Page 37 of Sugar Rush (Sugar Bowl 2)

Garrett

Zack

Ryker

Hawke

Max (coming soon)

SUGAR BOWL

Sugar Daddy Sugar Rush Sugar Free

THE WICKED HORSE SERIES

Wicked Fall Wicked Lust Wicked Need Wicked Ride Wicked Bond

THE OFF SERIES

Off Sides Off Limits Off the Record Off Course Off Chance Off Season Off Duty

THE LAST CALL SERIES

On the Rocks Make It a Double Sugar on the Edge With a Twist Shaken, Not Stirred

THE LEGAL AFFAIRS SERIES

Legal Affairs Confessions of a Litigation God Friction Clash

Grind

Yield

STANDALONE TITLES

If I Return Uncivilized Love: Uncivilized

PHOTO: MARIE KILLEN

Since the release of her debut contemporary romance novel, Off Sides, in January 2013, Sawyer Bennett has released more than thirty books and has been featured on both the USA Today and New York Times bestseller lists on multiple occasions.

A reformed trial lawyer from North Carolina, Sawyer uses real-life experience to create relatable, sexy stories that appeal to a wide array of readers. From new adult to erotic contemporary romance, Sawyer writes something for just about everyone.

Sawyer likes her Bloody Marys strong, her martinis dirty, and her heroes a combination of the two. When not bringing fictional romance to life, Sawyer is a chauffeur, stylist, chef, maid, and personal assistant to a very active toddler, as well as full-time servant to two adorably naughty dogs. She believes in the goodness of others and that a bad day can be cured with a great workout, cake, or a combination of the two.

sawyerbennett.com

Facebook.com/ bennettbooks

@bennettbooks

Read on for an excerpt from

Max

A Cold Fury Hockey Novel

by Sawyer Bennett

Coming soon from Loveswept

I stick the nozzle in my gas tank, depress the handle, and flip the catch down to hold it in place. Letting the gas flow on its own, I head across the nearly empty parking lot to the gas station, which is lit up like a bright beacon out here on Possum Track Road. I'm starved and I know my fridge is empty at home, so I'm going to break down and buy some junk food for my dinner. I just won't tell Vale about it, as I don't feel like listening to her bitch at me.

Vale Campbell...pretty as hell and nice to look at, but I dread having to hang out with her. That's because she's one of the assistant athletic trainers for the Cold Fury, and most important, working with me on my strength and conditioning. She would most certainly say Snickers, Cheez-Its, and root beer are not on my approved list, and then she'd have me doing burpees, mountain climbers, and box jumps until I puked.

Pulling the door open, I immediately see two guys at the cooler checking out the stock of beer. Both wearing wifebeaters stained with grease and faded ball caps. I, myself, pull my own hat down farther to hide my face, as I don't feel like getting recognized tonight. It's late, I want to get my junk food and get gone. We've got an early morning practice tomorrow.

I turn right down the first aisle, which houses the chips and other such snacks, slightly aware the other two customers are heading to the counter to check out. I keep my back to them just to be safe and peruse the options.

Funyuns.

Potato chips.

Doritos.

Corn nuts.

Reaching for a bag of salt-and-vinegar potato chips, I hear one of the guys drawl in a typical North Carolina redneck accent, "Hey, sweet thang. How 'bout a pack of Marlboro Reds and how 'bout handing me that there box of condoms. The extra large size."

The redneck's companion snickers, and then snorts. I turn slightly to see them both shoot conspiratorial grins at each other, and one guy nudges the other guy to egg him on. While the clerk turns to get the condoms, the redneck leans across the counter and stares blatantly at the woman's ass. The other guy says loud enough that I hear, so I know the woman hears, "Mmmmm...that is a fine ass."

Turning my body full so I face the counter, I see the woman's back stiffen and she turns her face to the left to look at a closed doorway beside the rack that holds all of the cigarettes. I'm wondering if perhaps a manager or another employee is in there, and she's hoping for some help.

But she doesn't wait and turns to face the two assholes, squaring her shoulders.

And god damn...she's breathtaking. Looking past the red and gold polyester vest she wears with a name tag--clearly a uniform--I see her face is flawless. Creamy skin that glows, high cheekbones, a straight nose that tilts slightly at the end, and full lips that look sexily puffed even though they are flattened in a grimace. Her hair is not blond, but not brown. I'd describe it as caramel with honey streaks and it's pulled back from her face in a ponytail with a low fall of bangs falling from left to right across her forehead.

While she faces the two men resolutely, I can see wariness in her eyes as she sets the cigarettes and condoms on the counter in front of them. "Will that be all?"

Her voice has a southern accent but it's subtle. She looks back and forth between the two men, refusing to lower her gaze.

Redneck number one nods to the twelve-pack of beer he had placed on the counter and says, "That was the last of the Coors. You got any in your storage room?"

"Nope, that's it," she says firmly, and I can tell it's a lie.

"Are ya sure?" he asks, leaning his elbows on the counter and leering at her. "Maybe you could check...I could help you if you want, and we could make use of them condoms there."

I'd roll my eyes over the absurdity of that attempt to woo a girl who is way out of his league, but I'm too tense over the prospect that this could

be more than just some harmless goofing by some drunk rednecks.

"What do you say, sweet thang?" he says in what he tries to pass as a suave voice but comes off as trailer trash.

"I say there's no more beer back there," she grits out, gives a look over her shoulder to the closed door, and then back to the men.

And that was a worried look.

A very worried look, so I decide that this isn't going any further. Grabbing the closest bag of chips my hand makes contact with, I stalk up the aisle toward the counter as I pull my hat off with my other hand. I tuck it in my back pocket, and when I'm just a few feet from the men, the woman's eyes flick to me, relief evident in her gaze. I smile at her reassuringly and flick my eyes down to her name tag.

Julianne.

Pretty name for a really pretty girl.

The sound of my footsteps finally penetrates and both men straighten to their full heights, which are still a few inches below mine, and turn my way. My eyes go to the first man, then move slowly to the other, leveling them both with an ice-cold glare. With the power of my gaze, I dare both of them to say something else to the beauty behind the counter.

Because I suspect the only sports these guys watch are bass fishing tournaments and NASCAR, I'm not surprised neither one recognizes me as the Carolina Cold Fury's starting goalie. Clearly the lovely Julianne doesn't either, but that's also fine by me.

The sound of Julianne's fingers tapping on the register catches everyone's attention and the two men turn back to her. "That will be $19.86."

One of the guys pulls a wallet from the back pocket of his saggy jeans and pulls out a twenty, handing it to her wordlessly. Now that they know there's an audience, neither one seems intent on continuing the crass game they were playing. At least I think that was a game, but I'm just glad I was here in case their intentions were more nefarious.

Julianne hands the guy his change and they gather their purchases and leave without a word.

As soon as the door closes, her shoulders drop and she lets out a sigh of relief. Giving me a weak smile, she looks at the bag in my hand and says, "Is that all?"

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