Synopsis
What happens in Vegas…
A Vegas trip with my best friend’s much younger son and his roommate sounded like a great idea after my divorce. It wasn’t supposed to end with us married and our drunken escapades splashed all over the internet.
He’s a pro-hockey player, the Captain of the San Diego Seals. The newest team in the NHL has already been marred by scandal, and neither of us wants to be the next disgrace. So, when we’re told to keep up the charade of our fake marriage for a year, we both agree.
After all, how hard can it be?
The answer: much harder than I expected.
To the world, Jacques Gauthier has two roommates. Behind closed doors, they’re together. Getting between them is hotter than the sun. But it’s not just our intimate times I love. I’m falling for all three of them.
Then I find out I’m pregnant.
I don’t want to say goodbye, but they also never signed on to raising a baby.
Puck Me, Baby is a steamy reverse age gap, why choose MMMF romance. It features a curvy woman who’s rediscovering life after divorce, the gorgeous, sweet pro-hockey player who falls first, a cheeky firefighter, a quiet, nerdy guy who’s good with his hands, a Vegas wedding, and an unexpected pregnancy.
CW: This book deals with cheating in a past relationship.
Excerpt
Light pierced my skull through my closed eyelids. My brain was being carved out by icepicks, an incessant throb like the secondhand ticking around a clock, except with blunt force trauma involved. It was as if someone was using a sledgehammer to drive the icepick into my head.
I was flushed and freezing at the same time. The air-conditioning blew cold air over my naked body, but the heat source wrapped around me was at inferno levels. No, wait. There were two heat sources.
What the fuck?
I blinked open my eyes and immediately slammed them shut again. The only thing I’d seen during the millisecond I’d managed to keep my eyes open was a bright blue sky through the window. The drapes were clearly wide open because not even sheer curtains muted the light.
I tried to put the pieces together, but my memory was hazy. I remembered being at my best friend, Sophia’s house. She got the call that her father had fallen and broken his hip. It had signaled the end of our plans for a girls’ trip to Vegas. I remembered Sophia telephoning her son, Jacques, to update him. He’d insisted that I go to Vegas, and he’d join me. We could see the shows and get the massages I’d planned with his mother. I remembered flying in, meeting Jacques and his roommate, Travis, who’d come with him.
Then… nothing.
Why was I naked? Who was I lying between? It had to be Jacques and Travis. Surely it wasn’t anyone else.
Jacques had booked the hotel. When we’d arrived and seen the room, I’d immediately offered to book another one. At least no one would be sleeping on the floor, or the sofa. Jacques had waved off my concern, telling me we’d only be there to sleep. Apparently, he was okay with the three of us sharing the one bed.
Maybe with the three of us in the bed, I’d gotten hot… and completely stripped off in my sleep. That was too farfetched for even my hungover brain to believe.
But that’s what it had to be.
I couldn’t possibly have slept with them. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world for me to have done that—not because they weren’t gorgeous. They totally were.
But friends didn’t sleep with their friends’ sons.
At least I better not have.
I catalogued my body. I had one hand tucked under my pillow, the other tangled in short, spiky hair. I cracked my eyelids open just enough that I could see and looked down. Travis. His face was buried in my boobs—it was a wonder my double-H’s hadn’t suffocated him. His arm was wrapped around my waist. His shoulders were broad, tattoos decorated his chest and arm, and his narrow waist framed a sexy-as-hell, tight, round ass that was currently on full display to my wandering eyes.
I was horrified but relieved at the same time—at least I knew who I was with. But it also meant that Jacques was behind me. I didn’t’ dare check whether he was naked too.
I inhaled slowly, and the smell of sex permeated my senses. Fuck. This was not good.
Jacques had his hand on my hip, and he was pressed up against me, every inch of his long, lean body tucked into my back.
Maybe we’d all been hot. Maybe the air-conditioning wasn’t working, and we’d all stripped off. Maybe it rained and we all got wet.
Shiiit. Panic filled me. God, surely I wasn’t so stupid. Please let me not have been that imbecilic.
If we’d had sex, I wouldn’t be sore. There had never been one occasion in my twenty-year marriage that I’d been sore after sex.
But I was. Every inch of me ached.
Thank goodness.
It had to be just a hangover.
I breathed out a sigh of relief. I’d never been so grateful to be suffering self-inflicted pain in my life. From my hair follicles right down to my toenails and everything in between, it all ached. My hands and arms were tired and heavy, as if I’d done a hundred pushups—heck, even ten would probably break me—but it definitely wasn’t from sex.
It’d never been like that before.
It definitely wouldn’t be like that with them.
BUCKLED IN BARBWIRE BY HARLOE RAE
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