The Wildcat

What do you get when you mix a devastatingly handsome hockey player who doesn’t do casual with a blonde bombshell cheerleader who doesn’t do serious?

I was supposed to be taking the summer off from dating. . . and flirting. . . and men in general. A cleanse. It sounded great in theory. But theory went out the window when my own personal kryptonite sat on the barstool next to mine.

Six feet, five inches of stacked muscle and chiseled features, he exuded a cocky confidence that was hard to miss and even harder to resist. This man was delectable. Like a decadent piece of chocolate cake, tempting me to indulge.

And that was before I…