Blue Line Collision – Christie Gordon

“Buy me a drink?” Her blue-eyed gaze locked on mine. “My name is Skylar.” With a nod, I said, “I…yeah, sure, Skylar.” I didn’t want to look like a dick. Glancing at Nolan, I waved the bartender over to us. “Order Katie a fresh drink, too, eh?” Nolan said while smiling like an idiot at the blonde.

Oh, he was a goner. “Okay.” I ordered their drinks and inhaled deeply. I had to pretend I was interested. “So, what do you do, Skylar?” “I work in HR for Google.” She dipped her gaze and then bit her lower lip. “I work with Katie. We both attended ASU, and when we met at work, we hit it off. We’re roommates now.”

“I see.” That meant they’d want us to go back to their place since Nolan and I were sharing a hotel room. I drank my beer. Hell, I’d prefer to hang out with my teammates right now. The bartender dropped off their drinks. She sipped her fresh margarita. “Where are you from?” “Rochester, New York.” I pressed my lips together. I knew this drill.

We get to know each other, then we’d talk about what would happen next and where to meet. Nolan would expect me to go with him to their place. My gut churned. Fuck, I couldn’t though. Lucas hopped off his barstool, flashed a look at me and headed toward a hallway, presumably where the restroom was. I should follow him. Maybe he’d help me get out of this somehow.

He knew Nolan better than I. “Hey, I need to, uh, use the John.” I slid off my bar stool. “Be right back.” With a sideways glance at Nolan, I strode toward the hallway while Skylar hopped onto my stool. After entering the restroom, I said, “Hey, Lucas.” “Yeah?” He was tucking himself away. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a couple of puckbunnies for the night.” With a smirk, he washed his hands.

Scratching the side of my head, I said, “Yeah, about that⁠—” “You’re sharing a room with Nolan, right? I guess you can’t bring them back to the hotel.” He lifted his brows. “You’ll need to go to their place.” “I don’t want to go anywhere.” I winced. Now I’d have to say why. “What?” He gaped for a beat. “Is it serious with the stairwell girl?” “Who?” I wrinkled my brows.

Oh, shit, he was referring to my phone call with Ronan. Shaking my head, I said, “N-no, of course not.”

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Christie Gordon. The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. Cover Design by Christie Gordon Editing by Catherine Chisnall First edition 2026 1kitap1.com/en TRIGGER WARNING This book’s themes include absent/neglectful parents, the death of a parent (past), past trauma from abuse, alcoholism, drugs and gun violence.

1kitap1.com/en CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Epilogue Thank You About the Author 1kitap1.com/en “B ONE EVAN ye, everyone!” I waved as I left the draft party at the Desert Dog football house and waltzed toward my old beat-up Jeep, parked in the street.

I patted the hood as I passed it. This old girl had gotten me through juniors and all five years of my AHL stint. If I were lucky and moved permanently to the NHL through this playoff call-up, I might finally buy the vehicle of my dreams, a Mercedes G 63. Not a new one, mind you, but a more affordable one with a few years on her. I swung the driver’s door open and dropped into the car, taking in the fragrant scents of spring in the evening desert air.

It had a certain smell to it, not sweet per se, but sharp. All the Palo Verde trees in the yards sported masses of yellow flowers. It was April, and I was about to head into the playoffs with the Coyotes. Shit, I should pinch myself. After starting the engine, I drove off. It didn’t seem right to go home already.

Celebrating with a little nightcap would be fitting. The next few weeks or months might be grueling with travel and practice. I’d have to step up my game and show the coaches I was ready for this. Turning onto the larger boulevard, I breathed in deeply. I’d park at my apartment, then walk to The Coach House in downtown Scottsdale. It had become a favorite hangout. Outdoor spaces dominated the casual place, and the drinks were fantastic. After parking my car at my apartment, I strolled down the sidewalk of Old Town Scottsdale, my gaze set on the bar, its large patio surrounded by metal bars making up a perimeter fence while in the back, stood a covered, partially enclosed bar with hand-hewn poles in a rustic, Western vibe.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

Book Information

• Unique ID: ab406f20e7f3ffe3
• File Extension: .pdf
• File Size: 2,422,505 bytes (2.31 MB)
• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• Pages: 270
• Language: English (en)

Reading & Word Statistics

• Estimated Reading Time: 482.42 minutes
• Total Words: 96,484
• Total Characters: 512,086
• Average Words per Page: 357.35
• Average Characters per Page: 1896.61

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