Scoring the Boys of Summer
Thank you, Dawn for hosting me at the Reading Nook again.
I have a story coming out this week in the Scoring anthology
from Torquere Press. As the title of the anthology hints at, the theme is
sports. My story follows two baseball players who are on rival teams, but are
secretly a dom/sub couple.
I love the Boys of Summer as baseball players are often
called. And for me, baseball is definitely synonymous with summer. My boys of
summer during my youth were the Montreal Expos (may they rest in peace).
Bleacher seats were a dollar and I spent many a home game in them, behind right
field. If I couldn’t be at the game, I would listen to it on the radio, filling
notebook after notebook with game charts and player stats. I had a stuffed
Youppi, the crazy-eyed, orange furred mascot and several ball caps with the
Expos logo and I was hugely envious of people with seasons tickets.
So it really was a no-brainer when the call for Scoring came
out that I would do a story with baseball players. Mac and Dove were so good to
me – in fact I plan on writing their beginning sometime soon. I hope you enjoy
them as much I did.
Balls and Strikes
It's not easy being a major league baseball player who's in
the closet, but that's what Mac and Dove have to do in order to have their
careers and each other. When Mac has an especially frustrating day, he knows he
needs to deal with it himself. So imagine his surprise when Dove appears at his
hotel door: they don't do this during the season. Is Dove changing the rules?
And if so, can Mac follow?
Balls and Strikes (and Scoring) will be available August 28
at Torquere Press (http://www.torquerebooks.com)
Excerpt:
Motherfucker.
Mac stormed into the hotel room, throwing his gear hard
enough to leave a dent in the wall. Every joint in his fucking torso burned,
the rubdown from the trainer and the ten thousand gallons of Icy Hot not
helping in the motherfucking least.
Six to one.
Six to ONE.
How the fuck had they let six fucking runs slide by? Why the
fuck had Coach let that idiot Greg play for five fucking innings? The kid had
to be giving out free fucking blowjobs.
Six runs down before they let him pitch and against those
East Coast assholes. Against that evil son of a bitch.
He slammed his hand into the doorframe, the pain jolting
him, right through the shoulder. "Fuck!"
"That can be fucking arranged." The voice was low
and deep, a thread of anger running through it. "But you hurt that arm,
and I'll make you go cold fucking turkey."
Mac spun around, heart slamming in his chest. "You
leave me the fuck alone, you bastard!"
He glared at Jason Dover, the sonofabitch who'd hit two
homeruns and accounted for five of those six runs.
Dove gave him a hard grin, steel in his eyes. "Oh, I
don't think so."
"This is my hotel room." He had to keep looking;
he couldn't stop . So fucking fine, so solid, so real. Dove's teeth were bright
against the dark skin.
"Yep." Dove advanced on him, strength and promise
in every fucking step.
"I'm not doing this." They didn't do this on the
road. There was too fucking much to lose, too much to risk.
"You are." Dove's big hands wrapped in the collar
of his shirt and pushed him up against the back of the door with a bang, hard
lips descending on his, not giving him a chance to breathe, let alone respond.
Near black eyes stared into him, bored into him as that
tongue fucked his lips and the big, solid body gave him no quarter; he was
stuck between the wall and a hard place.
Evil bastard. Mac hated him. Hated him.
He grabbed Dove's head, the short, tight, black curls
tickling his palm. Growling into the kiss, Dove ground against him, hard cock
the best damn thing he'd felt all god damn day.
He pushed back, fighting Dove's strength, making Dove work
for it. They hadn't called him in for innings. They thought he was fucking
washed up. He'd shown them washed up, pitching a fucking no-hitter in his
innings. He'd show Dove washed up, too, fight that fine fucking son-of-a-bitch
for it.
He could feel Dove's muscles working to keep him right
there, feel them flex and shift beneath the tight jeans, the even tighter
t-shirt.
"Hate you." He bit Dove's full bottom lip, wanting
to make it sting.
Dove grunted, hands leaving his shirt collar. One wrapped
around the back of his head, the other grabbed hold of his ass, hard. He could
feel that heavy club of a cock, grinding against him, making promises that Dove
kept, over and over.
Dove broke the kiss, moving to bite at his throat. "Go
on and fight me. Show me how fucking mad you are."
"You asshole. This is my fucking hotel room.
Mine." He shoved at Dove's shoulders, hands sliding on the t-shirt.
Dove pressed him back into the door harder. "Yep. And I
walked right in."
Thanks again, Dawn, for having me J
Sean Michael
smut fixes everything
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