Page 112 of Tight End

I look at Sam. “I know I won’t ever again. And tonight, I want to create a new memory, a happy one, right here at the Sun Arena because I believe with my whole heart this guy was always meant to be here with me.”

Dropping to my knee, I stare up at Sam. “I fucking love you, Sam Hartley. I always did and I always will. Will you marry me?”

He falls to his knees in front of me. “Fuck, yes.” And then he grabs me by both sides of my face and crushes his lips to mine.

For a second, I forget that there are hundreds of thousands of people watching us, in person and online.

Not that I’ve never been opposed to voyeurism.

We reluctantly pull the slightest bit away from each other, our gazes still locked, the scorching heat of his eyes on me melts my bones.

“You set my heart on fire,” hewhispers.

“And with you is where I belong,” I murmur against his lips. “Now and forever.”

I hope you loved reading the red Zone Series as much as I loved writing it! And now Jack Larson is back to get his HEA in PUCK LUST, which will be a spin-off hockey romance series filled with the steamy, spicy, and forbidden vibes we all crave. Age gap, hate to love, broken and brooding hockey player…YUM!!!

Grab it now on Amazon?—>

Check out chapter one?—>

Chapter One

Jack

I take off down the ice in pursuit of the puck. It’s the final minute of the third period, the score tied two-two. My leg muscles burn, a thick stream of sweat icing under my jersey. I dart past Van Buren, one of the opposing forwards on the New York Renegades, to gain possession of the puck in their defensive zone.

“You got something to prove tonight, Larson?” he jeers, rushing at me. “Since you can’t stop shitting the bed every time you take the ice?”

I grit my teeth, biting down hard on the plastic mouth guard. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my teammates positioned on the ice, ready for me to make the pass. But that dickhead Van Buren got in my head. Basically because he just said what everyone in the arena is thinking right now.

Do I have something to prove?

Fuck, yeah, I do.

Not that I should. I’m the star fucking forward for the Oakland Raptors. They paid me an insane amount of money to leave New York but it wasn’t the money that tempted me.

It was my ex, Sam Hartley, tight end for the Oakland Saints. We’d dated for years and when I left for New York, things fizzled because neither of us was a fan of the long distance thing.

But I never really got over him. Sure, I got over plenty of other guys to help me deal with the loss but none of them ever filled the void. So when I got the offer, I took it, figuring being close to Sam again would fix what had been broken.

Except it didn’t. I was too late.

But that’s not even the worst part.

I have a clear shot to Masterson. And since Van Buren is practically on top of me, I know I should pass the puck now.

That’s what everyone expects.

That I’ll make the right move and redeem myself for all the other shitty games I’ve been playing since the news broke.

But fuck that.

Vam Buren’s voice rattles my brain. He said what everyone else is thinking. So I don’t make the pass.

I turn my gaze toward the line of Renegades barreling toward me. All I have to do is break through the line and score the winning goal.

As I try to deke past the first defender, one of the players shoulder checks me, knocking me off-balance. One of the New York defensemen intercepts it at the blue line and shoots the puck to their center.

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