The Good Green Earth (Colors of Love Book 3) by V.L. Locey

Author:V.L. Locey [Locey, V.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-09-15T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Bran came back that night. He licked my owl and every other bit of ink not hidden in my briefs. The man had a serious hard-on for tattoo work and the men who had them. He came over every night for two weeks, sometimes bringing food, sometimes not. The Blue Button Café became “our place” if you can fucking imagine. We even called it that. “Meet you at seven at our place?” or “I’ll grab some chili dogs and tots at our place and bring them up”. How gummy bear cute was that? I’d have gagged had it been some other couple.

We’d not gone past grinding and jerking each other off yet, and tat tonguing, of course. He was really oral, which boded well for me in the future. I liked how mouthy he was in bed, licking and tasting my body as he made soft, hot noises. I’d never had a lover spend so much time tasting and suckling. It turned me right the hell on so I vowed I’d return the favor and get my tongue into some sexy sweet spots on his body. Maybe tonight after the Pony game. Right now, it was all hockey, and I was fucking loving it. Sure, my soul craved the ice. My heart screamed in need of skates and speed but standing behind the kids as they played was good enough. Okay, not really even close. I was enjoying this summer league though and passing on my knowledge to young players. I’d never thought of volunteering during my summers off.

Partying had been my main objective. Looking back at my choices through sober eyes, maybe I would have been better served volunteering.

“Tommy, buddy, look here.” I held the white board under Tommy’s freckled nose. “You’re supposed to read the other players out there, right?” The kid nodded, winded and sweaty. He’d just come back to the bench after giving up the puck right in front of our net. Thank goodness Trisha, our goalie, had been on her toes or we’d be behind a goal. “When your winger takes the puck behind the net, you have to read the play that might happen, not get caught up puck watching.”

“But I don’t know what he’s going to do until he does it, so I have to watch the puck,” Tommy argued as the next line rolled over the boards.

“How long have you been playing hockey, Tom?”

“A year.”

Ah. “Okay, bud, well just do your best to try to focus on the coming play.”

“Okay, Nate,” he said but I knew he had no clue as to what I was hoping to see from him.

How did one define hockey sense? Maybe it was just the honing of a player’s skills over years and years of being on the ice. It came with maturity for sure. From being exposed to the same plays over and over until you could “read” the other men and know what they were going to do nine times out of ten. Tommy was maybe fourteen and had been at this a year.

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