Wednesday, June 3, 2015

Release Week Blitz : One More Shot (Hometown Players, #1) by Victoria Denault

One More Shot
Hometown Players, #1
by Victoria Denault

Release Date:
June 2nd, 2015

Forever Yours

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Sports Romance


They say you only get one shot at making your dreams come true. Jordan is determined to take two. 

Drafted by the NHL at eighteen, Jordan Garrison was headed for fame, and there was only one person he wanted to share it with-Jessie Caplan. He was crazy in love with her, and had finally told her so. They shared an amazing night . . . and then everything fell apart. 

Jessie tries not to think about the night she gave herself to Jordan-or how he broke her heart. She tries not to think about it, but she does. Especially now, when she's staring into his sky-blue eyes for the first time in six years. After so much time and torment, she can't tell if she loves him or hates him. But Jordan has learned enough to know a connection like theirs is rare. He was lucky to find Jessie once. No way will he lose her again.

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As we barrel down the road, I’m reminded that Callie drives like a crazy person. I still wonder how she got her license. I think she bribed the guy at the DMV. Silver Bay Arena blurs by my window, and I remember kissing Chance Echolls for the first time on the rink inside at sixteen—and wishing it was Jordan. I smile sadly at the memories. God, I was so young and so completely naive. It feels like it was a hundred years ago, but it was only six. And every year of those six Jordan Garrison has done something—or someone—that proves how naive I was for believing he was the perfect boy for me. Hockey blogs, sports papers, even celebrity gossip sites have enjoyed keeping track of his sexcapades, making it impossible for me to ignore. 

“Lotta memories,” Rose whispers thoughtfully as she rubs my arm. 

I nod but say nothing. I know the worst memories are yet to come. I don’t know how the hell I’m going to spend a second in that house and not completely melt down. Everything about it holds bad memories now. It’s literally a box of rejection, fear, heartache and loneliness held together by peeling white clapboard and a cracked stone foundation. I know how dramatic that sounds, but being that our grandmother never wanted us to live with her, the house was never a warm or comforting refuge for me. And kissing my best friend, giving my virginity to him there and then later having him rip my heart out did nothing to endear me to the hundred-year-old farmhouse. 

Before I know it, we’re pulling up the long dirt drive and Callie careens to a stop. We’re beside the decrepit barn that we only ever used as a tomb for old toys and broken lawn furniture. She throws the Ford into park and we all pile out. I yank my suitcase out of the back and Rose helpfully pushes the tailgate back up. 

Callie heads straight for the porch and stands on it, the key dangling from her hand, her eyes narrowed on me. “I can make a reservation at the motel if it’s, you know...more comfortable.” 

I shake my head. “No, it’s fine.” I can’t afford a motel room since my internship barely pays minimum wage. Besides, I have a perfectly fine, free house to stay in, no matter the memories it conjures up. 

I walk up the porch, Rosie trudging along behind me. Callie opens the door and makes room for me to pass. I step into the kitchen and blink. It hasn’t changed a stitch. The white Formica countertops, the scuffed dark wood cabinets, the yellow sunflower accessories Lily loved so much. God, I still hate them. I let go of my bag and run a hand along the countertop—the one next to the sink, across from the table. The one where I kissed him for the first time. 

Callie grabs my hand and guides it off the counter, dragging me to the kitchen table. “Okay, enough of that.” 

She knows I’m thinking about him, and I’m grateful she isn’t about to let me wallow. Callie has always tried to save me from myself. I love her dearly for it. She pushes me down into a chair as she walks over to the fridge and grabs three beers. She hands one to me and one to Rose before twisting the cap off her own. 

“So, now what?” I ask and sip the cool frothy Corona. 

“Well, tomorrow we have appointments at the funeral home and with Lily’s lawyer,” Callie explains. “Until then, we drink.” 

“That’s it? That’s the big plan?” I smile, and she smiles back. 

“Yes. That and...” Callie nods vigorously as she tilts back in her chair like a misbehaving eighth grader. She grabs a bottle of PatrĂ³n off the buffet hutch behind her. “We drink so much that you pass out. I’m having enough trouble adjusting to the time zone, I don’t need your sobbing keeping me up.” 

My jaw drops open and I stare at her in shock.

“Drink,” Callie commands, and clinks her bottle with mine.

About the Author

Victoria Denault loves long walks on the beach, cinnamon dolce lattes and writing angst-filled romance. She lives in LA but grew up in Montreal, which is why she is fluent in English, French and hockey.

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