Title: The Pilot & the Puck-Up
Author: Pippa Grant
Genre: Sexy Romantic Comedy
Release Date: February 16, 201
Blurb
He’s the
biggest, baddest, most spider-fearing motherpucker on the ice…
When you’re named after the king of the gods, the world expects certain things
of you.
Tough? Damn right.
Smart? Don’t let the hockey uniform fool you.
Large and in charge? Honey, I’m the biggest, baddest, mother pucking-est
machine to ever own the ice. I shoot. I score. In and out of the rink. I don’t
come early, but I come often, if you know what I mean. And I always leave the
ladies wanting more.
Until that chick last night.
I’m no one-thrust wonder, and you’re damn right I’m going to prove to her I can
do better. But every time I think I’m finally on my way back into her pants,
she one-ups and out-balls me.
I should cut my losses, lick my wounds, and walk away.
But Zeus Berger doesn’t walk away from anything.
Especially when she's the only woman in the world who might be able to handle
me.
The Pilot and the
Puck-Up is a standalone romantic comedy featuring a hockey player whose ego is
the only thing bigger than his shoe size, the most badass woman to ever fly a
plane, rubber chockey (don't ask), and no cheating or cliffhangers.
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Excerpt
Zeus Berger (aka the biggest, baddest, most
spider-fearing mother pucker to ever play in the NHL)
Coconuts are itchy. I should’ve gone for the watermelons.
But it was a bitch and a half getting that last-minute
private fitting at Madame Cosette’s anyway, and the woman probably would’ve had
to stitch three bras together and then nailed the damn contraption to my
shoulders to get it to hold without losing a melon, so coconuts it is.
Besides, it’s the heels that are gonna be the bigger
problem. Damn good thing I have ankles of fucking steel.
And my minidress is stretched to max capacity over the
coconuts anyway. It’s also in danger of showing my other coconuts, if you catch
my drift. And there’s definitely a drift—or is that a draft?—on my other coconuts.
A wolf whistle echoes through the swanky private clubhouse
where I’m strolling in with my twin brother on my left and my brother from
another mother on my right. A passing server drops a tray of champagne.
Conversation stops. And a bunch of stuffy golf pricks gape at us like we’re a
mutant alien circus freak show crashing their million-dollar wedding reception.
We’re three dudes who have more money than God, more muscles
than all the Kardashians’ bodyguards combined, and more fun than cotton candy
and roller coasters.
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Author Bio
Pippa Grant is a stay-at-home mom and housewife who loves to
escape into sexy, funny stories way more than she likes perpetually cleaning
toothpaste out of sinks and off toilet handles. When she’s not reading,
writing, sleeping, or trying to prepare her adorable demon spawn to be
productive members of society, she’s fantasizing about chocolate chip cookies.
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