It`s time for Tuesday Tales.
Welcome back! “Staple” is our word this week. Today I’m sharing a snippet from First Season, the second Harrisburg Railers book. I’m coauthoring this M/M hockey romance series with Rj Scott and am thrilled to be able to share excerpts with the Tuesday Tales readers!
In today’s post, we get to see some interaction between the two leading men, Adler Lockhart, a Railers player, and Layton Foxx, a social media expert working with the Railers.
This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!
One of the equipment managers slid some guards on my blades and I thumped off, face red, stomach all sorts of knotted up, my goal the dressing room. Honestly. It had been my plan to shower and go home to talk to Apollo. Then I’d eat, come back to the barn, and go out there and beat the sass out of Philadelphia. But then I saw Layton Foxx in that tiny room and all my plans kind of went left of center. I stopped on a dime, took a step in reverse, and walked into the press room. His head came up and his eyes – they were incredible stormy gray eyes with thick dark lashes – flared when he saw me. He grabbed the stapler.
“Okay, see here’s the thing…” I used my stick to shut the door. “I don’t think you get how hard it was for me to tell you that I was gay.”
“I really wish you’d open the door.” He held onto that stapler like it was a Ruger or something. “We’re done for the day.”
“Yeah, I thought so too but how you treated me is stuck in my chest.” I thumped on my breastbone with a gloved hand. Layton eyed me nervously. He was so damn enticing in an uptight, corporate way. He needed me to peel him out of that spiffy suit, lay him over that ugly desk, and make love to him until he was loose as a damn goose. I bet he bottomed. I hoped he did. Also, he needed to let go of that stapler. “Are you going to shoot me in the eye with a staple or something?”
“What? No.” He put the stapler down but left a well-manicured hand resting on it. He had nice fingers. Soft looking, like he never did dirty work or tinker with engines. Not that I tinkered with engines either but my hands looked like hockey player hands. Scarred up from fights and being slashed by opposing players. “You need to go though.”
Copyright 2017 ©by V.L. Locey & Rj Scott
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