A Lucky Shot by Nikky Kaye

A Lucky Shot, a steamy, standalone sports romance novella by Nikky Kaye is available now!

He started it, but I’m going to finish.

Beckett Hallstrom is a rich, smirking, climbable treehouse of a man, with all the cockiness that comes with being a sports celebrity.

Had I known who he was, I might have asked for a time-out.

Instead, I’m falling hard for an older man who was a high scorer when I was still in pigtails.

He couldn’t keep me a secret if he tried–which he doesn’t really want to. Now, the whole city is convinced that our budding relationship will make or break his team’s playoff dreams.

I’ve heard that hockey players are superstitious, but Beck wants to keep me in his pocket and rub me like a rabbit’s foot. ♥

I’m a lucky girl, right? Or am I just getting played?

A LUCKY SHOT is a steamy, standalone sports romance novella about getting swept up in the action. Body checking is allowed!


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I was no longer a professional athlete, even though I still skated with the guys most days. But I was relatively young, strong, fit, and lived a healthy lifestyle. I didn’t smoke, didn’t drink much, and the only thing stressing me out—other than playoffs—was sexual frustration.

There was absolutely no good goddamn reason for me to have a heart attack at the age of thirty-six.

But when Lucy said, “Take me home,” something cracked inside my chest. I’d broken ribs before, and this was a totally different kind of pain.

“Uh, okay,” I managed to say. “Sure. Let’s get you a cab.” The one that had brought her to me five minutes ago was already long gone. Hopefully my surprise wasn’t all over my face.

I was—had been—a professional hockey player. I’d witnessed almost as many panties drop as pucks in the last twenty years. I’d been successful, on and off the ice. But I was a lot older than her, and practically a stranger. She would be smart to stay away from me.

But damn if I wasn’t disappointed, nonetheless.

Usually I kept my feelings to myself when I started dating a woman, but I was pretty sure Lucy had me figured out when I backed her into the bathroom at the rink. Now I had to get my impulsive idiocy under control.

I dropped her hand and stepped to the curb, scanning the street up and down for a cab.

“No, Beck.” Her voice was impatient behind me.

“Oh, right. I’ll just Uber it.” I went to pull my phone out of my pocket when her hand stilled my arm.

“No, I mean your hotel.” Her hand slid down my forearm to join mine in my increasingly crowded pocket. “Take me back there.”

I waited, my heart pounding as though I’d been pulled off the ice for a last-ditch power play. “You mean you don’t want dessert?”

She blinked at me, her cheeks pinking up. “I want to go back to your hotel,” she repeated.

My mouth curved in a grin as relief flooded me. “Uh…” Then I caught myself and tried to flatten my expression to resemble more of a nonchalant grown-up.

After all, I could be reading her wrong.

Her eyebrow rose. “Your hotel is close, right?”

Usually I prided myself on going with my gut, but assuming that she did want to hook up was going to make me look like an asshole. It would be better to back off, give her an out. Be a gentleman. I could do that, my actions the night before notwithstanding.

Her hands were practically in my fucking front pockets, though.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I sighed. “It’ll be easier to get you a cab from there. There’s a stand out front.”

She pulled away from me and crossed her arms over her glorious tits. In the dress she wore, the view was even better than it had been with her tank top the night before. Shit, had that only been twenty-four hours ago?

“No cab.” She glared at me.

I glared back. “I’m not letting you walk home alone, Lucy.” Which would be true even if I let her get away.

Maybe she didn’t want me to be a gentleman after all.

How long would it take for her to crack and admit she wanted me? When she let out a huff of exasperation, I swiped my hand over my mouth to cover my smirk.

“Beckett. Hallstrom.” She unfolded her arms so she could poke me in the chest.


Her cheeks flooded with color as she pushed me back against the concrete wall. She narrowed her hazel eyes, which almost looked the same color as her hair in the glow of the streetlight. She was stunning, despite her pointy little fingers and the frown she wore.

“I want to go to your hotel. I want to go up the elevator with you. I want to go into your room, and then I want to get naked. With you. Is that clear?”

“So, no dessert?”

I am dessert, you moron! Seriously, how many pucks to the head did you take?”

At that, I lost it. Shit, this girl made me laugh.

First, she didn’t know who I was or have the slightest clue about anything hockey-related, and now she was operating without a filter.

I fucking loved it.

As soon as she saw my expression, she shoved me hard. Or at least she tried to—I had nearly a foot and a hundred pounds on her.


“Okay, okay.” I held up my hands. “Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Unless it’s around your ankles.

She rolled her eyes. “At this rate, you’ll never see them.”

Game on.



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Nikky Kaye likes to read and write feverish, fearless books for your funny boner, such as A Model Fiancé and the Billionaire Book Club series. A former college professor, she has worked with movie stars and the United Nations—but prefers happy endings. She has young twin boys, loves living where there are four distinct seasons but loathes getting out of bed, has a terrible addiction to diet cola, and hates talking about herself in the third person.

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