Playing to Win, an all-new second chance sports romance with all-the-feels by Stacey Lynn is available now!
It was a three-week fling. Nothing more than a couple of college kids having some fun, but then I did the stupid thing and fell for Jude Taylor quicker than he can score a goal on the ice. And after one beautiful night together, he left for the pros before I could make my first cup of coffee.
I thought I’d put him behind me. I thought I’d moved on. But then he hobbles into my physical therapy office and I realize how absolutely wrong I’ve been—there’s no getting over Jude Taylor.
And now things are complicated. Jude lives half a country away, his career is in direct opposition for my need for stability, and most of all, getting involved with him could mean losing my job and everything I’ve worked so hard for.
Jude doesn’t seem to mind one bit and he’s all in. He might be a patient in my office, but he’s no longer the patient guy I remember.
This time, he’s playing to win, and the prize he’s looking to score is me.
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Excerpt
“You step inside this place and I’m going to kiss you.” Yeah, that’s the asshole thing I say to her first. Not hello. Not wow, you’re beautiful in Storm gear but you’d look hotter wearing my jersey.
Which might be equally douchebaggery.
To the delight of the blood rushing straight below my waist, she steps inside and lets the door close behind her. “I didn’t text you for that, but I won’t turn it down.”
I jerk my chin up. “Then get your sweet ass over here.”
She doesn’t even hesitate, which means I’m grinning when she reaches me. I grab her hand and yank her the rest of the way, loving the way she slams into my chest with a quiet oomph.
Before she can blink or reconsider, my hand is at the back of her head, mine is lowering, and I press my lips against hers, sliding my tongue inside her mouth without hesitation.
Everything inside me from my chest to my dick sparks and sizzles and for the first time in weeks, possibly longer, I feel alive and strong and exactly where I’m supposed to be. I’m resting on the wall, one arm settled over a crutch. It makes kissing her without falling over difficult, but after an adjustment, I’m able to get both of my hands on her cheeks, fingers in her hair, thumbs at her jaw. I tilt her head and move, pressing my back to the wall and bring her with me.
Her hands are above my hips, holding me tight, clutching the fabric of my shirt and my balls are so fucking full with the need to release just from a simple kiss, I’m afraid of what will happen if she presses her stomach against mine.
But she’s moaning, whimpering needy little breaths straight into my throat. I can’t stop or slow down. She tastes like peppermint with a hint of alcohol and I like knowing she’s graduated from beer to what hints of gin.
“Shit,” I groan, taking a breath before devouring her again. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
She huffs against me and pulls back, her lips brushing against mine. I’m hard from a kiss and an old memory of how good she feels when she’s wearing nothing at all.
“I came over to talk.” She’s breathless, cheeks flushed, pupils dilated with desire.
“We are talking.” I slide my mouth along her jaw. “Don’t you understand what I’m saying?”
Who needs words when we have our bodies? She has to know mine is screaming I’m yours.
“You step inside this place and I’m going to kiss you.” Yeah, that’s the asshole thing I say to her first. Not hello. Not wow, you’re beautiful in Storm gear but you’d look hotter wearing my jersey.
Which might be equally douchebaggery.
To the delight of the blood rushing straight below my waist, she steps inside and lets the door close behind her. “I didn’t text you for that, but I won’t turn it down.”
I jerk my chin up. “Then get your sweet ass over here.”
She doesn’t even hesitate, which means I’m grinning when she reaches me. I grab her hand and yank her the rest of the way, loving the way she slams into my chest with a quiet oomph.
Before she can blink or reconsider, my hand is at the back of her head, mine is lowering, and I press my lips against hers, sliding my tongue inside her mouth without hesitation.
Everything inside me from my chest to my dick sparks and sizzles and for the first time in weeks, possibly longer, I feel alive and strong and exactly where I’m supposed to be. I’m resting on the wall, one arm settled over a crutch. It makes kissing her without falling over difficult, but after an adjustment, I’m able to get both of my hands on her cheeks, fingers in her hair, thumbs at her jaw. I tilt her head and move, pressing my back to the wall and bring her with me.
Her hands are above my hips, holding me tight, clutching the fabric of my shirt and my balls are so fucking full with the need to release just from a simple kiss, I’m afraid of what will happen if she presses her stomach against mine.
But she’s moaning, whimpering needy little breaths straight into my throat. I can’t stop or slow down. She tastes like peppermint with a hint of alcohol and I like knowing she’s graduated from beer to what hints of gin.
“Shit,” I groan, taking a breath before devouring her again. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
She huffs against me and pulls back, her lips brushing against mine. I’m hard from a kiss and an old memory of how good she feels when she’s wearing nothing at all.
“I came over to talk.” She’s breathless, cheeks flushed, pupils dilated with desire.
“We are talking.” I slide my mouth along her jaw. “Don’t you understand what I’m saying?”
Who needs words when we have our bodies? She has to know mine is screaming I’m yours.
Author Bio
Stacey Lynn likes her coffee with a dash of sugar, her heroes with a side of bossy, and her wine a deep shade of red.
The author of over thirty romance novels, many of which have been best-selling titles on Amazon, AppleBooks, and Barnes & Noble, she loves being able to turn her vivid imagination into a career that brings entertainment and joy to her readers. Focused on sports romance and emotional, small-town romance, she also loves stretching herself in different genres.
Born in Texas and raised in the Midwest, she now makes her home in North Carolina and loves all things Southern. Together with her ultimate tall, dark, and handsome hero, she has four children. Her life is a chaotic mess that fights with her Type-A, list-making, neurotically organized preferences and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Connect with Stacey:
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