Draw (Overtime Series #3) Read online

  Draw

  Overtime Series #3

  V.L. Locey

  Contents

  Draw

  Newsletter

  Acknowledgments

  Draw

  A letter from VL Locey

  What’s next for VL Locey?

  Other books by V.L. Locey

  Hockey Romance with RJ Scott

  Meet V.L. Locey

  Draw

  They say first loves never last. Jackie Blue Kalinski is about to show them—whoever they are—that the word never is not in his vocabulary.

  From the time Jack Kalinski was a preschooler he had a good sense of who he was and where he wanted to go in life. His childhood was spent drawing beautiful dresses for pretty people, male and female alike. Growing up with two dads who played hockey wasn’t exactly conducive to late night talks about tulle or tailor’s chalk, but he never let that stop his dreams of becoming a fashion designer or expressing the genderqueer heart that beat in his chest. His family’s love and support helped him through some painful losses that shaped him into the strong, vivacious, and charismatic college student he is today. Life hasn’t been a smooth ride, but Jack has persevered and is about to take the fashion world by storm.

  Little does he suspect that his tidy life is about to be scorched by a chance meeting with one of the men playing hockey on the gay team his father coaches. Martin McKittrick not only catches Jack’s eye, but the much older man wins his heart. The passionate affair with the captain of the Marine Unit of the BFD burns red hot until the new couple run into a few snags that might dampen the inferno: Jack’s ascent into the fashion world, Martin’s job and the inherent dangers that come with it, and the fact that the well-kept secret romance has just been exposed to the world in a rather big way.

  MM Hockey Romance

  Draw – Overtime Trilogy #3

  Copyright © 2020 V.L. Locey

  First E-book Publication: September 13, 2020

  Cover design: Meredith Russell

  Edited by Kathy Krick

  All cover art and logo copyright © Meredith Russell

  Published by V.L. Locey

  ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED: Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to only ONE LEGAL copy for your own personal reading on your own personal computer or device. You do not have resell or distribution rights without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee, or as a prize in any contest. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden. If you do not want this book anymore, you must delete it from your computer.

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  PUBLISHER: V.L. Locey

  Newsletter

  If you want to keep up with all the latest news about my upcoming MM releases, sign up for my newsletter by visiting my website:

  vllocey.com

  Acknowledgments

  Stick Taps

  To my family who accepts me and all my foibles and quirks. Even the plastic banana in my holster.

  To my alphas, betas, editors, and proofers who work incredibly hard to help me make my books the shiniest we can make them.

  To Rachel who helps keep me on time, in line, and reasonably sane.

  Draw

  Chapter One

  Two things hit me at once.

  One was that my phone was ringing and two was that someone next to me had foul smelling feet. I threw my pillow in the direction of the phone then wished I’d covered up Jazz’s rotten feet instead.

  “Jazz, seriously, you’ve got to move your feet. I can’t breathe.” I gagged, jabbing at my bestie until she snarled and flipped over. How could one teensy little girl take up so much room? Or have feet that reeked so badly? I’d smelled hockey pads with less funk. When she didn’t respond, I threw a huff her way then slithered out of bed to sit on the floor as I picked up my phone from the table and unplugged it from the charger. The air was a little fresher down here, so I folded my legs into a lotus and checked the incoming call. Call. Not a text. Which meant it had to be a parental unit. Yep. It was Dad. Ringing me on a Saturday morning at six a.m.

  “Seriously, Dad? It’s not even light out yet,” I grumbled, rolling my head to the left to peek at the lone window in my dorm room. The drapes were pulled shut but even so, I could see a lack of sunlight. Dear sweet fuck as Pops has been known to say. I blew some long strands of red hair out of my face as Dad slurped coffee in my ear.

  “You know what that sound is, Sonny Boy?”

  “Yeah, I know what it is. It’s you drinking coffee. Which means that you’re up and dressed and ready to go do something important. Did I pass that paternal test? Can I go back to bed now? I was up late last night working on something for my fashion strategies class.”

  “Jack, your sister’s first game is today and you promised you’d be there.” Dad took another slurp and my skinny red eyebrow twitched. He totally did that on purpose because he knew it made me spastic. Victor Kalinski was programmed to find your weaknesses and exploit them, even if you were his only son. “Do I have to remind you of how important you are to her?”

  “No, Dad, please don’t guilt me. I’m up. I’ll be at the rink by nine, I promise.”

  “Okay, we’ll do pizza after the game. Are Cricket and Jazz coming?”

  “Mm, I don’t know,” I mumbled groggily, shoving a hand into my hair to push it back from my face. “Maybe? I’ll text and let you know. Anything else?”

  “Nope, that was it. Love you, Sonny.”

  That made me smile just a little. “I love you too, Dad. Tats.”

  I ended the call, shoved my phone under my pillow, and tried to meditate a little.

  “Hey, swami llama, can I meditate with you?” Jazz asked sleepily.

  “Woman, you cannot come near me until you wash your feet,” I said, waving a finger over my head to point her to the cramped little bathroom.

  “Sorry about that,” she said then yawned. “Those combat boots are fungus producing. Was that your dad on the phone?”

  I gave up on meditating. It never worked for me anyway no matter what Cricket said about it. My mind was too high speed, always spinning out grand designs.

  “Yeah, BJ’s first game of the season is today,” I replied, crawling back into my bed. Jazz looked up at me then shimmied around until her feet were hidden under the covers. The old lava lamp that Gramps had given me when I moved onto campus threw all kinds of pretty pink light on her face. She was adorable with her round face and pixie-cut. I loved her to bits. She was my best friend in the world now. Zen Acks and I still kept in touch on social media but my move east when I was thirteen had been really tough on our friendship. She ended up out in LA studying film while I was here in Boston starting my second year at MFS or Muffs as we students called the Massachusetts Fashion School. “You okay?”

  She nodded, burying her face into my chest. We pulled the covers up to our chins. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for letting me crash here. I know how you are about your privacy and shit.”

  “That only applies to assholes and Cricket when he’s spaced on energy drinks. You’re always welcome here, any time.”

  “I wubs you.” She sighed deeply. “I real
ly liked Kym.”

  “I know.” I ran my fingers through her black hair.

  “I mean, she was funny and cool.”

  “And was the queen of the tongue rodeo,” I added and got a firm nipple pinch for my wickedness. “Ouch. Bitch. Begone from my bed.”

  She snuggled closer. “Why do I do this? Why do I keep letting asshole guys and girls break my heart?”

  I rubbed a hand over my face. I was so tired… “Because you want to find that special someone.” I did too, badly, but I was so not looking on campus. “Have you thought about dating an older person?”

  “Eww, no. Dentures in the glass when I wake up?” She shuddered dramatically.

  “Not that old, just someone with a little bit of maturity. Honestly, I don’t even give guys a second glance unless they’ve got some silver hair on their chins.”

  “You’re a total freak.” She tugged the covers up over her face. “Like, what is it with you and the old geezers you lust after? You’re GQ. You’re supposed to be all about the tight abs and twink bodies, right? I mean, even when you’re super masc you’re into guys.”

  “When the hell am I ever super masc?” I asked, trying to recall the last time I’d felt hyper masculine. Nothing came to mind. There were days that I slid into boy clothes and they felt fine, but those days were far apart the past few years. If anything, I was super femme most of the time. My gender was all kinds of fluid. I didn’t bother to try to fit into a box.

  I had days when the male side wanted to be aired out a bit, but even then my clothing wasn’t resident jock or anything. It would be called a more colorful male nerd. “But yeah, I dig guys. Older guys. I hate the stupid, immature males who are our age. Bunch of mentally underdeveloped brutes who are only into drinking and fucking. God, how do you stand it? You might better stick to the femme side of your bi-hood.”

  “Oh please, don’t make out like all females our age are all grown-up. Need I remind you why I’m sleeping here in your dorm instead of mine?” The covers flew down, and her head came up, and she slapped me with an unhappy glower.

  “Kym stole your best brass earrings then wore them while she was going down on some blonde bitch from Tufts in your bed.”

  “That’s right. Now my best brass earrings are forever tainted. Ugh, I hate women.” She yanked the covers back up over her head. I patted her forehead gently. “I’m going to go celibate for the whole year. Yep, just buy some batteries for Big Purple and study my ass off. No sex, no dates, no nothing. Just school. My parents would be so proud.”

  Yes, they would be. Jooeun “Jazz” Kwon had quite the conservative parents. Both were immigrants from South Korea, and while they were lovely people, they did not understand their daughter’s need for big earrings, dating people of both sexes, dressing in a mad chaotic manner, or choosing to study jewelry design.

  “I’m proud of you just the way you are.”

  “I’m proud of you too. Sorry about my feet.”

  “It’s cool.”

  We laid there as the lava lamp burbled away, napping on and off for another hour until my pops called to remind me that my sister had a game today. That spurred us into movement. We both showered, Jazz skipped makeup and hair as she was in deep mourning over her brass earrings. I went light, just some eyeliner and gloss, a dab of concealer under my eyes and a dollop to hide the freckles across my nose and cheeks.

  Dressing took a little longer, as it always did when I was feeling enby. I moved through my closets hoping the various materials would spark something. Yes, I had both closets. Cricket didn’t mind. He lived in the same four outfits all semester and was happy to have two drawers, one for underwear and one for clothes. He was the least fussy gay dude I had ever met, but he was my buddy even if his fashion sense was backstreet black funk.

  “Jackie Blue, oh my God, pick something.” Jazz threw the comic book she’d been reading at me. “We’re going to be late.”

  “I’m just not feeling either side today,” I confessed, ripping a flowing gold sweater from a padded hanger.

  I’d pair it with some leggings and a red coat and call it good. Oh, and maybe the hat I’d bought from one of the craft wagons at Faneuil Hall Market last weekend. Ten minutes later, we raced out of Donovan Hall, the only gender-neutral/LGBT housing on our small campus. Last year, I’d stayed in one of the other dorms for a semester since all the rooms in Donovan had been claimed, and it was not a fun time. I was stuck with a straight guy who was not into my being GQ or genderqueer all over his space. He told me once that he was scared to fall asleep in case I raped him. Uhm, please, you horny toad tweezer. As if I would ever want your sorry sad ass. Just no. Thankfully, second semester of freshman year a room opened up in Donovan. I was much happier to be with my tribe.

  We jogged up Tremont Street, Jazz falling behind because of her short legs. Once I slowed a bit she caught up, and we skidded into a small coffee shop facing the Common, got two extra-large white mocha frappes, and caught our breaths.

  “Subway or walk?” I asked.

  “How much money do we have left?” We dug deep and came up with about four bucks between us now that we’d spent fifteen for two frappes. “This sucks. Fine, we’ll walk but don’t leave me behind, Jimmy Stick Legs.”

  “I won’t.” I took her hand and we walked/jogged. My hat blew off four times, and Jazz finally shoved it in her bag. We hustled along, the twenty minute walk taking us close to thirty because Jazz had to stop and sip for energy or to bitch about her boots pinching her feet. Damn that Kym.

  We burst into the Back Bay Ice Palace to find that the first game was already underway.

  “Oh shit,” we both said then snuck as sneakily as two college students could sneak to the seats. My dad was nowhere to be seen, probably he was in the locker room with the Bruisers, the team he coached, talking them up for a game later today. My pops spied us and waved us over. “Sorry we’re late.”

  “It’s all Jack’s fault,” Jazz said, bumping me aside so she could sit next to Pops. My dad adored Jazz almost as much as I did. “He was feeling enby today. Go, BJ! Woo-hoo!”

  I shrugged a shoulder at the look Pops gave me. “Sorry, it was one of those days. I think I’m just super tired. Yay, BJ!” I shouted when my sister blocked a shot on her goal. We were seated a few rows behind the bench with a bunch of other hockey moms and a few dads. “Are the Bruisers playing next?” I asked, sipping on my frappe.

  Jazz pulled my hat out of her bag. It was felt and therefore flattened out on one side. I handed Jazz my drink and worked on my poor hat.

  “They’re up after the next age group,” Pops said, leaning forward to look around Jazz, his black hair pulled back into a short ponytail. The rink lights really highlighted the silver streaks. “Your dad said that you were up late working on something for a fashion strategies class?”

  “Mm, yeah. Oh man, this is going to need an iron to really sit properly.” I fussed with my hat for several minutes until Pops reached over to pinch my kneecap, something that always got a shriek from me. This time was no exception. My hat flew into the air. “Pops! Honestly, what the hell?!”

  Jazz and Pops sniggered. I jammed my uneven hat on my head.

  “Tell me about fashion strategies class,” Pops said, clapping when my sister’s new team, the Cardinals, scored a goal. Bless him. He had no more interest in color theory than I did in root canal, but he was always asking about our classes and our social lives. He liked to be involved in our lives.

  “Well, there are certain rules about color and its relationship to fashion. Right now, we’re studying Michel Chevreul, a French chemist who’s known as the father of color theory. He gave us the laws of simultaneous contrast.” He nodded. I waited. He had no clue what I was talking about. “Okay, so the law of simultaneous contrast refers to how two different colors affect each other. It’s kind of a visual perception phenomenon in that two adjacent colors will make each other look as different from themselves as possible.”

  “Oh-kay. A
nd that has to do with fancy dresses how?” Pops asked.

  I leaned forward. “Well, let’s use your sweater as an example. So, you have a blue sweater with white and red accent colors. When you look at it you can see the red pushes forward and the blue kind of slips back. So, combining them is a way to make the red pop.”

  “Ah, sure, okay. So the red pops and that’s good. Vic bought this for me last year and said it made my eyes stand out. Got it!” He gave me a thumbs up then sat back. Jazz winked at me. I smiled and sat back to enjoy my frappe and watch my sister stand on her head in goal. Brandy Jolene Arou was incredible, and that wasn’t just me being the proud big brother talking. She was smart, pretty, athletic, and filled with that love of life that just drew people to her. It was times like this when my sister was working on her career as a professional hockey player that I thought of my mother and Brooks. It made me sad, seven years later, to think of all that they’d missed in our lives. I still missed them both.

  “Hey, it’s Cricket.” Jazz nudged my knee with hers. She pointed to the phone beside her ear. “He’s on the way. Said he got hooked up with some guy last night who just had to make him waffles for breakfast.”

  “Waffles are his kryptonite.”

  “Don’t we know it. He wants to know if we want anything?”

  I held up my empty frappe cup. “Another one of these would make me forget he’s not cleaned the bathroom since forever.”

  “No it won’t,” she slung back but passed along an order for two more white mocha frappes anyway. She was right. I’d not be able to stand it for much longer and go in, mask and rubber gloves to my shoulders, and clean things. If I didn’t get my head out of my ass I’d be stress cleaning by tonight. I glanced at the scoreboard and sighed. BJ’s game still had a way to go. The bantam AA teams played three full twenty-minute periods. I kind of missed the lower tiers, some of those games only lasted ten minutes. So, instead of being bored senseless for the next four hours, I dug into my bag for my sketchpad and a pencil. Jazz gave me a long side eye, but she didn’t have a project due in four days. She was studying jewelry design, and her courses were less demanding it seemed, or maybe that was just me. Cricket was at Muffs to get a degree in fashion photography. I was fashion design, and it was crushing. My fashion strategies instructor, Professor Bicton, loved to spring surprises at us. Like our class load alone wasn’t bad enough? This week she’d slapped us with a four day deadline to create a PowerPoint presentation about color in fashion, make a color wheel, and sketch out a design that shows color theory in use.