Cold Hearted is here! Winter Renshaw delivers a steamy sports romance that you definitely want to add to your TBR. Get all the details here!
I wish I could say our meeting was happenstance.
I wish I could say we took one look and we just knew.
I wish I could say falling for him was the best thing that ever happened to me.
But none of that would be true.
Rhett Carson was as cold as the ice on which he skated. He was as calloused as the hands that shot the goals that won world titles. He was also damaged. And broken. And he didn’t know it, but I knew all about him.
I knew why he was so bitter and angry.
I knew why he was so coldhearted.
But I didn’t know why I allowed myself fall in love with him, and I didn’t know why I couldn’t stop…even when he told me to.
And that’s when everything changed.
“How do you know where I am?” I ask.
“You called me last night, remember?” My former college roommate answers, huffing into the phone.
I rest my elbows against the counter, hunched forward. “No. I don’t remember anything about last night.”
“Not surprising. You never could hold your liquor,” she says, sighing. “Plus you said you were drinking Jäger, and you always do stupid shit when you drink Jäger. You should probably check your phone and make sure you didn’t call any ex-boyfriends.” She coughs. “Ethan.” She coughs again. “Noah.”
Shit. She’s probably right. She knows me well.
“Anyway, I’ll be there innnnn about five minutes,” Bostyn says.
I hang up with her and check my call history with suspended breath, breathing easy when I see there are no Ethans or Noahs in my call history. It never fails. I get drunk–I drunk dial ex-boyfriends. I’m a sentimental, gushing idiot when I’ve had too much to drink, and the alcohol always makes me temporarily forget all the reasons we didn’t work out, even if those reasons were rock solid.
Pulling up Safari on my phone, I check my web history as well because I’ve been known to do a bit of drunk-emailing in my day, though I suppose that comes with the whole writer territory. My agent tells me I’m the only person she knows who drunk–emails people, but I don’t believe her. There are more of us out there, I just know it.
Within seconds, I’m able to confirm the contents of my Google search history seem about right.
What time is in Los Angeles right now?
What time does Starbucks open tomorrow?
Starbucks + Lexington Avenue + NYC
How many calories are in a venti very berry hibiscus refresher?
Starrbuckks vs Dean and Delluucca who is better?
Funny turtle memes
Baby sea turtle gif
Is there actual deer blood in Jägermeister?
Rhett Carson + New York Spartans
Rhett Carson hockey player
Are pet sloths legal?
Rhett Carson girlfriend
How tall is Rhett Carson?
Rhett Carson biography
Rhett Carson photos
Well, fuck. Drunk me must’ve been doing a bit of research last night. I chuff and place my phone back on the charger. I have zero recollection of any of that. I wonder if I found anything good? Or what the hell made me so curious that I had to dig up everything I could about this poor man?
Wall Street Journal and #1 Amazon bestselling author Winter Renshaw is a bona fide daydream believer. She lives somewhere in the middle of the USA and can rarely be seen without her trusty Mead notebook and ultra portable laptop. When she’s not writing, she’s living the American dream with her husband, three kids, and the laziest puggle this side of the Mississippi.
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