I hate Dante Moretti. He is cold, calculating, and vicious. It’s no secret that he wiped out his former fiancée and her entire family on the eve of their wedding. He’s the kind of evil that makes even devils cry. But that’s not why I hate him.

Fate. Destiny. Karma.... She’s mine. It all started with a broken heart. And a breakup party. Rock stars. Circus freaks. And a bachelorette party. Too. Much. Booze. An embarrassing tattoo. And a twist of fate. Her name was Danny. I thought she was the one. But then I lost her. And I never thought I’d see her again. Now...I’m a mess. I’ve had my heart broken - more than once. And my band's broken up. I’ve sworn to myself that I’ll never fall in love again. Time to focus on new music and my new band. As soon as I sober up from my latest breakup party.

This bundle includes three books in the Slayers Hockey series. In the first book of the series, Dirty Secret, an NHL player has to keep his head down to avoid being benched for the season. But when he discovers he’s fallen for the captain's little sister, trouble gets hard to avoid. In the second book, Dirty Hookup, a rough-around-the-edges hockey player finds himself falling for a feisty redhead. Can he convince her that he's boyfriend material before it's too late? In the third book, Dirty Rebound, Cammy Wesley’s hockey-player best friend becomes her fake boyfriend.

Five hockey players, a cabin in the woods...and little old me, Winnie Berlin. Sounds like the start of a fantasy, right? But it's not. It's my reality. It all started when I got lost in the middle of the Canadian Rockies. A wicked thunderstorm sent my car mud sliding into a ditch, and for a girl whose survival skills involve finding the nearest Starbucks, I was in deep trouble. Forced to abandon my car in search of help, I stumbled upon a cabin in the middle of nowhere.

He won’t tell me his last name, and maybe that should throw up a thousand red flags, but when I’m all alone in a new city and struggling to make ends meet, his texts are the lifeline I’ve been desperate for. I never would have answered that text if I’d known that Lincoln Daniels—superstar hockey player extraordinaire—was the one sending it. He’s trying to sweep me off my feet now. He says he’s obsessed. He wants me to wear his number…permanently. But is he still the wrong number, or can this hockey god prove he’s Mr. Right?