Showing posts with label hockey allies bachelor bid. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hockey allies bachelor bid. Show all posts

Monday, June 16, 2025

πŸŒˆπŸ’Monday Morning's MenuπŸ’πŸŒˆ: Scoring Slater by Susan Scott Shelley



Summary:

Hockey Allies Bachelor Bid #3
Slater Knox is known around the league as the tough enforcer for the Buffalo Bedlam. His popular social media accounts and open relationship with the fans have made him one of the most beloved players in hockey. They've also earned him a spot in the All Star game, and an invitation to be a bachelor at a charity auction. For all his living in the spotlight, he's hiding a secret... He's in love with his best friend and keeping quiet grows harder each day.

Noah Alzado is the newest addition to the team, and has spent the last few months joined at the hip with his best friend Slater. Slater is everything Noah wants, but won't let himself have. They are best friends, roommates, and teammates, that's three complications too many. Plus, Noah guards his private life as fiercely as Slater shares his own. His best option is to keep his head down, help his team win, and not do anything stupid... like kissing Slater again.

Everything comes to a head during All Star weekend, where the best in the league compete for ultimate bragging rights, and at the auction, where temptation is hot enough to melt the ice. The chemistry between Slater and Noah is scorching, but can they lower their defenses enough to make a play for love?




Original Review July 2020:
I can't imagine two people more opposite when it comes to their stance on privacy. Slater is open with his fans on social media and Noah keeps things close at hand, not wanting to rock the boat.  Perhaps it's one of the things that make them best friends, opposites attract in love and sometimes opposites attract in friendship.

Both men want the same thing: each other but they also don't want to lose the friendship, both on and off the ice.  Taking that step is one of the hardest things either has possibly ever faced.  Watching them figure it out is heartwarming, the whole tough on the ice and tender at home really works for me.  Don't get me wrong, there were times I wanted to shake them, knock their heads together but that's what makes this story work.  They each have faults, they each have pluses and together they can be magic, if they let themselves and for that final answer you'll have to read Scoring Slater for yourself.

Susan Scott Shelley is not entirely a new author for me, I read a short story in a holiday collection a couple of years ago, recalling that short and Scoring I look forward to more.  If you haven't read her before than Scoring Slater is a great intro to a new author.

RATING:





Chapter One
The sun breaking through the storm clouds over the Toronto skyline made for a perfect picture.

Slater Knox lifted his phone, tapped the camera icon, and then took a moment to play with a filter, deepening the blue of the sky and the gleam of sunlight off of the buildings.

The peaceful scene before him, the calm after the storm, called to him. His left side ached from the punches he'd received in the previous night's game. His right hand ached from the punches he'd thrown. Thinking about the events that led up to that fight, and the dirty hit the opposing team's player had taken at Slater's captain was enough to get his blood boiling all over again. He'd done more damage than he'd received, and had likely made a new enemy, but hopefully had taught that rookie a lesson.

In the three years he'd been in the league, he'd carved out a reputation. Fighter, enforcer, protector, the names all meant the same thing to him. He didn't play dirty, but if opposing teams did, he doled out retaliation, or his preferred term, justice, fast and furious.

He took a few photos, then noticed the lens had also captured his reflection in the hotel room window. Inspiration struck. The fans were always happy to see him in a photo, but adding in other teammates always made them even happier. He adjusted the angle of the phone and shifted his body closer to the teammate by his side. In the corner of his vision, Noah Alzado didn't move, didn't even look up from his gazing out the window, and Slater captured three photos before moving back to his original perch at the other end of the window. He scrolled through the photos, examining them for the best one to post to social. The ones with his and Noah's reflections, side by side, were his favorites.

Hotel room hangouts while on a road trip were a regular thing, not a big deal at all. But everything was different with Noah. The fans had picked up on it too, from their comments and speculations whenever Slater shared a photo of the two of them together.

"Careful, Knoxie." Noah’s amused voice curled around Slater’s nickname like an endearment. "You’ve taken so many pictures today, you'll end up with a repetitive motion injury in your finger."

He lifted his gaze from his phone to where Noah leaned against the hotel room's windowsill a few feet away. The mug of tea steaming in his hands sent wisps of heat curling around his face.

With the sunlight spilling across Noah's features, highlighting his dark hair, perfect profile, the stubble on his jaw, and the inked images covering his arms, the man looked even more devastatingly handsome than usual. And that was saying a lot.

Breath caught in Slater's lungs, and the sarcastic reply he'd readied died in his throat. He couldn't help taking a photo to capture that moment. He could already imagine the image, tinted in black and white or left in full color, hanging as a print in a gallery. Just like the photography exhibit they'd visited on their last day off.

Noah grimaced and raised his mug to shield his face. "No more pictures."

"Come on, one more?" Slater made his plea with a smile and his best puppy dog eyes. The guys liked to give him a hard time about how often he posted, but most of them were happy to pose for a photo to share with the fans. Noah, however, had limited patience for it. "Take a selfie with me. I promised the fans I'd check in before the game."

An eye roll followed a sip of tea, and Noah shook his head, but his blue eyes were twinkling. "You've already checked in with them three times today. One selfie at breakfast, one live video during the morning skate after you found out you won the fan vote as Last Man In for the All Star game, and another selfie after you woke up from your pre-game nap."

Slater grinned. "Stalking my feed, were we?"

A flush bloomed into Noah's cheeks and ears and he shifted his gaze to the horizon. "I can't help noticing when you tag me in things."

But he hadn't tagged Noah in the photo of himself in bed, posted hours after the morning skate video. Thinking of bed, and of what he'd been dreaming about during that nap, and more specifically who, Slater swallowed and willed his traitorous body and heart not to react. He'd kept his attraction a secret for the almost five months that they'd been roommates. Falling in love with his best friend hadn't been part of his plan, but it had happened, slowly, and he didn't know what to do about it.

He certainly couldn't act on it… Could he? They'd been friends for years. Noah's last relationship had ended that summer, right before he'd been traded to the Bedlam. After his breakup, he'd said that he needed a break from dating. Even now, he still didn't seem eager to set out to find someone new. But if Noah was ready, what was the chance that he could return those feelings? There were too many unknowns and too many risks.

Slater set his phone down and reached for his cup of coffee. For the past month, he'd been wrestling with the question of whether to tell Noah how he felt. A hotel room in Toronto, hours before a game, was not the time to share his feelings. Maybe there wouldn't be a good time. Ever. He needed to shift his focus to something else. "It's great that we're both going to the All Star Game. I wasn't sure I'd get voted in."

"Yeah, right. You have the largest social media following of any of the guys in the running for Last Man In. Hell, you're one of the most-followed guys in the league."

That was true. He worked hard at the relationship he'd developed with the fans. "Still, it's different getting in because I interact a ton with the fans rather than getting in because I have one of the hardest shots in the league or lead the team in points."

Both of those reasons were why Noah had been selected. Slater couldn't have been prouder for his friend, but now, being able to share the All Star weekend experience with him made getting in that much sweeter.

Noah shifted away from his spot by the window and rested his hip against the back of the chair behind him. His black T-shirt and black athletic pants more than hinted at the strong muscles they hid, they beckoned and tempted. "You might not lead in points, but you do lead our team in penalty minutes. I'd like to see a game with the enforcers from each team."

"Might as well just put us all in a boxing ring." He snorted at the idea. "It would be fun, but I don't think that's the image the league wants to project."

"No kidding, but you know people would watch it." Noah laughed, and then sent Slater a beaming smile. "Knoxie, you being there is going to make that weekend even better."

"Yeah? You're not going to get sick of me?" They were roommates, drove to and from games and practice together, spent the bulk of their spare time together, had vacationed together, and spent holidays together. Fans and teammates joked that they were joined at the hip. There wasn't anyone else Slater wanted to be with.

Noah's gaze roamed over his face, lingered on his lips for a moment, and then lifted to meet Slater's gaze. He licked his lips and his eyes sparked with an intensity that sent warmth buzzing along Slater's skin. "No."

"Oh." Slater's heartbeat kicked into higher gear, thudding as wonder mixed with desire. He and Noah watched each other, and the urge to reach out and touch was overwhelming, but so was the notion that if he moved an inch, he'd break whatever spell was holding them captivated. Maybe he should say something to Noah.

His phone buzzed and chimed, startling him. Noah glanced at the phone and something in his eyes shuttered and he took a step back.

Instinct had him reaching for the phone before his thoughts caught up with his movements. Slater read the message, blinked, and then read it again, out loud. "It's a message from the Hockey Allies charity. They're holding a bachelor auction during All Star weekend and want me to be one of the bachelors."

"They reached out to me too, a few weeks ago."

Slater nearly dropped his phone as he gaped at Noah. "And you didn't say anything to me about it? Why not?"

One shoulder lifted in a single shrug. "Because I told them no. I didn't see the need to mention it after that."

"Dude. Still. We tell each other all kinds of random shit that happens to us."

The tips of his ears reddened. Noah shifted his feet and peered into his mug. "Maybe I was worried you'd try to talk me into it and make me feel bad about saying no."

Surprise spiked faster than the caffeine hit from the dark roasted brew he'd consumed. "Have I ever tried to make you do something you didn't want to do?"

"Dancing at the club on New Year's Eve."

"That's different. That was dancing with me and having fun with our friends, and you ended up having a great time." Slater pushed away the memory with the brush of his hand. Hurt bloomed, surprising him, and anger followed. He was Noah's protector on the ice, a role that had carried off-ice too. Surely, Noah knew him better than that. "I'd never push you with something if you were uncomfortable."

"Yeah well." He wandered to the windowsill, sighed, and then moved back to the chair again. "I gave them a big donation to make up for it."

Slater glanced at the message again, and thought of all of the LGBTQ kids he'd worked with at summer hockey camps for the past few years and all of the people who had reached out to him to share their own stories of coming out. He had a voice and a presence and he intended to use them, but at the same time, he understood why Noah didn't like the spotlight. "I get why you said no, okay? I do. But I think I'll tell them yes."

Noah's gaze snapped to Slater's face. "You're not serious?"

"Why not? It'll be fun and it's for a great cause." He took a deep breath and decided to test the waters. "Who knows, maybe I'll meet someone."

He studied Noah's face, hoping for a reaction. One way or the other.

Noah's brows raised. He set his mug on the sill, ran a hand through his hair, and his gaze flickered with something Slater couldn't name. "Are you looking… Do you want… You really think you'll meet someone through a charity auction?"

"Celek met Victoria at the fundraiser we did for the animal shelter." Slater hooked his thumbs into his pockets and tried to calm his pounding heart. "And three months later, they're still going strong."

Noah's lips flattened into a line. "That's different."

"How? Lots of couples we know met randomly." He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

Noah's features darkened into a scowl and Slater could almost see the wheels turning as Noah struggled to come up with a decent argument. There wasn't one.

Huffing out a sigh, Noah leaned against the chair and crossed his arms over his chest, matching Slater's stance. His tattoos, dark and sexy, shifted as his muscles bulged and flexed. "Still. I don't think you should do it."

"Well, I do." He weakened, taking another risk, opening himself up to hope. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't."

Noah's gaze intensified into a blazing blue. His lips pressed together again and a line formed between his brows. Finally, he shifted his scrutiny to the wall behind Slater. "No reason why you shouldn't, Knoxie."

Damn. One word from Noah, one crumb of interest, one syllable, and he would've turned down the auction opportunity.

He pasted on a smile. "Um, great."

"Yeah. Great." Noah pushed away from the chair and picked up his mug. "Listen, I'm heading back to my room."

"We don't have to be on the team bus for another hour."

"I know." He smiled but his eyes didn't crinkle in the corners the way they usually did. "I need to call home anyway. I'll see you downstairs later."

"Wait." Slater moved to block his path. "Are you mad? You seem mad."

"I'm not mad, Knoxie. I'm not anything at all." Noah stepped past him and continued through the room. He didn't look back as he walked out the door.

Slater stood rooted to his spot as the door closed. What the hell? Noah was angry, or something else if angry didn't fit, but he wasn't fine. He knew his friend well enough to know a lie when he heard one. Maybe he could have worded things better. Maybe it didn't matter at all.

He settled on the bed with his phone and his mug of coffee and a head filled with confusion. The rustled, rattled feeling was as uncomfortable as the aches in his body. He hated when he and Noah were at odds.

Needing a distraction, he scrolled through the photos he'd posted on his favorite social app. So many pictures and videos included Noah. So many fans' comments had mentions of boyfriends, as though the fans wanted them to get together as much as Slater did.

Maybe the invitation to the auction was the universe's gentle nudge for him to move on from Noah. He hadn't dated anyone since Noah had rolled into town. Hadn’t wanted to pursue anything with the guys who’d shown him the least bit of interest, either. Not with Noah being everything he wanted. He went back to the photos in his camera roll, and uploaded the one of the city skyline with only his reflection in the window. Maybe it was time to stop living in his head, hoping for something that might never happen.

He tapped on the message from the auction's coordinator. Typing out extra exclamation points in his response made up for an enthusiasm he didn't feel.

He'd do the auction.

Anything to get Noah out of his head and out of his heart.



Hot hockey players on the auction block…

Win a date with a professional hockey player during All Star weekend in Chicago. From leading scorers to fan favorites to guys you love to hate, watch the players strut their stuff in support of the Hockey Allies charity. 

Place a bid. You just might find someone to keep you warm.




Susan Scott Shelley
USA TODAY bestselling author Susan Scott Shelley writes romance with heat and heart that celebrates love without limits. She enjoys watching hockey, training for her next run, reading romance novels, and binging episodes of her favorite British TV shows. Susan lives in Philadelphia with her husband and also works as a professional voice over artist. A city girl who likes being out in nature as often as possible, she has yet to meet a plant she hasn’t wanted to take home and she really wants a pet crow.


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Thursday, June 20, 2024

πŸŒˆπŸ’⏳Throwback Thursday's Time Machine⏳πŸ’πŸŒˆ: Keeping Kyle by Jeff Adams



Summary:
Hockey Allies Bachelor Bid #3
An NHL All-Star 
A workaholic entrepreneur
One irresistibly tempting opportunity

KYLE
I can’t believe I let my best friend talk me into being auctioned off for charity. But when I get a look at the guy who placed the winning bid, I feel like I’m the one who snagged the top prize.

AUSTIN
I didn’t get to where I am by letting opportunities slip through my fingers. When I learn that Kyle Pressgrove will be part of the bachelor auction taking place during All-Star weekend, that’s the kind of chance that you grab ahold of, and I have no intention of letting go.

With my career on the line and the possibility of Kyle being traded to a team half-way across the country, things between us might be over before they’ve even begun. I’d give anything to keep Kyle in my life, but everything might not be enough.

Original Review August 2020:
I'm going to start off by saying that I loved how Austin is a workaholic but not for purely selfish gain.  By that I mean, it was wonderful to see a character who is devoted to getting his company going, keeping it strong, but not just for himself but also for his employees.  He doesn't want to let them down, such a fresh approach not explored nearly enough in fiction for my taste, so when it's done I take notice and when it's done believably then it stays with me.

Now you know why I love Austin so let's look at Kyle.  Austin's dream date, his one luxury he's allowed himself to unwind down with: hockey and his favorite player.  Kyle is living the dream by playing for his hometown team but doing his buddy, Garrett(from RJ Scott's Guarding Garrett, book one of this great series) a favor could change his life.  I can't imagine what it would be like to be able to play for the team you grew up watching but I think the author shows us a glimpse of the joy Kyle feels doing so.  Kyle can be a bit of a stickler when it comes to being on time vs. lateness and when dealing with a workaholic that can be issue, I liked how the author factors it in but doesn't let the story get bogged down with "rehashing" elements just to create drama.

Throw these two intriguing characters together and what you have is fun, sexy potential.  Fate never likes to make things easy.  You got business hiccups, trading rumors, and does all that make it the right time for Kyle and Austin to start something beyond the charity auction?  For that answer you have to read for yourself, which I highly recommend doing.  Sure there were times I wanted to bang the guys' heads together for their lack of or miscommunication but without some drama fiction can be a very boring world. Again I loved how the author "spread the drama about" and didn't just hone in one issue, a little bit of everything created the pull that kept me interested from beginning to end.

This is the first book by Jeff Adams that I read and I can safely say it won't be the last.  Aside from the creative idea of the charity auction for a multi-author series, Jeff Adams' characters had their own creative and intriguing side that made them fun to read and root for.  Keeping Kyle is a wonderful blend of friendship, family, romance, heat, humor, drama, all wrapped together in a great little heart-filled package.

RATING:



“You ready for the auction?” In the locker room, my younger brother Bobby started stripping out of his gear as I did the same. The other guys from our pickup game changed around us. “Got a fancy suit so you look extra hot for the bidders?”

“Did you just say hot?” I shot a scowl at Bobby.

“What? I want my brother to get high bids. Family honor on the line and all.”

This locker room always took me back about a dozen years to a time when being jammed in together with a bunch of friends to change was a common occurrence. Bobby played on a recreational team in Chicago, and when I was in town, he always organized a pickup game with some of his friends and teammates.

This weekend, I wasn’t here with the rest of the Detroit Arsenal though. The NHL All-Star Game would be played here, and not only had I—Arsenal center Kyle Pressgrove—been selected to play for the Western Conference, but I’d also be competing in the skills competition for the title of fastest skater. 

An unofficial event for the weekend that I’d gotten involved in was the Hockey Allies hockey bachelor auction to raise money for its work to ensure equality in hockey regardless of a player’s orientation or gender identity. I’m always ready to help a good cause, but being paraded out for bids scared me a bit—actually more than a bit. I’m trying not to focus on that.

Bobby wasn’t helping. 

“Hey, Bobby, is it okay if I bid on him?” My face heated, and I suddenly felt self-conscious in just my jock shorts as one of Bobby’s friends added to my embarrassment.

“Of course, as long as you treat him to a great date if you win.”

“Please stop.” I buried my face in my hands, hoping to will the redness away before looking back to Bobby. It wasn’t easy though. Many of his friends chuckled. I couldn’t blame them for that since I would’ve laughed too in their shoes. “As my brother, you are not allowed to talk to me about being hot… or not being hot… or whatever. Jesus. I can’t believe I let you and Garrett”—or G, as Bobby and I called him—“talk me into this thing. And I’ve got to be up there against Mister ESPN. Really? I get that it’s a good cause, but what if I’m won by some creepy stalker type?” A valid concern since Garrett’s been dealing with that stuff. “And what if no one bids at all?”

“Have you seen you?” 

Why? Why did he keep going? 

“The hockey body. The five o’clock shadow. Those piercing eyes. I know what people say about you online. In fact, you could give people what they want and show more skin, maybe an open shirt. As for G, it’s ESPN’s loss they didn’t pick you.”

I snorted out a laugh. Garrett Howell, a center for the Burlington Dragons, had a perfect ESPN body, and he deserved that cover, even though I’d given him a fair amount of shit for it. My brother and I had been friends with him since we all played juniors. He even stayed with us and essentially become our third brother.

We’d also all come out to each other. 

He’d been the third person I’d told, after Mom and Bobby. He told me shortly after he moved in with us because he’d wanted me to know, so I told him too. We’d been a great support system for each other over the years, and Mom and Bobby always had his back too. All his social media activity and the cover had brought some unwanted attention though. Even though he had someone watching out for him, I still worried.

“You got the family looks too, you know.” I looked to divert the discussion. “You conveniently forget that sometimes.”

“But they work better on your athletic build.”



Hot hockey players on the auction block…

Win a date with a professional hockey player during All Star weekend in Chicago. From leading scorers to fan favorites to guys you love to hate, watch the players strut their stuff in support of the Hockey Allies charity. 

Place a bid. You just might find someone to keep you warm.




Jeff Adams

Jeff Adams has written stories since he was in middle school, and became a published author in 2009 when his first short stories became available. He writes both romance and young adult fiction with queer characters…and there’s usually a hockey player at the center of the story.

Jeff lives in northern California with his husband of more than twenty years, Will Knauss. Together, Jeff and Will co-host the Big Gay Fiction Podcast, a show devoted to queer romance as well as pop culture. Learn more about the show at BigGayFictionPodcast.com.

In his day job, Jeff is a web accessibility expert and he consults with companies around the world about making their digital experiences accessible. He’s bringing that knowledge to other creative entrepreneurs with "Content for Everyone," which helps creatives understand what they can do to create content that is accessible and usable by everyone.


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Keeping Kyle #3
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Hockey Allies Bachelor Bid Series
AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  B&N


Monday, June 5, 2023

πŸŒˆπŸ’Monday's Mysterious MayhemπŸ’πŸŒˆ: Loving Layne by VL Locey



Summary:
Hockey Allies Bachelor Bid #2
Sometimes the last thing you expect to happen might turn out to be what you needed all along.

Roman Kennedy’s first trip to the Windy City isn’t going quite as planned. Mysteries intrigue him, and his best friend Dillon seems to be sitting on a whopper. So, with his grandfather’s favorite hat on his head and his notebook in hand, the journalism major starts digging. Sadly, getting his bestie to spill the beans on what the secret is isn’t as easy as Roman had hoped.

Now, through no fault of his own, he’s stuck in an expensive hotel attending a bachelor auction of all things. He’s surrounded by lumbering jocks who, he’s sure, are just waiting for the chance to poke fun at the skinny, gay Jewish guy. Imagine his surprise when one of the big lugs sits down with him and talks Bernstein and Woodward.

Layne Coleman is sexy as sin, smart as a whip, considerably older, and has the same passion for investigative journalism as Roman does. His deep blue eyes and dark hair make concentrating on anything but the soft kisses they’re now sharing difficult. Roman’s keen instincts are understandably clouded by romance, so when Dillon reveals his secret in a highly public way, it’s hard to say who is more stunned—Roman or Layne, the man at the center of it all.


Original Review April 2020:
This story was absolutely brilliant!  I'll admit it took me a couple of chapters to get into it but that was more to do with the fact that the last book I read before starting Loving Layne was a highly paranormal and complete opposite of this but once I was able to let go of the previous reading I was hooked on Layne and Roman's journey.

I won't lie, I was expecting a completely different kind of set-up with a series titled Hockey Allies Bachelor Bid but I wouldn't want Layne and Roman's story any different than the one VL Locey has written.  May/December romances are not something I generally seek out but nor to shy away from them, Miss Locey has done a wonderful job showing that age is just a number and that you don't have to be within 5 years of each other to be a perfect fit.

As for Roman, well his love of nearly everything "old"(and I am not referring to LayneπŸ˜‰πŸ˜‰) was a welcome element.  I love so many things classic and it's just not an aspect you often find in main characters when reading so it was a point that I not only welcomed but highly appreciated.  When it comes to Layne, well I loved him, it wasn't hard to see what drew Roman in.  Not making Roman feel like an odd duck for his love of everything classic was also highly appreciated.  There really is no doubting their connection from the getgo.

As for Dillon's bombshell, well I won't go into that and spoil anything but I truly loved the reactions and how each character dealt with the news.  Perhaps Dillon's original dropping of the bombshell could have been handled better but we have to have some drama, don't we?πŸ˜‰

Could Loving Layne been even better with a few points explored deeper?  Maybe.  Did the story being on the shorter side leave some lacking gaps?  Perhaps.  Personally, when written well, "gaps" that happen off-page pull me in even deeper because it kicks my imagination in high gear to help the author "write" the journey.  So in short: Loving Layne is an amazingly fun, dramedy with real characters that entertained me, and I can't ask for nor want anything more.

RATING:



Chapter One 
There were only so many games to play within the confines of a Chevy Sprint during a thirteen plus hour drive. I was pretty sure Dillon and I had covered them all. My bicep still ached from the last game of punch buggy. Who knew there were so many damn VW bugs on the road from New Jersey to Illinois? 

“What’s wrong with your face?” Dillon asked, breaking into the forbidden path in my head. 

I reached up to tip my grandfather’s Fedora up a few inches. “It’s the nose. Not so bad from the front but from the side it screams Fran Bernstein’s boy.” 

“No, not your nose, the stink that must be in it. You always wrinkle your face up.” 

“Oh.” Yeah, I did tend to wrinkle when deep in thought. Another Bernstein trait. There wasn’t much I’d gotten from my dad other than his last name and all his father’s cool as shit hats. Men wearing hats was going to make a fashion comeback, and Roman Kennedy was going to be a torchbearer for the retro look. A semi flew past us, rocking the tiny red car gently. “I was just thinking. Not about you, this super-secret trip, or why we had to rocket out of Trenton like the mob was on your ass.” I paused then studied him closely. “The mob isn’t on your ass, is it?”

Now it was time for him to wrinkle his nose. His was much cuter and smaller than mine. Also, he didn’t need a hat to help keep his wild brown kinky frizz under control. Dillon North was all kinds of pretty with black hair and deep blue eyes. His genetics followed his creep of a dad who’d ditched him and his mom before Dillon was even born. Mrs. North was a natural blonde with pale blue eyes and a slim frame. Dillon was a big guy, athletic, a runner for the track team in high school and now for our alma mater William B. Ogden University in Trenton. Go Snapping Turtles! Yeah, our mascot did not fit our track team at all. 

“No, of course not. What? You think I borrowed money from a loan shark to get into a better food plan or something?” 

“Anything’s possible. Remember that kid last year who took out a questionable loan to pay off his gambling habits and got his kneecaps kicked in?” 

“First of all, he fell down the steps outside the English department and broke his kneecap. Secondly, he owed like fifty bucks to his frat brothers for some online challenge he didn’t do, and thirdly, your hats are too tight.” 

He swatted the gray Fedora off my head, and it flew into the back. My hair expanded instantly. 

“Asshole,” I grumbled, slipping free from the seatbelt to find my hat. “My hats fit fine. The problem is…oh gross. Whose underwear is this?” 

“Heathers. Just leave it there, it’s a memento.” 

“And people say gays are gross.” I shoved the pink panties under the backseat, snagged my hat with a crooked finger, then sat down with a huff. “It’s up to investigative journalists to be inquisitive. You business majors wouldn’t understand the drive we reporters have to ferret out the truth. Like say, for instance, the need to make this trip and your mother’s obvious distress when you left. Also, why did she want me to come along?” 

He threw me a dark look as I tucked some frizz back under my hat. “Drop it.” 

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. I bit back several more questions. I’d met Dillon three years ago when we’d both moved into the same dorm room as freshmen. Once we got over a few bumps—him being a slob and me not being able to sleep with any doors open—we became bosom buddies, closer than brothers, and generally unable to keep secrets from the other. Which made this mad sprint to Chicago under a cloak of secrecy that much more confusing and tempting. Secrets were like tight abs to me. I couldn’t resist them. Some called it fucking nosy, but I called it first amendment rights so back off and let me rummage in the dean’s trash, okay? 

“But this whole thing is just so—” 

“Roman, drop it. I mean it.” His tone brooked no further discussion. I nodded, pulled my hat down over my head, and let my mind spin fanciful yarns. Maybe Dillon was making a drug run for his mother. No, that was stupid. She worked at a grocery store in Paramus, which was, oddly enough, not far from where I’d been born and raised in East Orange. “There are just some things that need to be played close to the vest.” 

I bit my tongue. “Sure, I get that.” I really didn’t but I said I did so he didn’t glower at me for the next six hours. 

“Thanks.” He cranked up the radio, effectively ending any conversation for another hour. 

By the time we crawled into Chicago at ten that night, I was too tired to even try to come up with ways to sniff out a clue or two. My fuzzy mind did snap to attention a bit when we got out of the car and a valet raced around the rusty, dented car. The man in the blue vest blinked at the ’87 Chevy sitting there under the porte-cochere of The Windward Way Hotel looking like something that had tumbled off a passing junkyard rollback. 

“Are you sure this is the right place?” I asked, tipping my head back to admire the white marble and stonework faΓ§ade of what was obviously a highly expensive hotel. 

“Yeah, this is the place.” Dillon tossed his keys to the valet while I gawked. 

“I’m not sure I can afford this.” I hoisted my old JYEP duffel bag higher on my shoulder. “I assumed when you said hotel you meant like something a little less…” My gaze roamed the front of the hotel again as I searched for words. “…grandiose. Like the places we stayed in when we were in Wildwood last summer.” 

Dillon padded up to me, his face set in stone. “That was a motel that my uncle owned so we got the family rate of twenty bucks a night.” 

“And that was too much,” I mumbled under my breath as I followed Dillon into a lobby that made my mouth fall open. “Holy shit,” I whispered, my gaze moving over chandeliers, twin grand staircases, a fountain, sofas and chairs of cool blue and gold, and a concierge desk with ten people behind it, all in dark blue vests. “Okay, there is no way we can afford to stay here. Dillon, we can’t even afford a soda in the guest lounge.” 

“The room is paid for.” He was all manner of business now, eyes straight ahead, shoulders stiff. I followed along behind him, darting out of the way of bellhops with luggage trolleys, women with tiny dogs on skinny leads, and men in suits that were cut to perfection. 

Okay, this so did not compute. Dillon was as poor if not poorer than I was. In all honesty, he was much poorer. He came from a single parent home where I at least had two working parents. We weren’t rich by any means, hell, we barely clawed our way into low middle class. But this? This hotel was so far removed from our way of life that it could have been situated on Mars. How did a poor kid from New Jersey afford a weekend at a place like this? Maybe Dillon had begun working for Billy ‘Bent Nose’ Berkowitz, the resident bookie/barber from back home. No, not even running numbers for Billy Bent Nose would cover the charge for three nights in a place like this. 

I tapped at my lower lip with a pen. My fingers curled around the small notepad I kept in my front pocket at all times. The lobby was warm. I wanted to shed my winter coat, but I’d worn old jeans—or as fashionable folks called them “distressed”—and a hoodie that my folks had given me for Hanukkah last year that read Journalism is Literature in a Hurry. It had coffee stains on it from a late night camped out behind the science building to see if they were really dumping radioactive waste into the chicken gravy in Dewey Hall as students had reported. They’d not been but I did get a kiss from Reggie Parkman so the night wasn’t a total waste. 

Check-in went smoothly. No one called security to come remove the waifs from the front desk. I tapped the brim of my hat at the friendly young lady who handed us our key cards. Dillon stalked off, his bag bouncing off his ass, his attention on the far end of the lobby and the four elevators. I pounded along after him, hand on my hat, and hustled into the elevator just before the doors silently closed. 

“Which floor?” I spun to face the man who pushed the elevator buttons. My mind was officially blown. An elevator operator. Could the super-rich not push a button? 

“Twelth,” Dillon replied as I gawped at the smiling older gent. With the tap of his white-gloved finger, the elevator lifted off. I gave my buddy a long, long look. He ignored me, his dark blue eyes on the scarlet numbers ticking off rapidly.

“Here we are gentlemen. I hope your stay at The Windward Way is a good one.” I dug into my pocket and pulled out a crumpled dollar bill that I passed to the elevator operator. Dillon had thundered off down the richly appointed corridor. 

“Great job making the elevator…elevate.” I smiled then ran off to catch up with Dillon. “Dude, what the hell are we doing here? Whoa, is that a Monet?” My brakes locked up in front of an oil placed above a small table with a French-style phone. “Is that Water Lilies and Japanese Bridge?” I asked on a reverent whisper. I touched the painting and sighed in relief. Okay, no, not a real Monet but a damn good replica. I snorted at my foolishness. “That was stupid of me. As if a real Monet would be in some Chicago hotel hallway.” I snorted at myself, turned from the replication, and stared down a lonely and empty hall of doors. “Dillon?” 

No reply. What a dick. I dug my key card out of my front pocket, checked the room number on it, and then stamped down and into our room, wishing I could slam the door behind me but that would be rude and disruptive to the other guests. Instead, I threw my hat at him. My hair shouted in joy at the freedom it was now experiencing. 

“Wow, thanks for waiting for me in the hallway.” I bitched then fell into stunned silence as the beauty of our suite slapped me right in the face. Rose and gold were everywhere, from the carpets to the thick draperies to the loveseats and wingback chairs to the peek at the bedding in the other room. “I don’t think we’re in East Orange anymore, Toto.” 

Dillon made a soft sort of amused sound, kicked off his ratty sneakers then fell into a pink and gold brocade chair that nearly swallowed him whole. A smile appeared on his face, the first glimpse of a real smile I’d seen on him for days now.

“Nope, we’re far from our shitty run-down neighborhoods now, Roman. This is how we could have been living…” His voice drifted off right before I lost the old Dillon and this new tense, angry one reappeared. “I’m going to shower and go to bed.” 

“Okay.” What else could I say? He moved around me, grabbed his sneakers, and slid into the bedroom, closing the door softly in my face. I walked over to where he’d been seated, picked up Grandpa Frank’s hat, and then plopped into the chair. Staring out at the bright lights of Chicago through the wall of glass that led to a snowy patio, I let out the sad sigh inside me. Something was definitely wrong with my best friend. I vowed that I would not rest until I got to the bottom of this mystery. First thing tomorrow.



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Author Bio:
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.


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Loving Layne #2

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