by: Beck Erixson
Series: Love is Awkward
Genre: Sports Romance/Romantic Comedy
Release Date: August 1, 2023
Publisher: Aegir Haven
Elin Axelsson is unmistakably the worst goalie in her women’s indoor soccer league. Yet each week, she laces up her cleats, pumps up her teammates, and gives it her all. At least playing soccer means being able to spend more time with her all-star goalie boyfriend, Nate. And her best friend of fifteen years—who’s a total ladies’ man—Hawk.
But when Elin catches Nate cheating, she dumps his ass, and finds herself thrust back into the weird world of online dating. At least she has Hawk to lean on. He has a new woman every week, and is a dating expert. But after a few awkward first dates with other people, Elin starts noticing Hawk in a different light. Except, that can’t happen. She can’t risk losing him, or their fifteen-year friendship if things go sour.
That is, until they manage to fall tongue-first into each other’s mouths. The two form a pact to prevent diving hormones-first into more bad relationships. They’ll hook up with each other, and compartmentalize their friendship. But there are rules: Elin sets the pace, no sex with others while the pact is in effect, and if either develop romantic feelings for the other, they must bail out to protect the friendship. It’s the perfect arrangement!
Until it isn’t.
Hawk stops. “Do you think Ben Franklin slept with half the women in this city while he was here?”
“Yes. But I don’t think that’s part of the tours.” I blow at the steam. “We’re surrounded by gorgeous buildings, and you want to know who Ben Franklin slept with.”
“I was thinking about sex.” He shrugs.
I swallow. “You’re always thinking about sex.”
“Not true.” His mouth parts. “Right now, I’m wondering why on earth you want Italian ice on a forty-degree day.”
I shift my weight and look away. We both know I don’t want Italian ice.
“Do you think Ben Franklin or any of those guys had sex on the Liberty Bell? Maybe that’s why it cracked.”
“I absolutely think that’s how the Liberty Bell actually cracked.” I playfully elbow him. “It would be nice, if just for once, people were honest about it. It’s a much better story. Silly prude historians.”
He grabs my hand, our gloves keep our palms from touching, and he tugs me up the street. “Come on. I want to go see the historical sex bell.”
“Maybe they actually rang it each time a virgin lost their …” I don’t know how to finish the sentence, and unintentionally leave my lips parted as the sentence trails off.
“Wings? Pants? No, that’s not historically accurate.” He opens his arms for security at the bell to wand him. “Petticoats? Cat. Must be their cat. So many cats were lost due to Franklin.”
The security guard waves him through and begins to wand me.
“I promise, I’m not going to steal the bell,” I say.
“Oh, she will. The pockets in her coat are huge,” Hawk says.
The woman leans at us in annoyance with her wand outstretched. “Don’t touch the bell.”
We stand in front of the massive bell and stare at it for a bit. The last time I saw it was on a fifth-grade field trip and I barely remember really understanding how beautiful it is. Now, I can see the fine details, and understand better how incredible the artistry is. The technology used to create this massive broken bit of celebrated history was amazing.
“I want to tap the bell,” Hawk whispers. He places a warm hand on top of mine and tries to move me forward.
“Oh god. Stop. I’m not touching this thing.” Fear seizes my insides and I yank my arm down.
“It belongs to the people, it wants to be touched,” he says.
“Sir, please refrain from touching the bell.” The security guard waves her wand at him.
He nods at her and flashes a grin. My nerves are saved by a magic wand and a fairy-God-security-guard in a black suit.
“I don’t think it’d be possible.” I stare at the bell again and he leans into my arm. “The metal would be super cold on exposed flesh.”
My mind switches to an unexpected vision. I’m in a half-off low-necked gown over a petticoat, moaning as Hawk leans me against one of the metal bars that holds up the bell with his breeches undone and his waistcoat providing a shade of privacy as he fucks me. My legs throb and I’m aware of the heat between our bodies right now.
“Come with me,” Hawk says.
“Excuse me?” My chest rises and falls with a hitch of my breath. I blink away the vision and am unable to instantly rid myself of the idea of him inside me. I need to apologize to the entire city for the thoughts that crossed my mind for those fleeting seconds. I know he’d have rung the bell after we were done, probably before he even finished redressing himself, but not before he knew I was covered again. This vision must be from my dry-spell. We’re friends, and friends don’t picture each other fucking one another at a historical site—in historical garb.
“The line is growing, and we still need to get you Italian ice.” He wags his eyebrows like he knows where my mind went. But he couldn’t know.
“Yes. But I don’t think that’s part of the tours.” I blow at the steam. “We’re surrounded by gorgeous buildings, and you want to know who Ben Franklin slept with.”
“I was thinking about sex.” He shrugs.
I swallow. “You’re always thinking about sex.”
“Not true.” His mouth parts. “Right now, I’m wondering why on earth you want Italian ice on a forty-degree day.”
I shift my weight and look away. We both know I don’t want Italian ice.
“Do you think Ben Franklin or any of those guys had sex on the Liberty Bell? Maybe that’s why it cracked.”
“I absolutely think that’s how the Liberty Bell actually cracked.” I playfully elbow him. “It would be nice, if just for once, people were honest about it. It’s a much better story. Silly prude historians.”
He grabs my hand, our gloves keep our palms from touching, and he tugs me up the street. “Come on. I want to go see the historical sex bell.”
“Maybe they actually rang it each time a virgin lost their …” I don’t know how to finish the sentence, and unintentionally leave my lips parted as the sentence trails off.
“Wings? Pants? No, that’s not historically accurate.” He opens his arms for security at the bell to wand him. “Petticoats? Cat. Must be their cat. So many cats were lost due to Franklin.”
The security guard waves him through and begins to wand me.
“I promise, I’m not going to steal the bell,” I say.
“Oh, she will. The pockets in her coat are huge,” Hawk says.
The woman leans at us in annoyance with her wand outstretched. “Don’t touch the bell.”
We stand in front of the massive bell and stare at it for a bit. The last time I saw it was on a fifth-grade field trip and I barely remember really understanding how beautiful it is. Now, I can see the fine details, and understand better how incredible the artistry is. The technology used to create this massive broken bit of celebrated history was amazing.
“I want to tap the bell,” Hawk whispers. He places a warm hand on top of mine and tries to move me forward.
“Oh god. Stop. I’m not touching this thing.” Fear seizes my insides and I yank my arm down.
“It belongs to the people, it wants to be touched,” he says.
“Sir, please refrain from touching the bell.” The security guard waves her wand at him.
He nods at her and flashes a grin. My nerves are saved by a magic wand and a fairy-God-security-guard in a black suit.
“I don’t think it’d be possible.” I stare at the bell again and he leans into my arm. “The metal would be super cold on exposed flesh.”
My mind switches to an unexpected vision. I’m in a half-off low-necked gown over a petticoat, moaning as Hawk leans me against one of the metal bars that holds up the bell with his breeches undone and his waistcoat providing a shade of privacy as he fucks me. My legs throb and I’m aware of the heat between our bodies right now.
“Come with me,” Hawk says.
“Excuse me?” My chest rises and falls with a hitch of my breath. I blink away the vision and am unable to instantly rid myself of the idea of him inside me. I need to apologize to the entire city for the thoughts that crossed my mind for those fleeting seconds. I know he’d have rung the bell after we were done, probably before he even finished redressing himself, but not before he knew I was covered again. This vision must be from my dry-spell. We’re friends, and friends don’t picture each other fucking one another at a historical site—in historical garb.
“The line is growing, and we still need to get you Italian ice.” He wags his eyebrows like he knows where my mind went. But he couldn’t know.
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I actually have touched the Liberty Bell.
ReplyDeleteThat's pretty cool.
Delete