Moo U Hockey Series
Playmaker by Sierra Hill
Snowballed by Melanie Ting
Goalkeeper by Andi Burns
Series: Sarina Bowen's World of True North
Release Date: June 7, 2021
Add to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/3iFVKDT
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There’s no faking it in love or hockey...
Transferring to a new school under false pretenses is harder than I expected, especially when my cocky new housemate, Callan Thomas, annoys me at every pass. He’s treated like a god and revered by everyone on campus. Too bad he made me feel like a rejected fool the first night we met.
But that doesn’t stop me from accepting his offer to become his fake girlfriend, because he has skills that I need. Only Callan can help me improve my game and make the USA women’s hockey team.
I try to keep despising him, but he keeps proving my first impression was wrong. And the more time I spend with him, the more complex my feelings become. I need to tell him the truth about who I really am before anyone finds out and things go too far.
Problem is, I think they already have...
Excerpt
It’s like the cap has been unscrewed from a bottle of soda, because inside me the fizz and excitement of talking with this beautiful and captivating girl bubbles through my blood.
I offer my hand between us. “People call me Church. What’s your name?”
She raises her eyes to me, extending her arm to place her warm hand inside my palm, where I gently cup it in mine. She’s soft and warm and I know her prickly attitude is a defense meant to throw me off.
“I’m Aria. And Is Church your last name?”
I tip my head to the side, cocking an eyebrow. “You’ve never heard of me?”
Most people at the school know who I am. Hockey is a big deal around these parts and the Moo U hockey team is royalty. Unless she’s new or a freshman, she’d certainly know who I am. And based on the statement on her tank top, she knows hockey.
By deduction, that must mean she’s new or lying, but I can’t figure out her angle or what she’d gain.
She could just be messing with me as a joke. Maybe she was sent by one of the guys to prank me.
Aria shakes her head, some of her golden-spun hair spilling over her shoulder.
“I’m new to Burlington University this semester. In fact, I just arrived today.”
I laugh. “Well, welcome. And please don’t take this the wrong way, but I need to introduce you to one of the campus colloquialisms. Nobody calls it Burlington University. We refer to it as Moo U.”
She nods curiously, considering the validity of my suggestion, but then seems to think twice about it. “You’re serious? Moo U? Huh. Weird.”
I let out a hearty laugh and raise my hands in surrender. “I swear. Ask anyone. The school is well-known for its agricultural studies. We are in Vermont cow country. Surrounded by dairy farms and apple orchards.”
“Okay, if you say so, Church,” she says drolly, a hint of a smile around her full lips. “So, are you going to tell me why everyone calls you Church?”
I run a hand down my short beard, a reminder I still need to shave it off before the semester starts.
“Well, as you may have guessed, I’m a hockey player. Starting center. And the name was established when I played in juniors, when a kid said playing against me was just liking going to church.” I slap my hands together in a prayer position, giving her my best impression of a dutiful churchgoer. “Because when my opponents faceoff against me, they kneel and pray.”
She laughs in a fit of hysterics at this. Like seriously, full-on belly laugh, clutching at her stomach and throwing her head forward to her knees.
And I realize I think I’ve met my match.
How utterly inconvenient.
I offer my hand between us. “People call me Church. What’s your name?”
She raises her eyes to me, extending her arm to place her warm hand inside my palm, where I gently cup it in mine. She’s soft and warm and I know her prickly attitude is a defense meant to throw me off.
“I’m Aria. And Is Church your last name?”
I tip my head to the side, cocking an eyebrow. “You’ve never heard of me?”
Most people at the school know who I am. Hockey is a big deal around these parts and the Moo U hockey team is royalty. Unless she’s new or a freshman, she’d certainly know who I am. And based on the statement on her tank top, she knows hockey.
By deduction, that must mean she’s new or lying, but I can’t figure out her angle or what she’d gain.
She could just be messing with me as a joke. Maybe she was sent by one of the guys to prank me.
Aria shakes her head, some of her golden-spun hair spilling over her shoulder.
“I’m new to Burlington University this semester. In fact, I just arrived today.”
I laugh. “Well, welcome. And please don’t take this the wrong way, but I need to introduce you to one of the campus colloquialisms. Nobody calls it Burlington University. We refer to it as Moo U.”
She nods curiously, considering the validity of my suggestion, but then seems to think twice about it. “You’re serious? Moo U? Huh. Weird.”
I let out a hearty laugh and raise my hands in surrender. “I swear. Ask anyone. The school is well-known for its agricultural studies. We are in Vermont cow country. Surrounded by dairy farms and apple orchards.”
“Okay, if you say so, Church,” she says drolly, a hint of a smile around her full lips. “So, are you going to tell me why everyone calls you Church?”
I run a hand down my short beard, a reminder I still need to shave it off before the semester starts.
“Well, as you may have guessed, I’m a hockey player. Starting center. And the name was established when I played in juniors, when a kid said playing against me was just liking going to church.” I slap my hands together in a prayer position, giving her my best impression of a dutiful churchgoer. “Because when my opponents faceoff against me, they kneel and pray.”
She laughs in a fit of hysterics at this. Like seriously, full-on belly laugh, clutching at her stomach and throwing her head forward to her knees.
And I realize I think I’ve met my match.
How utterly inconvenient.
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She needs Prince Farming . . . but she got me instead.
Sure, life’s been easy for me. Growing up in an oceanside house in SoCal, playing top-level college hockey, driving a luxury car with a generous allowance—sounds like the dream, right? Turns out what I didn’t have was freedom. And when I decided to transfer to Moo U for my last year of hockey, my controlling father cut me off.
No money, no car, no friends. I’m just another student struggling to make ends meet. The only place I can afford to live is the Meyers’ farm, where I’ll work in exchange for room and board. Farm work is so exhausting that I don’t even have time to wallow in the crappy turn my life has taken. Zoe Meyers is a hot blonde Amazon with all the energy of a chipmunk on crack. And her positivity is making me realize how lucky I really am, even though I’m broke. Too bad she’s not impressed by a guy who can’t figure out which end of a goat to milk.
Because suddenly I want to impress her. I want to do a lot more with her too . . . if I can get her out of the barn and into my arms.
Excerpt
“I’m the one who gets to take you home.” Helen has reappeared with a full drink. She’s swaying slightly.
“I don’t think you should be driving,” Noah says.
Helen lifts one finger. “Correct. So you’ll have to sleep over instead.”
Noah raises an eyebrow. “Thanks, but that’s not a good idea. Zoe, let me know when you’re leaving.”
I check my watch. “Now. Probably too early for you, right?”
“Nope. I like to get enough sleep during the season.” He looks over at the bleary Helen. “I guess we better take her home first.”
His level of consideration for Helen surprises me. “Okay, I’m still parked at the arena, so we can drop her on the walk there.”
I say goodbye to Rocky, and Noah shuffles Helen over to the front door.
“Zoe,” a voice calls out. It’s Martin. “Are you going already?”
“Yeah. I live out in Shelburne, so it’s a bit of a drive.”
He swallows. “Well, um, maybe you can give me your contact info. I can send you my mom’s pickle recipe.”
Noah snorts, but I ignore him and exchange numbers with Martin.
“I’m sure Martin has a very impressive pickle.” Noah starts in as soon as we’re outside. Helen is on the other side of him. She’s hanging onto his arm like she’s Tarzan and he’s a vine.
“He’s a farmer. Well, his family has a farm. They’re converting from corn to soybeans.” Stop babbling, Zoe. Gah.
“That’s probably safer. Martin looks a lot like a stalk of corn. Wouldn’t want a farm accident.”
I bite my lip to keep from giggling. Martin is thin and pale, and his light blond hair is unfortunately spiked at the top. “You’re so funny. Not. I do want that recipe. Martin and I have a shared interest in canning.” If I practiced for hours, I could not sound lamer.
“Maybe a shared interest in caning would be more fun?” Noah suggests.
I ignore him. People like to make fun of old-fashioned preserving methods but when it’s time to eat they’re happy to enjoy them. And I’m trying hard not to wonder whether Noah has an interest in caning. Yow.
“Do you know how hot you are, Noah?” Helen pipes up.
At least he has the decency to blush. “Uhh, no.”
“It’s true.” Helen blinks at me. “Even Zoe admitted that you’re the hottest guy she’s ever met in real life.”
He grins and winks at me. “Is that a fact?”
“Yeah, and she never finds any guys cute, so…” Helen’s voice trails off before she can embarrass me further.
“I also said you have the biggest ego of anyone I’ve ever met,” I tell him.
“But is it ego if I actually am that wonderful?” Noah asks.
Helen pulls at his jacket. “I have a question. Why do you wear so many clothes? You would look better in less clothes.”
While I agree with Helen in theory, I already know the answer to this one. He’s cold, and it’s only September. By the time it’s January, he’s going to look like the Michelin man.
Noah doesn’t even answer Helen, but she’s undeterred. She yanks on his sleeve until his jacket comes half-off. He swears and tries to get his jacket back, but instead, Helen pulls it off completely and totters away, swinging it over her head.
“No good deed goes unpunished,” mutters Noah. While I should be sympathetic, I’m busy being transfixed by the gap of skin revealed at the unbuttoned bottom of his shirt. Is that a happy trail? Noah notices where I’m looking and swiftly buttons and tucks in his shirt.
“Show’s over,” he says. We’re now at Helen’s place. Noah manages to retrieve his jacket and get Helen safely in her apartment without being further molested. In no time, we’re back in the car and on the road.
“I’m surprised you didn’t jump at the chance for a sleepover,” I say.
“I prefer my partners to be fully conscious.”
I swallow and try to ignore the sudden spark in my lower body. Fully conscious sex with Noah would be both scary and amazing.
“I don’t think you should be driving,” Noah says.
Helen lifts one finger. “Correct. So you’ll have to sleep over instead.”
Noah raises an eyebrow. “Thanks, but that’s not a good idea. Zoe, let me know when you’re leaving.”
I check my watch. “Now. Probably too early for you, right?”
“Nope. I like to get enough sleep during the season.” He looks over at the bleary Helen. “I guess we better take her home first.”
His level of consideration for Helen surprises me. “Okay, I’m still parked at the arena, so we can drop her on the walk there.”
I say goodbye to Rocky, and Noah shuffles Helen over to the front door.
“Zoe,” a voice calls out. It’s Martin. “Are you going already?”
“Yeah. I live out in Shelburne, so it’s a bit of a drive.”
He swallows. “Well, um, maybe you can give me your contact info. I can send you my mom’s pickle recipe.”
Noah snorts, but I ignore him and exchange numbers with Martin.
“I’m sure Martin has a very impressive pickle.” Noah starts in as soon as we’re outside. Helen is on the other side of him. She’s hanging onto his arm like she’s Tarzan and he’s a vine.
“He’s a farmer. Well, his family has a farm. They’re converting from corn to soybeans.” Stop babbling, Zoe. Gah.
“That’s probably safer. Martin looks a lot like a stalk of corn. Wouldn’t want a farm accident.”
I bite my lip to keep from giggling. Martin is thin and pale, and his light blond hair is unfortunately spiked at the top. “You’re so funny. Not. I do want that recipe. Martin and I have a shared interest in canning.” If I practiced for hours, I could not sound lamer.
“Maybe a shared interest in caning would be more fun?” Noah suggests.
I ignore him. People like to make fun of old-fashioned preserving methods but when it’s time to eat they’re happy to enjoy them. And I’m trying hard not to wonder whether Noah has an interest in caning. Yow.
“Do you know how hot you are, Noah?” Helen pipes up.
At least he has the decency to blush. “Uhh, no.”
“It’s true.” Helen blinks at me. “Even Zoe admitted that you’re the hottest guy she’s ever met in real life.”
He grins and winks at me. “Is that a fact?”
“Yeah, and she never finds any guys cute, so…” Helen’s voice trails off before she can embarrass me further.
“I also said you have the biggest ego of anyone I’ve ever met,” I tell him.
“But is it ego if I actually am that wonderful?” Noah asks.
Helen pulls at his jacket. “I have a question. Why do you wear so many clothes? You would look better in less clothes.”
While I agree with Helen in theory, I already know the answer to this one. He’s cold, and it’s only September. By the time it’s January, he’s going to look like the Michelin man.
Noah doesn’t even answer Helen, but she’s undeterred. She yanks on his sleeve until his jacket comes half-off. He swears and tries to get his jacket back, but instead, Helen pulls it off completely and totters away, swinging it over her head.
“No good deed goes unpunished,” mutters Noah. While I should be sympathetic, I’m busy being transfixed by the gap of skin revealed at the unbuttoned bottom of his shirt. Is that a happy trail? Noah notices where I’m looking and swiftly buttons and tucks in his shirt.
“Show’s over,” he says. We’re now at Helen’s place. Noah manages to retrieve his jacket and get Helen safely in her apartment without being further molested. In no time, we’re back in the car and on the road.
“I’m surprised you didn’t jump at the chance for a sleepover,” I say.
“I prefer my partners to be fully conscious.”
I swallow and try to ignore the sudden spark in my lower body. Fully conscious sex with Noah would be both scary and amazing.
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Winning games has always been his focus, but will winning her heart become the ultimate goal?
Everyone at Moo U knows the party doesn’t start until Paige Underwood arrives. Not only is she beautiful, she’s fun and charming too. Guys want to date her, and girls want to be her best friend. All Paige wants is to have a good time and make videos for her beauty channel--and maybe get that girl down the hall to do her eyeliner correctly. Is that too much to ask?
According to her parents, yes. They’ve said the party’s over and that it’s time to get focused.
Spencer Briggs knows all about focus. He’s had one goal since he set foot on the ice as a kid: make it to the NHL. After years of hard work and endless practice, he’s the starting goalie for Moo U and mere steps away from his dream. He can’t afford distractions, and isn’t interested in relationships. And he definitely can’t afford to flirt back with the gorgeous girl in his lit class.
He needs to stay serious. She needs to get serious. But now serious sparks are flying . . .
Excerpt
My turn comes up again and it feels like the Drunk Jenga Gods are smiling down on me because the tile reads Handcuffs- L. From out of nowhere Emma grabs a pair of handcuffs and hooks one on Paige’s wrist and the other on mine. I can’t lie-- they’re tight as hell and it’s entirely possible I’m losing circulation, but I don’t give a damn.
“Guess you’re stuck with me, huh?” I say.
“There are worse places to be.” She smiles back.
Holy Jesus. Remind me why I never go to parties?
Doyle picks the Mr. Rogers tile, and slips off his shoes. Then a girl whose name I don’t know (Ava, Ada?) chooses one that says Pick a stripper. I’m clueless as to what this might mean, until she points to me. Shit. Cheers and catcalls go up around me, and I guess this’ll teach me to be careful what I wish for.
The handcuffs prove a bit tricky and my shirt ends up dangling on the chain between Paige and me, but based on the appreciative looks I’m getting from her, I don’t mind at all. And yea, I have no time for dating, but if I did, I’d have a hardcore crush on Paige.
Emma and Andy duet “Don’t Stop Believin” (yes, he continues meowing) and we’re all feeling good.
The game continues and gets increasingly more ridiculous. I’m laughing my ass off at Herrera, a junior forward, who has to announce the next round of tiles like an auctioneer.
I’m laughing, that is until he reads Paige’s. “Kiss a stranger, kiss a stranger... Going once, going twice, sold to the blonde next to Briggsy,” his voice trails off as he points to Paige.
I stop cracking up because she turns to me, reaches up and kisses me like she was born to do it. As cliché as it sounds, the rest of the room melts away. I know we’re surrounded by a bunch of drunk, horny college students, but as she threads her fingers into my hair, I really don’t care. Needing closer contact, which is a little tough since I’ve got almost a foot on her, I reach down and place both hands at the base of her spine. She leans into me, craving the contact, too, and I pay no attention to the wolf-whistle that pierces the air and is surely directed toward us.
I deepen our kiss and she moans with pleasure. Pulling back, I look her in the eyes. “You’re fucking perfect,” I tell her before tasting her lips again. She melts into me, and it’s taking all the restraint I can muster not to lift her up, wrap her legs around my waist, and--
“Briggsy!” Zac shouts in my ear, startling me and breaking the kiss, “It’s your turn.”
Asshole.
“Guess you’re stuck with me, huh?” I say.
“There are worse places to be.” She smiles back.
Holy Jesus. Remind me why I never go to parties?
Doyle picks the Mr. Rogers tile, and slips off his shoes. Then a girl whose name I don’t know (Ava, Ada?) chooses one that says Pick a stripper. I’m clueless as to what this might mean, until she points to me. Shit. Cheers and catcalls go up around me, and I guess this’ll teach me to be careful what I wish for.
The handcuffs prove a bit tricky and my shirt ends up dangling on the chain between Paige and me, but based on the appreciative looks I’m getting from her, I don’t mind at all. And yea, I have no time for dating, but if I did, I’d have a hardcore crush on Paige.
Emma and Andy duet “Don’t Stop Believin” (yes, he continues meowing) and we’re all feeling good.
The game continues and gets increasingly more ridiculous. I’m laughing my ass off at Herrera, a junior forward, who has to announce the next round of tiles like an auctioneer.
I’m laughing, that is until he reads Paige’s. “Kiss a stranger, kiss a stranger... Going once, going twice, sold to the blonde next to Briggsy,” his voice trails off as he points to Paige.
I stop cracking up because she turns to me, reaches up and kisses me like she was born to do it. As cliché as it sounds, the rest of the room melts away. I know we’re surrounded by a bunch of drunk, horny college students, but as she threads her fingers into my hair, I really don’t care. Needing closer contact, which is a little tough since I’ve got almost a foot on her, I reach down and place both hands at the base of her spine. She leans into me, craving the contact, too, and I pay no attention to the wolf-whistle that pierces the air and is surely directed toward us.
I deepen our kiss and she moans with pleasure. Pulling back, I look her in the eyes. “You’re fucking perfect,” I tell her before tasting her lips again. She melts into me, and it’s taking all the restraint I can muster not to lift her up, wrap her legs around my waist, and--
“Briggsy!” Zac shouts in my ear, startling me and breaking the kiss, “It’s your turn.”
Asshole.
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