- Pub. Date:
Chase: With a nickname like “Sin,” it’s no wonder they call me the bad boy of hockey. Opponents curse me. Fans scream my name—in the arena and in other, much more private places. Penalties or not, I’m not afraid to dish out a little pain. But pleasure? That’s my weakness. And no one knows it better than my best friend, Cassie Desrosiers. I’d have to be blind not to notice her rocking body and teasing grin. So when she invites me along on a trip to Vegas, my curiosity isn’t the only thing that’s aroused.
Cassie: Chase Barrett is a world-class A-hole. As his best friend, I’m allowed to call him on his BS. Who else is going to do it? Certainly not the puck bunnies swooning at every flex of his biceps. Everyone knows that Chase is the love-’em-and-leave-’em type. There’s no such thing as commitment for the king of casual hookups. So why should I care? Maybe because all work and no play makes me a sexually frustrated girl. It’s time to put the hockey stud at my beck and call to good use . . . but after a week in Vegas with Chase, I might never want to go back to the real world.
Praise for Bad Reputation
“[Nicole] Edwards opens the Bad Boys of Sports contemporary romance series with a steamy, fun novel. . . . Readers will appreciate that Chase and Cassie are more than just two hot bodies going horizontal at the first opportunity. They are surrounded by friends and family who add nuance and depth (and some family drama) to their passionate romance.”—Publishers Weekly
“The friends-to-lovers trope is a tricky one, and Edwards manages it well in her first Bad Boys of Sports novel.”—RT Book Reviews
“Sinfully fun and exciting! The chemistry was off the charts. Nicole Edwards sure does know how to write the bad boys of sports!”—New York Times bestselling author L. P. Dover
“An incredibly sexy story with some fun and exciting twists. . . . Bad Reputation was a fun escape from my day.”—Red Cheeks Reads
“It’s the gentle looks and touches, the subtleties that make Bad Reputation so magnetic.”—Heroes and Heartbreakers
“I adore the last few chapters of this book! If you enjoy friends-to-lovers stories, make sure to read Bad Reputation.”—Shh Moms Reading
This sexy standalone novel includes an excerpt from another Loveswept title.
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Read an Excerpt
As I pull my Dodge Charger Hellcat into my best friend’s driveway the following night, I briefly scan the car parked directly behind Cassie’s BMW. I’m thinking Cass might have company. A good friend would probably put the car in reverse and head home.
I’m not that friend.
Grinning, I unfold myself from the car, hit the key fob to lock it, and stroll up to the front door, choosing to ignore the things I don’t care about. Namely, the tricked-out Lexus in the driveway.
I don’t even pause as I insert my key into the lock, twist, and then let myself into the house.
And, okay, fine. The car behind Cassie’s isn’t a Lexus and it’s not tricked out. More like a Jaguar. Base model. Small dent, front fender—probably crappy driver.
“At least she didn’t change the locks like she threatened to do,” I mumble when I walk into the foyer, not even bothering to knock. If the woman wanted me to exhibit manners, she wouldn’t have given me a key. I mean, Cassie Desrosiers knows me better than anyone else. We’ve been friends for a whopping nine years. If she knows nothing else, she’s at least aware that I’m not big on social niceties and all that crap.
Closing the door, I give a one-sided knuckle bump to the weird iron sculpture sitting on a marble table in the foyer. Cassie has some sort of fascination with abstract art. And by abstract, I mean awful. Shaking my head because I still haven’t figured out what the damn thing is, I hang my keys on what very well could be a metal dick before pausing in the living room.
Hmm. All is quiet.
Time to announce my presence.
“Honey, I’m home!” I glance right, then left, then make a beeline for the refrigerator. I need a beer.
Still no Cassie.
Where the heck is she?
I know she’s got my Leinenkugel’s in the fridge because she’s good like that, and I intend to make myself acquainted with one while I wait. I twist off the top, then turn when I hear footsteps on the hardwood in the hallway.
“Chase. I . . . uh . . . What are you doing here?” Cassie steps into the living room, her blue-gray eyes wide with what I can only assume is surprise. I’m not sure why she’s shocked to see me, I stop by all the damn time just to chill, watch TV, play pool, talk. We’ve been hanging out pretty much since the day I met her, so you’d think she would be used to me dropping in for the hell of it.
“You invited me?”
Cassie’s dark eyebrows dart downward. “I did not.”
“Well, you should have.” I’m curious as to what she’s doing, why she’s acting so damn weird.
She’s cute when she chastises me.
“What? I needed a beer. I’m out.” I hold up the bottle to show her that I’ve retrieved one on my own. I’ve noticed her hostess skills are lacking.
“Chase! You can’t just barge in without calling me first.”
Ever hear someone shout when whispering? Well, Cassie has clearly perfected the art. Her voice is so low, it’s a wonder any sound comes out at all, her eyes darting down the hall.
I’m smart. I know what’s going on here, even if I choose to pretend otherwise. Based on my deductions, the shitty driver of the crappy Jaguar is down the hall.
I don’t speak, choosing to take a long pull on my beer and watch while Cassie has a minor freak-out moment.
I mean, seriously. She looks to be in a panic. Mind you, I’m probably a good twenty feet away, across the spacious open-concept living room that acts as the center of the house, so it very well could be a trick of the lighting.
I squint to be sure.
Nah. I doubt the recessed lights are putting that glimmer of alarm in her eyes.
While I sip my beer, I move closer, bypassing the marble-covered island and the bizarre barstools she found at a flea market. Then over to the sectional sofa that separates the living room from the hallway that leads to her bedroom.
I lift my head slightly so I can see over the back of the black leather cushions.
That’s when I notice she’s not wearing any pants.
I give her a good once-over, starting with her bare feet on the Travertine tile and working my way up. Past her sexy calves, then higher. I quickly become aware of the fact that the woman is wearing a man’s button-down shirt, the tails hovering right at her cute little dimpled knees.
I laugh, can’t help it.
“Did I interrupt a booty call?” My eyes immediately dart to the hallway.
That explains the Jaguar out front. And her weirdness.
And it also proves that my timing is impeccable. I’m good like that.
“Shut up,” she hisses. “Now go away before he sees you.”
“Aww, come on, Cass. You can’t throw me out. Where will I go?”
She frowns. “You have your own house, if I do recall.”
I shrug, then tilt the beer to my lips. “Worried he’ll be freaked out and think your husband’s home?”
Suddenly a man appears at her side, his eyes wide as he glances over at me. His attire is opposite of Cassie’s. I mean, obviously, since Cassie’s wearing his shirt, but thankfully the douchebag has on pants.
That could have been awkward.
“Husband?” The guy’s eyes enlarge, practically bulging out of their sockets.
Dude is rocking some seriously messed-up hair. Now that I think about it, he looks like one of those troll doll things.