Her
biggest fantasy is about to become a reality. . .
Hellion's Angels #1
Lia Riley
Releasing July 11, 2017
Avon Impulse
Jed West is Mr. Hockey. The captain of the NHL’s latest winning team, the Denver Hellions—and the hottest player on the ice—at least according to every magazine. .and Breezy Angel. Breezy has been drooling over Jed at games for years, and he plays a starring role in her most toe-curling fantasies. But dirty dreams don’t come true, right?
Then Jed saunters through the doors of her library, a last minute special guest for a summer reading event, and not only is he drop dead gorgeous up close, his personality is straight up swoon-worthy. He even comes to the rescue when she has an R-rated “Super Book Worm” costume malfunction. But when he mistakenly assumes she’s more into books than pucks, she’s too flustered to correct his mistake. And then comes a big kiss, followed by a teensy-tiny problem. Jed’s dating policy is simple: Never date a fan.
So what’s a fangirl going to have to do to convince her ultimate crush that he’s become less of a perfect fantasy, and more like the perfect man. . .for her?
Excerpt
Jed West’s stomach curdled faster than overheated hollandaise sauce as
he squinted at the menu
for Zachary’s, Denver’s most popular all-day breakfast hangout. Ghost-like
shadows haunted the specials list, blurring the descriptions for peanut butter
French toast, country fried steak benedict and sweet potato pancakes. Ah,
shit. Not fucking now. There went the prices too–the dollar signs
and numbers blurring until barely legible.
The Hellions
Head Coach, Tor Gunnar, had a reputation for dismissing the press as “jackals.”
He fostered a tense relationship with journalists, in particular, the tiny
woman sitting opposite. Neve had run a piece on his divorce a few years ago. He
retaliated by refusing to call on her during press conferences. Neve hit back
with increasingly critical op-eds. Their mutual enmity had devolved to the
stuff of local legend.
Jed West’s stomach curdled faster than overheated hollandaise sauce as
he squinted at the menu
for Zachary’s, Denver’s most popular all-day breakfast hangout. Ghost-like
shadows haunted the specials list, blurring the descriptions for peanut butter
French toast, country fried steak benedict and sweet potato pancakes. Ah,
shit. Not fucking now. There went the prices too–the dollar signs
and numbers blurring until barely legible.
No point
blinking. He knew the drill. Jaw tight, he reached for his orange juice, took a
swig and waited. Short bouts of double vision had dogged him ever since Game
Seven, the pattern the same. After a minute or two, his focus would snap back
to normal as if nothing had happened. Until then, he needed to follow one of coach’s favorite axioms: “Suck
it up, Buttercup.”
Who cared
about the damn menu anyway? He pushed it to one side, having already ordered
the “Manwich”, chorizo and eggs smashed between a jalapeno cheddar biscuit–the
kind of breakfast that wanted to kill you in the best kind of ways–and crunched
ice. Too bad the cubes didn’t pass on their chill, because this. . .situation
for lack of a better word, was getting under his skin and it shouldn’t.
No–Scratch
that. It couldn’t.
Unexplained
double vision wasn’t a walk in the park, but facts were facts. And the ugly
truth was that if he didn’t quit batting his lashes like Scarlett O’Hara with a
fly in her skirt, The Post’s toughest sports columnist would glance up
from across the table, mistake his tic for a cheesedick wink, and go Lord of
the Flies on his nut sack.
At least for
the moment, Neve Angel was occupied. She hunched over her digital voice
recorder, dark bangs obscuring her sharp gaze as she fiddled with the control
settings. Her lips moved to the upbeat Buddy Holly song piping over the sound
system while she plucked a mic from her messenger bag. His vision came back
online in time for him to read the orange button pinned to the front.
Had a Ball
at The Rock Creek Testicle Festival.
Christ,
looked to be an authentic souvenir too.
Slamming his
knees together, he forced a grin, the one that had potential endorsements lined
up around the block, eager for him to shill everything from vitamin infused
coconut water to shaving cream. He unwrapped the paper napkin from around the
fork and knife, and began tearing the corner into neat strips.
No doubt the
eye thing was fatigue-related, an inevitable toll from the grueling NHL season
and subsequent hard-fought playoffs. Everything would be all right in the end.
If it wasn’t all right, it wasn’t the end.
“You plan on
telling me what’s up with Mount Napkin Shreds?” Neve leaned her elbows on the
recycled wood tabletop, a signal they were shifting into interview mode. Her
brows arched beneath her thick-cut bangs. “Nervous about being in the hot seat,
princess?”
“Yeah,
terrified,” he answered laconically, not missing a beat. Hiding his true
feelings behind a mask of confidence was a reflex; it came with the territory
of having the “C” stitched on the front of his jersey. A good captain never
showed fear to an opponent. “A jackal’s bark is worse then it’s bite.”
“Jackal?
Don’t tell me you’re using Gunnarisms now.” She rolled her eyes. “And I’d so
wanted to enjoy my bagel without gagging.”
The Hellions
Head Coach, Tor Gunnar, had a reputation for dismissing the press as “jackals.”
He fostered a tense relationship with journalists, in particular, the tiny
woman sitting opposite. Neve had run a piece on his divorce a few years ago. He
retaliated by refusing to call on her during press conferences. Neve hit back
with increasingly critical op-eds. Their mutual enmity had devolved to the
stuff of local legend.
After
studying at the University of Montana-Missoula, Lia Riley scoured
the world armed only with a backpack, overconfidence and a terrible sense of
direction. She counts shooting vodka with a Ukranian mechanic in Antarctica,
sipping yerba mate with gauchos in Chile and swilling fourex with stationhands
in Outback Australia among her accomplishments.
Q&A
with Lia Riley
A
la Twitter style, please describe your book in 140 characters or less.
Curvy, nerdy librarian gets a chance to score with her
fantasy crush, the captain of the Denver hockey team.
What
did you enjoy most about writing this book?
I really enjoyed two things about writing this book:
Breezy Angel and Jed West. I have always loved the trope about the so-called
“ordinary” person who falls for a celebrity who in turn views them as nothing
short of “extraordinary.” Probably one of the reason that Notting Hill is one
of my all-time favorite movies. I wanted Jed to be alpha in the bedroom and
obviously an amazingly talented athlete, but I didn’t want to right him as a
one-dimensional “bro.” Instead, I wanted him to be a good guy, someone supportive
of team mates and his woman. A natural leader who thrives by building up those
around him, most importantly his lady. And as for Breezy, I wanted to write a
woman who wasn’t drop-dead model perfect. I don’t know women like that in real
life, and I want to see people in line around me at the grocery store get a
chance to have their own swoony, earth-shattering happy ever after moments too!
Can
you tell us about your upcoming book?
I am so excited for readers to get their hands on Book Two
in the Hellions Angels series. Head Coach
is coming out on November 21st and features (wait for it)
Hellions Head Coach, Tor Gunnar and his enemies-to-lovers relationship with
determined sports journalist Neve Campbell. There is hate kissing, a bet over a
game of air hockey and a fake date to a wedding. Also, it’s one of the sexiest
books I’ve ever written.
And don’t forget about Virgin
Territory about the team goalie who is not only an almost-priest who was
kicked out of seminary school, but also has a reputation for brawling. Plus he
may or may not be a virgin hero.
If
you had a theme song, what would it be?
Don’t
Stop Believing by Journey…because I’m mostly an optimist,
plus I would take immense satisfaction creating ear worms every where I went.
If
you had to title your own life what would it be and why?
Did
I Leave the Stovetop On?: A Lia Riley Story
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