Hannah Grace’s #1 New York Times bestselling Icebreaker in a spectacular deluxe hardcover edition featuring: New bonus material Pearlized and foiled jacket Stunning sprayed edges Designed endpapers Foil stamped case Sparks fly when a competitive figure skater and hockey team captain are forced to share a rink. Anastasia Allen has worked her entire life for a shot at Team USA. It looks like everything is going according to plan when she gets a full scholarship to the University of California, Maple Hills and lands a place on their competitive figure skating team. Nothing will stand in her way, not even the captain of the hockey team, Nate Hawkins. Nate’s focus as team captain is on keeping his team on the ice. Which is tricky when a facilities mishap means they are forced to share a rink with the figure skating team—including Anastasia, who clearly can’t stand him. But when Anastasia’s skating partner faces an uncertain future, she may have to look to Nate to take her shot. Sparks fly, but Anastasia isn’t worried…because she could never like a hockey player, right? "Sweltering chemistry, sizzling banter and swoonworthy romance. Icebreaker melted me head to toe." --Elena Armas, New York Times bestselling author of The Spanish Love Deception Hannah Grace is an English author, writing adult contemporary romance between characters who all carry a tiny piece of her. When she’s not describing everyone’s eyes ten-thousand times a chapter, accidentally giving multiple characters the same name, or googling American English spellings, you can find her oversharing online or, occasionally, reading a book from her enormous TBR. Hannah is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of Icebreaker , Wildfire , and Daydream and a proud parent to two dogs. Chapter One: Anastasia Chapter One ANASTASIA “AGAIN, ANASTASIA!” If I hear the words again and Anastasia together in a sentence one more time, it might be the thing that finally tips me over the edge. I’ve been on the edge since I woke up this morning with a hangover sent directly from the pits of hell, so the last thing I need right now is more grief from Coach Aubrey Brady. I focus on suppressing my annoyance, like I do every training session when she makes it her mission to push me to my limits. Rationalizing it’s her dedication that makes her such a successful coach, I decide throwing my ice skates at her is something that should stay in my imagination. “You’re being sloppy, Stas!” she yells as we fly straight past her. “Sloppy girls don’t get medals!” What did I say about not throwing skates at her? “Come on, Anastasia. Put in some effort for once.” Aaron snickers, poking his tongue out at me when I shoot him a cold glare. Aaron Carlisle is the best male figure skater the University of California, Maple Hills, has to offer. When I was offered a spot at UCMH and my skating partner wasn’t, Aaron was luckily in the same position, and we became pairs. This is our third year of skating together and our third year of getting our asses kicked. I have a theory that Aubrey is a Soviet spy. I don’t have any evidence, and my theory isn’t well developed. Developed at all, actually. But sometimes, when she’s screaming at me to straighten my spine or lift my chin, I swear a slight Russian accent slips out. Which is peculiar for a woman from Philipsburg, Montana. Comrade Brady was a figure skating superstar in her heyday. Even now, her movements are delicate and controlled, and she moves with such grace it’s hard to believe she can shout as loud as she does. Her graying hair is always pulled back into a tight bun, which accentuates her high cheekbones, and she’s always wrapped tight in her signature faux-fur black coat, which Aaron jokes is where she hides all her secrets. The rumor is she was supposed to go to the Olympics with her partner, Wyatt. However, Wyatt and Aubrey were practicing those lifts a little too often, and she ended up holding a baby instead of a gold medal. That’s why she’s been in a bad mood since she started coaching twenty-five years ago. “Clair de lune” fades as Aaron and I finish our routine nose to nose, our chests heaving against each other as we try to catch our breath. When we finally hear a single clap, we move apart and skate toward what will undoubtedly be the source of my next headache. I haven’t even stopped moving when her green eyes lock on me and narrow. “When are you going to land your Lutz? If you’re not going to deliver, it needs to come out of your long program.” Aside from Brady, successfully doing a quadruple Lutz and not landing on my ass is the current bane of my existence. I’ve been practicing for God knows how long, but I can’t quite manage to nail it. Aaron can execute it flawlessly, which is why I convinced the choreographer to put it into our routine in the first place. Pride is a foolish thing. It’s incredibly foolish when it comes to figure skatin