BLAZE Enemies to Lovers College Hockey Romance E. Cleveland Blaze Copyright © 2021 by Eddie Cleveland Editor: Finishing by Fraser Cover Design: Eddie Cleveland Copyright © 2021 by E. Cleveland. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Contents Introduction Playlist 1. Working the Pole 2. Becky Ball-Buster 3. Kneel Before the Queen 4. Amnesia Sex 5. Prince Harry or Killer Clown 6. Sleepy Fruit 7. Happy Birthday 8. Harry Douche-Nozzle, the third 9. Dick Kazoo 10. Chicken Tattoo 11. Pull-Cord Cock 12. Sex History File Cabinet 13. Playing Games 14. Malicious Compliance 15. Blaze’s Balloon Bonanza 16. Blunt the Pain 17. Sneaking Around & Out 18. Prissy-Whipped 19. Dirty Little Secret 20. Pulling a Blaze 21. Restrained 22. Actions & Words 23. Olympic High Jumper 24. Busted for Bustin’ 25. Tired Traditions 26. Rookie Mistake 27. Something to Prove 28. Pussy & Parties or Prissy 29. Love Mute Button 30. Raising Roosters 31. Epilogue Also by E. Cleveland Connect with E. Cleveland About E. Cleveland Introduction This enemies to lovers romance is impossible to put down! Full of fiery friction. Funny oil-and-water banter. And enough steamy tension that you’ll feel the fire! Blaze is a book boyfriend you won’t soon forget. I have a new job. My official title, public relations manager for the Westbury Warriors hockey team, is a mouthful. It’s also a complete lie. I’m a babysitter for the baddest boy on the Westbury Warriors hockey team: Blaze. All of the hockey elites have reputations, but there’s only one guy that breaks all the rules. And (thankfully) the only guy who made that bizarre grainy-green night vision video. The one with him and some random girl. She's wearing nothing but the smile on her face and he's wearing nothing but the university’s mascot head. It went viral. And now my job is to keep Blaze from being a public relations nightmare. The fact that he hates me means I’m doing it well. Blaze is the guy who cares the least but causes the most amount of stress headaches. He’s covered in tattoos and attitude. If he wasn’t one of the best players on the team, they would’ve kicked him out long ago. His name is stupidly perfect for him too. He’s fast. He’s hot. And he’s fire in bed. I’m not supposed to know that last part. But I do. Clearly, he doesn’t remember the night we shared back when he was a freshman. And that’s the way it’s gonna stay. I have to stay professional. Even if I crave his heat, I can’t get drawn to his flame, because if I do I know full well what will happen. I’ll get burned. Playlist Flaws - Bastille My Own Souls Warning - The Killers Animals - Maroon 5 Midnight Sky - Miley Cyrus Do I Wanna Know - Arctic Monkey Blow Your Mind - Dua Lipa Without a Fight - Brad Paisley ft. Demi Lovato 1 Working the Pole Blaze “I expected us to be less… noticeable.” Rookie glances around the low-lit strip bar. He’s not wrong. We do stick out here. This place is so empty, I’m surprised they bothered to stay open. My mother calls me Dylan, but I’m Blaze to everyone else. Coach Wilson thinks it’s because I like to skate at bullet speed just to get warmed up. Some of the newbie Warriors might believe that official line, but most of them know the real reason - I know all about getting high. I’ve smoked a lot of weed. I’ve had those conversations with God, those moments in the mirror where you’re just watching your face morph. Most times I just use it to take the edge off. Blunts are aptly named. They blunt the pain. No high compares to the insanity at this strip club in September when all the college kids are flooding the bars, their hands burning up with Daddy's money. Nothing I’ve ever smoked has come close to the high of Foxies during Frosh Week. Strippers covered in baby oil were wrestling each other naked. No seats were empty. It was so loud, you couldn’t hear someone yelling at the top of their lungs, even if they were sitting on your lap. Or grinding against it. This is… well, I don’t know if it’s possible to have fun at a depressing strip club, but it looks like we’ll find out. Tonight, there’s only one of everything. One stripper on the stage. One bartender mixing drinks. One bouncer at the door. All of them have distant, bored looks fixed to their faces. It doesn’t matter if it sucks tonight because I’m still doing him a favor. The kid’s a virgin. Every guy on the Westbury Warriors hockey team knows it. We were already calling him Rookie as a generic nickname, like we did for all the new guys who didn’t have one sorted out yet. There was a night we all got too drunk. He got all confessional on us and spilled the beans about how he’s never spilled his gravy. That was the night Rookie was born. If that placeholder hadn't fit as tight as, well... a virgin, there’s no telling what his nickname could have been. Maybe I’d be looking over at my friend “V-Card” and wondering why he looks so uptight. He might be nervous or maybe he’s excited. Whatever it is, he’s tense… like his head and his feet are attached to two different cable weights, stretched in opposite directions on a wire about to snap. “You gotta relax, man.” I laugh because he looks so fucking serious. I’m sick of serious. This year, all my roommates at Hector House have all been getting knocked out of the game like a tennis match between mosquitoes and those electric tennis rackets. Last year, Player and Kaylee hooked up, and yeah, it cramped our style a bit. I didn’t mind though. Having Kaylee to fawn over and fuck has kept our most noble and high-horsed Team Captain, Player, from staring down his nose at me twenty-four seven. Now, almost all the guys I live with are shacked up
