It’s time for Tuesday Tales!
Today we have an excerpt from a new book, Sugar and Ice, Arizona Raptors #4, written with RJ Scott. In this excerpt
Do bear in mind that these snippets are unedited so be kind if you find any mistakes.
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!
“Okay children,” I shouted after ten or so minutes of banter and roughhousing. “Time for serious business. Today is our first team scrimmage. Coach has assigned us our team roster. You can find your team color listed as soon as I write them down. Suit up in the appropriate color and be on the ice in thirty minutes.” I waved a paper filled with Coach’s chicken scratching over my head. Striding to the white board that covered one whole wall, I picked up a red dry erase marker and began copying down coach’s picks. They all gathered around me. I glanced to my right as the fresh smell of citrus danced under my nose. There stood Tate, in hockey pants and socks, bulky pads sitting loosely on his broad shoulders, his chest and belly bared. He had a tight body, athletic of course, with a light spattering of hair on his chest that narrowed then dipped into his pants. My eyes flew from that treasure trail back to my job.
Get yourself in hand, Vladislav.
I was the captain. It was my job, my responsibility, to lead the men on and off the ice. Along with other duties the C brought – such as being one of the few men on the ice to speak to and defend my team with the officials and setting the tone for the game – was being “an extra coach” in the locker room as well as on the ice. Being unable to keep my eyes to myself was a sign of weakness. I pushed the tickle of sexual tension down deep and returned to my job.
Tate glanced at me; his deep brown gaze unreadable as the men jostled us around. “I’m playing with you.”
“Yes, I know. I’m the one who wrote your name on the board.”
A long, long moment passed where we simply stood there, surrounded by half-naked loud men, him staring up at me as I gazed at him.
“Yo, hey, Sugar and Ice! You two think you can move so I can see where I play?” Colorado shouted, nudging Tate aside with a playful shove. The moment thankfully burst into a million bits, the tenuous string binding us snipped cleanly, and I pushed through the men to return to my cubicle to dress for morning skate.
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