All of You: a Rock City Romance, Book 1

Newly edited with a fresh cover for 2024.

Brother’s best friend. A hockey goalie with superstitions. She changed her life, but now she needs to get him out of her system once and for all.

Sukie O’Leary has her life, her new yarn store, and her dog, but not her heart. Eamon Houlihan has owned her heart since she was a kid but then she was the pesky sister of his best friend. That was then, and now he’s back. They promise each other one night. No one needs to know. What could possibly go wrong?

***

Chapter 1

Sukie

“Oh… those are nice and big and thick. Exactly what I need.” My customer pointed to a selection on display.

“The thicker, the better, in my opinion; it will get you to the finish line much faster,” I told my customer. “Some people say it’s bad to be a size queen, but in this business, you must know your gauge.”

The customer stroked the wares I presented. “Nice texture.”

I nodded in agreement and pointed to the shaft. “You shouldn’t get any resistance, just a nice, friction-free slip and slide.”

“Sukie!” My head snapped up from the display of knitting needles I was showing my customer. I knew that voice. Only one person would walk into my store like he had lent me part of the start-up capital to open this place: my brother, Sean O’Leary.

But Sean wasn’t alone. The day I’d been both dreading and secretly wishing for with every ounce of my being was here. Eamon Houlihan, Sean’s best friend since birth, was walking through the door, close on Sean’s heels. THE EAMON HOULIHAN. All caps. And damn. He looked good. Tall, dark, weirdly scruffy hair and looking every bit the cocky, professional hockey player.

I sighed.

Eamon was everything. He was staggeringly hot, brilliant, and the object of my every adolescent fantasy—well, maybe not just teenage fantasy. If I was honest, he still got a starring role in the X-rated movies that ran through my mind more often than not, at least when Jason Momoa was away on special assignment. 

I froze at the sight of him. Things started to tingle that I didn’t want to acknowledge, and I suddenly felt like the shy, awkwardly tall, gawky teenager I was when he went away to college. Crushing on Eamon was part of my very existence for as long as I could remember, and despite years of absence, nothing had changed. One sighting and I was back to being fourteen all over again.

I knew Eamon was back in town, but I’d been trying to ignore it. As my brother's best friend, I knew this moment, coming face to face with him, was inevitable, but now it was upon me, and I wasn’t ready. In my head, I’d hoped I would have advance notice so I could prepare talking points, make sure there was a cute outfit present, or at least have the opportunity to cancel at the last minute—no such luck.

“Hey, Suk,” Sean greeted as he sprawled on one of the couches in the middle of the shop. 

“Sukie,” Eamon said in greeting as he paused on his way to the other couch opposite Sean. He dropped a nonchalant kiss on the top of my forehead on the way by, as he had done in greeting every time we saw each other since the beginning of time.

I tried not to turn into a puddle of goo in the middle of the shop. Liquifying your physical state at the sight of the hottest man you know was not professional, nor was it very feminist. I gave myself a mental slap across the face; I needed to snap out of it. Nothing had changed, and nothing would change. Eamon and Sean were still best friends. Sean would laugh at me if I ever decided to share my dirty thoughts about Eamon with him and probably never speak to me again. And what would be the point? It's not like Eamon reciprocated those feelings. Even if Eamon felt the same way, Eamon was Sean’s best friend, which meant Eamon was off-limits.

I slapped on a smile and tried to ignore how my forehead was still on fire from the chaste kiss. Was there something special about Eamon’s lips? Was he wearing menthol lip balm? Is that why my forehead still tingled?

My eyes locked with Eamon’s. He smirked. I could not detect any discernible lip balm, but damn, time had been kind to Eamon. At thirty-one, he’d filled out his 6’4” frame with solid muscle, added some character to his face, and ‘rich as sin’ to his lengthy attributes. Not that I cared about the money; I left the money world behind in my old life.

“Oh, my goodness, are you Eamon Houlihan?” My customer recognized him and waved the honking-size 19 knitting needles, the length, and girth enough to give any man a complex, in Eamon’s direction.

“Sure am, ma’am.” His voice was possibly even deeper than the last time I saw him. 

My customer clapped her hands with glee. “My son will just die when he hears I ran into you.”

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at Eamon. Once again, Eamon managed to steal the show. The customer did buy the knitting needles, but Eamon had to autograph the receipt, and I had to take a picture of them both with her phone.

After the customer left the store, wishing Eamon good luck in tonight's home opener, Eamon turned his smirk back to me. “Sukie, you’re all grown up.”

What exactly did he mean by that? I tried not to read into something that wasn’t there. I rolled my eyes at him instead.

He snorted. “Maybe not so grown after all.”

Sean and Eamon, particularly Eamon, were my greatest irritants growing up; how a brother and his best friend could be to the annoying younger sister who forced upon them. They teased me, played tricks on me, and sometimes ignored me. Ignoring me was the worst. It seemed like Sean and Eamon had everything when we were growing up. They were brilliant; both had gone on to Ivy League schools, they were athletic, Sean was a star runner and swimmer, Eamon was ‘all hockey - all the time,’ and they were handsome. Girls flocked to them. They were the golden boys of the working-class neighborhood where we grew up. Most of the families in our neighborhood were only a generation or two away from the Irish immigrants who built the neighborhood from the ground up. Everyone knew who Sean and Eamon were. They were the heroes, the stuff of legends: Eamon Houlihan, one of the best goalies in the North American Hockey League, and Dr. Sean O’Leary, ER doctor and trauma specialist. 

Their shadows were so big that no one ever noticed the tall, skinny girl with glasses, braces, and long, stringy hair — at least until recently. Now, everyone in the old neighborhood whispered about me and ‘The Cancer’ and how I went crazy and quit my good job with ‘The Benefits’ and ‘The Pension’ and cut off all ‘The Hair’ and didn’t grow it back even when I could.

“Well, Eamon, I don’t know if anyone has ever told you, but the world does not stop revolving when you aren’t around to be the center of it.” I couldn’t help but at least get a dig in.

Sean snorted.

Eamon smirked. “I see your tongue is just as sharp as ever,” he tossed back my way.

“Just when you’re around.” Winking at him, I pried my attention away from Eamon and sat on Sean’s couch. It was hard. After years of not seeing Eamon, I wanted to binge on his tall, darkly handsome yumminess, but I needed to act as normal as possible under such extreme circumstances. “So, what brings you to the yarn shop?” I asked Sean.

“I was helping Eamon carb-load before the home opener tonight at the Thai restaurant down the block.”

“Did you bring me anything?” I suddenly noticed I was starving.

“Come on now, do you think I would go to your favorite restaurant without bringing you back papaya salad and your favorite lemon sausages?” Sean handed over the plastic take-out sack. Sean walked into my shop with my favorite take-out, and I neither saw nor smelled it; that’s how distracted I was by Eamon Houlihan. Damn you, Eamon Houlihan.

“I would hope not, but you never know,” I commented as I dug through the sack.

I spread the food on the table, grabbed a pair of chopsticks, and dug in.

“I see your appetite hasn’t changed either,” Eamon quipped.

My appetite and the miraculous ability not to gain weight were also the objects of much discussion by everyone I knew, much to my dismay. Even when I wanted to add some pounds, like now, I could eat all the lemon sausages I wanted with noodles on top of noodles and a side of yet more noodles, but yet the boobs and hips of my dreams never seemed to appear magically. After the chemo was over, I gained back enough weight to stop looking like a skeleton. Still, the womanly figure my mother was blessed with, the one I thought I was genetically entitled to, was perpetually out of reach. I was my father’s daughter - six feet tall and flat as a board.

I swallowed the bit of sausage I’d been chewing. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s impolite to comment on a woman’s appetite?”

“I must have missed that day in charm school.” Eamon propped a foot on his knee.

I scowled playfully at him. ”I think you missed enrollment entirely.”

“Children, children,” Sean scolded, always the referee, past, present, and if Eamon was going to stick around, no doubt for the future. It was good to be bantering with Eamon again. It was normal. Not much in my life had been normal in the last few years. It was a relief that Eamon treated me the way he always had. Too many people, actually everyone in my life, treated me with kid gloves at best or like I might finally crack and become unhinged at worst. I took it from my family because I knew they were worried. I took it from the rest of the old neighborhood because I had no other choice, although moving across town after treatments were over had helped. I accepted Sean’s shift in treatment towards me because it had been my salvation. I wouldn’t have made it through without his constant companionship, and he helped me manage everyone else. Sean had become my biggest cheerleader and best friend when, in the past, he viewed me as the pesky younger sister who cramped his style. 

If Eamon started to treat me with kid gloves or like I was crazy, I don't think I could take it.

“So Sean, a single order of lemon sausages would be normal, but a double order means you are kissing my ass for some reason. Out with it.” My observation was valid and accented by the dip of yet another sausage into the provided sweet chili sauce.

“Eamon gave me some box seats for the game tonight. You up for it?” he asked.

“No hot date tonight?” I knew the answer before Sean gave it. And I knew it was my fault, even if it pained me to admit it.

“Nope.” He shrugged his shoulders.

It was easy to blame Sean’s current lack of social life on his erratic schedule at the hospital, but I knew that wasn’t the only reason. His social life had been knocked out by the one-two punch of a hectic work schedule and being my constant companion. The fact was that even though I was healthy and in the clear, Sean continued to live a monk-like existence. Habits had been formed, and he tended to persist with the silent-worry-hover method developed after I told him about the lump. It was too much now. When I heard Eamon was returning to town, I was happy for Sean. I saw it as a sign it was time for us to return to the world. Sean could resume his place as Eamon’s wingman, and if Sean was busy dating or hooking up, or whatever it was that Eamon called his lifestyle, then Sean wouldn’t be around for me to use as a social crutch, and I would have to figure out how to date again myself .

“I’m game.” I would never turn down an opportunity to watch Eamon in action. When he played, he had a singular focus. He was intense. It was hot. Damn hot. I imagined him doing other things with that intensity, which led to more impure, shiver-inducing thoughts.

“Are you cold, Sukie?” Eamon asked. “Maybe you should put on one of those sweaters.”  He motioned to one of the sample sweaters I made to highlight the patterns and yarn I carried.

“I’m fine,” I assured him, feeling my face burn in embarrassment.

“Is Cat coming this afternoon?” Sean asked. Cat was my other best friend and a part-time employee who helped out on the weekends.

“As always on Saturday afternoons,” I confirmed.

“Then you should have enough time to check in with Oscar and pick me up by 5:30. I want to make it in time to watch the warm-ups.”

* * *

Eamon

“Shit.” I slammed my head against the headrest of my Jeep.

Seeing Sukie again made my stomach twist, chest hurt, and jeans uncomfortably tight, still, after all these years, and to the tenth power.

Of course, I had noticed ‘The Hair.’ I heard about ‘The Hair’ from everyone back home. During her treatments, Sean sent me a picture of the two of them with their bald heads after Sean helped her shave off her long, dark locks. My mother recently mentioned that even though Sukie had the all-clear health-wise, she kept her hair short instead of growing it back to the long, shiny mane it had been.

I liked ‘The Hair.’ I thought her short hair added to the artsy, bohemian look she’d been sporting since leaving Corporate America. The short, dark, tousled bits framed her face, drawing attention to her beautiful porcelain skin and giant brown eyes. 

I was in trouble.

My first Sukie O’Leary-induced hard-on happened back in college. While Sean and I were away at school, Suzanne Elizabeth O’Leary, as she wanted to be known then, transformed from an awkward duckling to a tall, graceful, pretty swan. When I came home on school breaks back then, I noticed the changes, making me uncomfortable. ‘Noticing’ Sean’s little sister’s long legs and pert ass was not what I wanted or should be doing. So I did the only thing I could do: I avoided her. For years. And when that didn’t work, I vowed to treat her like the kid sister she’d been before I ruined everything by thinking dirty thoughts about her and her perky little boobs and mile-long legs. Legs I could envision wrapped around me in a myriad of ways.

Of course, I knew what had been going on with Sukie during the years I avoided her: college, ‘the good job,’ ‘the cancer,’ ‘quitting the good job,’ opening the shop - all of it. Being in constant contact with Sean and my parents informed me of the goings-on in the old neighborhood. Keeping tabs on Sukie wasn’t intentional, or so I told myself; the information came naturally, especially when I asked.

During ‘The Cancer,’ I’d almost jumped in the car to come home countless times.  I wanted to lend my support, both for her and Sean. But I didn’t want to be in the way. They had enough going on without the hotshot hockey player rolling into town and causing a distraction. Sean assured me that while cancer is never great, she caught it early, and outcomes were expected to be positive.

Sean also shared Sukie’s frustrations with how everyone treated her, which helped confirm that my decision to stay away was right. Treating her any differently than I always had was not what she needed. Instead, I’d quietly shown support in other ways.

But now, here I was. Every professional athlete dreams of playing for their hometown team, especially if that team can go all the way. I was no different. This year, it all came together. 

I started the Jeep, put it in gear, and pointed it toward the rink.

“Time to get your head in the game, Houlihan.” Talking to myself was never a good sign.

I was home for good, most likely. This would probably be my last contract. Finding other ways to distract me from the unwanted attraction I felt towards Sukie was what I would have to do. Giving in to temptation wasn’t an option. 

But one question remained: who the hell was Oscar, and why did Sukie have to check in with him before she could come to the game?