Clayton (Spruce Creek Puck Boys Book #1)

Dear Reader,

Five teammates and a small town obsessed with hockey. And did I mention some rich pro athletes? These are five steamy OTT instalove sport romances starting with Clayton and Joanna.

BBW Curvy Woman? Yes! Brooding playboy star athlete? I’ve got you. Fated mates? You’ll have to see for yourself.

Each teammate’s story can be read as a standalone but enjoy them all!

Love, Maddie

Chapter 1: Joanna
The clamoring of my alarm pierces through the early morning silence, jolting me awake. With a groan, I fumble to muzzle it and stare up at the ceiling, willing myself to get moving. I don’t feel like going to work today, but that’s not possible when I’m one of two employees and own the place.
I check the time and see it’s 7:30 AM. I better get moving or I’m going to be late.
Dragging myself from the warmth of my bed, I shuffle to the bathroom and turn on the shower. As the water heats, I rub my eyes to get the sleep out. I slept like crap again last night.
“You’ve got this, Jo,” I grumble before stepping under the hot spray. I flinch at the heat and then the hot water feels so good. Stress is really messing with my life and this jittery feeling stays with me no matter what I do to shake it.
It sucks.
What I wouldn’t give to have a good lay. It could even be a one-night stand. Nothing serious or anything. Just something to take off this edge and maybe finally I’d be able to get a good night’s sleep. So, a one-night stand with some cuddling. That would be perfect.
The water turns warm and pulls me out of that fantasy. It’s been ages since I’d had any sort of that kind of attention.
I yelp as ice cold water stings my back. That’s a sign if ever there was one.
Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed in my work uniform, which includes dark wash jeans, a flowing printed top, and comfortable flats. I pull my unruly curls into a loose bun and swipe on a bit of mascara and lip balm. Grabbing my oversized tote, I head out the door.
The walk to Bennett’s Books is short, only a few blocks from my apartment above Bert’s hardware store on Main Street. I wave at Bert as he flips the sign from closed to open as I pass by. Johnny the newspaper delivery boy almost crashes into me as he takes a shortcut.
“Johnny! You almost hit me,” I call out after him.
“Sorry Jo,” he says as he speeds away.
I need coffee stat, I think, as I spot yet another poster for the Devils.
Spruce Creek is a typical hockey-obsessed Midwestern town, its rhythms tied to the ups and downs of the local professional team, the Spruce Creek Devils.
But that’s not me.
I’ve never been very interested in sports, preferring reading, and going to the library. No surprise I’m now the proud owner of the bookshop I inherited just under a year ago from my grandmother.
Bennett’s Books sits in a prime spot on Main Street, its display window looking out on the main drag. The brick facade looks stately, if a little worn, and the twinkling fairy lights framing the window give it a sparkling glow.
I unlock the front door, step inside, and breathe in the familiar scent of old books and faint whiffs of coffee that permeate the store.
I flick on the lights and smile at the sight of overflowing bookshelves lining every inch of wall space, clusters of mismatched armchairs tucked into reading nooks, and the old oak counter housing our ancient cash register.
And then the familiar dread of being a failure sinks into my tummy. I love this little shop and have to figure out if I can keep it going.
No, no.
I WILL keep it going.
I have to.
The community depends on this place. What would the kids say if they couldn’t get help with their reading? Or the seniors who wouldn’t have a place to get out of the house for the weekly book club? Or the moms who depend on storytime on Saturday mornings? I even got a local band of high schoolers to come and play once a month to help them grow and get more gigs.
All those people depend on me.
Keeping a small independent bookstore running these days is a constant struggle.
We made one sale yesterday.
ONE.
That isn’t going to do the trick.
Not by a long shot.
Plus, the shop has barely changed or been updated since my grandmother first opened its doors over 50 years ago. It’s got old pipes and a leaky roof, and even though I love all its quirks and character, it’s quickly becoming an expensive venture.
I make my way to the office in the back, flipping on the ancient computer and sorting through bills and invoices.
My mood sinks even lower when I see some of the bills. Dammit, I didn’t think I had to pay these yet.
This month we will be in the red by a lot.
Again.
Maybe James was right, and this place would never be profitable. I push that thought away before I get even grumpier. Last thing I need on my mind was my ex-boyfriend who cheated on me because he claimed I cared more about the store than him. I hated that he tried to blame me wanting a career as a reason he stuck his dick in someone else.
Ugh.