Chapter 1
Prologue RONAN I’m a fun guy. Some might say… neat. A solid, trustworthy good time. If you’re looking to score an epic night out, I’m your man. No drama. No worries. Just good old-fashioned fun. From a young age, I learned life’s too short, and you better enjoy every damn second of it. So, my rule? Say yes. Say yes to as much crazy stuff as you can. Thornfield, want to hit that pub down the street and throw back a few with the locals? Absolutely. Thornfield, how about we go skinny-dipping in the coach’s pool—while he’s home? You bet. Thornfield, feel like jetting off to Vegas on our day off and hitting the poker tables? That’s a hell yes. Living in the moment is my motto, and so far, it’s served me well. I’ve been to places I never imagined and snagged opportunities I couldn’t dream up. But… and that’s a big but, a real doozy. This time, my yes has smacked me right in the face. It all kicked off on my birthday. We’d just had a killer win against the Ice Warriors, and the vibe was high. It was Valentine’s Day—yep, I’m a Valentine’s baby—and we rolled into the hottest singles bar in the city, which was guaranteed to be packed with women. The drinks were flowing like a river. The conversations were buzzin’. And I wasn’t about to call it a night anytime soon. Then, she strolled into the bar. In a sizzling hot pink dress that hugged her curves like a second skin, she flaunted her platinum-blonde hair in long, silky waves. The lipstick painting her luscious lips matched her dress perfectly. No doubt about it—she was the hottest girl in the place. Every guy who caught sight of her stopped dead in their tracks, eyes glued to her like she was the last piece of pie at a buffet. And then she slid right up next to me, totally unaware of my presence, as if the world melted away around us. It felt like the music faded into silence as she gracefully set her clutch on the bar. Leaning in with an effortless charm, her perfectly manicured nails drummed softly on the wood as she sweetly ordered a gimlet with two lime wedges. I was entranced. I was hooked. I was her prisoner for the rest of the night. My mind had one singular focus. Her. She had my full attention, and no one would pry me away. No one could stop me. Because truth be told, I’d had my eye on her for a while, ever since I crossed paths with her two years ago. And that night… it was my shot. I tossed aside all excuses and restrictions, laying down the most powerful ace in my hand to get her to notice me: it was my birthday. And damn, did we make it a night to remember. I can still picture the way her dress slipped down her body as I held her tight, feeling like the world had shrunk to just us. I could still taste the lime and danger on her lips. And her intoxicating perfume—it lingered in the air around me, a haunting memory as I lost myself in her, pulse racing, until we collapsed into bliss together, over and over again. It was one of the best nights of my entire life. But then reality hit. We’d both agreed it’d be a one-night thing. So, as dawn broke, she slipped away like a soft whisper, leaving me in a daze as we returned to our daily grind. Eat, sleep, and breathe hockey. Was it the best birthday gift I could ask for? Without a doubt. Did she fulfill every wild fantasy I’d ever conjured? More than I’d ever hoped for. And if she waltzed up to me tomorrow and asked for more? I’d be hard-pressed to say no. But alas, this isn’t a fairy-tale story about how a one-night stand blossomed into a tale for the ages. Nope, that would be too easy. This story? It’s about me, the man I truly am. It's the tale of how I wear the title “Ultimate Screw-Up,” because not only did I accidentally get the girl in the hot pink dress pregnant… I broke bro code. Because the girl in the hot pink dress? She’s the sister of my teammate… and my best friend.
Chapter 2
PENNY TikTok Question: If you had a daughter or sister, which one of your teammates would you want her to steer clear of? Ronan Chips: Oh, Thornfield is a definite no! Ellison Keene: Thornfield all the way. Milo Taft: Is this even a real question? Thornfield, hands down. Silas Thornfield: Seriously? They’re saying me? *shakes head* Of course. Honestly, I’d probably pick myself too. Me or Chips. Ronan Chips: Thornfield just said me? That arrogant jerk. Too self-absorbed to admit it’s himself. Riley Freemont: Who do I want my sister away from? All of them. They’re a bunch of clowns. They know they’re forbidden from getting anywhere near her. But if I had to pick just one? Easy. Thornfield. There’s no chance I’d ever let him eye her like that. Period. And he knows it. * * * “Why are we hitting up this bar? You’re not even single,” I shoot at my best friend, Cleo, tugging on the hem of my dress for what feels like the umpteenth time since our Uber dropped us off. It looked adorable on the hanger. It felt cute when I stood still in front of the mirror. But now, as I strut down the streets of Riverwell, this dress has completely betrayed me. It keeps inching higher on my thighs, and I’m just praying I can get through the night without flashing anyone. “Sure, but Perry is out of town! What's the harm in being your wing-woman?" “Honestly, I didn’t want to go out at all tonight,” I retort. “Going out on Valentine’s Day when you’re single feels ridiculous.” “It’s not ridiculous,” Cleo insists, looping her arm through mine and tugging me closer. A striking five-foot-ten goddess with chestnut hair, emerald eyes, and a smile that lights up when happiness strikes and dims when someone's done her wrong—she’s my partner-in-crime, best friend, and skincare guru who always claims she’ll never look a day over twenty-one. “The best time to hit the town is when you're single because you can hook up with someone just looking for a distraction.” “Ah, yes! Because stepping in as someone’s emotional Band-Aid is the epitome of good times,” I retort with as much sarcasm as I can muster. “It could be a blast if you let it! Don’t you think it’s time you jump back into the dating pool? You’ve earned that promotion you’ve been grinding for, so let’s celebrate! You need some fun!” She’s right. I’ve put in endless hours over the past two years, and while my work ethic is strong, my social calendar has been embarrassingly bare. “I don’t need a man to enjoy myself,” I declare. “True,” Cleo nods. “But sitting in your suite all night won’t cut it. And I really hate to pull this card on you, but best friends have needs too. After all, my need tonight is to have you out with me.” “Wow, low blow there,” I shoot back, half-amused. “Of course! I can’t have you all moody tonight. We need to soak up some energy and have a blast together. So, can we make that happen?” I let a dramatic sigh escape. “I think I can manage such a thing.” “Perfect! When we hit the bar, I want upbeat vibes only from you. And if a handsome guy happens to cross your path, so be it! But our goal is to have fun, dance, and of course, indulge in some epic people-watching as the singles navigate this lovey-dovey night." “Sounds like a solid plan,” I reply as we approach the bar Cleo can’t stop raving about. According to her, the place is decked out in passionate reds and hot pinks, with balloons floating about, making it Instagram-worthy and ripe for mingling. Appetizers will be paraded by eager servers, the music will be popping, and the exclusive guest list will keep the vibe at its peak. It all sounded enticing when she first pitched it, and now that I’m fully committed—even in this short dress—I might as well brace myself for whatever fun lies ahead. I started as an intern with the Riverwell Instigators and climbed my way up to become the in-house social media coordinator, doing TikTok like a pro. And honestly? I adore my job. I get to chill with professional hockey players, keep them in check with evolving TikTok trends, mess with fans on our social media, and watch my brother play the beloved sport we both live for. So why not raise a glass, shake off the day, and dive into a bit of fun? Finally, we reach the entrance of the bar, where a towering, gruff man with a clipboard stands sentinel. His brow furrows as he sizes us up. “Name,” he says, his tone gruff as sandpaper. “Cleo Fairbairn and guest!” She bounces on her toes, flashing a grin that almost beams through the nightlife haze. The bouncer scrambles through his clipboard, and it feels like an eternity. Just when I think he won’t find her name, he slashes through the list and steps aside, releasing the crimson velvet rope like a gatekeeper granting access to a secret realm. “No smoking inside. Eat your heart out,” he drones monotonously, making me wonder how many times he’s recited that line tonight. Hand in hand, Cleo and I glide into the bar, and I’m hit by an overwhelming sight: hundreds of balloons, the colors of love squished against the already low ceiling. Their vibrancy is the primary decoration, but even that can’t drown out the wobbly crepe streamers that hang like fancy drapery over the bar and the glittery chaos sprawling over the floor. The balloons might be a festive dream, but when you throw in the sweaty glitter, it sort of screams disaster. Regardless of the odd décor stuck to my shoes, the dimly lit scene buzzes with lively music and bursts of laughter. Plus, a few suits here are catching my eye. Who knows? This night could turn out to be something special after all. “Over here!” Cleo calls, expertly weaving us toward the back of the bar, dodging trays of drinks and clusters of people. “Fingers crossed that some high-top tables are free for us!” She skillfully maneuvers through the crowd, leading us around a corner into a much larger space that houses a scattering of high-top tables, the chatter here a little more bearable. “Ooh! Look, there’s a table! Grab us some drinks, and I’ll stake our claim!” The bar is packed, and as I make my way to the bar, an elbow jabs into my ribs and a shoulder collides with mine—just a typical Friday night. As I lean on the sleek black bar top, surveying my drink options, I’m suddenly greeted by a warm voice. “Killer dress!” A female bartender with a dazzling smile and striking presence steps up beside me. “Aw, thanks a bunch!” I glance down at the contentious dress and back at her. “It’s climbing up my thighs like it thinks it’s auditioning for a reality show. Super annoying, to be honest.” She winks at me, her confidence practically radiating. “Trust me, that dress will turn heads. Now, what can I whip up for you, hon?” Little does she know, commitment is the least of my concerns tonight. Maybe a little playful banter and flirtation could ensue, but nothing serious is on the agenda. “Uh, my friend loves a Malibu Bay Breeze with a cherry, so I’ll get that for her. And I’ll take a gimlet with two lime wedges.” “Gotcha! Coming right up!” The bartender starts mixing, gliding between bottles like a dancer on the ice, expertly assembling the drinks. I admire her finesse because bartending is an art I’d mess up in a heartbeat. “Gimlet, huh? Never pegged you as a gin kind of gal,” a deep, husky voice interrupts, coming up beside me, sending a small jolt through my system. Oh, that voice. I swear everyone in Riverwell knows it.
Chapter 3
Turning to my right, I come face to face with Silas Thornfield, the hottest defenseman in the game of hockey, strutting his stuff for the Ice Warriors—my team. But let’s get real, he’s not just a player; he's a walking fantasy for every hockey fan in the league, even the guys. With a stick in hand, he looks intimidating enough to make you quiver, yet one flash of his killer smile pulls you right in—it’s the sort of smile that showcases his perfect teeth. And, oh yeah, he’s one of my brother’s best friends. “Thornfield, wh-what are you doing here?” My voice cracks slightly, nerves sending shockwaves through me every time he’s near. This guy is a total knockout, and I find myself both mesmerized and on edge. It’s a bit of a surprise to spot him at a singles bar on Valentine’s Day—definitely not his usual scene. But then again, given his reputation as the biggest player on the team, he could be just out here fishing for his next hookup. Classic Thornfield. “Oh, you know, just relishing the anniversary of my birth.” He leans against the bar like he owns the place, taking a casual sip of his beer, dressed to kill in a navy three-piece suit that highlights every muscle. He radiates confidence and knows just how good he looks. Seriously, I don’t think anyone else can pull off a suit like Silas Thornfield. I've even put together slow-motion videos of him strutting into the arena, showcasing him as the best-dressed guy on the team. Those cigarette pants—no socks, just slick dress shoes—grab the attention of everyone in the room. Then there’s how that suit jacket hugs his shoulders, emphasizing his biceps whenever he lifts his coffee cup. A total thirst trap, and I wouldn’t think twice about posting it. But now that this stunning specimen is standing right in front of me, staring straight into my eyes, my emotions are in chaos. Part of me wants to reach out and touch his chest, while the other half is ready to run for the bathroom and toss my cookies. Talk about conflicting feelings! I try to play it cool, placing my hand on the bar like it’s no big deal, trying to mimic his relaxed demeanor. But while he’s like the poster child for social grace, I’m praying that my dress doesn’t decide to curl up like a wilted flower and flash my panties to this godly hockey player. Oh God, what underwear did I wear today? Why am I freaking out about this? “Are you, uh… okay?” He leans down slightly, his gaze piercing right through me. Crap. I’ve gone silent. “Yes, I’m totally fine. Just fantastic.” I snap my fingers in an exaggerated way, hoping to seem less flustered. “Oh right! Your birthday! I posted about it on TikTok.” He raises an eyebrow, skepticism painted across his handsome features. “You mean the boomerang video of Lark giving me a smack on the ass with his hockey stick?” Guilty as charged. It was hilarious, though, and I can’t help but let out a quiet chuckle, almost snorting, but I manage to keep it together. “Thought it was a fitting tribute since the fans are all about your ‘bromance’ lately.” Milo Taft, the team’s enforcer—he’s the biggest guy on the roster but has a heart of gold to match. On the ice, he’s a fierce beast, while off it, he’s a total teddy bear. He cherishes bologna sandwiches and practically has a ritual of slapping Silas on the rear with his stick before every game. The fans absolutely live for it. “We share one milkshake, and suddenly we’re engaged,” Silas groans, rolling his eyes. Ah yes, the infamous milkshake incident. It was the cutest thing ever. Those two were at a charity event for a children’s hospital, and they were given a massive milkshake with two straws. The way they locked eyes as they sipped from the same shake was PR gold. That moment got the media buzzing, including all over ESPN’s Top Ten. Pure magic. “It was a PR nightmare. You’re now bonded for life,” I tease. “Could be worse,” he shoots back with that irresistible grin. Ugh, that smile is lethal. My hand that’s still resting on the bar trembles a little, caught off guard by his charm. “I coulda been caught splitting a milkshake with your brother.” “Riley would *never* share a milkshake with you,” I retort before I can think better of it. “He’d say you have some contagious disease he needs to avoid.”
Chapter 4
Riley, my brother, is the star goalie for the Riverwell Instigators. He’s practically the heartbeat of the team, with reflexes that could put a cheetah to shame. Just a few months back, during one of those torrential rainstorms, he collided with a girl named Sophie. It sounds cliché, but the way she just rain-splattered into his life was nothing short of magical. I can’t blame him for being all starry-eyed; she’s adorable, full of life, and honestly, spending time with her is a blast. I’ve been dropping hints to Riley like they’re confetti that he needs to pop the question soon. He swears he has everything planned but claims he’s waiting for the perfect moment. My money’s on after the season wraps up when the guys head over to Crestwood for some R&R. That’s so Riley—such a sentimental sap. But wait, hold up a sec. Did I seriously just bluntly call Thornfield “diseased”? I mean, who says that? Not exactly the smoothest way to start a conversation. I can only assume the entire nation would leap at the chance to share a milkshake with him. Heck, I would! But here I am, sounding like a kid echoing their parents’ worst insults, all thanks to Riley's ridiculous notions. “I’m not diseased,” Ronan retorts, his face twisting into a comical expression. “Your brother just makes up these ridiculous lies to cope with my dazzling beauty,” Ronan adds, locking eyes with me and fluttering his lashes dramatically. “Just to be clear, I’m perfectly healthy—no diseases here.” I throw my hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, whatever you do in your spare time is your own business!” Though we both know his “spare time” involves plenty of late nights and even shorter goodbyes with various women. The bartender swoops in, placing our drinks on the table like a master of ceremony. She glances between Ronan and me, a smirk stretching across her face. “Shall I put your drinks on the hockey star’s tab?” In a normal world, I’d shout a firm no because I like to keep business and pleasure distinct. But, caught up in the moment and trying to match Ronan’s playful vibe, I smile wide. “Yes, please! That’d be awesome.” I shoot a cheeky grin at the bartender. “Thanks a ton!” She winks back, her smile bright. “Of course!” Now that I’ve boldly seized the drinks off someone else’s tab, it’s about time for me to make my escape before this dress turns into a sauna. But just as I’m about to sprint off, Ronan steps in front of me, blocking my escape route like a roadblock. “Uh, if I’m covering your drinks, the least you can do is stick around and chat a bit longer. Don’t you think?” Chat longer? Really? That’s like asking me to dive into a pool of sharks when I can barely tread water! Why, you ask? Because he’s intimidating as all hell. This night was supposed to be carefree fun, and while Thornfield is charming, I don’t feel at ease around him. I get it, the truth sounds harsh—he’s just too breathtaking. Like, out-of-my-league kind of stunning—not that he’d even glance my way. Keeping our interactions short and sweet is the safest play, especially since he’s a massive flirt. I definitely don’t want my overactive romantic brain imagining that this chiseled alpha male might be interested in a peek behind my closed doors. Nope, easier to sidestep that forest of what-ifs completely. Therefore, my immediate mission is to find his buddies and shove him into their orbit, far from me. “Did you even come here alone?”
Chapter 5
“Lark came with me, but he bolted within five minutes, claiming his stomach was doing backflips. Honestly? The whole singles bar scene freaked him out more than a haunted house on Halloween.” Now Lark, he’s someone I could chill with. Sure, he’s got the looks, but there’s a down-to-earth vibe that makes him way more approachable. Unlike Silas Thornfield, who lights up the room with that killer grin and sparkly teeth that look like they’re straight out of a toothpaste commercial. “Aw, come on! Why? He’s such a lovable guy! He’s gotta meet a nice girl someday.” Silas raises an eyebrow at that, brows knitting together like he’s diagnosing a problem. “He’s got plenty of girls, and that’s actually the problem. Too much attention makes him itch.” I shoot him a disbelieving glance. “And this comes from the biggest playboy on the team?” His eyebrows shoot up, almost disappearing into his hairline as he points to himself in mock shock. “You think I’m the biggest player?” Is he serious? Not only do I think he is, but it’s practically the town gossip. Everyone, from the team to the management to the fans, know Silas Thornfield’s game. I once asked Riley if Silas felt any guilt about hopping from girl to girl, and he said no. Because Silas is upfront about it—one wild night and then it’s bye-bye. Call me crazy, but that sort of “one and done” mentality shouts universal player status from the rooftops. And just as I’m ready to throw that truth bomb on him, his stunning blue-green eyes zap my brain like it’s been plugged into a toaster, turning my thoughts into mush. “Uh, ahem... I’d like to say... is it hot in here?” He shakes his head, that little smile dancing on his lips. “Yeah, didn’t think so. Anyway, I heard, you know how people gossip around here, that you are, uh, that you... well, that you’re easily the biggest player on the team.” My palms are sweating bullets, the drinks wobbling in my grasp like they might crash to the floor at any moment. “Says who?” Isn’t it glaringly obvious? “Everyone,” I grimace, feeling a rush of embarrassment wash over me. Silas takes a casual sip of his drink, his gaze firmly on me, the confidence radiating off him like warmth from a summer sun. Seriously, where does he get that kind of self-assurance? “You shouldn’t let others’ opinions get to you.” “Are you saying it’s not true?” My teeth chew on my lip nervously, and his eyes immediately laser-focus in on the movement, making my skin prickle. When our gazes lock again, he replies, “I’m saying it’s not currently true.” Well, that’s... interesting. I honestly have no clue what to take from that or how to respond. All I want is to enjoy a drink with my friend, without wading through this awkward tension. I decide to give him an out. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, but you don’t need to impress me. I can’t put any player’s personal life on TikTok without a seal of approval. So, don’t worry, your extracurricular activities are safe with me.” Boom. Maybe that’ll ease his mind. I mean, who wouldn’t want to know their romantic escapades wouldn’t end up going viral, set to the latest trending sound? Though... a post like that would definitely be a showstopper. No, I wouldn’t do that. “Not trying to prove anything.” His gaze slides down my body, a slow, measured look, as if scanning me for something. Trust me, he doesn’t need magic eyes to uncover my flaws. He steps closer, his voice dropping a smidge. “Just looking for some company. Are you really going to make me spend my birthday all by myself?” Well, isn’t that just a wrecking ball to my weak escape plan? Those piercing blue-green eyes lock onto mine, and my heart skips a beat. He’s just so... disgustingly flawless. Perfectly sculpted from his lips to his strong jawline, athletic build, and that aura of charm that practically radiates off him—how can I say no? Super tough. “It’s not my fault you picked the wrong person for your birthday plans,” I jab back, trying to wrap my head around why he’d choose to spend the night with me of all people. I’m nobody in his world. Sure, I can whip up a killer quesadilla and spot an episode of New Girl, but really? What do I have to offer? Nothing remotely close to Silas Thornfield-level interest. “True, but now I’m choosing you. Are you really going to turn me down?” Uh... I want to, but it’s falling flat on my face. I’d like to blame him—seriously, just look at him! I challenge anyone to say no to Silas Thornfield. Go ahead, give it a shot. Yeah... didn’t think so. Impossible. Adios, girls’ night. I had big plans, like spilling embarrassing stories about my latest waxing catastrophe with Cleo and chatting about those period underwear ads that are everywhere. Oh, and let’s not forget about binging on videos of a Turkish baker kneading dough like a pro. Those conversations don’t belong in front of someone like Ronan. And they definitely don’t need to be shared (or leaked) to a guy like him. But it seems Silas has other ideas, and honestly, I can’t just ditch him on his birthday. That’s like a cardinal sin or something. So, here we are, Cleo and I have turned into a trio it seems. “Turn you down?” I quickly glance over to see Cleo glued to her phone. I swallow hard. “I guess I’m not.” A full-on, jaw-droppingly sexy smile blooms on Silas’s face, and my legs feel like jelly. It’s a total heart-stopper, like he just hit me with a bolt of electricity. Sure, I have zero intentions of ever getting involved with Silas or any of Riley’s teammates, but hey, it looks like I’m officially his bestie for the night. Without missing a beat, he drapes his arm around my shoulders, and we stride toward Cleo, who finally looks up from her screen just in time to catch the scene unfolding. Uh-oh. I’ve seen that grin before. And that grin spells trouble for me. Her gears are turning, and I can practically see the mischief in her eyes from a mile away. Setting Cleo’s drink down on the table, I brace for impact, knowing whatever comes next won't end well for me. “Silas Thornfield, isn’t it your birthday?” she asks, her voice dripping with ease, the kind I envy. She’s always been a natural around the hockey guys while I end up awkward, sweating bullets in the corner. You’d think years growing up around these players would toughen me up, but nah, it doesn’t work like that—not with Silas. “It is my birthday.” He places his drink down on a small, circular table with a flair that screams, "I own this place." “Well, Happy Birthday,” she beams. “And I really hate to do this because celebrating your birthday sounds like a blast, but...” Uh-oh. Hate to do what? Why’s she standing up from her chair? Where’s her drink? Why not take a sip first? And wait a minute—why on Earth is she slinging her purse over her shoulder? “But Perry called, and he surprised me by coming home early! I’d love to see where tonight leads, but my Valentine is demanding my presence.” She pouts, but it falls flat—not buying it. Not for a second. “You’re just leaving?” I blurt, panic lacing my tone. I shoot her a look that practically screams, “Please don’t walk out and leave me alone with him!” But because she’s an evil genius, she totally ignores my silent plea. “Yes, but you have Silas here to keep you company—who knows, maybe he’ll play wingman.”
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