I just snuck out of pro hockey's most notorious playboy's bed last night.

I have zero interest in legendary hockey player Alex Waters or his pretty, beat-up face and rock-hard six-pack abs. Having a famous pro athlete for a stepbrother means I'm aware that a lot of these guys are notorious f-boys, therefore all hockey games I attend are under duress.

That is until Alex starts talking books to me.
Then he becomes more than just a hot body with the face to match.
And I discover just how good Alex is with the hockey stick in his pants.

I consider our night of orgasmic magic as just that: one night.
But Alex starts to call.
And text.
And email and send extravagant--and quirky--gifts.

Suddenly, he's too difficult to ignore, and nearly impossible not to like.

The problem?
Alex is a total player.
And me?
I don't want to be part of the game.