⏳Throwback Thursday's Time Machine⏳: Lessons in Desire by Charlie Cochrane

Summary:
Cambridge Fellows Mystery #2

Cambridge, 1906.

With the recent series of college murders behind him, Cambridge Fellow Jonty Stewart is in desperate need of a break.

A holiday on the beautiful Channel Island of Jersey seems ideal, if only he can persuade Orlando Coppersmith to leave the security of the college and come with him. Orlando is a quiet man who prefers academic life to venturing out into the world. Within the confines of their rooms at the university, it’s easy to hide the fact that he and Jonty are far more than friends.

But the desire to spend more time alone with the man he loves is an impossible lure to resist. When a brutal murder occurs at the hotel where they’re staying, the two young men are once more drawn into the investigation.

The race to catch the killer gets complicated by the victim’s son, Ainslie, a man who seems to find Orlando too attractive to resist.

Can Stewart and Coppersmith keep Ainslie at bay, keep their affair clandestine, and solve the crime?

Original Review August 2014:
This entry finds our two young lovers on vacation. Jonty is his usual vivacious self, Orlando at first is also his usual cautious, sometimes overly cautious, self but he begins to grow more confident as their vacation goes on. Their love is also growing and with it, they also find themselves at a few crossroads, only some of which concern the murder mystery they find at their vacation abode. Once again we find our young sleuths in the middle of everything. Can't wait to read further entries in this wonderful m/m historical/mystery/romance series.

Re-Read Review June 2016:
Loved it even more the second time around. It was so great seeing the duo on vacation and watching Orlando be a little more free and open without completely straying from his usual careful self.

RATING:

Chapter One

St. Bride’s College, Cambridge, June 1906 

“A holiday will do us both the world of good.” Jonty was sitting in his chair in the Senior Common Room of St. Bride’s College discussing the long vacation and plans he had for it. These, naturally, involved Orlando, who in the past had usually holidayed by visiting other seats of learning, with the occasional dutiful visit to his grandmother in Kent interspersed among the academic outings.

Orlando had no concept of just going off to some place of leisure and relaxing, frittering the time away on walks or sightseeing or bathing. His eyes widened as his friend recounted the sort of things he’d got up to in the past—the Riviera, visiting archaeological sites, cruising in the Mediterranean. This seemed to be yet another alien world the sophisticated Jonty was introducing to his naïve friend. When he suggested they should go somewhere together, Orlando was appalled.

“Consider it, Dr. Coppersmith, the world is our oyster. Now, before you begin to quibble about the costs, I would remind you my grandmother left her favourite grandson extremely well off, so money is no object. Name where you would like to go and we’ll organise it. Shall it be Monte Carlo or the rose red city of Petra?” A glorious smile lit Jonty’s face as he made the suggestion, brightening the Stygian gloom which usually infested the room.

“Must we go anywhere, Dr. Stewart?” Orlando was quite content here in his own college among the places and things he knew well. No further unrest had come to St. Bride’s since the murders of the previous winter, allowing his love affair with Jonty to blossom as beautifully as the magnolia trees gracing the Fellows’ Garden. In his eyes, life was perfect here and now, so why should he go off searching for anything else?

Jonty narrowed his eyes. “Of course we must. I have no intention of spending my long vac festering here. If you won’t go with me, I’ll go alone.” He sniffed. “Though I have gone alone on holiday too often in the past. I was hoping so much that you would see fit to coming with me, so we could share the excitement. Think of the novelty, the exotic food, the flora and fauna that East Anglia can only dream of. Strange languages. Mysterious sights.”

It was the novelty Orlando couldn’t stop thinking of, or so he told his friend. He’d encountered quite a lot of new things these last few months, particularly when he and Jonty were first acquainted. Now he was hoping for a period of relative calm before the new academic year ensued. The minute he looked into Jonty’s eyes, he knew he was beaten—the man was desperate for this break, the chance of a trip with his lover at his side. Who was Orlando to deny him it?

They eventually reached a compromise—three weeks’ leave, travelling no further than the Channel Islands. Jonty would find them some nice establishment on Jersey and book tickets for the ferry from Southampton. It would be adventurous, although not too much so; the food would be English (with perhaps a little native cuisine included) and there would be no language barrier. Orlando was particularly pleased about that, as modern languages were not his forte—moreover, as he admitted, the thought of being around exotic foreign ladies terrified him.

For the next week Jonty beavered away with the Red Guide, simultaneously picking his mother’s brains about hotels, the Honourable Mrs. Stewart being a great source of information about many things, until finally settling for the Beaulieu at St. Aubin.

“It boasts Three acres of terraced gardens with lawns, Private Tennis Courts, Fishing, and Bathing from the Hotel,” he gleefully explained to Orlando, waving the brochure about. “There are private bathrooms, so you won’t risk ladies walking in on you should you forget to shoot the bolt. The additional cost for that will only be sixpence per night, so you won’t be risking bankrupting me. Convenient for the train, too.”

“It sounds delightful, Jonty,” Orlando said, with liar written plain on his face. “You should book it.”

“Already done. They alleged they were fully booked, August being high season, until they found themselves up against Mama. She spoke to the manager, the owners, probably to King Edward himself—she’s wangled us the best two-bedroom suite in the house. I never really appreciated how wonderful it is to have quite such a formidable mother until now…”

 *****

“Do you still want ‘Jerusalem’ sung at your funeral, Dr. Coppersmith?” Jonty began to gently rub his friend’s back as the poor man clung to the ship’s rail, green to the gills as though desperately trying to fathom out whether he would feel better if he were sick again or not.

“I no longer care, Dr. Stewart. I think I would prefer to die with the minimum of fuss, plus the maximum of expediency. I have enjoyed these last ten months, though I’m greatly afraid I won’t survive the journey.” Orlando finished his speech with dignity, then sped off to the toilet again.

Jonty looked out at the sea and tried not to think of what would be going on in the gentlemen’s conveniences. He felt a more than a bit guilty about bringing Orlando on this trip, but how was he to have any idea that his lover would suffer quite so much from seasickness? Orlando hadn’t even known it himself, having been on nothing more adventurous than the paddle steamer out of Ramsgate.

There were at least two hours of the voyage left before they could feel decent, solid ground under their feet again, then there was the awful prospect of having to do the journey all over again, back to Southampton, in a fortnight’s time.

The nightmare of the crossing eventually ended, all the passengers reaching terra firma with much thanks. Orlando swore, afterwards, he’d felt tempted to kneel down and kiss the solid earth beneath his feet at the quay. Plenty of carriages were waiting for custom, so they were soon riding around the wide bay to St. Aubin, able at last to admire the innocuous-looking waters which had managed to wreak such havoc on a delicate digestive tract.

Orlando was recovered enough to smile when he saw their hotel. It was everything the rather overblown brochure had promised and more besides. Their bags were whisked away with just the right amount of efficient deference, the reception clerk was welcoming without being unctuous. Even the suite, once Orlando was entirely convinced it was quite normal for friends of the same sex to take sets of rooms together, was pronounced to be above reproach.

They hadn’t long begun to unpack before Jonty suggested it was time to find a small sherry or some such before dinner. He assured his friend it would be the right medicine to enable him to recover his appetite enough to tackle at least some of the delights that they’d spied on the hotel menu.

Orlando was rather affronted, wanting everything to have found its proper place in the suite before they ventured out, but Jonty insisted, so he struck his colours. Orlando changed into his dinner jacket, newly purchased on his lover’s orders, as the old one looked more suited to the stalls at the music hall. Properly attired, they went down to the bar.

 *****

The dining room was full, mainly married couples of various ages, from the bashful newlyweds who sat in the corner blushing at every remark made to them to the elderly couple—all wrinkles and bright smiles—who sat at a table directly opposite the two Cambridge fellows. This couple, the Tattersalls, had taken a great shine to the two young men as they’d chatted with them over pre-dinner drinks, insisting they reminded them of their sons at a similar age. They seemed won over by Jonty’s smile, his obvious good breeding, and Orlando’s gravity and beautiful manners.

There were some families at dinner—two had brought their grownup daughters with them. Both girls were plain and seemed rather smitten with the two young men, if blushes or girlish sighs were anything to go by. The only other unmarried couple present was a man perhaps three or four years older than Jonty, accompanied by what could only have been his father, given the strong family resemblance. The younger was a handsome chap whose dark curly hair framed deep blue eyes.

Not that the two fellows of St. Bride’s had eyes for anyone else, but one couldn’t help noticing these things. They also couldn’t help noticing the palpable tension between the two men, shown in their strained politeness and inability to maintain eye contact with each other.

After dinner Jonty and Orlando made up a four for bridge in the sun lounge with the Tattersalls. They proved excellent company, the lady in particular having an impish sense of humour. She chatted away to Jonty, the pair of them giggling like two schoolchildren, despite her being old enough, just, to be his grandmother.

The father and son formed their own bridge four with another married couple, although they were obviously not having half the enjoyment that Orlando and his friend were. Jonty was fascinated, keeping a surreptitious eye on them all evening.

When they got back to their room, Jonty had clearly decided it was character analysis time, despite the fact that Orlando was struggling to arrange, into some sort of acceptable order, the mass of items his friend had strewn everywhere in an attempt to unpack. “That young man’s not happy to be here, Orlando. I think his father has made him come, while he’d rather be at home with his sweetheart, not entertaining a surly old curmudgeon.”

“I hope you don’t feel like you’ve been dragged along to entertain a surly young curmudgeon.” Orlando grinned. “Anyway, it’s nothing to do with us.” He picked up the tie he’d worn for the journey, finding somewhere to put it carefully away.

“Aren’t you even a little bit curious? This is such an opportunity to meet new people, the sort of folk we might never meet at college. Like that delightful old couple—she certainly had the measure even of you at cards, Dr. Coppersmith.” Jonty yawned, stretching like a great ginger cat. “This is going to be such a delightful holiday. The hotel is perfect, the food is excellent, I have great hopes for the company and you look less green than you did this morning. Such a lovely colour in your cheeks now.” He drew his hand down his lover’s face, across his lips. It was the first time they’d touched with any degree of intimacy since they’d left St. Bride’s. The caress made Orlando shudder afresh, as if they were touching for the first time. “We may have two bedrooms, but do we really need to use them both? It’d be easy enough to slip across before the early morning tea arrives, if we set your alarm clock.”

Orlando looked up, determined to refuse. He was still feeling skittish about staying in a suite of rooms with his lover. Sharing a bed was beyond any imagining although, ironically, the item in question was a glorious double bed such as he’d dreamed, on many an occasion, of sleeping in with Jonty. “I’m not sure I feel sufficiently recovered from the journey to want to do anything except sleep.” He studied his hands, the shirt he was trying to hang up, anything but his lover.

“That would be fine. I’m as happy to simply slumber next to you as anything else. There are plenty of other days for romance—we could just be fond friends tonight, or pretend to be that old couple we played cards with. Still very much in love yet beyond the thralls of passion.” Jonty gently touched his friend’s hand.

Orlando felt as if a spider was crawling down the back of his neck, and his discomfiture must have been plain. “What if we slept apart, just for tonight?”

They had reached the crux of why he’d been so keen not to come on holiday. He was frightened of taking their relationship outside the college walls, displaying it to the world. Within the ivy-clad, male-dominated locality of St. Bride’s, it had been easy to maintain a friendship which was more than close without raising a suspicious eyebrow. He’d spent little time with Jonty out of Cambridge, apart from a visit or two to London, where they’d stayed in the relatively safe environs of the Stewart family home. To be with the man in a strange place was to put himself at risk of making a demonstration of his affection by an unguarded look or touch.

Any footman could walk through the streets of town in his bowler-hatted Sunday best, hand in hand with a parlour maid. A pair of dons could never be allowed such freedom; not in Cambridge and certainly not on Jersey. If they ever were mad enough to be tempted, all they had to do was remember the law—two years of hard labour and public disgrace would be no holiday.

Jonty slammed down the toothbrush he’d been unpacking. “Oh, go and sleep in the bath if you want to! I haven’t the heart to put up with this nonsense. I’m going to sleep in my own bed, in my own soft pyjamas, with my own book. If you change your mind and decide to join me, make sure you knock, because I might just have found other company.” He spun on his heels, entering his bedroom with a slam of the door which caused the windows to shake.

Orlando contemplated opening the door again to give his friend a piece of his mind, but didn’t want to end up in a full-blown row in a public building. He also contemplated going in and giving Jonty the most comprehensive kissing he’d ever received. He decided against that, as it was probably exactly what the little swine wanted, so must be avoided at all costs. Even at the cost of a miserable night alone.

Eventually, after tidying everything to his own immaculate standards, he trudged his weary way into his bedroom and readied himself for sleep.

At two o’clock in the morning the heavens opened, torrential rain driving against the windowpanes while thunder pealed as loud as cannon fire. Orlando leapt out of bed without a second thought, making his way through their little sitting room into Jonty’s bedroom. He didn’t knock, knowing by now that any threats from his friend about finding company were all bluster, to find him standing by the window, shivering.

“Come on, Jonty—you’ll get cold, you know.” Orlando put his arms around the man’s shoulders, which felt icy through his silken pyjama jacket. Jonty both hated thunderstorms and was fascinated by them. Orlando had often found him looking out of the window of his room at St. Bride’s while the lightning rent the sky, making the college’s very foundations seem to shake. He could go into an almost dreamlike state, distracted and seemingly unaware of his surroundings, having to be coaxed back gently into the real world. Orlando wondered whether some of the awful things which had happened to Jonty at school had taken place during storms, although he’d never been brave enough to ask.

Orlando took his lover to bed, tenderly soothing him back to sleep, holding tight as each new clap of thunder brought a shuddering through Jonty’s frame. Eventually the storm passed eastwards and they could both fall asleep, Jonty as content as a child in his mother’s arms. Orlando felt masterful, protective and very much in love. If anyone walked in, he had a legitimate medical excuse to be present. Or so he assured himself.

 *****

Thanks to Orlando’s innate body clock, the chambermaid delivering the early morning tea found the two men in their own separate beds, above reproach.

Jonty soon brought his cup into the other room and snuggled under the sheet, the night having been too muggy to need blankets. “Will you wear that tie today, the one I bought you at Easter? The ladies would be very impressed.”

Only a snort came in reply. “Most of the ladies I meet seem impressed at anything.”

“Do you meet very many ladies? Seems you’re living a double life, then, because I never see you talking to them.”

Orlando thumped Jonty around the back of the head with his pillow. “Imbecile. Well, I’m going to take advantage of the ‘private bathroom at sixpence a night extra’ to prepare myself for the day. You can shave at the basin while I’m in the tub.”

Tea shot out of Jonty’s nose, making him splutter in an undignified manner. The thought of Orlando issuing an invitation to be viewed in the bath—such a thing hadn’t happened since the afternoon the man had got drunk at St. Thomas’s college, not even when they’d shared a bathroom while staying at the Stewart family home. It seemed marvellously out of character.

“I’ll certainly take up the offer or we’ll never see breakfast. I can smell the bacon already, although that might just be an olfactory illusion. Breakfast, then church—I saw you wince, but we are going—then off to the beach.” Jonty squeezed his lover’s thigh. “I saw you wince when I mentioned beach as well, so you’ll just have to apply your stiff upper lip.”

 *****

Jonty sat down on a rock to get on with removing his shoes and socks.

“What are you doing?”

“Going paddling, Orlando.” The holiday air had affected them both, so using Christian names now seemed acceptable, even outside their suite. Jonty suddenly looked up at the awkward figure which towered over him. “Oh, Orlando. You’d never been in the Bishop’s Cope, you’d never been punting—please, please don’t tell me that you have never paddled.”

“I have actually paddled on a number of occasions, when I was taken to see my grandmother in Kent.” Orlando attempted to look a man at once dignified and completely au fait with the delights of the seaside.

Jonty assumed a sly look. “When exactly was the last time you indulged in this wild activity?”

Orlando mumbled, “When I was seven.”

Jonty giggled. “Then you had better ruddy well get your socks off and your trouser bottoms rolled up, because you’re coming with me.”

Orlando felt distinctly miffed. He contemplated refusing to do any such thing, but decided to obey orders, stuffing his socks into the toes of his shoes, then tying the laces together in imitation of his lover. The reason for this strange procedure became obvious when Jonty slung his shoes around his neck, leaving his hands free to continue picking up stones for skimming or shells for stuffing in his pockets.

As he watched Jonty turning over rocks to search for tiny crustaceans which he then let run over his palms, it struck Orlando more than ever that at heart his friend was just an overgrown boy. An enormous crab got rooted out, a good three inches across the carapace, which Jonty expertly picked up to wave at his friend.

“What a whopper—look!” He passed the creature over, grinning as Orlando inevitably grabbed it the wrong way, earning a sharp nip on his fingers.

He flung the offending animal away, shaking his sore hand and cursing like a sailor.

“Such language!” Jonty hooted with laughter. “Look, take him across the back, so all your fingers are out of his reach.” He demonstrated the technique, then made his friend do the same.

Orlando took up the vicious creature, more gingerly than if it had been a bomb, breaking into a smile of delight when the method worked. “He’s a beauty. Not big enough for tea, though.” Laughing, he placed the crab down among the rocks, returning to follow his friend.

The tide was ebbing, revealing rock pools full of shrimps which Jonty caught in his hand, then let spring out of his grasp with a giggle. Orlando soon learned that game too, proving much more adept at catching the little invertebrates and the darting fishes than his lover. It was like being a child again, except there hadn’t been that much room for play in his childhood, so there was time to be caught up. Yet again, he could experience a freedom with Jonty that he’d never known before they met.

Jonty picked up a huge ormer shell, holding it to the light so that they could both admire the mother-of-pearl glittering in the sunlight.

“Beautiful. Eh?”

“Indeed.” Although Orlando didn’t mean the shell so much as the man holding it.

Tired, eventually, of annoying the occupants of the rock pools, they walked along the waterline, the warm sea just lapping over their feet. The occasional wave came in with slightly more force, making them jump out of the way, splashing and laughing.

It took a whole mile of wandering for Jonty to begin to make mischief, starting to splash just a little too deliberately in a particular direction. Orlando didn’t notice at first, blaming the splatters on his trousers on the swell. When he did realise what was going on, he handled the situation admirably, deciding that revenge is a dish best eaten cold. While he would have loved to dunk Jonty head to foot, there and then, more pleasure was to be had by quietly removing himself from flying water range before making his plans.

Seaweed wasn’t the most pleasant thing to handle straight from the sea. Jonty usually found it disagreeable on the feet when he had to wade through it, but it was truly disgusting when someone forcibly stuffed it down the back of his trousers. Orlando had executed his vengeance.

“You swine!”

“You’re no longer dealing with some naïve young man who’s spent all his days in a haze of academia. I’m learning, so you’d better watch your step.” Orlando looked smug, strikingly handsome in his triumph.

Jonty fished down his pants to extract the offending piece of algae. He flung it at his friend, missed by a mile, then laughed. “I’ve only ever wanted you to be my equal, Orlando. I’m looking forward enormously to the day when you tease me both mercilessly and with aplomb.” He reached out his hand to take his lover’s, remembered they were in public, shrugged in apology and walked on.

They strolled the length of the beach till Jonty’s pockets were so full of shells he’d begun to rattle. Drying off their feet on their handkerchiefs proved largely ineffective, as did hopping madly about so that the clean, dry foot couldn’t be infected with sand before it made its way into its sock. Sand always found its way into every available crevice and was bound to begin to creep into their shoes, regardless, before they were halfway off the beach. The long walk back to Corbière station would be uncomfortable, although it wouldn’t spoil the delights of the previous hours.

Jonty felt the glow which always came with having enlightened his friend, introducing some new pleasure—innocent or not—into the man’s life. Orlando had shown a spark of delight in having effectively taken a rare revenge and Jonty wondered whether he was plotting other ways of getting one over on him. This holiday is showing every sign of being more than enjoyable.

On the station platform they saw the young man from the hotel looking much happier without his usual companion. He acknowledged them with a tilt of the head, which was all the encouragement Jonty needed to effect an introduction. “I believe you’re staying at the Beaulieu, as we are? My name is Stewart. This is my friend Coppersmith.” Jonty waved his hand to indicate Orlando, who had yet to venture any closer.

“They call me Ainslie, sir. Matthew Ainslie. I’m delighted to meet you.” The man held out his hand, producing an engaging smile in the process.

“Have you been on Jersey long, Mr. Ainslie?”

“Matthew, I insist you call me Matthew.” He smiled again. “I…we arrived three days ago. My father and I always come to one of the Channel Islands once a year—he feels the air agrees with him.”

“I hope it will agree with us, too. It’s our first time here and I’ve been very pleasantly surprised so far. I dare say we’ll be picking your brains about the best places to visit.”

“Your friend over there is enjoying himself, too?” Ainslie indicated Orlando, who looked nothing like a man enjoying himself.

A man trying to win the most surly face competition, perhaps. “I believe he is, although he doesn’t often show it. He enjoyed playing bridge last night with the Tattersalls. Such a delightful couple.”

Ainslie smiled. “They beat us soundly on Friday night. I wouldn’t like to meet Mrs. Tattersall in a rubber if high stakes were in order, although she could charm the birds out of the trees.” His face suddenly changed. “Please excuse me. I can see my father—he’ll want me to attend him.” A smile and the man was gone, leaving Jonty’s interest more piqued than ever.

 *****

After another excellent dinner, the fours for bridge were different from Saturday evening. The Ainslies played against Mrs. Tattersall, who was paired with Orlando, Jonty and Mr. Tattersall having opted to observe the fun. The Tattersall-Coppersmith pair trounced the opposition, even when they were obviously not trying, which made it ten times worse. The elder Ainslie’s temper was beginning to fray as rubber after rubber went down, until he snapped at his son, on whom no blame could be fairly laid. Matthew was a far more competent player than his father.

For Jonty the fascination lay not with the play (that was a foregone conclusion) but in what the eyes around the table were doing. Orlando watched Ainslie’s hands in fascination as he skidded the cards over the table. This man was a talented shuffler and dealer, the sort who would be interesting to see playing alongside a competent partner. While Orlando watched Ainslie’s hands, the man watched his. Orlando had long, delicate fingers, fingers with which Jonty was intimately acquainted, which he found both beautiful and capable of causing havoc in the bedroom. Ainslie followed the graceful movements his partner’s digits made as they picked up and sorted his hand, caressing the backs of the cards.

Jonty observed the way that Ainslie was watching. He would not forget it.

👬💙🔪💕🔫💙👬

If the men of St. Bride’s College knew what Jonty Stewart and Orlando Coppersmith got up to behind closed doors, the scandal would rock early-20th-century Cambridge to its core. But the truth is, when they’re not busy teaching literature and mathematics, the most daring thing about them isn’t their love for each other—it’s their hobby of amateur sleuthing.

Because wherever Jonty and Orlando go, trouble seems to find them. Sunny, genial Jonty and prickly, taciturn Orlando may seem like opposites. But their balance serves them well as they sift through clues to crimes, and sort through their own emotions to grow closer. But at the end of the day, they always find the truth . . . and their way home together.

********

Be sure and check the author's website for a complete chronological list of novels, novellas, free short stories in the Cambridge Fellows Mysteries Universe.

👬💙🔪💕🔫💙👬

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Charlie Cochrane

As Charlie Cochrane couldn't be trusted to do any of her jobs of choice - like managing a rugby team - she writes. Her favourite genre is gay fiction, predominantly historical romances/mysteries, but she's making an increasing number of forays into the modern day. She's even been known to write about gay werewolves - albeit highly respectable ones.

Her Cambridge Fellows series of Edwardian romantic mysteries were instrumental in seeing her named Speak Its Name Author of the Year 2009. She’s a member of both the Romantic Novelists’ Association and International Thriller Writers Inc.

Happily married, with a house full of daughters, Charlie tries to juggle writing with the rest of a busy life. She loves reading, theatre, good food and watching sport. Her ideal day would be a morning walking along a beach, an afternoon spent watching rugby and a church service in the evening.

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Lessons in Desire #2

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Monday Mpreg Mania: Peppermint Kisses for the Omega by Lacey Daize

I've added a new addition to my Monday posts, Monday Mpreg Mania which as you can guess from the title will feature LGBTQ+ stories from the mpreg genre.  Some will be nonshifter and others shifter, but they all generally fall under omegaverse.   I fell in love with them a few years back when reading some fanfiction for one of my shows and eventually ventured into published works. I love the ingenious and clever world building, done in a way that makes it all seem so very possible. I know it's not for everyone but I hope you'll be tempted to check them out.

Summary:

Mountain Springs Omegas #1

When Liam's Christmas plans are upended he decides to take his mom's advice and plan a friends' getaway at the family cabin.

Liam's loved his alpha best friend, Alex, ever since he presented as an omega, but he'd rather keep the other man in his life as a friend than scare him off as a lover. That doesn't keep him from wanting to spend every possible second with him, so he invites the alpha to help plan the getaway at the cabin.

Alex has loved his best friend Liam for years, but kept his attraction to the beautiful omega to himself.

Alex would like nothing more than to claim and breed his best friend, but doesn't want to risk losing the omega if the interest isn't mutual. So he hides his feelings. But that doesn't stop him from jumping at the opportunity to spend several days with the other man at the secluded mountain cabin.

Arriving several days ahead of the rest of the group, Liam and Alex set about readying the cabin for the holiday getaway, but a surprise heat in the middle of a snowstorm means they are forced to confront their emotions. Do they dare admit their mutual attraction, or do they attempt to fight their instincts?

Recipe for Romance

One Alpha

One Omega

10 Years Mutual Pining

One Cabin

One Snowstorm

One Heat

Mix well, garnish with peppermint hot chocolate.

Peppermint Kisses for the Omega is an 11.5K word , non-shifter, M/M, Mpreg romance, featuring two obvlivious men, some knotty fun, and plenty of peppermint hot chocolate.

Original Review December 2023:

Some might see Peppermint Kisses as a story about two people who love each other but don't admit it or perhaps even miscommunication/lack thereof trope.  Those people wouldn't exactly be wrong but for me it's more than that.  Yes, Alex and Liam do love each other and yes, leave it unspoken but they both do so because they don't want to risk losing the other's friendship.  Definitely not communicating their feelings but they do so with a specific reason in mind which to me is so much more than just not giving voice to their true heart.

Despite having read a dozen, give or take, in the mpreg trope/genre, published reads is still very new-to-me and having only experienced a couple of authors' take on the fantasy I can't truly attest to which author does it best but I really love the way Lacey Daize creates a blend in details from subtle to specific.  Mountain Springs Omegas may be a novella series but by the time I've swiped the last page, I feel as if  the author has created a bodily function that is more realistic than fantasy.

One element I will make note of: loved that Liam's parents presented as his mom's the alpha, his dad's the omega and that she knocked up him. Not something I've seen before in my mpreg reads which is reasonably minimal as stated in the above paragraph. Or perhaps it has been mentioned in other of my reads and just didn't stand out as wonderfully as in Peppermint.  Either way it added another level of yum.

Alex and Liam are so  darn cute that it's perfect for the holiday setting.  From being saddened by family traditions being scrapped to fears of the truth peaking through to friends arriving in a not so opportune moment, Peppermint Kisses is a delightfully fun, sweet, friends to lovers romance that can only make your day lighter and brighter.

RATING:

Chapter 1 - Liam 

“What do you mean you’re going to Hawaii for Christmas?” 

My mom turned from the sink, crossed her arms and fixed me with a stare. “Just what I said, your father and I are headed to Hawaii for Christmas.” 

“But… Christmas dinner… seeing everyone.” 

She shook her head. “Christian has that big case, and he can’t get away from the city. Philip is spending the holiday with his new girlfriend. It would just be us, and you.” 

My mother sighed, walked over and set her hand on my shoulder. “Your father has always wanted to go to Hawaii, and we were able to get a deal on a travel package. I want to do this for him while we’re still young enough to enjoy it.”

The tone was soft, but firm, my mom’s alpha stubbornness clear. It had been decided. I was on my own for the holiday. 

I sighed and sank into one of the kitchen chairs. 

She sat across from me. “It’s time for you to spread your wings a bit Liam. Why not plan something fun with your friends?” 

“Like what?” I asked, crossing my arms on the table and dropping my forehead to them. 

“Why don’t you head up to the cabin? It’s a nice drive, and the roads stay pretty clear. You can invite some friends and celebrate your own Christmas. Make it a few days, and you can go skiing as a group.” 

“But the store…” I protested, raising my head again. 

Mom smiled and rested her hand on my arm. “You’re not the only employee sweetie. I think James and the part-timers can handle the last of the Christmas shopping.” 

“What if there’s a rush?” 

Mom laughed. “Maybe that new mall in Mount Sable will see a rush, but most of our holiday season is over. We don’t stock the latest and greatest, so we get the stragglers who are in for a last minute gift.” 

I took a deep breath and released it slowly. 

Mom frowned. “You don’t have to go to the cabin sweetie, but you should at least try to do something fun.” 

“No… I’ll go. It sounds better than moping around here.”

Mom patted my arm. “Just you wait. You’ll realize that hanging around your friends is much more entertaining than spending the holiday with us old people.” 

I snorted. “You aren’t old. You’re barely fifty.” 

Mom smiled. “Thanks, but you should still spend time with people your own age. It seems you live at the store some days.” 

“Who else is gonna take it over when you retire? Christian is off being a big-shot lawyer, and Philip seems intent on his art.” 

Mom stood and rested her hand on my shoulder. “Just because you’re taking over the store, doesn’t mean you should ignore your life. You have time to learn. Ok? Have fun. Find a mate, or heck, a date. The store isn’t going anywhere.” 

I sighed. I had no intention of finding a mate, or even dating. I’d fallen for my alpha, Alex, years ago, and he showed no interest in me. But a holiday dinner and skiing with him and our other friends did sound fun. 

“There’s gas up there for the stove, and plenty for the generator in case the power goes out?” “The propane tank was filled a month or so ago, before your father and I went up for the weekend. We took up gas cans too. There’s plenty of wood for the fireplace. There’s no reason not to go.” 

“Ok.” 

“Good,” Mom said. “You’ve got your own keys, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah.” 

“Ok. Just clean up when you’re done.” 

Mom patted my shoulder and wandered off. 

I stood and made my way to the living room, where my dad was busy knitting what looked to be a receiving blanket. I plopped down on the couch. 

“Have a nice chat with your mother?” he asked as he counted the stitches. 

“She told me you two are headed to Hawaii. Then somehow got me to agree to host my own party at the cabin.” I paused, then motioned at the blanket. “Who’s pregnant?” 

“Your cousin Jeffrey. He’s due in a few months, so I need to work fast.” 

“Send my regards.” 

“You know I wouldn’t mind knitting one of these for you one of these days.” 

“Not this again dad. I’ll mate when I’m ready.” 

“I’d just like to enjoy my grandkids before I get old. Besides, you’ll love being pregnant. I always did.” 

“And mom hated it the one time she was pregnant.” 

Dad laughed. “Yeah. Point zero five percent chance of an omega male getting an alpha female pregnant, and we beat those odds in the handful of times I topped. But we got your little brother from it.” He smiled. “Though I don’t know which she hated more, the pregnancy or breastfeeding.”

“And yet you think I’ll love it?” 

He glanced up and smirked. “It’s an alpha thing. Alphas love being in control, and the baby is in control while pregnant. It’s different for us omegas, and beta women. The instincts don’t fight it.” 

Dad finished the row and set the blanket aside. “What’s bothering you kiddo? Are you really that upset that we’re going to Hawaii?” 

I sighed. “It’s not that… sorta. I want you two to enjoy yourselves. I was just looking forward to seeing everybody.” 

“Can’t do anything about Christian and Philip though. They’re not going to be here.” 

I slumped. “I know.” 

“You said you’re going to the cabin?” 

“Yeah, mom seemed to think spending the holiday up there with friends was the right solution.” 

“It’s not the worst idea.” 

“It’s just… different.” 

“Nothing bad about different. One day you’ll be the host, so might as well get a taste of it now.” 

“Gee dad… thanks.” 

Dad chuckled and picked up his knitting again. “You’ll see Liam. This is gonna be a good thing.” 

I stood. “I’m gonna head home. If I’m hosting a party, I’d better invite some people.”

Dad laughed as I walked to the door. “I swear you’re the only person I know who’s not excited to get together with friends.” 

I rested my hand on my coat. “It’s not that. I’m just going to miss you guys.” 

Dad met my eyes with a smile. “We’ll do something when we get back. Ok?” 

I smiled. “Ok.” 

I pulled my coat on and strode out into the cold. I had a party to plan.

Saturday's Series Spotlight

Part 1  /  Part 2

Harvest

Lacey Daize

Lacey lives in New Mexico with her four critters. She’s a Jill-of-all-trades by day, but loves writing in her spare time. She dabbles in a variety of pairings, but jumped feet-first into the deep end of omegaverse the first time she read it. She loves the play on social expectations and the different ways to express romance.

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Peppermint Kisses #1

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🥇🎭Week at a Glance🎭🥇: 2/16/26 - 2/22/26

🥇Monday's Musical Melody🥇: Kiss and Cry by Keira Andrews

🥇⏳Throwback Thursday's Time Machine⏳🥇: Rivals by RJ Scott & VL Locey

🥇📘🎥Friday's Film Adaptation🎥📘🥇: The Downhill Racers by Oakley Hall

🥇Saturday's Series Spotlight🥇: Love on the Podium

🥇Sunday's Sport Stats🥇: See the Light by Cassandra Carr

🥇Sunday's Sport Stats🥇: See the Light by Cassandra Carr

Summary:

Safe Harbor #1

Hockey player Jason Monroe lives a double life—star defenseman and soon-to-be Olympian on the ice and closeted gay man outside the rink. A serious relationship is out of the question, and Jason makes do with anonymous sex in barroom bathrooms, not willing to take the chance on coming out as gay in a decidedly macho sport.

Advisor to the US Olympic hockey team Patrick Parker knows a thing or two about being a professional hockey player who’s not out. He’s fifteen years older than Jason, and when he senses the sexy younger man is interested, he knows he shouldn’t give in to the attraction. The two men can’t keep their hands off each other, though, and with each heated encounter it gets harder to hide their relationship. Then their world blows up around them, forcing them into the limelight. Will their love survive or be put on ice?

Chapter One

Jason “Roney” Monroe had a big problem.

Literally.

His current dilemma came in the form of the woody he’d popped a couple of seconds ago when he’d gotten an eyeful of Patrick Parker as the man washed himself in the shower after the first day of USA Hockey’s pre-Olympics camp. Since it was the first day, all the players and the off-ice staff like Patrick had participated.

The fact that he’d gotten harder than a fence post looking at any man’s junk was bad enough, but one of the advisors? That was all kinds of wrong.

Usually Jason was better able to tamp down on his lust for his fellow man. He’d been doing it for years, after all. Professional sports weren’t exactly welcoming gay athletes with open arms, and he wasn’t keen on getting punched in the shower when some meathead noticed him staring. So he’d tried to condition himself, hoping if he saw enough cock, had his dick sucked enough, and fucked enough tight asses outside the locker room, he’d become desensitized to his teammates’ equipment.

The older man continued to methodically soap himself, and Jason bit his lip, trying desperately to muster up the will to turn away, to not look. Yeah, like asking him not to breathe. It was one of those dirty little secrets no one ever talked about in hockey—that your jockstrap made your cock and balls sweat like a motherfucker and, therefore, itch like crazy. If you didn’t wash thoroughly enough, you’d be feeling it for the rest of the day. That didn’t make Jason feel any better right now, though, as his brain flooded with images of other ways Patrick could be touching himself. And ways he could be touching Patrick. Or Patrick could be touching him.

Fuck. Camp is gonna suck.

When he’d glanced over the fourheaded community shower stall and noticed Patrick cupping his balls, he’d barely been able to hold in a groan. The man’s equipment, even flaccid, was impressive. Yeah, and didn’t matter what his equipment looked like because Patrick was straight as a ramrod as far as he knew, so there was no way Jason was getting any closer to said equipment than he was now. Not that he would ever get involved with someone in the hockey world. That was a disaster waiting to happen.

He chuckled to himself as he thought about the word ramrod. Yeah, he had a couple of ideas for where Patrick could shove his ramrod. His ass clenched, and he sighed. Shit, he wasn’t even a bottom, and he was already picturing bending over for the guy. Jason closed his eyes and tried to think about how he needed to make sure the equipment guy sharpened his skates and how his right shoulder pad needed a little fitting tweak. It didn’t work.

Just another day in the salt mines.

* * * *

As soon as his shower was done and he’d exited the shower room, one of the assistant coaches snagged him, telling Jason his presence was required in the coaches’ office. Fucking perfect. Just what I need right now. He’d already made the Team USA Olympics squad, so it wasn’t like he was going to be cut, but that didn’t stop his heart from skipping a little as he knocked on the heavy wooden door. He heard a muffled “Come in” and stepped inside.

The head coach, Marty Banas, and damn it, the man himself, Patrick Parker, were seated on opposite sides of the desk, Patrick’s hair still wet from his shower. Marty waved Jason into the other guest chair, and Jason sat, running his damp palms down the front of his jeans as he assessed Patrick. His face revealed nothing, and Jason hoped to hell this wasn’t going to be a dressing down for inappropriate behavior in the showers.

This shit is crazy. I need to calm down. And stop staring.

He addressed Marty. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah. Now don’t freak out, kid. Patrick just wanted to talk a little about your positioning.”

His gaze jerked to look at Patrick, his face no doubt belying the horror he was feeling.

Positioning where?

“On the ice?” His voice broke on the last word, and Jason cursed to himself.

Where else, you freaking moron?

Marty spoke again, addressing Patrick. “You got this?”

The other man spoke for the first time. “Yeah, no problem. See you tomorrow.”

Marty vacated the office, and Patrick turned his chair to face Jason more fully.

“As Marty said, I wanted to point out a couple of things in regard to your defensive positioning.”

Jason figured he should listen closely, considering Patrick had been an All-Star defenseman while he played. An injury had forced him to retire, and Jason figured he was around thirty-seven now. Considering Jason was only twenty-two, in some ways, Patrick seemed ancient. Patrick had played in a different era, and the game had changed since then with the introduction of the new rules. He admonished himself. Patrick knew what he was talking about, no matter how many new strategies and systems had developed in the three or four years since he’d retired.

He nodded, running his hands over his thighs again until he realized what he was doing and forced his hands to grip the chair arms. Why the hell was he so nervous, anyway? He’d dealt with coaches since he’d started playing organized hockey at five years old. Why was this any different? Jason wasn’t fooling himself, though. It was different, because he wanted to fuck this coach. He was so screwed. Jason shifted in a vain effort to relieve the pressure on his dick.

Patrick had one of those whiteboards coaches used to draw up plays, and he began to scribble on it in marker, pointing out various scenarios and how Jason had handled them and then overlaid that with what Patrick thought was the better positioning. Jason was following along all right until he leaned in a little to get a better look and caught a whiff of spicy cologne. His gaze flew up to Patrick’s face as he shifted yet again to hide his even more interested cock, but the man was engaged in what he was doing and didn’t seem to notice.

What the hell? Why can’t I control myself? It’s never this bad.

Patrick was years older than he, and as Jason reminded himself, straight. Of course, if he wasn’t, there was little chance Jason would know about it anyway, considering there were no “out” players or staff in the NHL. Recently he’d been thinking vaguely about coming out to a few teammates he trusted, but most gay guys in the NHL were likely to stay in the closet while the passive homophobia rampant in the game remained.

Forcing himself to focus, Jason looked at the diagram. He was a smart player, but he had no idea what Patrick was talking about at that moment and didn’t want to come off as an idiot, so he nodded, choosing to remain silent. Patrick wiped off the board and started a new diagram.

“I’d like to see you cheat a little closer to the corner on the faceoff, like this,” Patrick explained, drawing an arrow from one point to another, and Jason tilted his head.

“Can I ask why?”

Patrick glanced at him. “Your defense partner isn’t as fast as you are, and you need to compensate. We all know Marcus is a great player, but if he gets caught flat-footed, you’re going to have to chase guys down. If you’re closer to the corner to begin with, you can cycle the puck out of the zone more easily.”

“Makes sense.”

Patrick licked his lips, and Jason bit the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning. This was seriously fucked-up. He could not afford to be attracted to anybody involved with the Olympics or the NHL. Jason had been a bit of a lark, making the Olympic team in the first place, and this was his chance to show everyone he could be an elite player. Thinking with his dick would get him nowhere. The Games were starting in a few short months, and he couldn’t allow himself to become distracted from his goal.

The older man looked up, and Jason felt his face flame.

“Hey, Roney, you all right? You look a little flushed.”

Patrick’s eyes narrowed, and Jason forced himself not to squirm under the scrutiny. “I’m fine. Just, you know, still a little tired from practice. Haven’t gone that hard in a while.”

Why does everything sound dirty? I’m losing my mind.

“Sure, sure. Well, go get some rest. We’ve got a two-a-day tomorrow.”

“How could I forget?” Jason asked with a wry grin. Two-a-days—where the team practiced in both the morning and afternoon—were one of the many banes of a hockey player’s existence, and he wasn’t looking forward to the next day, knowing even with his superior conditioning he’d be sucking wind by the end.

“One of the reasons we chose you was your endurance. We’re hoping you won’t break down over the course of the Games like some of the other guys might.”

Patrick regarded him steadily, and Jason felt his heartbeat quicken.

“I fought for you to make the team, and I have faith in you.”

Jason swallowed, his throat tight. “Thank you, sir.”

Patrick grinned. “Sir? You must be feeling out of whack. Call me Patrick or Patty.”

“Patrick.”

“Trying to suck up or just show respect to your elders?”

Jason’s blood pressure went through the roof as images of him sucking Patrick off flooded his addled brain.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Listen, Roney. You don’t need to be nervous. You’re here because you deserve to be. You made it, kid. Now enjoy the opportunity and play your best. That’s all we can ask.”

Patrick started to reach out, but then his hand curled into a fist and dropped onto his leg. What was that about?

“Go ahead. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jason nodded and skedaddled before Patrick could get another word in. As he drove to the hotel USA Hockey had put them up in, he tried to figure out how difficult it would be to avoid Patrick until he could go back to New Jersey and start training camp for the upcoming NHL season. Highly unlikely, considering how many team functions were planned during orientation camp. Then there were the actual Olympics in a few months. Groaning, Jason wondered if he’d have enough time for a quick suck ’n’ fuck at some local gay club so he could take the edge off. Shit, he hoped so.

* * * *

Patrick packed up his stuff and headed out, hitting the button on his rental car’s remote to unlock the doors when he was a few feet away. His brain flashed back to his meeting with Jason. The kid was acting weird, and Patrick wasn’t sure what was going on. He’d been loose that morning, laughing and joking with his fellow teammates. So what was different during their meeting? Was he nervous about being yelled at? The brass at USA Hockey had spoken to his coach in New Jersey before making their final selections and had been told the kid was definitely coachable. Patrick wasn’t sure what would be different about him taking direction here.

He frowned. Come to think of it, he’d seen Jason interact with the various coaches today, including him, and he hadn’t seemed as uptight as he just had. Did the kid not like him for some reason? What had changed in only a few hours? When Patrick realized he was standing beside his car door, staring into space, he shook his head and climbed into the car for the drive back to the hotel, resolving to watch Jason tomorrow, both to see if the younger man took his advice about the positioning and to see if he acted strangely around any of the other staff. Having a player hate you was always bad for chemistry, especially when you had no idea why or what to do about it.

* * * *

The next day, Patrick was more confused than ever. He’d found himself watching Jason like a hawk, and Jason appeared to be having a great time, streaking up and down the ice during drills in the morning and working his ass off in the afternoon scrimmage. He was quick to smile and laugh, but the couple of times Patrick noticed that when Jason glanced his way as Patrick sat a few rows up from the benches, his smile had faded and he’d turned away. Never before had a player responded to Patrick that way, not while he was playing, and certainly not now that he was serving in an advisory capacity for USA Hockey and as a scout for Philly during the season.

Despite Jason’s apparent dislike of him, though, Patrick was drawn to him. When he looked down at his notes and realized the legal pad in front of him was virtually blank, and that what notes he’d managed to jot down were almost exclusively dedicated to Jason, he rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger while silently castigating himself.

In the logical part of his brain, he knew there was a possibility a player wouldn’t like him or wouldn’t jibe with him at some point in his career. Despite that, for some reason it bothered him a whole hell of a lot. Jason was a player he respected tremendously. Yes, he was young, but also incredibly talented. He had a great future ahead of him.

Doesn’t hurt that he’s smokin’ hot either.

He told his dick to shut up. Patrick had played with and been around good looking, well-toned professional athletes for years. The guy’s physical makeup shouldn’t even be entering into his thought process. But it was. Shit. Not having a hot guy such as Jason like him was hard on a gay man’s ego, especially since Patrick wasn’t exactly a young man himself anymore. With a sigh, he tore his gaze away from Jason and forced himself to observe the other guys.

When Jason was still acting squirrelly the next day, Patrick caught up with him in the hallway outside the trainers’ room. He was losing his mind. He had to know what was up with the kid. For the past two days he’d been racking his brain, trying to figure out what he could possibly have done to bring about this change in the man’s attitude.

“Hey, Roney, wait a minute.” Jason froze before slowly turning. His expression was stony. “Yeah?”

Patrick took a deep breath. Instead of relaxing him, the clean, woodsy scent of Jason’s cologne flooded his nostrils, and he barely held in an agonized groan. “What’s up with you?” His question came out harsher than he’d intended, and he sighed.

“What do you mean?”

The younger man wouldn’t meet his gaze, and Patrick tried to rein in his temper. What the fuck was going on?

“This,” Patrick answered, gesturing toward Jason. “Did I do something to piss you off?”

Jason’s eyes were shadowed with an unreadable emotion when he finally looked at Patrick. “No.”

“Then what’s with the attitude?” One eyebrow rose. “Attitude?” Patrick crowded him a little, and

Jason immediately retreated, his back hitting the wall behind him.

What the fuck? Is he afraid of me?

The concept seemed ridiculous, but otherwise, why would he be acting this way?

“This,” Patrick repeated, poking Jason in the chest. “You won’t look at me, you won’t talk to me, and now you look like someone just made you eat something that smelled bad.” Jason’s throat worked, and Patrick frowned. “I don’t understand what I did, but we’re going to be working closely over the next couple of months, and I don’t want there to be some weird rift between us.”

Crossing his arms over his chest in the scant distance between them, Jason replied, “There’s nothing. I’m fine.”

A lesser man would’ve been cowed by the threatening stance the younger man had taken, but Patrick was used to hockey players beating their chests. It didn’t faze him, despite the fact that Jason was about six-two and easily over two hundred pounds. Patrick was a few inches shorter and, at this point, probably twenty pounds lighter, but Jason being bigger kind of turned him on. Really, if anything, Patrick should be afraid of Jason, not the other way around.

Looking at the other man’s face just a hairbreadth away, Patrick noticed how close they were standing, especially since Jason had crossed his arms. His treacherous dick twitched. At the moment Jason was clad in a pair of sweat shorts that no doubt showed his ass to great effect and a skintight USA Hockey T-shirt, his large feet clad in the sandals most of the players wore around the locker-room area. Those muscular arms, still crossed over his mouthwatering chest, were lightly dusted with dark hair, as were his legs.

Patrick was practically plastered to the other man, not having wanted to look weak by backing down himself, and when Jason met his gaze once more, Patrick barely stifled a gasp. Heat lurked in the kid’s eyes, much as he no doubt tried to disguise it. There was no mistaking the way his pupils were lust blown. It was next to impossible to hide if someone were looking closely, and Patrick was. Was he gay? Even more alarming—did he know Patrick was too? Was that the reasoning behind the look Patrick had just intercepted?

This just got pretty fucking complicated.

Patrick was decidedly not out, and apparently his gaydar was shot to shit too, since he’d had no clue about Jason’s sexuality until it had become clear in his gaze. Eyes didn’t lie, and Jason’s said he was interested. Patrick paused, trying to get his head on straight. If Jason was gay, he wasn’t out either. Patrick was pretty sure he would’ve heard if a player in the pros had gone public with his homosexuality.

Should he say something? He was practically one of the kid’s coaches. If he were a better man, he would be giving advice rather than trying like hell to figure out how to get into the guy’s pants. But Patrick wasn’t a better man. He was a horny, ridiculously turned-on man, who obviously had a thing for this kid.

Stepping a little closer still—not enough to rouse suspicions should anyone come upon the two of them, but enough to better assess what was going through Jason’s mind and, if he was honest with himself, to experience that little thrill of attraction he’d missed so much lately—Patrick took a good look at the man in front of him. Jason might be younger than he by over fifteen years, but he wasn’t built like a kid. No, Jason was closer to a tank, and that had always been Patrick’s type. He wasn’t a fan of feeling like he was going to break some little twink in half.

Jason’s hair was dark brown and cut in one of those fashionable styles when it wasn’t plastered to his head after a hard practice like they’d had today. He also had full lips and a square jaw. For a younger man, his facial hair grew quickly, and his neck, jaw, and cheeks were covered in a thick scruff, even though Patrick knew the man had been clean shaven as per USA Hockey regulations for the team picture only two days ago.

Patrick wasn’t usually attracted to younger guys, but he had to admit, Jason had a certain magnetism that no doubt drew men and women alike to him. Eyes the color of honey were currently darting all over as if the man was looking for an escape hatch, and with no small amount of regret, Patrick took a step back. He now had a pretty good idea of what Jason’s problem was, but he refused to embarrass the kid by saying or doing anything, especially here.

There was no good way to end this awkward-as-hell encounter, though, and Patrick searched his mind for something nonthreatening to say. “Just promise me you’ll tell me if there’s something I ever say or do that makes you uncomfortable.”

Jason nodded, staring at the floor. “Can I go now?”

He retreated another step. “Of course.”

Without another word, Jason fled, and Patrick had to resist the urge to allow the wall to hold him up. He didn’t need to read a book on the principles of coaching to know that having an attraction to a player was bad news, especially one as young as Jason. Sure, he was well above legal at the age of twenty-two, but many would only see the large age difference and vilify Patrick.

Sunday Sport Stats

See the Light

Cassandra Carr

Cassandra Carr is a multi-award winning writer. When not writing she enjoys rooting for her beloved hockey team - the Buffalo Sabres, taking her daughter on grand adventures, and binge watching TV shows. Cassandra's books have won numerous "Best Book Of" awards and her novella Power Shift (former title Unexpected Top) was nominated in the E-book Erotic Romance category of RT's Reviewers' Choice Awards.

She thinks the best part of being a writer is penning stories in her made-up worlds while most others struggle with commutes, micro-managing bosses and cranky co-workers.

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