The Muse and the Fairy Tale (New Hampshire Bears #1)
Read The Muse and the Fairy Tale (New Hampshire Bears #1) Online
Authors: Mary Smith
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Genre Fiction, #Sports, #Romance
Copyright 2015 © Gone Writing Publishing
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Dedic
ation
This is for everyone who hates my books!
Thanks for still taking the time and reading them!
Acknowle
dgements
First, to my loving husband, Bret, my three amazing step-kids, and my mom, who is always making me laugh.
Second, to my Lindsay Paige (aka my LP). I say it all the time, but it’s the truth, you’re an amazing and wonderful friend! Thank you for all that you do for me! I adore you more and more every day! To my Frodo (aka Amber Linn) thank you for your constant support no matter what task I toss your way. You are such a dear, kind, sweet friend and I’m so glad to be your Sam! To Rebecca Cartee, I’m sorry about the commas, but it’s getting better!
Third, to all the bloggers, readers, authors, and author-friends you have helped me promote this new series! THANK 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 Muse and
the Fairy Tale (New Hampshire Bears Book 1)
Meadow Hylton has held onto the dream of Prince Charming sweeping into her life and falling madly in love with her. Until it happens, she fulfills her fantasy by writing sports romance books. However, that love has been hit with a bout of writer's block. A new muse on social media helps diminish that block quickly.
Kyson Wick is a newly traded player to the New Hampshire Bears, and he’s thankful for the change. His goal is to be the best hockey player and forget the ex-girlfriend who broke his heart. He’s also hoping a new venture with an author looking for a new cover model is the distraction he needs.
Soon, the chemistry between Kyson and Meadow begins to grow. But when their dreams collide, will the muse be able to fulfill the fairytale?
Chapt
er One
Meadow
“Come on words,” I yelled at my blank computer screen, scaring my yellow tabby cat, Puckhead. “Sorry,” I muttered.
I stared a few more minutes before rolling my eyes. “This sucks.” I gave up and clicked over to Facebook.
I scrolled through several notifications about how much people loved my books or characters. I, over ambitiously, send a caps lock of
thank yous
and smiley faces. I kept scrolling until I got bored and headed over to watch silly cat videos. Sad to say, Puckhead wasn’t as cool as these cats.
“Why can’t you do tricks so I can pimp you on
YouTube
?” I scratched his head. “I would totally exploit you for money.” I made a kissy face at him, which causedhim to jump off my desk and stroll across the room away from me
.
I ignored him and went back to the black hole of the internet. I figured while I was on here, I’d search for possible cover model or possibly a muse to help get the juices flowing.
Nothing wrong with looking at some abs for inspiration.
I went to my regular photographer friends, saw the same faces who have been on a hundred different covers including some of my own, and continued past them. I hoped to see some new faces, but none of them interested me.
“I guess I’ll check up on the news,” I told no one but Puckhead, who was now sleeping in the other room and probably couldn’t hear me anyway.
I clicked on the tab labeled Twitter; where else would I get my news? It was the twenty-first century, if you couldn’t tell me in one hundred forty characters or less then I didn’t care. Yes, it was idiotic to think that way, but it was the truth, and I was far too busy watching cat videos to keep up with current events.
At thirty-five, I should be more aware of the ins and outs of the world outside my house, but my world consisted of the fictional characters in my head. I’d made a deal with myself to be an author before I was thirty. On the eve of my big three oh, I clicked publish on my very first novel. Now, I’ve been writing professionally for five years.
Two years after my thirtieth, another dream came true when I was able to quit my dead-end job and write full-time. It was the scariest thing I’d ever done and the most rewarding.
The downside of being an at-home writer: I never left home. I did my best to keep up with old friends, but most of my interaction with them was through Facebook or text messages here and there. I did go to the gym, but it was mainly to check out hot guys and see what might fit into my current storyline.
I lived a pathetic life.
I haven’t been on a date in forever. I tried online, but that was just a gene pool of creepy guys who still lived with their parents. I wasn’t saying everyone was, just the ones hitting on me. I held tight to a dream of Mr. Right aka Prince Charming swooping down and carry me off into the sunset.
Childish?
Most definitely, but I wanted it most in the world.
Maybe I should try online dating again.
Maybe not.
I went back to scrolling through Twitter until I came across one of my favorite sports teams. I have been a hockey fan from way back. I’ve always loved the sport, but don’t put me in skates. I was like a baby giraffe just born. I had no balance, and klutz was my middle name. However, the guys on the ice made it look easy.
The New Hampshire Bears were based right here in Manchester. I, of course, held season tickets to the games, but usually sold them online because I was too busy to go. I wished I could go more often, but I had deadlines.
I read the article about a new team member, Kyson Wick, who the Bears had just signed.
“Well, aren’t you a slice of a hot-man cake,” I said to the screen until I saw he was twenty-five. “Okay, young-hot-man-cake,” I corrected myself.
I studied his picture closely, maybe too close. He had brown hair, slightly shaggy, in a fashionable way. His green eyes were almost a shade of olives they were so rich in color. Obviously, he was built like a Roman God; I was sure he worked out four hours a day, as I reached for another Little Debbie zebra cake.
“He’d make the perfect cover model,” I told the screen.
“Yes,” I answered myself.
It was the first sign I was on the train to crazyville, but I asked and answered myself all the time. I took another bite of the sugary, extremely fattening, delicious cake and thought the process through. Out. Loud.
“One, he’s hot. Two, he seems photogenic. Three, he’s not a superstar, so I won’t have to inflate his ego or pay a ton of money. Four, he’s hot. Five, he’s local and that’ll be easier to schedule. Six, he’s hot.” I counted each point on my hand, except for six because I didn’t want to put down my cake.
After thinking it over for another moment or two, I popped the last piece of the cake in my mouth and pulled up Google.
“Okay, I’m not going to get my hopes up. Plus, if he says ‘no’, I can always come up with a backup plan. Of course, I don’t have one, but one will come to me.”
I gave myself the pep talk as I typed in ‘Kyson Wick’s Manager’ into the Google search bar. If anyone knew where to start, it was good ole Google.
As always, it didn’t fail me, and the first link showed me Arden Thompson, Sports Agent. It wasn’t his manager, but it was a start. I clicked the link, which took me to his page. I hit ‘contact us’ and sent a lengthy, but professional query about Kyson’s manager.
When I finished, I figured it was time for a real break. “Not like I’ve done anything all day,” I muttered and headed toward my couch.
My most prized possession: my house. I had been saving a long time to buy one, and when my second book took off on the sales chart, I bought this beauty and moved out of my crappy apartment.
It was twelve hundred square feet, all for Puckhead and me. I had a master bedroom, which I’d painted white with red accents. I’ve always loved those two colors. I turned the second bedroom into my office. The walls were also white, but 8x10 canvases of my covers filled the walls, along with fan made art. My desk was massive, taking up the majority of the room. It held my desktop, laptop, and all my crap. Mainly, it contained Post-Its everywhere with notes and ideas on them.
My sanctuary ended up being my living room. I splurged on a large seventy-inch HD TV where I could lay on my couch and watch my movies. Along the walls were my bookshelves. The books were my babies. Some were autographed, some were old, and some never touched, but they were all mine.
The least favorite part of the house? The kitchen. I didn’t do much in there. I knew the microwave and the fridge worked and I had an amazing wine rack and that baby never ran low.
This was my home, and I loved it.
I heard my computer ding as I fixed myself a glass of wine. I debated with myself if I should leave it until later and go back to my
Friends
marathon on Netflix or check it out.
Not shockingly, my nosiness won, and holding my precious wine glass tight, I went back into my office. I was surprised to see an email from Arden Thompson.
“Seriously?” I was stunned as I hit open and read the words that he’d forward the request to Kyson’s manager.
