One betrayal. One eviction. My only option is my stepbrother’s place. He’s sin with a smirk, and I hate him for it. His NHL roommates are trouble I’m not allowed to touch. I need the couch. I need self-control more. Jason Walman. Left wing for the Milwaukee Fury and certified pain in my ass. He answers the door shirtless and lays down the if it wears a Fury jersey, it doesn’t touch me. Cute. I’m terrible with rules. Zayne Bishop, the new goalie. Ice-blue stare, scarred brow, quiet command... moreOne betrayal. One eviction. My only option is my stepbrother’s place. He’s sin with a smirk, and I hate him for it. His NHL roommates are trouble I’m not allowed to touch. I need the couch. I need self-control more. Jason Walman. Left wing for the Milwaukee Fury and certified pain in my ass. He answers the door shirtless and lays down the if it wears a Fury jersey, it doesn’t touch me. Cute. I’m terrible with rules. Zayne Bishop, the new goalie. Ice-blue stare, scarred brow, quiet command. His hand settles on my hip, a silent claim, and his slow smile says he plans to keep me. Brodie Quinn, defenseman. Six-five, inked, dimples that ruin me. He flirts like it’s cardio and kisses me like winning is the only thing he’s ever learned. Jason keeps inserting himself. Says he’s protecting the room. The season. Me. I don’t buy it. Not when his jaw ticks every time I smile at Zayne. Not when his fists clench when Brodie touches my arm. Not when the air sparks if I step too close. I came for a couch. I landed in a scandal waiting to happen. Three men who feel like trouble in different flavors. One wrong move and the city eats me alive. One right one and I burn the rulebook. Filthy Puckers is a high-heat hockey reverse harem romance. MFMM, why-choose, and sinfully soft underneath the grit. No cliffhangers. No cheating. HEA guaranteed. Standalone. less
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