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    Falling for Flynn: Hockey on Tap, #1
    Falling for Flynn: Hockey on Tap, #1
    Falling for Flynn: Hockey on Tap, #1
    Ebook141 pages2 hours

    Falling for Flynn: Hockey on Tap, #1

    By Kate Willoughby

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Award winning author Kate Willoughby presents the Hockey on Tap hockey romance series, in which three retired Barracudas find love while managing their San Diego craft brewery.

    Tracy Duval has spent her life proving women can play hockey. From leading her college team to coaching little girls, she's been a champion of the sport. But when a sexist ad for the Barracuda Fantasy Hockey Camp seems to exclude women, she signs up to teach the boys a lesson.

    Retired NHL player Flynn Hammerstrom meets Tracy at the local ice rink and is immediately intrigued. She's mature, confident, sexy—and hello, she plays hockey. He's ready to settle down again and, after his tumultuous marriage, he's looking for a woman who is high on fun and low on drama.

    Unfortunately, even though he's nuts about her, the drama he desperately wants to avoid flares up at the fantasy camp.

    And Tracy is smack dab in the middle of the fire.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKiwi Press
    Release dateOct 19, 2016
    ISBN9781536539721
    Falling for Flynn: Hockey on Tap, #1

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    • 5/5
      The story is compelling. Good job writer! if you have some great stories like this one you can publish it on Novel Star, just submit your story to hardy@novelstar.top or joye@novelstar.top

    Book preview

    Falling for Flynn - Kate Willoughby

    1

    Tracy Duval leaped out of her seat with a yell as the San Diego Barracudas scored just before the end of the second period. She high-fived her best friend, Naomi De Campo, and they both performed their traditional, surprisingly complicated hip-shaking goal dance .

    We just need to hold the lead for one more period, Tracy said.

    Piece of cake, Naomi said with a snap of her fingers.

    She and Naomi had been best buddies ever since they’d roomed together in medical school then opened their own OB-GYN practice here in San Diego. While Naomi hadn’t been a hockey fan before she met Tracy, she eventually came to love the sport. As a result, as soon as their practice was successful enough, they bought a pair of season tickets. That had been twelve years ago.

    Coach Tracy, I want to be as good as Booth MacDonald, little Laura Dunlap said. He hasn’t let in any goals yet and the game is almost over!

    Also in attendance were the Mini Cudas, the youth hockey team Tracy coached in her spare time. As a child, Tracy had been discouraged from playing hockey, but she’d persevered, and now she mentored a devoted little group of girls who loved the game just like she had. When she’d found out a few of the kids had never been to an NHL game, she and the parents held a group garage sale fundraiser, and here they were, parents and players alike. Although the luxury suites were out of their price range, Tracy had a friend with connections who got them a heavily discounted price.

    Tracy smiled at Laura. You sound a lot like me when I was your age, she said, except I wanted to emulate a different player.

    What’s emulate?

    When you want to emulate someone, you want to be like them in some way. You try to copy what they do so you can be as good as they are.

    "Who was your favorite player?"

    Tracy smiled. His name was Flynn Hammerstrom. They called him Hammerslammer because he could really slam people into the boards hard. You can’t hear it as well up here, but when you’re on the ice level, sometimes the sound is like a boom of thunder. By now, some of the other young players had gathered round. Anyway, he was really something to watch back then. He could do it all—skate, score, check, and even play D in a pinch. I used to watch video tape of him over and—

    What’s video tape? Laura asked with wide eyes.

    Tracy absolutely loved coaching the kids, but sometimes little zingers like this reminded her that she was only a few months shy of forty-five years old, which wasn’t a problem, really. She appreciated the woman she had become. It was just that, even though she had to get her roots touched up every month, in her head, she was still thirty.

    Video tape is what they used to do before you could film people with your phone, she explained with a smile.

    You know what I like, Coach Tracy? I like when Booth MacDonald takes his helmet off and shakes out all his hair at the end of the period. I’m going to do that too, Laura declared.

    That’s good, Tracy said, but you should also look at the things he does when he’s playing. If you watch carefully, you’ll see that he always tries to be in position. He looks at the players and tries to predict where the shots are going to come from.

    Do you think Hat Trick Holly is going to come through tonight, Coach? Laura’s mom asked.

    Tim Hollander, number twenty-five, had led the Barracudas in hat tricks since his first season a few years ago.

    Let’s hope so, Tracy said. He only needs one more goal and I know his teammates will be watching for opportunities to help him get that third one.

    Did you ever score a hat trick? Laura asked.

    They had gathered around the buffet by now, which was filled with food and snacks. To the left was a couch that faced a large screen television and a wet bar. Several high bar tables sat in the middle of the room, and right at the edge, there were two dozen comfortable, stadium-style seats overlooking the ice.

    I did. Three during my four years at Brown University.

    That’s impressive, Laura’s mom said, pulling a chip from the nacho platter.

    Tracy cracked open another Diet Dr. Pepper. Thanks. That was a long time ago.

    Tracy noticed Naomi gesturing wildly at her to come over, so she excused herself and went to the edge of the box.

    Look! Naomi pointed to the Jumbotron. There it is. There’s that ad I was talking about.

    THAT’S RIGHT, MEN, the arena announcer boomed, TWO FULL DAYS OF HOCKEY WITH OVER A DOZEN BARRACUDA ALUMNI! ALL MEALS ARE INCLUDED. A VIP EXPERIENCE NOT TO BE MISSED AS YOU DISCOVER WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE A SAN DIEGO BARRACUDA. FOR MORE INFORMATION, GO TO SDBARRACUDA.COM/FANTASYCAMP.

    "Men. Did you hear that? Naomi asked in a low voice. She had been complaining about the advertisements for the camp for over a week. This was the first time Tracy had actually seen one of them. Naomi went on. They just address the men specifically, as if women wouldn’t want to attend Fantasy Camp."

    Please, Tracy said, as if you wanted to go.

    Naomi had never been athletic. She did her ten thousand steps, but that was about it.

    It’s not that. It’s the principle of the thing.

    Naomi had grown up with four brothers who had everything served to them on a silver platter. Most of the household chores fell on Naomi’s shoulders, because it was women’s work in her family. Her brothers got the encouragement to excel with their studies, while Naomi was expected to settle down and have kids. To her credit, Naomi channeled her anger and frustration and outdid her siblings in school. Her academic star shone so brightly that her parents had no choice but to acknowledge it or face censure from Naomi’s teachers.

    I’m sure it’s not restricted to men, Tracy said. Hockey is a business and that would be a really bad PR move.

    You’re probably right, Naomi replied, but I think they’re trying to discourage women from signing up. If they make it really clear that women aren’t welcome, then they can wallow in all that hairy testosterone and fart-laden air for the weekend all by themselves. If you want more proof, just look at the website version, all the pictures you see are of men, too.

    Tracy sighed. The NHL is so backward in some areas.

    Seriously, Naomi said. You should sign up and show all those men what a woman hockey player can do.

    No. I don’t want to go to fantasy camp, Tracy said.

    Trace, come on. Call up your most noble self. You could make a statement on the behalf of women everywhere, telling the NHL they’re sexist ass—er, jerks, Naomi said, with a sidelong glance at the kids.

    Tracy held a hand up. Wait just a second there. I agree that the ad has a definite slant, but is it bad enough to make me want to spend a bunch of money to make a point that will likely not even be noticed by the people who matter? Nope. Not really. Sorry.

    Come on, Naomi said, taking on a more persuasive tone. It’ll be fun. You love the Barracudas. Maybe Flynn Hammerstrom will be there. I mean, just think of it. You could be passing the puck to Hammerslammer himself or even that hottie, Alex Sullivan.

    Hmm, Tracy thought. There was that.

    2

    G uys, I have a proposition for you, Slater said .

    Oh, great. Here we go, Cole said.

    Flynn Hammerstrom smiled wryly at his friends, Cole Ripley and Slater Jones. Once upon a time, the three of them were linemates on the San Diego Barracudas.

    Come on, guys, Slater said with a big smile. He spread his arms wide in a gesture of affable good will. You’re not going to want to pass this up, I swear.

    Slater’s smile had charmed the panties off countless ladies across every NHL city in North America. It had convinced coaches and managers that he was not up to any shenanigans whatsoever because he always followed the team rules to the letter. Seven years ago, it had persuaded Flynn and Cole to go into business with him by opening a brewpub in San Diego—a city whose reputation among beer drinkers had grown so much that it hosted the 2012 World Beer Cup. The odds had been heavily against the three ex-hockey players, but they’d persevered, survived and even flourished.

    I think that’s what you said when that clothing designer approached you, wanting to start a sportswear label, Flynn said.

    And we all know how well that went, Cole said.

    Slater had ended up losing a good chunk of change when the designer turned out to be flaky and not as experienced as he’d made himself out to be. Slater’s Surfwear, intended to be a line of board shorts, shirts, sunglasses and hats—never mind that Slater didn’t surf—had ended up being a couple of T-shirts and one pair of swimming trunks that were so cheaply made, they fell apart after a couple of washings.

    That was a long time ago and in case you forgot, I have a fucking degree now, so fuck you.

    Slater had responded to the clothing line fiasco by going back to school and getting a degree in business. The stubborn son of a bitch had graduated with honors and Cole and Flynn had been there to proudly witness it. So, even though they teased the shit out of the guy, they did respect and usually defer to him as a businessman.

    "As I was saying, a little bird told me Merrill Rand is attending the Barracuda Fantasy Camp and Merrill Rand owns the Victory Sports Bar, downtown.

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