by Jaime Samms
Riptide Publishing
PO Box 1537
Burnsville, NC 28714
www.riptidepublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All person(s) depicted on the cover are model(s) used for illustrative purposes only.
Three Player Game
Copyright © 2017 by Jaime Samms
Cover art: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm
Editors: Sarah Lyons, Carole-ann Galloway
Layout: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing address above, at Riptidepublishing.com, or at [email protected].
ISBN: 978-1-62649-669-9
First edition
August, 2017
Also available in paperback:
ISBN: 978-1-62649-671-2
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Vince’s life has improved immeasurably since he moved to Bluewater Bay two years ago. He’s gone from working for a man he hated, to helping found a company he believes in. And he and his boyfriend, Pete, have built a delicate balance of power between them that keeps them both grounded and thriving.
Almost, anyway.
Pete’s job on the set of Wolf’s Landing is demanding. He needs lots of downtime off set, and that’s where Vince’s firm but gentle control isn’t always enough. And for Vince, Pete’s constant high-energy needs are turning out to be more than he can handle alone.
It’s no surprise to either of them, then, that sparks fly when Vince’s coworker Lee enters the picture. Outwardly, Lee is tough and confident, but when a bad back confines him to Pete and Vince’s spare room, the cracks start to show and his desire for connection begins to peek through.
Pete and Vince both like what they see under Lee’s prickly outside, but now the three men must learn that love isn’t about beating the game—it’s about balance, trust, and letting each other in.
For everyone who has more than enough love to go around.
About Three Player Game
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Dear Reader
Acknowledgments
Also by Jaime Samms
About the Author
More like this
Lee moaned. Cool sheets and a too-soft mattress cushioned him. The constant, low hum of an air conditioner pried its way into his skull, and he rolled over to put a pillow over his head. The movement caused a rather more vocal groan as his back gave a heaving spasm.
“The fuck,” he mumbled, collapsing to a prone position. The heavy, ice-pick ache began mid-back and radiated downward until, his body tried to curl his hips up to relieve the pain, and he couldn’t quite breathe.
Not this again. What did you do this time, asshole? He wished he couldn’t still hear that voice in his head. Maybe it was his own by this time.
“Shhh!” Hasty footsteps approached, but Lee couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes to find out whose. “Don’t move.” A hand settled on his shoulder, holding him still, startling him tense, but the pressure remained firm, not rough.
“Too late,” he muttered, trying to subdue the automatic, defensive tension.
“Here. I got you some pain relief and a glass of water. They’ll make you drowsy, but that will help you stay still, and I’ll be here, so you’ll fine.”
Lee pried one eyelid up as best he could to see the base of a drinking glass with a straw. A well-manicured hand came into view with two little pills. He recognized them and knew they’d knock him out before long, but it was true. That would be a good thing right now. Feeling much like a helpless kitten, Lee opened his mouth. The hand placed the pills carefully on his tongue, then the drinking end of the straw came into view. He sipped and swallowed and closed his eye again.
“Thanks.”
“Sure.”
A nervous silence stretched, underpinned by the continual rumble of the air conditioner wafting a slick of cooler breeze over his bed. Otherwise, the room was unnaturally silent. Like a sound-proofed hotel room. For an instant, he forgot his injury and tried to sit up.
“Nope!” That hand came back to his shoulder and urged him down. Not that he needed the urging. The pain took the last ounce of his strength, and he flopped with a tiny, pathetic mewl.
“The fuck?” he asked again after he’d managed to slow his shallowed breathing.
“You got a little . . . tipsy . . . last night,” his benefactor informed him. “Slipped off the curb coming out of the bar, and I guess wrecked something in your back. Blaire had to fly home this morning, but he paid for the room for another two nights and told me to let you sleep and return with you when you’re ready.”
Lee sighed and opened his eyes. About halfway through that spiel, he’d recognized Vince’s voice, and had started to recall the night before. The three of them, Lee, his office mate Vince, and their boss, Blaire, had flown to Vancouver to meet with some backers about an investment in their new company. The investor had wanted to meet all the players, so they had trouped across the border and sat down to dinner with the woman.
She’d turned out to be an enthusiastic patron of all things cosplay and video gaming, and an especially zealous fan of Wolf’s Landing. The trip had been worth their time. Her backing was going to pay for the additional filming they wanted to do for the Wolf’s Landing video game background, as well as some of the short CGI movies based on
the game’s story that Blaire wanted to make for advertising. After their investor had said good night, the three of them had celebrated with a few drinks.
Lee hadn’t been that intoxicated. But he had been tired and his body already abused. The day before the trip, he’d finally pulled all his belongings from storage, where they had languished after his dismissal from Caruthers Industries and his eviction from the furnished company apartment eight months ago. His smaller, less glamorous, but more affordable apartment hadn’t even come with a kitchen sink. He’d had to get the plumbing fixed before he signed the lease. Then, he’d procrastinated for months getting the bulk of his things out of the storage unit and up to his place. The only upside was that it was closer to their new offices, but hauling all his boxes up four flights of stairs in one day, then jumping on a plane to Vancouver the next, had wrecked him. Air travel always left him nauseous and uninterested in food.
It did explain why a few drinks had shot him past his limit so much faster than normal. When they’d left the bar for the cab to the hotel, a curb had done him in.
His feet had flown out from under him, and he’d landed—hard—on his ass.
“Fuck me,” he muttered.
The bed dipped and he whimpered again.
“So I called the nurse hotline,” Vince said.
“The whatnow?” Lee covered his eyes with his arm, but lifted it just enough to peer at the younger man’s earnest face.
Vince consulted a pamphlet in his hand. “HealthLink BC, actually. They have a sort of hotline to answer questions and advise you if you need to see a doctor in person. The nurse didn’t seem to think it was crucial until you get home. But he did recommend you ice the muscles in your back to get some of the swelling down. He said it should hurt less once you’d iced it, but if it didn’t, you should go to a clinic.”
“I am not going to any clinic.”
“Well, we’ll see.” Vince pushed his glasses more firmly onto his nose with a thumb at the bridge. “Right now, I need you to roll a bit so I can get the ice pack under you.”
“I’m not moving.”
“You have to. A tiny bit. I can help.”
“I don’t need your fucking help.”
“Lee, this is important. If you want to hurt less, you have to do this.”
“I don’t have to do fuck all. Maybe I like pain.”
“I know you like being a pain. But no one likes to be in agony. So here. Take my hand.” Vince held out a hand to Lee. “Use your stomach and arm as much as you can. Roll toward me, and I’ll slide the ice pack under you.”
Lee glared at him. “I’m not six.”
Vince stared back, lips pursed.
“Go away. Fly home, little mouse.”
Vince’s brows drew together, displacing his glasses a bit, and he tilted his head to one side, but he didn’t lower his arm or rescind the offer of his hand. “Mice don’t fly. What kind of metaphor is that?”
“Bird, then,” Lee snapped. “Fly away home, little fucking bird.”
“You swear a lot, you know. Maybe think about that.” Vince curled his lips to one side and thumbed his glasses.
This time, Lee stared at Vince, scowling as hard as he could. But Vince remained where he was. The stalemate lasted a good two minutes before Lee finally caved.
“Fine.” He pushed himself onto his side, the pain making a gray haze crowd his vision from all sides. Vince hastily stuffed the ice pack under him, and Lee flopped back. Dark spots swam over the room, and he huffed, sweating and panting as the pain tore up and down his back in waves of flame and lava.
“That would have hurt less if you’d let me help.”
“Fuck. Off.”
“And it’s official. You make a lousy patient.”
“Nice bedside manner.”
Vince smiled sweetly. “Kill them with kindness, my mom always said.” He got up and wandered to the table near the window. “We’re supposed to leave the ice for no more than ten minutes, then keep it off for twenty or so. If you aren’t asleep by then, we can reapply.”
“Reapply this,” Lee muttered, tossing Vince a middle-finger salute, then throwing his arm over his eyes. He must have fallen asleep fairly quickly, because he wasn’t aware of Vince removing the ice.
Vince settled at the table after he’d pulled the ice pack out from under Lee. He was careful not to wake him. The more Lee slept, the less likely he was to overstress the injury. And the less he talked, which was good because Vince only had so much patience.
He knew he’d always been regarded as the office mouse. In his defense, neither Lee nor Blaire had bothered to get to know him outside of work. He wasn’t a mouse at all. He was a nice guy, so he didn’t complain about being the office gofer, but he had other qualities they knew nothing about. He liked to dance and have a good time. He also knew when control was called for. And he didn’t take shit from people. Not when he had a choice, and now that he was out from under Oscar Caruthers’s thumb, he had choices. It was time to break out of that old, mousy mold.
Blaire Caruthers was a good boss. Fair and honest. Nothing at all like his father, Oscar, who had seemed to hold all the cards of Vince’s career when he’d first started out. He’d been young and inexperienced then, and thought walking away from Oscar’s ultimatums would be the end of his job prospects. He hadn’t counted on Blaire or Bluewater Bay, though. It turned out neither New York nor LA were the be-all and end-all of the industry, and Vince had skills that had nothing to do with corporate ladder-climbing or spying.
Smiling to himself, Vince opened his computer and logged on to the hotel wi-fi. Within five minutes, he had a chat window open and Pete’s little green dot in his sights.
Hey Babe. You really there?
Hey V. Yeah.
Busy?
Meh. Set is a clusterfuck today. An extra knocked over a light stand. It fell on a PA. Eric is freaking. The. Hell. Out.
PA okay? That was alarming. Normally, Pete complained about how boring it was waiting around on set for things to happen.
Yeah, she’s fine. The light stand, though. Not so much. Eric’s just . . . Eric.
Sorry
Not your fault. Hey. You back in town? A tiny winky face appeared, and Vince smiled.
Sadly, no. Lee torqued his back. Blaire set us up in a room to wait for him to be mobile again.
Man. Sucks.
I wish.
*snicker*
*sigh* He’s half jackass and half Adonis. I hate him.
That was answered with a dozen winky faces from Pete. We both know that isn’t true, babe. Any idea when you’ll be back?
Few days.
Miss you
Miss you more.
Want me to pick you up at the airport?
Vince sighed, because yes, he’d love that, but Pete had other things to worry about, and Vince wasn’t going to ask him to be on call for whenever Vince managed to get back. Nah. He texted, I’ll cab it. Make sure Lee gets home. You, I want on your back and plugged.
There was a pause in the texting, then, Dude. At work here. You trying to get me fired?
Hehe.
Fuck. I can’t even stand right now.
Wait until I get there. You won’t be walking for days.
Promises promises. Shit. Gotta go. Eric = dick deflator. <3 you
<3 CU
There was no reply to the last text. Not that Vince expected there to be. Once Pete’s boss Eric called, there never was.
Vince chuckled just the same, and glanced to the bed where Lee still slept. Too bad they only had the one double room. Would have been nice to enjoy a beat-off session to the idea of Pete on his back, legs wide, ass plugged and ready for Vince. Better yet, wouldn’t that be a nice view if Lee was between Pete’s legs, sucking him off, and Vince was pounding Lee instead? Or first, then Pete.
“Shit.” This was not a good road to go down. No one had made any rules about fraternizing in the office, but then, there were only the three of them, and Blaire had
won his chef. There was little chance either Blaire or Lee figured on a reason to worry about it. It wasn’t like Vince advertised his fantasies. Well. Except to Pete, but then, they shared everything.
“Not getting your work done, Ascott. Get your head out of your pants.”
Still. He spent more than a few minutes watching Lee sleep and wondering how Pete might feel about Vince’s thoughts. Pete had only met Lee a few times in passing, but was theoretically on board with the idea.
“But they have to get to know each other first.” It could only work if Pete was in for his own reasons, and not just to make Vince happy.
Lee’s lashes fluttered, and Vince clamped his mouth shut. Lee’s legs shifted, like he was going to roll, but he only moaned. A line appeared between his brows, then he was still again.
Vince’s attention caught on the slight slant of Lee’s lashes across his cheekbones, and the flop of straight, brown-black hair drifting crosswise over his forehead. In sleep, his prominent bone structure seemed less sharp, and his lips, not pursed into a cross frown, had a plumper curve to them. A very kissable plump curve.
All right. Enough ogling the man while he’s asleep, perv. Vince shook himself and turned to his laptop.
Taking a few minutes to do some breathing, then to make himself a cup of hotel room coffee, Vince managed to get his head back on track and dove into company spreadsheets, redistributing their current assets and incorporating the newly available cash into the most pressing projects.
Hey, he typed into Pete’s chat window a few hours later. FYI, I think we have the cash for the filming. We can meet your crew’s costs. Think they’re still interested? Ping me when you have time to talk about it.
He didn’t expect an answer now. Pete would be running his ass off for a few hours still. But the prospect of getting a step closer to a product they could actually show people was almost enough to wake Lee for. Almost.
He glanced over at the bed again. Lee continued to sleep, but seemed restless. Probably, the pain was seeping through and he’d be awake soon. Vince shut down his laptop and perused the room service menu.
When Lee did wake, surly and clearly in pain, the soup and sandwiches Vince had ordered for them had arrived.