The Good Green Earth (Colors of Love Book 3)

by V. L. Locey

  “That was an hour of my life that I’ll never get back,” I snarled, pressing myself tightly against him, enjoying the way he moved to align us better.

  “Just think of how much you know now about salt.”

  I covered his mouth with mine just to make sure the word ‘salt’ wasn’t heard for a minute or two. He moved against me, eagerly, hotly, and then gently broke the kiss.

  “We have a few more stops to make. I don’t want to have to hide an erection through all of them,” he whispered, taking one small soft kiss before giving me a nudge.

  “Too late for me,” I said, grinding my cock into his hip.

  “Ah, youth,” he groaned but continued nudging until I took a few steps in reverse.

  His fingers meshed with mine, we then explored the park, making our way to the marina where we rented a pedal boat for an hour. Legs pumping, we made our way along rocky shores, past jutting piers and people fishing. Gulls flew overhead. Smaller birds bobbed along the edge of the water, and a pair of wood ducks swam past, the drake’s head iridescent in the sunlight.

  “Now this is romantic,” I told Bran when we paddled under some low hanging branches that hung over the lake, the trees along the shore dangling their leaves into the water just as I was trailing my fingers along the surface.

  “I don’t know. Salt seemed to get you all riled up,” he countered, waving a hand at a couple jogging along one of the paths, their golden retriever woofing at us.

  “That was you,” I replied honestly and got a peck on the cheek.

  We hurried to get our paddleboat back in time for the rental shack to close. “I have a couple more places for us.” Bran took my hand and lifted my knuckles to his lips, his gaze bright and sultry. “I want you to remember me when you’re in the city that never sleeps. I want you to recall this day and the night that we’re going to share, and know that if you ever want…well, I just want you to remember us.”

  “No way I could forget,” I told him as he painted my knuckles with tender kisses. “No way could I ever forget.”

  He smiled a smile tinged with disbelief, but he didn’t argue. He simply led me to the next romantic outing, a walk through the Rose Garden at E.M. Mills Memorial Park, which was close to the university. I’d never been here before, not being a big flower buff, but Bran was in his glory. His enthusiasm for this type of rose or that type of rose made me feel mellow and happy.

  He stopped to talk to the gardeners who worked there, jawing about fertilizer and how the late spring had set the bushes back but that was a boon because even now, after Labor Day, the blooms were still quite colorful. When he had gotten his fill of flowers, he then took me to the Blue Button Café, where we sat by the window and gorged on chili dogs and tater tots with huge glasses of pink lemonade to wash it all down.

  The ride out to his place was filled with longing looks and faltering conversation. The time for talking was done, for now anyway, and we both felt that deep in our cores. No words would change things. Tomorrow I’d be off to compete in the New Stars Classic in Michigan, and then I’d win a call-up to the Mustangs training camp where I’d play my ass off to win a spot on the final roster.

  We parked in the driveway and sat there, staring at each other as the engine tick-tick-ticked.

  “I want to go in and have you love me, but I know that when we hit that bed, it will be the last time for a long time,” he said, his fingers dangling over the steering wheel, his attention on the trees along his property line.

  “I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “No, I am. I’m sorry that this is my life.”

  “No you’re not, you love hockey.” He glanced at me, his lips trying to work up a smile. “And I knew that coming in. I knew all of this before we ever kissed for the first time. You’re just starting your career, and it’s going to be glorious. I want you to go be successful and show the world that even though people stumble they can right themselves.”

  “Is that you talking or Jim?”

  “Me. I want you to go be the man you’re destined to be.”

  I mulled that over before yanking the handle up and throwing the passenger door open. “Then let’s get inside so I can sink into you over and over all through the night.”

  A measly smile played on his lips, but he exited the Apache and followed me inside. I stripped him naked right there in the living room, careful not to touch his cock or ass. He stood in the glowing light of a setting sun, his dick stiff, his eyes rich and stormy. I ripped at my shirt and jeans, tossing them aside to join his clothes on the floor. Gazes locked, I peeled my briefs off, my cock bouncing free. He wet his lips. I reached over to turn on his stereo. “Morningside” began to play, Neil’s voice slipping out of the speakers with grace and passion.

  We didn’t speak. What would be the point when our bodies seemed to be willing to do the talking for us. He took me by the wrist. We fell onto the bed, our bed, and I pinned him to the mattress. His legs wound around me. His hands fisted hair and sheet, digging at my scalp and the bedding as I rushed to get a condom on and get inside him. Lube coated his ass, my cock sliding effortlessly into him, the tug of his ass pulling me deeper. He was tight, hot, wild, vocal, pleading for more even as I gave him a pounding that would have most men squealing for me to stop. He came first, quickly, with a loud shout. Cum spurted up over his chest, some dotting his chin and nose. The sight made me mad with lust. I fucked him harder still, pressing his knees into his chest as his dick oozed and his eyes rolled back into his head. When I came it was with a harsh grunt that strained my throat. Balls tight, dick buried to the hilt, I ground my pelvis against him, pulling whimpers from Bran as I filled the condom.

  Slipping out of his spasming ass, I fell to the bed, gasping, leg muscles tight and tingly, and tended to the condom. Bran rolled over me, his brow and hair slick with sweat and creamy droplets of spunk. I cupped a hand around the back of his head and pulled his face down to mine. I kissed his mouth then licked the sweat and jizz from his forehead and chin.

  “Again, I need you in me again,” he panted, pumping his soft cock against my belly.

  “Bran, babe…”

  “Again. I want to feel you inside me for days.” He captured my mouth, licking in deep, his tongue gliding over mine. Then he went for my nipples, sucking the tiny nubs or twisting them, and then he went lower still. His lips stretching around my dick as it began to harden once again. His lashes fluttered as he worked the head, sucking greedily. When I was hard enough to get a condom on, he slathered my cock with lube and sat down on my dick. His body shuddered and clamped around me, the muscles gripping my cock. Sweat ran down his neck, his nose, and his back. I grabbed his ass cheeks, spread them wide, and then arched up into him. The man rode me harder than I had ever been ridden before. Wet flesh slapped wet flesh, balls bounced, his dick flew up and down. He was a man possessed. I held on tight, working the mounds of flesh I had in my hands, squeezing hard enough to bruise. And he yelled for more.

  “Fucking…ah, shit,” I ground out as his ass came down hard one final time. I grabbed at his bobbing cock, working him with a tight fist, eager to feel his spunk on my heated skin. Bran’s head rolled forward then flew back, and he blew apart. Cum coated my fist and fingers, dripping to my belly as he fucked my hand. Fingers coated with spunk, I slide two into his mouth and arched up from the damp bedding. Using my heels for purchase, I rocked up into him once, twice, and then came loudly. He sucked on my fingers and settled back on me, taking me just that much deeper as his core milked me dry.

  “Christ…” I wheezed when he collapsed on me, his limbs trembling. “Just…fuck me,” I panted, sliding my fingers out from between his lips. He turned his head and I slid my tongue into his mouth, the tang of his spunk still on his tongue. I rolled him to his back, my cock slipping out of his ass and nestled between his thighs. His tacky semi-hard dick plastered between us. “You taste perfect.”

  “I wish this would never end,” he whispered when we came up for air. I hoisted myself
up, elbows locked, and looked down on the well-fucked man under me. “With your weight on me like this and the taste and smell of sex on the air, I wish this would never end. I’m not ready to let you go, Nate. Foolish old ass, I know, but there it is, and that’s the last time you’ll ever hear me say that.”

  “I love you. I’ll come back to visit, I swear. Arn got me a train pass for the rest of the year.”

  He nodded but his gaze stayed sad. “I long for the day that you’re back in my bed.” He pushed some damp hair from my face and a real smile appeared as he rubbed the wet pink strands between his fingers. “I love you too. That wasn’t supposed to happen. This was just supposed to be a way to help me past the final hurdle of losing Jim. A summer affair to restore my confidence. It’s not worked out that way though, has it?”

  “No, it hasn’t.” The confession fell out of me. I claimed his mouth once more in a soft kiss that made us both tremble even though our flesh was still burning from exertion.

  We dozed. We fucked yet again. We slept some more, and then we showered, and he took me to the airport for my 5:08 a.m. flight to Detroit.

  “Wish me luck?”

  “All the luck in the world.”

  He was lying.

  “I’m excited to go. This is my year. I can feel it.”

  I lied.

  “Go show the world what this summer has done for you.”

  “I don’t want to go and leave you…”

  “Yes, yes you do. I want you to. Now go before this gets sappy.”

  I nodded, backed away, carry-on bag in hand, and turned from him, forcing myself not to look back. If I did I might not be strong enough to step onto that plane.

  The New Stars Classic was just another go-around for me, so the crush of the press did little for me. Been there, done that, bought the fucking T-shirt. The rookies, now they were wound up. They beamed and talked and bounced around with dreamy-eyed exuberance. Had I ever looked that goofy? And why did I sound like Morton all of a sudden?

  The games took place over four days, so the contingency from the Mustangs which included me and four other event veterans as well as two draft choices were tiddling around in the hotel lobby, making nice for the reporters on the eve of game one. Two other teams in our division sent players to these things so that scouts for the pros could get another good look at the talent in the pipeline. I tended to draw a ton of press simply because of who I was and what I represented. They were generally nice, although they did tend to step over the line here and there. Last year, some jackass had tried to delve into who I was dating. I cut that shit right off by asking the old man if he had asked all the het players about their social lives or had he stuck to hockey? When he sputtered, I threw up a hand and walked away.

  Now that same guy was sitting across from me, dark eyes narrowed, his phone in my face, enquiring about my summer and the legal issues that had plagued me. A line of other members of the press corps stood behind him. I twirled my straw around my glass of lemonade, the cubes rattling on the sides of the tumbler as I pretended to think. In truth, I’d worked all my replies out ahead of time on the advice of my agent.

  “It’s been an enlightening summer,” I said, looking at the man seated across from me. “I’ve learned a great deal about myself as I work through my issues.”

  “Nate, do you think that you’re ready to devote time to hockey now, or will your lifestyle get in the way again?”

  I stared at the dude at my table. His name escaped me but his tone was the same as last year. Condescending and more than a little homophobic if I was reading his comment correctly.

  “Define what you mean by lifestyle,” I said, lemonade stirring coming to an abrupt halt. He had the good sense to look chagrined.

  “The way you party hearty off the ice,” he quickly replied, but I saw the burn of dislike in those brown eyes.

  “Well, I’ve been sober for three months now. I’ve completed my mandatory IDP classes and am still working on my community service. I attend addiction meetings on a regular basis. I’ve been seeing the same man steadily over the summer, and I intend to keep dating him when I head to Manhattan. So, in short, yeah, I think I’m on track and ready to give the Mustangs one hundred percent. Thanks for asking. I’m heading up to grab a nap now. Big day tomorrow.” I pushed to my feet, smiled like I had honey on my tongue as Arn had also instructed, and waved goodbye as I exited the hotel restaurant.

  “Fucker,” I mumbled on my way up to my room.

  I was sharing a room with one of the rookies, a fresh-faced kid from Minnesota, Dwayne “Boomer” Boomits, who seemed to be in awe of just about everything that was Nate Zinkan. He was a tall kid, lanky, with freckles and strawberry-blond hair cut military short. He was also one hell of a sniper and could skate circles around most of the Stallions, excluding me of course.

  “Why do you dye your hair pink?” Boomer asked as I tried to get in some lounge time before we went down to dinner.

  “Because it looks good,” I replied and turned up the TV volume.

  Boomer nodded, thought about that, and smiled. “Why did you pierce your nose?”

  “Also because it looks good,” I tossed out and increased the volume on Lethal Weapon another few notches.

  “Aren’t you worried that diamond will get ripped out during a game?”

  “Nope.”

  “Is there a story behind every tattoo?”

  I sighed as loudly as I could and gave Boomer a pleading look. “Boom, look, I’m trying really hard to get some downtime. I need to be one hundred percent focused on the game tomorrow so I can get the invite to Manhattan. So, not to sound rude, but can we just watch Mel trying to get Danny’s ass pried off the shitter?”

  Boomer glanced at the TV on the wall and then back at me. He had huge cornflower blue eyes and pale lashes. I highly doubted he had whiskers yet.

  “Sorry. I’m keyed up, and I tend to talk a lot when I’m excited.”

  I gave him a friendly grin then ratcheted the volume up a few more ticks. Two minutes of silence passed.

  “Is it true that you’re gay? Not that there’s anything wrong with that but my brother said I shouldn’t walk around in my underwear while we’re rooming because you might not be able to control yourself.”

  For fuck’s sake.

  “Trust me, Boom, I’ll be able to control myself.”

  And people wondered why I drank.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The first game was incredible. We were playing against the top prospects from the Pittsburgh Vipers this round and they were good. Fast, skilled, and young just like us. The only thing that was making a difference was that our goalie was just a little more settled. Theirs was a rookie, fresh from some backwoods Canadian town, and his nerves were showing. Clark, our tender, had been here before, same as me, and had a couple of years under his belt. We had a one goal lead going into the second period intermission but were feeling spunky even though we were only up by one.

  Five minutes into the second period one of the Vipers took a chance on a slapshot and it bounced off the ankle of one of his men in our crease and flopped into the net. Our coach was not impressed with that goal or the fact that we’d allowed men to be in the blue paint with Clark.

  “Keep that damn crease clear!” Coach Williams shouted at us when we rolled over the boards after a line change.

  Nothing great happened until the third period when I stole the puck from a Viper with two left feet. His awkwardness cost him and his team because I made a run at the net, pulling the Viper goalie to his left. I deked. He shouted at me in French but the puck still sailed into the net on his right-hand side. That turned out to be the game-winning goal, and I was high on the knowledge that all those reps from the Mustangs had seen me at my best. The next two games were even better. I netted four goals and three assists over the trio of games we played. My plus-minus was high and my feet were barely touching the ground as we all gathered at a local eatery for a big meal put on by our combined pro
teams.

  Players, coaches, and scouts were in attendance for the suit and tie meal. I’d sent off a quick text to Bran before leaving the hotel with my thoughts on the games and my performance. He’d been on his way to Mort’s for dinner but sent me a fast note about how proud he was and how much he missed me as he sat in his uncle’s driveway. Reading that text was like a bayonet to the heart. I craved the man in ways I had never imagined one human could want another. I’d have to send Arn a sappy card for getting me set-up with a train pass because no way was I going to be able to go more than a week without seeing Bran. New York might have glittery lights, high fashion, and swanky clubs to tempt the eye but none of them compared to seeing that man sleeping at my side.

  Imagine that coming from Mr. Party.

  I shook away that sarcastic little voice inside my head and strutted into the dining room, nodding, and smiling at my fellow players. I kept my distance from the open bar. My chips—the same ones I tossed away back in the desert but Pastor Ossie had returned to me—were in my front pocket and Barron’s number was in my phone. Maybe bringing the chips was overkill, but I knew myself, and my propensity to fall into that party mindset when surrounded by men of my own age group showed me that. The mob at the bar meant that the round tables were empty, for the most part. I spied Ken O’Keefe sitting alone talking on his phone. My heart leaped. Ken had played for the Mustangs about twenty-five years ago. He’d retired and moved right into scouting, him and about twenty other old puck pushers. Ken had just been promoted to director of amateur scouting, so I made a beeline to the silver-haired man in the gray suit.

  He glanced at me when I sat down beside him, two people at a table for ten, and held up a finger. I nodded and poured myself a glass of water then studied the tiger lilies in the centerpiece as I sipped.

  “Sorry about that,” Ken said, his southern accent really standing out among so many northern ones. “My grandson just learned how to string words together so I had to hear him talking to me.”