Two Man Advantage by V.L. Locey
4 Flame M/M Erotic Hockey Romance
Blurb: Victor Kalinski, all-star forward for the Boston Barracudas, is one of the biggest jerks in professional hockey. Before long his aggressive attitude gets him shipped off to play in the minor leagues.
Furious, he takes to the ice with equal amounts of skill and scathing sarcasm, which doesn’t win him any friends—except for good-natured alternate captain Daniel Arou. He won’t take any of Vic’s crap, and he won’t take no for an answer.
But Vic’s troublemaking is pulling his career one way while Dan’s talent is pushing his in the other. However much they scorch the sheets, they might soon be separated by more than Vic’s fear of being hurt.
Inside Scoop: This book contains scorching gay sex and a heaping helping of no-holds-barred snark between hot hockey heroes who don’t pull their punches.
PG-13 (Mature Language):
One short little shit got my attention when Lambert told them to try again. He was a dark-haired little scrapper with a light-sienna complexion, who got into the corners, putting elbow to nose and lumber to teeth with no remorse until he got the puck free. I liked his grit. And the way his dark hair hung out from under his lid, flipping up at the ends. The man had some good flow going on.
His style was good, his eyes sharp, his stick handling above par and his ankles strong. He was the only one who had a grasp of what he was supposed to be doing, if you asked me. When he skated past in pursuit of the puck, I got a glimpse of a round, cute face with a button nose and lapis lazuli eyes. He executed a perfect side-stop, his plump mouth drawing up as he looked at me.
“Holy shit, it’s the big bad boy of Beantown,” he yelled to be heard over the shouts of his teammates. There was a noticeable Canadian accent when he spoke. He was probably no older than my twenty-four, if that. He wore the big A on his shoulder, so I knew he was an alternate captain. Shit, but he had a sexy Elvis Presley mouth. “What’s your expert opinion on how we’re looking, Kalinski?”
"To quote Reggie Dunlop as played by Paul Newman in Slapshot, 'Jesus Christ, what a *#*#* nightmare."
He chuckled then skated down ice. His said his last name was spelled A-R-O-U.
Coach Lambert skated into my line of sight. I smiled pleasantly.
"What kind of fresh holy *#*#* hell is this?" Coach asked, coming through the gate and stalking past me. “Did you think I was kidding when I told you never to darken my door again, Kalinski?” he asked, throwing the door to his office open.
“You’re going to *#*# the shit out of those blades,” I pointed out as I lingered in the doorway. Coach Lambert threw me a blistering look. I didn’t remember him hating me quite this badly. “But hey, it’s your nutsack Carl will roast over an open fire, not mine.”
“Shut the door, sit down and keep that toxic *#*#* mouth of yours closed.”
I did as he asked. Lambert fell into a rolling office chair to unlace his skates. The plastic wheels whimpered at the abuse. His gray eyes drilled into mine as he untied his laces with short, jerky motions. One skate sailed across the room, hitting the wall with a sickening thud.
“I can’t believe this is how the *#*#* repay me for fourteen years of coaching expertise,” Coach snarled, yanking violently on a hellacious knot in his laces.
“Your team has come in last for the past two years. I’m not sure you can call that expertise.”
Lambert nearly ripped his foot off. The skate flew past my left ear and embedded itself a good four inches into the sheetrock behind me. Slowly shifting my attention from the skate of doom to Lambert, I gifted him with one of my “I was only kidding” smirks. It had little to no effect. If anything, the vein right above his left eye thumped faster.
R (Explicit Language, Gay Sexual Sitautions):
I was soaping up my head when I heard the bathroom door squeak. I froze, hands on my head, shampoo foam sneaking down my temples.
“Hey, Kalinski? I’m sorry if I touched a sore spot, okay?”
There I stood, like a carving of the Roman shampoo god Dandrufficus, silent and stony. I was aching for something but didn’t know what.
No. That’s a miserable-ass lie. I ached to see Arou pull back the thin shower curtain, step over the side of the tub and kiss me into forgetting my tenth birthday…and my eleventh…and my fourteenth as well. I cleared my throat.
“Yeah, whatever,” I said loudly enough to be heard over the rushing water. The plastic curtain rustled when he closed the door. My fingers slipped from my head to hang by my thighs. Eyes closed, I stepped forward. The stream beat down on my head, filling my ears with water and bubbles. I could still hear Dan just on the other side of the shower curtain. My shoulder muscles tensed.
“I tend to let my mouth run away with me sometimes, you know?”
“Yeah, I know how that goes."
Taking a step back, I glanced at the dark form outside the curtain. He must be lounging on the small sink. There wasn’t room for two men in here, especially me and Daniel Arou. I turned to let the water beat the tension from my upper back.
“I didn’t mean any harm,” Dan said. I placed my hands on the tiles, not even seeing the mildew on the grout. Why the fuck was this man apologizing? “I’m sorry if your childhood was rough.”
Yep, that was the clincher. I threw the curtain to the right so hard the old, brittle plastic tore off several of the rusty metallic shower rings. Dan lifted his head quickly from his study of his feet.
“You don’t know shit about me or my childhood. For your information, asscrack, what I said was a joke!” I snarled, pointing a finger at him.
He stared at me. Water was dripping from my finger to the floor. His eyes betrayed him. I saw the long, hungry look. My accusatory digit fluttered downward. My cock began to rise to take my pointy-finger’s place. Dan grew slightly pale, mumbled something, then tripped over his large feet out the bathroom door.
I exited the shower. Just stepped out. Left the water running, wetting the floor, and followed the stupid shit. Dan was facing the front door, his back as stiff as my prick.
“I was not checking you out,” he said through clenched teeth.
I stood about a foot behind him, my dick at attention.
“Yeah, you were,” I said. A horn blew outside in the parking lot. A round of male guffaws followed. My wet skin was starting to get chilly. The heater in the room was locked at fifty-five. “I told you I’m not gay.”
“Neither am I,” he said rapidly. Too rapidly.
Yeah, I knew how this was going to go. I had been hiding my bisexuality since I was old enough to like looking at other guys’ packages in the high school locker room. While things were changing for LGBT players, a ton of us were still pretending.
“That’s too bad,” I said, taking a step closer to him. The floor creaked. He sucked in a short breath. His gasp made me smile. “Seems a gay dude and a bi guy in the same room could be honest with each other at the very least.”
That announcement brought the sexy little shit around in a hurry. One dark eyebrow was climbing up his forehead. Those startlingly blue eyes dropped downward. He licked his bottom lip. My cock began to weep.
“Yeah, and right now I would like nothing better than to jack you up against that dresser and kiss you into a state of delirium.”
Dan wet his lips again. Either he was trying to turn me on, which was a wasted effort given how hard my dick was for the man, or it was a nervous tic. Whatever, it was making me crazy. I rolled my hands into fists to keep them from reaching for him.
“Look, stubby, I need a reply here,” I groaned a minute later. Maybe I had misread his signals. Fuck knows I do it often enough with chicks. Guys are usually less confusing, but not always. “If you’re not up for getting laid, speak up now and I’ll go back into the shower, take care of this boner, then pretend this little conversation never took place.”
Another horn blew in the parking lot. Raucous laughter erupted outside our window. The Cougars were bored. Dan reached behind his back to lock the door. Well. Fuck. Me. I suddenly felt lightheaded.
Ellora`s Cave: http://www.ellorascave.com/two-man-advantage.html
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, belly laughs, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted goofy domestic fowl, and two steers: one named after a famous N.H.L. goalie while the other carries the moniker of a 60s pop legend.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand. She can also be found online on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and GoodReads.
I love to meet new friends and fans! You can find me at-
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