Mr charming, p.1
Mr. Charming, page 1
Mr. Charming
Piper Rayne
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2025 by Piper Rayne®
Piper Rayne® registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Cover Design and Illustrator: Buerosued
1st Line Editor: Joy Editing
2nd Line Editor: My Brother’s Editor
Proofreader: My Brother’s Editor
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About Mr. Charming
Three years ago, I swore to myself we were done.
* * *
Since then, Tweetie Sorenson has embraced the professional hockey player bachelor lifestyle—his social media is a highlight reel of clubs, friends, and a never-ending stream of different women.
* * *
It’s hard to believe he’s the same man who stole my heart the very night we met. With him, everything felt wild, spontaneous, and absolutely perfect. I thought he was my forever.
* * *
Then, he broke my heart. Or maybe we broke each other’s. Either way, it was over.
* * *
I’ve moved on—new city, dream job—until my boss throws me back into Tweetie’s world. I’m sent to Chicago to manage the Falcons’ social media, which means working alongside the one man I never truly let go of. FML.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Epilogue
Also by Piper Rayne
Cockamamie Unicorn Ramblings
About Piper & Rayne
One
Tedi
“I don’t know, maybe Gill has a talent none of us appreciates.” I drop the pictures from the Chicago Falcons social media campaign on the conference table.
Mindy, my assistant, picks them up and scans through the player photos. “What exactly would that be? It looks like the Falcon players work on the board of an insurance company.”
“Exactly! Anyone who can get Tweetie Sorenson to look like he’s knocking on your door to give you a complimentary quote on life insurance deserves some credit.” I slide his picture across the table toward the other members of my team, not wanting to look at it any longer.
When the national league promoted me to put together a social media campaign for each franchise—hoping to improve attendance across all arenas, increase social media engagement, and improve viewership—I was thrilled. This is my opportunity to shine and show them what I can do, even if I know that my new position was formed because of the commissioner’s ego. His brother is the commissioner of the football league, and they have a sibling rivalry going on. In the interview, my mission was clear—make every hockey team and player household names to ensure there are more hockey fans than football fans.
As I sit in a plush chair in a conference room that overlooks the Manhattan skyline, living a dream I never even envisioned for myself, my stomach sours as the picture of Tweetie gets passed around, each one of my team members commenting about how well he cleans up.
The thirteen years since we first met don’t seem to have aged him, only made him more handsome. Of course it did. Meanwhile, I’m hunting down every face serum and lotion that promises to keep my youth intact.
No one in this room knows my past with the man who is still the best left wing in the league except, for Lyric since we’ve become close friends. It’s a past so twisted that just seeing his picture makes that almost healed crack in my heart fracture again.
“No offense, but none of these guys look fuckable.” Mindy slides the pictures back in front of me. Thankfully, it’s Tweetie’s teammate Rowan’s picture on top.
“Yeah, we need them looking rough and tough,” Jasmine says before sipping on her green smoothie.
“Exactly. They need to look like they can pick you up over their shoulder and drag you into the bedroom,” Lyric says next to her. “I get that Henry Hensley is a dad, but damn, he looks like he works a nine-to-five and wears black socks and sandals mowing his lawn in the summer. We want a daddy, not a dad.”
We all laugh.
I knew Gill wasn’t the norm of who I usually hire, but finding thirty-two people to put out in the wild on their own was a challenge. We had lots of applicants, but I had to make sure they weren’t going to be fangirling or fanboying over the players. Or in it just to try to springboard the job into furthering their own social media following. They were hired to do a job. The last thing I need is to have to tell the commissioner that one of my hires is sleeping with a player.
“Look at the Florida Fury. Aiden Drake doesn’t look like the old man in the league here.”
I stop the sliding picture Lyric pushes across the table at me, and I bite down my smile. “I’m not going to ogle my best friend’s husband, but yeah, Aubrey did a great job on their campaign. Slide over the others.”
After I have them in my hands, it occurs to me that maybe I purposely sent Aubrey to Florida because they’ll always have a special place in my heart.
“Warner looks good too.” Seeing him and Aiden and even Kane as the coach reminds me of what they all have. We all started there together, and somehow, I’m still the single one with no kids, ovaries drying up by the minute.
“Aubrey is the best.” Mindy looks at me. “You played favorites with that one.”
I drop the pictures. Mindy’s not wrong. And I have a sinking feeling that I did the opposite to the Chicago Falcons for personal reasons as well.
“Well, we have to fix this. They’re positioned to win the Cup this year.” Jasmine leans back in her chair. “Want me to go over there and straighten Gill out?”
I examine everything Gill sent me. The meet-and-greet photos that look like a grade school class picture, the videos that look as though they belong on a ten-year-old’s lip-synching social media account. I could easily send Jasmine and wash my hands of this. She’d do a great job. She’s young and vibrant and has the eye to make the Falcons the “it” team in the league.
“Knock, knock.”
We all swivel in our chairs to find the commissioner, Mr. Herington, in the doorway.
I straighten in my chair. “Mr. Herington, good morning.”
He steps into the room. My boss, Calvin, follows, cringing behind him. What does that mean? Are my entire team and I about to be fired?
Mr. Herington takes the seat at the end of the long conference table. He’s tall and lean and intimidating as hell. Not at all what you’d think the league commissioner would look like. His piercing blue eyes land on me. “Tedi, I received a phone call yesterday.”
Calvin cringes again as he sits. So, it wasn’t a good phone call, I take it.
“Oh?”
“Bud, the GM over in Chicago, called. Usually I’d send something like this down to Calvin, but Bud and I go way back. He saw some of the other campaigns and feels as if theirs is lacking.”
At least he’s being polite. Gill’s campaign is god-awful and certainly wouldn’t make me want to find out more about the team or watch or attend any games.
“Who do we have there?” he asks.
“Gill Gregory.”
He looks at Calvin.
“He was an editor or something for the website, if I remember correctly,” my boss says.
“He was a copy editor but looking to venture out,” I say.
“I think we can all agree that he might be a better editor than promoter.” Mr. Herington leans back in his chair, a nd his gaze falls to the papers in front of me. “What are you all discussing this morning?”
“It’s funny you ask. We were going over some of the campaigns,” I say.
He rolls his chair closer to the table, his elbows landing on top, and waves his hands toward him. “Great, let me see what Gill Gregory is doing over there in Chicago.”
My stomach sinks. I do not want him to think I was sleeping on the job. As if I wasn’t already about to address the situation with Gill and the Falcons.
“Okay.” I push the folder to Calvin, who passes it to Mr. Herington. “We were just talking, and I think we should send Jasmine to Chicago. Give Gill some tips on how to make the campaign more of what we’re looking for.”
Mr. Herington doesn’t look up at me, and Calvin has little beads of sweat lining his hairline. His anxiety only raises my own.
“Jasmine?” Mr. Herington looks up then around the table.
Jasmine lifts her hand, sucking the last of her smoothie from the straw and making the sound echo through the room.
“Hmm,” he says, his long, thin fingers riffling through the images. “Bud does have a point. I think my granddaughter could do better.” He shuts the file and passes it to Calvin. “Did you know that the Falcons are favored to win this year?”
“Technically, they were last year too,” I say.
Calvin coughs or chokes on his saliva, I’m not sure. Either way, I probably shouldn’t have said that.
Mr. Herington laughs. “Very true, but I heard the chemistry is good over there. That Tweetie Sorenson has stepped up as a real leader.”
I school my nonverbal reactions since they usually have a mind of their own when it comes to the topic of Tweetie.
“Bud and I were in the same frat way back in college, and he did me a few favors back in the day. I owe him one. And since the Falcons are the team to watch this year, they need the best person on their campaign.”
His gaze lingers on Jasmine.
She’s young, but that’s who has an eye nowadays. The only thing I worry about with her is whether she’d be too intimidated by the players to ask them to do certain things.
She sips her smoothie—out of nervousness, I think—and the air coming through the empty straw makes that terrible sound again.
“I think it’s all gone, Jasmine,” Mr. Herington says.
Jasmine flushes.
“This is your ship to steer, Tedi, so I think you should go to Chicago. This whole experiment is new, and we need to really know if it can get the results we want.”
The way he reminds me that this is an experiment is no accident, I’m sure. If it doesn’t pan out, all my people and I are out. I didn’t come this far to not make a name for myself in the hockey realm. But at the same time, the angry, heartbroken girl inside me is screaming that she doesn’t want to go to Chicago.
“Me?”
Calvin’s head whips around, and he widens his eyes at me. “Save the sinking ship, Tedi.” His voice is cool and on the edge of demanding.
“It’s why we hired you to run the program. Go up there and make us proud. Show your team what needs to be done and how to do it. Plus, with the right campaign and them winning the Cup, we’ll easily turn people into die-hard hockey fans. Chicagoans alone will think to themselves, who are the Grizzlies?” Mr. Herington stands and straightens his suit jacket. “I’ll call Bud and let him know you’re coming. Have a good day.” He nods to the rest of us and walks out of the room. “Calvin?”
Calvin scrambles to get up, almost falling off his chair. “I’ll see you in your office,” he says, rushing after Mr. Herington.
“So, you’re going to Chicago?” Mindy asks.
I stand from the table. “It appears so.” I attempt to keep the dread from my voice.
Lyric gathers all the folders, but they slip from her hands, and Tweetie’s picture slides across the table to me. She gives me an apologetic look, knowing our history.
His chin-length blond hair, his devilish blue eyes, and defined jawline. God, I hate the man, but just looking at him still makes my core ache.
Two
Tweetie
I’m in the back of an Uber on my way to our morning skate, scrolling through my phone to pass the time, when Aiden’s name flashes on the screen.
I slide my thumb over and bring the phone to my ear. “How’s the fam?”
I played with Aiden back in Florida. We’re roughly the same age, both refusing to hang up our skates. Thankfully, we’re still performing, but there’s no doubt our time is coming.
“Good,” he whispers.
“Why are you whispering?” I whisper back.
“I’m in the closet, packing my shit for an away game. Saige is on the phone in the bedroom.”
“Man, you’re taking whipped to a whole new level. You practically live in a mansion, and you can’t find a room to talk in where you’re not interrupting her?”
He scoffs, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Hey, I’m putting myself on the line right now.” He pauses. “Yeah, I’m almost done packing,” he calls out to who I assume is Saige.
I shake my head. “What’s going on with you?” A quick glance out the window tells me we’re getting closer to the rink.
“Saige is on the phone with Tedi.”
A knot forms in my throat. The moment has come, the one I’ve been dreading for years. Tedi’s engaged or maybe already married. Maybe even pregnant. Aiden’s whispering makes more sense to me now. Ever since Tedi and I were finished, we don’t discuss her when Saige is around. Tedi is Saige’s best friend, her ride or die, and to her, I’m the asshole who broke Tedi’s heart.
“Yeah?” I try to keep the dread and despair, the anger of envisioning her with someone else, out of my fucking tone.
“It’s not good,” he says softly, and I hear the sound of a zipper.
“Who is he?” I try to make it a little easier for Aiden because he’s a great friend to warn me before the news travels and people start looking at me with fucking pity.
“No, that’s not it.”
I straighten in the back of my rideshare, gripping my phone tighter. If it’s not about another guy, then why is Aiden in a closet, whispering, hiding whatever he’s about to tell me about Tedi so his wife doesn’t overhear?
My mind flashes to a million different scenarios. Is she hurt? Is she in the hospital? Is she sick? Fuck, last I knew, she worked for the national league out of New York. Did some asshole—
“Did she get hit by a bus?” I ask.
My rideshare driver looks over his shoulder at me in a panic.
“That’s where your mind goes?” A door closes behind him.
“What do you expect? You’re being all vague and shit.” My anxiety is at an all-time high, and pretty soon I’m going to have to ask the rideshare driver to detour to the hospital if Aiden doesn’t fucking spill.
“I think you should address this issue. I can hear the panic in your voice.” Aiden is talking normally again. Why didn’t he shut the door to begin with?
“Just fucking tell me,” I grit out.
