if I was bald and felt like an alien. When I was with him,
I’d felt like a princess.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But I’d beat
cancer, and I’d moved on with my life—going off to Hollywood to star in an
ensemble <i>Glee</i>-knockoff TV show called
<i>The Cool Kids</i>—and he’d moved on with
his. I’d broken my own heart when I’d left, and seeing that picture right now
brought a torrent of memories and emotions flooding back to life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Why did you
give them that one?” I hissed at my mom, trying to hold back the massive wave
that was threatening to turn to tears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She arched a
brow and shrugged. “I didn’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh, sure you
didn’t,” I said. I even rolled my eyes. My sarcasm knew no bounds. No one but
my mother would have given the Storm that photo. Other than me, only Jamie and
my family had copies of it. I definitely hadn’t given it to the entertainment
people, and there wasn’t a chance in hell that Jamie would have done it. I’d
broken his heart, too, not just my own. Why would he want a reminder of that
flashed in front of his eyes right before he had a game to play?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I wouldn’t lie
to you,” she insisted. “Not about something like that. I wouldn’t have given
them any of those pictures. They’re too personal.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Which was
precisely my point. My mouth was open to argue with her again when Dad squeezed
my upper arms from behind. “She didn’t. Your mom’s telling you the truth.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Then who did?”
I demanded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I gave it to
them.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“What?” Mom and
I said in shocked unison. I spun around to glare at him. Dad had been opposed
to every guy I’d ever dated, some of them more than others. He’d just about
blown a gasket when Jamie had asked me to prom. Why would he put that memory,
that relationship, right up at the forefront of my mind at a time like this?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dad shrugged.
“Tim asked us for pictures that meant something, that would have an impact on
the crowd.” He nodded his head toward the open end of the tunnel, indicating
all the people out there who were watching in rapt silence. “That one meant the
most to me, so I thought it would get the biggest reaction from them.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I swallowed
hard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The song
finished, the video came to a close, and Tim’s familiar voice echoed over the
PA system in the cavernous arena. He introduced the Storm’s starters for the
night, who each skated out to take their positions. The Kings’ starting line
went out, as well. Then he introduced the Little Starter of the game before
taking a moment to talk about the military veteran being honored tonight. Both the
Little Starter and the vet were also cancer survivors. They headed out on cue,
and the vet stood on his mark. The boy skated over to stand next to Jamie, who
patted him on the head and said something that no one could hear but the two of
them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then Tim
introduced me. “Katie Weber has been a member of the Portland Storm family for
close to a decade now. Her father, David Weber, played for the Storm for a
number of years before becoming one of our assistant coaches. Katie spent her
teen years here, and it was here that she was diagnosed with—and beat—leukemia.
Our organization was given the task of seeing her through her own personal
storm. We watched her grow up, and we watched her leave to become a star bright
enough to shine over a much bigger world than Portland. She will always be part
of our family, no matter how far away life takes her. Now she’s returned, at
least for this one very special night. Storm fans, please join me in giving
Katie Weber a big welcome back to Portland.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That was my
cue. I white-knuckled my microphone with both hands and headed out of the
tunnel to the purple carpet that had been laid on the ice. The entire arena was
on its feet, applauding and screaming. I’d always loved being in front of a
crowd, but I still got stage fright. Being on <i>The Cool Kids</i> hadn’t helped with that at all. If anything, it had
made it worse. For the last four years, I’d been doing all of my acting and
singing in front of cameras and crew. But these days when I did something in
public, the audiences were bigger, and everyone seemed to think they knew <i>me</i>, not the character I’d played. That
was clear enough from the number of people in the stands wiping tears from
their eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Most of the
people in the audience wore the typical purple-and-silver Storm jerseys I’d
come to expect during my years here, but a few people had the road whites on,
and a smattering had on Kings black and silver. It was easy to spot the pink
Hockey Fights Cancer version of the Storm’s jerseys in the crowd, like the one
I was wearing. The whole crowd was holding up signs they’d been given when they’d
come in tonight, bearing the names of people they loved who had cancer, or
maybe people they’d lost to cancer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mom and Dad
followed me to the carpet. Both of their signs had my name on them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I smiled and
waved, trying not to let the turbulence of my emotions swallow me whole, but it
seemed like a daunting—maybe impossible—prospect. I felt as if I would fall to
pieces the moment I opened my mouth to sing, but this was different from my
usual stage fright. It was bigger and more confusing, like a giant ball made up
of rubber bands, each one representing a new, massive, devastating emotion, and
the bands were contracting in on themselves. It was squeezing the life out of
me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Please rise
and remove your caps,” Tim said, not that there was any need for his reminder.
Everyone was already on their feet. The rest of his words were drowned out in
the unending applause. He was in the scorer’s box, the small space across the
ice from the team benches that separated the two penalty boxes. I caught his
eye across the distance, and he gave me a nod.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Nerves or not,
it was time. I took out my pitch pipe, blew into it to find my key, shoved it
back into my pocket, and did what I’d come to do. Somehow I got through the
anthem without completely shattering, which I considered an absolute coup. Now
that I was done, though, all I wanted was to run off the ice and find somewhere
I could break down for a minute. But it wasn’t time for that yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Tonight, the
Storm had planned a ceremonial puck drop to go along with all of the other
special events, and they’d asked me to do it. Dad took the mic and pressed the
puck into my hands. He kissed my cheek before taking his spot behind the bench.
Mom hugged me and headed down the tunnel. I wanted to go with her. I wanted to
be anywhere but here, doing anything but what I was about to do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Because it
meant I would be inches away from Jamie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dustin Brown,
the Kings’ captain, came out and took his spot on one side of me. He said
something, looking right at me, but my head was filled with the buzzing of a
horde of bees, and I couldn’t make his words out. I couldn’t pay attention to
him with Jamie skating over to stand across from him on my opposite side. All
my attention focused in on Jamie like a laser beam.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In his skates,
he was even taller than normal, towering over me despite my Jimmy Choos. His
hockey pads only emphasized his muscle, making him seem larger than life. Even
with a bit of distance between us, I could see the creases in his cheeks where
his dimples always came through. With every year that passed, he looked less
like a boy and more like a man, but I hoped he would never lose those dimples.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">If this had happened
last season, it would have been Eric Zellinger coming out for the ceremonial
face-off. He’d been the Storm’s captain for over a decade, but there had been
an expansion draft over the summer, and both Zee and goaltender Hunter Fielding
had been claimed by the league’s new team, the Tulsa Thunderbirds. That had left
the Storm with an opening for a new captain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Just before the
start of the season, they’d held a press conference to announce that Jamie was
it. I’d been in a meeting with my agent, Derek Hatch, in LA when it was all
going down. We’d been discussing various auditions he wanted to send me on, the
direction he thought my career should take after the end of <i>The Cool Kids, </i>but I hadn’t been able to
focus on anything Derek had said. My phone had kept buzzing with updates about
Jamie and the Storm until, eventually, Derek had sent me on my way and told me
to get my head straightened out so we could make a plan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Easier said
than done.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So now, here Jamie
was, looking at me with that same hurt look in his eyes that I’d seen every
time I’d come back to Portland in the last four years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The look I’d
put in his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The look that
ripped me apart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The pain in his
gaze might even be more intense than usual right now. Probably because of that
damn prom picture Dad had given them for the montage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Jamie glanced
over his shoulder toward center ice, then looked back at me with a wink. “They’re
ready, Katie,” he said, indicating the slew of photographers and videographers who
had lined up opposite us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I nodded,
swallowing down my feelings, and dropped the puck.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He gathered it
up while Brown shook my hand and gave me a friendly, cursory pat on the
shoulder. Then Jamie handed the puck back to me and wrapped me up in his arms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I almost let
out a sob. Almost. He’d hugged me countless times before, but this was
different. He had all of his hockey gear on, the pads and whatnot, and I could
hardly feel <i>him</i> underneath it all. We
were touching, but it felt distant. Cold. I shivered, wishing I could draw
closer to him and feel the warmth of his heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He pecked me on
the cheek, causing an excited titter to run through the crowd, but it was ice
that skittered through my veins. I wasn’t sure if the coldness was from him or
from me, or simply because of the mountain range that stood between us these
days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m glad
you’re here, Katie,” he said, his voice all rough like gravel crunching under
Cam Johnson’s pickup truck. His words were so quiet I could barely hear him
over all the arena noise. He sounded completely unlike what I was used to. He
gave me a grin, just enough to make his dimples pop out momentarily, and then
he skated away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Me too,” I
murmured to his retreating form, only I wasn’t entirely convinced that he’d
meant it. None of this would have felt so detached if he really wanted me here.
I was pretty sure—almost positive—he hoped I would be on a plane tomorrow,
flying back to LA or maybe to New York like Derek wanted. It had to be easier
for Jamie if I wasn’t here. I knew that, for me, it didn’t hurt as much without
the constant, daily reminders of what I didn’t have. It was easier when we were
apart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My cheek
tingled where he’d kissed me. I locked that up in my mind as tightly as I held
the puck he’d handed me, while I walked across that purple carpet and back
toward the tunnel. Several of the guys on the team skated over to shake my hand
or kiss my cheek as I left, and Dad caught my eye and winked. I didn’t hear
anything they said to me, though. My head was too filled with fading memories
and a confused outlook on the future.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Derek hadn’t
wanted me to come here at all. <i>You’re
bigger than this</i>, he’d told me as he passed over a stack of scripts and
another pile of travel arrangements. He expected me to get on a plane tomorrow,
fly to New York, and make my mark on Broadway. To go to all the auditions he’d
arranged for me. To follow the path he’d laid out for me, just like I’d done
every step of the way for the last four years, despite that I’d hated so many
of the things he’d asked of me that and I was still uncertain what I wanted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Coming here might not have
lined up with my agent’s plans for my future, but it had accomplished one
thing: I was more confused now than I’d been in a long time, and that could
only mean that there was something here worth sticking around for, even if I’d
end up heartbroken again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">JAMIE</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Katie
spun around</span> and flew past her mom like a flash, racing away from the ice
like a winger on a breakaway. I was pretty sure that picture from her prom had
hit her as hard as it had hit me, so it didn’t surprise me that she was running
off like that. There was a chunk of me that wished I could do the same. I didn’t
have that kind of freedom, though. I had a game to play, so I had to get my
head screwed back on straight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Not such a
simple thing to do with the knowledge that Katie Weber was still somewhere in
the building. She was close enough I could still feel her essence lingering
around me and only hoped that she wouldn’t stick around too long on this visit.
The longer she stayed, the more of me she would take with her when she
eventually left again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Because she
would. Leave. She always left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’d told her years
ago that she should go and chase her dreams, so I couldn’t really blame her for
doing the very thing I’d suggested. But fuck if it didn’t hurt like a son of a
bitch every time she showed up and smiled at me like nothing had changed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She wanted us
to be friends. There was a part of me that wanted that, too—being her friend
would be better than not having her in my life at all, or so I thought—but it
was hard to do when I saw the way she let her boyfriends treat her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">At the moment,
she might not be dating one of the shitheads she’d hooked up with in Hollywood,
but it didn’t matter. That didn’t mean she was kicking them to the curb and
making room for me, for the way I <i>really</i>
wanted things to be between us. The fact was, Katie wasn’t going to stay in
Portland. She was an <i>It Girl</i> now, a Hollywood
starlet with people clamoring for her attention, and that meant she needed to
get back to Hollywood so they could keep fawning over her. Her show had been
cancelled, but it was only a matter of time before she got cast in something
else, and then she would be gone again. Out of my life. Probably dating some
new asswipe. Leaving me to be the brooding bastard I’d become.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Enough years
had passed that, as long as she was away from Portland and not on the news too
much, I was able to push her from my mind. I hadn’t watched <i>The Cool Kids </i>because that was a wound I
didn’t want to open, and sometimes TMZ left her alone for a stretch. As long as
she didn’t hit the mainstream news too often, I could almost pretend she had
only been a dream. It wasn’t too bad, then. Without having her around, I could
be the same guy I’d always been instead of the miserable grump I turned into
when she was here but I couldn’t have her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Like now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I tried not to
be that guy, but it was hard to brush things off when it felt like someone was
stomping on all the broken pieces of me to be sure they were a puzzle I would
never be able to put back together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Hey,” my
brother Levi said. He was a couple of years younger than my twenty-four—he and
Katie were the same age—a defenseman in his second year with the Storm. He
tapped his stick on my shins harder than necessary to get my attention. “Earth
to Jamie. Game’s about to start. Stop chasing after her in your fucking head.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I gave him a
terse nod and took a quick lap around our end of the ice to refocus. We were
only a couple of weeks into the new season, my first as the captain of the
team, and things had started off badly for us. There wasn’t any good reason for
it, either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We’d had some
turnover in personnel on the ice from last year, but not too much. Zee and
Hunter were with the Thunderbirds now. A couple of guys had changed in free
agency, and there’d been a trade involving a few of the younger guys who hadn’t
fully found their spots on the team. But the core that Jim Sutter, our general
manager, was building around was all still intact, the coaches hadn’t changed,
the systems were exactly the same… Essentially, there was no good excuse for
why we’d taken a slide in play to start the year. Tonight, we needed to get
back on track, and as the captain, it was up to me to set the tone for the rest
of the team.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was time. The
carpet had been removed from the ice, and all the photographers were gone. The
officials were in place, and my linemates, Riley Jezek and Aaron Ludwiczak,
were already skating to center ice for the opening face-off. I headed over to
join them, pushing aside all thoughts not relevant to the game at hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The puck
dropped, and the Kings won it cleanly back to Matt Greene, one of their defensemen.
I was closest to Greene, so I went straight for him and laid a bruising check
on him, dislodging the puck so that either RJ or Luddy could grab it and we
could get to work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The crowd went
wild as Greene went down hard. He was a big body. Hitting him like that had
been enough to rattle the teeth in my head, so I knew he’d felt it more than
he’d been prepared for. Luddy stole the puck and cycled it with RJ. I shook off
the impact and skated in to join them. After a hit like that, my head was fully
in the game. I couldn’t afford to think about Katie Weber right now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I had work to
do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">“That’s
a bad </span>fucking call,” Mattias “Bergy” Bergstrom, the Storm’s head coach,
shouted as the ref who’d blown his whistle skated by our bench. “You fucking know
it, too. Brown was diving.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The ref turned
his head and shouted a few choice expletives back in Bergy’s direction, neither
backing down nor admitting he might have made a mistake. It <i>was </i>a mistake, though. We’d been guilty
plenty of times tonight, but in this instance, it wasn’t our fault. Levi just
happened to be near Brown when the guy lost an edge and went down. Guilty by
proximity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The basic gist
of the ref’s response was that Bergy needed to stop complaining and get his
team to play a clean game, or else. There were a lot of implications at play in
the <i>or else</i> part of that equation. The
team could be issued a bench minor and we would have to kill off yet another
penalty. Bergy could get fined by the league for abuse of officials. They could
probably kick Bergy out of the game if it came down to it. There were lots of
ways for this to escalate, and none of them would be good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Fucking dive,”
Bergy said under his breath, but at least he stopped there. He wasn’t the sort
of coach to lose his cool with the officials, not like our former coach, Scotty
Thomas, had always been. Scotty had been more than a little hotheaded. Bergy
was the type who tended to calmly let everyone know what he thought, setting
the example he wanted us to follow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He usually
reserved his yelling for specific moments and specific individuals. Zee had
been on the receiving end of it a lot, but Bergy didn’t usually yell at me. He
got his point across in other ways, like keeping my ass planted on the bench
when I fucked up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Regardless of
all that, right now it didn’t matter if the other guy had dived or fallen or
what. The only thing that really mattered was that Levi was on his way to the
box for a phantom tripping minor, and we had to kill our seventh penalty of the
game—a game that we were trailing by a goal. We were only halfway through the
game, but we’d already been penalized more times than we should have been in a
full sixty minutes, at least if we wanted to keep Bergy happy. Still, there was
a lot of time left on the game clock, which meant there was a lot of time for
us to either fuck up some more or get our collective act together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Keep your
fucking head in it, 501,” Andrew Jensen shouted across the ice to Levi. “We’ve
got this.” Jens clearly thought we were going to be able to straighten up and
pull ourselves out of the hole we’d been digging. Or maybe that was just the impression
he wanted to give off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">At times like
this, there was a part of me that wondered if Bergy and Jim had made the right
choice in naming me the Storm’s next captain. I never knew what to say to help
the boys out. Guys like Jens and Keith Burns were a lot more vocal. They always
knew the right thing to say, and Burnzie had even been an assistant captain already
for a long time. Shouldn’t he have been the new captain? Or maybe Soupy, who had
been the other assistant captain for the last few years. Any one of those guys
would have made more sense than me, along with at least a half a dozen other players
on the team.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">None of them were
wearing the <i>C</i> on their chests,
though. I was, and I didn’t have the first fucking clue how to lead this team.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We went to a TV
timeout, and I made the mistake of looking up at the Jumbotron. Through the
whole game, every time there had been a break, they’d been making more tributes
to cancer survivors and doing things to draw attention to the warning signs
someone needed to be aware of when it came to their own health. This time, they
had a camera on Katie up in the owner’s box. She was sitting with her mom and
several of the guys’ wives, each of them holding up a sign with a symptom of
leukemia printed on it. Katie looked like she was a lot more relaxed than she
had been when she’d left the ice, but the last thing I needed was to start
thinking about her again. Not right now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I turned my
head away to stare at the ice in front of me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You dated
her?” Grant Wheelan asked me. Wheels was a guy Jim had brought in over the
summer to mentor me. I wasn’t sure he could teach me how to lead this team any
better than Zee had in all the years I’d been watching him, but maybe he would
surprise me. Mainly Wheels just talked to me a lot. So far, the biggest thing
I’d learned was to do things the way I wanted everyone else to do them. <i>Lead by example</i>. Wheels had drilled
those three words into my head every chance he got. He also liked to remind me
I was supposed to be having fun, not taking everything so seriously all the
time. I wasn’t so good at that one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Fuck,” I
muttered under my breath. Then I shrugged. “Kind of. I guess so.” We’d never
really technically been a couple, even though I’d taken her to her prom. I’d
wanted to, but she’d been so young and had cancer, and then she’d left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He made a
grunting sound next to me. “Bet Webs would be happier if she was dating you
instead of the guys she’s been all over the news with.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Fucking right,
I would,” Webs said from behind us before he moved on to talk to Blake Kozlow
about something.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That was
definitely a change from all those years ago. I wasn’t sure I would agree with
that assessment. I’d changed a lot in that time, and I wasn’t sure it was for
the better. “Doesn’t matter what Webs would be happier with,” I grumbled. It
pissed me off that Wheels was trying to make me talk about this right now when
all I wanted to do was pretend Katie wasn’t even in the state, let alone in the
building. “We aren’t together, and that’s not going to change any time soon.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“That’s too
bad,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I wouldn’t be
too sure about that, if I were you,” Soupy put in. His name was really Brenden
Campbell, but everyone except his wife and the Storm’s GM called him Soupy—even
his two adopted kids. I glared at him, and he shrugged and looked back at the
ice. “Just telling you what I see, is all. Up to you to figure out what to do
with it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He had always
had a bad habit of doing that—telling me things I didn’t want to hear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The TV timeout
came to an end. It was about time. At Bergy’s signal, Wheels and Cam Johnson
headed over the boards to take the face-off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Soupy, Babs,”
Bergy said once they were gone, his tone returning to normal. “Be ready to go.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I nodded, but I
kept my focus on the ice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’ve got
Jonny,” Soupy said to me. At least he was back to talking about the game
instead of trying to tell me how to handle my personal life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The Kings had a
potent power play this year, always dangerous. They moved the puck well,
changing up the point of attack in an effort to get a clear shot in on our
goaltender.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Our boys moved
as a unit—one guy shifted to block a passing lane, and the other three adjusted
their positions accordingly. Jonny dropped down to block a shot from the point,
and our <i>D </i>managed to get their sticks
in the way and clear bodies out from in front of the net so Nicky could see
where the puck was coming from. Finally, after almost a full minute of being
hemmed into our zone, Wheels poke-checked the puck and sent it flying down the
ice, and those guys were able to get off for a change.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Soupy and I
piled over the boards as soon as they came off—me about a second behind him
since Wheels moved about as fast as molasses in a Canadian winter—and we headed
into position.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The Kings
switched to their second power play unit and got set up in our zone. They moved
the puck back to the point on my side. I dropped to a knee, ready to block a
shot, but he passed it to the other point. Soupy tried to get into position to
block the shooting lane, but his knee buckled under him, and he went down with
an agonized shout.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The shot got
past him. Jens got just enough of his stick on it to deflect it away from
Nicky’s net. I let myself glance over long enough to see that, no matter how
hard he tried, Soupy couldn’t get himself up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The Kings
cycled the puck back to the point again. I did my best to cover two guys who
both had bombs for shots, but there was only so much I could do. One of them
pulled his stick back to load up. I went down. A shot blew past my ear and went
in the net.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I skated over
to Soupy, pissed at myself even though I couldn’t figure out why. “You going to
be all right?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Can’t put any
fucking weight on it,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Broken?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He shook his
head. “Felt something snap, but not bone.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That made me
think it was something like a ligament. Ken Archer, our head trainer, came over
and talked to him for a minute before deciding it was safe to move him, at
least. I gave Soupy a hand and helped him up, draping his arm over my shoulder
while Archie did the same on the other side so we could assist him off the ice.
The whole time, I was thinking I might have just witnessed the injury that
would end his career. I hoped I was wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Wheels clapped
a hand on my shoulder as soon as I took a seat next to him on the bench. “You
know,” he said. “You never know what’s going to happen. Watching what just went
down with Soupy is proof enough of that. If you want something, you should go
for it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“What the fuck
are you talking about?” I groused, more agitated than confused.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You know what
I’m talking about.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 319.5pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I did.
Apparently, I <i>still</i> couldn’t hide
what I was feeling. Not only that, but I was just as messed up over Katie Weber
as I’d ever been. What the fuck could I do about it, though? If she was going
to leave, there wasn’t anything I could do to stop her…and I knew she would
leave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> She always did.</span></div>
Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-10667986255261929782015-02-19T09:51:00.002-05:002015-02-19T09:51:49.853-05:00Comeback is Available Now<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuVGi4U3W8vJkS_sXt-_2D04PbDObOX765vi9m0aYxDk8bN4lVSyBxpV_B5ChM9fSKeu4B599gQDwwu0PL0YiqCqdp0lkQFuIjtAPqMZllXve4FJ5GHxyJDkRkBO_39E1bPJq51Umn5FHt/s1600/CatherineGayle_Comeback_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuVGi4U3W8vJkS_sXt-_2D04PbDObOX765vi9m0aYxDk8bN4lVSyBxpV_B5ChM9fSKeu4B599gQDwwu0PL0YiqCqdp0lkQFuIjtAPqMZllXve4FJ5GHxyJDkRkBO_39E1bPJq51Umn5FHt/s1600/CatherineGayle_Comeback_800px.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: rgb(96, 96, 96) !important; letter-spacing: -0.5px; line-height: 22.5px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The wait is over!</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: rgb(96, 96, 96) !important; letter-spacing: -0.5px; line-height: 22.5px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Get your tissues. </span><span style="letter-spacing: normal;">Comeback, the sixth novel in the Portland Storm series, is available now. Early readers all say one thing--Comeback is a tearjerker.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nicklas Ericsson is an addict. He’s also a star goaltender with the NHL’s Portland Storm, or he was until his addiction changed everything. Now he’s throwing himself into doing all the necessary things to pave his path to a comeback, both in his personal life and on the ice. Nicky’s run out of options, and now his sister and her children are in Portland. They need help he has no clue how to provide, though, and figuring it out might derail all the progress he’s made.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">For a few years now, Jessica Lynch has been running the Portland office for the Light the Lamp Foundation. Between her work and several people from her past, she knows more than she’d like about addicts. One lesson she’s learned is that even when addicts try to turn their lives around, more often than not, they fail. That’s why she takes a hands off approach, keeping her heart well away from the addicts she works with, like Nicky Ericsson.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nicky’s recovery efforts put him directly in Jessica’s path, and she can’t ignore his very real need for help. Where Nicky is concerned, she can’t separate her emotions. His niece and nephews further complicate her efforts to guard her heart. The attraction between Nicky and Jessica is instant and mutual, but she’s misplaced her trust too many times before. Can he prove that he won't fall back into old habits in time to complete the perfect comeback?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Purchase it today from <a href="http://amzn.to/1LLX5CX" style="color: #6dc6dd; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/comeback/id959320638?mt=11&uo=4&at=10lLiX" style="color: #6dc6dd; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/comeback-catherine-gayle/1120262937?ean=2940046137187" style="color: #6dc6dd; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>, <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/comeback-31" style="color: #6dc6dd; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Kobo</a>, <a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-comeback-1749223-149.html" style="color: #6dc6dd; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">All Romance eBooks</a>, and <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/471627" style="color: #6dc6dd; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Smashwords</a></span><br />
Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-86742845051522193392015-02-04T10:13:00.000-05:002015-02-04T10:25:44.851-05:00Sneak Peek - Comeback<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuVGi4U3W8vJkS_sXt-_2D04PbDObOX765vi9m0aYxDk8bN4lVSyBxpV_B5ChM9fSKeu4B599gQDwwu0PL0YiqCqdp0lkQFuIjtAPqMZllXve4FJ5GHxyJDkRkBO_39E1bPJq51Umn5FHt/s1600/CatherineGayle_Comeback_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuVGi4U3W8vJkS_sXt-_2D04PbDObOX765vi9m0aYxDk8bN4lVSyBxpV_B5ChM9fSKeu4B599gQDwwu0PL0YiqCqdp0lkQFuIjtAPqMZllXve4FJ5GHxyJDkRkBO_39E1bPJq51Umn5FHt/s1600/CatherineGayle_Comeback_800px.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
It's that time again! Time for me to share the opening chapter of COMEBACK to whet your appetites.<br />
<br />
The release is just over two weeks away on February 19. Have you preordered it yet? You can do so now at <a href="http://amzn.to/1LLX5CX" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/comeback/id959320638?mt=11&uo=4&at=10lLiX" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/comeback-catherine-gayle/1120262937?ean=2940046137187" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>, and <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/comeback-31" target="_blank">Kobo</a>.<br />
<br />
Without further ado, here's the first chapter. Enjoy!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>NICKY</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">It was impossible</span>
to do almost anything at this time of year without thinking about my father. I never
thought of him the way he’d been right at the end. That hadn’t really been <i>him</i>. It had just been the shell of the
man he once was, nothing more than a body barely holding on. Instead, I
remembered him as he’d been when I was a boy learning to play goal. Big.
Strong. Unbreakable. Seemingly immortal. Much like the Japanese cherry blossom
trees scattered all around me in this garden right now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Actually, the cherry blossoms were
really fitting, come to think of it. For centuries, they’ve been a symbol of
life and death, of transience and mortality. Watching the multi-colored leaves
fall to the ground and thinking of how fleeting life could be was a morbid way
to spend my day, though, and it would only lead me into dangerous territory
better left in the past. I forced my eyes away from the brilliant orange of the
cherry blossom leaves and shuffled along the trail, moving on. That was all I
could do, after all. Move on. Maybe find a new path. It had been more than long
enough since he died for me to do that, after all, and a lot had happened in
the interim.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">When I was a boy, my father had
spent countless hours tirelessly shooting pucks at me and correcting my stance,
my push-off, and other bits and pieces of my technique. There was no one I’d
trusted more to teach me back then, and not just because I’d thought him to be
indestructible. Dad had played goal for a few years in the National Hockey
League and for many more than that in the Swedish Elite League. He’d been a
backup goaltender for Sweden in the Olympics a couple of times, too. He knew a
lot about proper goaltending skills and what it took to make it as a
professional goaltender—definitely more than the coaches of the teams I’d
played for in those days—and so I’d soaked up as much as I could. I had wanted
to be just like him…only better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He hadn’t wanted that for me,
though. He’d wanted me to make my own path. Instead of playing like he did or
any of the other goalies I’d idolized as a kid, he’d encouraged me to play like
myself, whatever that meant. To create my own style. To become my own man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was still working on that last
part, but I had definitely followed his advice in terms of goaltending style.
Most coaches didn’t quite know what to do with me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The NHL’s new season was set to start
in less than a week. My team—the Portland Storm—had already finished all our
pre-season exhibition games. We were due to head out of town for a few days for
a team-bonding event that leadership had planned, but today was dedicated to
the fans.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The entire team was at the Portland
Japanese Gardens for our annual Ice Breaker event, a day when the fans could come
out and meet the players and coaches, get some autographs, and generally have a
good time. The Storm Foundation and the Light the Lamp Foundation had
representatives here, too, jointly hosting a private event for the team’s
season ticket holders and hoping to raise a little money for their causes while
they were at it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In all my years with the Storm—closing
in on a decade now—I’d never come to the Japanese Gardens before. I tended to
spend my time off with the boys, and this wasn’t exactly at the top of most of
their lists in terms of places to go for a good time. The more I saw of the
gardens, though, the more I wanted to come back another time. Alone. Sometime
when I could just sit and breathe and take it all in without being surrounded
by dozens of acquaintances and strangers, or even friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The world felt peaceful here.
Fall was in full bloom, and all the leaves were changing colors—oranges, reds, yellows,
and greens creating a vivid landscape where it seemed impossible to feel
anything but serenity. That was something I needed more of in my life. I needed
a place I could meditate, clear my thoughts, and focus on the positive. I
needed somewhere I could be alone with myself and not give in to the urge to
take a pill, have a drink, or bury all my negativity in oblivion. Sometimes I
felt as though everything was falling down and crushing me, but here, I felt
light and free.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’d just finished my turn signing
autographs for the fans—actually, I’d just finished sitting at a table,
watching the long lines in front of the rest of the guys, and wishing a few
more people would come over and ask for <i>my</i>
autograph—and now had some free time before the season ticket holder
fundraiser. Several of the boys had gone off together to explore, and others
had broken off with groups of fans to talk. I needed some time to myself,
though, and few of them really wanted to spend time with me anyway. They <i>would</i>, but that didn’t mean they wanted
to. Anyway, that made it easier to wander off alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That was something I’d been
learning about myself over the last few years, since my addiction started and
my father died—I needed time to be alone and just think. So I headed out in the
opposite direction from the rest of the guys, trying to find somewhere away
from the crush. Somewhere quiet and hopefully secluded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I had been walking along the path
for a couple of minutes when I saw the perfect spot below. Most of the gardens
here had a theme, I’d noticed. This one wasn’t filled with plant life, though.
It was a big, rectangular area, with white-gray rocks covering the surface and
a few larger, moss-covered boulders placed strategically throughout. A stone
wall surrounded it, with a few benches along one side. Someone had traced lines
through the rocks, it seemed, making patterns within the uniformity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There wasn’t a doubt in my mind; this
was where I needed to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I bounded down the stairs built
into the landscape, moving away from the hubbub of voices filling the rest of
the gardens and into the privacy of this rock garden. The bench was slightly
damp from the morning rain, but I didn’t mind it. I took a seat and stared,
studying everything about the view before me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Trees lined the other side of the
stone wall. There was another cherry blossom, its leaves as orange as the
others had been, but it was solitary. Like me. A single tree wasn’t enough to
overwhelm me with the same morbid thoughts as earlier. It was just enough to
help ease me into meditation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Before long, I’d forgotten why I
was here and how many other people were in the gardens today. No one had come
down to pull me from my pensive tranquility, so I had been able to shut
everything out and just be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>God, grant me the serenity… </i>Somehow, I fell into reciting the
Serenity Prayer silently in my mind. I’d never been a religious person. I
believed there was something bigger than me out there, but I didn’t know who or
what that “something” was, and I wasn’t inclined to figure it out. Still,
saying the prayer had refocused my mind enough to get me through some rough
times, particularly in the months after Dad’s death.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’d learned to use the prayer
during one of my numerous visits to rehab. I repeated it now as a reminder that
I was not in control of everything, and that it was all right to let go. In
fact, recent years had taught me that most of the time it was better that I
wasn’t the one in control. Things seemed to fall apart when I was in charge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A cool breeze blew over me, not
enough to make me cold despite the fact that a shiver raced up my spine. I
closed my eyes, breathing in the fresh, slightly damp scent on the air, and
started the Serenity Prayer again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh! I’m so sorry.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The interruption startled me, and
I jumped. It was a female voice. I popped my eyes open and swiveled my head
toward the sound coming from slightly behind me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Jessica Lynch stood just at the
base of the stone steps, alternating between staring at me and turning her gaze
up to where she’d just come from. She tucked a strand of her brown hair behind
her ear and shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket. “I didn’t realize
anyone was down here until I heard your voice,” she said. “I don’t meant to
interrupt—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You’re not interrupting
anything,” I assured her. I might not want to be surrounded by bodies on every
side, but having a single companion wouldn’t be the end of the world. Besides,
I had always liked Jessica in the years that I’d known her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She was the Portland director of
the Light the Lamp Foundation, a charity started by Liam Kallen before he’d
become one of my teammates a few years ago. It was an organization that I’d
spent a lot of time working with in recent years, primarily because I had a
keen interest in their mission. Due to my involvement, I had seen Jessica
fairly regularly over the years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Kally was retired now, but he
still spent half the year with his wife, Noelle, here in Portland working in
the Storm’s front office. The rest of the year, they lived in Sweden. He did
some scouting for the team in Europe while he was there. Kally put a lot of his
energy into Light the Lamp, though. When a drunk driver had killed his first
wife, he’d decided it was best to channel his
grief so something good come out of the bad. Light the Lamp’s mission was to
help addicts make something positive from their lives.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That was something I strove to do
every day in my own life. Some days were harder than others, but I couldn’t
worry about tomorrow until I’d dealt with today. I was trying to put that into
my goaltending, too, taking on a more Zen approach to the game than I had
before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I smiled and scooted over on the
bench, patting my hand beside me in invitation. “Really,” I said. “I don’t
mind.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She hesitated for a moment, but
then she came over and sat next to me. “Trying to eke out a bit of quiet?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Something like that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She nodded, not looking at me.
Her gaze was focused on the rocks, much as mine had been before she’d arrived.
“I could use a little quiet, too,” she said. “The season ticket holder event
later is bound to be insane.” A small smile curled her lips, and she pressed her
palms flat on the bench on either side of her, curving her fingers down around the
edge of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I thought you lived for those
moments, getting them to fork over money for your cause,” I teased.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Hardly. It’s just a necessary
part of the business.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The business being helping people
like me. I knew that, and I shouldn’t have made light of it. “I’m sorry,” I
said. “I shouldn’t joke about what you do.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You don’t need to apologize,
Nicky.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But I did need to. Maybe not for
her sake, but for my own. I went back to staring at the lines drawn in the
rocks, focusing on the patterns and details. It was a combination of straight
lines and perfect circles, hard edges and rounded curves. Juxtaposition in
everything. Yin and yang, or something like that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Jessica fell silent, too. That
was one of many things I appreciated about her. It couldn’t be easy, working
with addicts as much as she did. Being an addict myself, I understood all too
well how fucked up we could be, how easily we could hurt the people in our
lives, especially the ones who were trying to help us, whether we intended to
or not. But somehow she didn’t seem to let it get to her. She understood the
needs we had—for contemplation, for self-awareness, for so many things that the
general population often took for granted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Did you have a good summer?” she
asked after a few minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There wasn’t really any need for
her to ask. I’d stayed here, in Portland, instead of going home to Sweden. My
support group was here, and the rehab facility that had finally helped me to
get clean and stay clean was here, too. I’d stuck around and had been right by
her side for a few of the community service events the foundation had hosted.
She knew exactly what my summer had been like.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Asking questions she knew the
answers to meant one thing: no matter how much time we might have spent around
each other, she saw me as one of the addicts she helped every day and nothing
more. This was all business.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Pretty good,” I said evenly,
taking her cue. “And yours?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Busy. Really busy.” She shifted
her feet beneath her. “You’re still clean? No issues heading into the new season?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“One year, four months, and
seventeen days.” And counting. I’d spent all last season playing for the
Storm’s minor-league affiliate, the Seattle Storm, because of how badly I’d
screwed things up in the playoffs the previous season, for myself and for my
teammates. I had been so dependent on sleeping pills and pain pills and alcohol
it was a wonder that I’d made it out of bed to go in the net, but I had played
like shit and let everyone down. I hadn’t been able to focus on the puck or the
play around me. I kept letting in goals that I would have been able to stop
when I was twelve.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I had been an absolute wreck.
When our season had come to an end, the coach and the general manager had
pulled me aside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>I can’t put you in the net next year, Nicky</i>, the head coach,
Mattias Bergstrom, had told me. <i>I can’t
trust you to be what the team needs you to be. Too many times, you’ve promised
you had your shit together, and too many times you’ve failed to keep it
together.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then it had been Jim Sutter’s
turn. He was the GM. <i>You’ve got two
choices. You can go back to rehab this summer and then play next season in the
AHL to prove that you’re willing to make the changes you need to make in your
life, or we will have to begin the proceedings to void your contract on the basis
that you aren’t fulfilling your obligations. It’s your call.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’d already been to rehab three
times at that point, typically going to a center in Stockholm so I would be
close to my family in case my father’s health deteriorated rapidly. Not once in
any of those rehab stints had I talked about Dad. Not once had I admitted I was
an addict, not to the counselors or to the people involved with the Storm. I’d
skirted around all of it, avoiding telling anyone that my father had ALS and
never saying anything more than, <i>It’s
tough</i>, when one of the guys on the team asked me how things were going. So after
we’d fallen out of the playoffs, I’d told Jim that I’d think it over. Then I’d
headed back to Sweden and watched my father die in one of the most horrifying
ways imaginable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It had taken losing my spot on
the team and then losing my father in the span of less than a month to convince
me I had to change, to show me that maybe I was less in control of things than I
told myself I was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">After my sister, Emma, and I had
buried my father, I had returned to Portland and asked Jim for help. He’d
gotten me set up with the Players’ Association and their substance abuse
program, and I’d gone into rehab to set about the tedious and seemingly
impossible task of putting my life back on the right course.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I hadn’t been back to Sweden
since. Hadn’t seen my sister and her kids in all that time. I emailed Emma and
talked on the phone with the munchkins as often as we could manage, but they all
understood I had to turn things around. They knew I had to make myself into the
man I should have been all along. Especially now that we didn’t have Dad to fill
that role.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And now was my opportunity to win
my job back. It wasn’t going to be easy. I had no delusions about that. Jim told
me he believed in me, that he was sure I was ready. The coaches and my teammates
were another story, though. And then there were the fans. Not to mention the
media and their never-ending questions: <i>What
was going on? Why were you demoted to Seattle? Aren’t you washed-up? Maybe you
should think about retirement, huh?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">After I got through all the
questions and expectations, I was still going to have a fight on my hands to
try to win my starting spot back from Hunter Fielding. Of course, I shouldn’t
even be able to fight. Not now. I was supposed to spend this season in Seattle
again because the people who could make these decisions still didn’t believe
that I had my shit together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’d lost the coaches’ trust. I’d
lost my teammates’ trust. I’d lost the fans’ trust.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But this was my opportunity to do
something about it. Jim had come to me when Hunter’s backup from last season,
Sean “Bobby” Roberts, had suffered a torn ligament in the last game of the
preseason. He’d told me it could be my comeback. God only knew why he still
believed in me, especially when no one else did. I wasn’t sure I believed in
myself much, these, days, but I was trying to earn back what trust I could.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Hunter wasn’t going to just step
aside and give me the net, though. Not a chance in hell that would happen. This
season was going to be all I could handle and then some. But I was determined.
I was clean. I was focused. I was as ready as I could be. And Jessica’s
question, her curiosity about my sobriety, was to be expected, I supposed. She was
far from the last person I would have to convince.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She reached over and put one hand
on top of mine, patting it like she would a child’s. “Good to hear, Nicky. I’m
proud of you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Proud of me.</i> Her response seemed rote, the sort she would give any
of the dozens of addicts who came in and out of her office every day. It was
the type of reaction that made me believe I might never prove to her that I
could keep it up, that she might never think my issues were in the past.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But then again, there was no cure
for addiction. Once an addict, always an addict. There would always be the
lure, always the desire to reach for a bottle and let its contents ease the ache
while creating new and more potent pains in its place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Maybe she was right to
doubt me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>JESSICA</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">In my experience</span>,
there are few things in life more agonizing than loving an addict. Pills,
alcohol, hard drugs—it doesn’t really matter what the specific addiction is
because it always wins in the end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">If there was anyone in the world
who understood that, it was me. My dad had been an alcoholic since before I was
born. My brother got into drugs in middle school. I lost a best friend and a husband
to their addictions—my best friend died as a direct result of hers, and my husband
had become a different person when he started using, wanting nothing to do with
me anymore because I encouraged him to get help. And so what had I chosen as my
profession? I worked for a charity that put me in close contact with countless
addicts daily.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I might not be an addict myself,
but I intimately knew the beast better known as Addiction on an entirely too personal
level.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Because of the pain involved in
loving addicts, I’d tried to put some distance between me and the men and women
I worked with through Light the Lamp. It wasn’t always easy, particularly when
it came to men like Nicklas Ericsson. He was a player for the Storm, and since
Liam had started the foundation, the players had all been involved in various
fundraisers over the years. Nicky hadn’t taken part in as many last year as
before because he’d been in Seattle instead of Portland, but he’d still made an
effort to show up to help when he could. But it went further than that with
Nicky. He didn’t just try to raise money and awareness for Light the Lamp—he
was dealing with his own addictions was involved in nearly everything we did,
attempting to turn his own life around through the programs we offered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Since he was around all the time,
I was able to see the man he was when he was clean and sober, and damn it all
if I didn’t really <i>like </i>that man. He
had a big heart. He was genuine, he was incredibly funny in a self-deprecating
way, and he never let his fame go to his head. For that matter, he didn’t let it
get him down when that very fame turned on him and allowed the world to see
things he might rather keep hidden. It was easy to forget that he was an
addict.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Too easy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Being friends with him would be
one of the simplest things I could ever do, but it was something I couldn’t
allow. Not for my own sanity, at least. Right now, I had to consciously bring his
disease back to mind again and again, or else I was liable to let my walls
down. I had to keep this professional, to maintain the boundaries I’d built to
protect myself. I could be friendly toward him without being his friend, couldn’t
I? So I’d asked how long he’d been clean and I’d told him I was proud of him, establishing
a typical addict-counselor relationship. I wasn’t exactly a counselor, and I
definitely wasn’t his, but it seemed easier to take that tack.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I just didn’t have it in me to
care—to really, truly care—for another addict beyond the scope of my job. One
more might be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Nicky shifted on the bench next
to me, an almost unnoticeable movement. I doubted I would have recognized it if
it wasn’t so still and silent in the rock garden. When I turned, it was to find
him staring at me in a way that left me unnerved. His eyes were on me intently,
making me feel as though he could see straight inside my head and hear every
thought. I couldn’t tell what was going on inside his head, only that there was
a lot of it, whatever it was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Have a good time signing?” I
asked, trying to shake the odd sensation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Huh,” he said, giving an ironic nod
of his head with his brow raised. But then he only said, “It was fine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Fine</i>. It hadn’t really been, and I knew it. Torturous might be more
apt, and if I’d taken even half a second to think before speaking, I would have
asked him any number of things that would have less obvious answers. I’d
dropped in a couple of times during the signing, and every other table had had
long lines of fans waiting to get a jersey or a shirt or a hat or an arm
signed. Even the rookies and the guys new to the Storm this year had been kept
fairly busy. But not Nicky. There had only been a few bodies in front of him at
any point in time. But at least he’d made good use of that by having a real
conversation with the few who came to see him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I decided to shut my trap at that
point from here on out. Lately, he always seemed to seek out the quiet, anyway,
so I doubted he would mind much.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But then he shifted again, and
his right pinky finger brushed against my left pinky finger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He jerked his hand away. “Sorry,”
he said, shrugging and giving me a sheepish expression.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Something on your mind?” I
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’ve been thinking.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">From what I’d noticed, he was
always thinking. Nicky was maybe the most cerebral man I’d ever met. Even when
he was just staring off into nothing, it was easy to see the wheels turning
behind his eyes. No matter how still his body might be, I never doubted there
was a tennis match going on in his brain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Thinking?” I prodded after a
moment, since he’d just left it hanging there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Thinking about what I can do,”
he said, clearing up absolutely nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I think you’ve proven there are
a lot of things you can do,” I noted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“No, I…” He laughed, dropping his
head in a way that made it seem self-effacing. Then he brought his gaze back up
to mine, those brown eyes that seemed to always be laughing, even in the most
difficult times, boring into me again. “I meant what I can do for Light the
Lamp.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Nicky Ericsson already did more
for Light the Lamp than any of the volunteers. I couldn’t imagine what else he
thought he needed to do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You already do a lot.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I know, I just— Maybe I don’t
mean what I can do <i>for </i>Light the
Lamp. Maybe I mean what I can do <i>through </i>Light
the Lamp. To make a difference.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m listening.” I was always
open to new ideas, and having worked for charitable organizations my entire career,
I knew better than to turn anything down out of hand. There was always a
greater need than supply, no matter the cause or the efforts put into effecting
change.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I may not have the celebrity
status I had a few years ago, but I still have some. Especially around
Portland. I thought maybe I could…” His voice trailed off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I looked over to find him staring
out at the rocks again, only now his smile was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Maybe you could what?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Nothing. It’s stupid.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I doubt that.” Everything I knew
about him screamed just the opposite. “Maybe you could what?” I prodded again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Maybe I could talk to people,”
he finally said after hemming and hawing around it for several moments. “You
know, tell them about my experiences. Use what little status I have for
something good.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I wasn’t sure what I’d been
expecting him to say, but it definitely wasn’t this. “That would mean you’d
have to admit to the world that you’re an addict, Nicky.” I’d lowered my voice,
even though no one was anywhere near us to overhear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There was so much shame involved
in addiction, so much secrecy. The NHL, the Storm—they’d never come out and
said what was going on with him over the last several years. They couldn’t.
Players were granted privacy when it came to issues like this. Healthcare
workers couldn’t talk about it. Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous, and
other programs like them kept their membership rolls private. Even at Light the
Lamp, we insisted on confidentiality.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">People—fans and media—might <i>suspect</i> that Nicky had an addiction, and
there was certainly a lot of speculation running rampant about him, but no one
could come out and say that he did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">No one but him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">What he was suggesting was enormous.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I know that,” he said, shifting
on the bench again. “I know what it would mean.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“People would look at you
differently.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You’re not telling me anything
earth-shattering here, you know.” He was laughing again. I definitely preferred
it when he laughed. That was the Nicky I knew, not this anxious, antsy man
beside me. But the truth was he was probably all of the above and so much more.
I thought I knew pretty him well, but based on what he’d just suggested, I knew
there was a heck of a lot more to him that I didn’t have the first clue about.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I wasn’t sure what to do with him
at the moment. He wasn’t making it easy to keep him in any boxes, that was for
sure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Why?” I finally asked. I wasn’t
opposed to the idea of Nicky becoming a public speaker, of sorts—at least not
at first blush. But if he wanted it for the wrong reasons then allowing him to
go ahead with it might cause more harm than good, at least for him. He hadn’t
been clean all that long in the grand scheme of things. If he was looking for
more fame, for adulation for the wrong reasons, it could come back to bite him
in the butt. Not that Nicky seemed like the sort to do that, but experience had
taught me to be wary of anyone with a history of addiction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I might not want to be close
enough to let him in as a good friend, but I didn’t want him to cause himself a
setback.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Nicky took his time answering,
staring at the bright burst of orange leaves coming from the cherry blossom
across from us. But then his shoulders lifted in an infinitesimal shrug and he
turned his head to me, looking directly in my eyes in that fervent way he had.
“I just think there’s a reason for everything. I’ve been given a lot of gifts
in terms of athletic ability and my career, and I’ve struggled with addiction.
I think there’s a reason for all of that, and I think I should use it everything
I’ve been given.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There wasn’t even the slightest
hint of irony in his words. No sense that he was hoping to further himself or
make a spectacle of himself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I took a breath, the crisp fall
air flirting with my senses. “Have you run any of this by Jim Sutter yet?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Not yet. I thought I’d talk to
you about it first.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Jim wouldn’t try to dissuade him,
anyway. He’d encourage it. The same as I should. There wasn’t any good reason
for me to be hesitant about this, beyond the possibility that it would test the
strength of my protective walls. He wasn’t just asking me if I thought he
should become a motivational speaker. Nicky was asking to do it through my
foundation, to be even more intricately involved in the work I did than he
already was. But this wasn’t an opportunity I could pass up. It had the
potential to do a world of good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Talk to Jim,” I said, digging my
fingernails into the underside of the bench so hard it was painful—a reminder
to myself that I had to keep my distance. “Once you get the go-ahead, let me
know and we’ll figure something out.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He nodded, and he moved slightly
toward me. There was a glimmer in his eye that made me think he was going to
try to pull me into a hug. I thrust out my hand to shake. That glimmer fled as
fast as it had come, and he shook my hand as I stood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I should—” I started. <i>I should calm the heck down is what I should
do</i>. I felt breathless and panicky, and there was no good reason for it.
None at all. I dusted my hands over my slacks, brushing away any bits of the
outdoors that might have found a home there. “I should head back and get ready
for the…the event.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ever polite, Nicky didn’t say
anything about how flustered I suddenly was. He just nodded and smiled, and
made me wish that the glimmer would come back into his eyes. Because that
glimmer meant life. It meant hope. It meant there was something worth fighting
for to keep him clean. The ones who had that bit of life in their eyes were the
ones I didn’t worry about so much. They were the ones who had a chance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">His smile wasn’t enough to bring
that brightness back, though. It didn’t reach his eyes. “You should go, then.
I’ll see you after a while.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> I nodded and turned to
leave. Halfway up the stone steps, I looked back over my shoulder to find him looking
at the rocks exactly as he had been when I’d first come upon him. Or maybe not
exactly the same way. Because I’d just taken one of the bricks from my
protective wall and placed it on his. I hadn’t even handed it to him to let him
do as he would with it. I’d just placed it there, helping him close himself off
when I should be doing the opposite.</span>Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-58188507874231832062014-12-04T10:46:00.002-05:002014-12-04T10:46:54.239-05:00Holiday Hat Trick and Portland Storm: The First PeriodTwo new releases! That's right--TWO of them.<br />
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First up, we have HOLIDAY HAT TRICK.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkreQxTkW8XmHVEA7dXYiKqAFqQRyeQWXJclQ80nV970Iibqw-eTHbraJ2WMQVnnhlUBBfRELeI1fU1jj1VgmJBbpR120ZagngeIhn34FOgFyduHeT3QQnPDP-0_WFL82kp3p0ED6ikjar/s1600/CatherineGayle_HolidayHatTrick_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkreQxTkW8XmHVEA7dXYiKqAFqQRyeQWXJclQ80nV970Iibqw-eTHbraJ2WMQVnnhlUBBfRELeI1fU1jj1VgmJBbpR120ZagngeIhn34FOgFyduHeT3QQnPDP-0_WFL82kp3p0ED6ikjar/s1600/CatherineGayle_HolidayHatTrick_800px.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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Mitchell “Q” Quincey, a journeyman playing for the Portland
Storm, has three goals for his three-day Christmas break.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->1.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Move the rest of his gym equipment out of his
ex-wife Mia’s house.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->2.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Get his lawyer to file a petition for joint
custody.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->3.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Spend every last minute he can with his baby
girl.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When he arrives on Mia’s doorstep, things don’t go as
planned. With her whole family gathered for the holiday, the only way he can
spend time with their daughter is to spend time with the whole clan. The compromise
is doable, if not ideal, because he’s still in love with Mia and she won’t take
him back.</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<br /></div>
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Having her ex-husband show up completely unannounced at
Christmas throws Mia off her game. The least Mitch could have done is called so
she could have emotionally prepared herself to face him. Instead, the love and
attraction she still feels for him combine to leave her fumbling for excuses.
He’s always been able to leave her flustered, but now that he’s making himself
part of the family again, she’s afraid she’ll lose her nerve and fall back into
old patterns.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Things heat up on a snowy Christmas Eve, and Mitch decides
to change his goals on the fly. With assists from Mia’s family and a bit of
mistletoe, he might end up with a Holiday Hat Trick.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Buy it now at <a href="http://amzn.to/1v7aTRx" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/holiday-hat-trick/id946634159?mt=11" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/holiday-hat-trick-catherine-gayle/1120833638?ean=2940150130609" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>, <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/holiday-hat-trick" target="_blank">Kobo</a>, <a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-holidayhattrick-1689386-149.html" target="_blank">All Romance eBooks</a>, and <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/497242" target="_blank">Smashwords</a>.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSwxY-1aGzTsSAtxWOFUvklG1r-Ux2b7dMCNKGuC0zTFPoaNNrObtZnuJmRdZyJNCc9Ev2rFG37mw0OtsjwU1r3zgdhhIvDvv9PYavrmb4CuLI1y5JQVjXDyJkM8MoGsBBNnwzbeK4kLl_/s1600/CatherineGayle_TheFirstPeriod3DBoxSet_800.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSwxY-1aGzTsSAtxWOFUvklG1r-Ux2b7dMCNKGuC0zTFPoaNNrObtZnuJmRdZyJNCc9Ev2rFG37mw0OtsjwU1r3zgdhhIvDvv9PYavrmb4CuLI1y5JQVjXDyJkM8MoGsBBNnwzbeK4kLl_/s1600/CatherineGayle_TheFirstPeriod3DBoxSet_800.jpg" height="320" width="302" /></a>Then we have PORTLAND STORM: THE FIRST PERIOD. It's a box set of BREAKAWAY, ON THE FLY, TAKING A SHOT, and LIGHT THE LAMP.</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; line-height: 20px;">BREAKAWAY</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; line-height: 20px;">She’s reaching for a breakaway pass.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; line-height: 20px;">Dana Campbell has spent the past seven years in self-imposed isolation for a crime she didn’t commit. The danger is well in the past, but her panic attacks make it impossible to have a normal, healthy relationship with a man. Even her counselor has given up on her. She has to find someone she trusts to help her fight through the panic, or her seven-year ordeal will become a lifetime sentence. There’s only one man she feels safe enough to ask.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; line-height: 20px;">He got caught with his head down.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; line-height: 20px;">As the captain of the NHL’s once elite but now fading Portland Storm, Eric Zellinger knows a thing or two about keeping his focus on the job. Questions are flying about his ability to lead the team back to the playoffs. If they don’t make it, he might be shipped out of town. It’s the worst time possible for his best friend’s kid sister to divide his focus. How can he give her what she needs without jeopardizing both the Storm’s playoff hopes and his future with the team?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; line-height: 20px;">It’s her only chance, but it’s his last shot.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; line-height: 20px;">ON THE FLY</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; line-height: 20px;">Injury after injury has put Brenden Campbell’s NHL career on hold for years. Now he’s playing for the Portland Storm and determined to make it stick. Few things in life drive him more than being told he can’t have something he wants, and what he wants most is to prove he belongs. Brenden also wants Rachel Shaw, the cute, little redhead who just got hired as the general manager’s new assistant. But then she went and made herself off-limits, telling him: “I don’t date.” Those three words pretty much guarantee that he’ll do everything he can to change her mind.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; line-height: 20px;">Rachel is changing things up on the fly for her family, moving them somewhere she can be the kind of mom her kids deserve. Allowing anyone else to be in their lives is out of the question, at least until her instincts get back on track. How else can she be sure who to steer the kids clear of? Right now she trusts no one, including herself, and especially not a man like Brenden Campbell. He’s way too handsome and a little bit cocky. Falling for a guy like him is a mistake she can’t afford to make twice.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; line-height: 20px;">TAKING A SHOT</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; line-height: 20px;">Katie Weber has had a crush on Jamie Babcock for almost two years, since he joined her father’s pro hockey team, the Portland Storm as an eighteen-year-old rookie. When cancer takes her health, her hair, and even her friends, she can’t bear to go to senior prom…until Jamie intervenes.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; line-height: 20px;">LIGHT THE LAMP</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; line-height: 20px;">Life’s been rough lately for Noelle Payne, but she’s not one to let negativity rule. So, she lost her job? She’ll find another one. The bank foreclosed on the house? Well, she can live out of her car for a while. There’s always an upside to be found…but now Noelle needs to find something to give her life meaning. She owes it to the universe to figure it out, too, because a stranger just saved her life..</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; line-height: 20px;">When Liam Kallen’s wife died, his goal-scoring ability died with her. After a trade from the only pro hockey team he’s ever played for, he’s now playing for the NHL’s Portland Storm. Everyone said he needed a change of scenery, but nothing changes until he rescues Noelle. All of a sudden, the world once again looks bright and he’s lighting the lamp like he used to.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; line-height: 20px;">Noelle’s cheerful disposition is just the bit of sunlight Liam needs in his life. He wants to give her everything she needs because she’s everything he wants. The problem? She doesn’t believe she needs anything…at least nothing material. The one thing they both know she truly needs—a real purpose—also happens to be the one thing he doesn’t know how to give her. If he can’t help her find that, she might walk away and take all her sunshine with her.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy it now at <a href="http://amzn.to/1yj2T1W" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/portland-storm-catherine-gayle/1119986311?ean=2940149960149" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>, <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/portland-storm-first-period/id901481390?mt=11&uo=4&at=10lLiX" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/portland-storm-the-first-period" target="_blank">Kobo</a>, <a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-portlandstormthefirstperiod-1689976-166.html" target="_blank">All Romance eBooks</a>, and <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/457355" target="_blank">Smashwords</a>.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Not only that, but you can pre-order COMEBACK at several ebook retailers.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">Nicky Ericsson has had a long fight with addiction, and because of it he lost his spot as the Portland Storm's top goaltender. He's on the road to a comeback--both in his personal life and on the ice. He's throwing himself into charity work, recovery group meetings, training...all the things he needs to do to become the best version of himself he can be, and to keep himself clean. He has no other choice. </span><br style="background-color: white;" /><br style="background-color: white;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Jessica Lynch has been running the Portland office for the Light the Lamp Foundation for a few years, so she knows a thing or two about addicts. One of the main things she's learned is that even when they try to turn their lives around, sometimes the addictions get the better of them. Because of that, she takes a hands off approach, keeping her heart out of things. </span><br style="background-color: white;" /><br style="background-color: white;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Nicky's attempts to better himself puts him in directly Jessica's path more often than not, and their attraction is instant and mutual. Can he prove that he won't fall back into old habits, and complete the perfect comeback?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">COMEBACK releases on February 19, 2015, and you can preorder it at <a href="http://amzn.to/1w6RnWG" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/comeback/id914212031?mt=11&uo=4&at=10lLiX" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/comeback-catherine-gayle/1120262937?ean=2940046137187" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>, and <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/comeback-31" target="_blank">Kobo</a>.</span></span></div>
Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-35875110789404867552014-11-28T10:28:00.000-05:002014-11-28T10:28:11.750-05:00Sneak Peek: Holiday Hat Trick<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVJbLtyFAmj61xq2Dvw9lGkiu3u7ylXfGXzSWyruxeI59caynYqCcGH1uzVK2NjQ-fM5g85LMep_7tkGbblWc8-dcMWrBrnQH1q3uDxtuoaf_jCKCIapimxmYKcIVzAKl3bwVJSSkfsTdc/s1600/CatherineGayle_HolidayHatTrick_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVJbLtyFAmj61xq2Dvw9lGkiu3u7ylXfGXzSWyruxeI59caynYqCcGH1uzVK2NjQ-fM5g85LMep_7tkGbblWc8-dcMWrBrnQH1q3uDxtuoaf_jCKCIapimxmYKcIVzAKl3bwVJSSkfsTdc/s1600/CatherineGayle_HolidayHatTrick_800px.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">HOLIDAY HAT TRICK, a surprise holiday novella in my Portland Storm series, will release sometime next week, once I've finished getting it through edits and proofreading and formatting. To tide you over, here's the first chapter. :) I'll post links once I have them!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">MITCH</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">I had three</span>
days, three tasks to complete, and zero time to waste.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There were only three days
because I was a member of the National Hockey League’s Portland Storm, and we
were on our league-mandated days off for Christmas. I’d left Portland for my hometown
of Brandon, Manitoba, as soon as the team had finished our final game before
the break. I barely made it through security and to my gate in time for the
flight, but I would have lost half a day had I waited until tomorrow. As it
was, I was due to catch the last possible plane out on the afternoon of the twenty-sixth
so as not to miss morning skate on the twenty-seventh. So really, I supposed it
wasn’t even three full days when you got right down to it. That was why I
couldn’t mess around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Particularly when you considered
the three tasks I’d set for myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">First, I planned to clear out the
last of my things from the small house in our hometown that I’d shared with Mia
for the past seven years until our divorce over the summer. We’d moved around a
lot during hockey season over the years, but we’d always kept this little house
near our families for when the off-season rolled around. I’d need a little help
to get my training equipment out, but Jason Redwine and Zach Farmer—two guys
who’d been my friends for as long as I could remember—had promised the use of
their trucks, along with whatever physical strength was necessary. We would take
care of it all together, much as we’d done almost everything over the years, at
least until I made it to the NHL. These days I wasn’t always around to help
them out when they needed it, but if I could help, I did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Second, I wanted to spend every
spare moment with my little girl, Marley Lynn. I didn’t know what Mia’s plans
for the holidays might be, but she’d have to adjust them. Mia might have
custody, but Marley was my daughter, too. A daughter I hadn’t seen in months,
not since she was just beginning to crawl. Marley was over a year old and she
was walking. I had missed so much already, and I’d be damned if I’d let my ex
keep my daughter from me while I was in town and could spend time with her. I’d
lost so much time already that I’d never be able to get back. I didn’t even
know if she’d remember me—I mean, I Skyped with her sometimes, but that wasn’t
the same as being live and in the flesh, and during the season we didn’t get
enough time off to travel home very often—but I couldn’t worry about that or
I’d just tear myself up worse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And third, I had a meeting
scheduled with my lawyer so we could file a formal petition with the courts for
joint custody. Mia had been granted full custody at first, because she was
breast feeding and my life was far from stable—I had played for eight different
NHL teams in the last five years—but things were changing now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Marley was eating solid foods,
and it looked like I might have finally found a home with the Storm. I had
contacted a reputable nanny service and knew that I could take care of Marley
if she came to stay with me for short visits. I wanted to be able to have
longer visits with my little girl—at least something more than the nonexistent ones
I was currently receiving.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was supposed to get a couple of
hours a few days a week, but since I wasn’t even in the same country as Mia and
my daughter, those visits weren’t happening other than during the offseason, so
really only three or four months out of the year. At the very least, I wanted
the courts to order Mia to bring my daughter to me on occasion. I’d pay for it,
but going for months on end without even seeing my baby, without hearing her infectious
giggle was killing me. It was bad enough that I hadn’t heard Mia laugh, hadn’t
seen her smile, in so long I almost couldn’t remember how her eyes lit up. If
we kept going like this, the same would be true for Marley. I’d be damned if I
was going to let that happen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">All of this was running through
my head for the thousandth time as I headed for the regional airport’s baggage
claim. I didn’t have a checked bag to collect since I would only be here a few
days, but it was where my buddies would be waiting for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I saw Zach first when I rounded
the corner. Actually, it was <i>only </i>Zach.
No Jason. It was well after midnight by the time my flight got in, and the late
hour was visible in the lines around Zach’s eyes. He had followed in his
father’s footsteps and gone into construction after his dreams of pursuing a
hockey career had been dashed, although he’d taken it much farther than his dad
ever had. Zach built custom homes. In fact, he’d built the very home that Mia
was currently living in. He’d probably worked a full day, ten hours or maybe
even more, before coming to pick me up. That didn’t stop him from reaching for
my hand and slapping the other on my back as he pulled me close in a hug.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Mitchell Fucking Quincey. You
look like ass,” he said, laughing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I look better than you.” I
sniffed. “I smell better than you, too. You couldn’t take a shower before
coming to get me?” He didn’t smell bad, actually, but that was just the way
things had always been between us. If we weren’t insulting each other, then
there were bound to be real problems.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Thought I’d bring a little of
the job with me, make you feel at home.” He took the handle of my carry-on bag
and headed toward the parking lot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“What’s up with Jason?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Fatherhood changes a man,” he
said with a beleaguered sigh. “Now I have double confirmation of that fact.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Changing diapers, then.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Jason and his wife had just had
their first child, a boy named Simon, about two months ago. I still hadn’t seen
the little guy other than in pictures and videos.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I took my gloves and toque from
my coat pockets as I walked alongside him, settling them in place before we hit
the bracing cold outside. As usual in Manitoba, we were definitely going to
have a white Christmas. The snow had blown into drifts almost as high as my
waist. I double checked to be sure my coat was buttoned all the way to the top.
Being home in the winter made me appreciate the mild Portland weather even more
than I usually did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Something like that. Shana
promised you could have him tomorrow, though.” Zach put my bag in the back of
his truck and we both climbed in. “You haven’t changed your mind about
anything, have you?” he asked as he pulled out onto the road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Changed <i>my</i> mind? I wasn’t the one who’d wanted to end things. Even if I
had, the divorce had been final for months now. What was there for me to change
my mind about? I gave my friend a fuck-off look when he glanced over at me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“All right, Q,” he said, forcing
a laugh back into his tone. “I just thought maybe if you left a few things over
there…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“It’d give me an excuse to drop
by? Having my gym equipment cluttering up her house isn’t going to change anything.
All it’ll do is have her badgering me about getting it out of her way. She
doesn’t want me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And that stung like a
motherfucker, because there wasn’t a goddamn thing I wanted more than Mia and Marley.
I wanted my family back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She’d claimed that it was all the
moves, that they had created too much stress for her, having to go from team to
team and city to city. Just as soon as she felt settled and comfortable, as
soon as she had a few friends she could talk to, I’d get traded. Or I wouldn’t
be re-signed to my team and I’d hit the free agency market, and we’d be on the
move again. There was definitely some truth to that. It had been hard on both
of us, maybe harder on her because she didn’t have the built-in new friendships
that my teammates provided, and because she was the one having to deal with the
logistics of moving our house and changing our address.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was fairly certain that there was
more involved than what she’d told me, though. She’d always made friends
easily, and she adapted to change better than anyone I’d ever known. I should
know. We’d been together since we were in high school. Everyone had always said
we were meant to be together, that they couldn’t imagine one of us without the
other. In the beginning of our marriage, I knew exactly what they meant. But
then things had started to change. Mia stopped being the smiling, laughing,
easy-going, sexy, flirty girl I’d fallen in love with. That girl was still in
there somewhere. She had to be. I just didn’t know how deeply she was buried or
how to bring her back to the surface.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You know who <i>does </i>still want you?” Zach said,
bringing me back from my ruminations. I shrugged, lifting a brow in question,
which only made him chuckle. “Vanessa Hough. <i>Next time I see Q, I’m going to sweep him off his feet. He won’t know
what hit him,</i>” he mimicked in a high-pitched squeal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Naughty ‘Nessa?” Whether I was
still in love with Mia or not, there wasn’t a frozen chance in hell I would
fall for Vanessa Hough and her numerous <i>charms</i>.
She was one of those women who would screw anything with two legs and a dick if
she thought that dick might be her ticket out of Brandon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“The one and only.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Fuck me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“That she would, my friend. That
she would.” Zach pulled up in front of his constantly-a-work-in-progress house
and killed the engine. He spent so much time making everyone else’s dream
houses that he never had enough time to dedicate to his own place. “She’s
pretty good, actually. Might not be the worst thing you could do. Screw
Vanessa’s brains out. Move on from Mia.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’d been trying to move on from
Mia for months, though, and I doubted taking Vanessa Hough to bed would do
anything to make it any easier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I couldn’t help but note that
Zach spoke like he had experience of a particular kind with Vanessa. “You’ve
slept with her?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He shrugged, climbing out of his
truck. “Once. Almost a decade ago, when I was home for the summer.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It would have been while he was
playing major junior hockey, then—after he’d been drafted. Eventually, he’d
suffered a concussion that had ended any hope he might have had to play in the
NHL. Maybe it was after he’d known that chance was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“She help you move on from
anything?” I asked dryly. I followed him up the steps to his house, carrying my
bag. It was too late to drop by my parents’ house. Too late to go to Mia’s and
demand time with my daughter. I was going to crash here for the night and get
started on my list of tasks in the morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Nah,” he said. “But at least for
a little while, I didn’t care.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> I’d
like to not care. Somehow, though, I doubted that ending up in Naughty ‘Nessa’s
bed would be cathartic.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">MIA</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">“Marley, <i>no!</i>” I </span>said in my best mommy
voice. I seemed to say that more than just about anything these days. Once my
daughter had started walking, she was suddenly able to get into absolutely
everything. Sometimes it felt like she got into it all at the same time. I
didn’t know how it was possible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’d turned my back for about 2.09
seconds so I could clean up after breakfast. That was all it took for her to
grab the cat’s tail, causing Inigo to let out an ear-splitting yowl and race up
the Christmas tree. The tree had come crashing down, of course, because that
was just how today was going to go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I raced back into the living room
to find that—thankfully—the tree hadn’t landed on my daughter, and Inigo seemed
to have escaped her clutches and found somewhere to hide. We had named him
Inigo Montoya, after the character from <i>The
Princess Bride</i>, because he had markings on both cheeks that looked like
scars. Also, the tree didn’t appear to have started a fire or set off a flood,
so we should be all right in the long and short term.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Marley looked up at me and
giggled, pushing up from the floor into a standing position. She tottered over
to me and lifted her arms, and I hauled her free from the disaster zone,
brushing my hair out of my eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“How am I supposed to get
showered and dressed and make both of us pretty for Gram and Papa if I can’t
leave you alone for three seconds?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She answered me with a sticky
kiss. It tasted like applesauce. I thought I’d cleaned her up before I let her
loose, but now that I took a closer look I could see the remnants of her
breakfast still clinging to her chin and cheeks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I should probably just take you
into the shower with me, huh?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Before she could answer that in
any way, the doorbell rang. Who on earth would be here at this hour of the day?
And on Christmas Eve, no less. I looked down at myself, scowling at the grungy
pj’s covered in applesauce and Lord only knew what else Marley had gotten into.
It wasn’t worth trying to sort myself out, though. Everyone in this town knew
everyone else, so they all knew I was a divorced mom with a baby. If they wanted
me to look presentable, then they needed to send a babysitter and a
construction crew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I planted Marley on my hip and
crossed to the front door, not bothering to look through the peephole before
throwing it open.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I should have looked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I really, <i>really</i> should have looked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Because if I had, I would have
known that it was Mitch, and I would have double-checked that the deadbolt was
secured and pretended I wasn’t at home. But I hadn’t done that. And now here he
was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">On my doorstep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Looking good enough to eat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Staring at me the way he always
had, like <i>I </i>was good enough to eat,
even though I was in grungy, applesauce-covered pj’s with my hair an absolute
wreck and a destroyed Christmas tree all over the floor and had no idea how I
was supposed to react to him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“What the hell are you doing
here?” I demanded. I should have at least said something polite first. <i>Hi. How’s it going? I miss you—God, how I
miss you—so I need you to leave</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The corners of his lips twitched,
a tic he’d had since we were teenagers, and he shoved his gloved hands into his
coat pockets. “Christmas break. I came to move all that gym equipment you’ve
been bugging me about.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“At 8:30 in the morning? You
should have called,” I said, helplessly looking at the disorder surrounding me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mitch’s eyes followed mine and
landed on the overturned tree and the decorations that had been flung halfway across
the room. Then he looked at me again, letting his eyes rove over my grungy
attire and frizzy hair and the mess of a baby in my arms, and I felt like the
biggest failure as a mother. I wanted to explain it all away. I wanted to be
sure he knew Marley and I didn’t live like this, that it had all happened right
before he’d rung the bell. But really, only the disaster of the tree had been a
last-minute thing. Everything else just <i>was</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“It’s not—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He cut me off by reaching for our
daughter, who giggled and kissed his cheek, and then giggled some more because
he hadn’t shaved in a few days and had a decent accumulation of scratchy
stubble. His eyes lit up at the sound, and he pushed inside so that I had to
back out of the way or he’d barrel over me. “Come on,” he said over his
shoulder, and only then did I realize that Jason and Zach, his two best
friends, were behind him. “There’s a lot more to do in here than I knew.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mitch made his way into the
living room as if he owned the place, which technically, he did. He sat Marley
down on the couch and put her favorite—and disgustingly filthy—teddy bear in
her arms while the other guys came in, winking at me as they moved into the
living room. Without any of them saying a word, they took off their winter gear
and set to work sorting out the Christmas tree and decorations and the mess I’d
been trying to clean up from breakfast, leaving me standing there and staring.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Why don’t you go get a shower?”
Mitch said to me after a minute.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I let out a frustrated huff. “I
can do this,” I said feebly, but it made me sound ungrateful for their help,
which stung because I actually appreciated their help.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I know you can.” He grabbed
Marley around the waist and lifted her high up over his head until she squealed
out loud. She had climbed down from the sofa and had been tottering at a run
toward the tree they’d just righted, and he’d stopped her before she had a
chance to cause more damage as though it had been the easiest thing in the
world for him to do. That only made me feel like a bigger failure as a mother.
He caught my eye as he passed Marley off to Jason. “Go on. We’ve got this under
control. Take a few minutes for yourself. We should have this all sorted out by
then. We can talk when you’re done.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A few minutes of my own were
exactly what the doctor ordered, but it irked that he knew it. Did I look that much
of a disaster?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I nodded, skirting around the
mess and heading toward the master bedroom. “If you need—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“We won’t need anything,” Mitch
said. “We’ll be just fine.” I gave him a dubious look, and he added, “I may not
get to spend much time with Marley, but I promise I can watch her for fifteen
minutes with two other adults to help without allowing her to die.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“That’s not fair, Mitch. I don’t
think that,” I argued.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He met my gaze, his unwavering
and thoroughly inscrutable. “I know you don’t. I’m sorry.” Then he shrugged,
and his features softened, and it was impossible to be mad at him when he
looked at me that way. “Will you please let me take care of something for you,
just this once?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was never <i>just this once</i>, though. Mitch had always taken care of things for
me, for almost as long as I could remember. He walked into the room, and
everything that had seemed overwhelming and earth-shattering and unmanageable suddenly
slowed down and settled into order. He made it possible for me to breathe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In fact, until he’d walked
through the door a few minutes ago, I hadn’t realized that I’d stopped
breathing. How long had I gone without filling my lungs? I couldn’t even
remember, which probably said a lot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I must have stood there staring
for too long because he closed the distance between us. Before I could prepare
myself, he lifted one hand to my cheek. It was all I could do not to press into
him, to beg for more of his touch, but I somehow refrained.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">With the tip of his thumb, he
brushed against my skin. “Sticky,” he said quietly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Applesauce,” I replied, mentally
berating myself for the flutters of awareness and need racing through my veins.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He kept his eyes locked on mine
as he put the tip of his thumb into his mouth and licked it clean. “So it is.
Go get a shower, Mia.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> I
raced down the hall, not because I was in a hurry to clean up, but because I
didn’t trust myself not to push up onto my tiptoes and kiss him, and that would
be the worst thing I could possibly do.</span></div>
Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-66716786839470318932014-11-11T08:52:00.002-05:002014-11-11T08:52:50.275-05:00Sneak Peek #2 - IN THE ZONE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjMUqPj7lH6j_oHpPFfjBI26REbJG0FyIH9IwcbWElHXuXC5yXhJlFsPMSpc9Dr4axrXJydKH9dyGTVeKF9f0Naf2wce6-UEFUvP9-YC_alI50TmAMslG663nEoTT9Qmn7zoAN0dOs2TfG/s1600/CatherineGayle_InTheZone_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjMUqPj7lH6j_oHpPFfjBI26REbJG0FyIH9IwcbWElHXuXC5yXhJlFsPMSpc9Dr4axrXJydKH9dyGTVeKF9f0Naf2wce6-UEFUvP9-YC_alI50TmAMslG663nEoTT9Qmn7zoAN0dOs2TfG/s320/CatherineGayle_InTheZone_800px.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">All right, so I already teased you with the <a href="http://catherinegayleauthor.blogspot.com/2014/11/sneak-peek-in-zone.html" target="_blank">prologue from IN THE ZONE</a>. How about the first chapter?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">P.S. It releases on November 20. If you haven't already pre-ordered it yet, you can do that at <a href="http://amzn.to/10SqVSW" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/in-the-zone/id898639798?mt=11&uo=4&at=10lLiX" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/in-the-zone-catherine-gayle/1119956686?ean=2940046067057" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>, and <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/in-the-zone-6" target="_blank">Kobo</a>. It's also up on Goodreads and ready for you to <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22665636-in-the-zone" target="_blank">add to your shelf</a>. I'll wait while you do all of that. Got it? Okay, so here's the first chapter.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">KEITH</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant: small-caps; line-height: 115%;">“Burnzie!
Colesy!” the</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> Storm’s head coach, Mattias Bergstrom, called out to me and one
of the new defensemen on the team, Cole Paxton, as the rest of the boys started
heading off the ice after a hard practice. “Jens and Ny—you too,” he added,
indicating two of our other defensemen, Andrew Jensen and Peter Nylund. “I need
a minute before you boys hit the showers.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We were a
few months into the season now, and the guys were finally starting to settle in
to the new system Bergy had instituted for us when he took over the team. We’d
been playing a similar style under Scotty Thomas the last couple of seasons,
but the tweaks Bergy had insisted on had taken a few of us a while to adjust
to. <i>Old habits die hard</i>, or whatever
the saying was. Anyway, even though we were starting to really click with
Bergy’s changes now, he still hadn’t settled on the defensive pairings he
wanted. The forwards had been going through almost as many changes as we were.
I was starting to wonder if Bergy was ever going to settle on a combination he
liked. Every few games he tried out new partnerships, seeing who clicked with
whom and what arrangement seemed to be the most effective for the team as a
whole.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He was
always looking at charts and graphs and other data on the computer,
too—something Scotty would have never dreamed of doing. Scotty had trusted his
eyes and gut feelings and things like a guy’s plus-minus rating. Bergy, though?
He was far more interested in some of the newer stats that bloggers kept putting
up posts about—Fenwick and Corsi and all sorts of other things that went right
over my head. I didn’t have a clue what any of that shit meant, and I wasn’t
entirely sure I cared.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway,
he’d been using these new stats to help him and his assistant coaches make
decisions about which defensemen he ought to pair together and which forwards
worked better on a particular line. I had a strong suspicion that some random
stat was behind him calling me and the boys over right now—either that or maybe
he wanted each of us to write down some new goals or something. He’d instituted
that practice back at the beginning of training camp. <i>If you write your goals down, it’ll keep you accountable</i>, he’d
said. He’d insisted on each of us making out goal cards for the entire season
on the first day of training camp, and every week since then we’d had a team
meeting where we would make up new goal cards for the upcoming week. Maybe he
thought we needed to update ours right now.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Colesy
gave me a look, one that clearly indicated he thought he was in trouble. The
guy was a good defenseman—really good, actually. But the coaches kept talking
to him about needing to improve his core strength, saying it would help him in
his transitions. That was what all his goals had been about lately—adding extra
reps in the gym on core-strengthening exercises, demonstrating improvement in
game situations, that sort of thing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He’d had
a great practice today, though. He hadn’t had any problems making the switch
from offensive to defensive positioning, and the drills we’d run were seriously
challenging on that front. I doubted they were going to bring up his core
strength again right now. Besides, why would Bergy include me and these other
guys in that discussion if it was really just about Cole Paxton?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I shrugged,
as though that would help him shrug it off, too. “Don’t worry about it. He’s
not going to rip you a new one.” Not today, at least, and not this guy. Bergy
tended to reserve that special form of communication for Zee. Sometimes for me
and Soupy, too, since we were Zee’s assistant captains this year. He only
really slammed into the leadership group—those of us who had special weekly
meetings with him and the other coaches where we got to write down other
leadership-oriented goals. The rest of the guys tended to get the <i>you-disappointed-me</i> sort of speech more
than anything else. That was another way he was different than Scotty. Our
former head coach preferred to yell at everyone indiscriminately, and if he
wasn’t yelling at you, then you were <i>really</i>
in hot water.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We skated
to the boards near center ice, where Bergy and his assistant coaches, David
Weber and Adam Hancock, were waiting. Until last year, Webs had been one of the
boys, but he’d retired in the off-season. Handy was a longtime coach in the
league. He’d been the head coach of a few teams over the years—both at the AHL
and the NHL level—and he’d been an assistant coach more than just a few times,
too. I figured Jim Sutter, the Storm’s general manager, had brought him in to
give Bergy and Webs an experienced voice to help them make the adjustments smoothly
and successfully. Bergy had only been an assistant coach for a couple of years
before getting promoted. It wasn’t all that long ago that I’d played against
him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“So
here’s the deal,” Bergy said once the four of us came to a stop. “I’m going to
change things up again with you four, starting with Thursday night’s game. I
want to see Jens and Ny together, and Burnzie, I want you with Colesy.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“That’ll
give both pairs a bit of snarl and risk-taking, along with a bit of safety,”
Handy said. He was the assistant coach that was supposed to be overseeing the
defense, but Bergy seemed to have a hard time letting go of that particular
responsibility. Bergy had been a defenseman himself, and he’d been in charge of
us for the two years he’d been an assistant coach.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I had no
doubt that I was supposed to be the snarl of my pair. Jens and I had been
partnered together almost all last season and part of this season. We both
played a pretty similar style, though—physical, hard-hitting, in-your-face
hockey. My snarl might be a little nastier than Jens’s, but it really depended
on the day of the week and what side of bed we had each rolled out of, and I
liked to shoot the puck more than he did. Jens was more about making a good
first pass and letting the forwards deal with the offensive side of things, at
least most of the time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Before Jens
had come to the Storm and throughout quite a bit of this year, I’d played
alongside Ny. He was your prototypical Swedish defenseman, right down to doing
everything like a machine. He skated well, had a decent shot and a lot of
skill, and he played a sound positional game. Coaches liked to put him out on a
power play unit because his pass was as good as his shot from the point and he
had excellent on-ice vision. He could be a power play quarterback.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I hadn’t
been paired up with Colesy at all, though, other than a random shift or two. His
style was closer to Ny’s, only he was less offensively skilled and more
defensively minded than the other three of us. Most people in the hockey world
would call him a stay-at-home defenseman, but that wasn’t really accurate. He
tended to sit back and let the game come to him, so he rarely got caught out of
position.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now he
was going to be my partner—at least for the next game or two. It was anyone’s
guess how long we’d stay together. I’d spent time playing alongside every other
defenseman on the team in the first two and a half months of the season. Changing
things up that often didn’t make it easy to form good communication or
chemistry—both of which were imperative.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Which
Bergy knew. He’d played defense in the NHL for over two decades. That was what
confused me about why he was switching up the pairings and forward lines so
often. We’d barely be starting to figure our partners out when he’d throw
another wrench in things and we’d have to start all over again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bergy
cleared his throat. “Everyone good with that?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It wasn’t
like we had much say in the matter.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yeah,” I
replied for the lot of us. “Whatever you want.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Good
deal,” Webs said. “So starting with practice tomorrow, that’s how we want you
paired up for five-on-five work. Jens and Ny will be the 1-A pairing; Burnzie
and Colesy will be 1-B. Burnzie, you’ll be on the first power play unit with
four forwards, just like you’ve been doing lately. Jens and Ny will handle the
second unit.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Handy scanned
a page on his clipboard and squinted. “And for penalty kill situations, I want
to try Burnzie and Colesy as the first pairing. Jens, you’ll work with Luka for
that,” he added. Luka was Slava Lukashenko, another veteran defenseman who was
apparently being moved down to the third pairing now since Colesy was going to
work with me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Everyone
clear?” Bergy asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yeah,”
we said. “Got it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Get out
of here then.” Bergy picked his own clipboard up off the boards and started
flipping pages, so we skated off in the other direction. “Colesy! I need one
more minute,” he shouted before we got off the ice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Colesy
groaned and turned back the other direction.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Damn. I’d
been hoping they’d leave the guy alone. I shot a glance over my shoulder, but
it didn’t look like Bergy was pissed off or anything. They wouldn’t yell at
him, as I’d said earlier, but I still worried about him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He was a
guy I’d taken under my wing, so to speak, when he’d signed here as a free agent
over the summer. Out of all the guys involved in the team leadership, I had
always been the one planning parties and making sure the new guys knew they
were invited along to shit, making everyone feel welcome…until this year. I’d
passed that responsibility on to Soupy. Mainly it was because Bergy seemed to
think that Soupy needed to branch out and get to know all the guys on the team
as a whole, while he thought the opposite was more true for me: I needed to get
to know one or two on a really good individual level.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Colesy had
been my primary focus on that score. He was different than most of the guys, so
I’d been making an effort to include him, even if I left everyone else to Soupy.
He was kind of standoffish in a way. Had been since he’d first shown up in
Portland. He was a good player, took care of his shit, never caused any
problems, but he tended to keep to himself. I had started making extra effort
with him once I noticed he wasn’t always coming along to hang out off-ice with
the boys. I sometimes took him out to lunch, one-on-one, to get to know him
better. Was he just shy or introverted, or did he feel like he didn’t fit in
for whatever reason? I knew all too well the harm that could cause—feeling like
you didn’t belong—thanks to my brothers. At least once we’d gotten a little
older.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Being on
a team, though, there’s no room for a guy to feel left out or as if he doesn’t
fit. I wasn’t going to let that happen to Colesy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That was
how I started to figure out that he was gay. It was little things, but I
recognized them. I mean, he wasn’t wearing bright pink and getting manicures
and talking like a girl or anything like that. He wasn’t obvious about it; by
all appearances, he was trying to keep it a secret. What gave him away was more
how he would smile at the bartender at Kells when we’d have lunch there
sometimes, or how he would force his gaze away from a couple of the guys we
would see around town when we were out, as though he didn’t want to get caught
staring at a guy he thought was hot.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I never
said anything to him about it because he never said anything to me about it. It
was his secret—his to reveal or keep hidden. But at the same time, I wanted him
to feel comfortable enough around me that he would know he could tell me if he
wanted to.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There
wasn’t a single <i>out</i> guy in the whole
NHL. Not one. There no way Colesy was the only one keeping it hidden, though.
There had to be at least 800 guys playing in the league. I didn’t get the
feeling that he was ready to be the ambassador, to wear that mantle and hope
others got the courage to follow him, but there wasn’t a chance in hell I was
going to do a fucking thing to make him feel ashamed of who he was.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’d
already done enough of that for one lifetime, and it had cost me more than I’d
had to give.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Colesy
was only a couple of minutes behind the rest of us getting to the locker room.
I took my time undressing and heading for the showers, allowing him a chance to
catch up with me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Coming
to Amani’s?” Soupy asked when I was almost done getting dressed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Amani’s
Family-Style Italian Restaurant was a favorite hang-out for the guys. The menu
was full of things that made for great pre-game fuel, and we tended to go there
a lot more often than just game days. It wasn’t <i>my </i>favorite, though. And I wanted to take Colesy out and talk to
him, see what the coaches had wanted with him, that sort of thing. I shook my
head. “Can’t do it today. My favorite waitress is expecting me at Kells.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Favorite
hookup, you mean?” He had one brow lifted in question.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yeah,
fine. Whatever.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Mmm-hmm.
Whatever,” he repeated, rolling his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The guys
all acted like I was taking a different girl home with me every night lately.
Probably because I hadn’t been hanging with them as much as they were used to,
so they were trying to figure out what was up with me. The truth was, ever
since that night after Zee’s and Soupy’s weddings, when I’d been with Allison,
I hadn’t really wanted to be with any other woman. I’d been pretty fucked up
since then—thinking about finding <i>the one</i>.
And some insane part of me kept wondering if Allison had been the one.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Not that
I’d ever see her again. Even though we’d stayed up into the wee hours of the
morning, talking between intermittent bouts of sex, sharing what bits of
ourselves we could without delving too far into the truth of who we were, she’d
left the next morning. Somehow she’d slipped out of my hotel room without me waking
up. No note. No phone number. Not even her real name. It was as if she’d never
existed, if not for the scent left behind all over me, the slight indentation
of the pillow she’d used, and the pieces of her soul she’d inadvertently
revealed more through body language than through anything specific she’d said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She had
definitely existed. She’d been as real as they come.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I could
only hope that the night we’d shared had given her the boost in confidence
she’d needed. I supposed I would never know.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Colesy
came back into the locker room half dressed, still pulling a clean T-shirt on
over his head while he was walking. I caught his eye and angled my head so he’d
come over to talk to me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Soupy
started backing away. “I’m going up to kiss my wife before we head out.” He’d
married Jim Sutter’s assistant, Rachel, so he was always running upstairs to
sneak in a quick make out session whenever we were at the practice facility.
And yet <i>he </i>was giving <i>me </i>a hard time about my sex life. He
might as well have reverted to being sixteen years old with the way he’d been
acting over the past several months.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Later,”
I called over my shoulder. Then I turned to Colesy. “Wanna grab a bite with me
away from the rest of the guys?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He gave
me the side eye. “You don’t have to hang out with me all the time, you know.
You can keep going with your life as usual.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I know.
I want to grab some lunch with you, though.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Plopping
down on the seat in front of his stall, he glanced at his watch and then set to
work putting on his shoes. “Yeah, I’ve got time for that, I suppose.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You
suppose? Hot date after lunch?” I said it jokingly, trying to keep things light,
but I was actually curious. Not that I expected him to answer me honestly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Not
exactly.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Then
what, exactly?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He
scanned the locker room, as though he was checking to see who all was still
around and how close-by they were. It was nearly deserted. Other than the two
of us, only Viktor Ellstrom and Liam Kallen were still here, and they were
holed up in the opposite corner, having a conversation in Swedish. They were
oblivious to anything around them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Bergy
encouraged me to take some dance classes to work on my core,” he said finally.
“I’ve been going to ballet lessons and ballroom dance, and I don’t want the
boys to know and give me a hard time about it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As soon
as he mentioned dance, something clicked in me. I got choked up and had to
fight the old, familiar gut-wrenching ache back down. I swallowed hard to keep
the bile at bay. “Yeah? Dance lessons, huh?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“They’re
helping. Clearly.” He got up and shoved his laundry into his duffel to take
home with him. “But you know how the boys can be about these things.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
definitely knew how guys could be about other guys who danced. And I knew what being
bullied about something like that could do to a person. I’d done it, right
along with everyone else, caving in to the peer pressure that kids put on one
another. I’d done it to my own fucking brother. I’d picked on him, teased him
relentlessly, called him <i>gay</i> and <i>queer</i> and <i>faggot</i> and <i>pussy</i> and <i>sissy</i> and a thousand other things I’d
never meant and could never take back.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And he’d
killed himself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Right,”
I said slowly, trying to rein all my thoughts back in before I lost my shit in
the middle of the locker room. I nodded. “I do know. Why don’t I come with
you?” There wasn’t a better way I could think of to deal with all the fucking
things running through my head than to confront it head-on.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yeah?” Colesy
said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yeah.
Absolutely.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I was going to take some
fucking dance lessons. Maybe I’d get lucky. Maybe then I’d be able to put Garrett
to rest.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">BRIE</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant: small-caps; line-height: 115%;">“Your
frame has</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> improved,” I said appreciatively to Charlie Winston, one of
my students in a class full of retirees. “Markedly,” I added under my breath,
in the hope that it might hide the shock in my voice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Only a
week ago, he was barely keeping either hand in its proper position, his arms
hadn’t even been an afterthought, and his footwork? He could have hardly been
worse at stepping if he’d been <i>trying</i>
to do poorly. That had meant that Madge, his wife and dance partner, had been
forced to essentially lead herself around the dance floor. I’d rarely seen such
improvement in someone his age, particularly in such a short amount of time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Been
practicing, Miss Hayden!” he called out as he twirled Madge under his arm
before taking her back into a proper closed hold.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Brianna,”
I corrected him. It was fine for my school-aged students to call me Miss
Hayden, but it felt weird to have a man who was old enough to be my grandfather
do that. “Or Brie, if you want.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh, he
wants, all right,” Madge said, rolling her eyes, and all the other ladies in
the class tittered right along with her. “Why do you think he’s been practicing
so hard all of a sudden? Lord knows he’s not trying to impress <i>me</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Charlie
flashed me a smile so wide he nearly spit out his dentures. He pulled his lips
down over them, drawing them back into place, never missing a step.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I could
only shake my head. A few years ago, men close to my twenty-six years were the
ones hitting on me. These days, it was rare to come from anyone other than a
man like Charlie—men who were far too old for me, married, and completely
harmless in the long run.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Was it
awful that I secretly wished someone less than harmless would hit on me every
now and then? I mean, I didn’t want anything horrible to happen, but it would’ve
been really nice to have a bad-boy-type flirt with me every now and then.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Someone
kind of like that guy, Jacob. He’d done a heck of a lot better than simply
flirting with me. We’d had an amazing night, and then I’d left just as I’d
planned to do before I had shown up at his hotel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I didn’t
know why he came to mind right now, when I was nearly laughing over the idea of
Charlie flirting with me. I shook Jacob clear of my mind, yet again, and closed
the distance to Dan and Sharon, one of the other couples in my class.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Chin
up,” I said, gently putting a finger under Sharon’s chin and easing it into the
proper position. She’d been staring at her feet again, which she tended to do right
before losing her footing. She didn’t trust her feet to do their job even
though they weren’t the problem. It was all in her mind. Actually, it was
probably Dan, more than anything else, that she had a hard time trusting. She
didn’t seem to think he could lead her properly despite the fact that she was
the one who tended to stumble.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Once they
were situated, I worked my way through the other pairs, correcting the
occasional hand placement or counting time for a couple that was rhythmically
challenged.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My
seniors were one of my favorite groups to teach. They weren’t technically the
best dancers—far from it—but they were here because they really wanted to
learn. They enjoyed themselves. They weren’t here because someone else was
pushing them into it, and they weren’t here because of some intrinsic drive to
be the best. They were here to have fun. To enjoy one another. To keep
themselves fit as their bodies started to give out on them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Like mine
had.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At least
they had the excuse of age. I was twenty-six—way too young for my body to be
the problem, and yet it was.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I glanced
up at the clock over the entry to the Rose City Ballroom Dance Academy, the
school that had brought me across the country to join their staff a couple of
months ago. We’d run a little over today, probably because I was enjoying
myself with them a bit too much. “Time’s up, folks,” I called out. “Don’t forget
to stretch, and I’ll see you next week.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You
might see Charlie sooner than that if you’re not careful,” Madge said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I could
only shake my head, but there was no hiding my smile. “Don’t forget to keep
practicing your box step and under-arm turn. I expect to see improvement when I
see you all again.” I grabbed my bottle of water and headed up to the front
office to prepare for my next class.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
receptionist, Tanya Dennison, looked up when I came through the door. “Four of
your ladies for the next class called to say they were sick and not coming.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You mean
I might actually have enough men this time?” It was a beginner ballroom dance
class for the average adult, and most days I had about twice as many women as
men. That wouldn’t be such a big deal in some other forms of dance, but
everything in ballroom required a partner. I’d been forced to teach some of the
women to lead in recent weeks, which only made it harder for them to follow
whenever they <i>did </i>have a male lead
since it was all so new to them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You
might have <i>too many</i> men today,” Tanya
said with a grin. “Cole Paxton brought a friend—Keith Burns. Big guy. Fit.”
Tanya paused dramatically, waggling her eyebrows at me. “<i>Hot</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“That’ll
be a nice change of pace.” I might even be able to take one of the men as my
own partner today and use him to demonstrate for the others.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Honey, you
have no idea how nice. Keith Burns is like sex on a stick. I wanna lick him up.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I did my
best not to get too excited about having another good-looking man in my class.
He wouldn’t be looking at me, after all. He’d undoubtedly do the same thing
most of the other men in the class always did and trip all over himself trying
to get paired up with Alexis or Jenni, two college-aged girls who came dressed
to impress each week. “He’s already here?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Getting
changed with Cole.” She let out a dreamy sigh and leaned back in her seat. Her
eyes took on a wistful expression. “You do realize I’m going to be a jealous
witch all day now, right? Because you’ll be in there dancing with those amazingly
hot guys, and I’m going to be stuck out here answering the phones.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As if on
cue, the phone rang and Tanya had to get back to work. I rolled my eyes at her
on my way out the door.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Charlie,
Madge, and the other retirees were making their way out of the dance studio
when I returned. Charlie stopped to place a kiss on my cheek while his wife
planted her hands on her hips and laughed. “He never gives up once he’s got his
mind set on something, Brie,” she said. “And I think he’s got his mind set on
charming you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“But it’s
you I go home with,” he said, linking his arm with hers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“For
forty-six years and counting.” Madge was beaming at him as they sauntered out
the door, grinning at me over her shoulder as they left.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I headed
over to the sound system to change the music for the class of younger students
about to come in. A couple of deep, rumbling male voices echoed in the studio a
minute later, and I looked up. Cole had come in with his friend. They were
facing the far wall, setting their gym bags down where they’d be out of the
way. The new guy—Keith—had the same muscular build as Cole, and his tight jeans
and form-fitting T-shirt only emphasized it. Big, firm butt, massive thighs,
trim waist.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He was
probably a hockey player, too, then, or at least a skater of some sort. Cole
had told me they were all built that way, that anyone who spent that much time
on the ice would have the same big thighs and bum. Speed skaters, figure
skaters, all of them. That had started me thinking about Jacob, too, because
he’d been built the same way. He’d said he worked out a lot, but I had a
feeling it went beyond that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In one of
the early classes Cole had come to, I’d asked him how he’d come to develop such
muscle in those specific areas because it caused him problems in keeping his
posture correct for ballroom dance. I was constantly having to remind him to
tuck his bottom under, telling him it shouldn’t be sticking out, and then he
would joke that there wasn’t anywhere else for it to go unless someone was
going to cut it off. His posture was definitely improving, though. He had been
working hard at it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I started
crossing over to meet my new student, but I nearly stumbled halfway there when
he turned around and I saw Jacob staring back at me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="line-height: 115%;">The</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;"> Jacob.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
one-night stand guy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The man
who had made me feel desirable again—sexy and feminine and beautiful—even if it
had only been for one night. The man I wasn’t supposed to ever see again. The
man I’d been trying to forget for months because thinking about him only made
me long for things I could never have.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’d
convinced myself he was part of a fairy tale, and fairy tales don’t come true.
At least they never did for me. My life had consisted of a series of setbacks
and disappointments, at least lately, and even though my heart was pounding and
my breath felt fluttery, the fact that he was here right now could only mean I
was being set up for an even bigger disappointment than ever before.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Guys like
him didn’t happen to me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I hope
it’s all right that I brought someone with me,” Cole said, closing the distance
between us. Jacob—no, Keith—came with him, the gold flecks in his amber-brown
eyes blazing like fire and practically burning a hole through my flesh. “You
always tell us that they’re open classes, though, that anyone can come as long
as they pay, so I figured it would be okay. Brie, this is Keith Burns, one of
my teammates. Burnzie, this is Brie Hayden. She’s my ballroom instructor.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
struggled to keep my tongue in my mouth where it belonged because I kept
thinking back to that night, to the way his hands had felt on my skin, the rich,
salty taste of his skin, the way he’d looked at me—all of me—as though I was
worth looking at. In fact, he was looking at me in exactly that same way right
now, searing me. If I wasn’t careful, I might melt into the floor from the heat
in his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He held
out his hand. “Brie, huh? That’s odd. You look more like an Allison to me.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That left
no doubt, no possible chance, that he was merely a look-alike for my Jacob.
He’d never said he was a professional hockey player. He’d only told me he
worked out a lot. Granted, that was because I’d asked him for half-truths. I’d
told him I was a teacher—which I was—but I wasn’t the kind of teacher I knew
he’d been imagining.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Vibrating
like a tattoo gun, I reached for his hand. His fingers closed around my wrist.
His hand was as big and strong and hot as I remembered everything about him
being.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“That is
odd. I’ve been Brie my whole life.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Maybe
you should try Allison on sometime and see how it feels. I think it would suit
you.” His grip on my hand was loose, yet I couldn’t move it to save my life. He
grinned, a Cheshire cat sort of expression. “I’ve always wondered what it might
be like to go by Jacob. Just for kicks. We could try it out together.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
studio door opened and half the class streamed in, and I jerked my hand away
from him as fast as if he had scalded me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Excuse
me. I have to teach a class,” I mumbled, rushing to put some distance between
us so I could shove all my marbles back into my head where they belonged.
Somehow, some way, I was going to have to hold it together well enough to teach
a class with him in it. I couldn’t fathom how I would manage it, though.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I greeted the other
students coming in, smiling and making small talk and all the things I usually
did at the beginning of a session. But the whole time I felt Keith Burns’s gaze
branding my body with his mark.</span></span>Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-38853006730360184472014-11-03T23:37:00.000-05:002014-11-03T23:37:07.505-05:00Sneak Peek: In the Zone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjMUqPj7lH6j_oHpPFfjBI26REbJG0FyIH9IwcbWElHXuXC5yXhJlFsPMSpc9Dr4axrXJydKH9dyGTVeKF9f0Naf2wce6-UEFUvP9-YC_alI50TmAMslG663nEoTT9Qmn7zoAN0dOs2TfG/s1600/CatherineGayle_InTheZone_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjMUqPj7lH6j_oHpPFfjBI26REbJG0FyIH9IwcbWElHXuXC5yXhJlFsPMSpc9Dr4axrXJydKH9dyGTVeKF9f0Naf2wce6-UEFUvP9-YC_alI50TmAMslG663nEoTT9Qmn7zoAN0dOs2TfG/s1600/CatherineGayle_InTheZone_800px.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
As I've done with the previous books in the Portland Storm series, I'm going to give you a taste of what you can expect when you get to read IN THE ZONE, available on November 20. In case you haven't pre-ordered it yet, you can do so now at <a href="http://amzn.to/1tBXi3L" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/in-the-zone/id898639798?mt=11&uo=4&at=10lLiX" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin/click?id=qh5P7IjVhZo&subid=&offerid=314507.1&type=10&tmpid=8432&RD_PARM1=http%253A%252F%252Fwww.barnesandnoble.com%252Fw%252Fin-the-zone-catherine-gayle%252F1119956686%253Fean%253D2940046067057" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>, and <a href="http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin/click?id=qh5P7IjVhZo&subid=&offerid=314164.1&type=10&tmpid=9310&RD_PARM1=http%3A%2F%2Fstore.kobobooks.com%2Fen-US%2Febook%2Fin-the-zone-6" target="_blank">Kobo</a>.<br />
<br />
All right, so here we go. This one actually starts with a prologue, so that's what you'll get for now. Enjoy!<br />
<br />
KEITH<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-variant: small-caps; line-height: 115%;">As a player </span><span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">in the
National<span style="font-variant: small-caps;"> </span>Hockey League, hooking up
with a random guest—regardless of how hot this random guest might be—at your
team captain’s wedding was a bad idea, plain and simple. It was definitely not
something <i>I</i> would ever do, but I had
a pretty strong suspicion that a few of the boys had done exactly that when
they’d left the reception.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I had been a member of the
Portland Storm since a couple of years after I was drafted, and our captain
Eric “Zee” Zellinger had been around that whole time. Zee and I weren’t best
friends or anything—that was Brenden Campbell’s role for him, known as Soupy to
the guys, and I don’t think I’d ever had anyone in Portland I’d call my best
friend, anyway—but we were <i>good</i>
friends. I was one of his assistant captains, and I couldn’t get behind the
idea of running off with some girl who might have been one of his or Soupy’s
best childhood friends when I was only in town for their joint wedding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I mean, don’t get me wrong, Zee
and his bride, Dana, and Dana’s brother—coincidentally Soupy—had invited tons
of chicks to the ceremony in Providence, so there were ample opportunities. This
was where the three of them had grown up. But the last thing I wanted to do while
I was in their hometown was to take some girl who was a friend of theirs back
to my hotel room for the night. Doing something along those lines would
undoubtedly require <i>strings</i>, and I
didn’t want any strings, even if I wouldn’t have minded having a little company.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’d flown in a couple of days
ago, in time to participate in the rehearsal and bachelor party and all that
jazz, and I’d been feeling a strong itch, if you get me, all fucking day. There
had been so many women—amazingly gorgeous women decked out in pretty summer
dresses that amplified all their curves—surrounding me the whole damn day, and
I was in bad shape. And my flight back to where I grew up in Nova Scotia wasn’t
until Monday. I intended to spend the rest of my summer there, at the cabin I’d
built on the bay in Annapolis Valley.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Don’t ask me what I had been
thinking when I planned this trip or why I hadn’t scheduled the return trip for
tomorrow, but it’d be two more full days before I could get back home. Even
then, I didn’t know who I might find to help me scratch this particular itch. I
mean, there were plenty of girls who <i>would</i>,
but that didn’t mean I wanted to open that can of worms. So many of them were
just looking for daddies for their babies, guys who had the money to get them <i>out </i>of Nova Scotia, and that wasn’t my
idea of a good plan. Again, it all came down to strings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That was why, once I had made
sure Nicklas Ericsson, one of my teammates who I had been worried about all day
long, got back to the hotel safely, I returned to my own room for the night and
found myself looking through the Providence area “Casual Encounters” listings
on Craigslist. I didn’t really expect to find anything that would pique my
interest. Mainly I was looking for a diversion, a way to pass the time. But
then I stumbled on an ad that made me stop and think. The subject line read: <i>BBW, no strings, I just need a boost in
confidence, w4m</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">No
strings? </span></i><span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That, plus the part about needing a boost in confidence,
definitely got my attention enough that I opened the listing to see if it was
legitimate or some sort of scam—a prostitute looking for a job or God only knew
what else. Surprisingly, what I found not only seemed genuine but it made me
seriously think about replying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I think
I’m probably crazy for posting something here. I hope I don’t end up regretting
this decision. You hear all sorts of horror stories about this kind of thing, but
a girlfriend suggested I try it and I attempted to convince myself that maybe
they’re just stories. I hope so because I don’t know what else to do. Here’s
the deal: my longtime boyfriend spent years telling me I was getting too fat
for him, that he didn’t find me attractive anymore, that I had to get back to a
size two or he wouldn’t be able to get turned on any longer. I tried everything,
but I have a thyroid problem. That was what caused me to gain the weight, plus
a few other things, and even with medication I couldn’t get back down to the
size he wanted me to be. He cheated with a woman who looks how I used to look,
and he left me, and I’ve been trying to find a way to believe in myself ever
since. I don’t want to date right now. I don’t even want a friends-with-benefits
kind of thing. I just want to have an experience with a man who finds me
attractive as I am, so maybe I can start to believe it again, too. No real
names. I want to meet at a hotel or somewhere equally neutral.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She hadn’t attached a picture,
which was probably the safe thing to do. Those stories she’d heard about? They
weren’t just stories. Some bad shit definitely happened as a result of these
ads, so you couldn’t be too careful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Not only did this posting feel
legitimate to me, it pissed me the fuck off. I mean, I’d seen firsthand the
horrendous results that could come from picking on someone because of something
they had no control over. What happened to my brother, Garrett, the way he’d
ended up taking his own life, was something I had to live with every day of my existence.
I never wanted to see anything like that happen again, even though there were
horror stories just like it on the news every day. Not only that, but I love
women. I love women of all shapes, colors, and sizes. They are the most fucking
beautiful, amazing, wonderful creatures on this earth as far as I’m concerned,
and any asshole who would do something like that, who would make a woman feel
like she wasn’t good enough for him because of a fucking problem with her
health? It made me want to do a lot of things that would land me in prison.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But it also made me want to
answer her ad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So I did, emailing her through
the system.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m only
in town for a couple of nights—I fly out tomorrow. I would love to meet you and
help you to see how beautiful I’m sure you are and how you don’t need a son of
a bitch like that guy in your life anymore. I’m already at a hotel. You can
come to me if you want.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I added my hotel information and
took a picture—of my face, not my dick, like a lot of asswipes on Craigslist
do—and sent it to her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Then I waited. I brushed my teeth
and jumped in the shower, just in case she actually decided to show up. When I
got out and checked my email again, there was a response from her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ll be
there at eight with condoms. I’ll call you Jacob, and you can call me Allison.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She didn’t attach a picture, but
I hadn’t asked for one. It made me wonder if she was so ashamed of how she
looked that she couldn’t even bear the thought of sending a photo of herself
through email. Thinking about that possibility only made me want to beat her ex
to a bloody pulp even more than I already did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I glanced at the clock. It was
already 7:45, so I wouldn’t have to wait long. I pulled on a clean pair of
shorts and dug out a University of Minnesota T-shirt from my college days
before I’d turned pro. Then I stretched out on the bed and turned on the TV so
I would have something to do to pass the time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At two minutes to eight, a soft
knock sounded at my door. I flipped the TV off and checked the mirror out of
habit. Everything looked good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When I opened the door, I was
floored by the beauty of the woman standing in front of me. She had long, strawberry-blond
hair and midnight-blue eyes and the most perfect little pixie nose, and she had
on glasses with chunky frames that could have looked awful but on her they
looked smart and sexy. And she wasn’t anything close to <i>fat</i>, no matter what her asshole of an ex had told her. She had curves
everywhere, though—hips that flared out, a waist that dipped in, a rack I was
already salivating at the thought of burying my face in. I could see all of
those curves even though she was wearing a loose, floor-length skirt and an
ill-fitting, short-sleeved blouse—not something that was designed to accentuate
her assets. She wasn’t skinny, but she definitely wasn’t fat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She was beautiful. She was
perfect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Hi,” she said shyly. “Jacob?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“No, I’m Kei—” I cut myself off
when I remembered she wanted this to be anonymous. For tonight, I wasn’t Keith
Burns, top defenseman for the Storm. Tonight, I was Allison’s Jacob. “Yeah,
Jacob. And you’re Allison?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She gave me a little nod and
glanced over her shoulder, like she was checking to see if anyone had noticed her.
“Can I come in?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I stepped back from the door so
she could pass through, and I closed it after her, intentionally leaving the
lock undone. I didn’t want her to feel like I was going to try to force her to
stay.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Want to sit down?” I asked. This
whole situation was awkward. Did she want to talk first or just get down to
business? I was leaning more toward at least talking for a little while. It
might be anonymous sex, but that didn’t mean it had to be cold and distant sex.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Allison nodded and went over to
the chair in the corner, pulling the tote bag she’d brought with her onto her
lap. “I’ve never done this before,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Me neither.” One-night stands?
Yes. One-night stands with perfect strangers? Never. I smiled and pulled the
roller chair out from the desk, turning it so I could face her. I couldn’t stop
myself from staring, practically devouring her with my eyes. I was already
hard, and she hadn’t even been here for two minutes yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“You’re a lot bigger than I
expected you to be from your picture,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She was a lot hotter than I’d
expected her to be, but that didn’t seem like the right thing to say at the
moment. She was a little younger than I’d guessed she would be, though. Maybe
even a few years younger than my twenty-eight. I’d thought she’d have lived a
little more life based on the things she’d said in that ad. Still, she was
definitely old enough that she ought to know how gorgeous she was, no matter
what her fucking ex had said and done.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And now I was back to wanting to
bash his face in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I shrugged, as though that could
force aside all the negative energy I was feeling toward some man I’d never
met. “Yeah, well, I’m a— Wait…do you want fact or fiction?” I didn’t want to
make her any more nervous about this than she already was. If she didn’t relax,
this wouldn’t go well, and I wanted it to go well for her. I wanted it to be
the best damn sex of her life, and I wanted her to walk out of here believing
in herself, knowing she was as amazingly sexy as I thought she was. All of that
meant I needed to give her what she wanted, though, whatever that may be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“How about partial truth?”
Allison suggested. “Don’t lie about anything, but don’t tell me everything,
either. Hold some of it back.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I could do that. “Okay. I’m big
because I work out a lot.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She nodded. “It’s hard to tell
things like that from a single picture.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Did you pick me because of my
picture?” I’d always known I was a good-looking guy. Women had always hit on me
because I was the whole package, at least the way they saw it. I looked good, I
took care of myself, I made a shit-ton of money, and I was relatively famous
without being paparazzi-worthy. It was fun to be me. At least on the surface. Sometimes
it could be lonely, too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I owned this huge house on the
river back in Portland—some of the guys called it a mansion, and I supposed it
wasn’t far from one—but it was just me and my dogs living there. It was a lot
of space—almost 15,000 square feet—and girls I picked up in a bar and brought
home for the night didn’t tend to stick around long enough to really share it
with them. Sometimes I had parties there, but that was only a temporary means
of filling up all the empty corners and quiet rooms. Everyone went home
eventually, leaving me to my solitude until I couldn’t take it anymore, until I
needed fun and noise and companionship again or else I would wallow in my loneliness
until my guilt ate me alive, and then I would throw another party so I wouldn’t
have to think about it anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That wasn’t to say I disliked my
life. I enjoyed being single. I enjoyed being able to party and have a good
time and not have to worry about anyone but me. I definitely took advantage of
all the advantages I’d been given. But sometimes the thought of having someone
waiting for me at home when I got back from a road trip sounded nice. Sometimes
I missed the noise of growing up in a house of three boys, with friends coming
and going, and everyone yelling, and chaos reigning. I missed hearing my mom
shout over our noise to tell us to keep it down, insisting that the neighbors
would complain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My neighbors in Portland
sometimes complained, too. Only when I had those parties, though. Otherwise, it
was only me and the dogs and a ton of silence and empty space.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And yet, here I was, sitting in a
hotel room in Providence, getting ready to have sex with a woman I’d never met
before and whose real name I didn’t even know. I supposed that was yet another
way of filling up the empty spaces inside me, if you wanted to look at it that
way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Allison shrugged, and then she
blushed, which only made me think about things I could do to make her blush
some more. “I picked you because you were the only one who responded with a
picture of your face and not of…other parts of you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I don’t really want pictures of my
anatomy floating around the Internet,” I joked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Yeah. Good. I don’t either.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“So what do you do, Allison?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I teach,” she said cautiously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I could definitely picture her in
front of a classroom full of kids. That probably meant she had an entire closet
filled with clothes like the ones she had on, though. Maybe a little more
professional looking, but nothing that would emphasize her figure or draw
attention to how beautiful she was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“You’re not from around here?”
she asked. “You said you were only here for a few nights.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I’m from Canada,” I replied. She
had asked for truth, but not the whole truth. I lived in Portland now, at least
most of the time. Still, I was definitely <i>not</i>
from Providence. “Some friends got married here today. I was in the wedding
party.” All of that was truth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Gradually, she started to relax.
Her shoulders weren’t so tense, and she even set her bag down on the floor
beside her instead of holding it on her lap as though it held the last vestiges
of her sanity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“So you really won’t stay long,
then? And you’re clean?” she asked. “I should have made sure of that before I
agreed to come over here, but I was so nervous about what I was doing that I
didn’t even think—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I’m clean,” I interrupted. “I’m
not a saint. I’ve slept with a number of women, but I always use protection and
I’ve been tested recently.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“All right. Good.” She nodded as
if she was trying to make it all okay in her head. “I’m clean, too. I had three
partners before…well, before him. No one since. I’ve been tested, too.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She was so nervous that a part of
me wanted to tell her we didn’t have to do anything if she didn’t want to. But
I worried that she might take that as a sign that I wasn’t interested. Given
what she’d talked about in her ad, and the fact that her confidence seemed
almost fragile right now, I didn’t want to do anything she might misconstrue. I
needed her to feel wanted, especially since I really, truly did want her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“How long has it been?” I asked.
She’d said that they’d been together for a long time, but I had no idea how
long it had been since he’d cheated on her and hurt her so badly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Almost a year.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“And you haven’t dated anyone
since? You haven’t had anyone tell you how beautiful you are in all that time?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I don’t—” She cut herself off
and thought for a moment before continuing, taking her time as though she was
weighing each word. “It’s hard to believe I could be beautiful these days
because my body has changed so much, and he told me how fat I was for so long
that it’s all I can see.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Well, it’s a fucking lie.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Allison stared at me for a long
minute, and then she shook her head. “I wish it were easier to believe that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“That’s why you’re here, though.
So I can help you start to believe it again.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Yes.” She took a deep breath,
and I watched her chest rise and fall with it. “Can I… Do you mind if I kiss
you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I’d mind if you didn’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She nodded and bit down on her
lower lip like she was trying to build up the courage to do it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Come here.” I stood up and
closed some of the distance between us, trying to make it easier on her. She
didn’t have to be the one to initiate everything. It had to have taken a ton of
courage to post the ad in the first place. I held out my hand, waiting for her
to take it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After a moment, she got to her
feet and took my hand, and I gently eased her closer to me. She stopped when we
were inches apart, bracing her hands on my biceps. I rested mine on her waist.
She was soft and warm, and the gentle slope of her hips made me almost
desperate to get my hands on her ass. But that had to wait. If I rushed her,
she’d probably leave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“This is nice,” she murmured.
Even this small amount of contact already had her breathing a little heavier,
and I knew her pulse had to be hammering through her veins—just like mine was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I nodded. <i>Nice</i> wasn’t quite right, but I didn’t want to think too much about
trivial things like that. The heat between us seemed to intensify her perfume,
but maybe it was only that we were so close together now. It was sweet and
powdery, and it made me want to bury my nose against her neck so it could fill
me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Allison laughed, a nervous sort
of laughter, and she licked her lips. Luscious lips. Full and pink, and they
looked amazingly soft. “Should we just go for it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Instead of answering her, I went
for it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She sucked in a breath right
before my mouth met hers. Her lips were even softer than they looked, and I
sucked the lower one between both of mine. It took a few moments, but she
relaxed into me and hummed against my lips, moving hers apart far enough that I
could slip my tongue in her mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I teased her for a minute, my
tongue brushing lightly alongside hers and flicking every now and then, until
she started to mimic my actions. She angled her head, taking the kiss deeper,
and she slid her hands up my arms to settle on my shoulders.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Or I thought she would settle
them there. Instead, she started to glide them everywhere, her palms and
fingers seeking out the ridges of every muscle. The flats of her palms came
down my chest, exploring my pecs before traveling lower, to my abs. I felt my
muscles ripple beneath her touch, and she sucked in another breath in response.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I kissed her cheeks, her neck,
settling my lips on her collarbone even though the soft fabric of her blouse
was still in the way. “Allison?” I hadn’t moved my hands from her waist, even
though it was killing me to keep them still. I wanted to cup her ass and draw
her to me. I wanted to delve under her shirt and mold her breasts to my hands.
I wanted—God, how I wanted—to slide that skirt down her hips and explore her
slick core with my tongue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Yes?”
Her voice hitched on the word, and she slipped her hands around to my sides so
they tickled my ribs. Then she tugged me closer to her, until her nose hit the
dip of my clavicle and my cock pressed into her belly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Do you
want me to touch you?” I needed to hear her say it. I couldn’t assume and take
what I wanted. It wasn’t enough for me that she had come to my hotel room with
sex being the intention. Because with little I knew about her, I needed her to
give me explicit consent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She
nodded, and I hoped she wouldn’t stop there. She didn’t. “I want to feel your
hands on me,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">An inch
at a time, I dropped my hands back and down until I had a cheek in each palm.
Her ass was as soft and sweet and curvy as the rest of her. I squeezed her,
drawing her closer still, and she let out an almost inaudible moan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’d never
been this turned on before while still fully clothed. My cock was hard enough
to jackhammer through a fucking concrete wall. Allison stretched up on her
tiptoes, putting her arms around my neck and holding on tight. That pushed her
breasts right up against my chest, twin cushioned pillows with rock-hard little
nubs poking into me. I let out a groan at the sensation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I want
to take your clothes off,” I said. Allison was nodding and reaching down to tug
the hem of her shirt up almost before I got the words out. I put one hand on
hers to stop her. “No. I want to do it slowly, using my hands. My teeth. Every
time I uncover an inch of your skin, I want to kiss you there, to see you and
taste you and soak you in. And then when I’ve got you naked, when I’ve kissed
and licked and sucked every hot, trembling, silky-soft inch of your amazingly
beautiful body, I want to lick your pussy until you’re writhing and moaning and
coming all over me with the best fucking orgasm of your life.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With
every word out of my mouth, the pounding of her heart grew more frantic, her
breathing more agitated, and her eyes—those gorgeous midnight-blue eyes—got
bigger and darker and more intense.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Oh,” she
said, breathy and soft.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“And
while you’re still coming, while your pussy is still clenching and quivering,
and it’s all hot and slick and wet, that’s when I want to lift your legs up,
rest your feet on my shoulders, and fuck you like you’ve never been fucked
before until you come again.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Yes,”
she said finally, a strangled sound coming from her throat. “Yes, Jacob.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Jacob? Oh
right. That was me. “You’re sure?” I needed for her to want every bit of that
as much as I did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Positive.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“You
brought condoms?” I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. I wanted them ready and
waiting when I was—when I had <i>her</i>
ready for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Allison nodded.
She backed away and bent to her bag, pulling out a brand-new box that was still
sealed. She set it on the nightstand closest to her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 302.15pt; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Before
she could turn around, I picked her up and tossed her into the middle of the
bed. I kissed her again, covering her with my body while she moaned with
pleasure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Cambria",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"> Then I followed through
with each and every one of the promises I’d just made her.</span>Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-27788988725581611022014-09-18T10:40:00.002-04:002014-09-18T10:41:54.495-04:00Double Major is LIVE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.5px;">Double Major is a novella of second epilogues to books 1-4 of the Portland Storm series. It is approximately 35,000 words long.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.5px;">It's the NHL's draft day, but the whole Portland Storm team is back together for an entirely different event. Complete with a double wedding, an unanticipated guest, overdue apologies, unexpected goodbyes, and fresh starts, this big day has the potential to get them all called for a Double Major.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.5px;">Buy it now at:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://amzn.to/1yimsbf" style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.5px; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/double-major/id901600914?mt=11&uo=4&at=10lLiX" style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.5px; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">iBooks</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin/click?id=qh5P7IjVhZo&subid&offerid=314507.1&type=10&tmpid=8432&RD_PARM1=http%253A%252F%252Fwww.barnesandnoble.com%252Fw%252Fdouble-major-catherine-gayle%252F1119986307%253Fean%253D2940045648165" style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.5px; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin/click?id=qh5P7IjVhZo&subid&offerid=314164.1&type=10&tmpid=9310&RD_PARM1=http%3A%2F%2Fstore.kobobooks.com%2Fen-US%2Febook%2Fdouble-major" style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.5px; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Also, IN THE ZONE is available for pre-orders at the big ebook retailers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Here's the working blurb (subject to change):</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjMUqPj7lH6j_oHpPFfjBI26REbJG0FyIH9IwcbWElHXuXC5yXhJlFsPMSpc9Dr4axrXJydKH9dyGTVeKF9f0Naf2wce6-UEFUvP9-YC_alI50TmAMslG663nEoTT9Qmn7zoAN0dOs2TfG/s1600/CatherineGayle_InTheZone_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjMUqPj7lH6j_oHpPFfjBI26REbJG0FyIH9IwcbWElHXuXC5yXhJlFsPMSpc9Dr4axrXJydKH9dyGTVeKF9f0Naf2wce6-UEFUvP9-YC_alI50TmAMslG663nEoTT9Qmn7zoAN0dOs2TfG/s1600/CatherineGayle_InTheZone_800px.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;">It was supposed to be one night of fake names, half-truths, and anonymous sex. Neither of them was prepared for it to turn into so much more. Keith Burns, star defenseman for the NHL’s Portland Storm, was just looking for a way to pass the time and ease the loneliness of his lavish lifestyle. Brianna Hayden wanted to find herself again after health issues changed everything. That one night turns out to be so much more than either Keith or Brie expects, but anonymity is the name of their game, and the rules were laid down at the outset. Pushing for the truth might land Keith a permanent spot in Brie’s penalty box, but it’s a chance he’s willing to take. Once he gets In the Zone, he’ll be on the forecheck—but Brie’s heart is the goal he’s seeking.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;">You can place pre-orders at <a href="http://amzn.to/1r8YQkw" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fitunes.apple.com%2Fus%2Fbook%2Fin-the-zone%2Fid898639798%3Fmt%3D11%26uo%3D4%26at%3D10lLiX&h=PAQEfHnK1" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fclick.linksynergy.com%2Ffs-bin%2Fclick%3Fid%3Dqh5P7IjVhZo%26subid%26offerid%3D314507.1%26type%3D10%26tmpid%3D8432%26RD_PARM1%3Dhttp%25253A%25252F%25252Fwww.barnesandnoble.com%25252Fw%25252Fin-the-zone-catherine-gayle%25252F1119956686%25253Fean%25253D2940046067057&h=GAQFIfhKY" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>, and <a href="http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fclick.linksynergy.com%2Ffs-bin%2Fclick%3Fid%3Dqh5P7IjVhZo%26subid%26offerid%3D314157.1%26type%3D10%26tmpid%3D9388%26RD_PARM1%3Dhttp%253A%252F%252Fstore.kobobooks.com%252Fen-US%252Febook%252Fin-the-zone-6&h=GAQFIfhKY" target="_blank">Kobo</a>. It releases on November 20, 2014.</span></span><br />
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Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-90736333361947935142014-09-16T09:06:00.002-04:002014-09-16T09:06:47.792-04:00Box Sets, Box Sets, Box Sets!<span style="font-family: inherit;">They're all live! If you didn't pre-order them, go out and snatch these box sets up now. They're each only $0.99, and they're only available for a limited time.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuo5p2WytkeGPOAOoEmxdcPtP8nMiZvGAo0gfNB286__JSktJhkI8LH4m_hQepYeBlH0WO5LU_4rkzWgZ7nEg_gM77HEx6zlORtvsENVymbW5zZ3ksttWZ_hd8t9evlruXLmcFlUc_lOpZ/s1600/Beginnings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuo5p2WytkeGPOAOoEmxdcPtP8nMiZvGAo0gfNB286__JSktJhkI8LH4m_hQepYeBlH0WO5LU_4rkzWgZ7nEg_gM77HEx6zlORtvsENVymbW5zZ3ksttWZ_hd8t9evlruXLmcFlUc_lOpZ/s1600/Beginnings.jpg" height="320" width="201" /></span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Seven best-selling New Adult romance authors offer the first books in their series. From tattoo artists, to billionaires to rock stars, and everything in between, you're guaranteed to get hooked on one or more new series. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This compilation contains more than 450,000 words, all for 99 cents! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The contributions are: </span></div>
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">Tall, Tatted and Tempting by Tammy Falkner</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">He's a tattoo artist in NYC. She's living on the streets, and spends her time busking for change in the subway tunnels. One broken nose later, and he takes her home with him to keep her safe. But she has secrets, and she's not willing to share them so he can help her. Not until she absolutely has to in order to protect someone he loves. First in the Reed Brothers Series. </span></div>
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">Live for You by Marquita Valentine</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">For years, I had the perfect life and the perfect career as the reigning princess of country music, Violet Lynn. Then after one drunken night, my mug shot went viral. Unable to withstand the questions from the press or the sight of my ex-boyfriend with my ex-best friend, I ran... straight into the arms of one bad boy bartender, Cole Morgan. The first book in the Boys of the South series. </span></div>
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">At Any Price by Brenna Aubrey</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">An online virginity auction. A geek girl virgin. A sexy CEO. When he's the winning bidder, she gets more than she bargained for. Is he playing her or is he playing for keeps? First book in the Gaming the System series. </span></div>
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">The Trap by Beverley Kendall</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I always thought Mitch and I were the kind of couple who could make it through anything. I didn’t think anything could come between us, including the hundreds of miles that separated us when he went away to college. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It took getting pregnant for me to realize how wrong I was. First book in the Trapped series. </span></div>
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">Stay With Me by Elyssa Patrick</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Can a famous girl step away from the spotlight and have a normal life? Hailey Bloom is going to find out . . . only she never expected to find love along the way. The first book in the With Me series. </span></div>
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">Breakaway by Catherine Gayle</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dana Campbell's panic attacks make it impossible for her to have a normal relationship with a man, at least without someone to help her through them. Her older brother's best friend, Eric Zellinger, is the only man she trusts enough to ask. As the captain of the NHL's struggling Portland Storm, he can't afford to lose focus--but he can't say no to Dana, either. First book in the Portland Storm series. </span></div>
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">The Trouble with Goodbye by Sarra Cannon</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">One terrifying night in Boston changed everything for Leigh Anne Davis. She heads home to the small town of Fairhope, Georgia to reclaim her old life, never expecting to meet a guy like Knox Warner, the troubled newcomer with eyes as haunted as her own. She's drawn to him, but if she wants to save what's left of her old life, she has no choice but to say goodbye to him forever.Only the trouble with goodbye is that sometimes it's about courage and sometimes it's about fear. And sometimes you're too broken to know the difference until it's too late. First book in the Fairhope series.</span></div>
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You can buy Beginnings now at <a href="http://amzn.to/1uDcKMs" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin/click?id=qh5P7IjVhZo&subid=&offerid=314507.1&type=10&tmpid=8432&RD_PARM1=http%253A%252F%252Fwww.barnesandnoble.com%252Fw%252Fbeginnings-tammy-falkner%252F1120320378%253Fean%253D2940150624221" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>, <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/beginnings-collection-first/id910018401?mt=11&uo=4&at=10lLiX" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, and <a href="http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin/click?id=qh5P7IjVhZo&subid=&offerid=314164.1&type=10&tmpid=9310&RD_PARM1=http%3A%2F%2Fstore.kobobooks.com%2Fen-US%2Febook%2Fbeginnings-a-collection-of-first-in-series-new-adult-romances" target="_blank">Kobo</a>.</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Next up, we have <b>Playing for Passion: A Limited Edition Collection of Bestselling Sports Romances.</b></span></div>
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Love is the name of the game in this limited-edition boxed set of sizzling sports romances. Twelve New York Times bestselling, USA Today bestselling, and award-winning authors put you right in the action with scintillating stories of hot athletes and the women who prove love is the ultimate game-changer. </div>
</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf3TCb6m27XXTriKin3FkPsfk8VLlhlNGg_xa9syLdz-cXdpiyIjDnhd59f7UqGFzrOkdBry7OO1duARvprtSuDfmqk68wGFJtnB-XU7lwlEavsTpbQcOrd8uOm2U3uh5DwZm5mOI1tonM/s1600/PlayingForPassion_2DBoxSet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf3TCb6m27XXTriKin3FkPsfk8VLlhlNGg_xa9syLdz-cXdpiyIjDnhd59f7UqGFzrOkdBry7OO1duARvprtSuDfmqk68wGFJtnB-XU7lwlEavsTpbQcOrd8uOm2U3uh5DwZm5mOI1tonM/s1600/PlayingForPassion_2DBoxSet.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></span></a><div style="text-align: left;">
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">Dare to Love by Carly Phillips</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">: Riley Taylor believes herself immune to domineering men—until charismatic team owner Ian Dare turns a kiss into an assault on her senses and she learns she likes his brand of control in the bedroom. They complete each other, but Riley's past is closer than she cares to remember—and her struggles against Ian’s dominance might cost her everything.</span></div>
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">Breaking Away by Toni Aleo</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">: Phillip and Reese are happy in their single lives. They do what, who, and how they want, but from the moment they meet, attraction is undeniable. Soon, they’re willing to get tangled in the sheets. But one night turns into two, and two into three, until they find themselves in a repeated dance of “One Last Time” that has the potential to be more.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">Hook Me by Chelle Bliss</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">: Michael Gallo found his calling in life—he wants to kick ass. The title is no longer enough—he must capture the woman of his dreams.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">Bigger than Beckham by V.K. Sykes</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">: Sports mogul and soccer star Tony Branch takes one look at sexy Martha Winston and her soccer team and decides he wants both. But Martha has no intention of submitting to Tony’s demands—until he gives her no choice!</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">Love Bats Last by Pamela Aares</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">: The baseball diamond isn’t the only field for all-star Alex Tavonesi; he also runs his family’s prestigious vineyard. But what he can’t seem to run is his love life. When love’s in the game you can’t play it safe...</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">Schooling the Player by Allie K. Adams</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">: Women throw themselves at star pitcher Zach “Breaker” Evans, and he plays the field. When curvy Becca Porter moves in next door and treats him as nothing more than a neighbor, he goes all-out for her attention. One night, one party, and one winner-takes-all bet, changes everything.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">Crashing the Boards by Jami Davenport</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">: Professional party crasher Izzy Maxwell needs team captain and reluctant party guest Cooper Black’s cooperation, but he can’t get past his hockey team’s relocation to Seattle. Can Izzy melt his frozen heart or will this party crash along with her fledgling business?</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">Breakaway by Catherine Gayle</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">: Dana Campbell’s panic attacks make it impossible for her to have a normal relationship with a man. She asks her brother’s best friend, Eric Zellinger, for help. As the captain of the struggling Portland Storm, he can’t lose focus—but he can’t say no to Dana, either.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">Perfect Pitch by Mindy Klasky</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">: When cocky star pitcher DJ Thomas slams reigning beauty queen Samantha Winger in an interview, Sam seduces him even as she uses their notoriety to promote her kids music program. Can Sam and DJ's blazing relationship survive when DJ's son begs to trade Little League for music class?</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">Inside Heat by Roz Lee</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">: Identical twins Jeff and Jason Holder share everything on and off the field, including Megan Long. When Jeff is injured, he could lose everything he loves: Megan, his brother, and his career. It’s going to take more than physical therapy to mend relationships and get him back on the mound. It’s all fun and games until someone falls in love.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">Fire on Ice by Dakota Madison</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">: Firestorm Center Kian Kavanagh dominates the ice like a rock star on stage. After Taylor Thompson's heart was shattered by her high school's most popular jock, she vowed never to date another athlete, but after a chance meeting with Kian, Taylor's walls are in danger of being burned down by Mr. Fire on Ice.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">Game Misconduct by Bianca Sommerland</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">: Oriana Delgado’s father owns the Dartmouth Cobras, but he doesn’t own her. When he treats her future like another play, she changes the rules and picks her own lineup. But the intended deke turns into the real thing, and the game can’t be won in one lusty night.</span></div>
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Buy Playing for Passion now at <a href="http://amzn.to/ZnXuYm" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/playing-for-passion/id912557324?mt=11&uo=4&at=10lLiX" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin/click?id=qh5P7IjVhZo&subid=&offerid=314507.1&type=10&tmpid=8432&RD_PARM1=http%253A%252F%252Fwww.barnesandnoble.com%252Fw%252Fplaying-for-passion-carly-phillips%252F1120343761%253Fean%253D2940150569591" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>, and <a href="http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin/click?id=qh5P7IjVhZo&subid=&offerid=314164.1&type=10&tmpid=9310&RD_PARM1=http%3A%2F%2Fstore.kobobooks.com%2Fen-US%2Febook%2Fplaying-for-passion" target="_blank">Kobo</a>.</div>
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</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh99rA-fDqUDYbhmS5XUKGf1gxDGQ1-CwrIssnILk7O81gWJWaWPCIEyY6LLRMnL0ZzIZ2pi4FzLCCTnRRHTTAOI4872ljjeon256mLICbrosShI18oy63FXkofcC7lXskSir4xSHJwT9mG/s1600/FTBAB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh99rA-fDqUDYbhmS5XUKGf1gxDGQ1-CwrIssnILk7O81gWJWaWPCIEyY6LLRMnL0ZzIZ2pi4FzLCCTnRRHTTAOI4872ljjeon256mLICbrosShI18oy63FXkofcC7lXskSir4xSHJwT9mG/s1600/FTBAB.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></span></a><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">And finally, we have </span><b style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">From the Ballroom and Beyond</b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nine best-selling, award winning authors bring you a limited time collection of full length, sexy stories of Regency Romance. Lose yourself in nine historical tales of passion, laughter, desire and intrigue, right along with a breathtaking group of scoundrels, rogues and libertine lords—and the spirited ladies who tame them. This box set includes: Ava Stone's A Scandalous Past, Rose Gordon's His Jilted Bride, Jerrica Knight-Catania's More than a Governess, Catherine Gayle's Twice a Rake, Deb Marlowe's The Love List, Julie Johnstone's Bargaining with a Rake, Claudia Dain's Much Ado About Dutton, Jane Charles's A Reluctant Rake, and Christi Caldwell's My Lady of Deception!</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy From the Ballroom and Beyond at <a href="http://amzn.to/1qYIZTT" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin/click?id=qh5P7IjVhZo&subid=&offerid=314507.1&type=10&tmpid=8432&RD_PARM1=http%253A%252F%252Fwww.barnesandnoble.com%252Fw%252Ffrom-the-ballroom-and-beyond-a-limited-edition-nine-book-regency-romance-box-set-rose-gordon%252F1120200699%253Fean%253D2940046119756" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>, and <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/from-the-ballroom-and-beyond/id911742937?mt=11&uo=4&at=10lLiX" target="_blank">iBooks</a>.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Only two more days until Double Major releases! Go snag it, too. :)</span></span>Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-27497309424213071062014-09-11T09:38:00.001-04:002014-09-11T09:38:10.189-04:00New Book, New Sneak Peek, New Links<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwa6erGSHzKSB2KioTGAoAsLGozkvyIz7z5vClfUGvo50XisDMerN3n2RalkgeAv2thpCGT2FNEvJV86KZXp4Mf9KziAH7D_8utCfHdADJ8NW9nhyphenhyphenfCIE78rFvQ8pw7ZCshk9B52eIJ2PH/s1600/CatherineGayle_TakingAShot_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwa6erGSHzKSB2KioTGAoAsLGozkvyIz7z5vClfUGvo50XisDMerN3n2RalkgeAv2thpCGT2FNEvJV86KZXp4Mf9KziAH7D_8utCfHdADJ8NW9nhyphenhyphenfCIE78rFvQ8pw7ZCshk9B52eIJ2PH/s1600/CatherineGayle_TakingAShot_800px.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In all the insanity of my life in the last couple of weeks, I forgot to update my blog with the links for purchasing Taking a Shot, which is available now. You can buy it at <a href="http://amzn.to/1w3Xk38">Amazon</a>, <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/taking-a-shot/id901414630?mt=11&uo=4&at=10lLiX">iBooks</a>,
<a href="http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin/click?id=qh5P7IjVhZo&subid=&offerid=314507.1&type=10&tmpid=8432&RD_PARM1=http%253A%252F%252Fwww.barnesandnoble.com%252Fw%252Ftaking-a-shot-catherine-gayle%252F1119986309%253Fean%253D2940045648189%2526itm%253D1%2526usri%253Dcatherine%252Bgayle">Barnes
and Noble</a>, <a href="http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin/click?id=qh5P7IjVhZo&subid=&offerid=314164.1&type=10&tmpid=9310&RD_PARM1=http%3A%2F%2Fstore.kobobooks.com%2Fen-US%2Febook%2Ftaking-a-shot-1">Kobo
US</a>, <a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-takingashot-1612890-149.html">All
Romance eBooks</a>, and <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/457350">Smashwords</a>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And in one more week, you'll be able to buy Double Major, the novella that is a second epilogue to all of the previous books in the series. You can pre-order it now at <a href="http://amzn.to/1w3XgAi">Amazon</a>, <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/double-major/id901600914?mt=11&uo=4&at=10lLiX">iBooks</a>,
<a href="http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin/click?id=qh5P7IjVhZo&subid=&offerid=314507.1&type=10&tmpid=8432&RD_PARM1=http%253A%252F%252Fwww.barnesandnoble.com%252Fw%252Fdouble-major-catherine-gayle%252F1119986307%253Fean%253D2940045648165">Barnes
and Noble</a>, and <a href="http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin/click?id=qh5P7IjVhZo&subid=&offerid=314164.1&type=10&tmpid=9310&RD_PARM1=http%3A%2F%2Fstore.kobobooks.com%2Fen-US%2Febook%2Fdouble-major">Kobo
US</a> if you don't want to wait. :) Here's the third and final sneak peek into that book.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxAMkR65lNhDvH8_KY21TydsKcJn2hZKSuBzYWeo-UQ_0ntD6X8EHv_cATVNeEV__hFj9KmHlPA0xrWlcZkXTr37VzLN9qAgBGaBXsGMr36AJsodgEi_T60vtJlLisWbv3CRD2uLE8BDX/s1600/CatherineGayle_DoubleMajor_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxAMkR65lNhDvH8_KY21TydsKcJn2hZKSuBzYWeo-UQ_0ntD6X8EHv_cATVNeEV__hFj9KmHlPA0xrWlcZkXTr37VzLN9qAgBGaBXsGMr36AJsodgEi_T60vtJlLisWbv3CRD2uLE8BDX/s1600/CatherineGayle_DoubleMajor_800px.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">DANA:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">We
really shouldn’t</span> have left Laura in charge of the bachelorette party, despite
the fact that she was one of my best friends—and one of our joint bridesmaids—but
somehow she’d finagled her way into that position, anyway. I should have tried
harder to insist that Sara would be better suited to the task and had Laura
deal with the bridal shower. Instead, the pair of them had ended up in charge
of the exact opposite event we had been hoping for.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Laura meant
well, but she’d had so much on her plate lately with Katie’s illness and
graduating high school, and then also with Dave retiring and moving into a
different part of his career, that she had forgotten some things—like my panic
attacks. Even now, she seemed so caught up in the moment that she wasn’t aware
of my extreme discomfort.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That was how I
ended up in my current predicament. Not only did I have to figure out a good
excuse for turning down wine and other drinks at every turn, but I also had
virtually nude men shaking their thong-clad backsides in my face in the hope
that I’d shove a bill in the string. That wasn’t going to happen. I’d come a
long way in the last year and a half but not so far that I had any intention of
touching a strange man’s ass. But because I was one of the two brides, the
strippers were paying particular attention to me, no matter how many times I
refused to participate. At least they didn’t touch me. They just hoped I would
touch them—and at least that left me in control of the situation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sara would have
probably found a classier bar to take us to instead of a strip club. Then I
would only be dealing with the alcohol aspect of this uncomfortable night. It
was too late for a change of plans, though.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Once the current
stripper gave up and went to shimmy for Rachel, our waiter came over. He was
wearing pants, thank God, but no shirt, just a bowtie, leaving his waxed chest
bare.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You sure I
can’t bring you something, sugar?” he asked, giving me what I was sure he
thought was a seductive smile. To me it only seemed smarmy. “Brides drink free
at bachelorette parties here. I could get you a sauvignon blanc…a sex on the
beach…maybe a pomegranate cosmo?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Katie leaned
over so she could whisper in my ear. “Get something and give it to me if you
don’t want it. Mom won’t notice tonight. She’s…distracted.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I rolled my eyes
at her and turned my attention back to the waiter. “I’m sure. Just water for
me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Spoilsport,” Katie
muttered, but she was grinning. She knew there was no chance I was going to
give her alcohol with her mother sitting three seats over. She should just be
glad that her father didn’t know she was here. Yeah, he knew she was with us,
but I doubted Laura had filled him in on the precise details of her plans for
the evening.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Katie was
eighteen now, so she was a legal adult, but that didn’t mean he was any less
protective of her than he always had been. Especially not after she’d just been
given a clean bill of health.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The waiter
worked his way through the rest of our group getting more drink orders, and a
new song came on, signaling a new stripper coming to the stage. I tried to
brace myself for another onslaught of naked man-flesh wobbling in my face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“So why aren’t
you drinking?” Katie asked, sipping from her Shirley Temple. She kept her voice
down so she wouldn’t catch anyone else’s attention. “You never drink much, but
you usually drink <i>some</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Her mother had asked
me the same question earlier, narrowing her eyes on me as though that would
give her X-ray vision into my mind. I’d managed to brush Laura off long enough
for the show to start up and drive her attention away from me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I would have
thought the show would distract Katie, too. She was only eighteen, and I was
pretty sure she’d never been to a strip club before. Yes, Portland was the
strip-club capital of the United States, but they were almost all clubs with <i>female</i> strippers. I only knew of one
that had male dancers, and it was a gay club that only catered to clientele
with XY chromosomes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I just don’t
want to be hungover tomorrow,” I hedged. “Not for my big day.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“One glass of
wine isn’t enough to give you a hangover.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“But one leads
to two…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You’re pregnant,”
Katie whispered. “Aren’t you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Before I could
answer, a naked butt cheek was waving in my face, nearly whacking me in the
nose he got so close. In my haste to get away, I leaned back in my chair so far
I almost knocked it over and fell onto the lap of whoever was sitting behind
me. I had to close my eyes and concentrate on remembering to breathe so I
wouldn’t start having a panic attack. That wasn’t exactly how I wanted to spend
the night before my wedding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Katie helped to
right my chair, and my eyes shot open wide. She took one look at me and then
leaned across the girls between her and her mother. Laura had a fistful of
dollar bills, and Katie whipped two of them free. She shoved them into the
dancer’s thong and smacked him on the ass, and he went away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Aren’t you?”
she repeated as soon as he was gone. She was acting as if what she’d just done
had been no big deal, like it could have been an everyday occurrence. How could
she be so calm about something like that?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You can’t say a
word to <i>anyone</i>,” I hissed at her. “I
might not be. I don’t know yet, I just think I might be. But no one knows, no
one at all, and Eric should be the first to find out about it if I am.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’d just
realized this morning that I was almost a week late. With everything leading up
to the wedding, it hadn’t even crossed my mind. Eric and I always used
protection, but nothing was one hundred percent fail-safe. It could just be the
stress of wedding planning that had thrown a wrench in my cycle, but I wasn’t
going to hold my breath.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Katie grinned.
“But you don’t want to take any chances tonight in case you are.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Right.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Our little
secret. Not gonna say a thing to a single soul.” She shot her eyes over to Sara,
and her lips twisted into a bit of a grimace, and I knew without her saying
another word that she was thinking the same thing I was. Sara had just
miscarried a couple of months ago. I didn’t know how she’d take it when she found
out I was pregnant—<i>if</i> I was pregnant.
She’d been through a lot of counseling, but this was definitely going to be a
blow. I wanted to make sure I handled it well, if and when it was time to let
her in on the happy news.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Things like this
were just one of many reasons I really liked Katie. She was young, but she was
very sweet and thoughtful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“We should get
one of those tests,” Katie said. “You should find out tonight so you can tell
Zee tomorrow.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That was
actually an excellent suggestion. If there was one thing that would make
tomorrow more perfect than it already should be, it would be being able to tell
Eric I was going to have his baby.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I nodded and winked
at her now, and she turned her attention back to the stage. None of this seemed
to be fazing her, even though it was shocking me to my core. I mean, there’s a
difference between knowing strip clubs existed and experiencing all they had to
offer half an inch away from your face. I kind of wished I could go back in
time and revert to the knowing-they-exist phase.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We had more than
just the women in the wedding party here tonight. Several of my former teammates
from my high school and college hockey teams had joined us, as well as some of
the women I’d worked with at Love Handles when I’d still lived here in
Providence. They all seemed to be enjoying themselves, at least—much like Laura
and Sara were. Rachel kept blushing, her cheeks turning as bright red as her
hair, and Katie seemed almost immune. And then there was Noelle Payne, who had
her back turned to the whole thing so she could talk to the woman behind her. I
had to laugh at her ability to tune it all out. She might as well be at home or
at work, or anywhere but with a bunch of almost-naked men gyrating nearby. She
was oblivious to it all in the best possible way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I made up my
mind to try to be more like her for the rest of the night. Whatever it took, I
wasn’t going to let any of this get to me. I wasn’t going to let it set me off.
I’d been doing too well lately, and the last thing I wanted to do the night
before I got married was allow something as silly as this to cause me to take a
step backward.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I turned back to
Katie. “So…you and Babs. When’s this going to become a real thing?” I
understood all the reasons they hadn’t become an official couple before now, but
those reasons seemed to have all evaporated. Katie was old enough now and wasn’t
in high school anymore. The cancer was gone. Her dad was going to be one of
Babs’s coaches now, not his teammate—but Sara and Jonny had already tackled
that hurdle and come out all right in the end. There didn’t seem to be anything
else standing in the way of the two of them becoming the couple we all knew
they were destined to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She turned big
doe eyes on me—sad eyes—and my heart ached for both of them before she even
opened her mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I don’t know if
we <i>will</i> be a couple. I don’t want to
hurt him, but I just…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I couldn’t make
heads or tails of that. Those two belonged together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You just what?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She shrugged and
shook her head. “It’s just that Jamie should be the first to find out.” She
brushed a tear away from her eye, and then she forced whatever was breaking her
heart out of the way for now. “That’s not what we’re here for. We’re here to
have a good time.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I didn’t know if
that was possible for me, but I grinned for her benefit. “Okay. But if you need
to talk…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I know. But
let’s focus on you for now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> I couldn’t stop myself. I wrapped
my arm around her shoulders and drew her closer to me for a side hug. “Just
don’t hurt yourself unnecessarily.” That was something I had experience
with—not my fault, of course, but still. I didn’t want to see her run away from
something she ought to be running toward.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Finally, I know I've told you at least a little bit about Comeback and Dropping Gloves (the 6th and 7th novels in the Portland Storm series), but here's a working blurb (subject to change) for each of them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuVGi4U3W8vJkS_sXt-_2D04PbDObOX765vi9m0aYxDk8bN4lVSyBxpV_B5ChM9fSKeu4B599gQDwwu0PL0YiqCqdp0lkQFuIjtAPqMZllXve4FJ5GHxyJDkRkBO_39E1bPJq51Umn5FHt/s1600/CatherineGayle_Comeback_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuVGi4U3W8vJkS_sXt-_2D04PbDObOX765vi9m0aYxDk8bN4lVSyBxpV_B5ChM9fSKeu4B599gQDwwu0PL0YiqCqdp0lkQFuIjtAPqMZllXve4FJ5GHxyJDkRkBO_39E1bPJq51Umn5FHt/s1600/CatherineGayle_Comeback_800px.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Comeback:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Sans Unicode";">Nicky Ericsson has had a long fight with addiction, and
because of it he lost his spot as the Portland Storm's top goaltender. He's on
the road to a comeback--both in his personal life and on the ice. He's throwing
himself into charity work, recovery group meetings, training...all the things
he needs to do to become the best version of himself he can be, and to keep
himself clean. He has no other choice.</span><br />
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="background: white;">Jessica Lynch has been running the Portland
office for the Light the Lamp Foundation for a few years, so she knows a thing
or two about addicts. One of the main things she's learned is that even when
they try to turn their lives around, sometimes the addictions get the better of
them. Because of that, she takes a hands off approach, keeping her heart out of
things.</span><br /><span style="background: white;">Nicky's attempts to better himself puts him in
directly Jessica's path more often than not, and their attraction is instant
and mutual. Can he prove that he won't fall back into old habits, and complete
the perfect comeback?</span><br /><span style="background: white;">Jamie Babcock has done everything possible to
let go of Katie, but she keeps coming back, and she keeps crushing him all over
again when she leaves. There are only so many times he's willing to let his
heart be trampled on. At some point, he has to draw the line. Doesn't he? Only,
when it's Katie, he's not sure that's even possible. She's back, but for how
long he can't be sure.</span><br /><span style="background: white;">But Katie will stop at nothing to convince Jamie
she's back for good--even dropping gloves--because in the game of love, all
bets are off.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Available on February 19, 2015.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Pre-order
links: <a href="http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin/click?id=qh5P7IjVhZo&subid=&offerid=314507.1&type=10&tmpid=8432&RD_PARM1=http%253A%252F%252Fwww.barnesandnoble.com%252Fw%252Fcomeback-catherine-gayle%252F1120262937%253Fean%253D2940046137187">Barnes
and Noble</a>, <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/comeback/id914212031?mt=11&uo=4&at=10lLiX">iBooks</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQbvdLDkMWdtNAVNNtEhYF0zgC1-eyfP_uPBj72wMeBKF-XyMV_7P50EurZP8K-KbPmRXyXMBzbm1KcxcRjr1dLG021SZluP0udrZqwmA24Ll-CS8q1yAopMa4S9UZbMgWzap3Og5IMAj2/s1600/CatherineGayle_DroppingTheGloves_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQbvdLDkMWdtNAVNNtEhYF0zgC1-eyfP_uPBj72wMeBKF-XyMV_7P50EurZP8K-KbPmRXyXMBzbm1KcxcRjr1dLG021SZluP0udrZqwmA24Ll-CS8q1yAopMa4S9UZbMgWzap3Og5IMAj2/s1600/CatherineGayle_DroppingTheGloves_800px.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dropping Gloves:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Sans Unicode";">Katie Weber left her heart behind in Portland when she left
to follow her dreams in Hollywood. Now she's back to sing the national anthem
for the Portland Storm during their annual Hockey Fights Cancer night. One look
to the bench while she's singing is all it takes for her to know that Jamie
Babcock is still hurting just as much as she is. She's done the Hollywood
thing, though, and she's over it. She knows what she wants.</span><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Sans Unicode";"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white;">Jamie Babcock has done everything possible to
let go of Katie, but she keeps coming back, and she keeps crushing him all over
again when she leaves. There are only so many times he's willing to let his
heart be trampled on. At some point, he has to draw the line. Doesn't he? Only,
when it's Katie, he's not sure that's even possible. She's back, but for how
long he can't be sure.</span><br />
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">But Katie will stop at nothing to convince Jamie
she's back for good--even dropping gloves--because in the game of love, all
bets are off.</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Available on April 23, 2015<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Pre-order links: <a href="http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin/click?id=qh5P7IjVhZo&subid=&offerid=314507.1&type=10&tmpid=8432&RD_PARM1=http%253A%252F%252Fwww.barnesandnoble.com%252Fw%252Fdropping-gloves-catherine-gayle%252F1120262938%253Fean%253D2940046137194">Barnes
and Noble</a>, <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/dropping-gloves/id914211429?mt=11&uo=4&at=10lLiX">iBooks</a></span><o:p></o:p></div>
Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-79936854335251999242014-08-30T09:12:00.000-04:002014-08-30T09:12:49.049-04:00Box Sets Galore, and Two New Portland Storm Titles in the WorksIn the coming weeks, I have books in three different box sets that will be releasing. Eek!<br />
<br />
Each of these box sets are only $0.99, and only available for a limited time. They're a steal at this price, so be sure to grab them up while you can if you are interested in them.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm2qeak2d_III5t_5z24DzotFGaCXGMfGxM90g92XGie3rm6AVCo3ur8z8Q9AohlrugSNHGVVMtKqP9-E7TQ43Vbkh2ICw3jrcQz9hZeuqOeZBYC1qbxrYx8gZ2jo6rYWSyaFRMt_tTtFN/s1600/Beginnings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm2qeak2d_III5t_5z24DzotFGaCXGMfGxM90g92XGie3rm6AVCo3ur8z8Q9AohlrugSNHGVVMtKqP9-E7TQ43Vbkh2ICw3jrcQz9hZeuqOeZBYC1qbxrYx8gZ2jo6rYWSyaFRMt_tTtFN/s1600/Beginnings.jpg" height="200" width="125" /></a></div>
First off is <b><i>Beginnings</i></b>, a collection of first book in series new adult romances.<br />
<br />
It has books from Marquita Valentine, Tammy Falkner, Brenna Aubrey, Sarra Cannon, Beverley Kendall, Elyssa Patrick, and of course...me. :)<br />
<br />
Pre-order it now at <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/beginnings-collection-first/id910018401?mt=11" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/beginnings-a-collection-of-first-in-series-new-adult-romances" target="_blank">Kobo</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Beginnings-Collection-First--Adult-Romances-ebook/dp/B00MT427WY/ref=sr_pi_pm_npnf_1_14?ie=UTF8&qid=1409402440&sr=8-14&keywords=catherine+gayle" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, and <a href="https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Tammy_Falkner_Beginnings_A_Collection_of_First_in_?id=aLFMBAAAQBAJ&hl=en" target="_blank">Google Play</a>.<br />
<br />
It releases on September 8. Don't wait to pounce on this one!<br />
<br />
Next up is for my historical romance readers!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhM735Z1WY8Xtj7tcC-8RBI3pZSzYG1STW5gYSLb2D6EtQxPfZ_bzhp-ntFNqg_eBJkalHlvRis4y1lmLQPsZwBkYdRLOugRp5bCPOcucByG9RKBSf-T5E7EIKYFGKw8ZdTNI6C2IkBOug/s1600/FTBAB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhM735Z1WY8Xtj7tcC-8RBI3pZSzYG1STW5gYSLb2D6EtQxPfZ_bzhp-ntFNqg_eBJkalHlvRis4y1lmLQPsZwBkYdRLOugRp5bCPOcucByG9RKBSf-T5E7EIKYFGKw8ZdTNI6C2IkBOug/s1600/FTBAB.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></div>
<br />
<b><i>From the Ballroom and Beyond</i></b> is a box set of nine Regency-set romance novels, all for only $0.99.<br />
<br />
It features books from Rose Gordon, Claudia Dain, Deb Marlowe, Ava Stone, Jerrica Knight-Catania, Jane Charles, Julie Johnstone, Christi Caldwell, and me.<br />
<br />
It releases on September 15, and you can preorder it at <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Ballroom-Beyond-Limited-Regency-Romance-ebook/dp/B00MZNUIK2/ref=sr_pi_pm_npnf_1_12?ie=UTF8&qid=1409402440&sr=8-12&keywords=catherine+gayle" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/from-ballroom-beyond-limited/id911742937?mt=11" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, and <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/from-the-ballroom-and-beyond-a-limited-edition-nine-book-regency-romance-box-set-rose-gordon/1120200699?ean=2940046119756" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>.<br />
<br />
Finally, if you're a sports romance lover, the next box set is for you!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBDUo8BIBsORTEYKXXtrIQUWrFg5WrpRBP-fD5semYWPJMMLlyYrIwiHGduBWp5seimGa7YkL5mlrdFpOsepV17IPJOkt81FZS4zIjhPN3uV5-_ttiH_PQB1RR6WZH5u-b6HiAiVDxYYoN/s1600/PlayingForPassion_2DBoxSet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBDUo8BIBsORTEYKXXtrIQUWrFg5WrpRBP-fD5semYWPJMMLlyYrIwiHGduBWp5seimGa7YkL5mlrdFpOsepV17IPJOkt81FZS4zIjhPN3uV5-_ttiH_PQB1RR6WZH5u-b6HiAiVDxYYoN/s1600/PlayingForPassion_2DBoxSet.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></div>
<b><i>Playing for Passion</i></b> features books by 12 sports romance authors including Carly Phillips, Toni Aleo, Chelle Bliss, V.K. Sykes, Pamela Aares, Allie K. Adams, Jami Davenport, Mindy Klasky, Roz Lee, Dakota Madison, Bianca Sommerland, and me.<br />
<br />
The books involved feature sports including baseball, hockey, soccer, MMA, and football. We have books that are sensual to hot to smoking. There's a little something for every sports romance reader out there, at a price that can't be beat.<br />
<br />
Playing for Passion releases on September 16. You can place a preorder for it now at <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Playing-Passion-Collection-Bestselling-Romances-ebook/dp/B00N56XCCO/ref=sr_pi_pm_npnf_2_24?ie=UTF8&qid=1409403709&sr=8-24&keywords=catherine+gayle" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/playing-for-passion/id912557324?mt=11" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, and <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/playing-for-passion" target="_blank">Kobo</a>.<br />
<br />
Whew! I'm exhausted just looking at all of that.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqK14u2znQR7ikaVmdJevGdo2wl3XOBAknz6lWjcdCkheOkB_v9kSQTljjhmWQFKX_xyrpYMWt7R09gwqRDAEbbfLRem-1mpiZ28UM8oC_BhFyXR1ixRWYZeJrRERzM5Wq8wBTUhu0qAlD/s1600/CatherineGayle_Comeback_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqK14u2znQR7ikaVmdJevGdo2wl3XOBAknz6lWjcdCkheOkB_v9kSQTljjhmWQFKX_xyrpYMWt7R09gwqRDAEbbfLRem-1mpiZ28UM8oC_BhFyXR1ixRWYZeJrRERzM5Wq8wBTUhu0qAlD/s1600/CatherineGayle_Comeback_800px.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a>But that's not all, because I have two more new books coming up in my Portland Storm series, and I want to tell you about them. :)<br />
<br />
First up, we have <b><i>Comeback</i></b>, which will be Nicky Ericsson's story. If you've been following along with the series, you know he's had a rough go of it lately, and he's definitely got some things he needs to deal with.<br />
<br />
He'll get that chance in Comeback, which releases on February 19, 2015. Preorder it at <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/comeback/id914212031?mt=11" target="_blank">iBooks</a> and add it to your <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23124650-comeback" target="_blank">Goodreads shelf</a>. More preorder links will be available closer to release date.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5WeJsGQHT0jqwi9zgU1-Mhc9Oqvrn9DFdEhUIeUq4GaWFjIsdWEBqDtpHH9LnhYQfNEoQU2uBzIQFSMYYNJH-1U7JobUb_az-JV5Rv1GNEMjdPGghClbffeff7AU7TbBzdrMBrLncUpP7/s1600/CatherineGayle_DroppingTheGloves_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5WeJsGQHT0jqwi9zgU1-Mhc9Oqvrn9DFdEhUIeUq4GaWFjIsdWEBqDtpHH9LnhYQfNEoQU2uBzIQFSMYYNJH-1U7JobUb_az-JV5Rv1GNEMjdPGghClbffeff7AU7TbBzdrMBrLncUpP7/s1600/CatherineGayle_DroppingTheGloves_800px.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></div>
And last, but certainly not least, we have <b><i>Dropping Gloves</i></b>.<br />
<br />
This is the one that so many of you have been waiting for--Babs and Katie's full novel. :)<br />
<br />
Dropping Gloves releases on April 23, 2015. You can preorder it at <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/dropping-gloves/id914211429?mt=11" target="_blank">iBooks</a> now and add it to your <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23124651-dropping-gloves" target="_blank">Goodreads bookshelf</a>. As with Comeback, more preorder links will be available when we get closer to the release date.Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-80555020416997405902014-08-28T08:00:00.000-04:002014-08-28T08:00:01.705-04:00Double Major - Sneak Peek #2While you're waiting for Double Major to release, how about another look inside? By the way, you can preorder it now at <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00MQ2182E/ref=s9_simh_gw_p351_d0_i2?pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_s=center-2&pf_rd_r=03Y0MWAVNPGJRJ31Q9G4&pf_rd_t=101&pf_rd_p=1688200382&pf_rd_i=507846" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/double-major/id901600914?mt=11" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/double-major-catherine-gayle/1119986307?ean=2940045648165" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>, and <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/double-major" target="_blank">Kobo</a>, and you can add it to your <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22665631-double-major" target="_blank">Goodreads bookshelf</a> now. This is the second scene of the book. The first can be found <a href="http://catherinegayleauthor.blogspot.com/2014/08/double-major-sneak-peek.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxAMkR65lNhDvH8_KY21TydsKcJn2hZKSuBzYWeo-UQ_0ntD6X8EHv_cATVNeEV__hFj9KmHlPA0xrWlcZkXTr37VzLN9qAgBGaBXsGMr36AJsodgEi_T60vtJlLisWbv3CRD2uLE8BDX/s1600/CatherineGayle_DoubleMajor_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxAMkR65lNhDvH8_KY21TydsKcJn2hZKSuBzYWeo-UQ_0ntD6X8EHv_cATVNeEV__hFj9KmHlPA0xrWlcZkXTr37VzLN9qAgBGaBXsGMr36AJsodgEi_T60vtJlLisWbv3CRD2uLE8BDX/s1600/CatherineGayle_DoubleMajor_800px.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
NOELLE:<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">“Happy”
by Pharrell</span> Williams started blaring from behind us while we were in the
middle of the wedding rehearsal, causing everyone to jump. Me, especially,
because that was what my boyfriend, Liam, had set as the ringtone on my phone—he
said it suited me—which meant I’d neglected to turn my cell off like I’d
intended to before we got started with all of this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“So sorry,” I
said, rushing away from the stage to the front row of seats where I’d stashed
my purse. The song continued playing loudly the whole time I dug through the
depths to reach it. Before I could find the silly thing and answer it, Rachel’s
son, Tuck, broke into a song-and-dance routine as the music played, and
everyone started laughing. He’d been getting as antsy to be done as I had, so
at least this gave him a diversion, however small.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I finally fished
the phone out of the bottom of my bag, but only in time to see that I’d missed
the call. It had been Chris, my brother. He and our other brother, Ethan, were
back in Portland right now, trying to get all of our belongings moved from
Babs’s apartment into the house Liam and I had just bought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We weren’t
supposed to be moving right now. We should have already been done with the
move, honestly, but there had been problems with the closing, and it had been
pushed back and pushed back, and we’d just finally sorted it all out two days
ago—right before Liam and I had to fly to Providence for the wedding. We’d
barely been handed the keys and been able to see the place while knowing it was
<i>ours </i>before we’d had to leave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">If I hadn’t
agreed to be one of Dana and Rachel’s bridesmaids, I would have tried to
convince Liam we should just skip the wedding. I couldn’t exactly back out of
it that late, though, so Chris and Ethan had stepped up and insisted they could
handle the move.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Let’s let them do it, </i>Liam had said to
me when I’d voiced my concerns. <i>They’re
grown men. I’m sure they’re perfectly capable of handling this on their own.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I wouldn’t have been
so worried about it if not for the fact that we were flying straight to Sweden
when we left here. We wouldn’t be going back to Portland for weeks, and I’d had
to leave my puppy, Puck, behind in my brothers’ care until we returned. If
anything went wrong, if they ran into problems… Maybe I was too used to being
the oldest sibling and taking all of the adult responsibilities onto my own
shoulders. The idea of sharing the load hadn’t been easy to adjust to. I was
having a hard time letting go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That was why,
once I saw who’d called, I rushed out of the little chapel and into the hallway
to return Chris’s call. “What’s wrong?” I said as soon as he picked up the
line.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Why do you
automatically assume something’s wrong?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Probably because
the combined stress of buying a home, being a bridesmaid, leaving my puppy
behind, and preparing to meet Liam’s family in Sweden had all ganged up on me
and stolen my sanity. But I didn’t want to tell him that. He’d just tell me to
relax, which I was trying to do. I just wasn’t managing it very well. It was
weird; I didn’t usually let things get to me. Normally, stress just rolled off
my back. But not this time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I could only
attribute that to the fact that meeting Liam’s family meant a lot to me—because
it meant a lot to him—and I didn’t want anything to go wrong. At the moment, it
felt like everything was set to go wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m just…” I
searched my brain for something I could use to put him off. “There’s just a lot
going on here right now with the rehearsal and the dinner tonight.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“And the
bachelorette party later,” he added. “Don’t try to pretend you’re not going to
have fun while you’re there. This is supposed to be a vacation for you,
Noelle.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“It is. And I’m
having fun. I promise.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Good. You
should.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Nothing’s wrong
with Puck?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My puppy barked
in the background, as though he’d heard me say his name. At least that let me
know he was alive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Chris sighed.
“Puck is fine. Stop being a worrywart. I was just calling to ask if you wanted
the downstairs bedroom set up as a bedroom or if you wanted it to be more like
an office.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh. Yeah, so that
meant it wasn’t a “something’s wrong” sort of call. It was a “my brothers are
growing up before I’m ready for them to do anything remotely like that” sort of
call. Before I could wrap my head around what he’d asked, Liam came up behind
me and put one arm around my waist, taking the phone with the other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Noelle’s
supposed to be in the rehearsal right now, so I can answer any questions you
have,” he said smoothly into the phone. He kissed the back of my head and spun
me around, nudging me back into the chapel with a swat to my backside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I scowled at him
because I was sure I was as red-faced as I’d ever been, but I hurried back down
the aisle and got into my original position. At least none of them were staring
at me when I returned, and Rachel’s daughter, Maddie, gave me a big grin when I
slid back into my spot. The wedding coordinator was still trying to put all members
of the wedding party where she wanted us, but at the moment she was working with
the groomsmen, so I was in the clear for now. She had her hands on both Babs’s
arms and was bodily shifting him into position, and he was blushing as
profusely as I’d come to expect from him more often than not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Katie leaned
over so she could whisper in my ear. “Kally seemed really jealous when this
chick paired you up with Burnzie for all the wedding stuff.” Kally was what
everyone involved with the team called Liam. They all had nicknames for each
other. It could be a little confusing at times, but it didn’t take too long to
sort it out usually…especially since I knew most of them by their nicknames and
not by their real names, anyhow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Had he really
seemed jealous? Liam knew there was no need for anything like that. I didn’t
want to be with anyone but him, and the wedding events would only last for a weekend.
Besides, it wasn’t as though I was going to be doing much at all with Keith
Burns. He was going to escort me out, and we’d stand next to each other at a
few points, and I was pretty sure she’d said that we would have to dance
together for one dance. That was all. But out of all the members of the wedding
party, Burnzie and I were the only two who weren’t already part of a couple that
had both halves involved in the wedding. It only made sense to pair us up
together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I tried to brush
Katie’s comment away, but it kept niggling at the back of my mind while we went
through the rehearsal, which proved to be a whole lot of standing around and
waiting for instructions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A few minutes
later, Liam returned to the chapel and took a seat in the back row, next to the
Storm’s goaltender Nicklas Ericsson. My focus landed squarely on Liam instead
of all the things the wedding coordinator was telling us. Sure enough, when we
ran through the way we would be exiting, with me holding onto Burnzie’s arm as
we walked down the aisle, I felt Liam’s eyes boring into the pair of us. Katie
had been right, even if I didn’t understand why any of this would make Liam
jealous.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Not long after
that, we finished up with the rehearsal, and we all went to a nearby steak-and-seafood
restaurant for the rehearsal dinner. Liam handed my phone back to me as we
walked out to our rental car. I dropped it into my purse before reaching for
his hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Katie thinks
you’re jealous of Burnzie.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He flashed me an
earth-stopping, heart-shattering sort of smile. “Katie’s very perceptive.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We arrived at
the car, and he opened the door for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You know
there’s no reason for that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He waited for me
to sit, then closed my door and went around to the driver’s side. Once he was
in his seat, he said, “It’s just that he’s getting all your attention for a
couple of days.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I wouldn’t say
he’s getting all my attention.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“More of it than
I want him to get.” He put the car in reverse and draped his arm over the back
of my seat, looking over his shoulder to back out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“But you’re the
only one getting my kisses.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Liam gave me a
heated look and kissed the tip of my nose before shifting into drive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“What did you
tell Chris about the downstairs bedroom?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“That,” he said
silkily, “is a surprise.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“A surprise, as
in they burned the house down and we have to start this whole process all over
again? Or a surprise, as in they made it into a shrine to Puck?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Liam burst out
laughing, which brought a smile to my lips, too. “Is that what you want it to
be?” he asked. “A room for your dog?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Not
necessarily.” But now that I thought about it, it wasn’t a horrible idea. Puck
was getting bigger every day, quickly outgrowing all the dog beds and other
things we’d gotten for him. I was starting to think he might outgrow the
backyard of this new house sooner rather than later, and then I didn’t know
what we’d do. I might have to take him to the park a lot more than I’d
initially expected to. Of course, then maybe I could plan doggie dates with
Sara and Jonny’s dog, Buster. That would be nice. “Just tell me. Please,” I
begged.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Liam pulled into
the restaurant lot and found a spot to park. “If you insist on ruining my
surprise, I was thinking it could be more like a room to honor your parents. A
place we could fill with as many memories of them as we could. Your brothers still
have some pictures and a few other things that came from your parents. And
Ethan said he had a phone number for a cousin—someone who might have some pictures
from your parents’ wedding and other stuff like that. They’re going to make
some calls and see what they can scare up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My heart and
lungs had apparently decided to reposition themselves somewhere in the vicinity
of my throat. I couldn’t swallow past the huge lumps there. My parents had been
killed in a convenience store robbery several years before, and in the time
since, the house had been repossessed and then the car I’d been living out
of—that housed all of my memorabilia from my parents—had gone up in flames.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The
thoughtfulness behind Liam’s idea was stunning. I clutched his hand, drawing it
up to my lips so I could kiss his knuckles. “Really?” I finally squeezed out
despite my tears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Unless you
don’t want it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I do. I want it
more than I could ever say.” I couldn’t imagine anything more perfect. Except… “Just
my family, though? Couldn’t it be about your family, too?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“And mine, too,
if you want it to be.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I do.” I
threaded my fingers with his, tugging his hand closer to my body. “Do you still
have any of Liv’s wind chimes?” Liv had been Liam’s wife, but she’d died in a car
accident a couple of years ago. She needed to have a place in this room, too.
She would always be part of Liam, and I wanted to honor that. I wanted to honor
her as much as he was trying to honor my parents.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I still have
some,” he said cautiously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Some that we
could bring to Portland? She should be represented.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He swallowed hard, his
Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and a rush of peace washed through me.</span>Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-50939528535077491092014-08-21T11:37:00.000-04:002014-08-21T11:46:02.590-04:00Double Major - Sneak Peek<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxAMkR65lNhDvH8_KY21TydsKcJn2hZKSuBzYWeo-UQ_0ntD6X8EHv_cATVNeEV__hFj9KmHlPA0xrWlcZkXTr37VzLN9qAgBGaBXsGMr36AJsodgEi_T60vtJlLisWbv3CRD2uLE8BDX/s1600/CatherineGayle_DoubleMajor_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxAMkR65lNhDvH8_KY21TydsKcJn2hZKSuBzYWeo-UQ_0ntD6X8EHv_cATVNeEV__hFj9KmHlPA0xrWlcZkXTr37VzLN9qAgBGaBXsGMr36AJsodgEi_T60vtJlLisWbv3CRD2uLE8BDX/s1600/CatherineGayle_DoubleMajor_800px.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Wanna little peek at the first scene from DOUBLE MAJOR? I suppose I can give you one.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It's releasing in less than a month, on September 18, 2014. Here's what it's about.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">This is a novella of second epilogues to books 1-4 in the Portland Storm series. It is approximately 35,000 words long. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: white;" /><span style="background-color: white;">It’s the NHL’s draft day, but the whole Portland Storm team is back together for an entirely different event. Complete with a double wedding, an unanticipated guest, overdue apologies, unexpected goodbyes, and fresh starts, this big day has the potential to get them all called for a Double Major.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You can pre-order it now at <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Double-Major-Portland-Storm-Catherine-ebook/dp/B00MQ2182E/ref=sr_1_7?ie=UTF8&qid=1408635135&sr=8-7&keywords=catherine+gayle" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/double-major/id901600914?mt=11" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/double-major-catherine-gayle/1119986307?ean=2940045648165" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>, and <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/double-major" target="_blank">Kobo</a>.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Here's your sneak peek! I'll probably give you another taste or two in the coming weeks, so stay tuned.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">JAMIE</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">I’d
arrived early</span>. It was an old habit, but one I doubted I’d break anytime
soon. One of my first coaches had always told us that to be early is to be on
time, to be on time is to be late, and to be late… Well, you’d just better not
be. Now, a decade or more later, I couldn’t seem to make myself show up
anywhere merely <i>on time.</i> Hardly
anyone else was there yet for the rehearsal—no one I knew, anyway—so I plopped
down on one of the seats up near the front, right by the altar, and pulled out
my cell to scan the half a million texts I’d gotten in the last hour from Levi.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Levi was my
younger brother, the oldest after me. We had five more brothers younger than
him, too. There were kind of a lot of us. And he’d been texting me like crazy all
day because tomorrow was the National Hockey League’s Entry Draft, and he was
expected to be picked in the top five. No matter what, he should definitely be
the first defenseman taken in this year’s draft. Two years ago, I was in a similar
spot. I was selected seventh overall by the Portland Storm, and I somehow made
the team right out of training camp as an eighteen-year-old rookie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Because I had
been in that same position and could coach him on what to expect, right now I
felt like the shittiest brother in the world. Levi and the rest of our
family—even our uncle and cousins—had all been with me when I’d been drafted. And
they were all in New York with Levi right now, helping to keep him calm as he
went through his meetings and media interviews and physical tests, and all of
the other insanity that goes with being a top prospect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But where was I
when I ought to be with him? I wasn’t in New York; I was in Providence, Rhode
Island. Two of my teammates were getting married tomorrow. That made me a good
teammate, I supposed, but not a very good brother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Team captain
Eric Zellinger—Zee to the guys—and his childhood best friend, Brenden “Soupy”
Campbell, were both tying the knot, and for some reason they’d asked <i>me</i> to be one of their groomsmen. I
wasn’t sure why they’d chosen me and not one of the guys who had been around the
team longer, like Ny or maybe Monty. I mean, yeah, I’d lived with both of them,
but that didn’t make me groomsman material, did it? Either way, they hadn’t
asked those guys; they’d asked me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I looked around
the mostly empty chapel. At least being here early gave me time to respond to
Levi’s texts. I spent a few minutes poring over them. He’d had a good meeting
with Jim Sutter and the rest of the Storm’s executives at the draft, but Jim
had already warned me countless times not to get my hopes up. He wasn’t slated
to make a pick until number eighteen this year, and Levi would be long gone by
that point. The only way Levi would be drafted by the Storm was if Jim somehow
worked out a trade with another general manager and was able to move up. But he
had told me again and again that it just wasn’t likely to happen. Which wasn’t
news to me. Trading up would mean losing prospects, and they were a commodity
he was trying to stock up on, not trade away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Since Levi knew
he wasn’t likely to be chosen by the Storm, he had his sights set on the
Toronto Maple Leafs. They were the team we’d always been fans of, my brothers
and I, growing up in Ontario. They had the fifth pick this year, but Levi said
his meeting with them hadn’t gone well at all so he didn’t have a good feeling
about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It went much
better with the Montreal Canadiens, but they weren’t picking until number
twelve. He felt pretty confident about his interviews with the Buffalo Sabres
and the New York Islanders, too—both were slated to pick within the top five—so
in all likelihood he’d be playing for one of those two teams.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">His best
interview of the day, though—at least so far—was with the Winnipeg Jets. There
was a small part of me that hoped the Jets would choose him. They were a
Western Conference team, like Portland, and so Levi and I would get to play
each other more often than if he were with some team in the Eastern Conference.
They were slated to pick sixth, and everyone was saying that they were looking
for defensemen in this draft, so there was a definite possibility there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Levi still had
meetings scheduled with five other teams for later on in the day, so it was
anyone’s guess where he would end up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was just about
to respond to his slew of messages when the door opened and about a dozen
people came in—Zee and Soupy, their fiancées Dana and Rachel, and most of the
others in the wedding party like Liam “Kally” Kallen and his girlfriend, Noelle
Payne. I only had eyes for one of them, though—Katie Weber, the oldest daughter
of my former teammate, David Weber.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’d had a thing
for Katie for two solid years, ever since I first joined the Storm. These days,
it was much more than that. I was half in love with her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I hadn’t seen
her since I left Portland almost six weeks ago, and it took me by surprise to discover
that she had some hair now. A few months back, she’d been diagnosed with
leukemia. She’d had to go through radiation and chemotherapy and all that, so
she’d lost her hair and wore scarves to cover her baldness most of the time. Or
at least she did the last time I saw her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I knew she’d
finished her chemo before we’d been knocked out of the playoffs, but I guess I
hadn’t thought about the fact that her hair would be growing back already. It
was short, like a pixie cut, and it looked soft to the touch. Thinking that
only made me want to touch it, though, and that probably wasn’t the best idea
with her dad standing right beside her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Webs caught my
eye and inclined his head in my direction, but I still couldn’t ever determine
what the looks he gave me meant. <i>Hi? Come
on over? Take one step in this direction and I’ll rip your balls off and stuff
them down your throat?</i> I couldn’t be sure. If his wife, Laura, had been
paying attention, I might have been able to get a read on him from her, but she
was caught up talking to Sara Thomas, our former head coach’s daughter. So
Laura was no help to me right now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Webs had just
retired as a player, and this season he was going to be one of the Storm’s
assistant coaches. That should work out just great…as long I didn’t
misinterpret any of the looks he gave me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The Storm made
it all the way to Game Seven in the second round of the playoffs last season,
but the LA Kings had gotten the best of us in the end. We couldn’t really hang
our heads over that. Our team hadn’t been to the post-season at all in the
previous five years, so getting to the second round was a lot further than
anyone had expected us to go. Plus, the Kings went on to win the Stanley Cup,
and we’d nearly taken them out in the second round. That was definitely nothing
to be ashamed of. We were all hoping to take what we’d done last season and
improve on it this coming year—and that meant making the most of the time off
we had this summer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’d gone home to
my family pretty much as soon as I’d finished clearing out my stall. I think I
slept for about a week straight once I got there, but then I’d gone back to
life as usual. All my brothers played hockey, too, so we were all training
together—some of us more seriously than others. But then again, Jack—the
youngest—was only eight, and most of the boys really didn’t need to work out
like Levi and I had to. It was still fun, us all being together like that.
Especially since Levi and I had started using the youngest boys as our weights,
bench pressing them, that sort of thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Katie and her
family had remained in Portland after the season ended because she and her
younger brother and sister had to finish out the school year. Now she’d
graduated, though, and she’d finished all of her cancer treatments. Webs had
let us all know a few weeks ago that her latest tests showed she was cancer
free.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That meant she
could move forward with her life. I just wasn’t certain if I was part of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’d taken her to
her prom, and we’d spent some time together since then…but she had been sick and
still in high school, and I had been in the middle of the playoffs for the
first time in my career, so we hadn’t really been able to date. Not like I
wanted to, at least.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That hadn’t
stopped me from sneaking her away from her dad to steal a few kisses every now
and then. I hoped to be able to do more of that this weekend—and to find out
what she had decided to do next year. Each time we’d talked about it before,
she’d been too caught up in trying to get healthy to worry about whether she
was going to go to LA to meet with an entertainment agent she’d talked to once
about some ideas he had for getting her a career in Hollywood, or if she was
going to stick around Portland and her family and maybe go to college, or
something else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The selfish part
of me wanted her to stay in Portland.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The part that
was already half in love with her wanted her to do whatever would make her
happy, even if that meant her leaving.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">No matter which of
those two voices decided to talk the loudest, I just wanted to know what she’d chosen.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket and got up, and she immediately turned
her head in my direction. Her whole face lit up when our gazes met. I could
make out the sparkle in her eyes even across the distance, and Katie’s smile reeled
me in like a fishing line; my feet started moving in her direction before my
head could catch up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Hey,” she said
when I was almost to her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My tongue got
thick, and she’d hardly said a word. I was a fucking wreck over this girl. I
shoved my hands in my pockets so I wouldn’t do anything stupid, since Webs was
still giving me that look, and I cleared my throat. “Hey. Your hair… It looks
nice like that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She blushed and
ran her fingers through it, just the way I’d been imagining doing myself. It
was still that dark brown she’d always had, and her eyebrows were, too. It
looked as soft as a kitten’s fur and was just long enough to spike up or play
with like that. “Thanks. There’s not a lot I can do with it yet, but it’s
coming back in.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“It looks nice,”
I repeated, feeling like an idiot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Her parents were
in the middle of a conversation with Zee and Dana, so that meant Webs wasn’t
giving me the evil eye anymore. I had just taken Katie’s hand and was about to
pull her off to a corner somewhere so we could talk when Soupy’s dad whistled
loudly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I think we’re
all here now, so why don’t we get started?” he said once all eyes turned to
him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Katie’s hand
fell away from mine almost instantly, and she shrugged her shoulders with an
apologetic downturn of her lips. “Later,” she whispered. “We’ll find time to
talk.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Before I could respond,
she went over to her mother’s side, looking back at me over her shoulder and
giving me a wink.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I trudged over
to join Keith Burns, Cam Johnson, and Webs—the other groomsmen—up near the
altar so we could get things underway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Babs,” Webs
said when I got there, and I shot my eyes up to look at him. He scowled. “She’s
gotta do what’s right for her. Whether it’s what we want or not.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That didn’t
sound good at all. I definitely noticed he’d said <i>we</i>, though. Like we were in this together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The wedding
coordinator started talking, telling us what each of us were supposed to do and
how things were going to go down, not that I was paying any attention to him at
all. Had Katie made up her mind to leave? Just then, my phone started buzzing
in my pocket. It had to be more text messages from Levi. And they kept coming
and coming.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I wasn’t just a bad
brother; I was the shittiest brother ever, hands down.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Especially
because I was more worried about what the cryptic warning Webs had given me
meant than I was about the half million text messages from my brother.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-78145586191047133942014-08-16T07:47:00.001-04:002014-08-16T07:47:50.181-04:00Delay of Game - Out Now! Plus More Pre-Order Links<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir5MNDNm2TaLgt-Z9AnKKVRozxu5g9JzTJlBw3xTU84hRn9mKHsTjZGRqyR_37dX1ZCPEbSV0MiIcWg-frt39RBxpX-T6BTGQvFUZLP4k1avcjhYUXGVZyOebNJEyO3Fo8vaUPldiUqCjR/s1600/CatherineGayle_DelayOfGame_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir5MNDNm2TaLgt-Z9AnKKVRozxu5g9JzTJlBw3xTU84hRn9mKHsTjZGRqyR_37dX1ZCPEbSV0MiIcWg-frt39RBxpX-T6BTGQvFUZLP4k1avcjhYUXGVZyOebNJEyO3Fo8vaUPldiUqCjR/s1600/CatherineGayle_DelayOfGame_800px.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">That's right! DELAY OF GAME is available now!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">With
her father’s health in question, Sara Thomas is focused on reducing his
anxiety. That’s no small feat considering his high-stress job, not to mention
her own distractions. Everyone knows Sara’s single; no one knows she’s
pregnant. There’s never a good time to unexpectedly get knocked up, but now is
definitely not it. Regardless, she doesn’t want anyone to know—especially not
her father—until she has a game plan in place. But when Jonny, one of her
father’s players, seeks vigilante justice on the ice, everything gets tossed
out the window.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<br />
Cam Johnson’s role as a fourth-line winger with the NHL’s Portland Storm
entails more than scoring goals. He has to ensure other teams don’t take
liberties with the Storm’s star players. The way Cam sees it, that’s the most
important aspect of his job. His teammates call him Jonny; opposing fans call
him a goon; the media calls him an enforcer. The title’s unimportant. Cam will
always fight for his team—even if he has to break the rules. He’s used to
taking penalties, but he never meant for anyone else to suffer from his
choices.<br />
<br />
When Cam’s actions cause Sara’s worst fears to be realized, he blames himself.
He’s screwed everything up; now he has to set things right. Mutual attraction
leads to lust, and suddenly Cam is taking penalties at every turn…at least
where Sara is concerned. He’s got to think on his feet or he’ll end up with a
Delay of Game.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
You can buy DELAY OF GAME now at <a href="http://catherinegayle.us7.list-manage2.com/track/click?u=e785bcdf19cd95e5acd49bfa6&id=e98f94ac7f&e=49bd9b3468" style="-ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="http://catherinegayle.us7.list-manage.com/track/click?u=e785bcdf19cd95e5acd49bfa6&id=7386aafc42&e=49bd9b3468" style="-ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="http://catherinegayle.us7.list-manage1.com/track/click?u=e785bcdf19cd95e5acd49bfa6&id=891add8e73&e=49bd9b3468" style="-ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Kobo</a>, <a href="http://catherinegayle.us7.list-manage2.com/track/click?u=e785bcdf19cd95e5acd49bfa6&id=88c54f6598&e=49bd9b3468" style="-ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">All Romance eBooks</a>,
and <a href="http://catherinegayle.us7.list-manage2.com/track/click?u=e785bcdf19cd95e5acd49bfa6&id=e2dbbd2b06&e=49bd9b3468" style="-ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Smashwords</a>.<br />
At Amazon only, and through tomorrow only, you can purchase it for $0.99 since
it was not available as a $0.99 pre-order there.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
You might have noticed that Barnes and Noble is missing from this list. And you
might have placed a pre-order for DELAY OF GAME through Barnes and Noble, and
be wondering where it is. Well, pre-orders at Barnes and Noble have to go through
Smashwords, and there was a hang-up between when Smashwords processed the
complete file, and when they sent it to Barnes and Noble for processing. That
hang-up has caused it to be delayed. I am SO SORRY for this. It's a situation
that is out of my hands, but that doesn't make it stink any less for any of you
who are affected.<br /><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">If you placed a pre-order through Barnes and Noble and don't want to wait for
them to finish processing it (I can't guess how long it will be!), please
forward your email confirmation of the pre-order to me at <a href="mailto:catherinegayle.author@gmail.com">catherinegayle.author@gmail.com</a>,
and I will send you the ebook.<br /><br />
</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicJJ7JVUbsAp89Z0qnxGbOvSvo__GKpRNeKVA5igjOPUcspXLpP23QBmELjfGrwnehN2QFyaDIrmXpT-KB_KSCYMMReWDWSnY8yVibfMmz1KhRaSF46bOauhI97F1kRs4Yx8azqav-A-93/s1600/CatherineGayle_TakingAShot_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicJJ7JVUbsAp89Z0qnxGbOvSvo__GKpRNeKVA5igjOPUcspXLpP23QBmELjfGrwnehN2QFyaDIrmXpT-KB_KSCYMMReWDWSnY8yVibfMmz1KhRaSF46bOauhI97F1kRs4Yx8azqav-A-93/s1600/CatherineGayle_TakingAShot_800px.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">TAKING A SHOT, the novella initially included in the SEDUCED BY THE GAME anthology, is releasing separately on September 4, 2014.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">You can pre-order it at <a href="http://catherinegayle.us7.list-manage2.com/track/click?u=e785bcdf19cd95e5acd49bfa6&id=6635931315&e=49bd9b3468" style="-ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="http://catherinegayle.us7.list-manage2.com/track/click?u=e785bcdf19cd95e5acd49bfa6&id=1ac947c345&e=49bd9b3468" style="-ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>,
<a href="http://catherinegayle.us7.list-manage.com/track/click?u=e785bcdf19cd95e5acd49bfa6&id=4a7456b494&e=49bd9b3468" style="-ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">iBooks</a>,
and <a href="http://catherinegayle.us7.list-manage1.com/track/click?u=e785bcdf19cd95e5acd49bfa6&id=1d4b6a59df&e=49bd9b3468" style="-ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Kobo</a>.
(There shouldn't be any problems with any of these pre-orders, as this title is
complete and fully edited, so there will not be any late changes.)<br /><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Katie Weber has lost her health due to leukemia, and now her chemotherapy
treatments have taken her hair. She’s not about to show up to her senior prom
bald and let her classmates steal her dignity, too. Prom is no place for a girl
who looks more like an alien than a high school student, especially when her
so-called friends all dropped her like she had the plague at the first mention
of the word <em>cancer</em>.
Katie could never get up the courage to ask Jamie—her crush for almost two
years, ever since he joined her dad’s pro hockey team—to take her. Not with the
way she looks now. Besides, her dad would absolutely murder him.<br />
<br />
Jamie Babcock knows its bad news to fall for his Portland Storm teammate’s
daughter, but he’s had a thing for Katie since the first time he met her when
he was just a wide-eyed, eighteen-year-old rookie. Now cancer might take her
away before he ever grows the balls to do anything about it, though. Her father
won’t be happy about it, but Jamie has to take a shot and ask to take her to
her prom. It seems like Katie has just about given up, and he can’t let her go
without giving her some good memories…something to hold on to. She’s still got
her whole life ahead of her—she just has to keep living it. If he can convince
her of that, nothing her father might do to him will matter.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxAMkR65lNhDvH8_KY21TydsKcJn2hZKSuBzYWeo-UQ_0ntD6X8EHv_cATVNeEV__hFj9KmHlPA0xrWlcZkXTr37VzLN9qAgBGaBXsGMr36AJsodgEi_T60vtJlLisWbv3CRD2uLE8BDX/s1600/CatherineGayle_DoubleMajor_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxAMkR65lNhDvH8_KY21TydsKcJn2hZKSuBzYWeo-UQ_0ntD6X8EHv_cATVNeEV__hFj9KmHlPA0xrWlcZkXTr37VzLN9qAgBGaBXsGMr36AJsodgEi_T60vtJlLisWbv3CRD2uLE8BDX/s1600/CatherineGayle_DoubleMajor_800px.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">DOUBLE MAJOR will release on September 18, 2014.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
You can pre-order it at <a href="http://catherinegayle.us7.list-manage.com/track/click?u=e785bcdf19cd95e5acd49bfa6&id=be9e47ebec&e=49bd9b3468" style="-ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Amazo</a>n, <a href="http://catherinegayle.us7.list-manage1.com/track/click?u=e785bcdf19cd95e5acd49bfa6&id=407a0838ca&e=49bd9b3468" style="-ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>,
<a href="http://catherinegayle.us7.list-manage.com/track/click?u=e785bcdf19cd95e5acd49bfa6&id=374a02c753&e=49bd9b3468" style="-ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">iBooks</a>,
and <a href="http://catherinegayle.us7.list-manage.com/track/click?u=e785bcdf19cd95e5acd49bfa6&id=634d46f320&e=49bd9b3468" style="-ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Kobo</a>.<br />
This is a novella of second epilogues to books 1-4 in the Portland Storm
series. It is approximately 35,000 words long.<br />
<br />
It’s the NHL’s draft day, but the whole Portland Storm team is back together
for an entirely different event. Complete with a double wedding, an
unanticipated guest, overdue apologies, unexpected goodbyes, and fresh starts,
this big day has the potential to get them all called for a Double Major.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
You can pre-order it at <a href="http://catherinegayle.us7.list-manage.com/track/click?u=e785bcdf19cd95e5acd49bfa6&id=0edbc3e5a8&e=49bd9b3468" style="-ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">iBooks</a>
and <a href="http://catherinegayle.us7.list-manage.com/track/click?u=e785bcdf19cd95e5acd49bfa6&id=bc75dbe63a&e=49bd9b3468" style="-ms-text-size-adjust: 100%; -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>.
Pre-orders for Kobo and Amazon will be available sometime in September or
October.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjMUqPj7lH6j_oHpPFfjBI26REbJG0FyIH9IwcbWElHXuXC5yXhJlFsPMSpc9Dr4axrXJydKH9dyGTVeKF9f0Naf2wce6-UEFUvP9-YC_alI50TmAMslG663nEoTT9Qmn7zoAN0dOs2TfG/s1600/CatherineGayle_InTheZone_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjMUqPj7lH6j_oHpPFfjBI26REbJG0FyIH9IwcbWElHXuXC5yXhJlFsPMSpc9Dr4axrXJydKH9dyGTVeKF9f0Naf2wce6-UEFUvP9-YC_alI50TmAMslG663nEoTT9Qmn7zoAN0dOs2TfG/s1600/CatherineGayle_InTheZone_800px.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">IN THE ZONE, the fifth full novel in the Portland Storm series, will release on November 20, 2014</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
**Please note, this is not the final blurb. Just something meant to give you a
taste of what the book will involve.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
It was supposed to be one night of fake names, half-truths, and anonymous sex.
Neither of them was prepared for it to turn into so much more. Keith Burns,
star defenseman for the NHL’s Portland Storm, was just looking for a way to
pass the time and ease the loneliness of his lavish lifestyle. Brianna Hayden
wanted to find herself again after health issues changed everything. That one
night turns out to be so much more than either Keith or Brie expects, but
anonymity is the name of their game, and the rules were laid down at the
outset. Pushing for the truth might land Keith a permanent spot in Brie’s
penalty box, but it’s a chance he’s willing to take. Once he gets In the Zone,
he’ll be on the forecheck—but Brie’s heart is the goal he’s seeking.</span><br />
Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-32665476973321873902014-08-03T10:41:00.002-04:002014-08-03T10:41:43.084-04:00Delay of Game - Sneak Peek - Chapter One<span style="font-family: inherit;">I've given you glimpses into the early chapters of every book in this series, so why change that now? It's time to do that again with DELAY OF GAME.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">First off, here's what the book is about:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir5MNDNm2TaLgt-Z9AnKKVRozxu5g9JzTJlBw3xTU84hRn9mKHsTjZGRqyR_37dX1ZCPEbSV0MiIcWg-frt39RBxpX-T6BTGQvFUZLP4k1avcjhYUXGVZyOebNJEyO3Fo8vaUPldiUqCjR/s1600/CatherineGayle_DelayOfGame_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir5MNDNm2TaLgt-Z9AnKKVRozxu5g9JzTJlBw3xTU84hRn9mKHsTjZGRqyR_37dX1ZCPEbSV0MiIcWg-frt39RBxpX-T6BTGQvFUZLP4k1avcjhYUXGVZyOebNJEyO3Fo8vaUPldiUqCjR/s1600/CatherineGayle_DelayOfGame_800px.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">With her father’s health in question, Sara Thomas is focused
on reducing his anxiety. That’s no small feat considering his high-stress job,
not to mention her own distractions. Everyone knows Sara’s single; no one knows
she’s pregnant. There’s never a good time to unexpectedly get knocked up, but
now is definitely not it. Regardless, she doesn’t want anyone to
know—especially not her father—until she has a game plan in place. But when
Jonny, one of her father’s players, seeks vigilante justice on the ice, everything
gets tossed out the window.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cam Johnson’s role as a fourth-line winger with the NHL’s Portland
Storm entails more than scoring goals. He has to ensure other teams don’t take
liberties with the Storm’s star players. The way Cam sees it, that’s the most
important aspect of his job. His teammates call him Jonny; opposing fans call
him a goon; the media calls him an enforcer. The title’s unimportant. Cam will
always fight for his team—even if he has to break the rules. He’s used to
taking penalties, but he never meant for anyone else to suffer from his choices.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When Cam’s actions cause Sara’s worst fears to be realized, he
blames himself. He’s screwed everything up; now he has to set things right.
Mutual attraction leads to lust, and suddenly Cam is taking penalties at every
turn…at least where Sara is concerned. He’s got to think on his feet or he’ll
end up with a Delay of Game.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">DELAY OF GAME releases on August 21, 2014, and you can pre-order it now at <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/delay-of-game/id882526667?mt=11" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/delay-of-game-catherine-gayle/1119616793?ean=2940045964609" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>, and <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/delay-of-game-2" target="_blank">Kobo</a> for only $0.99. (For Amazon Kindle readers, you'll be able to get it for the first TWO days of release at that price. Then it will go up to its regular price of $3.99.)</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Okay...without further ado, here's chapter one of DELAY OF GAME. Enjoy!</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">SARA:</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant: small-caps;">No matter how </span>many
of those stupid sticks I peed on, they all said the same thing in the end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Which meant two things. One, I
was royally fucked. (Oh, the irony.) And two, Daddy was going to absolutely
murder me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Granted, he would only kill me if
he found out. Since I’d only learned just now that I was pregnant, I definitely
didn’t have a game plan yet. I didn’t know what I would do, so I supposed that
meant there was a third thing it meant, too—that I was scared out of my
freaking skull and didn’t know what to focus on first. But whatever I decided on,
I had at least a little bit of time. Daddy wasn’t the most observant person in
the world, at least when it came to anything that wasn’t hockey related. I
didn’t have to make any sort of rash decision that I might later regret, beyond
the one I’d already made and couldn’t take back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway, with this, I could take
the time to figure out what was best. If there was such a thing. I wasn’t
convinced there was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There wasn’t time right now to
worry about it, though. My father was Scotty Thomas, a legendary coach in the
National Hockey League who was currently finishing up his second season
coaching the Portland Storm. <i>Legendary</i>
because he’d started coaching when he was only twenty-six, after being forced
to retire as a player early, after a slew of injuries. He’d coached his first
NHL team to the Stanley Cup Finals. They’d lost in seven games, but in the
twenty-eight years since then, he’d won the Cup four times as a head coach.
That put him in some pretty rare company, and the Storm organization hoped he
could lead them to the same end. It might not happen this year, but they were
closer than they had been in a while…and a lot of that was because of him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Today was the final game of the
regular season, and since I was Daddy’s personal assistant—he’d officially
hired me when I’d turned eighteen so he could justify paying me a salary—I had
to get him out the door in time so we wouldn’t get stuck in traffic on our way
to the Moda Center. <i>Personal assistant</i>
was really just a glorified title meaning I made sure I got him where he was
supposed to be when he was supposed to be there, but the pay was pretty damn good
for an insanely easy job that I had already been doing for years, anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">With trembling hands, I shoved
the pee sticks and their boxes and plastic wrappings and instruction booklets
into a brown paper bag and crushed it all, then buried it in the trash can in
my bathroom. For good measure, I took that trash bag out, put a fresh one in, and
took the evidence down to the main trash can in the kitchen. No reason to leave
that stuff lying around where our housekeeper might find it and tell Daddy. I
doubted Rose would do something like that, but you just never know about people.
Better to take precautionary measures than have to sort out the consequences
later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh. Haha. Yeah, that was kind of
what was going on. Except I <i>had</i> taken
precautionary measures. I’d been on the pill since I was sixteen, and I never
did the deed without a condom. But there was that one night a little over a
month ago, with Brad, when the condom broke. And the pill isn’t fail-safe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Clearly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It had been a bad date. It hadn’t
even been good sex. Definitely not worth ending up a freaking out, shaking,
preggers mess over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I still don’t know why I’d slept
with him. I mean, he was hot, sure. And he wasn’t a hockey player, so that was
a huge bonus in his favor, at least with me. I’d spent my entire life around
hockey players, almost constantly. I didn’t want to have a relationship with
one of them beyond working for my father. I didn’t even want to have a
one-night stand with any of them. So when a guy who didn’t play hockey asked me
out, I tended to jump on it whether I was really attracted and interested or
not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That was what had happened with
Brad. He’d hit on me at the gym. But this guy, the hot-but-boring
non-hockey-playing biomechanical engineer who couldn’t find my clitoris with a
detailed map, step-by-step instructions, and a compass? There was no chance in
hell I was ever going to go out with him again after that night. I’d known it
from the moment he’d pulled the car up in front of the Red Robin at Cascade
Station.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Who takes someone to a cheesy
chain restaurant like that for a first date? They weren’t even cheesetastic.
They were the bad kind of cheesy, like those plain-Jane slices of processed
crap they called American cheese.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But it had been so long since I’d
had sex—real sex with a hot guy who took care of himself and his body, not a late-night
date with my vibrator—that I’d gone along with him when he’d suggested we take
things back to his place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And the condom had broken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And now I was pregnant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Crap</i>. I didn’t even have his phone number anymore. I’d deleted it
from my cell almost the moment I’d gotten home. Not that I had a clue what I’d
say to him even if I did have his number. <i>Hey,
Brad. Long time no talk. So, I know I brushed you off and all that, but guess
what? You’re my baby daddy! Congratulations!</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I tried to shake all that out of
my head. Now wasn’t the time to freak. I had work to do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Daddy?” I called up the stairs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">No answer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He was probably holed up in his
office watching film of the Canucks, despite the fact that his cardiologist had
told him he had to reduce his stress and get some rest when he could. This
would have been a perfect time for the whole rest-and-relaxation thing—an
afternoon off before a game. All of his players were resting right now, taking
their pre-game naps. But not Daddy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I headed down the hall and
knocked on the open door, trying not to let myself get upset about it. That
wouldn’t do either of us any good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He looked up. “Time already?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yeah. You’d better get your suit
on so we aren’t late.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Daddy paused the video he was
watching and got up from his desk, grabbing the cup of coffee sitting beside
him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Have you checked your blood
pressure today?” I asked. I didn’t like to nag, but someone had to or he’d
never do some of the things he needed to do. If it wasn’t directly related to
coaching hockey, he was generally oblivious. I’d taken over looking after him when
my mother abandoned us to run off with one of the players on Daddy’s team years
ago. I’d only been ten, but I had done a better job of looking after him in all
the intervening years than she’d ever done. By now, thirteen years later, it
was second nature to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’ll do it once we get to the
arena,” he promised.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Your doctor says you need to
check it two or three times a day, Daddy. And you’re supposed to reduce your
stress and get more rest. And drink more water and less coffee.” I took the mug
away from him and headed back to the kitchen so I could dump its contents down
the drain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He followed along behind me,
grumbling half-heartedly the whole way. “The playoffs start in three days. How
do you suppose I’m going to be able to do any of those things right now?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I arched a brow at him from the
other side of the kitchen island. “Drink less coffee and replace it with water.
Then you’ll sleep more. That’ll kill a few birds.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“And I’ll have more stress
because I won’t be as prepared as I need to be for the first round because I
was too busy sleeping.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I sighed. “I don’t want to argue
with you about this right now, Daddy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I know, Sara.” He sounded
defeated. He came around and kissed my forehead. “I’m trying to do better.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">If I’d been anyone else, he would
have been yelling at me right now. I knew that. It was just one more thing I
was trying to help him stop doing, because it was all going to add up and kill
him. He might drive me crazy sometimes, but I wasn’t ready to lose him. He was my
only family. He’d given me the only job I’d ever had. And now I was pregnant
and single and scared shitless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I couldn’t lose him now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I nodded and washed his coffee
cup, then grabbed a towel from the bar under the sink to dry it. “I know you
are. Go get dressed.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">While he did that, I put together
a snack for him—peanut butter on a toasted multigrain bagel, a banana, and low-fat
yogurt with a serving of chia seeds stirred in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">When he took it from me, he
scowled at the little black seeds in his yogurt. “What are you trying to kill
me with now?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Doc suggested them for your
cholesterol. They’re chia seeds. Full of omegas and fiber and protein—all the
good stuff you’re supposed to be eating every day.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Doc wasn’t my father’s heart
doctor. He was Dr. Larry Mitchell, the head doctor of the Portland Storm. Doc’s
focus was mainly on keeping the players in peak physical condition, and his
background was more in sports injuries than the heart, but I figured all
doctors had to know a thing or two about heart health after all those years in
medical school. He was the only person involved with the team I’d talked to
about it. Daddy still wasn’t happy that I’d gone to Doc at all, but I needed to
know everything I could about how to help keep my father alive, and it couldn’t
hurt to have someone else aware of the situation—someone who would be around
him when I wasn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Daddy lifted a brow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You can’t taste them, so don’t
give me a hard time about this. I already tried them to see.” I grinned so he
would know I was teasing him. “Just eat it, and let’s get out of here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You spend too much time worrying
about me. Who worries about you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You do,” I answered, quickly
brushing off yet another not-so-subtle hint that he wanted me to be dating
someone. Ever since the issues with his heart had cropped up, he’d been trying
to convince me to get involved with some guy or another. It felt like he was
trying to be sure I wouldn’t be alone once he was gone. My focus was on making
sure he wasn’t gone anytime soon, though. “And I get paid to worry about you,
in case you forgot,” I added.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Can’t forget that since I sign
the checks.” He finally did what I asked without any more complaints, and then
we made our way to the arena. When we arrived, I went with him to his office
for a minute. His assistant coaches, Mattias Bergstrom and Daniel Hamm, were
already there doing whatever it was Daddy expected them to do before games.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I kissed my dad on the cheek and said,
“Remember to check your blood pressure,” and then I left him to do his thing. I
don’t think he or anyone else would ever say boo to me if I stayed down in the
coaches’ offices or headed into the locker room for a bit to say hi to the guys,
but it was habit for me to go straight up to the owner’s box and hang out with
the players’ wives and girlfriends during the games. I’d been doing that since
I was a baby, so I didn’t see any reason to change my routine now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">On my way out the door, though, I
bumped into Cam Johnson, one of my father’s players. He reached out and caught
my arms, gently steadying me. “Sorry, Sara. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Jonny was a big guy, a fighter.
He was six foot four and towered over my five foot seven frame, but his height
wasn’t the truly intimidating thing about him. The guy was 240 pounds or more
of solid muscle. The suit he was wearing only emphasized his broad shoulders
and beefy arms, and the buzz cut he always had made it easier to see the muscle
even coming down his neck. Who the hell had a muscled neck? How did he even
build muscle there?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The really pathetic thing was, I
was crazy attracted to him. Had been for a while. I didn’t want to be because
he was a hockey player, of all things, and I didn’t want to be with a hockey
player. And he was one of <i>Daddy’s</i>
players. And that meant he was completely and totally off limits. But every
time I was around him, I got these little tingles of awareness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I hated those tingles. I wanted
to throw them into the pit of Mount Doom like they were the One Ring. Mainly
because I only felt them when I was around Jonny, never when I was around
anyone else. I’d hoped I might feel them with that guy Brad. Same hair. Close
to the same height. Fit, but nowhere close to as built as Jonny—but who
was?—but it was no good. No tingles. Bad sex.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And now a baby on the way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Fuck me</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The tingles were going into
overdrive right now, since Jonny was so close to me. He had his hands on my
upper arms and I could smell his amazing cologne, and I didn’t want to move a
muscle other than to maybe lean in a little closer so I could sniff his collar,
which would be totally weird and not even remotely all right.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Jonny gave me a concerned look.
“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh yeah. He’d asked me a
question. I totally spaced on that, thinking about neck muscles and those damn
tingles. “No, I’m fine. Sorry. I was off in another world somewhere.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Okay.” He dropped his grip on my
arms, and I wanted to sob. Then he took a step back from me and grinned—at
least it was as close to a grin as this guy ever showed. “You look nice
tonight. Did you do something different? A new top or something?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I…” What? In all the encounters
I’d ever had with Cam Johnson, that might be the most he’d ever spoken to me,
and he wanted to know if I’d worn a new shirt tonight? Where the hell had <i>that </i>come from? The only thing different
about me was that I had learned I was an incubator for a tiny human. “No,
nothing’s different,” I hedged. I wasn’t ready to tell anyone about that, and
definitely not this guy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He just nodded and backed away
some more, letting his gaze travel all the way down my body and cause a
shit-ton more tingles. “Well, you look nice. Maybe it’s your shoes. Those are
really nice shoes. I’ve got to go talk to your dad now. See ya later.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I nodded and spun on my Manolo
Blahniks, desperate to get away from him so I could make the tingles stop. Come
to think of it, I’d only worn these shoes a few times. Weird that he’d notice
something like that. I shook it off and hurried up to the owner’s box as I’d intended
to do when I’d first left Daddy’s office.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dana Campbell—team captain Eric
Zellinger’s fiancée and his best friend Brenden Campbell’s kid sister—was the
only other person up there when I arrived, which was utterly perfect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dana was one of the best friends
I’d made since Daddy had come to Portland to coach, and she was the primary
reason I’d spent as much time around Jonny lately as I had. He had taught her
some self-defense techniques. They still worked out together sometimes, and she
liked having him around, so she always invited him along if we were doing
something that wasn’t just the girls. Anyway, talking to her would help me get
my mind off all the Jonny-tingles and baby daddy crap going through my head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I plopped down in the seat right
next to hers. “Let’s talk wedding details. I need something to make me smile.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“How about this?” Dana tucked a
curl of her long, blond hair behind her ear and leaned closer to me. “Brenden
and Rachel agreed to do a double wedding. We’re going to have it in Providence
this summer so Eric’s mom doesn’t have to fly.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Yep, a double wedding was just
what the doctor ordered. I pulled both my legs up so I was sitting cross-legged
on my seat and settled in to dish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-variant: small-caps; text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-variant: small-caps; text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-variant: small-caps; text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-variant: small-caps; text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">CAM:</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-variant: small-caps; text-indent: 22.5pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant: small-caps; text-indent: 22.5pt;">Ultimately, the result</span><span style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
of tonight’s game wouldn’t matter.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This was game eighty-two of the NHL’s
eighty-two game season. My team, the Storm, was playing the Vancouver Canucks.
No matter which team won this game, and no matter what happened in any of the
other thirteen games going on around the league on this final day of the
regular season, we already knew our fate and the Canucks already knew theirs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The Storm would finish in third
place in the Pacific Division. We were going to the playoffs, our first postseason
appearance in five long years. I’d been here for four of them after spending a
few years playing for the Baby Storm—what I’d always called the Seattle Storm,
Portland’s minor league affiliate. I knew better than most how long overdue a
trip to the dance was around here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Also regardless of tonight’s
outcome, the Canucks would finish in second place in the division. They had
gotten into the postseason more often than not in recent years, but they had
never won it all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Those positions meant we would
face each other in the first round.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So in a few days’ time, the two
teams playing each other tonight would play again—and it would be all-out war
for about a week or two. Best of seven. Winner moves on in the toughest tournament
in all professional sports to compete for the Stanley Cup. Loser gets to call
it a summer early and go home to work on the perfect golf swing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The only things that mattered now
were setting expectations and establishing a tone. We may not have gotten into
the playoffs in the last five years, but we had no intention of going down
easy, and they planned to make us pay for every inch of ice we wanted to take.
For both teams, tonight was all about sending a message about what was to come in
the first round.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The matchup would be interesting
from a sports network perspective—the perennial playoff contender who had never
won the big prize against the team made up of young players hungry to prove
themselves and a few aging vets hoping for another shot at the Cup before they
retired. It should make for an intriguing series from those storylines alone,
but there was a lot more at play than just that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The season series between our two
teams had grown more and more contentious with every game. We didn’t like them;
they didn’t like us. That went back pretty much twenty years or so, well before
any of the players on the ice were in the league yet. Sometimes it seemed like
we’d loathed each other since even before the Storm came into existence. It was
a mutual, decades-old hate fest, and things had gotten progressively nastier
each time we’d faced them over the course of the current season. The fact that
we would have to play an entire seven-game series against them in just a few
days had only served to intensify that hatred, if that were even possible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was still a scoreless game in
the third period, and it had been filled with more than just a few hard—not to
mention dirty—hits. On both sides. There was no pretending our play hadn’t
skirted the line of legality just as much as theirs had. Anyone who tried to
argue otherwise was full of shit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But what was happening right
before my eyes went beyond merely hitting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I didn’t see what started it—something
in the corner behind our net, where several guys from both teams had converged,
it seemed—but I heard a bunch of angry shouting, and a scrum broke out in the
blink of an eye. Each of our five guys paired off with a Canuck. Everyone in
the building got on their feet—both benches, all the fans. No one could sit
with that kind of tension on the verge of seriously boiling over. Our
goaltender, Nicklas Ericsson, skated away from his crease and off to the corner
so he couldn’t get dragged into the fray.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That made me breathe a little
easier. Nicky had already missed quite a bit of action this season with a
concussion. And really, the last guy you ever want fighting in hockey is your
goaltender. The more distance he put between himself and all the shit going
down on the ice, the better. That was the way I looked at it, at least.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Every guy on our bench was
yelling and tapping his stick on the boards. The coaches paced behind us,
screaming at the refs to get the melee under control and cheering our boys on
just like the rest of us were.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But then the shit hit the fan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One of the guys in visitors’ white
took Andrew Jensen down hard. Jens was our number one defenseman and my road
roommate this year. He wasn’t a fighter, but he had answered the call out there
just like any of our boys would do in a pinch. Now he was flat out on the ice
and not moving a muscle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">All the guys on the bench went
berserk when we saw Jens on his back like that. The linesmen were trying to
deal with a couple of the fights that were heading out toward center ice. One
of the refs was down on the ice with Jens, and the other was trying to help
Eddie Masters, our head trainer, get to Jens since it looked like he was in
some serious trouble. It wouldn’t surprise me to see the stretcher come out for
him, and that was something you never wanted to see. It almost always meant extremely
bad news.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">With all that going on, though, no
one was doing a goddamned thing about the asswipe in white who’d just taken out
our best fucking defenseman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Stay on the fucking bench,”
Scotty Thomas yelled from close behind me. “No one leaves this bench or you’ll
never see another fucking minute of ice time as long as I’m the coach here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The assistant coaches were
shouting similar shit at us. They just wanted to be sure we all followed the
rules. Back in the day, the NHL had experienced issues with bench-clearing
brawls, so harsher punishments were instituted now for anyone who left the
team’s bench in a situation like this. Automatic suspensions and fines for the
player. Fines and possible suspensions for the coaches. Even heftier fines for
the teams.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We all knew the rules.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>I knew</i> the fucking rules.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But I also knew it was my job to
protect my teammates. I could score a goal here and there. I was a serviceable
fourth-liner and penalty killer and I could move up the lineup when they needed
me to, but I wasn’t going to kid myself. One of the main reasons the Storm kept
me on the payroll year after year was because I didn’t let fuckers like that
take out the star players on my team. Sometimes doing what was right was more
important than following the fucking rules. I knew it. The coaches knew it. The
league knew it. Everyone in the whole damn building fucking knew it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Center Antoine Gagnon was holding
his own with a guy who had a reputation as a fighter, much like I did. Good on
the kid. Gags was a second-year guy, really young, who was still trying to
establish himself as a regular. I’d never thought of him as a fighter before,
though.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Keith Burns, our other defenseman
on the ice for this shift, had his guy pinned against the glass, and they were
both trying to catch their breath after a heavy bout. I wouldn’t be surprised
if they went another round before the linesmen got to them to break things up.
I hoped for Burnzie’s sake they didn’t. We needed him able to play, especially
if Jens was going to be out for a chunk of time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">David Weber was in a big tilt
with his guy—another heavyweight fighter for the Canucks—but Webs was a wily
veteran who’d been in more fights in his career than just about anyone else on
the team other than me. I didn’t need to worry about him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Henrik Markusson had never even
been in more than a shoving match before, though, at least not to my knowledge.
Hank wasn’t holding up well. The guy he’d paired off with was pummeling him
with one right hook on top of another. I could only hope Hank wouldn’t get hurt
like Jens had. We couldn’t afford to lose either one of them right now with the
playoffs being right around the corner. Someday soon I needed to take Hank
aside and give him a few fighting pointers just in case he got stuck in a
situation like this again. When a line-brawl starts, you don’t always get to
pick which players are out on the ice for it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But fighting tips would have to
wait. This was happening in the here and now. I made notes in my mind, taking
down numbers of the guys in white who would need to be dealt with when I
finally got the chance—and I <i>would </i>get
my fucking chance, since we were going to have a whole playoff series against
each other starting in a few days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But then I saw it: a streak of
white, out of the corner of my eye, heading straight in Nicky’s direction. The
same fucker who’d laid Jens out was going for my goddamn goaltender.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Nicky didn’t have to fight him, at
least not according to the rules in place. He could refuse. But if this asswipe
started throwing blows, what the hell was Nicky supposed to do? He would have
to protect himself, and then he’d be fighting, and that was not something I
could let happen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Stay the fuck where you are. No
one leaves this fucking bench.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I heard Scotty’s shout, and I
knew he meant for me—for all of us, really—to stay put and be good little
soldiers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“That means you, Jonny,” Bergy bellowed
from right by my ear. “Keep your ass on the bench. Don’t you fucking put a
skate over the boards.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Yeah, that one was definitely
directed straight at me and no one else. Bergy knew me well since he’d still
been playing when I came into the league. I actually fought him once, so he
knew exactly what I was. Hockey player. Fighter. Some people called me a goon.
I wasn’t a goon, but I couldn’t sit back and let certain things happen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Things like this fucker making a
beeline for my goaltender.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I felt Bergy’s hands on the back
of my jersey, trying to physically restrain me and keep me on the bench.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I didn’t give a shit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">All that mattered at that moment
in time was that it was my job to protect my teammates.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 22.5pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So that’s
exactly what I did.</span></span></div>
Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980615898789442957.post-41551485835219792832014-07-23T14:11:00.003-04:002014-07-23T14:11:57.770-04:00More Pre-Orders<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibmAgXp5Kb1DpqgA1X_cBUPohr7Gh5AQ6bUFjTTj9ImwO2OM9KS2RQakQqjDlTPCBsJNRtys0cCxVDqYMDs50w8gjNAtGd2mOXuef8omQqpVbYcogwOpmoISw80IB7_Ro0vyN6T9K5kx94/s1600/CatherineGayle_TakingAShot_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibmAgXp5Kb1DpqgA1X_cBUPohr7Gh5AQ6bUFjTTj9ImwO2OM9KS2RQakQqjDlTPCBsJNRtys0cCxVDqYMDs50w8gjNAtGd2mOXuef8omQqpVbYcogwOpmoISw80IB7_Ro0vyN6T9K5kx94/s1600/CatherineGayle_TakingAShot_800px.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Taking a Shot, the novella originally published in the Seduced by the Game anthology, will release on its own on September 4, 2014.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Katie Weber has lost her health due to leukemia,
and now her chemotherapy treatments have taken her hair. She’s not about to
show up to her senior prom bald and let her classmates steal her dignity, too.
Prom is no place for a girl who looks more like an alien than a high school
student, especially when her so-called friends all dropped her like she had the
plague at the first mention of the word <i>cancer</i>.
Katie could never get up the courage to ask Jamie—her crush for almost two
years, ever since he joined her dad’s pro hockey team—to take her. Not with the
way she looks now. Besides, her dad would absolutely murder him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Jamie Babcock knows its bad news to fall for his
Portland Storm teammate’s daughter, but he’s had a thing for Katie since the first
time he met her when he was just a wide-eyed, eighteen-year-old rookie. Now
cancer might take her away before he ever grows the balls to do anything about
it, though. Her father won’t be happy about it, but Jamie has to take a shot
and ask to take her to her prom. It seems like Katie has just about given up,
and he can’t let her go without giving her some good memories…something to hold
on to. She’s still got her whole life ahead of her—she just has to keep living
it. If he can convince her of that, nothing her father might do to him will
matter.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">You can currently pre-order it at <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/taking-a-shot/id901414630?mt=11" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/taking-a-shot-1" target="_blank">Kobo</a>, and sometime soon at Barnes and Noble.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Add it to your <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22041558-taking-a-shot" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> bookshelf now.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdcwvQCML3IVHT2UG49YnhLAFCdPRRTuXeZJt-UCd7Cg0VdDi6_s_NBUnlkZpTIxQnbZpJBZEHcMmMhjonrCxLwh8aPAh8rte1fbu5VVv9ETNxceD6yDNTzWXGHDtd9-vmkd72yA7be93I/s1600/CatherineGayle_TheFirstPeriod3DBoxSet_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdcwvQCML3IVHT2UG49YnhLAFCdPRRTuXeZJt-UCd7Cg0VdDi6_s_NBUnlkZpTIxQnbZpJBZEHcMmMhjonrCxLwh8aPAh8rte1fbu5VVv9ETNxceD6yDNTzWXGHDtd9-vmkd72yA7be93I/s1600/CatherineGayle_TheFirstPeriod3DBoxSet_800px.jpg" height="320" width="304" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There's also a box set of the first few books in the Portland Storm series on its way. Portland Storm: The First Period, will be available on December 4, 2014. You can pre-order it through <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/portland-storm-first-period/id901481390?mt=11" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/portland-storm-the-first-period" target="_blank">Kobo</a>, and sometime soon at Barnes and Noble.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">BREAKAWAY<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She’s reaching for a breakaway pass.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dana Campbell has spent the past seven years in self-imposed
isolation for a crime she didn’t commit. The danger is well in the past, but
her panic attacks make it impossible to have a normal, healthy relationship
with a man. Even her counselor has given up on her. She has to find someone she
trusts to help her fight through the panic, or her seven-year ordeal will
become a lifetime sentence. There’s only one man she feels safe enough to ask.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He got caught with his head down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As the captain of the NHL’s once elite but now fading
Portland Storm, Eric Zellinger knows a thing or two about keeping his focus on
the job. Questions are flying about his ability to lead the team back to the
playoffs. If they don’t make it, he might be shipped out of town. It’s the
worst time possible for his best friend’s kid sister to divide his focus. How
can he give her what she needs without jeopardizing both the Storm’s playoff
hopes and his future with the team?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s her only chance, but it’s his last shot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">ON THE FLY<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Injury after injury has put Brenden Campbell’s NHL career on
hold for years. Now he’s playing for the Portland Storm and determined to make
it stick. Few things in life drive him more than being told he can’t have
something he wants, and what he wants most is to prove he belongs. Brenden also
wants Rachel Shaw, the cute, little redhead who just got hired as the general
manager’s new assistant. But then she went and made herself off-limits, telling
him: “I don’t date.” Those three words pretty much guarantee that he’ll do
everything he can to change her mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Rachel is changing things up on the fly for her family,
moving them somewhere she can be the kind of mom her kids deserve. Allowing
anyone else to be in their lives is out of the question, at least until her
instincts get back on track. How else can she be sure who to steer the kids
clear of? Right now she trusts no one, including herself, and especially not a
man like Brenden Campbell. He’s way too handsome and a little bit cocky.
Falling for a guy like him is a mistake she can’t afford to make twice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXGtqoM4OXqbvgRl5oWlsNql9EfBCOMQQytenPL3HbJbFd6QIPTee1n_nRFHuqlN4e4-d2nWeIAC1JJhd8pR0cq0xftBu_TB2rg91hGq8FQVcxW3Dv9-D0rSZyWNAE0RGKzIpLfwl5SFSb/s1600/CatherineGayle_TheFirstPeriod2D_800px.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXGtqoM4OXqbvgRl5oWlsNql9EfBCOMQQytenPL3HbJbFd6QIPTee1n_nRFHuqlN4e4-d2nWeIAC1JJhd8pR0cq0xftBu_TB2rg91hGq8FQVcxW3Dv9-D0rSZyWNAE0RGKzIpLfwl5SFSb/s1600/CatherineGayle_TheFirstPeriod2D_800px.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">TAKING A SHOT<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Katie
Weber has lost her health due to leukemia, and now her chemotherapy treatments
have taken her hair. She’s not about to show up to her senior prom bald and let
her classmates steal her dignity, too. Prom is no place for a girl who looks
more like an alien than a high school student, especially when her so-called
friends all dropped her like she had the plague at the first mention of the word
<i>cancer</i>. Katie could never get up the
courage to ask Jamie—her crush for almost two years, ever since he joined her
dad’s pro hockey team—to take her. Not with the way she looks now. Besides, her
dad would absolutely murder him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Jamie
Babcock knows its bad news to fall for his Portland Storm teammate’s daughter,
but he’s had a thing for Katie since the first time he met her when he was just
a wide-eyed, eighteen-year-old rookie. Now cancer might take her away before he
ever grows the balls to do anything about it, though. Her father won’t be happy
about it, but Jamie has to take a shot and ask to take her to her prom. It
seems like Katie has just about given up, and he can’t let her go without
giving her some good memories…something to hold on to. She’s still got her
whole life ahead of her—she just has to keep living it. If he can convince her
of that, nothing her father might do to him will matter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">LIGHT THE LAMP<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Life’s been rough lately for Noelle Payne, but she’s not one
to let negativity rule. So, she lost her job? She’ll find another one. The bank
foreclosed on the house? Well, she can live out of her car for a while. There’s
always an upside to be found…but now Noelle needs to find something to give her
life meaning. She owes it to the universe to figure it out, too, because a
stranger just saved her life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">When Liam Kallen’s wife died, his goal-scoring ability died
with her. After a trade from the only pro hockey team he’s ever played for,
he’s now playing for the NHL’s Portland Storm. Everyone said he needed a change
of scenery, but nothing changes until he rescues Noelle. All of a sudden, the
world once again looks bright and he’s lighting the lamp like he used to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Noelle’s cheerful disposition is just the bit of sunlight
Liam needs in his life. He wants to give her everything she needs because she’s
everything he wants. The problem? She doesn’t believe she needs anything…at
least nothing material. The one thing they both know she truly needs—a real
purpose—also happens to be the one thing he doesn’t know how to give her. If he
can’t help her find that, she might walk away and take all her sunshine with
her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Book 4, Delay of Game, will release August 21 (<a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/delay-of-game/id882526667?mt=11" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/delay-of-game-2" target="_blank">Kobo</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/delay-of-game-catherine-gayle/1119616793?ean=2940045964609" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22320427-delay-of-game" target="_blank">Goodreads</a>). Book 4.5, Double Major, releases on September 18 (<a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/double-major/id901600914?mt=11" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22665631-double-major" target="_blank">Goodreads</a>). Book 5, In the Zone, will release on November 20 (<a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/in-the-zone/id898639798?mt=11" target="_blank">iBooks</a>, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22665636-in-the-zone" target="_blank">Goodreads</a>).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I will have more pre-order links for Double Major and In the Zone when it gets closer to their releases. Amazon does not currently allow for pre-orders for most indie authors, and therefore I can't give you links to purchase for your Kindle until the books are live. I'm sorry!</span></div>
Catherine Gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05830640955594808304noreply@blogger.com0