{"product_id":"love-on-ice-isbn-9798217117390","title":"Love on Ice","description":"\u003cb\u003eNATIONAL BESTSELLER • What's a girl to do when the star of the hockey team crash lands in her backyard after a prank gone wrong? Help him cover up the evidence...in exchange for him posing as the perfect prom date, of course. Get ready to swoon with this hilarious YA rom-com debut from the \u003ci\u003eUSA Today \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author Sara Ney!\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"A sweet escape...plus, there’s hockey!\" —Lauren Blakely, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHarper Conrad figures when opportunity knocks, smart girls listen. Which is why when she catches high school hockey star Easton Westermann in her backyard after stealing their rival school’s mascot, she knows exactly what to do.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe deal is simple: In exchange for Harper’s silence, Easton will be her date to their upcoming prom. It’s the perfect bargain . . .  but what happens when what starts as a business transaction begins to feel all too real?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou know how the saying goes: If you like someone, set them free. If they come back to you, they were meant to be your prom date. Or something like that.\"A dreamy romp full of romantic swoon, charming sweetness, and heartwarming laughs that feels like falling in love for the first time!\" —\u003cb\u003eVeronica Eden, \u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A sweet escape filled with anticipation and all the excitement of a school crush, wrapped up in a heartfelt, feel-good love story—plus, there’s hockey!\" —\u003cb\u003eLauren Blakely, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A swoony, laugh-out-loud throwback to hallway crushes and prom-night magic—this one made me feel sixteen again in the best way.” —\u003cb\u003eKandi Steiner, \u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Smart banter, big feelings, and standout sports romance—Sara Ney doesn’t miss.” —\u003cb\u003eSarina Bowen, USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Such a fun YA romance! Fake dating is my fave trope and Sara Ney absolutely delivered!” —\u003cb\u003eNew York Times bestselling author Monica Murphy\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Can a book be any cuter? I think not…”\u003ci\u003e —\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eAdriana Locke USA Today Bestselling Author\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sara Ney writes sports rom-coms that score every time—funny, steamy, and impossible to put down.”—\u003cb\u003eMaren Moore, USA Today Bestselling Author\u003c\/b\u003eSara Ney is the \u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e Bestselling Author of the How to Date a Douchebag series, and is best known for her sexy, laugh-out-loud New Adult romances. Among her favorite vices, she includes: iced lattes, historical architecture and well-placed sarcasm. She lives colorfully, collects vintage books, art, loves flea markets, and fancies herself British.Chapter 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eEaston\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThree days earlier . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“We dare you to ask Maddie Miller on a date.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI stare at my three friends, my hands gripping the sandwich on my lunch tray.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey \u003ci\u003edare\u003c\/i\u003e me?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo ask Maddie Miller on a date.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs if I would ever do that, in a million years.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaddie. Miller. \u003ci\u003eMy dream girl.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy eyes slide across the courtyard to the table where she sits, basking in the limelight, surrounded by her friends. Long blond hair. Bronze skin. Short jean shorts and a crop top, despite the cooler temperatures. Maddie and her friends sit—­untouchable—­holding court while the students surrounding them eat lunch.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaddie ignores everyone, phone in her face, and I can see that she’s taking selfies or making a video to post on social media, not eating lunch. She has a cute lavender lunch bag in front of her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI swallow, shaking my head slowly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt’s never going to happen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’ve had a crush on Maddie Miller since seventh grade—­she might not be the \u003ci\u003enicest\u003c\/i\u003e girl at school, but she’s one of the most popular. They want me to ask her on a date?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHave my friends lost their damn minds?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI sigh loudly, chewing my dry ham sandwich. It tastes like sandpaper and I pick up my carton of milk to force the wad of bread down my throat, which is suddenly an impossible task.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eAsk Maddie Miller on a date.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEven if I \u003ci\u003ewanted\u003c\/i\u003e to ask her out—­I would have to have the co­jones to do it. And if that were the case, I would have done it months ago. I wouldn’t be sitting at a lunch table surrounded by the idiots daring me to do it. I would be eating with her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOver there.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What are you, five? No one dares me to do anything,” I boast with confidence.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe idea of this particular dare has my nut sack shriveling three sizes and has \u003ci\u003eREJECTION\u003c\/i\u003e written all over it in fat neon letters. My buddies might as well take a Sharpie to my forehead and write \u003ci\u003eLOSER\u003c\/i\u003e there for Maddie to see.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNot that I’m an actual loser.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs a left winger for the school’s hockey team, I’m no schlub.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd all I have to do during the school year is keep my average from falling below a C—­and “not do anything stupid that might fuck up my chances at getting recruited by a D1 college.” That is a literal quote from my father.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOr get injured.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut let’s get real here: Maddie isn’t interested in a guy who gets his face knocked around by other giant dudes, or gets his teeth almost knocked out because of the sport he plays. My face will never be nearly as pretty as hers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI gnaw on the edge of my bread, thinking. “What are my options besides asking Maddie Miller on a date?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere has to be more to it than this. These assholes have a backup plan—­they always do.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Or.” Marcus takes a swig from his water bottle, then makes a show of screwing the cap back on. “\u003ci\u003eOr\u003c\/i\u003e you’re the one who’ll have to pull the Impossible Senior Prank this year.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI laugh, tipping my head back. “Say what, now?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI could not have heard him right. They’re idiots, but they would never make me pull a prank—­not when I have so much riding on my senior year.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sorry, dude. You drew the short straw.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“How could I have drawn a short straw when I wasn’t there to pull a straw to begin with?” This is bullshit!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI stare around at my friends; they can barely look me in the eye.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy throat is dry. “Are you fucking with me right now?” I feel myself blinking rapidly. “You three want me to pull the senior prank?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“We don’t want you to do it—­you \u003ci\u003ehave\u003c\/i\u003e to do it.” Marcus sets down his water bottle and holds his hands in the air. “Don’t shoot the messengers. We did you a favor!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA favor? HOW?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eEveryone\u003c\/i\u003e knows I have a full ride to college for hockey. Getting caught doing something like the senior prank could blow the entire opportunity, same as drinking, smoking, or stealing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eIllegal pranks\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI live like a choirboy most of the year, not by choice but by necessity—­and here they are telling me I have to ask out the girl of my dreams . . . or pull the senior class prank?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Hear us out.” Gabe busies himself by pushing his pizza around on his lunch tray with the tip of his finger. “Last night at the class officer meeting we started talking about the senior prank, ya know, before Mr. Cotter came back into the room. We had to put everyone’s names into a spreadsheet so it would be fair.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Yeah, but not everyone wants to be involved in that crap,” I point out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I know, dude, but this is the senior prank. Everyone has to be involved.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI beg to differ, but before I can argue my next point, he goes on.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Anyway, Tompkins drew Beth Reinhardt for the recon and your name to”—­he lowers his voice, leaning in closer so I can hear him—­“to take the mascot.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI groan, pulling a hand down my face. “No way, dude. No.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMarcus fiddles with his bottle again. “Listen, man, literally the only way Tompkins was willing to let you off the hook was for you to win your way out of it.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Oh. Tompkins is \u003ci\u003ewilling to let me off the hook\u003c\/i\u003e,” I grind out sarcastically. “Who made him Lord of Everything?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFucking Aiden Tompkins.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI hate that guy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe little dweeb is senior class president and a major blowhard because his dad owns the local grocery store, pharmacy, and several chain restaurants in town. Mr. Tompkins thinks he’s hot shit, and so does his weaselly turd of a son.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“When were you going to tell me about this meeting?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You’re not a class officer,” Gabe, class treasurer, points out somewhat boastfully, and I have no choice but to roll my eyes back at him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“So they just \u003ci\u003epicked my name\u003c\/i\u003e?” I use air quotes, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “How convenient.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“No, they didn’t just \u003ci\u003epick your name\u003c\/i\u003e. I already told you, we put all the seniors’ names into a random draw and picked ten. Then from those, we choose you.” His large palm claps down on my shoulder. “Dude, I’m sorry. I tried to talk them into choosing someone else, but Tompkins said it wouldn’t be fair to throw your name out. The computer picked it. The best I could do was have him agree to this dare instead. You do the dare and you’re off the hook.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFine, I believe him. The computer picked it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI believe him because no one in this school is dumb enough to volunteer as tribute. Not for the prank—­it’s too risky. I know it’s risky because they pull the same prank every single year, since it coincides with culmination of basketball season.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI throw the rest of my sandwich onto my tray, appetite gone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This is so jacked up.” I shake my head. “I’m not doing it. My parents would kill me.” And if they caught wind that the class officers were organizing the entire thing, my parents are the kind of parents who would call the principal and rat Aiden Tompkins out—­but then \u003ci\u003eI\u003c\/i\u003e look like a whiney, dickhead snitch.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMarcus snorts. “Same.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Yeah,” Gabe intones. “Any one of us would be in deep shit if we got caught, so maybe you shouldn’t be crying about it. You’re not special.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYeah, I kind of am.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’m not crying about it,” I whine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis isn’t fair and it isn’t cool.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Aiden said you could win a dare instead. That was the deal—­ask Maddie Miller on a date and you’re off the hook.” Marcus looks satisfied. “Dude, did you hear me? You’re off the hook.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOh joy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“All you have to do is walk over there”—­Gabe points across the courtyard we call our cafeteria—­“and ask her. Big deal.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy brows go up. “Oh. \u003ci\u003eThat’s\u003c\/i\u003e all?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy stomach gurgles, and I am \u003ci\u003ethis close\u003c\/i\u003e to shitting my pants.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’m screwed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eI have to do this.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIf it means someone else will have to pull the senior prank, I suppose I have no choice, do I?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Well. That’s not all. Not exactly.” Gabe is staring down at his tray, the pizza slice greasy and probably stale.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI go still. “What do you mean, \u003ci\u003enot exactly\u003c\/i\u003e?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMarcus fidgets.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGabe squirms.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDeshaun—­who hasn’t said a word this entire time—­blanches.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Jeez, you assholes. Are you going to tell me the rest of it or not?” The silence is driving me nuts!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“She, um.” Gabe can’t look me in the eye. “Maddie Miller has to . . . uh.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe has to what?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI glance over at her, a vision in the courtyard. “She has to what?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“To win the dare and get yourself out of the senior prank, you not only have to ask Maddie Miller on a date . . .” He pauses dramatically. “She has to say yes.”","brand":"Delacorte Romance","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48233352298725,"sku":"NP9798217117390","price":12.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9798217117390.jpg?v=1767731902","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/love-on-ice-isbn-9798217117390","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}