I’m falling for the man who’d chase me to the ends of the earth… just to remind
me I belong to him.
Falling Offsides, an all-new forced proximity, forbidden, hockey romance
novella from bestselling author Alexandra Silva is now available!
It was only meant to be a summer job.
Things were supposed to stay nice and professional.
But after Auguste Brussard accidentally nailed me with a puck on the first day of
bootcamp, he drove me home, and turned out to be my next-door neighbor?
All professionalism went out the window.
Auguste is quiet, brutal, beautiful—and completely off-limits. He’s my dad’s star player.
But he’s watching me like he already owns me.
Turns out, he’s been doing more than watching.
He knows my favorite books. My coffee order. The way I sound when I touch myself at
night.
And when he says I’m his?
He means it.
This was never supposed to be real.
But now I’m falling for the man who’d chase me to the ends of the earth… just to remind
me I belong to him.
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Maneuvering myself to the corner of the rink, I crouch so I can give my knees a break
from the cold while I watch Dad order the vet players around.
Number Sixteen skates to my side, giving my camera a wink. Delilah is right, he’s a
charmer. Dark, unbleached curls and sapphire blue eyes. Yeah, Matheo Hillier is a dreamboat,
he’s also the team’s biggest player. It’s a fact that’s as well known as his attitude on the ice.
The camera clicks.
Hillier grins.
Another click.
His tongue sticks out as he shakes a rock and roll hand in my direction.
Another click.
He drops a puck and slaps it across the ice before chasing it to the other end of the rink.
I edge closer to the empty goal, getting a shot of the rookies and the drafts working with
Dad’s assistant coach.
The Comets are mid-drill, tearing up the ice. Whistles are blowing in different areas of
the rink. Voices are booming with instruction. These guys are a feral machine.
The atmosphere is so alive. So contagious. My blood has never pumped so hard in my
veins than as I crouch right next to the empty goal. Players zooming past me in every direction.
“Jesus,” I stutter, balancing myself when seventy-four races behind me. The speed of him
is insane as he calls over his shoulder, “Wake up, new girl!”
Jayden Morrow.
Now, he is gorgeous. Tan skin, hazel eyes… so goddamn tall that I crick my neck even
looking up at him from a distance, snapping a photo of him as he drives the puck between the
drill cones with a precision that has my heart in my throat when he reaches the end of the drill
line, spins more gracefully than any man should be able to and passes the puck to Sylkes.
Number twenty-one follows the same drill. Where his line-mate was ridiculously fast,
he’s clean and precise. There isn’t a single waver as he comes to a snowy stop at my side when
dad blows his whistle to end the drill session.
The players converge in groups. Talking and giving each other analysis on their
conditioning.
This is what I love the most about hockey. It’s what I remember from my childhood.
Before my parents divorced.
Family.
I remember these people being my family. The arenas being my homes. I was always so
desperate to come to work with Dad. Those days are my favorite memories of us. This is why I
accepted the summer position here. To revisit those memories, maybe make some more. Remind
myself that even though we are on different coasts, Coach Nilsson is still my dad.
Moving from the goal where the goalie coach is gathering the goaltenders, I make my
way to the boards.
The players are circling the ice, preparing to take their last shot for today’s informal
training session.
I situate myself right up against the boards to the side of the goal. It’s the best way to get
the action shots the marketing team asked for.
Number thirty-nine moves past me like a goddamn avalanche.
Auguste Broussard.
Big. Brutal. Beautiful… in that grim, dangerous way some men just are.
Bringing my camera up, I track him on the ice as he skates backwards, flipping the puck
up with a sharp, fluid flick of his stick.
Once. Twice…
His arms bulge bigger beneath his compression shirt. His jaw cuts sharper with his razor
focus on the goal and the backup goalie poised in front of it.
My god, his eyes are cut to slits. Mean. Fierce.
He fires and—
Crack!
I don’t know what happens. My camera falls to the ice before I can catch it. My heart
thunders in my head…
The world goes sideways.
For more information about Alexandra Silva and her books, visit her website:
beacons.ai/alexandrasilva
Happy readings!
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