The Aubrey Rules by Aven Ellis is the first book in the Chicago on Ice Series, along with Derna's five star review you can read the first chapter in this sweet romantic hockey book.
*** I received a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review ***
The Aubrey Rules! By Aven Ellis. The first book in the Chicago on Ice Series and is Aubrey Paige and Beckett Riley’s story. Aven Ellis is one of go to author when I looking for a fun easy romance story. I loved that Aubrey had rules and I'm sure we all have rules for different things in life so just like Aubrey here are mine when is come to romance books.
The Derna Rules to live by when reading a good romance book.
#1 It must have a good storyline
Aubrey Paige lives by rules these are rules that she has written to guide her on everything that she does in her day-to-day life. She sticks to them no matter what! But when Aubrey meets Beckett Riley a cute shy hockey player Aubrey soon realises that some rules are made to be broken or if not broken then slightly amended.
**Note** I loved this storyline just perfect for an afternoon when all you want to do is snuggle on the sofa and read.
**Amendment** There is a very high percentage that my rules are not going to be broken by Aven Ellis
#2 It must have likeable characters
Aubrey is sweet, funny, independent, sassy and loves to talk. Her rules are fun to read, and I loved when she is with Beckett her talking goes into overdrive, and her mouth has no filter. Beckett is honestly a nice bloke, he’s sexy and come across is a little shy. He can be awkward, nervous and serious at times, especially when it comes to social media. However, under that nervous exterior there is a guy with a smart ass with great sense who is thoughtful and kind.
**Note**There were some likeable supporting characters. Livy and Landy are wonderful just like me Livy is a fan of Kale Chips
**Amendment** Okay, some supporting characters I may want to punch! Aubrey’s boss Mallory Slone is a cow!!!
#3 The characters must have chemistry
Aubrey and Beckett are adorable together and have great chemistry. Their relationship, it's fun, cute and entertaining to watch. Their banter is very funny, and I loved the way they tease each other. Beckett genuinely interested in everything Aubrey she does, he wants to know what's going on in her head even if it's crazy. Aubrey helps Beckett loosen up and shows him the he is loveable just the way he is. They work well together, and bring out the best in each other.
**Note** You will fall in love with these characters they are perfect together.
#4 It must have a good mix of romance, angst and entertainment to keep things interesting.
The book flows well. Loved that Aven’s adds Aubrey’s rules at the start of the chapters, and her updates and revised notes and amendments as she gets to know Beckett. The storyline is low drama and angst there are a few issues involving, jealousy, insecurities, and misunderstandings, but it doesn’t last for chapters. The romance factor is high there are some swoon-worthily moments.
**Note** Aven knows how to write great romance
**Note** Beckett knows how to make a girl feel special. Aubrey is a lucky girl.
**Amendment** Aubrey is a VERY lucky girl.
#5 I must finish the book with a smile on my face.
I had the biggest smile on my face after reading the epilogue was sweet and a perfect ending for Aubrey and Beckett. Aven Ellis always writes my kind of romance books. The ones once I start I don’t want to put down, the ones that are cute, heartwarming, flirty, humorous and entertaining, and The Aubrey Rules was spot on. If you’re looking for a feel good romance with an HEA, then this one is for you. Aven Ellis doesn’t disappoint with her engaging, faultless and witty writing style.
**Note** Of course you will get some hot hockey action also. </b>
**Note** I like when the next book is going to be about some of my favourite supporting characters. Therefore, I’m looking forward to Livy and Landy’s story where I know we will be more Aubrey and Beckett.
**Note** I was left with a craving for Kale Chips, and French fries while reading this book.
**Amendment** I’m fulfilled my Kale Chop craving as I’m eating a batch while writing this review.
The Aubrey Rules a must read for all you true romantic out there. Go one click now! I loved it.
Read Chapter One Now!
The Aubrey Rules To Live By, Rule #1: Never, ever, be late for anything.
I sprint toward the elevator in complete panic mode. This is not happening. I must be having one of those nightmares, and any second I’ll wake up.
Because if I’m not dreaming, I’m awake. Obviously. Which also means I overslept this morning. I couldn’t sleep last night due to anxiety, and I accidentally turned the alarm off on my phone instead of hitting snooze this morning. Which began a domino effect: I overslept. I didn’t have time to get my red curly locks under control with a flat iron, and I’m not going to arrive on time for a job interview with one of the chicest social media firms in Chicago.
I frantically jab the elevator button. This is my first professional interview since I graduated from the University of Washington last month. I have to get this job. I need this job.
I want this job.
I press the button again. “Come on, come on!” I begin pacing. I feel as if I want to throw up. I’m never late. I’m the girl who is ten minutes early to everything. Even for meeting a friend at Starbucks. So the fact that I’m late to the most important interview ever makes me absolutely sick to my stomach.
The doors open and I run in, but my boot heel catches in the crack. I fly forward, and my purse swings over my shoulder in a loop. I land flat on my face, and the entire contents rain down on the floor. Then I hear a clink. Like something falling down the crack between the hallway floor and the elevator.
“Miss, are you okay?” a male voice asks me. “Are you hurt?”
I immediately push myself up to my hands and knees. My curly hair is blocking my vision, and I shove it out of the way so I can see. There is a stranger kneeling in front of me.
A very handsome stranger.
One with dark-brown hair and the loveliest chocolate-brown eyes I’ve ever seen.
Who has just seen me trip, fall flat on my face, and—oh my God—is his shoe on top of one of my tampons?
I quickly begin grabbing my things and throwing them back into my Tory Burch tote. “I’m fine,” I say, keeping my eyes down, praying he somehow moves and I can swipe the tampon before he notices it. “Thank you.”
“Are you sure? You hit the floor really hard,” he says.
“Um, I’m good.”
“Here, let me help you,” he says, reaching for my lipstick case.
“No!” I cry, mortified, sticking out my hand. “Don’t!”
His large brown eyes widen in surprise. “No? You’re saying no to me helping you?”
“Yes,” I say, willing him to move his foot.
Okay, so mental telepathy only works on TV because it sure as hell isn’t working now.
I go back to scooping up the millions of receipts I had squirrelled away in my purse, along with my huge collection of drugstore mascaras, lipsticks, and Tic Tacs.
“Why?” he asks, a bewildered expression on his face.
I glance up at him as I toss my wallet back into my bag. Oh, wow, he’s super cute. I’d have to say he’s in his mid-twenties, and I can’t get over how expressive his handsome face is.
I grab my iPhone and cast my eyes back down. “It’s my mess. You shouldn’t have to help me clean it up.”
“A planner?” he asks, holding up my gold polka dot Kate Spade planner toward me. “Aren’t these out of style? Don’t you use your phone for stuff like that?”
I pause. He’s Canadian. I know he’s Canadian from the way he said “out,” with a sort of lilt at the end of the word.
“That’s not a planner,” I say, taking it from him. “It’s my rule book.”
“Yes.” I drop it into my tote as I continue to pick up stuff off the floor. “Life is chaos. I like jotting down rules for my career and love life and use them as a guide to keep me organized. Some are serious, some are funny. But they’re all designed to keep me from wasting time. So I don’t make mistakes that will hurt me and it’s fun to do an—”
“You write rules for your love life?” he interrupts.
I stop speaking. I realise he’s staring at me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to figure out.
Then a slow smile spreads across his face. “You have an odd idea of a good time.”
Oooooooooh my. He has a gorgeous smile.
Suddenly I realize I don’t have my keys. “Keys,” I say, frantically searching around. “Where are my keys?”
He looks down. “Uh,” he says, picking my tampon up. “Um . . . here.”
GAAAAAAAAH! All of a sudden my face is burning hot.
I have a feeling it matches my hair.
Which is flame red.
I gulp. “Um, thanks,” I say, wishing I could fall down the crack in between the hallway and the elevator.
“Oh my God!” I cry, standing straight up in a panic. “My keys! My keys fell down there!” I point frantically.
“Are you sure?” he asks, standing up and peering down the gap.
“Shit! I’m screwed! I’m late for a job interview and I look like crap and you picked up my tampon, which is mortifying, and now I have to deal with the keys and who knows if I’ll get there on time and I’m so pissed off and why isn’t this elevator moving?”
And before I can stop myself, I kick the side of the elevator wall in frustration, leaving a huge scuff on my boot. Perfect.
“And now I’ve ruined my boot and this is the worst day ever!” I yell.
I glance at him. Now that I’ve had my outburst, I notice that the cute Canadian is big. 6’3 or so. His chest is massive and is hugged by the navy-blue sweater and white T-shirt he’s wearing underneath his gray overcoat. My eyes skim downward, and holy hell his thighs are huge in those jeans and--
“I stopped the elevator with the emergency button to make sure you were okay,” he says simply, snapping me from my thoughts. His voice is soothing, as if he’s trying to calm me. He walks over to it and hits another button, and the doors close and we start going down. Then he turns to me. “We can have someone call the elevator service company to get the keys.”
I throw my hands to my head. “I don’t have time for this! I have a very important job interview. Do you know what my job is right now? I stage condos for sale. I live in other people’s homes with strange furniture and I’m practically a freaking nomad because I move all the time. If I don’t get this job, I’m still a nomad with no belongings other than my rule book!”
I glance over at him. Now his brow is creased. Oh, this keeps getting worse and worse. Now I’ve blown up, kicked a wall, and told him my only form of employment is moving from condo to condo out of a suitcase.
And I’m sure the cute Canadian is desperate for this elevator to hit the lobby so he can run out the doors as fast as he can to get away from the lunatic hothead otherwise known as Aubrey.
“You could start with letting the front office know your keys fell down the elevator shaft,” he suggests. “Then I could take you to your interview. By the time you’re done, they might have your keys.”
“Whoa,” I say, putting my hand out and taking a step back. “I don’t know you. Why would I get in a car with you? You could be some kind of pervert serial killer kind of guy.”
“You think I’m a serial killer?” he asks, an amused tone in his voice.
“That’s not what I said. I said you could be.”
Suddenly he bursts out laughing. “Trust me, I’m not.”
“Why should I? I don’t know you. Just because you’re cute and say ‘trust me’ doesn’t mean I should,” I say.
Then I realise I told him he was cute.
Shit, shit, shit.
The elevator doors open, and I flee, praying the cute Canadian goes on his way. I don’t even look backward. I hurry to the front desk of the luxury high-rise.
“I have a serious problem,” I blurt out. “I dropped my keys down the elevator shaft and I-”
“You what?” the girl asks, wrinkling her brow.
“I dropped my keys down the shaft,” I repeat. “I need someone to get them. Right now. My name is Aubrey Paige and I live in 14F. And I need to have someone get them and I’ll pick them up later but I have to go and this is critical because I need them back so I can—”
“I’m sorry, you’re talking too fast,” the girl interrupts. “Aubrey Paige what?”
“Aubrey Paige! Paige is my last name. And I need to go—”
“Hold on, Ms. Paige. I need to call maintenance to see what we need to do. Now you say they fell down the elevator shaft?” she asks as she picks up the phone and punches a button.
Hold? I don’t have time to hold! I’m about to say more when suddenly the Canadian steps forward.
“Excuse me,” he says.
Another desk person glances up. “Oh, hey, Beckett,” the man says, his eyes shining. “Great game last night in LA. That’s your third hat trick of the season, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but it wouldn’t have happened without some great passes from my teammates.”
I freeze. Teammates?
“Um, could you verify who I am for this lady, please?” he asks, nodding in my direction.
The guy grins. “This is Beckett Riley, none other than captain of the Chicago Buffaloes.”
“What?” I say, confused.
“The professional hockey team,” the man continues. “This is our captain. And one of the best players in the National Hockey League.”
I know my mouth is hanging open. This cute Canadian is a professional hockey player?
“I told you I wasn’t a serial killer,” he says, cocking an eyebrow at me.
For once, I don’t ramble. I keep my stupid mouth shut.
“So, since I’m not a criminal, I can drive you to your interview, and with James here as my witness, I promise to bring you back alive. If you’ll let me drive you, that is. But it’s your call. So what is it going to be, Aubrey?”
I have always loved to write. I completed my first novel at the age of 15—an angst driven high school romance (Boy meets girl! Evil girl likes same boy! A deception! Will true love prevail?) Though I truly wanted to be a fiction writer, I also knew it was more practical to pursue a job in the communications field and write fiction on the side. So I went off to Purdue University and earned a degree in communication, writing for The Exponent along the way (apologies to anyone who fought through reading those early attempts at journalism.)
After a stint writing for a community newspaper and a public relations agency, and not enjoying what I was writing at all, I found myself a non-writing job and continued writing at night and on weekends. I completed multiple manuscripts that found a home under my bed. Complete it, print it, stick it in an envelope, slide under bed. It became a routine for me, similar to “Lather.Rinse.Repeat.”
Finally, years later, I wrote Connectivity. I loved this story; I loved writing for William and MK. I became brave enough to share this story with new friends who became equally as passionate about these characters and their journey. They encouraged me to submit it to a publishing house. Then, in a critique group session, wine was poured and one of my partners, Lauren Linwood, pointed her finger at me and demanded that I submit Connectivity to a publisher, telling me the words every writer dreams of hearing--this will sell. I ended up submitting Connectivity to Soul Mate Publishing and now can happily say I am a published author.
I live in the Dallas area with my family. I enjoy clipping out recipes I will never get around to trying, working out, and chatting with friends on social media. I am particularly fond of British actors named Benedict and Henry. I love shopping and fashion and admit to being obsessed with whatever the Duchess of Cambridge is wearing. I am also obsessed with any show or cookbook featuring Gordon Ramsay.
And I do not believe in the Lather.Rinse.Repeat theory when it comes to shampooing my hair.
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