A steamy romance between a player and a referee breaks all the rules but will it destroy their careers?
Five different cities in eight years — Logan’s never had the chance to settle in one place. He’s the guy who fills in gaps on teams as a temporary fix and is traded at year’s end because no one wants to keep a thirty-year-old rental after he’s outlived his usefulness. When he’s called up to the Rebels, he knows it’s his last run in the NHL. Now, he must decide if it’s worth carrying on with the weight of his secrets around his neck for one more year. He’s never had a love that mattered, his career is nearly done, his ex-wife is remarrying, his sex life is drier than a desert, and abruptly, Logan’s had enough. He craves one night to ease the frustration, and hooks up with someone tall, dark, and dangerous in the bathroom of a club. The sex is off the charts, but it’s one and done, until Logan realizes exactly who he slept with and understands how dangerous it is to play games with secrets.
Being a referee is in Webber’s blood, and it’s a job he loves. Sure, sometimes he’s called dirty names—by fans, coaches, and players—or must insert himself between two massive men trying to pummel each other. Some nights, he’s knocked on his ass. Other times, he might take a puck to a tender spot. But despite all the hazards and name calling, there is no place he wants to be than on the ice. If only his love life was as settled. It’s hard to find someone willing to put up with his travel schedule, and even if he found Mr. Right, how would he juggle a romance when he’s never home? A chance hookup while officiating a game in Boston should be a simple matter of scratching that itch, but he couldn’t be more wrong. Unfortunately, that one-night stand—while memorable—turns his sedate life upside down in ways he could’ve never foreseen. When the penalty for love is losing everything he’s worked hard for, is it a price he’s willing to pay?
Top Shelf (Boston Rebels 1) – https://rjscott.co.uk/read-topshelf
Back Check (Boston Rebels 2) – https://rjscott.co.uk/read-backcheck
Snowed (Boston Rebels 3) – https://rjscott.co.uk/read-snowed
Royal Lines (Boston Rebels 4) – https://rjscott.co.uk/read-royal
Blade (Boston Rebels 5) – https://rjscott.co.uk/read-blade
- Rental (Boston Rebels 6) – https://rjscott.co.uk/read-rental
RJ's Social Media Links in full
Website – http://rjscott.co.uk
Newsletter – http://rjscott.co.uk/rjnews
Email – email@example.com
Amazon – http://amazon.com/author/rj-scott
Pinterest – http://pinterest.com/RJ_LoveLane/
Goodreads – http://goodreads.com/rjscott
Instagram – http://instagram.com/rjscott_author/
Facebook Group – http://facebook.com/groups/Rjscott
Facebook Author page – http://www.facebook.com/author.rjscott
Tik Tok – https://www.tiktok.com/@rjscottauthor?
VL's Social Media Links in full
“Samuel Adams, please, draft, and a menu?” I asked. He nodded, moved off to pull me a beer and grab a menu. Raking my fingers through my short, damp brown hair I settled in, looked to the left, and saw one of the most gorgeous men I’d ever seen before, staring at me as if I were a bacon cheeseburger and he was just coming out of a meat-free Lent drought. Gorgeous lower half of his face, anyway. He wet his lips. My pecker perked up instantly. I barely noticed the beer and menu that appeared in front of me. The bartender, who was probably used to seeing men drooling on his bar, moved off to tend to his other customers. “Evening,” I said because I was smooth and suave that way.
“Hey,” he replied, his voice deep as the ocean depths. He was dirty blond, big, and inked. Also, a little younger than me. Not by eons or anything, but maybe early thirties. He had a rugged face, a nose that was wider and perhaps a wee bit crooked. Incredibly lush lips and one hell of a strong jaw. Dark blue eyes. That nose/jaw combo was a real standout. His face was rough and masculine, but he’d not be appearing on the cover of any high-fashion magazine. The man was not a fashionable waif. He was a bruiser. And just my type. His mask was purple with sequins. Very flashy for a man who didn’t strike me as the flashy type, but then again, what did I know about him other than my dick was into his vibe. “You here for food or something else?”
My dick was standing at attention. Okay then, the straightforward type. “I’m here for whatever the night brings me.”
He gave me a smile that could have jarred Satan. Talk about sinful. “Yeah, same.” With that announcement, he slid from his stool, adjusted his cock, which looked like a thick hunk of meat pressing against the zipper of his jeans, and then sauntered off. I sat there overwhelmed, not only at the quickness of finding a willing fuck, but at the potential sheer size of that man’s cock. His ass was a work of perfection. Meaty as hell. Damn this bar was a treasure trove! Why had I not googled gay bars in Boston when I was here before?! He paused at the end of a dark hallway, bathroom signs lit above his head, and gave me that look. That look that scorched all my nerve receptors aside from the ones that led to my crotch. He walked off into the dimly lit corridor.
The bartender cleared his throat. I glanced at him, waiting with a pencil and pad in his hand.
“I have to go wash up first,” I lied like a motherfucking rug.
“Uh-huh.” He placed the pad back into his front pocket and went to make cocktails.