by Tara Lain
Volley Balls
By Tara Lain
A Balls to the Wall Romance
A “pumped up” version of the Volley Balls story, twice as long as the original.
A double dose of alpha male might be better than one.
Despite just getting out of an abusive relationship with an asshole alpha, David Underwood’s wandering glance lands on two hot members of the Australian volleyball team on Laguna Beach and gets him harassed again. Still, when the delicious Gareth Marshall proves his interest by coming out to his team, David succumbs to his attraction. But Gareth’s volleyball partner, Edge, who’s equally hot, makes the lovers’ lives miserable.
For Gareth, a lifetime of hiding his orientation—and his attraction—from his best friend, Edge, as well as everyone else around him, adds up to hurt and frustration. David’s the first man to ever compete with Edge for Gareth’s passion. But Edge has secrets of his own, and David’s ex-lover will never be happy without David under his fist. With everything stacked against him, can a gay Laguna man find happiness with an alpha male–or two?
Table of Contents
Blurb
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Exclusive Excerpt
More from Tara Lain
About the Author
By Tara Lain
Visit Dreamspinner Press
Copyright
Chapter One
“HEY, QUEER, what do you think you’re looking at?”
David froze in midbite and blinked slowly at the blond giant posed like an angry Goliath on the volleyball court, wearing swim trunks that barely covered the truly amazing essentials. If the dude didn’t want his ass stared at, he should cover it better. Still, David shuddered. He’d forgotten what it felt like to be kicked in the stomach by words.
He inhaled slowly and deeply, then dropped his sandwich into the box beside him on the steps. The words were better than Phil’s big foot. But this oversized asshole wasn’t his ex. He was some butt-dumb tourist—with a perfect body. Sigh. Wow, and an even better friend. The guy on the other side of the net, with his shaggy dark hair and glowing tanned skin, almost eclipsed the blond—almost.
David squared his shoulders. He didn’t have anything to be afraid of. That’s why he lived in Laguna. Nobody messed with you. Somebody needed to tell Mr. Goliath Man that on this beach he could get mugged for harassing a fag.
Goliath stood with his hands on his narrow hips, glowering at David. Both he and his friend must be six foot four or five and built like the proverbial shithouses. Solid brick. Also, pretty clearly, mean as piss. One day I’ll get over my weakness for alpha males. It’ll save me a lot of pain.
Mr. Asshole took a step forward, and David flinched. If anything, the giant’s frown got deeper. “You hear me, fairy?”
The asshole’s friend, Mr. Dreamy, walked over to the Neanderthal and grabbed his arm. “Back off, Edge. The guy didn’t do anything to you.” Friend had an accent and, come to think of it, so did the potty mouth. What? South African? Australian, probably.
Yeah, gays didn’t fare all that well in those places. But this isn’t Australia, dickhead. He folded up the wrapper from his sandwich and rose from the steps where he’d been sitting enjoying the sun and the, yum, scenery. His jeans fit him like a second skin—not as fabulous as the first skin, thank you very much—and the green silk shirt tucked into it showed off his eyes. He flipped his hair with what he hoped was an in your face gesture. When he looked up, both the big men were staring at him. Mr. Goliath looked pissed. The other one? Unreadable. Probably disgusted.
David turned, flexed his perfect ass, and walked up the stairs to the boardwalk slowly so they had plenty of time to appreciate the wonder of each cheek. At the top of the short flight, he stepped onto the grass and sauntered toward the Pacific Coast Highway and the town beyond. His heart still beat like he’d taken speed, but maybe his show was convincing. They’d probably stopped watching a long time ago, but what the hell. It bolstered his confidence.
Wham! A weight slammed into his back. For half a second, he panicked.
“You poor baby.”
David blew out his breath very quietly. He’d nearly been knocked over by a flying missile of compassion. “Hi, Rodney.” David let himself be pulled into a warm embrace. He hugged back and then gently extricated himself.
Rodney Mansfield gazed past David with narrowed eyes. “I’m so sorry, darling. I saw those assholes harassing you through the window.” He waved at the coffee shop that occupied the enviable position beside the sand. “I couldn’t get here in time. Damn it.”
David forced himself not to chuckle. Even at six one, David was three or four inches shorter than those men, and Rodney was less than half their size. But Rodney was a terrier, fierce and noisy in defense of friends. Plus, Rodney taught a karate class that David heard was the serious shit. Maybe the guy could have done them some damage, and if not, he probably could have talked them to death.
Rodney grasped David’s arms. “But now that you’re here, you have to say you’ll come to Las Brisas tomorrow night for a drink, otay?” He fluttered his eyelashes, which meant this was not a quick margarita with a friend.
“What’s up?”
“We-e-ell, I have someone I want you to meet. Or rather Tessa does.”
David sighed. “Come on, sweetie, give it up. After Phil, I’m damaged goods. I’m not ready to be decent company of a romantic sort. I’m fine by myself.” He kicked at the grass. “Although I sure as hell miss the sex.”
“Seriously. This guy is great because I swear he’s nothing like you-know-who at all. He’s smart and has a good career and a great personality.”
David gave him a long-suffering glance, perfected from much use.
Rodney shrugged. “Okay, I know ‘great personality’ is usually the kiss of death, but he works with Tessa, and she thinks he’d be a super match for you.”
Rodney’s friend Tessa thought Prince Charles was sexy.
“Okay, sweetie, I’ll meet him. But you be there too. Tomorrow is my only night off from the Pageant of the Masters, so I’m not hanging around with a loser, no offense.”
“None taken. Kiss, kiss. Seven o’clock tomorrow. And get to the pageant a little earlier for makeup tonight, okay? I hear it’s a full house, and I want you to be utterly gorgeous.”
David struck a pose. “Darling, I’m always gorgeous.” He started walking again. “And my makeup is marble white, so what possible difference can you make?”
Rod scampered beside him. “Come a little earlier and don’t give me a hard time.”
“Yes, dear.” David waved, and after a quick dash across Pacific Coast Highway and a short walk up Forest, he ducked through the door of the Underwood Gallery.
Two female shoppers perused the display shelves, fingering the little hand-painted clown dolls, which provided a steady flow of income between large sales of art pieces. JJ looked up from his post at the register and waved. The big handsome guy often attracted lady tourists off the street just to get a closer look at his gorgeous face, but in real life JJ was more queen than quarterback and one hell of an interior decorator in training.
David smiled at the customers and asked if he could help.
The woman glanced toward JJ, then picked up the clown she was fingering. “Actually, these are very cute. I think they’re perfect as gifts. So unique. JJ was telling us about the artist w
ho makes them.” She looked JJ’s way again. “I’ll take five.” She started loading the dolls into David’s hands as she picked. “How much were they again?”
“Between two hundred and fifty and three hundred. But we’ll give them all to you at two-fifty since you’re buying several.”
“Oh, thank you. That’s so nice. Can you wrap them as gifts? Maybe a couple of them in holiday wrap and the rest in more general paper?”
David balanced the dolls. “You’re getting an early start on holiday shopping.”
She laughed. “Yes, but you know how it is. One minute it’s summer and the next it’s Christmas.”
David waved at JJ, who was staring at the computer. “Hey, dear, will you come grab some of these and start wrapping?”
JJ jumped up. “Sorry. I just saw this great room design.”
It took twenty minutes, but between the two of them, they wrapped all the little dolls beautifully, and the ladies left beaming—mostly at JJ.
David grabbed the mail from the counter. “Anything else happen while I was gone?” He wouldn’t tell JJ about the assholes on the beach. JJ scared easily.
“I sold several more of the clowns, and one lady loved the small Roman piece we just put up. I’m betting she comes back.”
“That would be lovely—for us and Rodney.” Roman was the nome d’arte of Rodney in his painter persona—a persona in which he was recognized as one of southern California’s greatest artists. A better artist than a matchmaker, sadly.
“Why don’t you get lunch now? I can handle it.”
“You sure? Sorry I left you hanging there with those ladies. I got distracted.”
“Not a problem. Go eat.”
JJ seemed to be dragging his feet. David glanced back from the mail. “Is something wrong, dear?”
JJ stared at the floor. “I-I think I saw—maybe it was just somebody who looked like—” He blew out a long sigh.
“Like Phil?”
“Yeah. Shit. It probably wasn’t him.”
“It’s okay. I’m bound to see him sometime. He has a house here.” He shuddered. “Anyway, he knows better than to mess with me. I’ll have the police on the asshole. I have a court order, remember?”
“I didn’t want to worry you. I thought and thought whether to tell you.”
“You did the right thing. See you in an hour.”
JJ gave him a hug and left.
David collapsed in the chair behind the counter. He didn’t want to tell JJ that he’d rather not know. Jesus, just thinking Phil could be anywhere around gave him night sweats. He rubbed his palms on his jeans. Get to work and let your imagination get over itself.
He threw himself out of the chair and set about organizing and straightening some of the smaller objets d’art that always got moved by interested patrons.
His phone buzzed, and he glanced at the text.
All set for tomorrow night. Tessa says you’re gonna love him! See you in a few hours.
After waiting on four or five more enthusiastic customers, he got a little break in the action. He loved summer. The art festivals, the pageant, and, of course, the beautiful beaches drew customers in droves. The streets were so crowded sometimes you could barely get through the crush. Great for business.
Might as well straighten the window display and get a jump on tomorrow.
As he approached the front, raucous laughter boomed in from the street. Somebody had started partying early. A voice rose above the general sound of tenors and baritones. “Lotta bloody poufs in this town, don’t you think? Place is a bit too damned cute for its own good.”
David stopped. He’d know that voice forever. The asshole from the beach stood outside the shop window with a group of six or seven men, all big and dressed in some variation on warm-up suits.
Don’t come in. Don’t come in. Every cell of his body wanted to run into the back room and hide.
Christ, I hate this. Once he hadn’t been afraid. He was a good-sized guy, and not completely harmless, but Phil had beaten the fight out of him.
Take a deep breath. This is your gallery. But he sure didn’t want to be cornered alone in here by Goliath.
The men were involved in their own conversation, and David could hear that same Aussie accent—“yis” for yes, and damned sounded like “demmed.” On the back of one of the jackets, he read Australian Volleyball.
He’d read something about a big tournament in Huntington Beach. Well, shit. Why didn’t they stay there? What are they doing in Laguna spreading their fucking athlete testosterone around?
Of course, even scared witless, he appreciated the view. A finer collection of alpha males had seldom been assembled. The shortest of them was probably an inch taller than David, and they all looked broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped. Sigh.
Mean straight guys. Phil liked to play straight all day long to his Newport Beach buddies, then come to Laguna and fuck David into the mattress all night. And if David objected, the asshole was equally happy to beat him into the mattress.
Suddenly, one of the guys outside turned and looked in the window. David tried to shrink back, but too late. He was eye to eye with the dark-haired man who had pulled Goliath away on the volleyball court. The guy’s eyes were light, his face a carved testament to masculine perfection, while dark brown hair flopped over his forehead.
He stared at David for a moment, then gave a little smile. David got a chill. Crap. Could he just lock the door?
Then the dark-haired one said, “C’mon, let’s go get a beer. We’ve got some time to kill.” He seemed to purposefully put his tall, lean body between Goliath and the window as he ushered the men down the street toward the popular restaurants, whooping and laughing.
Did he deflect the group on purpose? Probably didn’t want any trouble, and that big, mean guy looked like trouble down to the ground.
The sounds of the voices dissipated, and David finally took a breath. He’d have to take the long way ’round getting to the pageant tonight. Sure as hell didn’t want to run into that crew.
GARETH MARSHALL stayed at the back of the pack of his mates, just in case anyone decided to shift direction. What were the chances he’d see that same guy from the beach in a shop? The sassy one Edge had been all over like a bad fucking suit. I wouldn’t have thought that guy would scare easy, but he looked pretty terrified when he saw us outside his window. That made Gareth feel weird—and sad. He looked back over his shoulder, but no glimpse of the beach guy.
“C’mon, Gar, catch up.” Edge reached back and grabbed his arm, dragging him up with the crew. “What about this place? Looks like they’ve got a bar.” Edge nodded toward a large restaurant on the corner that looked like Hansel and fucking Gretel might walk out at any moment.
“Yeh, okay. The art place isn’t far from here. We can walk easy. But I want food, not just booze.”
Edge threw his elbow around Gareth’s neck in a headlock and rubbed a hand over his hair. “You always want food, mate. You must live on that stomach of yours.”
Gareth pulled himself away from Edge’s big embrace. He loved the guy, but shit, he was handsy. Made Gareth’s stomach flip.
Inside, people stared. People always stared at them since they looked like a walking mountain when the team went out together. The hostess rushed over and smiled a little too much, but she was sweet. It only took them a few minutes to put together a table for eight.
The waiter was a tall guy with long hair and eyeliner who said his name was Derek and he’d be taking care of them. Edge scowled, but it didn’t stop him or any of the guys from ordering pitchers of beer and lots of food. Once everybody looked at the menu, they all wanted one of each. Most of the guys got steak or hamburgers, but Gareth ordered swordfish with garlic butter.
When Derek walked away, Edge said, “This whole fucking town is just pink poufy, man. Let’s get out of here fast.”
Gareth controlled his sigh. “You know we can’t. The team got invited to the pageant thing, and they’re holding s
pecial seats for us. They say it sells out every night, so we can’t bail and leave them with empty seats. Coach would be pissed.” Although truthfully he wasn’t all that excited either. He loved art. Pageants? Not so much. Plus, he just felt antsy. Something about the confrontation with that guy at the beach.
“Yeh, yeh, I know.” Edge leaned his big body back in the chair. “Just making an observation.”
Derek returned with their food, accompanied by another waiter who appeared straight enough. At least he didn’t get the stink eye from Edge. The others dug into their meat, while Gareth savored the swordfish. Damned good. Of course, garlic butter made most anything delicious.
Oscar Pedersen, the big forward on another of their two-man teams, carefully carved the fat off his sirloin with knife and fork. Edge snorted. “Watching your girlish figure there, Oscy? Come on, mate, act like a man.” He looked around the table at their teammates. “We gotta get him out of this town quick. It’s rubbing off already.”
Gareth slapped his napkin on the table. “Fuck, Edge, will you never let up for a minute?” He shoved back his chair. “I’m going to the gents.”
As he stalked off, Edge’s voice followed. “What’s up his arse?”
Shit, he wanted to go back and point out to Edge that recent research proved the biggest homophobes were usually gay, but they had to play tomorrow, and keeping the peace was job one. Still, Edge never tried to keep Gareth happy.
When he got back to the table, everyone pretended like nothing had happened. Yeh, ignoring him made sure Edge never improved his behavior. But he loved the guy. They’d been best friends for years, through school, sports, and some major discomfort on Gareth’s part. Major.
Chapter Two
THE TEAM ate, drank, and hauled themselves out of the restaurant in time to walk over to the festival a couple of blocks away. Since they had pageant tickets, they got in the festival for free. The open-air grounds glittered with sparkling lights, and big wall panels displayed art of every kind, while glass cases exhibited jewelry. Wow. If they’d gotten here earlier, Gareth could have spent more time out here in the art show. This was beautiful. Much more appealing than anything called a pageant.