ALLISON MARTIN

I’ve been planning multiple series of Romantic Comedy novels about witchy-artsy girls who fall for hockey boys, and three best friends who ditch love to open a bookshop together, and a network of internet influencers who decide to get back at their exes…

All nonsensical sexy fun, complete with outlandish plots, trending tropes, and signature Allie-esque characters who have real flaws and learn tough lessons about what it means to be unapologetically themselves.

So, I decided to create a whole-ass town in the rugged north wilderness (think like Alaska/Canada North) where all these characters are going to live and work and fall in love. That town is called Everlake, and you can already take a visit!

The Longest Night is available here and it is a free prequel short story that follows Maeve, a tarot reading hockey-hating illustrator who is back home for the holidays after she catches her boyfriend cheating, and not feeling very festive. Her entire family revolves around hockey: Her dad used to be the Athletic Director, her older brother is the assistant coach, her sister is the team’s physiotherapist and her younger brother is one of the best players on the team. And her mother? Every year, she throws the best Christmas party for everyone who is anyone in Everlake Athletics.

This includes her younger brother’s obnoxious best friend and teammate, Wyatt who takes great pleasure in driving Maeve nuts. But when all six foot four inches of him shows up she is suddenly seeing his charming grin, playful eyes, and ridiculously flirty behaviour in an entirely different light.

Maybe what she truly needs to get over her ex and survive a hockey-filled Christmas party is a distraction.

Excerpt of Maeve and Wyatt

Wyatt

I pull into the driveway of Jake’s parents’ place and jump out of the car, meeting him in the crisp, cold air. Night falls around Everlake fast at this time of year and the sky is a midnight blue already with hints of light behind the massive mountain range around town.

I blink at all the colours dotting almost every inch of the house and yard. Mrs. Bexley is usually a little subtler in her holiday obsessions, and I look at Jake with a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t ask.” He grunts as I crane my neck to see a ginormous Santa and a sleigh on the roof.

“How’s the real Santa going to fit up there now?” I point, and Jake punches me in the chest. I let out a sound somewhere between a huff and a laugh, following him inside.

The second I step in it’s like being transported into another world. A horror show in my opinion but each to their own I suppose. I shake the snow from my hair and push the strands from my face.

After my eyes adjust, they snap right to Maeve in tight leggings and a loose sweater falling off her shoulder to expose the twisting tattoos that snake over her pale skin. Her shoulder slopes up to her slender neck and the sharp angles of her face and sinister sneer on her full lips make my gut tighten.

She is the most fucking gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.

I’ve been friends with Jake since I was five years old and tormenting Maeve Bexley was a sport for me until one day her dark eyes caught mine in a very different way. From that day on, the tables were turned, and it was Maeve that tormented me. She’s just never known it.

I saddle up beside her before she sees me, sliding my hands in my pockets and rocking back on my heels.

“What in the Christmas Crack House is happening here?” I ask and she jumps. Her whole body spasms before she hits me with that stare.

“Fuck sake, Wyatt,” she mumbles, but a small smile tugs at her lips. Maeve’s smiles are so rare I could count on one hand how many times I’ve managed to get one, but it’s been my life’s mission for a handful of years now.

Secretly, of course. I’m sure Jake would castrate me and hang my balls above the door as warning to all other men if I dared hit on her. Not because he’s a macho protector or anything. He’s just fucking weird that way. Has been since we were kids and everyone in school constantly told him how hot his sister was. He’d be pissed if he knew I felt the same way.

“You are looking as bright as a summer breeze today,” I add, and she rolls her eyes, tipping into me to playfully bump my shoulder with hers. I stumble sideways, making a show of flopping onto the couch as if she shoved me, but my mind races with the contact. She’s never done that before.

“Why are you even here?” she mutters dryly and walks away, but I don’t let her ditch me that easily.

“I was invited.” I jump up and do a little shuffle step to catch up to her, liking to be right next to her so she has to look up at me. Again, not puffy chest shit, I just like it when she notices I’m not the little pain in the ass I once was. Okay, pain in the ass still, but no longer little. She’s insanely tall for a woman, but she isn’t six, four like me now.

“Oh goodie,” she claps her hands in a mocking gesture and a laugh pulls along my throat.

“Admit it. You are happy I’m here. Now you can direct all your rage in my direction and not…” I gesture with a dramatic tilt of my head over to Mrs. Bexley and swear I can feel the heat of Maeve’s anger rolling across my body.

“Jake said it’s bad.” I continue and her nostrils flare like she’s a bull about to charge.

“You have no idea,” Maeve sighs, and I throw my arm over her shoulder, tucking her tight to me and ruffling her bangs. She puts her hands on my chest to shove me away, but doesn’t. She stands there, palms flat against me, and it sends a ripple of static through me so strong I have to force myself not to shudder.

“Don’t touch my sister,” Jake calls with a mouthful of dip, and Maeve shoves me backward.

“Yeah, don’t touch his sister,” she mocks, but she clenches her fists tight and won’t meet my eyes.

The weirdness of her reaction roots me to the spot with my head cocked sideways and confusion lacing my features. She scurries around me, up the stairs, and I manage to keep my mouth closed as I admire her walking away.

Honestly, sometimes I make her mad on purpose so I can watch her storm off.

My god, that ass.

“If you’re going to be here, Wyatt,” Mrs. Bexley interrupts me fantasising about her daughter and slams a box of ornaments into my chest. “Make yourself useful.”

I clear my throat and nod sharply, my cheeks heating at the embarrassment, and I’m glad I’m not the blushing type.