Let's Do This

Copyright © 2022 by Loren Leigh All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Edited by Cassie’s Book Services Proofreading by Forbidden Worlds Beta reading by Jen Sharon and LesCourt Author Services Cover design by Angela Haddon LET’S DO THIS CONTENTS A note about Let’s Do This The List #1 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 The List #2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 The List #3 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 The List #4 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 The List #5 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 The List #6 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 The List #7 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 The List #8 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 The List #9 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 The List #10 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Epilogue Thank you! About Let’s Do This About Loren A NOTE ABOUT LET’S DO THIS Let’s Do This is a work of fiction, and as such, has taken liberties with both NHL and NCAA hockey. Any views expressed in no way reflect the policies or opinions of the actual organizations. Content warnings: homophobia and emotional abuse by a parent Words that I will forever remember: 1. “I think you should trust yourself, Burkie.” CHAPTER ONE Shaw “Pffft.” I flatten a hand over my eyes, stifling a groan as the doorbell chimes. It’s way too early. And I was up far too late. The bell rings again, and I squeeze my eyes shut under my palm. My side smarts from where I took that puck right between the goalie pads during yesterday's game, my mouth is dry, my thoughts are as sluggish as a legless turtle, but my bare ass is snuggly warm under the sheets, and it does not want to move. Unfortunately, of the five bedrooms in the house, mine is the closest to the front door, which means I've officially been tagged as the roommate who gets his ass up to answer. I sigh and roll as far as I can toward the edge of the bed, right into soft flesh. Honestly, it’s not like I was sleeping all that well anyway. Too many people are crowded in my bed. Violet murmurs as I disentangle myself from the sheets and then try to smoothly crawl over Sandra, although I’m pretty sure I knee her in the thigh. Arms and legs are jumbled everywhere, and I can’t tell what belongs to who. Which was sometimes the case last night too. It was . . . fun. I guess. I mean, that’s what it’s supposed to be, right? They definitely had fun. And I— The doorbell hollers for a third freaking time, and I stumble off the bed and tug on a pair of shorts before adjusting my morning chub and snagging a ballcap to cover my messy hair. “Coming,” I call out on the way down the hall. Jeez, my voice sounds like a pound of gravel hitting concrete. I’m gonna choke back a gallon of water as soon as I deal with whatever this apparent emergency is. I round the corner and have to toe aside an empty beer bottle to pull open the door, a wall of winter cold air slamming into me as a guy retreats down the steps. Older guy, brown uniform. Delivery. Not an emergency. “Are you Eden Burkehammer?” He holds up a brown envelope. “I need a signature.” “Yep, I’m Burkehammer.” I’m definitely not Burkie. He’s probably sound asleep in his comfy bed with that monster-size fluffy pillow he owns while I’m fetching his packages. But tagging myself with Burkie’s last name makes me smile. It’s a cooler name than Keenan. At least across the back of a hockey jersey, which is what counts the most. The delivery guy keeps staring at me. His eyes seesaw down to my chest and linger. I scan myself, trying to suss out why a middle-aged, paunchy dude is looking at me like that. I clearly just rolled out of bed, but nothing else is amiss. Other than my morning wood, which is shriveling from the cold. And I guess there’s some bright pink lipstick around my right nipple. And down by my navel too. Okay, maybe there are a few things for him to snicker at. “So . . . do I need to sign?” I ask, itching over my ribs. He holds out the electronic pad, and I take the stylus and scribble Burkie owes me in the signature spot. The guy extends a large envelope to me and winks. “Have fun.” “Uh, yeah, thanks.” I snag the cold envelope and step back into the house. Closing the door, I take in the disaster that used to be our living room. Cups, beer bottles, and various discarded clothing cluster in every corner. A lime green tutu spins lazily on the ceiling fan, which is no small feat considering the height of the ceiling. Last night’s party must have gotten even more OTT after I snuck away with the girls. Usually we don’t party that hard on a Thursday night with classes and stuff the next day. But it’s not surprising after the win we pulled out against DU. It was a total barn burner—high scoring with Vain snagging a game-winning goal late in the third to clinch it. We were hopped up, to say the least. I climb the stairs, stepping over a pile of popcorn that we’ll have to vacuum up later, and head down the hallway, past Vain and Leslie’s closed doors to Burkie’s room at