THE GIRL WITH HEARTS by Savannah Blevins

THE GIRL WITH HEARTS by Savannah Blevins

Series: Midtown Brotherhood Book 1

Genre: Sports Romance

Publisher: Limitless Publishing

Release Date: Nov. 3, 2015


Henrik Rylander doesn’t just participate in Manhattan’s dating scene—he owns the exclusive rights to it… 

As the newly-minted captain of the New York Rangers hockey team, Henrik’s coach wants him to clean up his reputation. But Henrik isn’t quite ready to give up charming panties off co-eds, so he decides to indulge in one last night of uninhibited freedom. 

Leila Blakely has never been the “cry into your Baskin-Robbins” type… 

When she figures out her boyfriend has been cheating, she has only one objective—vengeance. Conveniently, the jerk’s arch-nemesis and her secret college crush, Henrik Rylander, is in town. She cleverly surprises Henrik in his hotel room and makes him an offer consisting of sex, lies, and the bathroom wall at the Regency. So what if she forgot to mention she was a virgin? 

If their secret gets out, it will make headlines. Guaranteed… 

Deflowering the little sister of the most volatile enforcer in the NHL—who also happens to be his best friend—is a recipe for disaster. Henrik decides to ditch his horn-dog stigma to quell any suspicion and embarks on a mission to befriend Leila, only to be served a big slice of humble pie. 

Leila isn’t buying Henrik’s nice-guy act, though she can’t deny their attraction. But Henrik isn’t acting, and he’s ready to confront his feelings for the feisty girl with the heart tattoos. 

However, Henrik soon discovers there’s much more at stake than his reputation and the status of his bromance with Leila’s brother. 

Earning Leila’s trust might be the key to saving his career…and her life.



She tried to shut the door, but he caught it. “You’re tired a lot lately.”

Her stomach knotted up, and she suddenly felt nauseous. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just seems that you’re always putting off hanging out with me,” he explained in a whisper, but she could feel the tension in his voice.

She let out a sigh. Relieved. “I’m not avoiding you, Henrik.”

He smiled, a small dimple forming in his cheek. “Yes, you are.”

“Not intentionally.”

He stepped forward, his hand grazing under her elbow as he dropped his voice between them. “Yes, you are.”


Custom tailored suit.


Flawless, panty dropping five o’clock shadow.

Henrik ran his thumb down the hard line of his chin and smirked to himself.


The ladies in Newark were in for a treat tonight. Usually, he just crashed after games—part of the constant refueling process required of a professional hockey player. As the newly appointed captain, it was his job to set a positive example for the guys now. Every game counted in their eighty-two game season, and discipline was key.

At least that’s the sermon his coach continued to preach at him.

Responsibility. Team work. Blah. Blah. Ugh.

However, tonight was the season opener, and they’d won decisively against their bitter rivals—the New Jersey Devils. In celebration, because he always looked for a good excuse to celebrate, he planned to ignore the advice of his coach in order to get shit faced and make good use of his second greatest talent. He’d get lectured for it tomorrow, but it wouldn’t be the first time he showed up for practice hung over and satisfied.

He slipped his wallet into his back pocket and paused at the mirror for final inspection. Admittedly impressed, he straightened the collar of his navy sports coat. He’d cropped his signature Swedish blonde locks short enough to tuck behind his ears. It was his beginning of the season ritual, and it made his blue eyes pop in contrast. That’s what the caramel haired beauty he’d entertained during his pregame interview had told him anyway.

After effectively admiring himself from every angle, he had no choice but to agree with her. Humility had never been his strong suit. In his opinion, he’d finally mastered perfection, except when he turned his cheek, his eyes narrowed, focusing on the tiny, puckering cut at the corner of his lip. His teeth snapped shut.

Derek Deroty would pay for his intentional attempt at taking him out of the game tonight. He might have to wait a couple months until their next scheduled slaughtering, but the bastard would eventually get what was coming to him.

A high stick to the nose, or maybe he’d finally just drop gloves with the prick.

For now, he’d just accept it as a battle wound. The girls would love it.

A light, but persistent knock broke the silence. He immediately rolled his eyes, turning away from the mirror. Austin forgot his keycard. Again. He’d forget the days of the week if Henrik wasn’t around to kick his ass in gear every morning.

He searched the counters, but found nothing as he made his way over to the door. It was probably in his gym bag. He bent down to laugh at his best friend through the peephole when—


It was a woman.

His head fell against the door as he held back the groan that wanted to follow the mumbling. Why were women so intent on taking all the fun out of the hunt? He at least wanted to have a few drinks first, swap some stories with his team mates who would be mingling amongst the crowd, and then, as the night drew to a close, he’d start his pursuit. Showing up at his door was equivalent to throwing prepackaged meat to a caged tiger.

He jerked the door open, prepared to shush away his visitor like a stray pigeon before making a beeline for the elevator, but then she turned.


Vibrant green eyes shined up at him, a familiarity he hadn’t expected to find.

“Leila?” He choked out the word, his hand grasping the door handle like a life preserver. He blinked twice, attempting to convince himself that the disheveled hot mess in front of him was real.

Leila tugged harshly at a strand of her auburn waves that sprayed across her bare shoulders and down her back. Her normally flawless, porcelain skin was flushed and he recognized the volatile glint in her eyes. She wasn’t just pissed. Leila Blakely was on the fuck off side of irate.

It was definitely real.

He straightened his shoulders, and then tested his voice before he spoke. “What the hell do you want, Blakely?”

What did she expect from him? Her scumbag boyfriend had taken a cheap shot at him no less than two hours ago. He still had a little built up aggression brewing inside of him, too. She wasn’t there to apologize on Derek’s behalf, he knew that. Sympathy wasn’t part of the Blakely genetic code. He knew that fact first hand, because his best friend, who knocks heads together for a living, just happened to be her older brother.

“Invite me inside,” she instructed, tucking the strand of hair behind her ear before running those long, delicate fingers down her throat.

The gesture almost distracted him, but just the sound of her voice set his nerves on edge. Only an idiot would be fooled by the glistening threat of tears in her eyes. He wasn’t about to be lured by the lamb to the wolf’s den. Leila projected an image of sophistication and innocence, but it was all a show. The hologram in front of him was a shell hiding the reality he knew all too well.

The real Leila wore converse and ratty hockey shirts. She cursed like a sailor set on shore for leave, and she was tougher than half the men he knew. Her façade melted away as her temper started to hit its peak. So after all these years Leila finally wanted to talk to him.

Too bad he didn’t give a fuck.

“I’m actually headed out for the night,” he told her, looking past her toward the elevator. He wanted a drink and a sexy woman writhing underneath him later. He deserved it. He’d worked non-stop the past eight weeks, performing two a days in preparation for the season. All he wanted was one last night out.

No hockey. No commercials. No interviews.

Just good ol’fashion dirty fun.

Leila rolled her eyes at him though, and pushed past him into the room.

“Excuse you?” He was angered by her bold move, but most of all, annoyed that he couldn’t stop himself from watching the way the hem of her dress swayed against her thighs.

How could it be that short without revealing something?

“I require your assistance,” she said flatly, her chin set. “Shut the damn door.”

It had been years since he’d seen this side of her. Well, not since she started dating that spawn of satan, Derek. She was always so prim and nauseatingly proper when she was around him. “Well, you’re barking up the wrong tree, cupcake. Why don’t you go ask your boyfriend for help?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. It was quick, and someone else may not have noticed it, but Henrik knew her too well. He’d spent too many hours dissecting the nuances of her every reaction, searching for the real emotion trapped within her chilled exterior, not to recognize the fire she desperately tried to barricade behind that smile. “He’s busy,” she stated, her tone acidic.

Suddenly intrigued, he flung the door shut.

Surely, Leila wasn’t upset with her perfect, little golden boy.



Savannah was born in Hyden, Kentucky. She received her M.S in Speech Language Pathology from The University of Mississippi in 2009. She’s been writing since the early age of nine when she begged her parents for a type writer for Christmas. She now lives in Corbin, Ky with her husband of eight years, John, and their two wonderful daughters, Delilah and Gracie. When she isn’t working, or running after her kids, she spends her free time traveling the country with her husband. There is nothing better than a day of football in the grove, a late night of basketball at Rupp Arena or slapping the glass to celebrate another Washington Capitals goal. She is a strong believer that with enough hard work and determination you can accomplish anything.

Published by Jennifer Loring

Jennifer Loring’s short fiction has appeared in the anthologies Tales from the Lake vols. 1 and 4, Nightscript IV, Dim Shores Presents Volume 2, and the Bram Stoker Award-nominated Not All Monsters and Arterial Bloom, among many others. She holds an MFA in Writing Popular Fiction with a concentration in horror fiction and is currently working toward a PhD in Interdisciplinary Studies - Humanities & Culture, focusing on queer possibility in fairy tales. Jenn lives in Philadelphia, PA, where she and her husband are owned by a turtle and two basset hounds.

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