by Jay Hogan
“So,” Michael murmured, those deadly fingers brushing over Josh’s soft cock before coming to rest on his hip. “Here we are.”
Michael’s soft eyes pooled the colour of liquid sky, and Josh saw himself reflected in their depths. And with Michael’s mouth almost in reach, Josh stretched to close the gap.
“Nuh-uh.” Michael laid a finger on Josh’s lips, holding him at bay.
Josh’s tongue swept out to chase the touch and was rewarded with a flare of heat in Michael’s eyes.
“God, you’re killing me,” Michael sighed. “But I’m thinking it’s time to finish that talk.”
Josh sandwiched the man’s finger between their two sets of lips and sighed.
“I’m thinking you’re right,” he breathed into Michael’s mouth. “Finally.”
EPILOGUE
Eight months later.
“SASHA, IF your butt isn’t in that car in five minutes, there’ll be consequences, young lady.”
“Okay, Dad,” Sasha yelled, staring at the mound of clothes still strewn across her bed. She sighed to herself. “Jeez, don’t give yourself a brain explosion.”
“I dare you to repeat that, pipsqueak, but loud enough for him to actually hear this time.”
Sasha startled and spun to face him. “Sheesh, Mickey! Don’t scare me like that. Between the two of you sneaky snakes, it’s not looking good for me making it past adolescence at this rate.”
“Make that three sneaky snakes.” Katie strolled past behind Michael. “And I think jeez counts as a swear word, miss.”
Sasha pouted, fixing Michael with a beseeching gaze. He rolled his eyes and put a finger to his lips. He was such a sucker for this girl. “Our secret, sweetheart. Just get in the car and we’ll sort what you’re going to take camping when we get back. Did you feed Paris?”
She nodded and reached up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Meat and kibble, easy on the kibble.”
Michael grinned. “Good girl. I’ll lock him up while you get in the car before your dad pops a blood vessel.” Every month or so, Josh’s family, including his parents, and Katie’s boyfriend, Kevin, met for dinner at a buffet restaurant in the city. Neutral territory. Tonight was such a night.
Sasha’s face scrunched up in a scowl. “Do I have to go? They always make me sit next to them and answer stupid questions about school.”
Michael sighed. “They love you, honey. Be thankful. Me? I’m lucky to get ‘hello.’ Goodbye’s easier ’cause they’re so damn pleased to get my gay butt out of their sight.” He grinned and nudged her shoulder. “But it’s better than before, right?”
“Yeah, lucky me,” Sasha deadpanned and went to slip by him.
“Not so fast.” He grabbed her midstride and swung her in for a hug. “Love you, sweetheart.” And Michael did, more than he’d ever thought possible.
She kissed his cheek. “I know. I love you too, Mickey.”
He watched her go with a sigh. Although Josh’s parents had softened significantly in their stance toward Michael and the whole “gay son” routine, they still struggled to keep the disapproval from their faces, especially in response to anything remotely physical between the two of them, even holding hands. To that end, Josh seemed to have made it his mission to grab Michael’s hand or plaster a kiss on his cheek as often as possible in the presence of his parents. Bastard.
Michael cast an eye over the clothes piled on Sasha’s bed and shook his head. How many clothes could one twelve-year-old girl possibly need for a two-night camping trip? He’d make sure he was the one to help her sort it. Josh had way less patience than Michael. Go figure.
Sparing a glance toward their bedroom opposite, his heart filled. Their bedroom, his and Josh’s. Most days Michael could still hardly believe it. Sharing a life with this amazing man, a life he’d never thought he wanted. A house, a boyfriend he loved the shit out of, a family, the whole white picket fence, nine yards, full enchilada. Not that it had come easy, but nothing worth it ever did.
They’d taken it slow, principally for Sasha’s sake, building a family together. Building trust, love, and Michael’s sobriety. He’d spent three weeks in New Zealand, and Josh and Sasha spent three in the US, including a trip to Disneyland and all the iconic tourist shit.
Getting long-term residency in New Zealand hadn’t proved as difficult as they’d expected due to a shortage of doctors, and Auckland Med had been more than happy to take Michael back. After three months, Michael finally packed up and made the move back to Auckland accompanied by Simon and Cliff. The newly married pair wanted to eyeball Michael’s new life before heading off as tourists for two weeks.
Michael slid his hand into his jeans pocket and grinned as he headed out the back door. He was more in love with Josh than he’d believed possible. With everyone already in the car, he made his way across to join them, Paris loping amiably alongside.
From the driver’s seat, Josh frowned and leaned through the open window. “Michael? Paris needs to be locked in his kennel.”
Michael ignored the instruction. “Everyone out,” he ordered.
Josh rolled his eyes. “Michael, we’re late.”
Michael silenced him with a kiss. “Shut up for once and get out of the car, wolf-man.”
A brief spark of annoyance flared in Josh’s eyes, and then he sighed and slid out of the car, grumbling all the while. He stood alongside Katie, Sasha, and Kevin, tapping his leg impatiently.
“Paris, get over here.” Michael pushed the shepherd alongside Josh, who automatically dropped his hand to scuff the dog’s neck.
Josh’s gaze rolled over Michael with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. “So, what’s this about, baby?”
Michael held his breath, his mouth suddenly dry as dust, a bevy of cats turning somersaults in his stomach. Here goes. He locked eyes with Josh, so full of love for this man, and so incredibly nervous.
“It’s about us,” he answered, hearing the break in his voice.
Josh’s frown deepened, chocolate eyes darkening to almost black. “Us?”
Michael looked to Sasha. “All of us.” The girl’s eyes suddenly widened in understanding. Smart kid.
Michael dropped to his knee in front of Josh and retrieved a small black box from his jeans pocket. Inside lay two simple platinum bands. He reached out and took Josh’s hand.
Sasha gasped and reached for Katie, who latched on to her niece with a soft cry.
“Dad!” Sasha squealed. “Say yes, say yes.”
Michael chuckled. “I haven’t asked him yet.” With eyes still firmly locked on Josh, he saw shock and disbelief register in Josh’s expression. Yeah, you didn’t see this one coming, did you, sweetheart?
“I love you, Josh,” he said, “with all my heart and with every fibre of my body, and I love Sasha as my own. I can’t imagine life without you, and I never intend to. From one arrogant asshole to another, will you marry me?”
For a few seconds there was total silence, and Michael’s fear skyrocketed. Then Josh’s mouth quirked up at the corners and those fucking chocolate-black eyes lit up like fireworks. He dragged Michael to his feet and into his arms. Then, with his face buried in Michael’s neck, he gave his answer.
“Fuck, yeah, gorgeous. I’ll marry your sorry arse any day. Forever isn’t gonna be long enough.” He covered Michael’s mouth with his own and set their tongues dancing.
Paris leapt up at their embrace, picking up on the whirlwind of emotions, and ran his claws down Michael’s back. Katie pulled him off as she and Sasha cheered, and Kevin looked on, smiling.
When their lips parted, Sasha jumped into their arms and wrapped her arms around both of them. “It’s about time,” she said. “And don’t think I didn’t hear that answer, Dad. That’s a double fine for the swear jar. I’m scarred for life. And you—” She turned to Michael with a stern eye. “—you’re gonna have to deal with being called Pops, cause I’m not calling anyone Daddy.”
She grinned and planted a huge kiss on Michael’s cheek. �
��And you better adopt me as well, just saying.”
Holy hell. Michael glanced at Josh and caught the glisten in his fiancé’s eyes. He hugged Sasha tight. “It’ll be my absolute privilege, kiddo.”
“Okay, team.” Josh gathered their attention. “Let’s get these rings on and go horrify the grandparents. I can’t wait to tell them their embarrassing gay son’s getting married.”
He grabbed Michael’s hand, slid one of the rings on his finger, and pulled him nose to nose. “You and me, gorgeous,” he whispered. “I can’t fucking wait.”
Michael returned the favour before answering. “For you,” he said softly, “I’ve waited my whole life.”
Don’t miss the next book in the series!
Auckland Med.: Book Two
What if you’ve worked your whole life for a dream, to play rugby for the most successful sports team on the planet, the New Zealand All Blacks?
What if that dream is so close you can smell it?
What if you meet someone?
What if you fall in love?
What if your dream will cost the man who’s stolen your heart?
And what if the dream changes?
Reuben Taylor has a choice to make.
Cameron Wano is that choice.
PROLOGUE
One Year Ago
Reuben
THE EXIT door punched shut at my back, silencing the lead singer’s cringeworthy attempt at a top note light years beyond his reach. There was a God after all, apparently. The din of the juiced-up crowd mercifully faded along with him, and I entertained the possibility of the odd angelic manifestation as well. I stepped into the murky car park, sucked in the cool night air, and tried to clear my mind. Fuck. My. Life.
The door handle rattled, spiking my pulse. Goddammit. Were a few minutes of peace too much to ask? The door remained closed, and I blew out a sigh. I didn’t want company, but I hadn’t exactly been subtle about my escape either. Jess, or Tess, or whatever the fuck her name was, hadn’t been the easiest to shake loose. She’d snaked her hand through my arm the minute I’d arrived at the damn postmatch dinner, blathering on and on, about what, I really couldn’t tell you.
After manhandling me onto the dance floor, she’d shimmied her way up and down my less-than-interested flesh to the raucous encouragement of my teammates, and yeah, fucking awkward. But we had it drummed into us often enough, “don’t piss off the fans, be polite and generous with your time.” Yeah, right. Pretty sure the fine print there didn’t include some random fangirl’s fingers wrapped around my dick. So when she snaked a hand down the front of my dress trousers, I was out of there lickety-fucking-split.
The Chiefs’ bus sat in a dirty puddle of light to the side of the car park, alongside that of the Blues, both franchise logos fading in and out of the grey drizzle. I briefly wondered if I could get away with calling an Uber and heading home, but nah, never gonna happen. Postmatch socialising wasn’t exactly optional, especially for wannabe All Black contenders. Being noticed by the selectors meant being visible on and off the field. The irony that two such selectors were currently inside being schmoozed by other hopefuls while I was standing outside in the car park like a damn idiot wasn’t lost on me. I glanced at the closed door. Fuck.
Team meant everything to the All Blacks, or the ABs as we loved to call them. If you wanted into what was arguably the most successful sports team on the planet, with more than a hundred-year history and a success rate of over 78 percent, you didn’t just need mad skills, you needed to front with the right attitude.
The ABs paid unique attention to their players’ understanding of what “team” meant. It didn’t matter if you had talent pouring out your arse or could give a racehorse a run for its money down the wing—if you were a prima donna, attention whore, or lone ranger, you wouldn’t last long in the ABs, if they even bothered to call you up. They had an official “no dickhead” policy.
At twenty-three I’d already secured a coveted fullback starting position in the Chiefs’ line-up two years in a row. Hen’s teeth stuff in itself. The contract was more than I’d dared hope for as a scrappy kid growing up on a tired farm in financially strapped, back-of-fucking-nowhere, rural Whakamaru. But it was still less than I’d dreamed.
I’d had a good debut season, and this current one was shaping up even better, with headlines promoting me as “one of the most promising fullbacks in the contemporary game.” But I still hadn’t gotten the call-up. Any other year and I’d have been a shoo-in for at least a tryout, but the current AB line-up already had two phenomenally skilled fullbacks, neither of whom looked to be going anywhere.
My timing sucked big hairy balls, and save spiking those particular players’ cornflakes with a screw-up potion, all I could do was wait and keep my nose clean. That meant no dodging team events and no making waves, particularly the tsunami that would rain down if I explained exactly why I’d run out on said fangirl.
I rolled my shirtsleeves down and wrapped my arms around my chest to ward off the shiver rolling the length of my body. Christ, it was cold. After jogging ten metres or so around the corner, I found some shelter under the caterers’ entrance, slipping alongside a bank of recycling bins. Perfect. Just the spot for New Zealand’s most promising fullback, or at least its most promising, fully closeted, gay fullback. Now you’re talking. Yeah, I was a walking fucking cliché.
Would New Zealand rugby fans ever be ready to open that particular can of worms, regardless of the politically correct drivel spouted in the media? Who the fuck knew? The All Blacks had never had an out gay player, and I wasn’t keen to stick my hand up to be the first for a number of reasons. I patted my empty pockets from habit, gagging for a smoke. Two years, and damn if the craving wasn’t still needle-sharp.
I shook the drizzle from my hair and refolded my arms across my chest to stave off the cold. Ten minutes and Miss Blond-and-Annoying would surely have moved on, right? Spotlights peppered the car park, highlighting the brief threads of shimmering rain, potentially a metaphor for my whole fucking rugby career: a glimmer in the spotlight before being lost to the gloom. I sighed and for once let myself fall into the funk instead of fighting it.
“You looking for a cigarette?”
What the…? I spun, my breath catching in my chest as I came face-to-face with an extraordinarily beautiful man. Even half-hidden in the shadow of the doorway, there was no denying the olive skin and those razor cheekbones and full lips. And, fucking hell, those eyes. Reflecting the dull gleam from the lights, they glittered a beguiling, tawny gold. Goddamn.
The guy’s mouth quirked up in a bemused smile as he raised his hands. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
I frowned, and the breath I’d been holding released in a huff of embarrassment. I’d started like a damn teenage girl. “What the hell are you doing, hiding back here?”
He raised an eyebrow, and a memory slid into place. I knew him, or at least I’d seen him before. Some rugby dinner, in Hamilton maybe, probably the last time we’d played the Blues. He’d been pointed out to me, and not in a good way, but I remembered not being able to take my damn eyes off him from that moment on. Until he disappeared, that is, before the party had even got started, and that had been that.
“Hardly hiding, sugar.” The corners of his full lips lifted. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but I do believe I was here first. Not that I’m unhappy to share the space. Just didn’t realise it had your name on it.” He tipped his head to the pack of cigarettes sitting on the wall alongside the bins. “Help yourself, by the way. Bummed them from a friend. I don’t usually smoke, but sometimes….”
I stared at him in silence, trying desperately not to look like I was checking him out… but I totally was because, fuck, gorgeous. He was the kind of guy who left an impression whether or not you wanted to jump his bones, and for the record, I so fucking did. The man was sizzling. Older than me by a few years, I guessed, and a couple of inches shorter than my six three. He was lean and fit, with silky bla
ck hair I had to physically ball my fists to stop from reaching out to stroke, and soft olive skin with well-trimmed stubble. But that wasn’t the only facial adornment.
He wore makeup, tastefully but unapologetically, and he was clearly and assuredly out and proud. Both marked him like an orchid in a thistle patch in the aftermatch rugby scene. Not that he’d seemed bothered the first time I’d seen him… not in the fucking slightest, and tonight was no different. Copper eyeliner edged a pair of smoky lids, the effect serving to highlight the gold flecks in those eyes. Eyes that were studying me with obvious amusement. Busted.
I cleared my throat, letting my gaze slide away. “Sorry. I may have overreacted. Just wasn’t expecting anyone else out, not in this.” I held my hand up to the rain. “And thanks, but I gave up smoking a while back.”
When he didn’t respond, I glanced back to find him still smiling, and my dick twitched. Of course it fucking did. I hadn’t gotten laid in over four months and this guy was pushing buttons I never even knew I had. In my limited sexual experience—read occasional local hookups with guys I knew I could trust, and overseas-holiday blowjobs in dimly lit bathrooms—beautiful, classy, flamboyant guys were hardly on the menu. Men like that had way better places to spend their time, and men to spend it with. So who knew they would turn my dick on like a proverbial fucking faucet?
I needed to stop staring, but my gaze feasted on that sultry body like I was starving, and maybe I was. Makeup, tight-as-fuck black jeans, and draped silver satin shirt aside, there was no denying the guy was 100 percent male. The stubble, the look, the smell, the ballsy attitude—everything about him oozed male sensuality, and I was hooked like a snapper on a line. The most seductive thing? The way he just sat in his own skin, so fuck-what-anyone-else-thinks and irresistibly confident. It was crazy-arse intoxicating, and I knew in that instant it was equally, deadly fucking dangerous… to me.
