Author: Elle Kennedy, Sarina Bowen
Published by Self-Published
Release Date July 28, 2015
Genres: Contemporary Romance, GBLT Romance
More Info: Goodreads
Purchase From: Barnes & Noble
Purchase From: iTunes
Purchase From: Kobo
They don’t play for the same team. Or do they?
Jamie Canning has never been able to figure out how he lost his closest friend. Four years ago, his tattooed, wise-cracking, rule-breaking roommate cut him off without an explanation. So what if things got a little weird on the last night of hockey camp the summer they were eighteen? It was just a little drunken foolishness. Nobody died.
Ryan Wesley’s biggest regret is coaxing his very straight friend into a bet that pushed the boundaries of their relationship. Now, with their college teams set to face off at the national championship, he’ll finally get a chance to apologize. But all it takes is one look at his longtime crush, and the ache is stronger than ever.
Jamie has waited a long time for answers, but walks away with only more questions—can one night of sex ruin a friendship? If not, how about six more weeks of it? When Wesley turns up to coach alongside Jamie for one more hot summer at camp, Jamie has a few things to discover about his old friend...and a big one to learn about himself.
Jamie kicks off his flip-flops and strips off his shirt. He walks into the water, where his shorts start to cling to his body even before he’s submerged himself.
I follow him, of course. He could lead me anywhere right now, and I wouldn’t argue.
The cool water feels great, though. When I’m up to my thighs I dive under, chasing Jamie out past the sandy area. There’s a floating raft a hundred yards out, and we swim to it.
Jamie is smiling at me when I break the surface. With one palm I splash him a good one, then dive under again to escape retribution. Passing him, I make for the far side of the raft.
When I come up to take a breath, a big hand pushes me under again. So of course I’m coughing when I bob up a second later. “Fucker,” I sputter, even though we spent the better part of our summers trying to drown each other every afternoon after practice.
He’s got an elbow on the raft now, too, which prevents me from dunking him. Figures. So I do the same, coming to perch beside him.
Our shoulders are touching. All he has to do is turn his head and his mouth would be inches from mine. And then all I’d have to do is lean forward and his mouth would be on mine.
But he doesn’t turn toward me. He just stares straight ahead.
Fucking hell. I can’t take this anymore. I need to know where we stand.
Because the thought of spending even another minute guessing what this guy wants from me is absolute torture.
Under water, I reach out and touch his belly with my fingertips…