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If you liked My Pucked Up Enemy then you’ll LOVE My Pucked Up Silver Fox!

This second chance hockey romance is a hat trick of heat, heart, and happily-ever-after!

Hockey’s always been my greatest love…or so I thought. I lost her once. I’ll be damned if I let it happen again. Years ago, Lizzie refused to play second line to my hockey career. Now fate’s throwing me an assist, reuniting us in Detroit. First, in the cereal aisle at the grocery store. Second, when I rescue her from her worst date. Coffee becomes dinner, and soon I'm craving more than just catching up. And after an unforgettable night between the sheets, I’m determined to claim her again. But old fears aren't so easily benched. Lizzie's convinced I’ll never put her first. That was then, when she was a fiery redhead finishing school. And I was an NHL veteran chasing greatness. Now the Acers are my team and Lizzie’s my world. But when I fail once more to balance hockey and her, she’s out the door and I’m seriously pucked. I’ve got one final play to make her mine. And this time, winning is the only option.

Chapter 1

This is… cozy.

I step out of the car and stare at the house in front of me. It’s a charming old rental, complete with a front porch, flower boxes, and just enough character to feel lived in. It’s not the sleek, modern apartment I had in Pittsburgh, but I tell myself that’s a good thing.

New city, new life. A major career move. A fresh start.

Before I can take another step, a blonde blur barrels down the porch steps.

“There she is!” Diana’s voice rings out like a battle cry as she rushes toward me, arms wide, ponytail swinging. Before I can brace myself, she slams into me with a dramatic hug.

“Diana, oxygen is still a necessity,” I manage, hugging her back.

She pulls away, beaming. “You made it! Detroit better be ready for us.”

I glance over her shoulder at the house again. “So, this is home, huh?”

“Don’t get all judgy on me,” Diana teases, linking her arm through mine. “It’s got charm. Character. A great location. And best of all, you are here now.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Yeah. I’m here.”

Diana pushes me forward. “Come on, Mike’s inside, and we need to break in the new place properly. You know, with wine and very little responsibility.”

“Music to my ears,” I say, grabbing a box from the trunk.

Inside, the house is exactly what I expected. Lived-in, warm, and slightly chaotic, mostly thanks to Diana’s habit of leaving things half-finished. A pile of clothes is thrown over the back of the couch, and an empty wine glass sits precariously on the armrest.

Mike, on the other hand, is the opposite of chaos. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, glasses perched on his nose, typing away on his laptop like a man who’s probably solving some major corporate crisis.

He glances up as I enter. “Ah, our missing piece has arrived.”

I set my box down and frown at him jokingly. “Mike, did you just call me an object?”

“It was a metaphor. Welcome to Detroit, Liz.”

Diana plops onto the couch after she and Mike help unload my car. “So, how long before you start working weekends and forget we exist?”

“Excuse me, I am the queen of work-life balance,” I say, pointing at her. “I have the wine stash to prove it.”

Mike grins. “Noted. So, when’s the housewarming party?”

I survey the pile of my boxes stacked against the wall. “Give me a week to unpack, and then we’ll talk.”

A fresh start. That’s what this is. It has to be.

***

The sun sets as I sit cross-legged on my bed, half-unpacked boxes surrounding me. The room is smaller than my old one, but I like the soft lavender walls and the tree-lined street outside my window. It feels… peaceful.

I pull out a leather-bound notebook labeled ‘Goals’ and flip through its pages. Most are neatly checked off:

Get promoted at Ernst & Young? Check.

Transfer to a bigger market? Check.

Conquer Detroit?

“Working on it,” I mumble, twirling a pen between my fingers. My career has always been my anchor. It’s what got me through the short-lived marriage, the endless nights of self-doubt, and the sting of Derek walking away all those years ago.

Derek. His name is a pang I’d rather not feel. Shoving the thought aside, I focus on the blank space under my career goals. I’ve built a great professional life, but there’s a glaring emptiness outside of it.

“What else do I have to show for it?” I whisper. The words hit me hard. I’d like to think I’m content, that I’ve made peace with the trade-offs. But the truth? I’m not sure I know how to be anything other than the driven, independent Elizabeth Barnes.

Before I can spiral, there’s a knock at the door.

“Hey, Lizzie,” Diana calls. “Wine and snacks in the living room. Consider it your official welcome party.”

I smile despite myself. “Coming!”

By the time I join them in the living room, Diana’s already halfway into her second glass of wine, laughing like she just heard the funniest thing in the world.

“Okay,” she says between gasps, gesturing wildly with her glass, “so I’m standing in the middle of the grocery store, minding my own business, when this guy walks up and says, ‘You look like the kind of woman who knows her way around a zucchini.’”

Mike nearly chokes on a pretzel. “What did you do?”

“What do you think I did? I walked away before I burst out laughing in his face!”

I shake my head. “You’re telling me that was his opening line?”

Diana throws her hands up. “Men don’t even try anymore.”

I smirk. “Clearly, his culinary pick-up game needs work. Maybe he was hoping you’d pick it up and stroke it.”

Mike’s face turns red, and Diana bursts into laughter so hard she nearly spills her drink.

She wipes her eyes. “See? This is why I missed you, Liz. You get me.”

"Yep, I do. How about you, Mike? Any action in Detroit since you arrived?"

Mike snorts. "Please. I work in IT. My version of flirting is debugging code and making sarcastic comments in Slack."

Diana waves a hand. "Oh, come on. Not even one tragic Tinder date?"

Mike sighs, rubbing his temples. "Fine. There was an intern in the cafeteria at work the other day. She couldn’t have been older than twenty-two, and she hit me with, ‘So, do you always eat lunch alone, or can I be your exception?’ I nearly choked on my sandwich."

I chuckle. "That was her line?"

Diana howls with laughter. "Oh my god, I hope you told her no before HR had to get involved."

"I panicked and told her I was in a long-distance relationship," Mike admits. "Which, of course, is a complete lie, but my brain short-circuited, and that’s what came out."

I pat Mike on the shoulder. "You’re too nice. I would’ve told her I had a rare disorder where I can’t date people under twenty-five."

Diana wipes away tears from laughing. "Okay, but that’s still less tragic than the date I had last week. Picture this: We go to a fancy sushi place, and mid-way through, he tells me he’s ‘training his stomach’ so he can survive off raw meat if society collapses."

Mike stares. "And you stayed?"

"For the free sushi," Diana says with a shrug. "But the second he pulled out his ‘survival manual’ from his backpack, I was out."

I shake my head. "Detroit dating is already a disaster."

Diana smiles. "Not always. I actually had a good date the other night."

Mike and I both stare at her in shock. "Wait—what?" You, Miss ‘men don’t even try anymore,’ actually liked a guy?"

Diana shrugs, swirling her wine. "I know, I know. But this guy was different. We met at that jazz bar downtown—no zucchini lines or crazy red flags. Just a guy with actual social skills. His name’s John. He’s a corporate lawyer, but surprisingly not boring or cocky. He was funny, and he actually asked me about my interests instead of listing off his gym routine."

Mike interjects. "And? Did you already ruin it?"

Diana huffs. "Excuse me, I am a delight . And no, I did not ruin it. He’s been texting me since, and we’re going out again this weekend."

I gasp. "Oh my god. Diana! A second date? With the same person? Who are you?!"

"I know. It’s wild. I might actually be evolving."

Diana claps her hands and looks right at me. "Which is why you’re getting back on Date4Real. It’s either that, or risk running into another cashier at Whole Foods who has braces and is about sixteen years old...and takes forever to bag your stuff because he's lovestruck."

I groan. “Diana—you're bringing that up again? I am in a new city. I can meet people organically.”

Mike smirks. “Right. Because all the good men are just lining up to meet Ernst & Young accountants new to Detroit.”

"Besides, I just got here. I need to settle in first."

“Excuses. I am not letting you slip into the workaholic abyss. We aren't getting any younger, Lizzie. This is a new start. Grab your opportunities. Enough of sitting on the sidelines!”

Diana beams and continues. “Time to go online. You used it a little in Pittsburgh, right? It’s already set up! And it’s amazing how it knows you’re in Detroit now. Come on, girl. Just one app. We'll spruce up your profile and you'll see what’s out there.”

With a groan, I give in. Because she's right and what’s the worst that could happen?

She jumps up and grabs my phone. "First things first, your profile needs work. 'Accountant, loves wine, enjoys sarcasm' is not exactly a showstopper. We need to jazz this up."

"Excuse me, sarcasm is a key selling point," I protest, but she’s already typing.

"How about: ‘New to Detroit, will absolutely critique your restaurant choices, appreciates a solid charcuterie board, and has yet to find a wine I don’t like. Looking for the kind of connection that lasts.”

“It’s funny, a little mysterious, and sets expectations,” I reply.

Mike smirks. "Might want to add ‘recovering from a zucchini-related dating trauma.’ Just to weed out the weirdos."

Diana gasps. "Funny, but no. That will attract the creeps."

"This is prime content," Diana assures me, swiping through my old photos. "Okay, this one stays. But this group picture? Nope. We’re not making people guess which one you are. And this one where you’re holding a cat? Cute, but borderline ‘crazy cat lady’ energy."

"That’s my aunt’s cat!"

"Doesn’t matter. Perception is everything."

Mike leans in. "You’re really trusting Diana with this?"

I sigh dramatically. "Desperate times, Mike."

Diana holds up the final product proudly. "Boom. Perfect. Now, time to swipe!"

***

Later that night, I’m curled up in bed, scrolling through Date4Real.

Half the profiles are tragic.

Why do men think posing with dead fish is attractive?

If one more guy says he’s ‘fluent in sarcasm,’ I’m deleting this app.

Then… I freeze.

Derek’s profile appears.

It’s definitely him. Derek Stephens. Head Coach of the Detroit Acers.

My stomach flips. It’s been a decade since we broke up.

He’s in Detroit? Since when?

I stare at his profile, debating. Swipe right? Swipe left?

Instead, I set my phone down.

Nope. No way. Not doing this. Not opening that door.

But I know ignoring him won’t be that easy.