One of the finest players ever to grace the NHL? Check.
Most prolific playboy with an enviable reputation between the sheets? Check.
Award for the cockiest athlete in America? Also check, and well deserved I’d say.
So why does my life feel anything but the perfect image I project?
And why won’t the one woman who came crashing into my life and knocked me on my six-foot-four ass take me seriously?
She doesn’t even recognize me, let alone worship the ground I walk on.
I’m in uncharted territory, tearing up my rule book and unearthing buried demons in my pursuit of her affection.
I always get what I want in life, but apparently, Felicity Thompson didn’t get the memo. I want her in my bed, but all she offers me is her witty British tongue and no-nonsense attitude.
It isn’t supposed to be this way. She’s supposed to unravel for me. Yet the harder I pursue her, the more my own layers peel away.
Felicity Thompson is fast becoming not just what I want but the very woman I need in my life, and I’m terrified to admit that when it truly matters, I might not be coming out on top after all.
