My name is Poppy St. James, and I am going to kill Lukas Novikov! I've just landed my dream job as the director of public relations for the NHL's newest expansion team, the Jacksonville Rays, but the team owner has only granted me a one-year contract. If I want to stay, I'll have to prove myself. Easy. Public relations is in my blood.
But it turns out professional hockey players are a major handful. No one is a bigger pain in my side than party boy defenseman, Lukas Novikov. I don't care how well he plays hockey. Off the ice, he's a PR nightmare. Brash and bossy, he's always finding ways to drag his teammates into trouble. His favorite accomplice is fellow defenseman Colton Morrow.
The players can all call me PR Barbie if they want, but I'm getting the job done, and I'm doing it in three-inch heels. Because I am Poppy St. James-poised, powerful, and always professional . . . until the fateful night my phone rings.
One phone call from home leads to one drunken mistake. Now I'm staring down at a little blue plus sign and I have no idea where my carefully balanced life will lead next. All I know is that nothing will ever be the same.
Why You Should Read This Book
Tropes
Trigger Warnings
Pucking Sweet
“I’m just saying you can be with Cole and be yourself too. He would never want to change you or hold you back, Pop. Hell, he’s the kind of guy who would retire in a heartbeat if he thought it would somehow help make your dreams come true.”
“Just call me Buddy the Elf because I’m in love, and I don’t care who knows it.”
“I’m a freaking jellyfish. I’m a Poppy-fish. I’m a pushover.”
“I’m not mad at you, I’m mad for you.”
“This position being philandering manwhore. Just say it, Poppy.”
“I’m not above treating these grown men like naughty children.”
“When he breaks your heart, come find me, okay? I’ll be waiting.”
“I am going to burn the memory of him from your soul. Do you understand? When I’m done, there will be nothing left of him but a fucking echo.”
“You’ve got this. Sit down, beautiful. Take me nice and slow. Ride me. Fucking own me. A queen on her throne.”
“I’m acknowledging that you engage in self-destructive behaviors as a coping mechanism for managing your deep fear of abandonment.
“I just told you, Lukas. I don’t care what you do. I only care how you do it. If you’re determined to make it your job to party every moment you’re not on the ice, then as your PR manager, it’s my job to ensure you do it with as little damage to your reputation as possible.”
“I’m not asking to date you. I’m just letting you know that you need to be kissed more often, and I’m willing to be the man to do it. Any time of the day or night. You need kissing? You come to me. Understand?”
“You’re not a game to me, Poppy. Or if you are, you’re the endgame. You’re it. That’s what ‘playing for keeps’ means. It means this is not catch-and-release. I catch you; I fucking keep you. I love you, and marry you, and follow you to the ends of the fucking earth.”
“You are dripping on the goddamn floor right now. You are mine, and you deserve better. No one gets to treat you this way and fucking breathe.”
“Stay with me, Poppy. My goddess, my fucking queen. Come with me. Look at me.”
“You want this kept quiet while we all figure out what we are to each other? We’ll be quiet as the fucking grave. You want to sign the paperwork with HR and start wearing our jerseys to our games? I’ll buy a house and move you into my bed tomorrow. All options are on the table here. All eventualities. Have us together, have us apart, it’s whatever the fuck you want. But you will have us, Poppy. Because not having you is no longer a fucking option.”
“Lie to me again. Do it, Poppy. Make my fucking week. You love my jealousy. It turns you the fuck on, don’t even try denying it.”
“And you’re a ball-busting harpy witch. But you’re also so gorgeous you knock the air out of my chest when you walk in the fucking room.”
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