Long Change ( Part of the Blue Line Collection #1)
#MM #NA#hockey #romance
Amazon UK: http://tinyurl.com/y7dz7kzc
Collegiate superstar goalie Boone Crockett seems to have the world at his feet. He’s rich, handsome, attends an elite college and is a hot prospect for the pros. Pity all that is a front for a deeply closeted and troubled young man.
All Boone’s life plans are shattered when flamboyant ex-figure skater Preston Gordon, an orange-haired twink, shows up to audition for the team’s mascot position wearing sequins, scarves and toe picks. His moves on the ice send Boone into his own pirouette of frustrated and reluctant desire.
As senior year progresses Boone slides deeper and deeper into a dangerous depression, Preston’s sensual strength the only thing he has to hold on to. If Boone can’t keep from plunging through the thin ice he’s skating on, it could take a twink to make the big save.
The day was long with gray clouds blowing over to drop tiny pellets of ice on those who had to shuffle from one building to another. By dinnertime I was totally done in. My right hip socket was on fire. I wondered if I had something else going on aside from the usual hockey aches and pains. Maybe I had flexed or rotated the wrong way in the crease. I had been pretty sloppy for the first thirty minutes.
My books lay on the floor, closed, as was my laptop. I was backed up so badly on my coursework it would take a fucking miracle ever to get dug out. And with the searing pain in my hip, I truly didn’t care. Dropping out sounded good. Say fuck the sheepskin and the hockey. Just go off somewhere and live the life of a hermit. Grow out my beard, trap and eat raccoons…and fuck my toe pick lover every night. Yeah, right. I scoffed at the mental scenario. As if Preston Gordon would live in a cave with a stinky hermit dude who dined on roasted raccoon.
The pizza delivery twink arrived ten minutes later. No shit, it took me three minutes to get off my couch and to the door. I glanced up and down the hall then let Preston inside. His coat, as well as the hood pulled over his head, was covered with sleet. He handed me the pizza, then took off his coat. I made my way back to the sofa.
“You’re walking just like my grandfather,” he said. I grunted. “And you’re sounding like him as well.”
“Hockey. Stop worrying,” I said, then flopped onto the sofa, the smell of pizza making my mouth water. Or perhaps that was the sight of Preston in my space. “You look good.”
“Oh, this old thing?” He laughed then gave me a spin. Sure, he was only in black jeans, a white shirt with a purple vest over top and those ugly blue boots, but he looked beautiful to me. “So, how are you? I was terribly anxious all day but I told myself that not hearing from you was a good thing. Tell me about your day.”
He swished over, sat beside me, placed his tiny hand on my thigh and listened. And that was how nights went for the next three weeks. I survived late October and early November on pizza and Preston kisses.
My student advisor pulled me in two days before Thanksgiving break was to start. I was failing three classes and barely squeaking through the other two. If I didn’t hike up my GPA I’d be kicked off the team. That just wasn’t an option. Beside Preston, hockey was all I had that gave me any joy. The fear of being dropped from the team sent me back to my room. Preston found me that night, in my bed, my wet boots melting all over the covers. He got my boots and coat off, then crawled into bed with me.
“Boone,” he whispered as I played ocular catch-me-if-you-can with moon shadows. “Boone?”
“Honey, you need to talk to someone.” He lay curled under my arm. His hand rested on my stomach. We had not fucked yet. Hell, we hadn’t even sucked each other off. The farthest we had gotten was a heavy petting session on the couch one night after watching TV. Preston said we needed to move extremely slowly, for both our sakes. “Please come to a meeting with me. Just one. You don’t have to talk, just listen.”
I rolled to my left, away from him. He spooned up behind me, his hand resting on my abdomen.
“Why?” I asked.
“Why what? Come to a meeting?”