Knot Your Pucking Mate (Knotty Puckers #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Mandy

Plopping down on my oversized bean bag, I balance my laptop across my thighs and lift the lid. I bite into my strawberry Twizzler, savoring the sweet flavor while waiting for the computer to boot up.

My phone buzzes, and I see a message come through from Vae. She started off as an enthusiastic ARC reader, one who devoured every single word I wrote. But the more we talked, the more we hit it off, and she quickly became one of my closest friends and biggest cheerleaders.

Vae

Hockey Butts. Trust me. ;-)

I snort a laugh. My dear friend has an agenda.

Vae recently read a couple of hockey romances and is now convinced that’s what my next book should be.

She thinks it’ll be my big break, the thing that’ll take me from where I am now—a fairly successful indie author—to mega stardom.

She is an expert, really. Not only is she a voracious reader, but she’s also surrounded by real-life hockey players all day, every day.

Mandy

Let the research commence!

Vae

Work your magic.

Tossing my phone away with a chuckle, I navigate to the search engine on my laptop and do as she says.

She isn’t wrong about hockey butts. The glutes on these guys are phenomenal.

If I were her, I’d probably spend all day staring and drooling.

Likely coating the stadium in my scent: sweet roasted marshmallows and melted chocolate.

It’s been compared to how s’mores taste when you get that perfect bite.

I’m a seasoned omega—unlike Vae, who is new to this designation—but even I have zero control over when it happens.

The more I scroll, the more inspired I feel.

The story comes to me in bits and pieces until an outline forms in my mind faster than my fingers can type.

This kind of inspiration hasn’t hit me for the longest time, and I savor the freefall into this new world and the story waiting to be told.

That feeling of getting lost, of learning my characters, their wants, needs and desires, and of watching their journey form overtakes me.

It's hours before I come up for air, the rumbling of my stomach too insistent to ignore any longer and the light outside my window dimming in an early evening glow.

Somehow, I’ve managed to form a chapter-by-chapter summary of the overarching plot, as well as complete character profiles and explanations of their individual journeys in one session. Normally this takes me a week or more to conceptualize.

There’s only one thing bothering me. One thing that doesn’t sit right and makes me question if this is a story I should be writing. And that’s my lack of knowledge about the game of hockey. I’ve never watched a game. Never set foot inside a stadium. Hell, I’ve never even read a hockey romance.

I’m a successful indie author. My writing makes me enough money to support myself comfortably, and I’m confident in my ability to write a great romance novel. But this? A sports romance? I’m a little out of my depth.

Placing my laptop on the floor beside my beanbag chair, I stand up and stretch, working out the kinks from sitting in the same position for so long.

There’s an argument that I should set up a proper office, complete with a desk and ergonomic chair—you know, with writing being my career and everything—but my omega nature is soothed when I work from my bed or nest.

I collect my phone from where I tossed it aside earlier and wander toward the kitchen. As I gather the ingredients to put together a quick grilled cheese, I scroll through my messages.

There’s a couple in my family group chat from Mom reminding me about dinner tomorrow night and my dad’s teasing her about how excited she gets for our dinner dates.

It’s cute and puts a smile on my face. My family means the world to me; as much as they tease Mom, I know my dad’s love our weekly dinners too.

I send off a quick reply letting them know I’ll bring dessert and check the remaining messages.

There’s one from my editor letting me know she’ll have my latest manuscript returned to me by the weekend, and another from my formatter confirming our booking.

The rest are from Vae, who seems to be not so patiently awaiting an update.

Vae

How’s it going?

Have the butts inspired you yet?

Mandy?

If I know you, you’re currently lost in your planning phase and there’ll be no update for hours. But I know the butts won. Which means I won, and Mandy Paige’s next release will be a wildly popular hockey romance

Mandy Paige is my pen name. Cliché, right? But it works. My in-real-life surname, Paine, might have worked if I were inclined to write dark romance. But light and fluffy romantic comedy holds my heart, so Paige it is.

Flipping my grilled cheese in the pan, I hit dial, calling Vae. If I want to pull this off, honor my characters and the stories they’ve entrusted me with, then I need a hockey education.

Who better to teach me than Vae? The girl practically lives and breathes this stuff.

“Finally!” she exclaims, answering my call. “I thought you’d never get your ass up out of that dirty old beanbag.”

“Hey!” I scold, feigning offence. “It’s old, but it’s not dirty. It’s well—”

“Well-loved. I know. I know. Still think you should upgrade. Anyway, that’s not the point. How did it go? Where did the hockey butts lead you?”

“Down a rabbit hole,” I say with a laugh. “You were right, Vae. Hockey romance is definitely hot right now. The characters appeared, and their story is ready to be told. But I don’t have any experience or understanding of hockey as a sport. I can’t write what I don’t know.”

“Then you just need to know it,” Vae replies, like that’s all there is to it. “Come with me to watch the guys practice tomorrow. I’ll talk you through it, get you started on the knowing.”

“Are you sure? Will that be okay?”

“Of course! They’re pretty used to my ass hanging around. You’ll be some fresh eye candy, though,” she snorts.

“They’ll be too busy chasing the puck to notice me,” I scoff. “You’re on, though. Sounds like just what I need to wrap my head around the game and learn the terminology and stuff.”

“Meet me at Pinnacle Arena at seven a.m.? Bring coffee. And Mandy?”

“Yeah?”

“Wear your scent-blocking panties. You’ll need them.”

“They just glide over the ice, don’t they?” I ask in awe as I watch the Scented Scorpions at their morning practice. The alphas’ movements are mesmerizing, each of the players moving with a grace that seems to defy their size.

“Yeah, sometimes. Games can get pretty rough, though. So far, it’s been a pretty shit season.”

“Why’s that?” I ask, my gaze locked on the team as they run their drills, tracking one alpha in particular across the ice.

It’s hard to tell from where we’re seated in the stands, but he looks a fraction smaller than some others, faster too.

He turns, and I catch sight of the number on his jersey. Number 3.

“The team is full of alphas, dear,” a woman’s voice sounds from behind, and I twist to see who has joined us.

A professional, older-looking woman stands on the stairs to the left, her blazer pressed perfectly and her skirt sitting just below her knees.

“They’ve taken to competing against one another, and not the opposition. I’m working on fixing that.”

“Hi Marilyn,” Vae greets, offering the woman a smile.

“Mandy, this is Marilyn. She heads up the team's PR. Hell of a job if you ask me. Marilyn, this is Mandy Paine. She’s a romance author looking to break into sports romance. We thought watching the team would give her an edge in writing about hockey players.”

“Nice to meet you, Mandy,” Marilyn says, holding out her hand. Everything about her is prim and proper, with not a strand of her perfectly styled, short blonde hair out of place.

Rising from my seat, I take her hand and shake it, surprised by the firmness of her grip. Her fabric softener scent marks her as an alpha but is somehow soothing, despite her ‘take no shit’ appearance.

“Hmmm. I’m not sure I’m familiar with your work. Do you write under a pen name?” She drops my hand, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow at me in question, her eyes creasing a little at the edges like she’s trying to figure something out.

“Yes, but there’s only a single-letter difference. I publish under the name Mandy Paige.”

Her eyes widen and a smile tugs at the corner of her lips, like she’s made the connection and is quite pleased about it.

“Ah, that’s right. Your most recent release was Purrfect Strangers, wasn’t it?

” Marilyn doesn’t seem like the type to read romance books, but then again, you should never judge a book by its cover.

“It is. The second in the duet should be out in the next few weeks.” I say with a smile. “Final round of editing is in the works, and the formatter is scheduled.”

“You do it all yourself?” Marilyn asks. Vae’s eyes dart between us, her expression a mix of confusion and delight. What is going on?

“I hire others for some parts, like editing and formatting, but I’m self-published. I like the control I have that way. I’m not sure I’d be able to give it up, even if I were offered the right contract.”

“Yes, yes. I think I’d feel the same. Control is an advantage.

Holding on to it can give us an edge we’d lack otherwise.

” Her gaze darts down to the ice, where the players have finished their practice and are heading for the locker rooms. “How would you feel about working together? Our goals seem well aligned. I’m working on more positive press for the team, and I think having a successful romance author shadow a couple of our team members—perhaps even posting about the experience on her socials—could help us both.

You’d get the exposure to the sport that you need, as well as some advertising opportunities.

And the Scented Scorpions might be able to tap into a new audience. What do you say?”

Vae laughs with delight as I try to let my mouth catch up to my racing thoughts.

It sounds like a beneficial arrangement for both of us.

It will definitely help my understanding of the game.

To have that kind of access to some of the players will be invaluable.

Plus, the pre-emptive marketing of my book by blogging about the experience? This could work.

“Yes. Yes. Thank you. That sounds incredible. When can we start?”

“Right away. Follow me. I have the perfect pair in mind.”

“Hold on to your panties, Mandy,” Vae whispers as we follow Marilyn out of the stands and around to what appears to be the team's locker room. “That locker room is a cocktail of alpha pheromones just waiting to assault an unsuspecting omega.”

Suddenly, I’m glad I took her advice and put on my scent-blocking underwear today. I hadn’t anticipated getting this close to the players, but I can’t say I’m not excited for the experience.

I wonder if I’ll get to meet #3.