RIGHT MAN, RIGHT TIME, a fake dating, age gap, hockey romantic comedy from USA Today Bestselling Author, Meghan Quinn, is available now!
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“Ollie tastes good. Like tequila and promises…”
From USA Today and Amazon Charts bestselling author Meghan Quinn, comes a new fake dating, standalone sports romance featuring the hockey men you can’t get enough of and love. This steamy, age-gap romantic comedy will bring all the laughs while making your cheeks blush at the same time.
Running into your ex is never ideal.
Running into your ex who is now dating your nemesis is a literal nightmare.
That’s how I found myself in a sheer panic, reaching for the closest guy at the bar and kissing him. And to my delight he was easily the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.
The only problem is, when I tried to walk away after thanking him for his help, he stopped me with three life-changing words . . .“You owe me.”
That’s how I found myself, a college girl, in a fake relationship with a professional hockey player ten years older than me.
At first it was easy.
He helped me with my internship.
I helped keep his ex away from him.
We were becoming fast friends.
It wasn’t until he started staying the night at my dorm did the rules of our arrangement become complicated.
Now my feelings are involved and even though I kissed the right man at the right time, I’m worried he’s just waiting for the clock to run out.
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“A slow-burning romance, witty banter, crackling chemistry and an engaging, entertaining plot has landed this book on my list of favorites from Meghan Quinn.” ~Danielle, Red Cheeks Reads
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Two years ago . . .
“I don’t know, dude. Maybe I should have gone with the princess cut,” I say into the phone as I head up the elevator to my penthouse apartment that offers expansive views of the Burrard Inlet.
When Sarah and I found this place, she told me we had to get it. Not only were the views everything we could have asked for, but the privacy was also a huge bonus, especially since privacy doesn’t come so easily anymore. Not when you’re the star right wing from the Vancouver Agitators.
“Do we really have to go through this again?” Pacey Lawes says through the phone, clearly irritated with my inability to settle on the right ring.
“I want to get this right.” The elevator shoots me up to the penthouse. “I know Sarah has been waiting for this, and I’m finally in a place in my life where I can get her the ring she deserves. I want to make sure it’s perfect.”
“How many times do we have to go through this? She sent you pictures of that halo ring. That’s what she wants, and what you got matches that. Don’t change anything.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I sigh. “Shit, I’m nervous.”
“Are you doing it tonight?”
“No.” I shake my head even though he can’t see me. “I have to figure out her ring size first.”
“That would have been job number one,” he says just as the elevator dings and the doors begin to part.
“Probably.” I scrub my hand over my face as I step off the elevator. “This is my first and last proposal, so I’m not quite sure of the timetable here.”
“Don’t think that’s part of a timetable. Just common sense, man,” Pacey says as I set my keys on the side table next to the elevator, kick off my shoes, and then head toward the kitchen where I find one of Sarah’s bras discarded on the counter.
She’s a bit of a neat freak, so finding something like a bra on the counter and no other laundry feels out of place.
“You there?” Pacey asks.
“Uh, yeah.” I clear my throat and pick up the black lace, a bra I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wear before. And I know because I’ve been with her since high school. I’ve seen the ins and outs of this woman’s wardrobe, and I would have easily remembered a bra like this. “Hey, I have to go.”
“Everything okay?” Pacey asks with concern, obviously hearing the change in my tone.
“Yup, just, uh, realized I forgot to take the meat out of the freezer.” A simple lie that I know will do the trick.
“Oh shit, dude, you’re in trouble.”
“Don’t I know it,” I say right before hanging up and setting my phone on the counter.
I examine the bra, tracing my fingers over the lace. Have I seen this before?
No, definitely not.
This is different.
This is not the Sarah I know who only wears nude-colored undergarments. That’s all she’s ever worn, and I’ve been fine with it. I couldn’t care less. I just wanted to see what was under the undergarments, and lately, there’s been a drought in that department.
She blames it on hockey, saying I’m never around. But I don’t see how my schedule is any different from last year. Sure, I might have acquired more deals that have brought in an exponentially higher income, and those commitments have stolen some of my time, but I still make an effort to make time to be available for her.
She’s the one who tells me she’s tired.
She’s the one who offers me her cheek when I try to kiss her good night.
I spoke to the guys about it. How she never initiates intimacy, how she rolls away from me at night, and we concluded that maybe she was tired of waiting for a true commitment from me.
Hence the ring.
But this bra . . . maybe she’s trying to spice things up for the both of us.
Maybe she left this here, knowing I was coming home and would believe it’s a clue.
A smile stretches across my face as I stick the bra in the back pocket of my jeans and move toward the bedroom.
“Sarah, babe, you here?” I ask, heading closer to the shut bedroom door. “Found your bra.”
“Mmmmm.” I hear her moan, which makes me pause in my path to open the bedroom door.
Was that moan for me, or was that moan . . . something else?
Confused, I reach for our bedroom doorknob and twist it just as I hear her again. “Yes, right there.”
What the . . .
I part the door open, just enough to see Sarah spread naked on our bed with a woman’s head between her legs. What. The. Fuck?
My mouth drops to the floor, my heart sputters to a stop, and I can feel all the color draining from my face.
“That’s it, baby, keep up that pace,” a male voice speaks from the side of the room, nearly knocking me back on my ass.
I glance toward the window and find a naked man sitting in the chair I use to put my fucking shoes on, stroking his mediocre erection.
“What the actual fuck?” I say, unable to stop myself.
Sarah’s head pops up, and her eyes connect with mine. Fear crosses her pupils right before pure ecstasy. The woman doesn’t stop eating Sarah’s pussy, the man doesn’t stop stroking his dick, and it’s as if everything is playing out in slow motion like some sort of fucked-up porn video.
Sarah’s eyes remain on mine as she bites her bottom lip and her cheeks flush, a look I haven’t seen from her in I don’t know how long. And for the life of me, I can’t look away as her chest lifts, nipples puckered, skin slick, and her mouth falls open as a low, feral moan slips past her lips. A sound so erotic that I honestly wasn’t sure she could make it.
Her head falls back to the bed, her fingers grip the sheets tightly, and then, to my absolute horror, I watch her come, getting off from another woman while a man in the corner does the same, he groans even louder.
At a complete standstill, unsure of what to fucking do, I stay rooted in place, waiting for this nightmare to end.
“Oh God,” Sarah says as she fondles her breasts, plucking her nipples. “So good,” she mumbles before she finally catches her breath.
So good? Is she fucking kidding me right now?
The naked woman between her legs pulls away and turns toward me. Her fake breasts are way too large for her body. That’s what you notice, Silas? She stands up and then starts fingering herself. With a coy look, she asks, “Do you want to be next?”
“The fuck?” I ask. “No!” I look past the busty redhead and over at Sarah. “What the fuck is going on?”
Hand draped over her face, she closes her legs and then rolls up to a seated position. She’s flush, satisfied, and it makes me so fucking mad. My vision starts to tunnel. She’s my girl, and someone else made her look fucking satisfied. That doesn’t settle well with me. Nor does her hair looking a mess. Or the wild expression in her eyes. Gratification rings clear in her voice as she says, “I needed a good fuck, Silas.”
She needed a good fuck?
That’s her excuse?
“Then why the hell did you not ask me? Your boyfriend?”
I stare Sarah down, looking for an answer, but she doesn’t give me one. The redhead walks up to me seductively and rests her hand on my chest. “You seem tense. Let me fix that for you.”
Keeping still, I speak through my clenched jaw. “I suggest you get the fuck away from me right now.”
“Do not talk to my woman like that,” the man says while standing and stuffing his now flaccid dick in his pants.
“Test me, dude. Seriously, see how far it gets you. I’ve bashed more skulls in my lifetime to even count. You do not want to fuck with me.”
“Maybe I do,” the man says, acting like a stupid fuck. He steps toward me, and without even thinking twice, I cock my arm back. Sarah inserts herself between the man and me before I can hit him.
“Don’t,” she says, her voice stern.
She can’t be serious.
“You’re protecting him?” I ask. In my fucking house? My fucking bedroom? What the hell is happening?
Without answering me, she turns toward the man and woman. “I think you two should leave.”
“Are you sure?” the woman asks. “If you’re in trouble, we can stay.”
“She’s not in fucking trouble,” I yell. “I’m her goddamn boyfriend, and if you don’t leave in the next five minutes, I will physically remove you myself.”
“Go,” Sarah says.
While they pick up and leave, Sarah grabs a robe from the bed and tosses it over her body, covering up the bite marks along her rib cage and breasts. Breasts I’ve spent years worshipping.
Pain, anger, and confusion all lace through my body, putting me through a mental fuckery of a roller coaster as I try to pick one emotion to focus on.
When I hear the elevator doors close, I know which one to run with. Anger. I turn toward her and say, “What the fuck was that?”
Arms crossed defensively, she answers, “I’ve . . . I’ve been feeling neglected. Todd and Nancy have—”
“Todd and Nancy?” I shout.
“Yes, Todd and Nancy.” She secures the tie around her waist. “They’ve made me feel supported, fulfilled, and not so alone.”
White-hot rage shoots up my spine. “Don’t fucking come at me with that. I’ve tried to make you feel . . . fulfilled, but you won’t let me. You push me away, turn me down, you won’t even fucking look at me. I mean, what the hell, Sarah? How long has this been going on?”
“Four months,” she says without even an ounce of apology in her voice.
“Four months?” I ask. “Jesus Christ.” I step away, running my hand through my hair. When I look at her, I don’t see the same person I fell in love with years ago. I see someone jaded, someone manipulative, someone who had no intention of protecting my heart.
After everything we’ve been through, all the ups and downs of trying to make it in hockey, the hardships, the joy, she’s going to act like cheating on me for four months is nothing?
That it’s my fault when I’ve put in the effort?
That I’m the one to blame even though we both agreed that my goal to be a professional hockey player is what we both wanted?
She knew what this life would be like. I didn’t see her complaining when she got her expensive purses and brand-name shoes.
I stare at her, the woman I gave my heart to, and as anger fills me, I say, “Fuck you, Sarah.”
“Excuse me?” she asks, shock registering across her face.
“I said . . . fuck . . . you.”
“You’re mad at me.” She points at her chest. “You’re mad at me when I’m the one who has to stay here all alone?”
“You knew what you were getting into,” I yell. “You fucking knew this is what life would be like, and you agreed to it. We had an in-depth conversation about what to expect. We agreed this was what would be best for our life together. And to help the situation, to make you feel more comfortable, I got the fancy apartment you wanted. I got you the car and the clothes. I got you everything you ever asked for. So yeah, Sarah, fuck you. We were supposed to be monogamous.”
“As if you’ve never cheated on me,” she says offhandedly.
“Never,” I answer with a low growl in my voice. It feels like the hair on the back of my neck is standing to attention. “I’ve never once touched another woman, looked their way, or even thought about it because I love you, Sarah. You’re my girl. You’re the one I want to be with.”
Hand propped on her hip, disbelief in her voice, she repeats, “You never cheated on me? That’s hard to believe. I’ve heard what the other girls have said about all those women running around the hotel rooms looking to hook up with your team.”
“Yeah, that’s true, but I have fucking loyalty,” I snap at her. “I promised myself to you, and I’ve kept that promise. Wait, have you been cheating on me with other people besides Todd and Nancy?” When she glances away, I have my answer. I throw my arms up and turn my back on her. “Un-fucking-believable.” This whole time, I thought she was loyal. I thought we were in this together. I thought that maybe she was pulling away because of the change in popularity I’ve received. But she’s been fucking unfaithful all this time. What the actual fuck?
Everything I’ve known about love comes crashing to a fucking standstill. I feel so . . . betrayed. Broken.
I take a few deep breaths. “I want you out.”
“What?” she asks.
I turn around to face her. Feeling absolutely gutted inside, I repeat myself. “I said I want you out. You have an hour. Get what you need and get the fuck out. We’re done, Sarah.”
“This is my apartment too.”
“You know what? You’re right, it is.” I smile demonically. “I’ll call the landlord right now and tell her to switch the name on the lease to yours. Enjoy paying rent.”
Her face falls flat. “You can’t do that. I don’t have a job. I put my life on hold to support you.”
“I didn’t know supporting me meant you got to fuck around with other people. I think we have a different view of what supporting really means.”
Not sure if it’s me asking her to leave or the realization that she has nothing without me, but panic lights up her eyes. “Listen, Silas, we can work this out.”
“The fuck we can. Now you either pack up and get out of here in an hour, or the apartment is yours. Rent is due in a week.”
And with that, I storm out of the apartment and as far away from her as I can get.
We are so fucking over.
And I’ll be damned if I ever let anyone treat me like that again.
About Meghan Quinn:
USA Today Bestselling Author, wife, adoptive mother, and peanut butter lover. Author of romantic comedies and contemporary romance, Meghan Quinn brings readers the perfect combination of heart, humor, and heat in every book.
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