Can a hotshot snowboarder de-ice the ice queen?
At twenty-six, Blake Tremblay is one of the oldest snowboarders in the game. His sights are set on the gold medal, and he knows it’s now or never.
Kelly Johnson has spent her entire life skating and winning. She’s had no time for friends or an active social life, earning her the nickname “Ice Queen” – in and out of the rink.
Blake makes a bet without knowing all the terms. His ego won’t let him back out, even though his target is none other than the American Ice Queen herself.
What are the odds the dreadlocked playboy can warm the frosty figure skater when the real games are unmasked?
Let The Games Begin.
📖 Buy Your Copy HERE
I always thought of snowboarders as being a bunch of hooligans who were missing some teeth or other random bloody body parts. I guess it was just what I was used to with the American snowboarders who were always up at all hours of the night during The Games. Even when they came to Lake Placid to train, they all had crazy hair and liked to drink a lot of energy drinks and yell while barreling down the mountains shirtless.
Before I could think of something snappy to say back to Blake, another guy with short black hair, put his arm around Blake’s shoulder. “Why are ya giving shit to the Ice Princess? Let’s get out of here and get downtown.”
The other skier, with long red hair, whose name I forgot, came to the other side of Blake and put his lanky arm on his other shoulder. “Be nice, Erik, Blake invited Kelly here to join us.”
Erik’s eyes practically bugged out of his head as he looked between Blake and I. “No, shit, really? You’re banging Elsa?”
“What did you just call my sister?” Becca asked, strong-arming her way next to me.
Even though I didn’t get to see my sister much, it was nice of her to always have my back. She may have been a few years younger, but the girl was strong and a firecracker. There was a reason she ended up with the boys traveling hockey team in grade school instead of figure skating with me. The reason being, she gave her first figure skating partner a bloody nose, and our coach suggested she try hockey instead. She never looked back.
Erik stepped back, holding his hands up. I couldn’t see his arms under his long-sleeve thermal, but I doubted they were bigger than what my sister had crossed over her chest.
“Come on, Ana, let’s be civil,” Logan said, putting a soft hand on Becca’s shoulder.
“A frozen reference? And me as Ana? I think I’m more of a Sven,” Becca said with a laugh, looking over her shoulder at Logan and smiling.
“Hmmm, I was going to go with Olaf, but if you’d prefer the ice guy, we can go with that.” Logan grinned, looking at her like she was the only girl in the room.
Meet The Author: Magan Vernon
Magan Vernon has been living off of reader tears since she wrote her first short story in 2004. She now spends her time killing off fictional characters, pretending to plot while she really just watches Netflix, and she tries to do this all while her two young children run amok around her Texas ranch.
Find Magan Here: MaganVernon.com | Facebook | Amazon | Twitter | Instagram | Pinterest