Mr. Swoony

  Piper Rayne

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  © 2024 by Piper Rayne®

  Piper Rayne® registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

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  About Mr. Swoony

  Hockey players were never my type.

  * * *

  At least, that’s what I thought—until I met Conor Nilsen. In truth, I didn’t know he was the goalie for the Chicago Falcons when he struck up a conversation the night of my bachelorette party.

  * * *

  He proved he wasn’t just some hot guy looking to score when he helped me get my drunk bridesmaid safely back to our hotel. That’s when he discovered my 30-before-30 bucket list—a list I hadn’t managed to check a single item off.

  * * *

  What was meant to be innocent stargazing turned into so much more. The chemistry between us was undeniable, and after one night together, I started to question everything—especially my upcoming wedding to a man I wasn’t sure loved me.

  * * *

  Fast forward to my wedding day, and just as I’m standing at the altar, Conor bursts through the church doors to object. And now, somehow, I’m his roommate. Yikes.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Epilogue

  Also by Piper Rayne

  Cockamamie Unicorn Ramblings

  About Piper & Rayne

  One

  Eloise

  This is not the bachelorette party I had on my vision board.

  I should be in a mud bath getting a head massage or being rubbed down with aromatic oil in a dim room. At the very least, sweating the toxins out of my overly stressed-out body in a steam room. I should not be sitting in a nightclub with a stained pink bride-to-be sash snug around my chest and a T-shirt with a QR code printed on the back for people to scan and buy me a drink.

  But no, two days ago, the spa called to say that a pipe had burst, and the whole place flooded and could no longer accommodate our party. Sure, they felt bad and offered us some complimentary gift cards, but it still left my bridal party SOL. Then to top it off, my maid of honor, Jade, got stranded in Holland because of some issue with the airport’s computer software so everything was grounded.

  That left my college-roommate-slash-bridesmaid, Penelope, to organize my bachelorette party in less than forty-eight hours. I’m sure it was no easy feat, and I appreciate all she’s done, but tonight has shown me a few things. The biggest one being that Penelope and I don’t have a lot in common these days. She clearly enjoys the club scene while I’m more of a “nice restaurant, a few glasses of wine, and in bed by ten” kind of girl. This is what happens when you’re scrounging up bridesmaids due to your fiancé’s inability to not ask every damn person he’s ever met to be a groomsman.

  Penelope’s taken most of the shots that men have bought for me through the QR code. Not that I’m complaining. She can have the shots and the attention for all I care. It’s disgusting how many men have some lame pickup line about how it’s my last night of freedom, and I should spend it riding their big dick. Give me a break. Does that shit actually ever work?

  One thing about Penelope, though, is that she’s resourceful. After being denied the VIP section, she flirted us in. Her flirting has now taken her from tipsy to drunk, meaning I need to stay sober to make sure she makes it safely back to our hotel.

  She’s on the dance floor with the guy who had to convince his friends to allow our party to crash theirs. His two friends are entertaining women on the rounded part of the booth. And when I say entertaining, I mean they’re on their laps in a make-out session, glancing in my direction every once in a while as if I’m a killjoy.

  I lean back onto the black vinyl couch and cross my legs, sipping my water bottle, biding my time until Penelope returns, and I can drag her into an Uber. I glance at the adjoining VIP section, which is mostly filled with guys, and I half wonder if it’s a bachelor party celebration. Where is their groom-to-be with his sash and QR code T-shirt? If I had to guess, I’d think it’s probably the blond-haired guy with a girl on either side of him. I can see from here that he’s a charmer.

  One of the guy’s heads rocks back with laughter at something another guy says, and when his head straightens, our eyes catch for a moment. He brings his glass to his lips and sips, his eyes never leaving mine. Oh, he’s good. His lips part, and he smiles, showing off his perfect white teeth. Inch by inch, his gaze flows up my body but stops on my sash for a moment before he raises his eyebrows when our eyes lock again.

  He’s got trouble written all over him. His dark hair has fallen across his forehead a little from being in the club, but it looks as if maybe he meant to style it that way. His shirt pulls across his broad shoulders and chest. But mostly, it’s his alluring eyes and his perfect smile with a hint of cockiness that would draw in any woman. He knows how good-looking he is.

  I pull my gaze away from him and glance back at the dance floor to find Penelope with the other bridesmaids, who are really more my fiancé’s friends than mine. They’ve been drinking but not to excess like Penelope. I’m probably being a party pooper, but I’ve never been that crazy girl who can put my inhibitions aside and let loose, which is why I wanted a spa weekend for my bachelorette party.

  Movement in my peripheral vision grabs my attention, and the guy I locked eyes with is talking with the two guys from this VIP section we crashed. They shake hands, and one guy opens the rope for him. He nods and thanks them before coming over to me.

  Why am I nervous? I’m an engaged woman.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be the one out there?” His eyes are a light brown and laced with mischief that makes good girls do bad things. But not this good girl.

  “Sorry, I’m not looking for some guy to show me what I’ll miss out on by getting married.” I sip my water and turn my attention back to the dance floor.

  He sinks down on the couch beside me. “I don’t pick up taken women.” He sets his drink on the table in front of us and turns his body, blocking my view of the dance floor. He puts his hand out between us. “I’m Conor.”

  I glance down at it, then look back at his face. Seeing his eyes up close brings a feeling of familiarity I can’t place. I slide my hand into his. His large hand swallows my smaller one, and the roughness and callouses along his palm are something new to me. “I’m not interested.”

  He chuckles. “Me either.”

  I shake my head and pull my hand back, biting my lip to not smile at his flirtatiousness.

  “No name then?” he asks.

  I place my bottle of water next to his glass. “No name.” I straighten my back. “Listen, maybe you’re genuinely just a nice guy, but you clearly see this.” I circle my hand over my sash and T-shirt. “I’m not here to pick up a guy. I don’t want one more fling before I say I do. I’m just waiting until my friend is ready to leave so I don’t spoil her night and can go back to the hotel.”

  “I am.”

  I lean around him so I can try to find Penelope on the dance floor again, hoping she’s coming back. “You’re what?”

  “A genuinely nice guy. Ask anyone over there.” He nods toward his VIP section.

  “Yeah, I’m sure your friends will vouch for you.”

  He chuckles again, and I hate that I like the sound. “True.”

  “Why are you here?” I attempt to get him to give me a straight answer.

  “I don’t want to tell you.” He sits back and crosses his leg so his ankle rests on his
knee, getting even more comfortable instead of leaving, which is what I wish he would do.

  “Trying to pique my curiosity?” I arch an eyebrow.

  “I’m vulnerable.” He flags down the waitress, and she saunters over in a short micro dress that doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

  “What can I get you, Conor?” she asks in a sultry voice that implies, as I assumed, he’s the player type.

  I scoff, and Conor turns to me but talks to her. “Two bottles of water.” Digging into his pocket, he pulls out a fifty and places it on her tray of empty glasses without his eyes ever leaving mine.

  “Be right back,” she says.

  “So, you’re a regular, huh?”

  “I’ve been here twice.”

  “The bottle girl knows you by name. She must be really good at her job then.” I scootch up on the edge of the seat. “It was nice meeting you, but I’m gonna go get my friend.”

  “Really?” He sits up straight. “You’re just going to leave after I came all the way over here?”

  I laugh. “Well, I’m sure it’s a foreign concept for you that a woman isn’t interested but think of it as an opportunity for some character growth.”

  He smirks and shakes his head. “And I thought I was cocky.”

  I tilt my head and narrow my eyes. “Excuse me?”

  “You assume that I was hitting on you.”

  “Weren’t you?”

  “I told you I don’t go after taken women, so unless this whole bride thing is a façade, I’m not interested in pursuing you.” The waitress comes back with two waters, and he grabs mine, holding it out toward me. “Want me to open it?”

  I nod, and his forearm flexes as he opens the water bottle and hands it to me.

  “Thanks,” I mumble. “And I’m sorry, it’s just been a shitty night.”

  “I figured.” He glances at the stain on my sash. “I came over because I’m a fixer.”

  I choke on my water but manage to swallow it before spitting it in his face. “That’s your profession? A fixer?”

  “Not my actual profession. But it’s who I am to my core. I like to fix people’s problems.”

  I nod and screw the cap back on my water bottle. “Well, no worries here. No problems.” I wipe my palms together and hold up my hands. “Go back over and enjoy your party.”

  His eyebrows scrunch, but he moves to stand. “All right then. My conscience is clear.”

  “Yep, you can sleep well tonight.” I stand before I blabber all my problems to this guy.

  Penelope stumbles into the area with the guy she was dancing with, laughing as they fall onto the couch’s other side.

  Just when I thought I could make my getaway.

  Two

  Eloise

  “Lulu!” Penelope slurs, using the nickname she gave me in college. She only uses it when she’s drunk, or when she’s whining for me to do something I don’t want to do.

  “Lulu, huh?” Conor asks.

  Penelope perks up as if she didn’t see this gorgeous hunk of a man next to me. She probably didn’t, or she saw two of him. That’d be something if he had a twin. The universe would’ve really been working overtime if that were the case.

  “Actually, it’s Eloise.”

  “I like Lulu,” he says, his gaze fixed on mine.

  His attention is slightly unnerving.

  “You’re hunky,” Penelope says, trying to sit up straight but failing miserably.

  “Hey, you’re going to make me jealous,” the blond guy Penelope has been dancing with all night says.

  “Are you ready to go?” I ask her, raising my eyebrows at the guy behind her. I’m sure he’ll fight me to take her home, but it’s not happening.

  “Lulu,” she whines and slides closer to me.

  Thankfully, the blond guy stays put and talks to his friends. All of them are whispering and looking at Conor. I’m starting to think I missed something.

  “You’re drunk, and it’s time.” I really don’t want to ruin her night, but she’s about a sip away from some bad decisions.

  “I’m sorry.” She lays her head on my shoulder but picks it up immediately, concentrating on Conor. “It’s her bachelorette party.”

  “I see that,” Conor says with a nod.

  “And I’m the world’s worst bridesmaid.” Penelope’s bottom lip trembles.

  Oh no, not the tears and the crying. Shit, I forgot she gets emotional after a lot of drinks.

  “No, you’re not.” I put my arm around her shoulders.

  “I am. Your maid of honor wouldn’t be drunk at your party while you’re sipping… what is this?” She picks up the water bottle as if we’re nineteen again and sneaking vodka into our water bottles. She takes a swig. “Water?”

  The pain in her voice says she’s going to lose it, and I’m going to have a basket case on my hands soon.

  “Come on.” I stand and look over my shoulder to see the rest of our bridal party huddled with a group of guys.

  Penelope falls down on the couch, rolling to her back.

  Conor raises his brows at me and looks back at Penelope.

  “Are you a model?” she asks him.

  Conor chuckles. “No.”

  “Some finance bro?” she asks.

  Not with those calloused hands, I think.

  “No.”

  “Where did you come from?” she asks as though he’s been conjured up via some science project.

  Conor points toward the VIP area next door.

  She gets up on her knees and peers over. Looking over her shoulder at Conor, her eyes widen, and her mouth hangs open. “There?” She points.

  Conor nods.

  Her eyes narrow, and her gaze drags down his body and back up. “Oh shit.”

  “What?” I look between the two of them, clearly missing something because Conor’s cocky smirk only gets wider as if he’s answering her silent question.

  “Good looking. Cocky. Strong thighs. She doesn’t even know it, does she?” Penelope giggles—which is kind of annoying because it’s clearly at my expense, but I’ll take it over tears any night.

  “What am I missing?” I ask.

  She points at the other VIP area. “That’s Tweetie Sorenson.”

  I shrug and follow the direction of her finger to the tall guy with blond hair cut to his chin who is laughing with three other guys. “That’s his name? Tweetie?”

  Conor laughs but doesn’t answer.

  “No, it’s his hockey nickname. I’m not sure I even know his real name, actually.” She turns to Conor.

  He shrugs as if he doesn’t know either, or he’s not going to tell her.

  “He’s your friend?” Penelope asks him.

  Conor nods.

  “Teammate?” Penelope’s brows lift.

  Conor nods again.

  “Holy shit! Are you serious?” Penelope slaps the top of the booth cushion. “You don’t even know it, do you?” She flips around and slides down on the vinyl couch, catching herself before her ass slips right off, and she lands on the floor.

  “Know what?” I ask with irritation.

  “You’re sitting next to a Chicago Falcon.” She shakes her head and glances at Conor.

  “Really?” I ask because she could be too drunk, and these guys may look like them, but they can’t actually be professional hockey players.