Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times, #1 Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author. With millions of books sold, her titles are currently translated in twenty-seven languages and have appeared on bestseller lists in the US, Germany, Brazil, Bulgaria and Hungary. Three of her short stories have been turned into films by Passionflix, and two of her books are currently optioned for movies. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.

Genre: Contemporary Romance Standalone
Trope: Best friend’s little sister, age-gap, forced proximity, summer fling to forever, small town
Turns out, Brenna is a lot more grown-up than I realized. And a lot more beautiful. Which makes sharing an apartment with her this summer tougher than I expected.
Until she shares something with me. Something she’s never shared with anyone. Something that makes me want to step in and help.
Something that changes everything.
Soon enough, my wanting to be with her has nothing to do with that promise I made and everything to do with the undeniable spark between us.
It doesn’t matter that I’m more than a decade older than she is. Or what our small town thinks.
But Brenna’s time in Hickory Hills is limited, making everything more complicated.
The more time I spend with Brenna, the harder it is to stay apart. The more I want to convince her to stay.
I already broke my promise to her brother. But I will keep my promise to her.
Even if I break my own heart in the process.
Roommates. Almost siblings. Who cares if he accidentally saw me naked and masturbating and now knows my deepest secret?
“Hi. Whatcha making?”
“Just mac ’n cheese.”
Just mac ’n cheese? Is this man crazy?
I drop my bag, kicking off my shoes and placing them at the mat by the door. Inhaling deeply, I walk into the kitchen, examining the baking dish sitting on top of the stove. Sure enough, this is the real deal. Multiple cheeses melted into and mixed in with a roux, before folded over pasta and topped with breadcrumbs. A quick glance down at the counter reveals a loaf of bread and food processer, meaning these breadcrumbs are real, not store-bought. Fuck, yes.
“Milo, there is nothing just about mac ’n cheese. Especially real deal mac ’n cheese. I know you know it’s my fave. Especially if that’s Hayes mac ’n cheese.”
He laughs, the deep vibrato making my insides feel just as gooey as that cheese. “It is.”
Fuck, I have died and gone to heaven. Hayes mac ’n cheese, made by a sexy-as-sin Hayes man? Yeah…I’m done for.
“It was your first day at your first big girl job. I figured that was worth celebrating.” He gives me a wink, turning away from me to put the dish in the oven.
My first big girl job? Well then, if Milo’s going to talk to me the same way he and Brandt did when they took the training wheels off my bike, then I’d say seeing me naked is irrelevant. Thank goodness.
“Seriously? Thank you. You didn’t have to do that. I’m sure you had better things to do with your afternoon.”
Milo shrugs his tattooed left shoulder, stepping into me, winking again. My insides melt a little more. This is dangerous.
“I wanted to. You deserve it.”
I sigh, my heart grateful for not only the gesture, but how much he cares. I’m lucky to have him in my life.
“Also, I was thinking.”
“Uh-oh, that’s dangerous,” I quip.
Milo chuckles, stepping in closer, the gap between us now no more than a foot. My pulse kicks into high gear, his musky scent filling my nostrils. I don’t know if that’s his cologne or deodorant or some soap, but damn, he smells good. So good it might fry my brain.
“Whatcha doin’ Friday?”
Friday? Ummmm…
“Errr…ahhh…studying?” I hope that’s the right answer.
“Take a night off.”
“Any particular reason?”
A list of possible answers rushes through my mind. The most likely is that he needs my help again at Pour Decisions. Which, if that’s what he needs, he can consider it done. I’m not only happy to help, but it’s the least I can do since I’m squatting in his apartment all summer.
“I’m taking you out.”
Record scratch—he’s what?
Milo must see the confusion register on my face, because he steps into me even more, this time, taking my hand.
“Let me start over. Brenna, would you like to go out with me on Friday?”
“Like a date?”
Like a date? Oh good gracious, who asks that? Like a date. Of course it’s not a date.
“Yes, like a date.”
I stand corrected.
“You want to take me on a date?” My voice squeaks, betraying me and my excitement.
Milo Hayes wants to take me on a date. Well, dear diary, your preteen fantasies are coming true.
“I was thinking about what you said yesterday—”
“Ugh, could we not?”
“No, we’re gonna. I hate to see you upset, always have. Yesterday was no exception. And I can’t fix everything in this world, but this, this I can. No, not fix. Because you don’t need fixing, Brenna. Change, that’s a better word. This I can change.”
“Milo, you don’t have to do this.”
“Bren,” he whispers, squeezing my hand. “This isn’t about have to, this is about want to. I want to take you. I want to show you what it’s like to experience a second date. And in order for there to be a second, there has to be a first. So, what d’ya say? Go out with me Friday night?”
My heart soars. Milo Hayes wants to take me on a date. How does a girl say no to that?
She doesn’t. That’s how.
I let my smile loose, a giggle escaping with it. I can’t help it. Because I’m giddy.
“I’d love to.”
“Good.”
He squeezes my hand again, keeping the small gap between us. Looking down at me, his blue eyes sparkle, upping my giddiness.
“Can I ask where we’re going?”
“You can ask.” He smirks. “But I’m not gonna tell you. It’s a surprise.”
Oh boy…
His smirk grows and he starts to lean in. My whole body is on high alert, calling out to the universe, trying to manifest something out of thin air. It’s not too much to also want a kiss, right? I mean, I did just get asked out.
Milo continues to lean, and I’m starting to think the universe might be listening to me.
At least until my phone goes off.
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From USA Today and Amazon Charts bestselling author Meghan Quinn, comes a new coach’s daughter, workplace, forbidden standalone sports romance featuring the hockey men you can’t get enough of. This steamy, roommates-to-lovers romantic comedy will bring all the laughs while burning up the pages at the same time.
Releasing June 25th in all formats, check out the tropes and excerpt below and pre-order your copy today!
🏒 Hockey
🏅 Coach’s Daughter
📝 Boss/Assistant
🏠 Roomies-to-Lovers
🔟 Age Gap
🔥 They Fight Fire with Fire
🛏 Forced Proximity
🚫 Forbidden
💙 He Falls First

About SO THIS IS WAR (Coming 6/25/2024):
Did I think I was going to fall for my coach’s daughter?
The answer would be no.
I’m still unclear on how I got into this predicament in the first place. A year ago, I was a man with one thought on his mind, the redhead I met at a hotel bar. Twelve months later, I found her.
Unfortunately for me, she not only happens to be my very off-limits coach’s daughter, but also . . . my new assistant and roommate.
I don’t even need an assistant, but Coach Wood doesn’t take no for an answer. Add in him writing up tasks for his daughter, Wylie, to complete for me? Well, it’s his own form of sweet torture. We are talking tasks that I would never ask her to do.
Tasks that make her despise me.
Hate me.
That make her utter four words that cause a shiver to crawl up my spine . . . Posey, this is war.
PRE-ORDER YOUR COPY TODAY!

Read the Prologue Here!
**LEVI**
“I want him off my fucking team. Now!”
My testicles shrivel into dust as Coach Wood screams at Andie Lintour, the general manager for the Vancouver Agitators.
Spittle flies off his lip.
Eyebrows are slanted like knives, ready to strike.
And the veins in his neck protrude, making me question if it will be his hands that choke me or the scary, pulsing veins.
“Will, we can’t—”
“He was fucking my daughter! We can do whatever the hell I say.”
Did you wince? Because I did.
I know what you’re thinking. Posey, you’re about to lose your life at the hands of your fuming, spitting, hulking-out coach. And your assessment of the situation is a fair and accurate one.
Because yes, I’ve never felt closer to death than at this moment right now.
To bring you up to speed, yes, I was fucking his daughter.
Yes, it was in the locker room.
Yes, it was out in the open where anyone could walk in.
Was it stupid? Absolutely.
Have I lost my mind? One hundred percent.
Do I have any defense? Not one.
Nope, this was pure stupidity. This was a move by a desperate man brought to his knees.
A weak man.
A man with no morals.
A man infatuated with a woman he can’t control himself around.
“I understand the circumstances,” Andie says in her calming voice, “but we can’t get rid of a player because he was having relations with your daughter. Posey is one of the best defensemen in the entire league.” If I wasn’t so terrified, I’d puff my chest. “He’s under a no-trade clause. Even if we wanted to get rid of him, we couldn’t.”
I’m not sure if I should be grateful for that clause because, at the moment, it wouldn’t hurt to at least escape the darkness of death clouding Coach Wood’s expression.
“Then he’s benched,” Wood says as he looks me in the eyes, nostrils flaring. “Did you hear that, you bologna-loving motherfucker? You’re benched.”
I swallow deeply as I dig my fingertips into the armrests of my chair. Not sure why he had to drag the bologna into this, but I don’t bother asking as the vein in his bald head looks like it’s maxed out on stress. “I, uh, yes, I heard you the first time,” I say, causing him to grow angrier.
“Once again, Will, I don’t believe we can do that. We pay him a lot of money—”
“We do.” Will paces his office, and every time he goes near me, my ass clenches in anticipation of a ninja knife hand right to my trachea. “We pay him plenty of money, so why don’t we just put him on the injured list, say he has a sore toe, and then he can figure out with his agent what he’s doing for next year because he sure as fuck won’t be playing on my ice.”
Now, is Coach Wood being a touch extreme? Some might say yes without any context because who really wants to bench their starting defenseman? It’s not the smartest move as a coach, but the man has a good reason.
And sure, I shouldn’t be taking his side. I should be defending myself and the ability to have sexual relations with anyone I damn well please, but here’s the thing . . . the situation runs a little deeper than what you see on the surface.
It’s more complicated.
I didn’t just fuck some random girl on an arbitrary day in our locker room.
The coach’s daughter was riding me, completely naked, in the middle of the locker room after he struck a deal with me to hire his daughter as my assistant to teach her a lesson.
And before you even ask, no, the lesson was not on the science of how the penis meets the vagina.
It was a tough lesson about life.
So yeah, this really is on me.
**Raises hand** Yup, I take the blame.
Guilty.
The only question is, how the hell am I going to get around this? From the way he spoke so cruelly of my precious bologna, I don’t think offering him a daily sandwich—made by yours truly—is going to mend the severed ties we’ve created.
Nope, this will take a monumental, epic proposal of apologies, especially if I want to stay on this team. Which I do. My boys are here. My life is here.
She’s here . . .
Which means I need a plan.
But I swore I wouldn’t get them involved.
I said over and over again that I wouldn’t use their idiotic advice or poorly constructed ideas, but I think desperate times call for desperate measures.
It’s time to call on the Frozen Fellas.
ABOUT MEGHAN QUINN:

USA Today Bestselling Author, wife, adoptive mother, and peanut butter lover. Author of romantic comedies and contemporary romance, Meghan Quinn brings readers the perfect combination of heart, humor, and heat in every book.
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Underneath the goody-two-shoes persona is damaged goods…but can the bad boy across the street save her?
Damaged Goods, an all-new angsty, enemies to lovers, sports romance from USA Today bestselling author L.J. Shen is now available!

Bailey Followhill is the perfect daughter.
Sweet. Charitable. Pretty. Control freak.
Not a hair out of place, not an inch out of line, she is everything her troublemaking sister Daria isn’t.
But when her A game turns out to be a lukewarm C- at Juilliard, Bailey’s picture-ready life starts fraying faster than the worn satin ribbons of her pointe shoes.
She’s becoming a piece of gossip.
The Troubled Child. A drug abuser.
No longer the girl her best friend once knew.
Lev Cole is so golden, he’s got the Midas Touch.
Prized quarterback. Football captain. Hottest guy in SoCal. A textbook cliché.
But with a girlfriend he doesn’t love and a career path he doesn’t value, Lev is coasting.
The only two things he cares about―Bailey and becoming a pilot―are out of reach.
But Lev is done being satisfied with the life others have chosen for him. He wants to pick his own cards. To demolish the seamless kingdom of lies his family stitched together on the ruins his mother left behind.
The question is, can he save his best friend and his dream before too much damage is done?

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Keep reading for a look inside Damaged Goods!
PROLOGUE
Lev
Age fourteen
I’m standing over my mother’s grave, wondering why the fuck my eyes are dry.
I couldn’t look at the coffin back inside the church. Knight said she looked pretty. Calm. At peace. But also…nothing like herself.
I squeezed my eyes shut the entire way through, the way I did when I was really little and went on spooky rides at theme parks. Now I’m freaking out because maybe I made a mistake, because it was the last time I could look at her face not through a picture.
That’s the thing about losing someone—there are so many losses along the way that make up a big loss.
No more cuddles in bed on rainy days.
No more heart-shaped fruit in my lunch box.
No more singing lullabies to me when I’m sick, with me pretending I’m embarrassed and annoyed by it when actually Mom singing lullabies is the best thing to happen to this universe since sliced bread.
Bailey is hugging me so close, my bones are about to dissipate to dust. She’s about four inches taller than me now, which is stupid and embarrassing and just my luck. My face is hidden deep inside her hair, and I pretend to cry because it seems rude and screwed up if I don’t. But the truth is, I’m not sad or gloomy or any of those things. I’m fucking pissed. Angry. Enraged.
Mom’s gone.
What if she’s cold? What if she’s claustrophobic? What if she is struggling to breathe? What if she’s scared? Reasonably, I know she isn’t. She’s dead. But logic isn’t my friend right now. Not even an acquaintance. Hell, I doubt I could spell the word in my current state. I feel like Bailey is physically keeping me together. Like if she loosens her arms around me, I’ll collapse into thousands of little marbles, scatter and disappear into the nooks and crannies of the cemetery.
Everyone files back to their cars. Dad claps a shaking hand over my shoulder and steers me away from the grave. Bails reluctantly releases me. I clutch the tips of her fingers. She’s gravity. She’s oxygen. In this moment in time, she’s everything.
Sensing my unspoken need for her, Bailey turns to my dad. “May I please catch a ride with you, Uncle Dean?”
Thank you, Jesus.
“Yeah, Bails, sure,” Dad says distractedly, laser-focused on Knight’s back. My brother is going through his own stuff right now and my dad is trying to ensure he doesn’t lose another member of our family. Usually, I’m cool with being the low-maintenance, “background” kid. Not today, though. I just lost my mom at fourteen. I want the world to stop, but it disrespectfully keeps on spinning and functioning like my life wasn’t just destroyed.
Before we hop into the car, I clutch Bailey’s fingers and pull her to me. “If I told you I want to run away from here, somewhere really far, like…I dunno, Kansas far, what would you say?”
Her big blue eyes hold mine like my eyeballs are about to fall off. “We ride at dawn, bitch.”
“Really?” I ask.
She nods once. “Try me, Lev. You’re my best friend. I’ll never let you down.”
It’s weird, but the possibility of Bailey and me running away from all this is the one thing holding my ass together right now. She might be everyone’s good girl, but to me, she’s a bad addiction.
The drive is silent. I’m a page torn out of a book. Out of place and floating aimlessly. All I have is the memory of once belonging. Then, we’re in front of my house. Everyone trickles inside in their black frocks. They look like ghouls. Home without Mom isn’t a home. It’s a pile of bricks and expensive furniture.
Invisible ivy roots me to the ground. Bailey is the only one who notices. She loiters behind with me, and suddenly, I really hate that I’m putting all my dreams and hopes on her. Because she could be gone tomorrow too. Bus accident. Freak heart attack at fifteen. A kidnap-and-murder plot. The options are endless, and I have really shitty luck with people.
“Kansas?” She grabs my fingers, playing them like they’re keys on a piano.
I shake my head, too choked up to produce actual words.
“We don’t have to go inside.” Her hands slide up to grab my arms and keep me standing. How did she know I’m close to falling? “We can hang out at mine. I’ll make fondue. We can watch South Park.” Her blues gleam like sapphires.
Fresh irritation floods me. Bailey is being soooo understanding, even though she doesn’t understand jack shit. She does have a mom. A healthy one. And a dad. And a sister who isn’t an addict. Her life is perfect, while mine is a pile of calamities.
She’s a blossoming flower, and I’m dirt, but that’s okay because the thing about flowers is they’re buried in dirt, so I know exactly how to cut her off.
Shaking her off, I swivel and stomp my way out of our cul-de-sac. She races after me, calling my name. Her Mary Janes clap the ground urgently.
“Lev, please! Did I say something wrong?”
To be fair to her, she stood no chance at saying anything right. But screw being fair. I’m hurting, and she is baggage. Just another person to love and to lose.
I pick up my pace, running now. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m eager to get there. The sky—completely blue just seconds ago—cracks like an egg. Thunder rolls, gray washes over it, and rain starts pouring in thick sheets. It’s summer in SoCal and shouldn’t rain. The universe is angry, but I’m angrier.
Whenever Bailey manages to catch the sleeve of my shirt, I speed up, but even after thirty minutes of running in the rain, soaked to the bone, she doesn’t quit. Somehow, we find ourselves in the woods on the outskirts of town. The thick, tall branches and blankets of leaves intertwine together like laced fingers above us, creating a makeshift umbrella. I can sort of see my surroundings now, and it’s pretty and it’s calm and far enough away from that stupid cemetery. I stop running when I realize I’m not gonna escape the new reality: Mom’s dead.
I finally understand the term heartbreak. Because that thing in my chest? Split open clean in two.
I turn around, my lungs scorching. Bailey is pale and sodden, her black dress clinging to her body. Her lips are blue and her skin is so pale, I see a map of purple and red veins under her flesh.
“Go home,” I growl. But I don’t want her to go home. I want her to never leave.
She steps closer, tilting her chin up defiantly. “I’m not leaving you.”
“Fuck off, Bailey!” I fold in half, screaming. I feel like she kicked me in the stomach.
She’ll leave. She’ll let you down. Don’t fall for this, Lev.
“I’m so sorry.” Her eyes are full of tears, and she flexes her fingers, itching to grab me.
Hug me.
Go away.
Fuckfuckfuck.
My mouth opens again and more bullshit spews out. “Don’t be sorry for me. Be sorry for yourself. You’re the loser who hangs out with an eighth grader instead of people your own age.”
“I wish it didn’t happen.” She ignores my insults, trying to grab my fingers again and play them like a piano, like she does every time I’m upset.
Laughing, I rasp, “I wish you didn’t happen.”
“I wish it were me who was dead.” Her face is covered with tears and pain and mud, and I can’t do this anymore. I don’t care how much I’m hurting, I can’t ruin the only good thing about my life right now. She gives me something to fight for when every cell of my body wants to give up.
“Now you’re just talking outta your ass.” I spit phlegm between us.
She shakes her head, quivering fingers darting to her hair, massaging her scalp. I believe her. And it kills me that even though I feel like someone slashed me open and my guts are pouring out, I still wouldn’t want Bailey to be in Mom’s place.
“I’m not. I’m serious. I would die before willingly watch you suffer.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then I open my mouth and the most feral, scary, loud cry I’ve ever heard tears out of it. It echoes in the sky and bounces off the trees. A flock of ravens takes flight from the treetops.
And then I go to the only place I need to be right now—I go mad.

For more information about L.J. Shen and her books, visit her website: