A Los Angeles Quakes Hockey Series by Alisa Jean

A Los Angeles Hockey Series Bundle – Books 1-3 Romance 1st 3 Books in the Series Setting – California Independently Published Publication date : October 1, 2026 Print length : 836 pages Digital ASIN : B0HDMBV7DX

LINCOLN He’s a two-time Stanley Cup-winning goalie, but at thirty-six, his game starts to slow. Is he aging out? His fate rests in the hands of the owner’s daughter, the powerful woman he can’t stop watching. Their forbidden love unleashes an unstoppable force on the ice, but as she chases her dream of owning the team, one exposed secret could be the final buzzer for both of their careers. Forbidden Love, Boss’s Daughter, Sneaking Around, Aging Goalie, Dating Her Secret Crush, He Rescues Her, Future Boss LUKA The hottest left-winger in the league and handsome golden boy for the L.A. Quakes suffers a horrific injury during a game, making his life a breakaway to disaster. But a fiery Latina tries to drag a wounded Luka back to life. Can beauty save the beast, or is the ice tilted against them? Enemies to Lovers, Beauty & The Beast, Tortured Hero, Curvy Heroine, Different Cultures, Stalker Ex-Boyfriend MATTHEW Matthew Holt uses his anger on the ice, gaining him the title of enforcer for L.A. Quakes and high minutes in the sin bin. But hooking up with a teammate’s little sister may earn him the highest penalty of all. Sunshine/Grumpy, Teammate’s Little Sister, Sneaking Around, Haunted Hero, Sin Bin Leader, One Night Stand into Fling

About Alisa Jean

Alisa Jean is the pseudonym for award-winning authors Marla A. White and C J Bahr. They first teamed up over thirty years ago over a bottle of Zima (don’t ask) while polishing their gear for a horse show. They’ve since moved on to better beverages and writing novels.

Separately, Marla prefers to murder characters in the usual way, while C J uses paranormal means. The long-time best friends joined together as a writing team through their mutual love of hockey. Wonder twin powers activated! Their hockey romances examine flawed characters with heart, humor, and sexy sizzle.

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Excerpts From the books

LINCOLN:

I take his tiny gloved hand in my large one and start skating to where the Tremblers are standing in lines in front of the coaches. My friends are right behind me when we stop next to the staff, and I give the boy a gentle push. “Go get back in formation.”

Coach Greer holds out a hand, which I shake. “Thanks for doing this, it means the world to the kids.”

“It’s our pleasure.” My teammates nod along in agreement.

Greer introduces us to the tiny players and as I gaze over the group, I’m happy to see a lot of girls. This isn’t always the case at this age, so I’m glad their numbers are growing. Usually, they’d rather be figure skating. We’re about to break into groups for drills when I hear another pair of skates hit the ice. Turning, I’m stunned to see Catherine gliding toward us.

I spin and whisper-shout, “Who the hell invited her?” while glaring at my friends.

“Um,” Ribi raises a hand. “I thought since she was interested, she could tag along.”

My lips thin into a frown. All three of them bust out laughing. Oh shit, this is a setup.

“Hey. Sorry, I’m late. Traffic coming over the hill was murder.” She murmurs to us, then smiles and gives a wave at the kids. “Hi everyone, I think I missed the intros. I’m Catherine Bishop. My father, Robert Bishop, is the owner of the Los Angeles Quakes. I’m not the best hockey player, so I hope you’ll teach me.”

Which is bullshit. I know she played in college. They weren’t champs or anything, but she knows her way around the ice. I smile, knowing she’s fibbing for the kids’ sake.

And she’s adorable. She threaded her ponytail through the back of her Quakes’ baseball cap. Her hair swishes back and forth every time she moves. She must have gotten the memo, because she’s dressed identically to us, from hockey skates, black snow pants, and a Quakes’ sweater, though hers isn’t numbered. It’s a blank. The hockey gloves swallow her hands, but she holds her stick like she knows how to use it.

Since the introductions are finished, the kids break into groups for drills and my teammates spread out to help. The time flies and my cheeks hurt from the constant smiling.

Then Sonny yells over in that commanding captain’s voice, “Caveman, little help in the right circle.” I snap to it, instinctively following his orders because, on the ice, he’s the leader. We all follow and would do anything for him. Then I realize he’s sending me over to Catherine, who is having trouble teaching a little girl how to skate backward. Ribi and

Bri are both closer, so his master plan isn’t exactly subtle. If there weren’t kids around, I’d tell him where to shove it, but we’re here for them, so I skate over to help.

“There seems to be a bit of a balance problem over here.”

“I’m a good skater,” Catherine states. “But apparently not the best instructor.”

“No worries,” I crouch in front of the little skater. “What’s your name?”

“Lacey.”

“Nice to meet you, Lacey. Can I show you something?”

She nods her head frantically, and my smile turns into a grin. I stand and hold my stick across my body and lower it to her height. “Grab on with both hands.” She does. Next, I bend my knees a little and lean a tiny bit forward at my waist. “Okay, copy me.” Lacey does, and I start skating forward. She’s pushed along with her grip on my stick. “Good. Keep moving your skates. Excellent. Now take one hand off.” Her balance wobbles, but she recovers. “Great job. Now, without losing your position, I want you to let go and keep skating.”

She looks a little nervous but follows through. She remains upright and skates backward.

“Awesome, Lacey. Look at you go.”

“I’m doing it! I’ve got this.” Her voice filled with pride and smiles.

“Yes, you do. Keep going.” I encourage her and step to the side, watching her skate away.

Catherine skates over. “You’re pretty amazing yourself. It’s like you have this magical touch. I spent almost twenty minutes with Lacey and got nowhere. You skate by and in less than a minute, she can skate backward on her own.”

Before I can reply, I’m slammed from behind, cut off at the knees. I fall forward into Catherine and we both go down. A little boy does a victory circle around us before skating off. I hear my friends laughing, those fuckers. I’ve got to be crushing her, so I move my weight to my arms and look down. “Are you all right? Did you hit your head?” We aren’t wearing helmets. I don’t want her to move if she’s hurt. It’s when I’m staring at her I realize how incredible she feels beneath me, all soft and curvy. I need to banish those thoughts before my cock gets ideas. There’s no way she wouldn’t notice in this position.

“I think I’m good.”

“Okay, let’s take it slow.” I get to my feet and hold out a hand, pulling her up. She’s standing close, so it’s easy to touch the back of her head. “Any pain or tenderness?”

“N-no, I-I’m fine.”

I stare into her eyes. They’re an amazing combination of brown and green. This woman. There’s so much more to her than anyone knows. Screw it. I’m going for it.

“Catherine,” I whisper.

“Y-yes?”

I lean a little closer, our noses almost touching. “Have dinner with me? Sunday.” This close, I can see her eyes dilate with my question. She’s attracted to me. “Come on, say yes.”

“It’s a bad idea,” she whispers back.

“Probably, but let’s do it anyway,” I smirk because I can’t help myself.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” I smile and skate backward, away from her. This is either the best decision ever or the worst mistake of my life.

LUKA:

LUKA

“You’re good to go.”

I nod at the words I both long and yet dread to hear.

“Thanks, Doc.”

“Try to take it easy and not get your head slammed again. You’re lucky you healed as quickly as you did. A grade 3 concussion is no laughing matter.”

I shrug. Playing hockey, I’m going to take punishing hits, unless I abandon the career I love. I can’t live in fear. It would wreck my game. He knows that as well as I do.

“Luka.”

I stop in my tracks and glance back at Monzel.

“How’s the ointment working? Is your scar more pliant?”

“Kind of.”

“Keep using it. I promise it will help. It could take as long as a year, but the muscle and nerve damage will heal in time. The scar will always be there, but if you take care of it now, in time, it’ll barely be visible.”

I give him a chin lift in response and get out of the room. Yeah, I should use the cream as prescribed, applying it four times a day. But that would require me touching the stiff, insensate ridge of skin, and I have a hard enough time even looking at my disfigurement. I punch through the stairwell door and jog up the steps to the second story. Easing open the door, I slip through, bolting to the welcoming darkness of the closed Quakes’ Cove bar. I lean against a wall, shrouded in shadows, and stare down at the rink below. It’s late morning, and the rookies are doing drills under the watchful eyes of Jason Tolls, Linc, and a couple of other player development coaches. My friend looks in his element. Happy. Shit. I miss him, as well as Sonny and Bri. But I don’t go out much. Between scaring a kid at the grocery store and panic attacks that strike out of nowhere, I keep myself hidden away. The guys have their lives, and I don’t need to ruin their happiness by freaking them out. They wouldn’t care, but I do.

“Hey.” The soft, whispered word makes me glance away from the ice. F**k. Catherine Bishop, the Quakes’ owner, and Linc’s girlfriend, steps into the bar and stands next to me. I turn my face away, seeking refuge in the shadows.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Catherine’s finger touches my chin and turns my head so I’m facing her. “You will not hide from me.” She stares directly into my eyes. Her family did everything in their power to help me recover, starting with the best sports ophthalmologist so I wouldn’t lose my eye. Then a world-class plastic surgeon to keep my scarring to a minimum. I have a functioning eyelid, thanks to them. “Your features were way too pretty and perfect. The scar helps. You now look kind of like a bad boy. Women will go crazy.”

I can’t help the snort which escapes me. “In my dreams.”

She nudges me with her shoulder. “How’s your mom? I miss Maja.”

“She’s good. I spoke with her this morning.” Catherine came over a few times and took my mom out to lunch or dinner so she could have a break from me. I’d been such a hurting asshole that my boss took it upon herself to look after my mom. They hit it off. Why not? They’re both powerful women. Catherine shattering glass ceilings and my mom raising three kids on her own after my dad lost his mind.

She gestures to the ice. “How’re the rookies? See anyone impressive?”

I break our eye contact, relieved to go back to the shadows and study the players below. Some of them are in their young and gangly stage, like Bambi on ice. But some of the older kids are filling out and showing the promise of their mature athletic bodies to come.

“Your giant six-six goalie looks promising. He’s going to kill it in the AHL for the Tsunami. Linc must be drooling. For his size, the kid is agile, and he knows how to stay deep in his crease. He’ll be a brick wall for our opponents.”

“Yeah, I have high hopes for him. I also like the left winger, Berglund.” She slants her gaze my way. “He reminds me of you at his age—fast, full of energy, great hockey sense.”

“Looking to replace me? Afraid I’ll scare the fans?”

She glares at me. “Stop it, or I’ll tattle to Linc that you’re feeling sorry for yourself.”

Catherine never takes my bullshit. I sigh. “Too soon to joke?”

“If I thought you were joking, it’d be okay, but I know you weren’t.”

How does she read me so well? “Fine. You’re right.” We watch the rooks in peaceful silence. I can almost relax.

“Hey Ribi, good to see you.” An L.A. Quakes’ blogger calls out in passing.

Suddenly, my heart starts pounding. I break out into a sweat and dizziness swamps me, making me sway. My whole body shakes. F**k. I can’t have a panic attack. Not here. Not now.

“Oye gilipollas,” a tiny woman shouts and storms into the bar. I automatically translate the Spanish into English—Hey, a**hole. Before I could blink, the petite Latina stabs her finger into my chest, while glaring at my face, stopping my anxiety attack in a flash.

LILIANA

Frustrated as hell, I flew out of the Quakes’ Foundation’s office and storm past a man and woman lurking in the shadows of a closed bar, watching guys skating below. Weirdos. I didn’t know who he was until someone yells, “Ribi.” I assume it’s some sort of nickname for Luka Ribic, my MIA hockey player. Not about to miss this opportunity, I spin on my heels and go in for the kill.

“Oye gilipollas,” I shout, stabbing him in the chest with a finger. I have to reach to hit my target. The big guy is almost a foot taller than me. He must have understood my Spanish because he blinks at me like I’m a crazy woman. This smug a**hole has the nerve to smirk at me. “I came to talk to the Quakes’ Foundation. Maureen claims you’ve been out on medical leave. What a load of doody!”

“Doody?” The spark of humor reaches all the way to his light brown eyes.

MATTHEW:

Bri goes inside with Linc to order beers and pizzas, so I grab us the open seats at the end of the table near Holt. He’s brooding, his chin-length wavy brunette hair a convenient curtain to hide behind, but he wears it well. “Hey,” I give him a hip check. “What’s up?”

He turns to me with a scowl that melts once he recognizes me. “I know that ass,” he says with a grin, pushing his mop of hair off his face to reveal deep brown eyes. “Last time I saw it, it was heading to the floor at maximum speed.” He pats the bench next to him, which I take as an invitation to sit.

“Thank goodness some big Neanderthal stranger saved me.” I put an extra breathy sex goddess tone to my voice, which cracks him up. I like his smile. It makes him look a lot less mean. I want to see more of it, so I ask what I think is a simple question. “Where’ve you been? You missed the joy of helping me move into my new place.” And just like that, his smile flees, and he goes back to staring into his beer.

“I had to go back to Pennsylvania for the annual visit.”

“You make it sound like a proctology exam,” I joke, giving him a shove with my shoulder. Most guys would have smiled at that, but his smirk is humorless.

“Something like that.” I wait, but that’s all he’s going to give me. Interesting. There’s a story there, and someday I’m going to get it out of him, but I leave it for now since Brian returns with our beers.

Brian growls in the back of his throat. “Why don’t you sit over here with me, Pheebs? It’ll make it easier to split the garlic cheese puffs I got us.”

Mmm. I love garlic cheese puffs and the convenience of having them so close is appealing, but not more so than annoying my brother when he gets into this protector mode. So instead of changing seats, I wriggle even closer to Matt. He looks at me in surprise, not quite smiling, but not scooting away from me either. Since Bri is holding my beer hostage all the way across the table, I take a sip of Matt’s beer and grin. “No thanks, I’m good where I am. You can put the basket in the middle, and we can all share.”

Not being an idiot, Holt clocks the look between me and my brother and shakes his head with a huff. I remember reading somewhere that he has a sister, so I’m guessing he understands the dynamics of being a sibling. Keep poking the bear until they growl, then run for mom. He reaches across the table for my IPA, slides it over to me since Brian isn’t going to, and then reclaims his darker, amber-colored beer without saying a word. I cock my head to get a better look at him. Three days of beard stubble and dark smudges under his eyes tell me whatever happened in Pennsylvania was no fun. The smile that lit his face when he saw me was so adorable that I’m determined to do what it takes to bring it back.

“So, where were you and all these glorious muscles earlier today?” I stroke his bicep, tracing the design I now recognize as a colorfully inked Celtic tree gracing his skin. “We could have used the help moving me into my new place.”

He cocks an eyebrow at Brian and then me. “New place, huh? Tired of couch surfing with Mr. Sunshine and Rainbows?”

“I have a spare bedroom, asshole. She never had to sleep on the couch.”

We both ignore him. Linc, who sits down next to Grumpy Pants, gives him a nudge as he glances over at Matt with a look I can’t quite read. Sympathy? Sadness? Then Linc shakes his head ever so slightly, and Brian rolls his eyes. Whatever their secret message is, Matt is just as puzzled as I am and huffs impatiently. If anyone can beam “screw you both” without a sound, Matt does.

“Sorry, Cupcake, I never got the invite, or I’d have been happy to help. Where’d you land? The McMansion next to Big Brother?”

“No, don’t be silly.” I trail my fingers along his arm, pushing the shirt sleeve higher, ever so slightly, to get a better look at his intricate tattoo. “It’s an amazing apartment in Marina del Rey, with two pools, and so much fun stuff.” Since I do love it, the excitement in my voice is real, while the batting of my eyelashes is admittedly a bit forced.

“It was just a few boxes,” Linc tells him. “Nothing the three of us couldn’t handle.” He says it as if that explains why he hadn’t been invited. Now that I think about it, I feel a little guilty for not having called him. And sort of bummed that I missed the chance to see a shirtless Matt Holt because then I could have seen his tattoos on full display.

“No furniture?” His frown directed at Brian is easy to read. You cheap bastard. I know I shouldn’t do it. I owe Brian so much, but it’s just too hard to resist having a little fun after the hell Chad put me through. So, I lean in even closer, pushing my breasts into Matt’s arm.

“Not even a bed,” I say in that same breathy sex kitten voice that got him to laugh before. It’s a close call what I enjoy more—Brian’s face turning purple or the slight upward tilt of one corner of Matt’s mouth.

Book 4 – Brian is also available for purchase

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Thanks to Alisa Jean for sharing A Los Angeles Hockey Series Bundle – Books 1–3 with Salty Inspirations!

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