Encore

Harley: What happens when the most successful boy band on the planet breaks up? How about 20,000 fans screaming my name. But the price of fame comes with an increased risk to my safety. I've been avoiding the dreaded B word for as long as I can, but after a close call with a rambunctious fan, I can't do it anymore. It's time to give in. I need to hire a full-time bodyguard. And when he shows up, he not only screams badass, he's another B word I try to stay away from: boyfriend material.

I caught the attention of a savage beast. My fault–ish after I crashed into Crestwood hockey team's star defenseman on my way to class. In typical Eli Holmes fashion, instead of walking away after he threw my books across the hall, I stood up to Alexei Petrov. Even sat right next to him in class, letting him know exactly what I thought of his brutish behavior. Someone should’ve reminded me not to go around poking monsters. But I’m not one to cower. Until a heated encounter leads to a steamy kiss.

When it comes to hockey, I'm all about the game. I've worked for years to be one of the best in the league, and l've done it without splashing my orientation all over the tabloids. My hockey image is one I've carefully cultivated, and after one night with Ezra Palaszczuk, I risk it all. He's cocky, obnoxious, and has an ego bigger than Massachusetts. And okay, maybe he's the sexiest man I've ever known. We'll never get along. Not when we sleep together. Not even when my possessive streak awakens. That doesn't stop us from falling into bed together over and over again.

My loser high school friend never deserved him anyway. If I’d had the chance, I would have locked Remy down years ago. Only, when the party leads to a drunken kiss, going on their honeymoon, and sharing their marital bed, I have to say, I’m not entirely sad that their wedding went up in flames.

Proposing to my first boyfriend at a hockey game wasn’t my smartest move. Not only does said boyfriend walk out on me, but the whole stupid thing goes viral, and it turns out the man I was dating has too many boyfriends to count. Internet fame has crowned me a member of the Jilted Exes’ Club, a name I’d do anything to escape. One thing’s for sure: I’m not making the same mistake again. No more boyfriends, just easy hookups. And I’ll start with this gorgeous catch in Seattle. The only problem…he’s a god in bed, and I’m an inexperienced mess.