Today I have the stop for Cindi Madsen’s Confessions of a Former Puck Bunny.
Check out this fantastic new romance and grab your copy today!
Check out this fantastic new romance and grab your copy today!
About Confessions of a Former Puck Bunny
Confession #1: I used to be a puck bunny, but after a hockey player broke my heart, I gave up all things hockey. Now I'm just focused on finding a way to pass my math class so I can graduate college.
Confession #2: Ryder "Ox" Maddox's deep, sexy voice sends fuzzy tingles through my entire body, and I'm powerless to stop it. Which is a big problem since the hot, surprisingly funny hockey player is my new math tutor.
Confession #3: I can't stop thinking about how ripped Ryder is from all his hockey training, and how fun it'd be to cross lines with him.
Confession #4: I kissed a hockey player and I liked it.
Confession #5: If I'm not careful, I might relapse and fall for Ryder, and then I'll be totally pucked.
Get Your Copy Today!
Excerpt
I’d shown him my assignment, and
Ryder started in on the machines while explaining the rules and concepts, not
even needing to look at the book to know what I was talking about, which was
kind of amazing.
As he spoke in that deep, tingle-inducing voice of his, I forced myself to focus on my textbook. I even managed two whole problems with very little input from him.
But then I asked him a question about functions, and midway through his explanation I stopped paying attention to the words. Instead, I noticed the way the veins in his arms popped out when he brought the handles of the pec fly machine together, the weight on the pulley system clanking when the weight slid back down. Then I was watching the muscles in his chest flex. My thoughts drifted to what he’d look like out on the ice, and that led to thinking about what he’d look like without his shirt on, those pecs he was working fully on display, and suffice it to say, the math concepts he’d been spouting off between grunting reps got lost somewhere in the hot swirls of lust and ovary implosions.
“Lindsay?” He sat up and wiped his forehead with the bottom of his shirt, and I caught a glimpse of drool-worthy ripped abs.
“Um, sorry.” I glanced down at my notebook, which had a smear of graphite that started as x to the third power before my pencil ran off the edge of the page, leaving a jagged line. “I got lost.”
“At which part?” He switched to the leg machine, adding more weight onto the sides.
The part where you started being too sexy. “I guess the beginning of this problem?”
He paused the movement that was causing the muscles in his thighs to flex and release, flex and release, and straightened. He gave me an inquisitive look that made me think I’d been busted checking him out. “Maybe we should take a break.”
“A break sounds good.” I set aside my textbook and notebook, happy to give up the pretense of doing math.
“Come ‘ere.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.” His voice was low and more commanding than normal. Which must be why I stepped toward him. I hesitated a foot away, and he whipped out his arm, caught my hand, and pulled me closer.
My heart beat so hard I thought it might burst right out of my chest.
“Were you, or were you not, checking me out?”
“Are you high on testosterone right now?” I asked. He wasn’t usually so straightforward, and I wasn’t sure how to react to this version of Ryder. The confident way he’d called me out and jerked me toward him sent my hormones into overdrive, and set my in-danger-of-falling-for-a-hockey-player sensor on high alert.
“It’s possible.” He tugged my hand, bringing me close enough that my hip bumped his leg. “Now, how about you answer the question?”
“I may have been doing a little ogling.” I lifted my chin. It wasn’t like he didn’t know I was attracted. I’d pretty much laid it out before. “What? Friends can’t ogle their friends?”
“Shit, I hope that’s not a rule, or I’ve been breaking it all fucking morning.”
As he spoke in that deep, tingle-inducing voice of his, I forced myself to focus on my textbook. I even managed two whole problems with very little input from him.
But then I asked him a question about functions, and midway through his explanation I stopped paying attention to the words. Instead, I noticed the way the veins in his arms popped out when he brought the handles of the pec fly machine together, the weight on the pulley system clanking when the weight slid back down. Then I was watching the muscles in his chest flex. My thoughts drifted to what he’d look like out on the ice, and that led to thinking about what he’d look like without his shirt on, those pecs he was working fully on display, and suffice it to say, the math concepts he’d been spouting off between grunting reps got lost somewhere in the hot swirls of lust and ovary implosions.
“Lindsay?” He sat up and wiped his forehead with the bottom of his shirt, and I caught a glimpse of drool-worthy ripped abs.
“Um, sorry.” I glanced down at my notebook, which had a smear of graphite that started as x to the third power before my pencil ran off the edge of the page, leaving a jagged line. “I got lost.”
“At which part?” He switched to the leg machine, adding more weight onto the sides.
The part where you started being too sexy. “I guess the beginning of this problem?”
He paused the movement that was causing the muscles in his thighs to flex and release, flex and release, and straightened. He gave me an inquisitive look that made me think I’d been busted checking him out. “Maybe we should take a break.”
“A break sounds good.” I set aside my textbook and notebook, happy to give up the pretense of doing math.
“Come ‘ere.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.” His voice was low and more commanding than normal. Which must be why I stepped toward him. I hesitated a foot away, and he whipped out his arm, caught my hand, and pulled me closer.
My heart beat so hard I thought it might burst right out of my chest.
“Were you, or were you not, checking me out?”
“Are you high on testosterone right now?” I asked. He wasn’t usually so straightforward, and I wasn’t sure how to react to this version of Ryder. The confident way he’d called me out and jerked me toward him sent my hormones into overdrive, and set my in-danger-of-falling-for-a-hockey-player sensor on high alert.
“It’s possible.” He tugged my hand, bringing me close enough that my hip bumped his leg. “Now, how about you answer the question?”
“I may have been doing a little ogling.” I lifted my chin. It wasn’t like he didn’t know I was attracted. I’d pretty much laid it out before. “What? Friends can’t ogle their friends?”
“Shit, I hope that’s not a rule, or I’ve been breaking it all fucking morning.”
Catch Up On the Series!
About Cindi Madsen
Cindi Madsen is a USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romance and young adult novels. She sits at her computer every chance she gets, plotting, revising, and falling in love with her characters. Sometimes it makes her a crazy person. Without it, she’d be even crazier. She has way too many shoes, but can always find a reason to buy a pretty new pair, especially if they’re sparkly, colorful, or super tall. She loves music and dancing and wishes summer lasted all year long. She lives in Colorado (where summer is most definitely NOT all year long) with her husband and three children.
You can visit Cindi at: www.cindimadsen.com, where you can sign up for her newsletter to get all the up-to-date information on her books.
Follow her on Twitter @cindimadsen.
Enter Cindi’s Giveaway
