The Wildcat

<p><strong style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1)><em>What do you get when you mix a devastatingly handsome hockey player who doesn't do casual with a blonde bombshell cheerleader who doesn't do serious?</em></strong></p><p><br></p><p><span style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1)>I was supposed to be taking the summer off from dating. . . </span><em style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1)>and flirting. . .</em><span style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1)> and men in general. A cleanse. It sounded great in theory. But theory went out the window when my own personal kryptonite sat on the barstool next to mine.</span></p><p><br></p><p>Six feet five inches of stacked muscle and chiseled features he exuded a cocky confidence that was hard to miss and even harder to resist. This man was delectable. Like a decadent piece of chocolate cake tempting me to indulge.</p><p><br></p><p>And that was before I knew how he tasted.</p><p><br></p><p>The rules were simple:</p><p>One night.</p><p>No names.</p><p>No strings.</p><p><br></p><p>Until my handsome stranger turned out to be the hot-as-sin star forward for the Philadelphia Revolution hockey team. A single dad with two adorable kids who tug at my heart strings and a family almost as obnoxious as my own.</p><p><br></p><p>But Cross Wilder isn't looking for a hookup.</p><p>And I'm not looking for a fairytale.</p><p>The question is. . . do I have a choice?</p>