Deke Deleted Scene

Despite my better judgment, when Jet invites me to watch the Boston versus Ottawa game, I take him up on the offer. It’s game seven, and whoever wins this will face us next.

The thought of facing Tommy and my old teammates doesn’t sit well with me, so I’m kinda hoping Boston loses.

Jet lets me in, and I try not to glance around, hoping to see Lennon, but I must not be subtle about it, because Jet smiles.

“Lennon, game’s starting,” he yells and then turns to me. “Ready for ourgame?”

“I dunno. It seems mean.”

Jet gets a mischievous glint in his eyes,and I don’t like it. We stupidly bet a hundred bucks for whoever can casually slip in more Beatles song titles into a single conversation with Lennon.

“Come on, Lennon. We need you down here like …‘Yesterday.’” Jet winks at me.

Before I can ditch the idea, a door upstairs opens, and Lennon bounds down the steps, skidding to a stop in front of me.

“Hi.” He sounds confused.

Damn my smile I can’t contain. “Hey.”

He keeps walking, and I follow him.

“I thought you would’ve gone to see Tommy play,” he says.

“Early practice tomorrow,” I say. “But I’m glad we could ‘Come Together’ here.”

Jet snorts as he takes the chair to the right of me, and I scowl at him.

Lennon looks at the spot on the ground between the couch and the coffee table but ends up sitting off to the side and opening his laptop in front of him.

“What, worried I’m going to read over your shoulder?” I’m only half-serious.


“Don’t trust me?”

“Don’t want you to read it wrong and get offended.”

It’s hard to tell if he’s fucking with me or calling me on my shit.

Finally, he breaks. “Your dad’s not the only one with a dry sense of humor.”

“His dad?” Jet asks. “How do you know his dad?”

Lennon and I stare at each other, but he merely looks at me as if to say This ain’t my story.

“I told him about him,” I lie and then ask myself why I think I need to do that. What happened between us six months ago would make a funny anecdote one day, but right now, it’s just ours, and for some reason, I want to keep it that way.

“Apparently, he’s even less funny than I am. Somehow,” Lennon says.

“How is that possible?” Jet asks.

Lennon throws up a finger in Jet’s direction.

“So, living together is going well?” I quip.

“Brilliantly.” Jet says dryly. “Now, let’s ‘Let It Be’ and watch the game.” He turns to the TV.

Damn it, he’s one up on me now.

“Guess we’re rooting for Boston,” Jet says.

I shake my head. “Nah, come on, Ottawa. ‘Don’t Let Me Down.’”

When Jet stares at me, I don’t know if it’s because of the song title or confusion over why I’m not cheering for Boston.

“I don’t want to have to play my old team,” I say.

“Ottawa it is. Go …” It’s obvious Jet has no idea what the mascot is. “Canada!”

Lennon and I share amused glances.

The game is close, and during the whole thing, I steal glances at Lennon as he takes down notes.

“Okay, that was slashing, right?” Jet asks.

“Hooking,” Lennon and I say at the same time.

“You’ll get there,” Lennon says.

Jet scoffs. “Yeah, just in time for the season to end. What I wouldn’t give to live ‘A Day in the Life’ of you guys.”

“‘We Can Work It Out,’” I add and try not to gloat.

“Yeah, maybe ‘While My Guitar Gently Weeps’ from being neglected.”

Damn, he’s good at this game.

Jet’s proving to be a great DJ—original with his song choices but still picking songs that make the crowd go wild.

The thing he does struggle with though is penalties. He’s been known to play a happy song when the home team gets sent to the sin bin, because he doesn’t know what we’ve been carded for.

By the end of the third period, I’m not sure my heart can take watching anymore. Or playing the stupid Beatles game. The sentences coming out of Jet’s and my mouths now barely make sense. I randomly said about five minutes ago that I want a pet “Blackbird” because they’re cute.

“We should start a ‘Revolution,’” Jet says, bringing us back up to even.

Lennon sighs as if Jet’s randomness is normal behavior.

Ottawa get up by two at one stage, and I shout out, “Yes! ‘Here Comes the Sun’!”

But then they take a penalty, and Boston dominates during a power play. Tommy, the smartass, pulls a fucking hat trick for the night.

I get out my phone and send him a message for him to read later: Show off.

When the clock ticks down, and Boston takes the lead, I know that, deep in my gut, there’s no way Ottawa is winning this game.

Damn it.

Lennon closes his laptop and stands from the floor. “Hope you guys have had your fun. And by the way, in case you lost the score, Ollie won. Little pathetic. I was at least hoping one of you could’ve tried to slip a ‘Yellow Submarine’ or ‘Penny Lane’ in there. You couldn’t even give me an ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand.’”

He knew what we were doing this whole time?

“‘Yellow Submarine’ is totally the name of my cock,” Jet says. “There. That counts. Now we’re even.”

“No way. Game over, man. Lennon called us on our shit.” I turn to him. “When did you work it out?”

“I can’t give away all my superpowers, but let’s just say growing up with my name hasn’t been fun. I’ve seen some shit and learned a few tricks.”

“Jet told you before we began, huh?”

“He did no such thing,” Lennon says while nodding. “He did not ask me to keep score to make sure you didn’t cheat.”

“And you went along with it?”

“If I got hung up over every time someone wanted to mock my name, I’d go insane.”

“So, you have to laugh or you’d cry?”

“Exactly. Now you should run along home to bed. A few nights from now you’re gonna have to kick your best friend’s ass.”

My shoulders slump, because Lennon’s right. I’m so not looking forward to this next series.

Trick Play Cover Reveal and Excerpt!

Trick Play will be here soon on June 27! To celebrate, I’m posting an excerpt and showing off the cover <3


With a nod, I plant my ass on the small sofa in the room, and then Noah takes the seat next to me.

The sound of water crashing over the bow still reaches the room from the black abyss that is the Atlantic Ocean. It’s peaceful until Noah opens his mouth again.

“We should make out.”

I choke and splutter on my beer. “Why in the hell should we do that?”

“I’m not hitting on you, you jackass.”

“Pretty sure askin’ me to kiss you contradicts that statement.”

“Hear me out. You’re uncomfortable in public, and we don’t know each other. The way to make it look natural is if we are natural. Therefore, if we make out, you’ll loosen up.”

I hate that he has a point, but we can’t cross those lines. “We should make this a purely platonic arrangement so there’s no confusion.”

“There will be no confusion on my part. I understand why you’d be hesitant, because, well, look at me. You’re worried about liking it too much.” Noah gestures to himself, and I force myself not to look.

“Yeah, you’re lucky I haven’t jumped you already.” Even though he does have a great body. Damn him.

“I could goad you into doing it, but I don’t think I have to. You know this is a good idea.”

“It’s really not.”

“Scared you’re going to fall for me?” he taunts. “All the boys do.”

“Fall for your wallet, maybe,” I mumble.

His eyes turn a stormy gray as they narrow, and if looks could kill—

“Fall for you after one kiss?” I scoff. “Not possible.” It’s not possible after multiple kisses. I reckon I’m incapable of love, because I don’t know what the fuck it is.

Noah moves closer.

“Noah …” I shift on the seat.

“You’re way too uptight. I promise I’m not trying to fuck you. Although, that could definitely be fun.”

A tentative hand skims up my side and around my back.

My body freezes, and if Noah thought I was uptight thirty seconds ago, it’s nothing compared to how tense I am right now.

“We have a photoshoot in two days.” His breath tickles my cheek. “You’re going to have to be relaxed and pretend that you like me.”

“So, we can do this then.” My voice cracks and I clear my throat. “I don’t understand the point of it now.”

“You look about as comfortable as I did when my housekeeper walked in on me balls deep inside my boyfriend senior year of high school. That was a fun way to come out to the parents.”

“You … wha … how?”

If he said that as a distraction, it’s working.

“Breathe,” Noah says. “And just let me kiss you.”

This is a stupid idea. Really stupid. Even so, there’s a part of me that not only wants it but hopes he has a point, because there’s no way I can pretend to be in love with a guy I don’t know and am nervous around.

“Fine.” I lean forward and put my beer on the coffee table in front of us.

He stares at me dumbfounded, as if he wasn’t expecting me to give in. Maybe this is a game to him. If it is, he’s winning.

That doesn’t stop either of us from moving closer to one another.

My lips inch toward his but before I kiss him, I add in a low voice, “This is an experiment only. A one-time thing.”


“This isn’t going to work, and when it doesn’t, I will gladly rub it in your face every day we have to play this stupid charade.”

Noah laughs, as if he knows I’m trying to convince myself and not him, but I cut him off with my lips on his. Unlike earlier today where I didn’t react—didn’t do anything—this time, I take charge. My tongue pushes past his lips, and I refuse to let out the groan that tries to escape when it meets his. Two seconds into the kiss, I know this is a huge mistake.

I ignore the tightening in my pants and the shiver that runs through me as his hands trail down my spine. Then, suddenly, I’m on my back as he pins me to the sofa that’s way too small to fit both of us.

That doesn’t stop us, though.

His cock lines up with mine, and even through two layers of suit pants, I know he’s long and thick.

Shit, don’t think about his dick.

Noah’s lips break away from mine and skim my bearded cheek. “Thought you said you weren’t going to enjoy this,” he says in my ear.

“I’m not.” Hmm, probably would’ve been more convincing if my voice didn’t crack like a twelve-year-old seeing his first dirty magazine … or in my case a football magazine. Boys in tight pants and pads? It’s no wonder I loved the sport when Dad first forced me to play.

Noah rotates his hips slowly, grinding his hard body against my even harder cock. “Pretty sure this says otherwise.”

“I’m a gay man with a hot guy’s tongue down my throat. It’s simple chemistry. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“You’re wrong. This is anything but simple.” Noah’s mouth comes back down on mine again, and this time, I can’t hold back the moan.

I’m no longer on the ship. I’ve fallen overboard and am drowning in Noah, and I don’t want to come up for air.

“Matt,” he murmurs against my mouth, and his voice may as well have been a bucket of ice.

I push him off me and sit up, straightening my shirt in the process. “See. Didn’t work.”

I reach for my beer to wash the taste of Noah down.

He wipes his mouth and breaks into a cocky-ass smile. “So, you felt nothing, huh?”

“Right.” More beer goes down my throat.

“Keep telling yourself that.”