Friday, June 12, 2026

πŸŒˆπŸ“˜πŸŽ₯Friday's Film AdaptationπŸŽ₯πŸ“˜πŸŒˆ: Game Changer by Rachel Reid




Summary:

Game Changers #1
THE SERIES THAT INSPIRED HEATED RIVALRY • NOW A #1 STREAMING SHOW

Enter the world of Game Changers, the series behind the epic enemies-to-lovers hockey romance Heated Rivalry, streaming on Crave in Canada and on HBO Max in the U.S.

It all starts here with Scott and Kip’s steamy secret-relationship romance by New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Rachel Reid.

New York Admirals captain Scott Hunter takes his pregame rituals very seriously. When a particular smoothie precedes Scott's breaking his on-ice slump, he’s desperate to recreate the magic…and to get to know the sexy, funny guy behind the counter.

Kip Grady knew there was more to Scott’s frequent visits than blended fruit, but he never let himself imagine being invited back to Scott’s penthouse. Or kissed with reckless abandon—and more. What goes on between them is hot, incredible and frequent…but also only on Scott’s terms and always behind his closed apartment doors.

Scott needs Kip in his life, but with playoff season approaching, the spotlight on him is suddenly brighter than ever. He can’t afford to do anything that might derail his career or the public’s image of what a hockey captain should be. Kip is ready to go all in with Scott—but how much longer will he have to remain a secret?

Game Changers
Book 1: Game Changer
Book 2: Heated Rivalry
Book 3: Tough Guy
Book 4: Common Goal
Book 5: Role Model
Book 6: The Long Game
Book 7: Unrivaled


Original Review April Book of the Month 2026:
I have to be honest, I had not heard of this author or series until season 1 of Heated Rivalry debuted last December and clips started popping up on my Facebook feed. I was hooked. As much as I love Shane & Ilya I'd be lying if I didn't say Scott & Kip's story hooked a little deeper. So when I researched the book series and found book 1, Game Changer, was actually Scott & Kip's story, I immediately 1-clicked it and knew I'd be reading it. I'll admit I didn't think it would take 4 months to find time but here we are.

As I said, Scott & Kip's part of the series was my favorite, and as I've only had the opportunity to read book 1 so far, I can safely say the same carried over to the books. I'm open to that changing when I have a chance to read further so time will tell there.  Not sure what it is about Scott & Kip that pulled me in more but whatever it was, I was hooked. 

To be honest, I am not much of a hockey person. I watch it during the Olympics, keep tabs on our local college women's team but that's about it, not that I don't like it, I just don't seek it out but I do seem to enjoy the occasional work of LGBTQ romantic fiction in the hockey world. As I write this I'm having a hard time separating the Scott/Kip book from the Scott/Kip episode but IMO, I think the writers stayed pretty close to the original work. Sure there are differences, time constraints and all but no huge gaps or noticeable differences that took me out of the story as I read it. 

Scott and Kip have amazing chemistry and their fears are expressed wonderfully to the reader, from each other takes a little time but hurdles need to be reached or you would have a very short pamphlet instead of a novel. I look forward to reading Shane and Ilya's story as I do the others in the series. Rachel Reid is a new author to me and for some that can be scary, an adrenaline rush they don't want but it just adds to the whole overall first-time experience IMO.  Definitely an author to go on my author-to-watch list.

RATING:





Chapter One
Tuesday, January 14, was the day Kip Grady learned that loud blenders and hangovers didn’t mix.

He hadn’t meant to drink so much last night, but Chuck and Jimmy had been in town and he hadn’t seen those guys in months. It wasn’t like he’d gotten wrecked. He had been aware that he needed to be at work at six the next morning, but he’d still managed to drink just enough to make the high-powered blenders his mortal enemy.

But he had a job to do. And that job was to make the best damn smoothie he could for the busy-looking woman waiting at the counter.

“Here you are, ma’am.” He tried not to wince as he handed the customer her order. “One Green Warrior smoothie with a wheatgrass shot.”

He glanced at the clock. Six-thirty. Jesus Christ.

There was no time to rest his head on the inviting pile of oranges that sat on the counter. The weekday morning rush at Straw+Berry tended to be steady right up until nine. Maria was working with him this morning, and that was cool. They worked well together because, while neither of them was particularly invested in this job, they took it seriously and did everything they were supposed to. Plus, she was funny.

“Which of these damn smoothies cures a hangover?” Kip moaned when the shop was briefly empty.

“Um, none. But allegedly the watermelon one.”

“Okay. I’m going to make myself a giant watermelon one with, like, five Advils in it.”

“I think you mean five ‘wellness boosts.’”

Kip did make himself a giant watermelon smoothie, and he did feel slightly better after drinking it. He took two Advil.

“So what were you up to last night, anyway?” Maria asked.

“Oh, just hanging out with some college friends.”

“Yeah? Are they cute?”

“Nah. I don’t know. Not my type.” Chuck was big, burly, and bearded. Jimmy was the complete opposite: short, slim, and looked about seven years younger than he actually was.

“Are they super-successful juice-bar baristas too?”

“They got jobs in their field. They’re both working in Boston. Business something? Insurance? Finance? I don’t know. They wear suits to work.”

“You wear an apron. That’s pretty great.”

“Yeah, I’m super proud.”

“And a ball cap with a little strawberry embroidered on it. Come on!”

Kip threw a chunk of frozen pineapple at her.

“Tell you what, Kipper. I’m going to be nice and do all the prep work in the back this morning so you can just rest your pretty head when the rush is over.”

“Yeah?”

“Yup!”

“You are the best and I love you,” he sighed happily.

“I know. Now look alive! We’ve got businesswomen coming in and they want liquefied kale!”

It was another hour of steady rush before Kip was finally able to enjoy the quiet that Maria had promised him. She went to the back room to chop fruit and vegetables, and he slumped onto a chair he had dragged behind the counter and pressed his face against the wall. It was a nice, cool wall.

He hadn’t even realized he had closed his eyes until he was startled by someone clearing their throat. Not aggressively. Just enough to let him know they were there.

He opened his eyes and stood quickly. “Sorry, sir,” he stammered. “What can I—?”

Kip’s mouth may have dropped open like a cartoon character’s. Possibly his jaw was on the floor, and his tongue may have rolled out of his mouth like a carpet. It just so happened that the hottest man he had ever seen was standing in front of him.

“Um, what can I get for you?” Kip managed.

The man was tall, blond, and, well, ripped. And Kip knew he was ripped because he was wearing a ridiculously tight Under Armour zip-up jacket thing and sweatpants. He must have just finished a run, the way his damp hair clung to his forehead and his skin glistened with sweat.

“Good morning,” the sweaty man said cheerfully. “Sorry to wake you.”

Kip’s cheeks flushed. He dipped his head a bit so the brim of the stupid baseball cap would conceal it. God, the hottest man in the world is standing in front of me and I am wearing an apron and a strawberry baseball cap.

“You didn’t… I wasn’t…” Kip took a breath. Pull it together! “Sorry. Had a bit too much fun last night.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “On a Monday night?”

“Yeah, well, you know the life of a smoothie maker…live fast, die young, right?”

The man laughed. Kip nearly fell over.

“So what’s good here?” the man asked, squinting at the menu.

“Um, there’s one with blueberries and pineapple and kale—but you can’t taste the kale, I swear! It’s good. I like it.”

“That would be the… Blue Moon Over Brooklyn?”

“Yeah. All the names here are kinda dumb.”

The man pointed a long finger at Kip’s name tag. “I like your name.”

Kip glanced at his own name on the tag, as if he didn’t know what it said. Like an idiot.

“It’s, like, a nickname,” he said, as if the hot guy had asked him for further information. Which he had not. But Kip kept talking because that’s what he always did. “I mean, everyone calls me Kip. So it is my name. But not, like, my real name. It’s, um… Anyway. You want one of those blueberry smoothies?”

“Sounds good,” the man said, politely ignoring how fucking dumb Kip was being.

Kip got to work loading the blender with various frozen fruits and fresh kale. Fortunately it required focus, and then the machine was loud enough that he couldn’t talk over it. He glanced over it at the man, who was now standing with his hands on his hips, studying the uninspired photos of fruit that decorated the small space. Kip’s eyes didn’t know where to land, rapidly jumping from broad shoulders to ridiculously huge arms to a muscled back tapering into a trim waist to an ass that was frankly just—

Kip shook his head and turned off the blender. He fumbled for a plastic cup and filled it with blue smoothie. “Here you are, sir.”

The man turned, nodded, and handed Kip a folded, slightly damp twenty-dollar bill from the pocket of his sweatpants. He waved his hand when Kip tried to hand him his change. “Keep it.”

“Seriously?” Kip asked, watching him take his first sip. Watching his pink lips fit around the straw.

“Yeah.” The man smiled. “We’ll call it a finder’s fee. This is delicious.”

Kip smiled back. “Glad you like it. Have a nice day.”

The man toasted him with his smoothie cup. “You too, Kip.”

Kip felt a little giddy at the sound of his name coming from this man’s mouth. As his dream man exited, another man who was not nearly as attractive walked into the shop.

“Holy shit!” the new customer said, jerking a thumb toward the door. “That was Scott Hunter!”

“Huh?”

The man looked at Kip like he was very dumb. “Scott Hunter.”

“You mean, like, the hockey player guy?” Kip said.

“What?” came a voice from behind him. Maria stood in the doorway to the back room. “Did I seriously miss Scott Hunter?”

“I don’t think… Do you really think that was him?” Kip asked.

The customer nodded. “Oh yeah. Definitely. Surprised he shows his face around town, the way he’s been stinking up the ice lately.”

“He’s not doing well?” Kip did have some awareness of who Scott Hunter was, of course—everyone did, sports fan or not. He was the star center and team captain of the New York Admirals. Three years ago he had led Team USA to Olympic gold. But Kip mostly knew him for his Hugo Boss ads. He was a big fan of those ads.

Kip liked hockey just fine, but he hadn’t been following the NHL too closely. Scott Hunter had always been, to his knowledge, celebrated and beloved in this town. The King of New York, really. But apparently Kip had missed something.

“Yeah, he’s been terrible this season,” the customer continued. “Hasn’t scored a goal since November! Don’t know what they’re paying him all that money for. They should trade the bum.”

“Well…” Kip said, not sure how to finish. It was ridiculous, but he felt personally offended by this guy’s criticisms, and was compelled to defend Scott Hunter. “Maybe he’s just going through some stuff.”

The customer snorted. “He can go through it in the summer. We’re not gonna make the playoffs this year if he keeps this shit up.”

Kip still felt inexplicably angry, but shrugged it off and gave the guy his smoothie so he would leave.

When they were alone again, Maria said, “Was Scott Hunter really in here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, now that that guy mentioned it, I think it had to be. I was kind of distracted by how hot he was, but, yeah, he definitely looked like Hunter. And, uh, he gave me a huge tip.”

“How huge? We have to split it, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It was like a thirteen-dollar tip!”

“What?”

“Well, if it was Hunter, that’s probably, like, nothing, right? He probably doesn’t care about money at all.”

“Must be nice.”

“Yeah.”

“Soooo,” Maria said, leaning over into Kip’s personal space, “he was hot?”

“Oh my god.” Kip grinned. “He was volcanic. He didn’t look real.”

“What was he wearing?”

“Workout clothes. He’d just been running, I think. Really tight workout clothes.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yup.”

“I can’t believe I missed it. If he comes back, you have to tell me. Even if I’m in the bathroom, just get me!”

“Sure, that won’t be weird.”

Maria started loading the freshly chopped fruit and vegetables into the fridges. Kip helped. They worked quietly for a few minutes.

“Hey,” Kip said, “he said my name.”

“Who? Hunter? He actually said the word ‘Kip’?”

“Yeah,” Kip said dreamily.

“God, I’ll bet when he says it, it doesn’t even sound dumb.”

Kip threw a strawberry at her.

* * *

Kip saw the headline the next morning on the train: Night of the Hunter! He leaned forward a little to read the front page of the paper of the passenger sitting opposite him. Apparently Hunter had scored a hat trick last night and got two assists in a 7–1 trouncing of Washington. Kip smiled. He felt oddly proud of him.

Yeah, so nice that millionaire superstar had a good night. Sheesh.

The Admirals were playing in New Jersey tonight, the paper said. As Kip walked the two blocks from the train station to Straw+Berry, he thought about the last time he had been to an Admirals game. Must have been at least eight years ago. No, longer, because he’d never seen Hunter play except on television.

Jesus, am I just going to think about Scott Hunter all the time now?

He yawned as he took his key out and unlocked the door to the shop. He needed to find a job with a later start. Getting up before five to be at work before six was ridiculous. Especially for minimum wage.

The morning went the same as most weekdays: steady rush from about seven until nine, and then a bit of quiet before the customers Maria had dubbed the “yoga moms” started to trickle in.

“Your boyfriend had a good night last night,” Maria said as she restocked the orange bowl.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Scott Hunter. Scored, like, a million goals or something.”

“Three goals,” Kip corrected her, “and two assists.”

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t realize you were such a hard-core fan.”

“I’m not! I read the paper on the way here. It’s, like, big news or whatever.”

“Oh my god! You are mad crushing on him right now! You went home last night and Google-image-searched Scott Hunter, didn’t you?”

“No!” Yes.

“Whatever. You are such a fanboy. So cute.”

“I hate you.”

“You don’t.”

Maria stacked oranges and Kip swept the floor behind the counter even though it wasn’t that dirty. He just hated standing around doing nothing.

At a little past ten, the door opened and Kip was once again faced with Scott Hunter in sweaty workout clothes.

This time Maria was there to witness it. “Holy shit.”

Kip elbowed her as subtly as possible.

“Good morning again, Kip,” the man who was definitely Scott Hunter said.

“Good morning, um… Jesus. You’re Scott Hunter, right?”

He looked amused. “I am.”

“That is so awesome,” Maria breathed.

“It’s, um,” Kip started, then switched courses. “Great game last night.”

“Thanks! Thought I might get another one of those blueberry smoothies. When something goes right in my game, I like to try to repeat what I did that day.”

“Right,” Kip said. Scott’s eyes were blue. They were so blue.

“So…another blueberry smoothie, please.”

“Right!” Kip broke out of his trance and got to work making the smoothie.

Scott Hunter was, once again, wearing an absurdly tight Under Armour jacket and sweatpants. His hair was damp and mussed, and his skin was slightly flushed from exercise. Kip Grady was, once again, wearing a fucking dumb apron and a ball cap with a goddamn strawberry on it. But at least he wasn’t hungover this time.

He handed the star athlete his smoothie and tried not to focus too closely on the way his lips wrapped around the straw. It was difficult because Scott was looking directly at him as he took his first sip. His lips curved up a bit when he noticed Kip’s staring.

“Thanks again, Kip,” he said. “Hopefully I’ll see you next game day.”

He raised the smoothie cup in a farewell salute, and then he left.

When Kip turned to Maria, her jaw was on the floor.

“‘Hopefully I’ll see you next game day’?” she said. “Are you kidding me?”

“What?”

“He’s completely into you, Grady!”

Kip turned as red as the strawberry on his hat. “Oh, come on. That’s not what he meant.”

“Sure it isn’t.”

“It isn’t! He’s just superstitious. He means he hopes it works and he has a great game tonight so he’ll be back again next game day! That’s it!”

“I know that’s what he was saying on the surface, idiot, but that’s not all he was saying.”

“He’s not even… Oh my god. I can’t believe I’m talking about this. Scott Hunter is not into dudes. And he’s definitely not into dudes who work at smoothie shops.”

“If you say so.”

“I’m going to go back there and chop the pineapple,” Kip grumbled.

“Better check to make sure we have lots of blueberries stocked,” Maria singsonged after him.

* * *

Kip stood in the living room of his best friend’s Tribeca apartment, admiring the view of the Hudson River. He couldn’t even imagine what a place like this would cost.

Living in New York City was expensive, but Kip had a super impressive strategy that allowed him to work a minimum-wage job and manage to file his student loan payments on time each month: He still lived with his parents.

Yes, he was twenty-five. Yes, he had graduated university when he was twenty-two. But the thing was, history majors weren’t exactly being snapped up on the job market.

Kip had dreams. Aspirations. He wanted to work at one of the museums. Maybe move on to work at one in Europe one day. Maybe write a book or two. Maybe host a popular television show where he traveled the world and presented different important historic sites to the home viewers. Maybe consult on historical movies in Hollywood…

Or maybe turn fruit and vegetables into drinkable mush for busy people on their way to jobs that were actually important.

The owner of the apartment in which he now stood, Elena, had a real job and a life that seemed very adult compared to Kip’s. She was a cybersecurity engineer for Equinox Tech, one of the fastest-growing IT companies in the country. Kip did not know what exactly a cybersecurity engineer was, but it seemed to pay very well and it sounded impressive.

Elena was, hands down, the smartest person Kip knew. Besides being brilliant and funny, she was also stunningly beautiful—an unusual combination of her father’s Norwegian height and bone structure, and her mother’s Lebanese dark hair and olive skin.

Kip’s friendship with her back in high school had helped him realize that he wasn’t sexually interested in women. Because if he wasn’t interested in her, well…

Anyway, Elena had probably known he was gay before he did. She knew everything before he did.

“You need a roommate?” Kip asked, turning away from the windows.

“No,” she said. “Not ever.”

They settled themselves on her couch to eat Szechuan food (Elena did not cook). Kip had barely taken a bite before Elena casually said, “So. Who is he?”

Noodles slipped from Kip’s chopsticks, sliding back into the box they came from. “What? Who? What do you mean?”

“You’ve had a dreamy look on your face all night. Who are you thinking about?”

Kip’s face flushed. He poked at the noodles with his chopsticks. “No one.”

“Christopher.” Elena liked to use his real name when he was exhausting her.

“You’ll laugh.”

“That doesn’t sound like me.”

Kip smiled at that. “It’s just… You know Scott Hunter?”

“Do I know Scott Hunter? Not personally, no.”

“You’ve heard of him, though.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. So he’s been coming by the shop.”

“The smoothie shop?”

“Yeah. The past couple of days. For luck, he says, because he played so well after he got a smoothie yesterday morning. So he came in today and got another one because they are playing again tonight.”

“Okay.”

“He’s just… He’s really hot, is all.”

Elena’s lips twitched a bit, but she didn’t laugh. “That’s exciting.”

“Yeah.”

They continued to eat in silence. And Kip, who apparently could not be cool about this, lasted all of a minute before he blurted out, “He knows my name.”

Elena raised an eyebrow.

“He said, ‘Good morning, Kip,’ when he came in today.” Kip tried, but failed, to keep the dopey grin off his face.

“That must have been a thrill.”

“Yeah, and, uh, he said he hopes to see me again. You know, like, if the smoothie works, or whatever.”

“The magic hockey smoothie?”

“Stop making fun of me.”

“I’m not! And I’ll tell you what else: We are watching that hockey game tonight.”

* * *

Kip was embarrassingly nervous watching the hockey game. Every hit Scott took, Kip flinched. Every shot Scott launched at the net, Kip held his breath. He wanted this game to go well for Hunter, and there was no point in kidding himself about why.

At the end of the first period, the score was tied 1–1. Scott stopped on his way into the dressing room for a quick interview. He pulled his helmet off, and his damp hair stuck out in all directions. Kip’s heart fluttered. Scott was drenched in sweat, even more so than when he came into the shop after his runs. Kip could see the glisten of it down Scott’s neck, into the red collar of his jersey.

Scott was saying words about strong defense and working as a team. His beautiful mouth hovered above the microphone, his blue eyes looking neither at the camera nor at the man interviewing him. It was like he was barely present at this interview, already wherever he’d rather be at that moment.

“He’s definitely attractive,” Elena said.

“Yeah…” Kip breathed.

The game stayed close for the second period. It wasn’t until the third period, when Scott scored two goals and assisted on one more, that the Admirals silenced the fans in the Newark arena. Kip was giddy.

“God, he’s incredible. That last goal, he probably shot that puck a hundred miles an hour, but it looked like slow motion.”

“He’s got talented hands,” Elena agreed, with a quirk of her lips.

She picked up her phone and typed something. “Next game is Saturday night at home against Tampa Bay,” she said. “Are you working on Saturday?”

Kip groaned. “Fuck! I need to be—I’ve gotta switch shifts! Who’s working Saturday?”

He picked up his own phone and texted Maria. Are you working Saturday?

The response came a minute later. Yes?

Kip: Can I switch with you?

Maria: Why?

Kip: I’m scheduled for Friday. Let’s swap. Please?

Maria: Is this about Scott Hunter?!

Kip felt dumb, but he still typed, Maybe.

Maria: Jesus, Kip.

Kip: PLEASE?!

Maria: Fine.

There was a pause, and she added, You’re working with Jeff.

Ugh. Jeff was the worst. Just really lazy and basically stoned all the time. Kip couldn’t even believe he still worked there.

But it would be worth it, because when the game ended, the score was 6–2 for the Admirals. Which meant Scott was going to be coming in on Saturday for sure.

Probably for sure.

Almost certainly for sure.



A high-stakes career collides with love when a chance meeting ignites a spark.

Release Date: December 5, 2025(Ep 3)
     November 28, 2025(Series premiere)
Release Time: 48 minutes

Director: Jacob Tierney

Cast:
Episode 3 Main Cast:
FranΓ§ois Arnaud as Scott Hunter
Robbie G.K. as Christopher "Kip" Grady
Bianca Nugara as Maria Villanueva
Brandon Ash-Mohammed as Shawn
Matthew Finlan as Kyle Swift
Nadine Bhabha as Elena Rygg
Matt Gordon as George Grady

Series Cast:
Hudson Williams as Shane Hollander
Connor Storrie as Ilya Rozanov
Christina Chang as Yuna Hollander
Ksenia Daniela Kharlamova as Svetlana Vetrova
Callan Potter as Hayden Pike
Franco Lo Presti as Cliff Marleau
Kamilla Kowal as Jackie Pike
Yaroslav Poverlo as Polkovnik Grigori Rozanov
Slavic Rogozine as Alexei Grigoryevich Rozanov
Dylan Walsh as David Hollander
Benjamin Roy as Jean-Jacques "JJ" Dagenais
Kolton Stewart as Carter Vaughn
Sophie NΓ©lisse as Rose Landry


Notes:
Episode 3 is Scott & Kip's story which connects to the first book the author's series. There is a little at the end of episode 5 and beginning of episode 6 that is also part of Scott and Kip's journey.  Episodes 1, 2, 4, 5, & 6 belong to Shane & Ilya, who are the focus of book 2 in the series, Heated Rivalry.










Rachel Reid

Rachel Reid is the pen name of Rachelle Goguen. She chose it because it is much easier to say, spell and remember than Rachelle Goguen!

Rachel writes cute, romantic smut, mostly about hockey players.

Rachel/Rachelle lives in Nova Scotia, Canada. She has always lived there, and it's looking like she probably always will. She has two boring degrees and two interesting kids.

Her Game Changers male/male hockey romance series is published by Carina Press and is available wherever you buy ebooks or audiobooks!


BLUESKY  /  RACHEL REID  /  KOBO
TUNES  /  AUDIBLE  /  AUDIOBOOKS  /  B&N
BOOKBUB  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS



Game Changer #1
AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  B&N
iTUNES  /  iTUNES AUDIO  /  CARINA
AUDIBLE  /  AUDIOBOOKS  /  BOOKBUB

Series
AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  B&N
KOBO  /  iTUNES  /  iTUNES AUDIO

Film







Thursday, June 11, 2026

πŸŒˆπŸ’⏳Throwback Thursday's Time Machine⏳πŸ’πŸŒˆ: First Season by RJ Scott & VL Locey




Summary:

Harrisburg Railers #2
Layton craves success. Adler longs for family. Can love give them both what they need?

Layton Foxx has worked relentlessly for everything he has—his career, his condo, his hard-earned independence. After enduring tragedy, he’s convinced love is a distraction he doesn’t need. He’s too focused, too careful to let anyone in. Then he crosses paths with Adler Lockhart, the charismatic, irresistible winger for the Harrisburg Railers, and suddenly, love is impossible to ignore.

Adler Lockhart has always lived a life of privilege—cars, luxury homes, an Ivy League education, all handed to him without question. Yet, the one thing he’s never had is the love of a caring family or the devotion of a good man. Then Layton walks into his world, guarded and driven, and Adler falls so fast it makes his head spin. Layton is everything Adler never knew he was looking for—brilliant, determined, and fiercely independent.

But Layton keeps him at arm’s length, refusing to believe someone like Adler could be serious about him. So Adler does what he does best—he goes all in. Grand gestures, small gifts, endless teasing, and showing up even when Layton insists he shouldn’t. Adler is relentless, determined to prove that love isn’t a weakness—it’s the one thing Layton deserves most. Now, he just has to convince Layton to take a chance on them.


Original Review October 2017:
Layton Foxx has worked hard for his career and getting a call from the Railers to manage the coming out of the first professional hockey player is a make or break move for him and despite knowing absolutely nothing about the sport he jumps in anyway.  Adler Lockhart may have the money of his family even if he doesn't exactly have their love, he's grown up using humor as his goto coping method even if it often sees him in a "speak now think later" situation.  When these two meet, the attraction is on fire but will their opposing ways of handling scenarios smother the flames?

I'll start by repeating myself from book one: "I am NOT a hockey fan. I don't dislike it but if all the hockey arenas in the world were to disappear tomorrow, I would not miss the sport."  But as with book one, you don't need to be a hockey fan to appreciate the story or the characters of First Season or the entire Harrisburg Railers series.  The sport is obvious a big part of the story but it isn't the whole story and frankly, RJ Scott and VL Locey do a pretty darn good job of setting the scene so the reader understands the ins and outs of professional hockey.  But as I said, love, friendship, and family is at the heart of First Season and I can't imagine it being accomplished any better than what these lovely ladies bring us.

Layton and Adler's attraction is palpable from their first meeting but its also obvious they approach life from opposite ends of the spectrum, Layton has to think things through with a plan in place to keep control and Adler is from the "speak now think later" mentality which is his way of taking control of the room.  They both have reasons behind why they are the way they are which I won't touch on here but those reasons make this journey all the more heartwrenching and heartwarming once they each open up to the other.

Personally I found First Season to be a bit more angsty than Changing Lanes but still absolutely lovely.  When I read a series where each book is focused on a different couple, I rarely enjoy each installment as much as the first which is not to say they are not as good its just I fall so deeply for the first couple that the others just don't usually measure up.  As I started Season, I was sure that was going to be the case here because I just loved Ten and Jared from Changing so much but the deeper in I got I found myself falling even harder for Layton and Adler.  Truth is, no matter which couple you love more(and that goes for future installments) Harrisburg Railers by RJ Scott and VL Locey is superb storytelling that grabs your interest, sports fan or not doesn't matter because these ladies know how to spin a yarn into a beautiful afghan of love that will keep you warm all winter long.

RATING:





Chapter One
Layton
This was turning out to be the worst day of my life. Worse even than the time the football team decided to shove me in a locker, and then wedge the door shut.

Everything started out okay. The Railers appointment was my third job since leaving college and choosing to specialize in crisis management. Call me a spin doctor or a marketing guy, it doesn’t matter; I was there with my bright, shiny degree in business in my back pocket, to solve a problem using social media, training, and careful planning.

“We want to hire you, but are you gay?” The caller asked when he contacted me.
He couldn’t really ask me that, but at that point, with bills to pay, I worded it a lot better than just blurting out a “What the hell?”

“I’m not sure how that’s relevant,” I said.

The man on the other end of the phone, who hadn’t even identified himself, just that he worked for a hockey team, sighed noisily. “Fucked if I know,” he said. “I just need someone to help us through this.”

So I asked him what he meant, and at the point when he completely lost his shit over whether to use the word homosexual in a press release, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“I can handle this,” I reassured him. “You need me.”

I didn’t care how I got it, I just knew that I was the best person for the job.

He told me he was the GM for the Railers hockey team, and even though my heart sank and my chest tightened, I had to do this. A hockey team, a player coming out of the closet—this was a high-value client.

I did my research after the call; I didn’t watch hockey, but I knew of it, and it was basically a bunch of jocks on skates. Right? They needed to be told when to talk and when not to talk, and what was appropriate and when. I could do that. Add in the fact that I would be managing the first official coming-out in the hockey world, and this could make or break my career. I could become a crisis management expert in the field of sports.

The irony of that didn’t escape me, given my past.

I had breakfast, wore my newest suit, a crisp white shirt and a brand new blue tie to match the team colors. I’d shaved off my non-ironic loggers’ beard, and my man bun was gone. I felt a little naked, but I wanted to be taken seriously, and what used to be hot in styling now seemed to be the butt of jokes. I didn’t want to be the butt of anyone’s jokes.

Honestly, I’d thought of everything.

Except.

Walking into the East River Arena, home of the Harrisburg Railers hockey team, freaked me out. It was the smell, I think, and the cavernous expanse of seats. I could imagine the shouting, the jeering, the excitement, and all of that became a ball of fear inside me.

Jocks. I can handle them. They’re adults now, and I’m not the same nerdy kid I used to be.

Still, it didn’t stop me losing my breakfast in the first bathroom I could find off the tunnel from the parking garage. So much for eating to give me energy. I was a wrung-out mess, clinging to porcelain and wishing I could get a handle on my nerves. I’d had two clients before this, big companies with interesting problems, where my lectures on sensitivity awareness had been well received. I could handle rough feedback, crappy tweets, Facebook discussions about inappropriate shit, but they were corporate clients, not hockey players.

It was me and them.

Alone.

Talking one-on-one with hockey players and the support network around them about how it was okay for one of their players to be sleeping with their coach. Also that gay was good, love was love, and oh yeah, could they stop tweeting shit about anything to do with gender, politics, and sexual orientation, to name three things on my list.

These guys were jocks. Well-paid jocks, with a whole army of fans who hung on their every word. The captain had over eighty thousand Twitter followers, mostly because he seemed to be the poster boy for sex on skates. Lots of tweets with videos of him half naked. Not to mention Ten’s Instagram, which was new, but which already had an explosion of followers, probably for the same reason—he was hot, and a skater. I noticed links to a lot of websites that featured the hottest men in hockey. Without knowing it, Ten and the team captain were probably gay icons. Go figure.

And it was for Ten and his boyfriend that I was here. Ten was the hotshot on the Railers team, one of those players who were making a mark on the NHL. Or so the press releases said. All I saw was a gay man coming out in a hostile sports environment and that was what I was dealing with.

Ten, hockey player, and his partner, Jared, coach, were in a committed relationship and I had to make people see that this was normal. Okay. A good thing.

I can do this. I am strong. I will not be sick again.

I relaxed each tight muscle and swallowed around the dryness in my throat. Today was going to go well. Why would anything go wrong? I’d prepared what I needed, researched enough about the team to know the personnel, if not the game of hockey itself; there was only so much I could do in the week since I’d been called to do this job. I even had an office, apparently.

So I’d been sick; lots of people got sick before significant events. I could handle being sick.

Which was exactly when things went even more wrong. I turned the tap on to wash my hands, and the damn thing was fierce and splashed my pants. I jumped back in shock and horror, and smacked myself on the door to a stall, the brunt of my weight taken by my left hip.

“Fuck,” I cursed, and turned off the water. There was no hand dryer, just paper towels, and I dabbed my pants, painfully conscious that my first meeting with team management was in ten minutes.

I dabbed at the wetness, then realized some of the water had splashed my briefcase as well. That was the moment I wondered if the morning could get any worse.

Which was when the door opened and I swung, startled, to face the newcomer, my briefcase swinging as well and catching the man in the thigh.

“Jesus,” I snapped, angry with myself, then let out a small, “I’m sorry.”

Tall and Growly stared at me in shock, muscles tensed, and rubbed his thigh. “What the fuck?” was all he said.

He was wearing a Railers T-shirt, but I didn’t recall him from my research, so if he was a player then he couldn’t be one of the big names I needed to know about to start with. Maybe he was a trainer?

“Sorry,” I repeated.

He stared at me, then looked me up and down with a very careful, disdainful look. Or at least I thought it was disdainful; he looked for a moment like he was checking me out, but that wasn’t possible given that we were in a hockey arena. He was gorgeous—blue eyes, his red hair styled but soft, his jawline square, and his body broad.

Then the disdain, or whatever it was, turned into a sly wink, and he gestured at my crotch.

“Hey buddy, you might want to make time for a potty break sooner if you have such a teeny bladder. Just saying.”

I blinked at him, not knowing what to say. I mean, did I stand there and explain about the tap, or the water, or falling back against the stall door, or even that I’d just lost my breakfast?

I couldn’t say any of it. I picked up my jacket from the small table by the door and shoved past him and out into the hall. A few seconds later I was at the door marked “Staff,” and pressed the button to get in.

“Railers Hockey,” a voice came through the speaker by the door.

“Layton Foxx,” I said, and caught sight of the bathroom guy walking my way. The door buzzed, I pushed it open, shut it quickly behind me, and hoped to hell that would give me breathing space.

A short woman stood waiting with a welcoming smile on her face and holding out a hand. I shook it, realizing at the last moment that mine was damp.

“Jane Monroe, PA to Felix Cote, team owner.”

She didn’t react to the damp on my hand, but when I pulled it away I was flustered.

“Sorry, I had a thing,” I began, then cleared my throat, which was raw from vomiting, “with the bathroom faucet,” and I waved at my crotch.

Her lips twitched into a smile. “This way, Mr. Foxx, management is expecting you.”

Fuck my life.

The day didn’t get much better. The management team had been a nervous, twitchy, bunch, and worried about the big picture. I hadn’t entirely got the sense that they had an issue with the gay hockey player thing, but their bottom line was revenue.

The brief had expanded from supporting Ten and Jared to ensuring that revenue wasn’t harmed.

Great, nothing like moving the goalposts on my first day and setting unrealistic expectations.

At least Felix Cote had been supportive; I often found changes in any group had to be supported by the person at the top. He’d made some veiled comments about how things had been “in his day,” but I could work with that.

Tennant Rowe and Jared Madsen were going to make my career or destroy it in one go, that much was obvious. Now, looking at them sitting opposite me, at the way they unconsciously leaned toward each other, worried me. As a gay man who’d been out to his family and friends since he was sixteen, I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have to hide who you are, but that was the playing field in professional sports, no pun intended.

These two—one a coach on the team, the other a professional hockey player in his prime—had fallen in love. Not only that, but they’d decided it was time to come out, and the Railers had hired me to manage the fallout.

Because there would be fallout, that much was certain.

“It’s going to come at you from all directions,” I said.

Tennant frowned at me. His emotions were written plainly on his face. He was angry, defensive, scared, happy, positive and negative, all in one horrible mess. The only thing I could pin down was that he was absolutely in love with Jared and completely convinced of what he wanted to do.

“Go on,” Jared said, and he laced his fingers with Ten’s. They could in here—we were alone, the three of us, with the door closed and no cameras. But this was the first thing they needed to handle.

“You need to be careful with public displays of affection.”

I saw two very different reactions. Jared looked resigned and nodded, but Ten bristled with the start of genuine indignation. I knew what he was going to say, and I headed him off at the pass.

“It shouldn’t matter,” I began, choosing my words carefully, “But this isn’t going to be easy. There will be the religious fans deciding you’re going against God, right down to the parents who don’t want their kids exposed to non-heteronormative behavior. The spectrum of reaction will be varied. You’ll get some who advocate for you, the team, the management, and fans who don’t give a shit what you do in your private time as long as Ten is scoring goals.”

“We know that,” Jared said.

“We don’t have to like it,” Ten said, and his tone was worrying. He sounded miserable, and he was fully leaning against Jared.

I shuffled the papers on the desk, lining them up to give myself time to think. I’d managed personal clients before, polished them as a product, managed their every moment until they learned how to act in public and how to make the best of who they were. Only, those had been people who needed to clean up their act. I’d helped the telecom company with their painful downsizing, and a college with an equality issue. I was the best at what I did, and I worked hard to make things right for people. But this? The two of them didn’t have to come out publicly; they could go on being the secret that wasn’t a secret, at least until Ten’s playing days were done. He might be only twenty-two, but a professional career doing what these players did was often over by their early thirties. Sometimes sooner, I thought when I recalled that a heart problem had sidelined Jared from his professional career. Ten would only have to wait another decade or so to retire. Was that something he’d be willing to do? I had to ask the question, and hoped I didn’t lose the confidence of either man.

“You could stop this now,” I said bluntly.

Jared was the first to speak. “I know, but we won’t stop.”

Ten bit his lip. “We want this.”

I nodded and looked down at my notes, but I didn’t need them. I’d had my own share of prejudice in life; plenty of life experience to tap from.

“The press will love you and hate you equally. If the Railers lose, it will be reported widely in different ways. The quality press may well suggest that Ten was distracted, with the implication being that Jared here is the distraction. The gossip sites could suggest that maybe you’re having too much gay sex with your gay coach. On the other hand, if you win, it could be suggested that you freaked out the other team, that maybe they didn’t want to be near you. Then there are the really shitty things they can say. They could bring up skating accidents, blood, HIV—it might not stop with criticism about your sexual orientation, but could become something bigger.”

“And on a positive note?” Jared asked dryly.

“Sorry.” I sat back in my chair. “I needed to explain that to you up front.”

“We already know all that,” Ten said tiredly.

“And I’m here as your supporter in this. We’re in open dialogue with various equality-in-sports groups—”

“Locker rooms should be safe and sports venues should be free from homophobia. Athletes should be judged on talent, heart and work ethic, not sexual orientation and/or gender identity.” Ten mumbled the whole mission statement of one of the biggest groups advocating for equality.

“That’s what we’re aiming for.”

“Okay, so where do we start?” Ten said, and gripped Jared’s hand tight.

“I’m not big into hockey,” I began.

Jared looked shocked. Ten’s mouth fell open.

“But that doesn’t stop me understanding the social and economic issues we’re facing with this.”

“You don’t like hockey?” Ten said incredulously, like that wasn’t a possible thing in his world.

“It isn’t important to know the game to be aware of the culture.”

“That’s crap.” That was from Jared, who shook his head. “I’ll sit you down and explain a few things, and you need to sit in on games. If you don’t get hockey, then…” He paused and searched for the right words. “You don’t get hockey.”

“It’s on my list,” I reassured him.

“Seriously? No hockey at all?” Ten asked again.

I decided to change the subject. “First off, I need to find out a bit more about both of you. Ten, I understand you have two brothers who also play hockey?”

The meeting was long, but by the time we’d got to the end of it I had a picture of the sort of thing I was up against. We had a lot of positives going for us. Management was looking to spin the whole coming-out story to their benefit. Being the first NHL team with an out player would either be an incredible marketing option, or cut ticket revenue. They were demanding the first and ignoring the chance of the second. The team was next on my list; I’d be interviewing them singly for short sessions behind closed doors, to ascertain any issues I’d have to deal with. Those started soon, and first up was the captain, Connor Hurley.

“Connor,” I said as he stepped in. I shook his hand. “I’m Layton Foxx.”

“Nice to meet you, Layton.”

Connor was a quiet guy, all serious eyes and focus, and he listened to everything I had to say and asked reasonable, well-thought-out questions. He was one hundred percent behind Ten and Jared, and he was a good guy to have on our side.

“It helps that Ten’s brothers have a significant presence on other teams,” he said, and I made a note of that. I’d been thinking the same thing. Ten was close with his brothers, and they had his back.

“Do you have any concerns with the team?”

He and I had signed a confidentiality form at the start of the session, as I’d do with the entire team as I saw them one by one. He knew he could speak freely, but in any case he was intense when it came to the team, and he didn’t hesitate to sketch me the bigger picture of who each player was and what I should look out for, good and bad. From defenseman, Arvy who had a gay cousin, to a new guy on the team, Adler, who seemed ambivalent about the entire situation. I made so many notes, I knew I’d have to go through them and summarize in places.

I liked the Railers captain, and when we shook hands I thanked him for his time. He took his role as seriously as I took mine, and there was mutual respect there.

After meeting with a few of the other players, I was done for day one. I shuffled all my notes again, lining them up and putting them into my briefcase along with the iPad that was my connection to the outside world. Then I reported in to Emma, the marketing manager for the team and the person alongside whom I’d be working.

She was demonstrably grateful that all that mess hadn’t been handed to her, so that meant I’d earned one hell of a lot of brownie points.

There was a small group of guys in the parking area. One I recognized—Stan the Russian, as Captain Hurley called him—was a huge bear of a man, and he was staring as I walked toward them. The direction wasn’t deliberate; they were huddled by my car.

“Guys,” I said calmly, even though the sight of these big men waiting by my car was enough to have me feeling anxious as memories of old times poked at me. Not to mention that Stan had his thick arms crossed over his chest and looked like he wanted to go to war with me. I recognized two of the others with him—Coach Benning looking grim, Arvy grinning at me—and the other man was the guy from the bathroom.

That was Adler, the one the captain, in my interview with him that morning, had chosen to highlight as “not exactly vocally critical nor entirely supportive.”

I was scarlet and I knew it, and Adler smirked at me. Asshole.

He wasn’t the first person to smirk at me, and he wouldn’t be the last. Adler Lockhart was a good-looking man, but then a lot of the players on this damn team were hot and right on to burning. Take Arvy with his goofy smile and his long wavy hair, or Coach Madsen with his intense blue stare and air of authority.

“Little bit talk,” Stan said, his voice loud and booming in the cavernous underground parking.

I glanced from Stan to the others. I wasn’t sure Adler wanted to talk. He was still smirking, but at the same time he looked like he was trying to edge away. The only thing stopping him was that he was pinned between Stan, Arvy, and my car.

I glanced at my watch, like I had to assess if I had the time to stop and talk. Of course I had time. Lots of time. All that was waiting for me at my place was takeout and a night of reading my notes. Oh, and catching up on the hundred or so Facebook messages from my family.

“I can give you five minutes,” I said, to qualify the importance of my time and reinforce my status. It was vital that I didn’t join in with discussions outside the official meetings; I had to stay outside the hockey circle, so that I could maintain a perspective on how things were playing out. Informal meetings didn’t get things done.

Stan pulled aside his shirt and showed me a tattoo. I had to peer closely, because I wasn’t sure what I was looking at, or even why it was being shown to me. It looked like a cartoon character; a PokΓ©mon or something.

“Hulk,” Stan said, and looked at me expectantly like I was supposed to understand a word. I don’t speak any Russian, though, so I looked at Coach for help.

“What he’s saying,” Coach Benning said, “is that he likes Ten, a lot, and that Ten and he had tattoos the same day, and that if you end up hanging Ten out to dry, then he will have something to say about it and go all Hulk on your ass.” The coach’s tone was easy, but there was a thread of steel in there.

“You got all that from one word?” I asked, and looked up at Stan, who was still scowling.

Coach only smiled. “He’s a man of few words. English ones, anyway.”

Stan clapped a hand on my shoulder, and jeez, he was one strong man. For a split second, fear skittered through me, but I pushed the fear back down where it belonged. No one here was going to hurt me.

I edged out of Stan’s reach and offered up my most reassuring smile. Stan looked at me, and then he smiled as well.

Seemed like we had an agreement going.

“Are we done talking about cock now?” Adler said loudly, breaking the accepting vibe in the small group. He underscored the words by grabbing suggestively at his groin. “Unless we’re whipping them out.”

“Jesus Christ, Ads,” Arvy snapped, and elbowed him.

Adler grinned. “All I’m saying is some of us have actual sex to go home to and don’t spend all day jawing about it.”

Then he shoved his way past Arvy, who shoved him back before letting him go.

“Asshole,” Arvy muttered, but it wasn’t said with heat. I exchanged glances with him, and he gave that single-shoulder shrug of “What can you do?”

I mentally added Adler to my list of concerns.

The drive home was one of my better commutes, the traffic not too heavy and an audio book a quiet background for my thoughts. I liked music, but sometimes just the drone of words was enough to allow me to center and collect everything together.

I’d been lulled into a false sense of security today, or at least that was what I decided. Everyone had been so accommodating, thoughtful, and encouraged by my words… and then there was Adler. I knew the team was facing a rocky few months, maybe longer, but random comments about cock were not what I was looking for.

I looked up his bio as soon as I walked through the door; he was the one I needed to watch. Apart from his name, there were all kinds of complicated stats, which I made a good guess at and looked the rest up online.

Adler Kincaid Lockhart
Born Nov.4, 1993, Brampton, Maine
6’4 219 lbs.
Left Wing—shoots Left
Last Season—GP 57 – G 31– A 23 – P 54– Plus/Minus 5 – PIM 51 – PPG 19 – GWG 4 – OTG 3- S% 18.2

Seemed pretty straightforward.

I’d met guys like him before. Either he’d been checking me out that morning and he was in the closet, or he was a homophobic asshole and didn’t give a shit who knew it. He’d used the word cock today, and been highly suggestive, so I made some notes about appropriate language, against his name in particular and the rest of the team in general.

Chinese ordered, I sat at the table and decided I’d put off checking family messages long enough. No doubt it would be the typical inane run of news about Zach and Adam and their plumbing business, or David complaining about the economy affecting construction and his electrician business, or maybe it would be Louise talking about daycare and how she wished sometimes that working in daycare didn’t involve children.

Then again, it could be my mom, worrying about me being the only one not living in the old hometown. My moving away from Alton Heights, Michigan, and attending NYU had been both something to be proud of and something to worry her. Add on the fact that I’d never gone home after college, instead buying a place in Harrisburg, and I was apparently the reason she had gray hair.

Privately, I wasn’t the only one of her five children who knew she dyed her hair every four weeks, regular as clockwork, to keep it flawlessly blonde. She was a homemaker—you name it and she did it in the name of looking out for the family. Bake sales, community events, dinner on the table every night at six, she did it all.

I answered Zach’s message about Mom’s seventieth birthday event. “Yes, I’ll be there, tell me when.” I replied to David and Louise in a similar way, because it seemed three out of four of my siblings were convinced I wouldn’t turn up to Janet Foxx’s party.

I loved my mom. After my dad died ten or so years ago she’d been there for me as much as she could, and there was no way I’d miss the event.

Adam’s message was just one long joke about a rabbi in a bar and didn’t really make sense. I typed LOL anyway, and hoped that it was funny and not some serious story about an actual rabbi he’d met in a bar.

So when the Chinese arrived and I’d tipped it onto a plate, I had one more person to talk to, and I thumbed through my contacts for Mom, steeling myself to answer all the usual questions.

“Finally my baby calls,” she said by way of a hello. “I nearly sent Zach to find out if you were still alive. You never call, you never visit…”

Wow, she hadn’t waited long to lay the guilt over me. “Mom, you know I’d come back if I could.”

“You still working with that actor?”

“No, with a hockey team now, as a social media awareness and crisis management support officer.”

“A what now?”

“A social—”

“Oh,” she interrupted. “You should talk to David about hockey. You remember Calvin, his friend from junior high? Well his cousin’s friend’s brother… or was it his brother’s cousin? Wait, that wouldn’t make sense, would it? Anyhow, this young boy has moved lock stock and barrel up north, playing for some team.”

North to my mom meant Canada, and no, I didn’t recall a Calvin, or know what the hell she was talking about. I’m the youngest of five children, with a big gap between me and the next sibling up, Louise, my only sister. Mom and Dad had me late—she was forty-four and pregnant with her fifth, and now, as I neared twenty-six, my strong-as-an-ox mom was reaching her seventieth. All those years she’d given me and my siblings meant I could stand to listen to her rambling on about a kid I didn’t know.

“So you got a boyfriend yet?”

That blindsided me, the question coming out of nowhere, and entirely separate from the subject of Calvin’s kind-of-cousin who played hockey.

“No, Mom,” I said.

“You just dating casually?” she asked.

I cut her off before she began to ask me about my sex life, and believe me, she loved asking about that. “Yes, a hockey player,” I lied.

“Good. I want to see you enjoying life.”

“I do, Mom.”

“So are you coming for my surprise party next month?”

“Mom, jeez,” I spluttered. “You’re not supposed to know about that.”

“Oh, so there is one, then.”

Shit. I’d just been played by my mother.

“No,” I said, but it really was too late. “Mom, I have to go; my takeout has arrived.”

“Okay, Layton. You take care, now, and call me more often.”

“I will, Mom.”

Guilt at lying to her poked at me insistently, but I tried to ignore it. I shoveled in a fork of noodles and opened my iPad with my other hand, typing a quick message to Louise, who I knew was the chief organizer of Mom’s birthday, admitting what had happened. There wasn’t an immediate reply; I hadn’t expected one.

Between my four siblings, there were four spouses and at last count, ten children, Louise leading the pack with five children all by the age of thirty-one, the youngest only a couple of months old now.

I was seriously the odd one out in that family.

The only one to go to college and get a degree, the only one with a career that pulled in good money, the only one who moved away.

I went to bed with a hundred questions in my head, all focused around the Railers and my plans for the team. First off I needed to talk to each player, and I moved Adler Lockhart up the list.

I got the feeling that the gorgeous man with the come-to-bed eyes and the seriously un-PC attitude was the one to watch.




Saturday's Series Spotlight
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RJ Scott
Writing love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards

USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.

She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.









VL Locey
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, 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 domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.

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.




RJ Scott
EMAIL: rj@rjscott.co.uk
EMAIL: vicki@vllocey.com



First Season #2
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