Here's the first chapter of my soon-to-be published contemporary menage erotic romance, Head Games. More information about it can be found on my website at http://www.booksbycassandracarr.com. Enjoy!
“I can’t take it anymore!” Leo Laporte, goaltender for the Buffalo Intimidators, glared at his teammates as they glided past him after the third goal in the first ten minutes of the game was scored. “You guys either play some fucking defense or I’ll jam my stick where the sun don’t shine! You got that?” Crouching down into his stance, he banged said stick on each post just as he did before every face-off at center ice. Looking up, he saw the head coach, Tom, waving at him. A quick glance to Tom’s left showed his goaltending partner, Scott Schaeffer, warming up. “Fuck!”
Tom called a time-out, and Leo skated to the bench, bracing for the tirade. “You guys need to get your heads outta your asses, pronto. You’re down by three already and the game’s hardly even ten minutes old. Since you don’t seem to want to play for Leo tonight, we’ll see how you do with Scott in net.” Tom threw a sympathetic look Scott’s way. “Good luck saving anything with these jackasses in front of you.” Tom wasn’t known for mincing words, and tonight was no exception.
Leo opened the door to the bench and squeezed around one of the team’s hulking defensemen as best he could.
Glaring at the man, he thought, Slug’s not good for much tonight. Certainly not getting out of my way.
The guy was built like a tank and made a much better door than he did a window, as Leo could attest on that third goal. The puck had been in the net before Leo had even been able to react.
Leo clapped Scott on the shoulder. “Good luck, man.”
Scott nodded and took the ice. Performing a few quick stretches in the crease, he raised his catching glove to signal his readiness to continue play. Leo sat down, taking a long pull from a water bottle he’d grabbed from the shelf in front of him. No one said a word to him, which was just fine.
The team responded to Scott being in net and scored two goals by the end of the first. Leo stalked into the dressing room, heading straight for the can. Just as he’d planned, by the time he got out, the second period was about to start. Tom told him he was going to continue to play Scott to see if they couldn’t salvage the game, and Leo nodded. It irked him that he’d been left out to dry, but he also knew damn well they’d done the same to Scott in the past. It was one of those weird hockey things no one could put a finger on, and Leo didn’t even try.
After trundling back to the bench for the second period, his stomach growled. The noise caused his mind to wander, straight to the tall, curvy woman with a mess of curls his hands just itched to plunge into. Right now, Kelly Chase was probably pulling her famous apple pie out of the oven at the bistro where he and Scott had been going for dinner after games for nearly a year. Thinking about seeing her made his cock harden inside his jock and he willed it down. Having a hard-on when wearing a cup was a pretty damn unpleasant experience—one he wasn’t eager to go through at the moment.
He’d bet she knew he’d been pulled, but he’d also put money on the fact that if anyone made an ass-hatted comment about why, she’d shut them right up. Kelly knew her hockey, and she watched every game on the big screen TV housed behind the counter at her bistro as best she could in between cooking meals for the customers. He could almost smell her special sour cream apple pie. She only made it on home game days when she knew Leo and Scott would be coming in afterward for their postgame meal. She’d even named it after the team, calling it “Intimidating Apple Pie.” There was sure as hell nothing intimidating about it, but it was definitely sinful, which was just how he liked it.
Thinking about her and her pie brought his mind to other subjects, like what she was most likely wearing that night. It drove him crazy the way she dressed in these cute little light-pink T-shirts with “Kelly’s” emblazoned on the front, right across her ample breasts. Even her chef’s clogs—also light pink—were cute. But her body wasn’t cute. It was sexy as hell. She was all bumps and curves, in all the right places. She wasn’t a dainty little thing, standing only about an inch shorter than his five foot ten, and he loved that about her.It gave him something to hold on to, should he ever be blessed with the opportunity to get into her checkered chef’s pants.
