Yass Queen: A Funny Laugh-Out-Loud Contemporary Friends-to-Lovers MM Romance (The Rainbow League Book 3) Read online

  Yass Queen

  A Funny Contemporary Laugh-Out-Loud MM Romance

  Laurie Lochs

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2020 by Laurie Lochs

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  1

  Stellan

  "Better rip that tape off or I'm going to give you something to cry about."

  The team roared with laughter. I smirked and surveyed the sight. For some ridiculous idea Jacob had practically begged our referee Mitch and his new boyfriend Luke to wax his asshole — with stick tape. He was using bright pink tape with little Hello Kitty designs going across it.

  His asshole looked like Hello Kitty tried to give him a kiss and ended up rimming his ass.

  "Brace yourself, honey,” Mitch said with a wink. “This will sting."

  Jacob cried and tightened his grip on the stick he was holding for moral support. “Don’t tell my Mom, but I’m seriously regretting my life choices right now."

  Luke laughed. "That's why you should've gone to a professional like the rest of us, sis. But hey — At least you're going to end up baby smooth."

  Jacob grimaced. "I'm already baby smooth, thank you. It's just that I haven't had time to see my girl Shawna. She takes care of everything so I don't have to worry about it. But she’s booked to the tits and I don't want Brent thinking I'm disgusting."

  The Rainbow League — the LGBT hockey team that Jacob’s brother had founded with his boyfriend Xav — laughed and turned to Jacob’s boyfriend Brent. Brent took one look at Jacob and snorted with laughter. "There's no way I'll ever think you're disgusting, babe. You're the sexiest Queen this side of the Mississippi."

  Jacob grinned. "You know just what to say to make my gay ass heart skip a beat."

  "Now," Jacob said, turning to Luke. "Could you rip the damn tape off please? I’m on a tight schedule here. I’ve got to get on the ice."

  The team burst into laughter. Bracing himself, Luke rolled up his sleeves and spread Jacob’s gaping hole. In one quick motion he wrapped his fingers around the tape and tore it off.

  Jacob shrieked. I tried not to cringe — the bitch sounded like she was being exorcised of a demon.

  Brent cracked up with laughter. He walked up to Jacob’s hole and ran his finger down the crack. "So soft, so smooth," he murmured, spreading Jacob’s cheeks.

  Jacob groaned. "That fucking hurt more than I imagined. That’s the last goddamn time I try to keep my appearance up by myself.”

  Brent looked hurt. “So you won’t be coming back to my salon?”

  "It depends if Shawna can fit me in. Jesus,” Jacob groaned, “I’m her top fucking client. I go there for asshole, eyebrow, and taint waxes every two weeks. The least she could do is show me a little love.”

  Jacob coughed. “But if she can’t, I'll probably have to start paying you and Luke."

  The team laughed. Jacob pulled his sparkly purple briefs back on and began to get ready for the game.

  I grabbed my stick and playfully smacked his ass.

  Jacob yelped. “Keep your uncut stick away from me, Stellan. You know damn well this ass is only for my man."

  I grinned. "Bitch, I'm a bottom. At least when I’m with guys.”

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  I sighed. “It means I wouldn’t know where to fucking start with that ass.”

  From across the locker room, Mitch grinned like the Devil. “Well I do," he said proudly, putting his hand on his hip.

  The team collectively rolled their eyes. We knew Mitch was the only top on the Rainbow League. He was our sassy referee. He might be femme but he was dom as fuck in bed. We’d heard enough stories from his grumpy bear boyfriend Luke to last a fucking lifetime.

  “Yes girl, let it fucking rest,” Jacob said, rolling his eyes. “You haven't stopped talking about Luke's tight hole since he let you in."

  Luke grinned. "I'm glad my soon-to-be-future-husband brags about my tight hole. He was the first queen I’ve let fuck me."

  I shook my head and grinned at Mitch and Luke. They were so adorable, ever since they got engaged. Every time they showed up to practice, they held hands and stared dreamily into each other's eyes. As a total fucking player — my nickname on the team was Captain Stellan L’Dick — I’d never been big on romance, but seeing Mitch and Luke made me wonder if there was something to it after all.

  I returned to lacing my skates. I hadn't gotten much sleep last night, and I was waiting for practice to be done so I could head to Ready 2 Come, the hottest gay bar in Minneapolis, and catch a drag show to clear my mind.

  I fucking needed a break. If for no other reason than to to get the "gay" out of my system before I headed to the Boundary Waters with my seriously straight, gorgeous, and sexy-as-hell professional hockey player client this weekend.

  He’d busted his knee and desperately needed me to set it straight.

  If I didn’t work the queer out at the club, Jesus himself would have to personally intervene to restrain me from coming onto him in the tent.

  The boys began filing out of the locker room for practice. "Stellan," Luke said, catching my attention from across the room. "You're missing practice Saturday, right?"

  I groaned. “Unfortunately, yes. I'm going to be holed up with some goddamn untouchable Adonis-in-the-flesh in the middle of the North woods."

  Luke wolf-whistled. "I think we know how that's going to turn out."

  I choked on laughter. "Not a chance, dude. On the hockey team, I don't mind joking around. But this is a work environment. If I don't keep it professional, I’ll lose my fucking business."

  "What do you do again?” Luke was relatively new and didn’t know what I did for a living.

  "I lead fitness retreats for injured athletes."

  Mitch's jaw dropped. "What the hell? Why did nobody tell me that before?"

  I shrugged my shoulders. "I try to keep it on the down low. It's not something I want to get out. Most of my clients want privacy. I work with former star injured athletes who don't want anyone to know where or how they’re recuperating."

  “Jesus. That sounds hard as hell."

  I let out a laugh. "Which part? The retreats, or keeping my hands to myself?"

  Luke roared with laughter. “The hand part. Always the goddamn hands.”

  I grinned. “Maybe someday I’ll get lucky. But I’m not counting on shit.”

  Luke grinned. "Keep your options open. You never know what will come your way."

  I burst into laughter. "Yeah, right. Like I'd seriously fall in love with a client. As fucking if."

  "And besides," I added perfunctorily.
"Most of my clients are pro hockey players. Which means I wouldn't even talk to them outside of an excursion. There's a reason this gay bitch ass doesn’t fit in on hetero teams."

  Luke shrugged. "You never know, man. You might have more in common with them than you think."

  I scoffed and tried not to roll my eyes. If only Luke knew just how little in common I had with bulked-up bro-ish hockey players.

  Especially if they were fucking straight.

  2

  Rowan

  A woodland excursion away from the prying eyes of the city. Perfect for athletes, professionals, and everyone whose public persona prevents them from using a personal trainer at a public gym.

  I read those words and wondered for the thousandth time why the hell I'd let my best friend talk me into a "weekend fitness trip” in the Boundary Waters with some naturalist expert who was supposed to whip me back in shape.

  "Rowan," my teammate Sebastien — my partner-in-crime on the Minnesota Wild where I played — said, looking me dead in the eye. "You need this, dude. I booked a session when I tore my ACL. We did exercises in the woods, that’s all. Just breathing the fresh air was enough to take the psychological burden away."

  I clicked onto the photos section and looked at the trail we’d be hiking.

  Jesus Christ. It’s secluded as fuck.

  I tried to fight back the thought that this guy could be anything — even a serial killer — and the reality that I had absolutely, positively no idea what the hell I was getting myself into.

  But I didn’t have a fucking choice.

  Not if the ache in my knee was any goddamn indication.

  Without warning, memories of the injuries flashed across my mind: the game against Pittsburgh, the snap of the ref’s wrist, the way I'd taken off like a fucking rocket the minute he dropped the puck. I’d chased after it like the top fucking center I was. But before I could reach it some bumbling asshole from the Pittsburgh Penguins slammed his stick under my skates and sent me flying. I tried up to beat his ass but before I could a second team member grabbed my face guard and slammed it into the boards. I woke up in the hospital with a twisted knee and two front teeth in desperate need of repair.

  The teeth were easy. The team's dentist fit me right away and gave me a new set of veneers.

  But the knee?

  I twitch my leg instinctively.

  Not so fucking much.

  I took a sharp breath and focused on the screen. Though the pain meds I’d been taking religiously for the last three weeks clouded my vision I could still make out the man on the homepage. He looked familiar and for a second his face almost triggered a memory. But in the world of professional hockey you meet so many people they tend to blend together after a while.

  I wonder what Rachel would think. Seeing you like this, unable to play.

  I gritted my teeth and forced the image of my ex-wife out of my head. No way in hell was I thinking about Rachel or letting the memory of my recent divorce impede my ability to get back in shape. Not today.

  My phone rang. I slid it open and picked it up. “Rowan here."

  "Hey, Rowan,” the voice on the other end said. “This is Stellan. I’m checking in about the trip tomorrow."

  My heart warmed. "Thanks for reaching out, Stellan. I'm excited to get into the woods."

  Stellan laughed. "I sent you a list of the clothes you'll need to bring. We’re going off the grid near the Boundary Water which means you’ll need to pack rain gear, thermal underwear, and socks. Lots and lots of socks."

  I barked out a laugh. "Come on, man. You're starting to sound like my mom."

  Stellan chuckled. "I've got the food, tents, and protein shakes. I'm going to have you carry some of the gear when we arrive to get used to hauling heavy loads. It won’t break your back but it will be enough to break the ice."

  Break the ice. I like it.

  I stared out the window at the cloudy grey sky. "Should I bring an umbrella too?"

  Stellan laughed. "No umbrellas necessary. If it starts getting bad I’ll whip out the coats. I have enough Gore-Tex for a small village."

  I smiled. Stone's voice was warm and comforting. He didn't sound like he was judging me at all for the accident.

  He's a fucking professional, Rowan. He knows the world of pro sports.

  "I'll check out the list and bring everything over tomorrow morning. I'm excited to get this shit fixed and into shape."

  Stellan smiled over the phone. "Awesome, dude. I'll finalize everything on my end and meet you at the trailhead."

  I clicked off the phone. For some reason, I was smiling. It's because you're in safe hands.

  It was true. My team had completely thrown me to the wolves after they discovered I was injured. The doctor had told me to take a rest but I’d ended up excluded from everything. I wasn't allowed to team meetings or scrimmages, even to watch.

  But even Stellan's voice made me feel okay.

  Weirdly.

  Time to take another Percocet and pack the wool socks.

  3

  Stellan

  The next morning

  “Tarp. Windbreaker. Tent.”

  I crossed my arms and surveyed the contents of my SUV. In the haze of the morning I’d stumbled throughout the house and damn near forgotten my sleeping bag. But as I glanced at the trunk of my car I knew I hadn’t forgotten shit. Everything was there. The only thing missing was my hot-ass client Rowan.

  I groaned and lugged the tent to the side of the road. The last thing this sex-deprived slut needed was to think about the sexy-as-hell voice my client apparently had when she’d talked to him over the phone. Firm. Dominant. A hint of rasp. While I was talking to him I'd pictured a big burly man, covered in thick chest hair with scruff. I closed my eyes and suddenly, this imaginary man wrapped his imaginary arms around my waist. I swooned into him, letting him hold me and touch me.

  Snap out of it, dude. He's your fucking client. And you don't even know what he looks like. You can’t judge a pro hockey player by the sound of his voice.

  The sound of an engine roaring snapped me out of my daze. My heart raced as I narrowed my eyes.

  Suddenly, it hit me. That confident walk. That brash smile.

  Oh my God. I knew this man. And not just from watching hockey.

  It was Rowan Dubois, the only player who'd gone on to play pro from my high school hockey team.

  4

  Rowan

  My heart hammered in my chest as I took my first glance at my instructor. I shook my head in disbelief.

  Holy fuck. It was Stellan, one of the boys I’d played with growing up.

  "Dude, what the fuck?" I nearly goddamn shouted with a grin. I playfully punched his shoulder and wrapped him in my arms.

  Stellan laughed. "I'm just as confused as you. Never would it have occurred to me to think that Rowan from the Minnesota Wild was the same Rowan I knew when I was 16."

  "This is fucking incredible.” I laughed. “Here I was, worried you might be a serial killer. But it's just Stellan from my high school hockey team."

  Stellan grimaced. "Well, I'm glad you feel like you’re in safe hands. But I wouldn't get too comfortable. The amount of shit I'm going to put you through is going to seriously make you reconsider ever coming out this weekend."

  I barked out a laugh. "What do you have in mind?"

  Stellan flashed me a toothy grin. "Mr. Minnesota Wild is just going to have to wait and see."

  I smirked and surveyed my former friend. His muscles goddamn near popped out of his fucking Hercules chest. Clearly, he hadn't given up on staying fit all these years.

  "And what have you been up to?" I asked, setting my duffel bag on the ground.

  "Hockey, mostly," Stellan said with a shrug. "I play for a… Boutique league."

  "Boutique?"

  "It's for people who aren't exactly well-represented on traditional hockey teams."

  I furrowed my brow. But the meaning of his words hit me a moment later.

 
Holy shit. How did I forget Stellan was gay?

  "Is it like a gay league?" I asked innocently. “I don’t want to sound insensitive. I couldn’t give a fuck."

  Stellan grinned. "You could say that. We didn't start it until last January."

  "So you got your ass in the door early."

  Stellan laughed. "I guess you could say that. I snagged the best fucking position before anyone else could join the team."

  I burst into laughter. It was our inside joke from back on the team. Every afternoon before practice, we'd compete like gladiators to play the much-coveted position of center. Back then, we were both of equal talent, and the coaches were happy to see either of us play. We'd sometimes flip coins or play rock paper scissors and the loser had to play defense.

  It warmed my heart to hear Stellan was playing in center ice where he belonged.

  "How about we grab this gear and head towards the woods?”

  I snorted. “Sounds like a fucking plan. Mr. Minnesota Wild is injured, so you’ll have to lead the way.”

  "Don't get sassy with me. I might force you to carry the tent."

  "Oh please,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I may be injured, but I think I can handle more than a tarp and some stakes."

  Stellan put his hand on his hip. “I’d like to see you fucking try.”

  I rolled my eyes and grabbed the tarp from the ground.

  Three hours later, I was fucking exhausted and goddamn near ready to die. In his infinite wisdom, Stellan had taken a goddamn obstacle course of trees, hills and roots through the North woods. One more fucking step and I was ready to make like a bear and burrow in a goddamn cave until winter. I wouldn’t even need the fucking tent.