The Workaholic and the Realist (New Hampshire Bears #2) Read online

  Copyright 2015 © Gone Writing Publishing

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  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Roster

  Synopsis

  Chapter One – Harlow

  Chapter Two – Keaton

  Chapter Three – Harlow

  Chapter Four – Keaton

  Chapter Five – Harlow

  Chapter Six – Keaton

  Chapter Seven – Harlow

  Chapter Eight – Keaton

  Chapter Nine – Harlow

  Chapter Ten – Keaton

  Chapter Eleven – Harlow

  Chapter Twelve – Keaton

  Chapter Thirteen – Harlow

  Chapter Fourteen – Keaton

  Chapter Fifteen – Harlow

  Chapter Sixteen – Keaton

  Chapter Seventeen – Harlow

  Chapter Eighteen – Keaton

  Chapter Nineteen – Harlow

  Chapter Twenty – Keaton

  Chapter Twenty-one – Harlow

  Chapter Twenty-two – Keaton

  Chapter Twenty-three – Harlow

  Chapter Twenty-four – Keaton

  Chapter Twenty-five – Harlow

  Chapter Twenty-six – Keaton

  Chapter Twenty-seven – Harlow

  Chapter Twenty-eight – Keaton

  Chapter Twenty-nine – Harlow

  Chapter Thirty – Keaton

  Chapter Thirty-one – Harlow

  Chapter Thirty-two – Keaton

  Chapter Thirty-three – Harlow

  Next Installment

  About the Author

  Dedication

  For my editor, Rebecca.

  Thank you for being my Harlow!

  Acknowledgments

  Always first, my husband, my three step-children, and my mom. Thank you all for the support.

  Next, Rebecca! Girl, thank you for being my Harlow! You’re amazing in every way.

  I can’t forget my beautiful best friend, Amber Linn. You are my chick and my Frodo! Thank you for always creating the best covers in the world for me.

  My betas: Angie, Carey, Logan, and Kelly. I love you inputs, comments, and suggestions. You all are amazing.

  And last, but never least, you! Thank you readers, bloggers, and everyone in between who helps promote these silly, but very hot, hockey players for me. I can’t do it without you.

  New Hampshire Bears’ Roster

  Coach: Taden Long

  Forwards:

  15 – Hamilton Baer*

  56 – Alden Brockman

  11 – Ladd Hanes

  28 – Edgar Hopp

  81 – Zerrick Justice

  88 – Finlay Mackey

  67 – Gage McLoyd

  16 – Vance Pemberton

  53 – Jarvis Richter

  72 – Remington Rosin

  65 – Kyson Wick

  86 – Bas Zorn

  Defensemen:

  6 – Cable Dirks

  4 – Keaton Jaco

  32 – Walker Lange

  2 – Dag Limon

  5 – Ivan Rodin

  7 – O’Dell Tillman

  57 – Shade Wooten

  Goalies:

  50 – Teo Elgin

  * - means Captain

  The Workalohlic and the Realist:

  If someone looked up the word workaholic in the dictionary, one would see a picture of New Hampshire Bears’ Keaton Jaco next to it. Not only is he a top defensemen in the hockey league; he’s also working towards a master’s degree and writing a book. His teammates think he’s just a playboy, but his grandmother and one other person knows the truth.

  Harlow Goldsmith has never wanted to get married or have children. She considers herself a realist and knows all she wants in life is to be financially stable, travel, and have sex. After turning forty and starting her own editing company, she’s realized she has accomplished most of her goals and has done it without the help of any man.

  It’s not until the workaholic and the realist initiate a sexual liaison that they see their lives in a whole new light. With both set in their ways, is a relationship even possible?

  Chapter One

  Harlow

  I sat in the corner at the Latte Bean with my laptop on, fully charged, and my earbuds blasting good ol' Alanis Morrissett. I didn’t care if it was Jagged Little Pill’s twenty-fifth anniversary; I remember this shit like it was yesterday.

  As Ironic pumped through my ears, I began to edit Keaton Jaco’s newest chapters. I didn’t know what to expect when Keaton first got in contact with me and asked me to edit his book.

  He was New Hampshire Bears’ best defensive player. Actually, he was the best in the PHL. When did he have time to write a three hundred thousand-word book? Especially, one as in-depth as this. I was constantly Googling to double-check his facts, and every time, he was right.

  Although, I will give the kid props for taking Edgar Allan Poe’s famous A Tell-Tale Heart and turning it into this great masterpiece, I wasn’t going to tell him any of it.

  I was startled suddenly when Keaton appeared over my laptop screen. “You scared me to death.” I chastised him, pulling out my ear buds.

  “I came over here to talk to the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  “You really have to work on your pick-up lines.” Keaton was always using old 1970’s lines used in porn to get women.

  “Oldie, but goodie,” he defended.

  “Oldie and over used,” I countered. “Now, why are you over here bothering me?”

  “I actually don’t want to bother you, but see if you got the chapters I sent last night.” Keaton ran his fingers over his short blond hair. He had the bed head mastered. But, it was his ocean blue eyes which caught my attention. He was nervous.

  “Well, I can tell you for certain I received your chapters, because I’m not sitting over here working on my portfolio. That’s what I have Maxima for.” Maxima Keck was a dear friend of mine and an incredible investment banker.

  “Is it bad? Is it good?” He tried to lean over to look at my screen.

  “I’m not telling you. I have your revised chapters, and I will look over them. Now, take your twenty-five-year-old ass and get lost.” I shooed him away.

  Keaton smirked. “You know, if you weren’t so damn sexy, I’d be mad at you tossing me out on my sexy ass.”

  “Please.” I shook my head. “I’ve woken up to one-night stand
s better looking than you. Go away, please.”

  He stood up, took one step around the table, and kissed my cheek. “You’re my favorite.”

  “Great. Now go play with your stick and puck.” I pushed on his hard chest. He smelled way too yummy to be standing this close to me.

  “Bye.”

  My eyes landed on his ass as he walked out of the Latte Bean. He did have a very nice ass, and it was from all his skating. I put my ear buds back in and went back to the chapters.

  I sat there long than I intended too. I figured I’d be out in a couple of hours, but it was several hours and three lattes later before I headed home.

  Home.

  It was an outstanding word for me, even now at the ripe age of forty. I’d lived in Manchester, New Hampshire all my life and in the Rimmon Heights neighborhood. My parents were both French Canadians and moved here right before I was born. My dad was a general manager of a sawmill factory. Mom stayed at home and was the neighborhood babysitter. She loved kids and had always hoped to have a houseful of children of her own.

  Unfortunately, she only had me. There were complications after my birth, and Mom wasn’t able to have anymore. She dreamed that I’d give her a crap-ton of grandkids, but I told her in my teenage years I was never going to have them. Most girls dreamed of the day they would be married, have a white picket fence house, a minivan, and driving her three children to soccer games and shit.

  Not me!

  I remember being at the library for hours on end, reading about Europe, Russia, Asia, and far distant lands in encyclopedia. Kids, these days, didn’t understand the joys or smells of an old, dusty library. I missed those days.

  My house was the same one I grew up in. Dad died of a heart attack when I was in high school. Mom passed when I finished college. It was hard on me since I really didn’t have anyone else. I’ve been a loner all my life. Give me a book and a quiet corner and you won’t hear a peep from me.

  After college and Mom’s passing, I decided to travel. I probably should have saved the life insurance money, but I was twenty-two; the word savings didn’t exist in my vocabulary.

  I hit New York City first and then flew my happy ass to London, where I spent two glorious weeks. I hopped the EuroStar train and planted myself in Paris for another week. My only take from there was fashion. It was where my love of clothes began. Before Paris, I was stuck in the grunge/baggy pants stage. After Paris, I had a full understanding of the fashion color wheel, high heels, and makeup. I did a stop in Amsterdam and Moscow, but that was too damn cold for me. Yes, I lived in New Hampshire. Yes, it snowed and got cold here, too. However, it was so cold in Moscow, I thought my nipples had frost bite. Lastly, I did a week in Rome and Sydney to finish out and came back to the States. Since then I’ve seen more places, but never two months long traveling as I did then.

  When I came home, I took the rest of the money and redid the entire house. I sold just about everything my parents had, donated what I couldn’t sell, and went crazy with painting and remodeling. The house was mine, and I’ve been ever so thankful for it.

  I started my career as a personal assistant to lawyers and doctors, but it got old fast. Getting other people’s dry cleaning was such a bore. I found my way into the world of editing by chance. I decided to get my Master’s degree and was introduced to this website called Facebook. At the time, it wasn’t a big deal, but I was able to connect with a few small publishers looking for editors. Seems a bit ridiculous now, considering Facebook is a marketing tool for a lot of people.

  Nonetheless, I was able to gather a small following of authors, and the boom of e-books hit and I officially opened Harlow’s Editing Services. It was with a lot of help from my dear friend, Meadow Hylton. She is a New York Times bestseller and currently deeply in love with Kyson Wick of the New Hampshire Bears. I adore her and her kindness. I also owe her a lot because she was always sending business my way.

  I was going to try to figure out something to eat, but, instead, I received a text message.

  Spin class in 30 mins, u in?

  Maxima was a big fitness nut, even though she wore her clothes two sizes too big. She never showed off her banging curves and body, and the girl had some rocking curves.

  Meadow’s coming.

  I’ll be there, I responded.

  I jogged up to my bedroom, changed into my workout clothes, rushed back out to my SUV because it was freezing outside, and headed to the gym.

  I didn’t work out every day, but I made a conscience effort to make it at least two or three days a week. I was forty now, and I knew I had to stay in good health, but if I wanted a piece of pizza or cake, nothing was going to stop me from eating it.

  I walked into the spin class where Meadow and Maxima were near the back on their bikes. I could tell Meadow wasn’t pleased. I’d tricked her the first time into coming to spin class.

  “I could be home exercising with my boyfriend,” Meadow informed me as I climbed onto the bike.

  “Well, do this and maybe Kyson can give you a rub down later?” I tied up my auburn hair.

  “Good point.”

  The instructor began with her simple instructions and soon, the bass music was booming and we were on the go. I tried to focus on the music more than what Miss Perky Boobs was saying. However, my mind wondered to Meadow and Kyson. They had that one-in-a-lifetime love, and I was happy for her. It was something she’d always wanted.

  The thirty minutes class flew by, and I was sweating as much as if I’d had a sex marathon. I watched poor Meadow climb off the bike onto wobbly legs. I tried not to laugh at her, but she was so damn funny.

  “Are you going to make it to the car, or should I call for an ambulance?” I joked.

  Meadow narrowed her eyes at me. “Go away, tall person.”

  “I’m 5’10”; it’s not like I’m as tall as Shaq.” I shook my head and held out my hand to help her steady herself.

  “You’re taller than most,” Maxima added.

  “True.” I brushed off the fact I was tall and checked on Meadow again. “You good?”

  “I got it.” She released my hand, able to walk on her own.

  Maxima suggested hitting the juice bar, but I declined. “I have a lot of work.” I waved to them and headed off to my vehicle.

  When I made it home, I jumped into the shower, and then found my favorite sweet, before curling up with my laptop and finishing Keaton’s chapters.

  Today was a good day.

  Chapter Two

  Keaton

  I stared at my computer screen longer than I should have. I was stumped on what the professor wanted. How hard was it to ask a simple question? I gave up and figured the best thing to do was get a beer and then Netflix for an hour.

  What I really should have done was go to the gym, but…nah. I flopped on my couch and found where I left off on Criminal Minds. If my brain worked like Dr. Spencer Reid, I wouldn’t be having issues with this business class.

  Why did I want to get a Master’s degree at the same time as writing a book and playing hockey? Because I was a workaholic. I’ve been this way my entire life. I may take a break from time-to-time, or sleep, but other than that I’m either studying, working on my book, reading, working, playing hockey, or fucking.

  Hey, everyone needed a stress relief. Mine happened to be sex. Except for the past month, I’ve not had any sex. I’ve masturbated, but nothing else. I think it was some sort of record for me, going this long.

  I tried to chill out and focus on Netflix, but the stupid question bounced around my head. I got up off my couch and went back to my computer. It finally hit me what the professor wanted and I now knew what to research for the answer.

  As I went through various sites and searched the evidence I needed, my phone dings with a text message.

  Bar?

  Remington Rosin had been my friend since the day I’d been traded to the Bears. He was a great guy and even better wingman. He had the tall, dark, handsome image down, but was reall
y a teddy bear. Sad because he could totally play the image up if he wanted to.

  Nope.

  Got a girl already?

  Yep. I lied, but I surely couldn’t tell him I was home studying. No one knew I was in graduate school. Well, they’re only online classes, but it still counted. I had dreams and goals and with my current bank account I could make it all happen. I didn’t want to tell anyone; it was private.

  I went back to working on my paper and submitted it to the professor when I finished. I rewarded myself with a book. A Year in the Life of William Shakespeare: 1599 by James Shapiro. It was a great book and a look into the good ol’ year of 1599. It was the year William wrote four of his famous plays. Dude must have gone through barrels of ink.

  When I realized it was four in the morning and I had to be at practice in five hours, I should probably get some rest. I marked my place in the book and crawled into bed, quickly finding sleep.

  I pushed on Kyson’s back, nudging him forward. “I’m going to spear you, Wick.” I teased him.

  “Knock it off jackass,” he growled back at me.

  Remington joined in and started working Wick’s nerves in trying to steal the pick away. If I could ever say one thing about Kyson Wick’s hockey abilities, it was that you couldn’t get a puck away from him without a fight. This was why he was the leader in assists. He and Remington have been named the dynamic duo, partly because Remington is the lead scorer in the PHL. Those guys are the best in the league, and I strive to be as good as them.

  My position with the Bears: defense. Even though our goalie is crappy, and I am hoping his ass will be traded soon, it’s my job to protect him and block the shots. I did okay. I was currently sitting pretty in the top ten of blocked shots and the top five in ice time. I never wanted to leave it, but Coach Long was constantly yelling at me to get off the ice.

  Finally, Remington and I left Kyson alone and started shooting some pucks around. I enjoy a laid back practice like this. I understood it couldn’t happen every day, but Coach was generally in a foul mood a lot of times. I sometimes wondered if he was getting enough sex at home, but it’s none of my concern.