Get Pucked is an interracial hockey romance featuring a French Canadian alpha male main character who falls for forbidden fruit… the African American publicist who is supposed to keep him out of trouble. If you love romantic stories and want to check out one of our best contemporary romance novels for the year, similar to Harlequin Kimani romance, keep reading for the description and then a length free BWWM romance sample for all fans to enjoy 100% free.
If you enjoy romantic comedy novels, dark romance books and sports romance books with plot twists, steamy romance scenes between black women and white men. This is one of my top romance novels of the year and you can now find the book on Amazon and other sites like Kobo, Nook (Barnes & Noble), iBooks, and Google Play.
Luc is my client. He’s aggressive, unruly and dangerously off limits.
He wants to have me in every position and toy with me until I scream.
I must resist him. I could lose my job… I could lose everything.
If either of us screw up our next gig, our entire lives will be ruined.
He’s supposed to be well behaved. I’m supposed to keep him that way.
But how can you tame a man who’s as much of a beast in the bedroom as on the ice?
She runs the show in her world and I run the show in mine.
I’m what anyone would consider an alpha. My publicists shake in their boots when I walk in the room.
She isn’t afraid of anything or anyone. Not even me. Not even my past.
Amy thinks I can change my life around, but I know the truth about guys like me.
We never change. At least I never will… Not for her, not for anyone.
Get ready to squirm in your seat as the curvy black girl falls into the arms of a powerful white alpha male. This standalone interracial romance novel is 50,000+ words long with NO cliffhanger and a guaranteed HEA.
Romance Novel Excerpt: Get Pucked (BWWM Hockey Romance)
I spent my entire life on ice. I eat sleep and breathe hockey. My nickname growing up was "Puck", for obvious reasons. When I was sixteen, I flew to Canada to pursue my dream: playing hockey until the day I die.
I stared at Coach Gagnon, a big French-Canadian bastard who stood three feet away from me, screaming his head off in my face.
"LUC, ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?!"
His thick Quebecois accent, pierced me out of my daydream. Coach Gagnon’s green eyes bored into my mine. I could see the reflection of my face in his eyes, staring back at me with that boyish smirk I couldn’t shake whenever someone started yelling at me.
"Yeah," I shrugged, "I'm listening."
"What did I just say, then?”
Trick question. I hadn’t been listening and coach knew. I was a goner.
"Uhhh… I'm in huge trouble?"
"Oui! You are in huge trouble you stupid bastard! Tabernac! How could you get on camera and say something like that for all the world to see?"
I responded with a smirk, knowing it would piss off Félix and knowing that he'd kick my ass off the ice for doing so.
"GET OUT!" Félix roared.
I heard the others laughing, low rumbling chuckles common in the locker room. They watched with folded arms to see if I’d finally get what was coming to me. Coach was right, I had been an ass. But if he wanted to embarrass me in front of the whole team, I’d walk off the ice like a man with a smile on my face.
My smirk turned into a grin and I swung my gym bag over my shoulder.
"Fine. I'll leave."
Dave Tanner stepped up, approaching Félix and resting a hand on his shoulder. He could always talk sense into the coach, or me.
"Coach, with all due respect, we need Luc on the ice today."
Félix's face glowed red hot. His bottle green eyes glimmered with rage and frustration. His face reddened because he knew Dave was right, he couldn’t bear to admit it. After what I’d done… After how I’d embarrassed him… It stung to let me waltz right back on the ice. But he needed me. Desperately.
"Put your shit down Luc."
Dave nodded and I obliged, dropping my gym bag to the ground.
"He's right. We need you on the ice. We're playing Calgary in a month and I need you boys to whoop 'em."
Snickers and cheers of agreement erupted from the team.
"Get dressed," Gagnon growled.
I nodded and stalked off to the locker room, victorious once more. I stripped down to my boxers and then suited up. Long sleeved warm-up tee, pants, pads, helmet and then my skates. Before I could lace my skates up, Dave opened the door to the locker room.
"Are you in here you big stupid bastard?"
“Trying to lose your contract, eh?“ Dave asked.
Dave always had my back when I messed up. He'd been that way since I was first drafted to the minors up in Toronto, all the way until now.
"No," I replied, "I can't stand when Coach gets like that."
"When he does what? His job?"
I glared at Dave.
"I don't need a lecture from you mom."
"Hey, don't take it out on me, eh?"
He reached for my hand to help me off the bench.
"You're right. Maybe I should retire."
"Bullshit," Dave retorted, "You're one of the top shooters in the entire league. You have to play."
"With those fines… I don't know."
"You did earn those fines."
"It was a joke," I growled.
How was it my fault no one had a sense of humor these days? On my feet, I lumbered out of the locker room door towards the ice.
“A joke that went over poorly. Cough up the money and move on. You don’t have to make a big deal out of this.”
“Félix wants to.”
“Félix is pissed. He should be pissed. We’ve had media training. You should have known better.”
I grunted in response and changed the subject.
"Is Jane in today?" I asked.
"What do you care?" Dave asked, folding his arms.
"You aren't thinking of getting back together with her, are you?"
I scowled, "No."
"Good. You were a bastard to her Luc. You broke her heart."
I grunted. Broke her heart. Yeah right. Jane knew exactly what she was signing up for with me. My reputation is no secret and the incident only made things worse. The guys were already on the ice, sticks in hand, pucks slipping back and forth across the frigid terrain. Home.
Dave stepped onto the ice before I did and he was off. I might have been the best shooter on the team, but Dave was the fastest. He started off on the first part of our warmup, sprints. I followed him, racing as fast as I could, my lungs stinging with the sharp blasts of cold air familiar to the first five minutes of the workout.
My heart rate caught up with my legs. We skated forward, bursting across the ice at unthinkable speeds. The rush of adrenaline sent me flying faster. Then backward. We skated backward, our feet crisscrossing as we infused our brutish sport with real grace.
Pucks flew onto the ice and Félix stood outside, glaring at me as we started shooting. Stamkos, the goalie, stood impenetrable in front of the net. I grinned as I flew down the ice towards him, smacking the puck at full speed, knowing he couldn't catch my shot. He missed and I whooped, to his dismay. My shooting made John one of the best goalies in the entire league. He could stop a puck flying at his face at 90 mph. He was that good.
"Good shot," he called.
John's thick German accent meant I could hardly understand a word he said, but his respect was visible in his eyes. Practice went on like that. Tough. Hard. My muscles ached from four straight hours of sprinting. Coach Gagnon was right though — we had to whoop Calgary. My old buddies from the minors played on the team. Cal Sampson, an irritating Texan with a stick up his ass played for Calgary, as did my former roommate, Leo Lip-Twitch. He had a Polish last name I can't be assed to remember but we all called him lip twitch because when he was intensely focused, his lip twitched.
Hey, I never said our nicknames were clever, did I?
On the ice, I came alive. My senses heightened and my body performed at its peak, executing all I'd trained it to do. It's hard to describe to a weak man what strength feels like, but it's like being high… all the time. Endorphins and adrenaline coursed through my veins as I dribbled the puck down the ice.
As I came close to scoring, our new recruit Henrik skated out of nowhere and flicked the puck out of my control.
"Bastard…" I growled.
He dribbled the puck back in the opposite direction as I chased him. For a new recruit, he was good, but the experience made me better. I caught up with him in a matter of seconds, but instead of pushing my stick out to grab the puck, I thrust it between his legs, causing him to fall over.
"Watch it," I growled, as he toppled over, losing his balance.
When Henrik returned to his feet, he glowered at me, hot rage surging through his pink face, his long blond hair covering his eyes through his helmet.
"Asshole," he grunted.
He lunged at me, but I was faster than him. I dodged his punch and landed another one on him. He grunted and hit me in the stomach. Where did that little punk learn how to hit like that? I grabbed his pads and pushed him against the wall, hitting him until I heard Gagnon's familiar shout.
"ENOUGH. LUC. OFF THE ICE. MAINTENANT!"
I eased off Henrik. His nose was only bleeding a little, but his face was redder. Like most young recruits, he wasn't afraid of fighting, but he didn't enjoy getting his ass handed to him.
Once I eased off him, Henrik skated to join the others, dribbling the puck he'd stolen from me playfully across the ice. Gagnon's face said everything once I was off the ice. I knew he was going to chew my ear out but this time, I was ready for him. Henrik knew the rules on the ice. He knew how our team played. He got what was coming to him for stepping out of line.
After practice, Coach gathered us around.
"You boys did great. You, Dave, stay after practice."
"Me?" I asked.
"Did I stutter?" Gagnon replied, his French accent thickening with his frustration.
Gagnon sent the rest of the team off to get some rest, but he held me and Dave behind.
"It's clear we need to talk."
I glowered at him, "Henrik knows how we play. That little punk deserved it."
I kept my mouth shut. Dave glared at me, encouraging me to stop being such a smart ass for once.
"You need to make some changes Luc. I can handle you, but the boss doesn't like liabilities."
"It was one fight!" I protested, "That's what the game is about."
"Henrik is a new recruit but he is still your teammate. He is Swedish, just like you are you big lug. So show him some respect and keep your bloody hands off him. There's so much fire under your ass I could roast a fuckin' pig!" Gagnon spat.
He was practically foaming at the mouth and I struggled to keep my amusement under wraps.
"Coach, I'll pay the fines. It'll be fine."
"Non!" Gagnon hissed, "It will not be fine. You fail to understand how serious this is Luc."
"With all due respect coach, why am I here?" Dave asked.
"Because you," Coach spat, "Are going to keep this crazy Swedish bastard in line."
Dave glared at me, "Got it. Do the impossible."
"That's not all. We're going to your publicist's office right now to discuss your next move."
Then I scowled.
"Coach, I'm tired. I killed it on the ice. All I want is to head home so my trainer can put my legs on ice and give me a killer massage."
Gagnon glared, murder in his eyes.
"Luc, don't argue," Dave suggested.
"Fine," I growled, "Let's meet with the publicist."
"Good," Coach said, "10 minutes, 42nd Street."
It wasn't possible to get down to 42nd Street in 10 minutes but I got the message: hurry down there and try not to piss anyone else off. Coach left for his car and Dave and I walked back into the locker room to shower and change.
We showered in silence. I could tell Dave was pissed at me.
"Hey man, I'm sorry you got roped into this," I said, hoping to make peace as I dragged a comb through my thick, shoulder length brown hair.
"You've got to stop messing around Luc."
"What was that stunt with Henrik about, eh?"
"He's a punk."
"He's 19. He's just a kid. You should know better."
"Yeah, I keep getting that."
"Listen," Dave said, "I'm pissed at you but you can fix this okay? When you meet with Polly, she'll tell you what to do."
"Polly's an idiot."
"She's not an idiot. She's done PR for players up and down the coast."
"I said what I said."
"Hey, I'll have Ramon pull the car around," Dave said.
I nodded. Sure. My car was stuck on the Upper East Side since I hadn't expected to be allowed to stay for practice. I followed Dave and we stepped into his car to drive to my publicist's office. Traffic was thick and we were way off Gagnon's ten-minute deadline. He stood outside the office, waiting for us with a scowl on his face.
We walked inside and were instantly buzzed upstairs to Polly Patterson's fifth-floor office.
Polly's desk was absolutely covered in papers. When we walked in, she scrambled to push them all into a pile before searching for her tortoiseshell reading glasses amongst the mess.
"Come in, come in. Félix, Luc… Dave…"
She offered each of us chairs.
"So… what are we here to discuss?" she asked, pursing her thin, pink lips into a faint half-smile.
"Why don't you tell us? I can't escape this media shit storm and I need a way out."
Gagnon cleared his throat, "What Luc is trying to say is, we need to find out how you're going to fix this."
"Ah. Right. Fix this."
Polly rifled through more papers on her desk, searching through them in vain.
"One moment, I have your case file right here…"
She shuffled more papers and a huge stack fell off her desk onto the floor.
"Shit!" she huffed.
Dave, ever the gentleman, got off his chair to help clean them up. I didn't. I kept staring straight ahead at Polly, wondering how the hell this woman could keep it together enough to do her job.
"Polly, stop searching," I barked.
She stopped. Dave and Félix both stared at me. Dave knew what was coming, but it was clear Félix didn't. He probably thought it was just me being me, doing something wild and crazy again without thinking it through.
"Without looking, tell me exactly what the problem is with my public image right now?"
Polly looked terrified. I didn't care. I was angry. I forked over $40,000 a month to her firm to keep everything straight for me and she couldn't even get me a straight answer to the simplest question I could ask. My eyes narrowed, the way they did when I focused on getting the puck into the net.
"Let me tell you what's happening here Polly. I've paid this company a total of $1,000,000 over the years to keep my public image spotless. I make money on the ice, but I also make money through brand sponsorships. Everyone in this room knows I'm a notorious fuck up. Your job is to squelch those fuck ups."
"Y-y-es Mr. Alfredsson, I'm aware."
"Let me finish," I interrupted, "Your job is to squelch these fuck ups and last week, boy did I fuck up. Didn't I Dave?"
"Yes Luc, you did."
"I got on National Television and suggested that kids in America need more cigarettes. Yes, it was a spur of the moment joke that got out of hand but it was your job to stop it from getting out of hand."
Polly stared back at me with widened eyes as if she were about to cry. I hadn't even raised my voice yet. My nose wrinkled in disgust and I approached her desk, taking all the papers that were on it and sliding them off onto the ground.
"This is a mess," I growled, "A hot mess. I don't think you have what it takes to clean it up."
"I do!" she squeaked, "We strategized and came up with a plan."
"What kind of plan?" I asked, folding my arms.
Her lips trembled before she spoke.
"W-well, we thought you could make a charitable donation to a lung cancer fund."
Dave and Félix exchanged glances, accurately anticipating my anger.
I roared, "I blew it on national television and the best you can do for me is tell me to make a quiet donation? Polly. Polly, I want you to look at me."
She avoided my gaze. I stalked up to the desk, balling my fists and resting them on her desk.
"Look at me," I growled.
Polly's lips quivered as she looked up at me.
"You can't fix this Polly. I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me the truth. You can't fix this."
She whimpered as if she knew what would happen once she admitted me.
"Admit it!" I roared.
"I can't fix this," she mumbled.
"Tabernac!" Gagnon muttered. Dave frowned, his arms folded.
"Luc, be reasonable," Dave suggested.
"No Dave, I won't be reasonable. Polly, you're fired. Dave, Félix, get me out of here before I wreck something."
I pulled a photo off of Polly's wall and slammed it onto the ground. It shattered and she squealed.
"Luc!" Dave warned.
"I said get me out of here!"
They two men escorted me out. I was fuming. My fists clenched and my jaw tightened. I could feel heat pulsing in my chest, the same heat that flowed freely when I was about to deck some poor pathetic bastard on the ice. If I hadn't gotten out of there, who knows what I would have done.
We walked out onto the street, security hot on our tail from the mess I'd made in Polly's office.
"Did that go how you thought it would?" I asked Félix.
"Bastard," he muttered, walking off without response to his car.
Even Dave seemed fed up.
"Be honest Dave. If Polly had looked you in the eyes and said that to you, what would you have done?"
"Fired her," Dave grumbled.
"You don't think Luc," Dave continued to grumble, "She's gone now but you still have a massive problem on your hands. Did you think about how you're going to fix it?"
"You'd better figure something out. We have a game and the press will be hot on your ass after the last time."
"Yeah, I know."
"Figure it out, Luc. Don't fuck up again."
Dave’s frustration with me showed. Practice had been a nightmare and the meeting with Polly had gone even worse. I had a media firestorm blazing a trail behind me and I’d just fired my publicist. By all accounts, a terrible move. I’d be lucky if Félix let me on the ice after what I’d just done.
Ramon pulled his car to the front of the building and we entered silently. Dave was right. I couldn't afford to screw up again.
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