Forget Me Not

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V.L. Locey

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Is it possible that the soft smile and furtive looks from Bailey are flirtatious, or is Hadley just living in a floral fantasy world?

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It was supposed to be just another day in the life of Hadley Burton.

Wake up alone, go to work at his flower shop, go home, eat a frozen dinner, play his favorite online fantasy game, go to bed. Alone.  So when his shop gets a frantic call from a harried guy from the Albany Beavers hockey team, looking for flowers for the annual Mother’s Trip wrap-up dinner, he’s stunned and thrilled. Working like a madman, Hadley and his lone employee burn the midnight oil and arrive at the arena just in time to place the centerpieces and meet a few of the players.

Thinking that this business boon was the best thing that could happen to him, he’s not at all ready to run into Bailey Rust, the considerably younger phenom forward of the Beavers. Nor is he prepared to discover that Bailey is a huge gamer and is the prettiest thing he has seen in years. After an hour spent talking gaming, the two go their separate ways. Until Bailey shows up at the flower shop the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that...

A V.L. Locey MM Hockey Romance

Forget Me Not

Copyright © 2021 V.L. Locey

First E-book Publication: August 2021

Edited by Sue Laybourn

Cover Art by Meredith Russell

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

Acknowledgments

To my family who accepts me and all my foibles and quirks. Even the plastic banana in my holster.

To my alphas, betas, editors, and proofers who work incredibly hard to help me make my books the shiniest we can make them.

To Rachel who helps keep me on time, in line, and reasonably sane.

If you want to keep up with all the latest news about my upcoming M/M releases, sign up for my newsletter by visiting my website:

http://vllocey.com/

Forget Me Not

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It was a Monday morning just like most Mondays.

Aside from the sound of sleet hitting my bedroom window everything was as it was on every other morning of every other week during every other month. I rolled to the left to gaze upon a beautiful ginger-blond sleeping peacefully beside me. Smiling at the innocent look on his face while wondering what he was doing there, I reached out and ran a hand over the ferret snoozing away on the spare pillow.

“Excuse me, good sir, but how did you get out of your cage?” Legolas blinked awake, stretched, and scurried over to cuddle up on my neck. He loved my beard. It was hard to stay mad at the cinnamon-colored little shit. He was a clever thing, lively, talkative, troublesome, and a sheer joy. “I’m not sure that you’re exactly the sexy man in my bed that I asked the gay gods to bless me with last night.”

He made a whimpering sound as he curled into a ball. I lay there for a few minutes, knowing my alarm would sound soon, watching the sleet building up on the outside of the window. I hated winter. My forty-two year old bones disliked it as well. Why I had stuck around Albany, New York for my entire life when I despised the cold was anyone’s guess. Glutton for punishment, I suppose. Sure, I’d been born there, and my business was there, and what remained of my small family was there, but other than that I had no reason not to move.

God knows Steve hadn’t let the grass grow under his feet. Legolas began snoring, and that wiped the memory of my ex-boyfriend from my mind. Buying this little critter two years ago had been the best thing I had ever done. Man you love moves out. Buy a ferret.

My phone alarm went off. Legolas groaned as if he had the weight of the world on his long back. I picked him up, placed him on the bed, and eased out from under the covers. He slept as I showered and dressed. Then we padded around my cozy second-floor apartment, him on my heels, and made breakfast. The local news on the TV was calling for more sleet then sun later in the week. I ate my maple oatmeal as Legolas feasted on his morning treat of kitten food.

Typical morning on a typical day.

I sighed at the normalcy of it all as I cleaned the kitchen. My life was not going at all as I had anticipated. Yes, I did have my own business. Posy Pusher did well. Or okay, I suppose I should say. I made enough selling flowers to pay my rent, give Midge a small salary, and keep Legolas in the prime ferret food he loved. I even had a little socked away for a rainy day, or a romantic trip to Hawaii with that special man. I’d thought that man had been Steve but Steve had thought otherwise.

“Okay, let’s get you into your cage.” I knelt on the floor to fish my pet out from under the sofa. I found a small mound of food. “You do like to ferret things away for later, don’t you?”

I laughed at my joke. Legolas gave me a scowl and wiggled out of reach. After I moved the sofa and caught the little bugger I walked him to his cage. It was a huge thing with three levels, ladders, a nice clean litter box, and toys galore. The door was open.

“I’m not sure how you do this but I will get a new lock on the way home,” I told him, kissed his furry head, and then placed him in his cage. I filled his food dishes and waterer then used a twist tie to secure the sliding lock. Standing back, I gazed at my work with pride. “There. That should hold you.”

He chirped at me. I turned, found my phone on the end table where I’d left it to charge overnight. When I picked it up I saw that the charger cord had been gnawed in half. I threw a withering look over my shoulder. Legolas gazed at me in innocence.

“What would the other members of the Fellowship think of this behavior?”  He ran off to hide in his carpeted tube. I glanced at my gaming console. Relief washed over me to see that the cord to charge the controller was untouched. “I’m going to report this to your father. This is unfitting for a prince of Mirkwood.”

He stayed hidden in his tube.

I made a mental note to run out and buy another new charger for my phone during my lunchbreak—if I got one. We had ten days until Valentine’s Day, and the orders had been flowing in. The employees of the state capital who had used Mercutio’s Florals were now slowly drifting my way now that Mercutio had been caught importing more than flowers. Of course, many were still using the florist shop inside the rotunda, but my sales had increased nicely. And Mercutio had been a bitter bitch anyway. Always making fun of my midlife spread, my beard, and the scars that acne had left on my face, when we attended the New York State Floral Society dinners.

Italian twinks were easy on the eyes but killer on the self-esteem.

Shucking on my coat, I then hustled down the stairs of the brownstone, stopping only briefly to visit with my landlord, Mr. Merkle, as he scattered salt on the icy steps.

“No bike for you today,” he said as I gingerly made my way down the four concrete steps. The sidewalk was coated with ice and topped with a fine layer of sleet. The small bits hit me in the face, stinging madly wherever they met skin.

“Nope!” I shouted as I pulled the hood on my coat tighter around my face. Spring couldn’t come soon enough. I loved biking to the capital district which was ten blocks away in the summer. Today I’d have to use mass transit or walk. I glanced skyward. Gray clouds lay heavy over the city. Ice particles hit me in the eyes. Cussing to myself as my eyes watered, I slipped and slewed my way to a CDTA bus stop. The buses were late so I arrived at the shop a few minutes after nine. Sliding into the back door, I smelled the coffee perking.

Midge was somewhere in the shop, probably out front flipping the CLOSED sign to OPEN. She lived above the shop now. She and my mother, Mona, had shared a small place in the Pine Hills district. When Mom had died two years ago from breast cancer, Aunt Midge had sold her rowhome and moved here. I charged her no rent for the flat above the store, and this way I could keep an eye on my only close living relative. Or perhaps she was keeping an eye on me? That was up for debate, to be honest.

“Aunt Midge?” I yelled as I stamped my feet and shrugged out of my coat. No reply. I shouted louder. She was quite deaf but refused to get a hearing aid. Why? Who knew. I could ask her every day and she would have some crazy answer. Yesterday it had something to do with radioactive waves being picked up by hearing aids and transmitting into the human brain. She watched far too many movies. “Aunt Midge!!” I bellowed.

Midge came waddling out of the storage room. She was a tiny thing, built like my mother—short and round with the same dusky brown hair that I had, only hers was streaked with silver. Tiny glasses sat on her pug nose.

“Why are you always yelling?” she asked.

“Because you can’t hear. Why don’t you get some hearing aids?” I enquired, just because it was part of our dynamic.

“They make my ears feel funny. Where’s the salmon ribbon?”

“Those are called sound waves, Aunt Midge.”

“Oh, bullshit. Why did you put the damn ribbon in the fridge?”

“No. I said...” She was already gone. Into the breakroom to look for ribbon in the fridge. I glanced skyward. “Please, whoever is up there listening, give me patience.”

“There is no ribbon in here. Just some old tuna. And an outdated bottle of pimentos,” she said as I made my way to the coffee pot.

“I’ll find you the ribbon,” I vowed as I poured my first mug of the day. Coffee was a bad habit of mine. I’d tried to break it. Once. For an hour.

“Why on earth do you want a circumcision? Didn’t Mona do that for you when you were born?”

I spewed coffee down the front of my only clean work tee. Aunt Midge gave me an odd sort of glower then pattered off to look for salmon ribbon as I dabbed at my stained shirt. I made another mental note to myself to never buy white T-shirts for work. Or anything else. Knowing I had no other T-shirts with the Posy Pusher logo on it, I rushed into the cramped bathroom and found one of my old Spellborn Wars hoodies from the lone locker. The shop phone rang.

“Oh, shit,” I mumbled, grabbed a blue Posy Pusher apron, and raced to the front of the store before Aunt Midge picked up the phone. We did not want another incident like we had with the sanitation workers union last Christmas. Thankfully, she was in the storeroom and unable to hear the phone from that distance. I skidded past the coolers filled with fresh flowers then dove on the bright blue phone beside the cash register.

“Good morning, Posy Pusher. This is Hadley. How can I help you?” I panted. I really did need to start working out after work instead of spending hours online on magical quests and slaying dragons. Oh, and romancing elves. I did have a thing for—

“Hey! I’m so glad you picked up. My name is Prescott Williams and I’m part of the public relations team for the Albany Beavers. We’ve hit a bit of a snafu. Our usual florist, Mercutio’s Floral apparently went out of business recently.”

“Yes they did.” I said politely as I scrabbled to recall what the Albany Beavers were and why I should know the name. It sounded sporty.

“So I discovered. Someone said that they read the owner went to Peru to weave ponchos with a man named Hector or Heleganza or something.”

“Helaganza extravaganza!” I chirped merrily. There was dead silence on the other end. I really needed to watch less RuPaul’s Drag Race.

“Right. Well, we had a standing order with them for our annual Mother’s Trip brunch and now we’re stuck. Is there any way that you could deliver fifteen table centerpieces, twenty-four wrist corsages, and two dozen rose bud and baby breath bouquets to the Albany Paints Arena tomorrow morning before ten?”

My brain went into free fall. That was a massive order. Midge and I would have to work all night. I hated to push the old gal too hard but this was a golden opportunity.

“Sure, we can do that! Do you have a preferred color scheme?”

Prescott Williams “Phew’d” into my ear. “You are a lifesaver! Make them all Beavers colors. I’ll meet you at the delivery entrance at the rear of the arena at ten sharp tomorrow. Thank you!”

He hung up. I blinked at the blue phone in my hand.

“What the hell are beaver colors?” I asked the rack of small cards in front of me.

***

Thank the floral gods for Google.

I discovered a great deal about the Albany Beavers online. They played hockey so I had been right about them being sporty—ice hockey it seemed. I’d not watched much hockey, or any other sport, to be honest, unless fantasy role-playing board games counted as a sport, which I was pretty sure they didn’t. Bashing trolls gets no respect from the jocks. Neither did being gay, but that was a sad story for another day. Right now, on this Monday, I was up to my elbows in green and gold posies, green and gold being the Albany Beaver team colors. I also spotted some really good-looking men on the team roster page. One, a cutie with shoulder-length brown hair, a thin jaw strap, and dimples, had caught my eye immediately—Bailey Rust his name was. He was twenty and two years old. When I saw his age I hurried to leave the roster page. Making doe eyes at a rookie hockey player twenty years my junior was a waste of time, even if he did have dimples and stunning hazel eyes. He had to be straight. And even if by some random quirk of fate he turned out to be gay or bi, surely he would take one gander at me and run for the hills. Hot young men were not into paunchy middle-aged florists who had pock marks and pretended to be a bard online. It was surely the stuff of dreams, though.

“...that mum like you want to have a baby with it.”

A spool of floral wire bounced off my chest. I jerked back to reality sharply. Midge was staring at me over the top of her bifocals.

“I was studying its shape,” I told her.

“It looks nothing like an ape. I’m tired.”

“And cranky,” I mumbled then slid the mum into centerpiece number six.

“I don’t want your hankie. I’m going to bed.” With that she shimmied off the stool she’d been sitting on. I blew her a kiss, stood, and stretched. It was ten after three in the morning. We’d been besieged with business all day, of course we had, and so had not gotten around to working on the Beaver order until after the shop had closed. Thank goodness I’d been able to call my wholesaler and get more flowers ordered. The coolers were pretty bare at the moment. Those would come early tomorrow—today I mean—but Midge could handle that. She was a whiz with numbers. Studying the project spread out on the large table in our storage room, I sighed and padded off to get some more coffee. I sure hoped this rush job turned into something bright and beautiful for Posy Pusher.

***

After a bit of a struggle getting the old Dodge van parked behind the shop to start, I was on my way to the hockey arena by nine-thirty. Morning traffic around the capital was always slow. Yawning steadily, I sipped coffee from my travel mug as I crawled from traffic light to traffic light. The heater in my delivery van was iffy. Maybe if this gig with the Beavers panned out I could invest in a new van with a sharp new logo painted on the side.

With a cold nose and a few thousand dollars’ worth of flowers in the back of the van I maneuvered my way to the arena. Funny how I’d seen this building a thousand times but had never been inside it for any kind of sporting event. I had come here for the gaming cons that took place yearly. But there had been no ice on the floor then. Just hundreds of gamers—my people.

I pulled into the parking lot of the huge oval-shaped arena, admiring the sun glinting off the mirrored sides. It took me a few goes to find the delivery entrance, then I had to go through some pretty stringent admissions protocols before I was allowed to pull up and start carrying my creations indoors. I yanked a Posy Pusher hat over my unwashed hair and began toting flowers.

I’d gone with a wintry theme for the event, using small buds with the team colors interspersed with white mums, birch branches, hypericum berries, parrot tulips, snapdragons, juniper, and cedar placed in gold and white glass urns. The wrist corsages mimicked the table settings in color and tone, with the addition of some small pinecones. Midge and I had thought they all looked marvelous, given the short notice. The rose bouquets were standard and had emptied my shop of every single rose.

After I wandered around with my arms full of flowers, feeling like a lost lamb, a kindly security guard escorted me to the private suites that sat way above the ice. I glanced out at the skating area as we passed open doorways that led to the fan seating. The ice was shiny. A massive Jumbotron hung over the center with the time ticking off until the next game, which was tonight it seemed, against a team from Pittsburgh.

“Do you need help carting them up or do you have an assistant?” the man with the badge asked.

“My assistant is back at the shop,” I replied as we walked along, passing door after door. “How many private suites are there here?”

“There are three levels with about eighty private suites. This is the governor’s box,” he said as he waved a hand at a sturdy door with a small security panel beside it. He went on pointing out all the big names and corporations that had boxes to watch the pros play ice hockey. We paused outside a door. He turned to look at me. “This is the main banquet room. I’ll get you a pass and then we’ll round up some help for you.”

“Thanks. Someone from the team was supposed to meet me here but he must have been delayed. Prescott Williams his name is.” The older Black man nodded. “I told you that already didn’t I?”

“A few times. Which is why I called Prescott’s office to verify. He’s nursing a bad tooth so he won’t be here today. We’ll get you settled.” He scanned a keycard hanging from a lanyard around his neck. The door clicked and we walked into a stunning dining area with the Beavers rabid-looking mascot on the wall. I’d never seen such a bloodthirsty-looking beaver in all my life. And wouldn’t a beaver eat the hockey stick that the mascot was carrying? “The team and their mothers are to be here by eleven.”

I glanced at the clock over the bar area and felt a stab of panic. It was ten-thirty already. “We better get moving.”

The next thirty minutes were chaos. I had to work around the catering staff who were far too pokey for my liking. I ended up diving in and grabbing tablecloths to cover the round tables so that I could set up my centerpieces. I had just gotten the last one placed on a table by a wall of glass that looked out over Albany when people started filing in. Big, tall, strapping man-people with tiny, smiling mom-people on their arms. Everyone was dressy casual and I was wearing a wrinkled Spellborn Wars hoodie that I’d been in for over twenty-four hours. My hands were scratched and scabbed from de-thorning roses as well as being dry and cracked from fishing Oasis bricks out of water then cutting them into shape. My beard probably had bits of pine and bark in it.

Then he walked in. The brunet cutie with the dimples and eyes—Bailey Rust. His mother, a rather tall and willowy woman with hair the same dark brown as her son’s was on his arm. Bailey was in pressed jeans that fit his bubble ass so well I bit down on my lower lip to keep from moaning. He wore a plain white dress shirt and navy blue suit jacket with those sinful dungarees. My gaze was locked on him as he laughed at something one of the other players had said to him. Then his green-brown eyes swept the room and landed right on me. He smiled. Not that polite kind of smile a person gives to someone they make contact with. It was a big smile. The kind that made those dimples even more dimply. Then he pointed at his chest. As if my greedy gaze needed him to direct my peepers to his chest. Was this man trying to kill me or—

Oh.

I nodded as recognition dawned. He meant my chest—the Spellborn Wars dragon logo on my hoodie. Did he play? I inclined my head. His smile widened. It was a good thing I had a wall behind me because he then settled his mother at a table with several other mom types and made his way to me. I gaped as he moved closer.

“Hey,” he said just as the scent of his aftershave reached me—sandalwood and something floral—a unique scent. Most men shied away from floral smells. “I love that hoodie. Did you find it online? It’s really retro.”

“I uhm, no I bought it new.” God above, his lips moved when he spoke.

No shit, Sherlock. He’s not communicating mentally like Professor X.

“Oh wow, so you’ve been playing for a long time then. I just got into it like last month over the holiday break. I love it, but man do I suck!” He laughed. I did as well only my snorty laugh was more nervous than lightly entertained. “My name is Bailey Rust.”

He offered me his hand. I wasn’t sure if staff were permitted to speak to the stars, many places did not want florists or caterers to mingle, but no one seemed to be freaking out so I took the hand offered to me and pumped it. He had a strong grip.

Probably from holding his stick. Wink. Nudge

“Hadley Burton. Florist. These are my flowers.”

“Wow, they’re pretty. My mother was going mental over the big one at her table.” I felt my ears warm at the praise. He tipped his head just a bit as his lips tweaked up at one side. My goodness, he was so pretty up close. And he smelled delicious.

And then the biggest awkward moment in the history of awkward moments fell on us. Several agonizing minutes ticked by as we exchanged fleeting glances.

Unsure of how to proceed I coughed up something about gaming, figuring that subject was safe.

“Maybe someday we can play with each other.” As soon as the words left my mouth I cringed. Oh my God, someone find this moron some water hemlock stat! Bailey’s mouth dropped open. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

He laughed nervously then fled back to his mother after coughing up some flimsy excuse about shoes. I, being a moronic glutton for punishment, ogled his ass in those jeans for another minute then slunk out of the room before I embarrassed myself even more. It was time to go back to work, once I stopped at home to check on Legolas who was probably upset with me for not coming home last night. If I never saw a hockey player again it would be too soon.

***

By Wednesday morning I had more of less gotten over the embarrassment of the Bailey Rust catastrophe. Business was brisk and Midge was in rare form. So my mind was kept occupied with tasks that had nothing to do with hot hockey players.

Around eleven the bells over the front door chimed. I glanced up from double-checking the floral orders that Midge had accepted the morning I’d been inserting my foot into my mouth over at the arena. The world narrowed down to a small pinpoint that centered on Bailey Rust walking through the door. His gaze found mine instantly. It was hard to miss a big, beardy guy in a small flower shop. He smiled. It was a small, unsure sort of smile that made my morning bagel and cream cheese feel all toasty again.

Not knowing what to say, I stood there dumbstruck, my ears warming, staring at the stunning younger man in the thick woolen coat.

“Hi,” he called as he maneuvered around delicate display stands holding arrangements for Valentine’s Day. He bumped a small wooden table. The bowl holding the pink and white pirouette tulips rolled off the edge. He grabbed it smoothly, his cheeks now red as a rose. “Oh shit. Sorry. Dang. I just...” He placed the tulip garden back on the tiny table then shoved his hands into his pockets. “I need flowers.”

“You came to the right place.” I grinned at my own comment. Bailey stared at me. “Because there are flowers here.”

“Oh! Sure, yeah. That’s funny.” He arrived at the counter without further floral incident. I found myself starting at the wisps of dark hair curling around a dark gray toque. The strands looked soft, like his lips and smooth cheeks. I bet his whiskers were soft as kitten fur.

“I have a million of them.” No, stop it, Hadley. Do not pull out your stupid florist jokes. “Did you hear about the flower that never bloomed? It was a bud omen.” This is your flight attendant. Please place the masks that are about to fall in front of your lame face. This plane is going down.

He stared at me for a long time, hazel gaze not at all amused. “Oh, right, Funny. That was funny.”

He was cute. Polite. And a terrible liar. “So flowers?”

“Huh?” His gaze flew up from my mouth. Shit! Did I have floral bits in my beard again? “Oh! Flowers. Yeah, I uhm...need some.”

“Okay, what’s the occasion?”

Please don’t let him say they’re for his girlfriend.

“Occasion?” He reached up and slid a finger under his toque to scratch his head. “Oh! Right. Uhm, my mother wanted more flowers. She loves flowers. Pink ones. Maybe those!” He whipped around and lunged at the pirouette tulips, his hip catching a stand with greeting cards and sending it spinning. “Shit! Dang. Sorry. I won’t move anymore. The pink and white ones. I’ll take those.”

“Okay. Address?” My brain was working for the moment. He lifted the flowers and cradled them to his chest as he gingerly returned to the checkout counter.

“16 West Parmenter.”

“That’s here in Albany. Does she live in Albany?”

“What? Oh. Her address! Why do you...right. Flowers. She lives in Toronto.”

“Okay, I can have a local shop wire that kind of arrangement to her.” I scribbled down his preference then looked up. His gaze met mine and there we stayed, locked, staring at each other like two dimwits.

He wet his lips. My heart rate tripled.

“Uhm, I’ll deliver these to her in person,” he murmured as I felt myself falling into those beautiful green-brown depths.

“In Toronto?”

He blinked rapidly.” What? I...oh no, doh! I mean...sure yeah, wire them to her.” He shoved the flowers at me, tugged a couple of crinkled twenties from his front pocket, passed them over, as well as his mother’s address, and then beat a hasty retreat, his cheeks flushed.

I watched him stumble past the front window, his eyes touching on me one final time before he disappeared from view. Midge poked me in the side—hard. I jumped, the tulip dish nearly flying from my grip.

“Who was that? Was that the ex-vice president?” She scurried to the steamy window and placed her cheek to it. “It looked like him. Did he get flowers for the White House?”

“Why would the ex-vice president come to Albany to buy flowers for the White House?” I asked, my thoughts sloppy. “He’s kind of adorable.”

“You know I don’t read them kind of books. Sounds dirty to me. What kind of person has Horn Blow for a last name.” Midge swiped at the condensation on the window to scope out the ex-vice president. “I think I see Secret Service men! Quick, grab my Polaroid!”

***

The next day at eleven the bells jingled. I was placing pink tulips into the cooler and pulled back to see Bailey glancing around the shop. My belly did a flip-flop. I shoved the flowers into a large vase then quickly closed the cooler door. Two women over in the corner who were browsing the catalogs for an upcoming fundraiser looked up. Recognition lit their faces and they skedaddled to the handsome young man in the gray toque for autographs. I must’ve been the only person in Albany who didn’t follow Beavers hockey.

Bailey signed a couple of greeting cards for their sons then delicately made his way to me at the coolers.

“Hi,” he said as he neared. I nodded. He removed his toque. Static sparked to life, making his hair stand on end. He batted it down with his toque-free hand. “I, uhm...my sister’s cat just had kittens.”

“Congratulations.”

His hair was still a mess. It needed a dryer sheet. I had dryer sheets. I could rub one over his hair for him.

“Oh yeah, thanks. So, I need flowers.”

“For a kitten birth?”

“They’re very important kittens,” he announced while his gaze flittered all over the shop. Midge appeared at that moment, wearing an old apron of mine that read I’m into Pricks and had an image of a rose among the words.

“We don’t sell mittens. Try the thrift shop.” She opened the cooler, took out a handful of Calla lilies then returned to the back. We had no orders with lilies. My Midge Alert mental alarm began to peal.

“I didn’t ask for mittens. I have hot hands.” My attention flew back to Bailey. He held up hands the size of hub caps. “Not hockey-wise, I mean, just warm-wise. I’m always hot.”

That he was. Even with flyaway hair. “Right, so kitten flowers. How about something with some pussy willow branches? I should be able to order some.”

He smiled. The dimples appeared. My knees felt wobbly. “That’s cool. Yeah, pussy willows for sure. Oh! Maybe some catnip.”

That made me chuckle. I’d never been asked to include catnip in an arrangement before. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks. I was playing Spellborn Wars last night. That troll queen who guards the rainbow forest is brutal.” He tagged along behind me as I went to the cash register to find my order pad.

“Oh yeah, she’s miserable. And it’s incredibly hard to get past her when you’re just starting out.” I wiggled behind the register, found my pad, and then made the mistake of looking at him again. He was so damn cute. It made thinking difficult. “I had to team up with another bard and we kept barraging her with sleeping spells.”

“Oh, a bard. Yeah, I’m an elven archer.”

I could see that. “My ferret is too.”

“An elven archer?” His one brow jumped up into his messy hairline.

“Named after one. Legolas.”

“Oh cool! I love Lord of the Rings. I had a parakeet named Gimli but my sister’s cat ate him.”

“And you want to send this cat flowers?”

“Live and let live, eh?” He shrugged and I think I actually sighed dreamily inside my head.

“So they say. I’ll need her address. Is she in Toronto as well?”

“Yeah. I am too. From Toronto.” He casually leaned on the counter, bringing his brow and mine close. I looked up from the pad at the same time he glanced at me. His eyes were even more stunning up close. Gold flecks danced among the green and brown. I watched something flare to life in his gaze. Then as quickly it was shuttered. He straightened. “I think I need to go. Home. To nap. I always nap after morning skate. And eat. We have a game tonight. So, thanks.”

His exit was speedy and flustered, just like before. I sat on the old stool behind the register, my head befuddled and my heart racing, holding Canadian money and an address in Toronto. The fundraiser ladies were staring at me.

“His sister’s cat had kittens,” I explained, which wasn’t an explanation at all, but it was the only explanation I had for them. And for me as well.

***

Over the next ten days a pattern developed. One that I found utterly endearing and more than a little mystifying.

Every day at five after eleven Bailey showed up, pink in his cheeks, fresh from his after-morning-skate shower, to buy flowers. After the fourth day of this floral purchasing extravaganza I had started to suspect he was coming here to see me. Me—the much older, soft-bellied florist with old scars, both mental and physical—me. Why a young buck like Bailey would want to dawdle in my less than stellar presence was truly a question for the prophetess of Mount Tomb in Spellborn Wars.

That was the mystifying part. The endearing part was his reasons for purchasing flowers on a daily basis.

His dog’s birthday.

His teammate Scoot won the inter-team Super Mario Kart championship.

The TV series he liked had gotten renewed and he wanted to congratulate the star.

His dentist purchased a new X-ray machine.

I actually called him on that one, asking why anyone would care about the equipment his dentist used. He’d bumbled around adorably and finally said that a hockey player and his dentist were close. Which was legit. His excuses were becoming more and more outlandish as we went along. So when he appeared in my shop today, toque pulled down to his eyebrows as a winter storm lashed Albany, I enjoyed the uptick in my pulse then gave him a friendly wave from behind the counter. The snow had slowed the foot traffic into the shop but the phone had been ringing off the hook. Valentine’s Day was tomorrow and I did advertise that I delivered no matter the weather.

Looking at the sexy hockey player coated with snow, I was beginning to question the sanity of driving all over town in a storm. Hopefully, by tomorrow, the streets would be cleared. Snow and ice were a common thing for us here.

“Holy cow, it’s really snowing!” he announced to the empty shop. “I barely made it here. I need to get some good winter treads.”

“You’d think a boy from Toronto would be all about the studded tires,” I tossed out as he ambled toward the counter. He took great care to twist his big frame sideways to avoid the small displays and tables littering the showroom.

“Oh yeah for sure. I know better. My dad kept warning me but life is so busy, you know?” He sidled up to the counter, his smooth cheeks wet with melted snow. The urge to wipe the droplets from his nose was overpowering. I sat on my hands. While I suspected the man was interested in me reaching out to touch his face was a step too far. “Anyway, I need to order some flowers.”

I smiled and folded my arms over my Posy Pusher apron. “I hope the Beavers are paying you well. You’ve spent a small fortune on flowers the past couple of weeks.”

His eyes flared as his cheeks went from pink to scarlet. “Oh, I well...yeah, I do good. I mean for a rookie and all. I just...the flowers are for important things.”

“I know. Yesterday’s order to thank Prime Minister Trudeau for liking your tweet about poutine was really thoughtful.”

He stared at me openly, jaw loose, for a few seconds. “They make the best poutine in Toronto and I just thought that he should...shit.” He tugged off his toque and began twisting it in his hands. “Okay, so I think that maybe you’re onto me, yeah?”

His gaze lifted from his hat to me. The passion I saw in his eyes felt like a kick to the gut from a mule. It left me a little breathless and lot confused.

“Are you coming here to flirt with me?” I asked. The damn phone rang as he opened his mouth to reply. I held up a finger. “Let me take this.”

He nodded. I hurried to scribble down an order for a dozen roses to be delivered tomorrow morning in my aunt’s old neighborhood. When that was done, I laid down my pencil and order pad.

“Are you mad that I’m coming in here to see you?” He asked so quietly the soft rock piped into the front of the store nearly drowned out his query.

“Mad? No, of course not. I’m flattered!”

He smiled with relief. My whole being grew warm as cinnamon toast dipped in hot cocoa.

“Okay good. I’m not so experienced with this. Flirting. I’ve not done it much with men.”

The floorboards creaked overhead Aunt Midge was making lunch for us in her apartment. Minestrone soup, she had said, so she’d not be interrupting for a bit. I leaned closer, my forearms coming to rest on the counter.

“Are you closeted?”

“No, not really. Maybe. No. I don’t think so. I just...it never came up.” He started twisting his toque again. “See, it’s not that I’m scared to be seen with a man I just never had time to date much. All I’ve done since I was three was play hockey. It’s been my whole life.”

“You have dated men though, right?”

He shrugged. “A couple quick pick-ups here and there. Now that I’m on the Beavers, not much. At all. It’s a funny thing. I feel that the team would be okay with it but it’s awkward to go to a bar and be the only one checking out guys.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” It was tough when you weren’t the default setting. “So you are coming here to see me?” He nodded, the blush on his cheeks spreading top his ears. “And that leads me to the confused part of all this. Bailey, I’m much older than you are.”

“I know.”

Oh. “And I have this.” I waved to my face.

He tipped his head. “Eyeballs? I have eyeballs too but they’re not as pretty as your brown ones.” His lips curled at the corners when I coughed in embarrassment.

“No, not my eyeballs. The scarring. And my belly.” I didn’t stand. There was no need to show off my middle-age spread.

“You have a nice belly. And ass. And smile. You’re a gamer. Such a nice smile. And pretty brown eyes. And a fine beard. I’ve never kissed a man with a beard.”

Oh hell. He licked his lips as a fire ignited in his eyes. We both felt the pull of the moment and leaned closer to each other.

“Soup’s ready. Is he back again? I wish you’d just tell him that you think he’s dreamy so we could stop with all the cow eyes at his backside when he leaves.”

My aunt’s voice cut into the romantic moment like a rusty chain saw. Bailey jumped back, hit a display stand, and knocked a ceramic bowl filled with red tulips and baby’s breath to the floor. Clean-up took no time. The man was obviously mortified and so my aunt invited him to have lunch because...just because she was my aunt.

Aunt Midge kept talking about his backside and soup as the three of us climbed to her second floor apartment. Bailey was stunned into silence as my aunt took it upon herself to give him my whole romantic history.

“...maybe he should get onto that meat grinder application thing that all the gays use.”

“Grindr?” Bailey asked as snow piled up on the windowsill behind him. I shuffled in my seat.

“I think it would be kinder too,” she replied, which made Bailey cough on a spoonful of soup.

“Aunt Midge, no. He said Grindr. And can we not talk about my sex life anymore?”

She skewered me with a sour glance. “Don’t give me that pickled look, Hadley Leroy Burton. I know what he said about Quebec.”

Bailey’s eyes rounded as he coughed into a napkin.

“No, not Quebec I said sex and let’s move onto something else. How are the Beavers doing?” I asked while pouring more water into poor Bailey’s glass. I bet he would bolt out of the door after this rousing meal and never be seen again. Which was probably for the best. I still couldn’t grasp why he was interested in me anyway.

“I once ate beaver. It’s not bad. Kind of tough but tasty. Do they eat lots of beaver back in Quebec?” Aunt Midge asked our guest.

“Oh well, uhm, I’ve not had much beaver meat,” he replied, his hair plastered to his head from his hat. He still looked delicious even with flat hair. “I think he meant my hockey team.”

“Yeah, his life has been rocky but I think a young stud like you could perk him right up!” Aunt Midge gave Bailey a shot in the side with her elbow then left the table to go find dessert. Sweet Jesus only knew what.

I buried my face into my hands. “I am so damn sorry,” I mumbled into my palms.

A light flutter of a touch skimmed down my forearm. I lowered my hands to see Bailey smiling softly.

“Don’t be sorry. I think she’s funny and honest.”

“Oh, she’s honest.”

“You think maybe we could play with each other when the shop closes tonight?” A rush of lust tore through me. “I still can’t get past the troll queen. I think I might need an experienced bard to help me walk through the rainbow forest?”

“I have work to do after we close. Arrangements to make. I’ll be here late.”

“Oh well, how about I help?” He ran his finger back up my forearm.

My dick leaped to attention while my brain slowed to an idle. For someone with little experience in the art of flirtation he was doing a damn fine job of stirring me up. Who knew a soft touch of a finger could arouse so completely?

“Help?”

“Yeah. I don’t know anything about flowers. Not really, but I can fetch stuff. And answer the phone while you and your aunt make the orders. Then we can go to your place to play some Spellborn Wars. If you want to help me, that is.”

I stared at him. He was just...amazing. “Are you sure you want to adventure with an old potbellied bard?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. As long as you don’t mind adventuring with a newbie who has no clue how to hold his sword.”

How on earth could I refuse him? I nodded. He grinned. My aunt arrived with canned peaches and Cool Whip for dessert.

The rest of the day flew by. Bailey was a natural at taking orders and talking with the customers. He cited his time interacting with fans as to why he could chit-chat so easily with people he wasn’t attracted to. Hearing him say that made me feel all sparkly inside. Due to the low foot traffic and the ever-mounting snowfall, I closed the shop early and doubled down on creating the arrangements, crafting the bouquets, and filling the long boxes filled with roses, baby breath, and forget-me-nots. Feeling giddy for the first time in years, I slid a white rose across the table.

He looked up from the spool of floral wire in his hand. “What’s this for?” He touched the white flower tenderly.

“I just wanted you to have it. If you want, we can make a small bouquet for you?” He appeared to be stunned. “Or not. I guess most hockey players aren’t really into getting flowers.”

“No! I love it. I’ve never had a man give me a flower. Thank you.” And just like that the moment was calling. We glanced around the work room, saw no sign of Aunt Midge, and leaned over the mounds of clipped stems, floral foam, and spools of ribbon to press our lips together. The kiss was soft and tender as a flower petal.

“I can’t wait to start our adventure,” he whispered. “I brought my controller. Just in case.”

That made me chortle. And steal another kiss. “Let’s get back to work. The rainbow forest awaits!”

***

We worked until eight. Midge was petering out on us by then and the last buses running during this storm would be arriving soon. After getting Midge upstairs, I locked the front door, turned off the lights, and met Bailey in the back room. There we bundled up. I caught him slipping the rose bouquet he’d crafted into his winter coat. It was a simple little thing with that lone white rose, some forget-me-nots, and a bright blue ribbon holding everything together. Seeing him taking it with him touched me. I yearned to kiss him again but that seemed rather bold, so we stepped out into the snow, door locked behind us, and walked to the bus stop hand-in-gloved-hand.

It was easily the most romantic thing I had ever done. I guess that said a lot about my previous relationships. Walking down a snowy street to catch a bus—it didn’t seem like it would be so special, but it was. He kept looking my way, his toque catching the delicate flakes. I reached over to brush the snow off his hat when we stepped into the shelter. He smiled then dusted the flakes from my beard. I thought to kiss him, deep and hard, but the bus pulled up in a thick cloud of diesel fumes.

We sat close to each other, his long legs nearly under his knees as we talked about gaming, food, and books. He and I were big readers of fantasy and sci-fi. By the time were walking up the front steps of my home we were deeply into a discussion of our favorite stories by Rothfuss, Gaiman, and of course Tolkien and Martin.

I led him up the stairs, still chattering away about a new fantasy author I had just discovered when he took the keys from my hand with a timid expression.

“I saw this in a movie once.”

“Ah. It’s gallant to say the least.” He grinned and spun then spent several minutes trying to cram the key to the backdoor of my store into the keyhole. I leaned close, pressing my chest into his back. “Try to silver one,” I whispered beside his ear. He shivered and my cold toes curled inside my boots.

“Right. Duh Bailey.” He glanced back at me sheepishly. The moment the door opened Legolas began regaling me with tales of his displeasure. I flipped on the light and waved Bailey in.

“Be it ever so humble,” I said as I shucked off my wet coat and boots. He did the same. We hung the coats on a stand and left the snowy boots on a mat to dry. Then I hustled to the cage to free my ferret. Bailey came with me, beautiful eyes wide. “This is Legolas. He’s a little shit but I do love him.” I snuggled the ferret close to my cheek, rubbing my nose into his soft fur. “If you have any kind of cord that you value keep it well hidden.”

“Oh he’s a cord-chewer, eh? My sister’s cat does that. I’ve lost count of how many phone chargers she’s had to buy. Will he let me hold him? I’ve never made friends with a ferret before.”

I handed Legolas over. Bailey passed his posy and controller to me. Generally he was quite personable. The ferret eyed him. There was no hissing or other sounds of mustela upset so I felt comfortable letting them get to know each other. It was an instant friendship. Legolas climbed to his shoulder then tried to wiggle into his sweater. That made Bailey laugh out loud. Smiling, I hustled into the kitchen to get the bouquet into a bud vase and round up some snacks.

Once we had chips, dip, and soda at the ready, we sat on the sofa as Legolas zoomed around the apartment. While we signed into our accounts Legolas ran by with a sock and zipped under the sofa with it. Then he tried to haul Bailey’s shoe into his cache. Once we had the shoe back the little shit discovered the bowl of corn chips.

“So this is life with a ferret huh?” Bailey snorted in amusement as I scooped the ferret up and a corn chip fell out of his mouth to the floor.

“This is life with a ferret,” I sighed dramatically then gave the rascal a kiss on his furry head. “I try not to let him eat a lot of junk, but there’s just no stopping him from cleaning up crumbs.”

“Or outright stealing a corn chip,” Bailey chuckled. I nodded. “He’s really cute. I bet he’s good company.”

“Yeah, he’s the best investment I ever made, even if I do run through phone chargers at an astronomical rate.”

Ferret shenanigans keeping us both entertained, we launched a new game, transported our two players, and entered the world of Spellborn Wars side-by-side. When Bailey said he was new to the game he wasn’t lying. The only things he had in his possession was a crappy sword, some pathetic leather armor, and one boot. He’d not made enough gold to buy the other. Poor guy. I loaned him some gold and we got him better armor and a boot. How could a man fight a troll queen with one boot?

He leaned over his controller, his attention on the game now. Even Legolas scampering around his feet couldn’t pull him from the adventure we were in. I led him into the rainbow forest, playing my enchanted lute. My character was a fair representation of me, minus twenty years and forty pounds. Bailey’s warrior was so beautiful—big, strong, sexy—just like him.

We met the troll queen after a few random encounters with her minions, the half-trolls. Bailey had good reflexes, that was for sure. And he was vocal. He’d shout and grunt at each hit he took or delivered. His antics made me laugh.

“Oh shit! Did you see that?! What kind of spell is that she’s using?!” He yelped when a blue ball of energy knocked him right out of his brand new boots. “Damn her warty ass!”

That one cracked me up. “Okay, let’s regroup. Stay behind me while I enchant her with the Song of Talla Bay.”

Once the troll queen dozed off Bailey ran in and stabbed her right in her warty ass, and a few other places as well. The evil troll queen died. We shared the gold and treasure horde that she’d been guarding—all stolen from innocent people who happened to stumble across her—and went to the nearest tavern to eat, drink grog, and take a room for the night to rest.

I peeked at the clock and was shocked to see it was near midnight. Bailey was dipping a corn chip into a jar of zesty cheese dip when I looked over. He smiled around the chip. I watched spellbound as he licked a droplet of cheese from his lower lip. He chewed slowly, his gaze catching mine and holding it.

“Do you want to play more or do...something else?” I asked, my voice raspy from the lust and apprehension clogging my throat.

“Something else. If you want.”

Oh yes, I sure did want. I stood and offered him my hand. He tossed his controller to the coffee table. It landed next to the sleeping ferret who came awake with a soft snore. That amused Bailey to no end.

“Let me get him tucked in,” I said, but Bailey was already in the mood for something else.

He gave my hand a small tug that pulled me into his chest. His mouth covered mine, seeking, exploring, tasting. I opened for him, leading our joined hands down between us. He gasped into my mouth when the back of my hand brushed his erection. The kiss then morphed from a sweet, slow thing into a rabid, hungry thing. He grabbed a hip to align us better then rocked into me. I groaned at the jolt, moving my leg closer. We sucked on each other’s tongues as we pumped. When we broke apart we were both hot, breathless, and hard as locust fence posts.

“God,” I panted then eased away. His cheeks were flushed with passion, his pupils blown. “Let me tuck him in.”

“Sorry, I just...sorry.” He took a few steps back, his dick pressing against his zipper.

“God do not be sorry. It’s been years since I’ve been kissed like that.” 

I licked my lips then scooped up Legolas and placed him into his cage. After checking the new lock, I turned to see Bailey leaving the kitchen with his bouquet resting in the cut crystal vase.

“I thought this would be romantic beside the bed,” he said shyly.

“That’s perfect.” I led him by the hand to my bedroom. It wasn’t really anything epic or beautifully decorated. It was a nice room, kind of boring, but comfortable. Like me, I guess. He placed the vase next to the small tan lamp on the bedstand.

Looking at the man now wrestling his sweater over his head, I felt that twinge of self-doubt appear. He wasted no time in shedding his jeans, boxers, and socks. Words failed me as I gazed upon him.

Bailey had a body to rival that of the Greek gods. Young, firm, hard, the form of an athletic Adonis stood before me. His chest was lightly furred with a fine line of hair that ran down to a perfect cock. Not too large, not too small, with a soft curve upward.

“You next,” he whispered, reaching for my hoodie. As it moved over my head, I closed my eyes, wishing I’d turned the lights off. My eyes squeezed shut. His fingertips grazed my belly, moving down then up. “You’re so hairy.”

“And flabby,” I murmured.

He kissed me into silence. When the sweeping exploration of my mouth ended, he nipped at my lower lip then rubbed his cheek along mine like a love-sick cat.

“No more talking bad about yourself. I think you are super-sexy.”

I thought to snort at the comment but he went to his knees in front of me. Every disparaging thought rattling around inside my head turned to dust. He ran his fingers through the thick mat of hair on my chest. He licked at my navel then pressed his face into my tummy. Tremors of want coursed through me. When he tugged roughly on my zipper I moaned in need. “I bet you have a nice dick too.”

He freed mine fishing it out of my underwear. I waited on pins and needles. My cock was never going to get me into porno but Bailey’s eyes lit up as he studied it.

“Yep, beautiful dick. I’m going to lick it now. It that okay?” He grabbed me at the base, his grip firm. I coughed out something that might have been a word. Who knew. His pink tongue darted out to catch a drop of pre-cum. My balls tightened at the sight. It had been far too long, but I refused to have this end so quickly. As he tongued the slit I stared at the ceiling and tried to recall the Latin names for every flower in my shop.

Rosa. Lilium. Tulipa. Dianthus. Oh shit!

I bucked up onto my toes when he sucked me down his throat. He gagged but refused to pull back. He sucked hard, pulling me so close that I had to take a step in reverse to catch my breath. The back of my legs hit the bed. Bailey was up on his feet, his eyes glazed with want, his lips pink and slick. He captured my mouth then tumbled us into the bedding, his long powerful legs tangling with mine as our tongues met.  

“I’m so close. If I come all over you before we get anywhere I’m sorry,” he panted as he wedged his thigh between my legs. His cock jabbed into my hip, leaving a wet streak on my skin.

“Same here,” I huffed, clasping at his back as we rutted against each other.

Neither of us wanted to break the contact we had. God knows I didn’t want to let go of him. He felt too damned good lying atop me. I dug my heels into the mattress for some purchase. He rolled his hips as he licked into my mouth. This was perfection. If we never did another thing other than hump each other I would die a happy man. I loved a hot frot session way more than I did anal sex.

“This is fucking hot,” he growled against my throat. “I love this. We need to do this more. Like way more...oh shit...Hadley.”

It was the sound of my name on that heated rasp of pleasure that did me in. My fingers bit into his round ass as I spewed ribbons of cum between us. His grunt of completion followed mine. We kissed and nibbled as we coated each other’s bellies.

“Mm, oh God that was so...hot. I need a better word,” he whispered a moment later, sliding to the side to ease his weight off me. My eyes drifted open as I fought for breath. “I liked that a lot. Did you? Was I okay? I didn’t crush you did I?”

A chuckle rumbled out of me. “‘Hot’ is a perfect word. I loved it. You were fantastic and no I’m not crushed.” I glanced his way and was struck nearly mute by the beauty of him lying beside me, cheeks pink, eyes sweet and concerned. His shy smile stole my breath. “We made a mess of ourselves.”

“Yeah.” He stole a kiss. I rolled to the side and pulled some wipes out of the container behind the light. Then I spied the flowers and plucked the small sprit of forget-me-nots out of the vase. He was on his back when I wiggled around to face him. I placed the wipes on his sticky belly then slid the delicate blue flower behind his ear. “What’s this?” He reached up to softly finger the buds.

“I hope it’s okay. I just saw them and...well, I wanted to see you wearing it. They symbolize remembrance. I hope you don’t forget this night you spent in a chilly flower shop getting scratched with rose thorns, being fed far too much minestrone soup, wading through snow, and killing troll queens.”

“Not a chance.” He plucked off a small shoot and slipped it behind my ear. “There. Now when I go on the road you won’t forget me either.”

The thought of him being here again made my heart sing.

“There is no chance of me ever forgetting you.”

And I never did. Even after twenty years of road trips, field trips with the kids, and anniversary trips where we made love in fields of blue and white forget-me-nots.

The End

About the Author

USA Today Bestselling Author V.L. Locey – Penning LGBT hockey romance that skates into sinful pleasures.

V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, Dr. Who/Torchwood, 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 goofy domestic fowl, and two steers.

When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Maine with a cup of fresh java in hand.

If you want to keep up with all the latest news about her upcoming M/M releases, sign up for her newsletter by visiting her website:

http://vllocey.com/

She can also be found online on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Goodreads, and her blog:

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Other Books by V.L. Locey

LGBTQ Releases

Standalones

Holly & Hockey Boots

Life is a Stevie Wonder Song

Improper Fraction

Playmaker—A Venom Novella

New York Nightwings Collection

An Erie Collection

Nightside—An Erie Vampire Tale

Love is a Walk in the Park—Coauthored with Stephanie Locey

Shake the Stars

Loving Layne

Love of the Hunter

The Ballad of Crow & Sparrow

Bayte & Tackle (Coming 10/7/22)

Colors of Love Series

Lost in Indigo—Colors of Love #1

Touch of a Yellow Sun—Colors of Love #2

The Good Green Earth—Colors of Love #3

Slow Dances Under an Orange Moon—Colors of Love #4

A Brush of Blue—Colors of Love #5

Songs of Red Currant Wine—Colors of Love #6

Pines &Violets—Colors of Love #7

The Campo Royale Series

The Viking and the Drag Queen — Campo Royale #1 (Coming 1/5/22)

The Bachelor and the Cherry— Campo Royale #2 (Coming 4/20/22)

The Barkeep and the Bookseller — Campo Royale #3 (Coming 8/5/22)

According to Liam Series

Life According to Liam—According to Liam #1

Christmas According to Liam—According to Liam #2

Love According to Liam—According to Liam #3

World According to Liam—According to Liam #4

Family According to Liam—According to Liam #5

Prairie Smoke Ranch Trilogy

Dawn’s Desire—Prairie Smoke Ranch #1

Twilight’s Touch—Prairie Smoke Ranch #2 (Coming 2/11/22)

Dusk’s Devotion—Prairie Smoke Ranch #3 (Coming 7/17/22)

Overtime—The Trilogy

Rebound—Overtime #1

Final Shot—Overtime #2

Draw—Overtime #3

The Laurel Holidays Series

The Christmas Oaks—Laurel Holidays #1

The Christmas Pundit—Laurel Holidays #2

The Christmas Tenor—Laurel Holidays #3 (Coming 12/7/21)

The Christmas Rescue—Laurel Holidays #4 (Coming 11/18/22)

Tales of Bryant Series

Tales of Bryant

Nine Small Sips—A Tales of Bryant Wedding

Fade In—A Tales of Bryant Novella

Reserved—A Tales of Bryant Novella #2

Safflower—A Tales of Bryant Novella #3

Cayuga Cougars Series

Point Shot Trilogy Boxed Set

Snap Shot—Cayuga Cougars #1

Open Net—Cayuga Cougars #2

Coach’s Challenge—Cayuga Cougars #3

Overtime—Cayuga Cougars #4

One-on-One—Cayuga Cougars #5

A Star-Crossed Christmas—A Cayuga Cougars Holiday Short

Arizona Raptors

Coast to Coast—Arizona Raptors #1—Coauthored with RJ Scott

Across the Pond—Arizona Raptors #2—Coauthored with RJ Scott

Shadow and Light—Arizona Raptors #3—Coauthored with RJ Scott

Sugar and Ice—Arizona Raptors #4—Coauthored with RJ Scott

School and Rock—Arizona Raptors #5—Coauthored with RJ Scott

Boston Rebels Series

Top Shelf—Boston Rebels #1—Coauthored with RJ Scott

Back Check—Boston Rebels #2—Coauthored with RJ Scott (Coming 8/31/21)

Snowed—Boston Rebels #3—Coauthored with RJ Scott (Coming 12/3/21)

Harrisburg Railers Series

Changing Lines—Harrisburg Railers #1—Coauthored with RJ Scott

First Season—Harrisburg Railers #2—Coauthored with RJ Scott

Deep Edge—Harrisburg Railers #3—Coauthored with RJ Scott

Poke Check—Harrisburg Railers #4—Coauthored with RJ Scott

Last Defense—Harrisburg Railers #5—Coauthored with RJ Scott

Goal Line—Harrisburg Railers #6—Coauthored with RJ Scott

Neutral Zone—A Harrisburg Railers Holiday Novella—Coauthored with RJ Scott

Hat Trick—A Harrisburg Railers Novella—Coauthored with RJ Scott

Save the Date—A Harrisburg Railers Novella—Coauthored with RJ Scott

Owatonna U. Hockey Trilogy

Ryker—Owatonna U. Hockey #1—Coauthored with RJ Scott

Scott—Owatonna U Hockey #2—Coauthored with RJ Scott

Benoit—Owatonna U. Hockey #3—Coauthored with RJ Scott

Christmas Lights – An Owatonna U. Novella—Coauthored with RJ Scott

Valentine’s Hearts – An Owatonna U. Novella – Coauthored with RJ Scott

M/F Rereleases – Coming in October

Pink Pucks & Power Plays (To Love a Wildcat #1)

A Most Unlikely Countess (To Love a Wildcat #2)

O Captain! My Captain! (To Love a Wildcat #3)

Reality Check (To Love a Wildcat #4)

Language of Love (To Love a Wildcat #5)

Final Shifts (To Love a Wildcat #6)