Page 20 of Hot Ice, Tennessee (Hard Spot Saloon #2)

“That guy clearly wants to fuck Sanocki, by the way,” I heard as I walked off from a crowd of hockey players in my living room.

I smiled to myself. They were one of the dozens of groups of hockey players in my living room, actually—when I’d agreed to let the summer league hold their end-of-season afterparty at my house, I never knew that it would include more college hockey players than I’d ever seen in one room.