Cover & Excerpt Reveal
Knowing he’s loved can make any man fly.
Fifteen years ago, Ben Warren was a wakeboarding champion: king of big air, ballsy tricks, and boned grabs. Until a career-ending injury left him broken in ways he still has no hope of fixing. Now he takes his thrills where he can get them, and tries not to let life hurt too much.
Then Davis Fox arrives in Ben’s sporting goods store with a plan to get in touch with his estranged brother by competing in the annual wakeboarding double-up contest. The catch? He’s never ridden before. It’s crazy, but Ben’s a sucker for the guy’s sob story—and for his dimples, too—so he agrees to coach Davis.
Davis is everything Ben isn’t: successful, confident, and in love with life. And he wants Ben to love life—and him—too. But before Ben can embrace a future with Davis, he needs to remember how to hope.
Genre: Contemporary Sports RomancePurchase links: Riptide Amazon ARe Kobo B&N
Content/Theme(s): M/M, Humor, Sports, Wakeboarding, GLBT
Release Date: August 25, 2014
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Excerpt & More
I know his type the minute he walks through the door.
He’s at least twenty-five, has more money than God, and recently decided his dick is measured by the air he can catch on a board. He’s wearing khakis and a polo shirt, as if he came from a golf course. Or work. Do guys like him work? Or just milk a trust fund?
He’s also cute. Really fucking cute. Dark hair, freckles, dimples, a lean body. I can’t help but take an interest. Or my cock can’t.
But I know better. He’s probably straight, and even if he isn’t, he’s way the fuck out of my league. The guy has eyelashes for days and that mouth? Holy hell. Get it together, Warren.
“Welcome to Legend Wakeboards. Can I help you?”
“Yeah . . . I need to see Ben Warren.” He looks down at a card in his hand—likely from the boat dealership that occupies most of the building—then back at me. “I want to talk about some private lessons.”
Of course you do.
“Well, I’m Ben.” I flash my the-cash-register-made-me-do-it smile. “What can I do for you?” It’s pretty typical: these guys make some money midtwenties, when they aren’t too old to show their asses at extreme sports. Guys like him think it’s going to be easy. Then, you get them on the water, they get frustrated, and somehow it’s your fault they can’t ride. They’re all wallet, no action. I should know: I got into this gig because I had something to prove to guys like him.
Even with sponsors, my wallet wasn’t very big, but I showed my ass all right. We sell the video. For three years running, I was the reigning champion of the Lake Lovelace Tournament and Double-Up Contest. I was no slouch on the pro circuit either; I even won an X Games medal. That was fifteen years ago. Now I teach lessons and summer camp and hardly ride at all—only when I have to demonstrate something during a lesson. I miss it, sure, but mostly I’m content to sit behind the counter at the world’s smallest pro shop, and sell boards to guys with more money than brains. Unless they’re cute. Then I just want them the hell out of my shop before they can remind me that no one wants a washed-up old has-been.
He leans on the counter and flashes me a dimpled smile. The effect ricochets right off my brain and down to parts south.
“So you’re the legend himself?”
Why did I let Eddie name the shop? “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Okay, so my kid brother is practically a fish. Born and raised on the lake. There’s talk of him going pro and he’s only thirteen.”
Oh. A pang of disappointment surprises me. “If he’s that good, I don’t know that I have anything to teach him. What’s his name?”
Oh shit. Yeah, his kid brother is that good. He hits a double-up and he flies. He doesn’t just get big air, he makes his tricks beautiful, not to mention just plain sick. The kid is all balls, no bones.
“You’re Ridley Romeo’s brother?” They don’t look alike. Granted, there’s at least ten years between them, and I’ve never seen the Romeo kid up close, but Ridley is blond haired.
“Yeah. I’m Davis Fox. You can call me Dave.” He glances down at the card again, tucks it into his pocket, and extends his hand for a shake. “Riddles is my half brother. We’re not close—I just moved here from Charleston. But the lessons aren’t for him. They’re for me. I figure if I can do this double-up contest thing, maybe he and I could spend some time together and get to know each other a bit.”
“Hold on. You want to enter the double-up contest?”
He nods, flashing that smile again.
“Have you ever ridden before?”
He shakes his head.
“You’re fucking nuts.” Yeah, it’s not polite to cuss at the customers, but seriously? “Look, I know you want to impress your kid brother, and you think it’s just water, how bad can the crash hurt? But it fucking hurts. People are fragile.” I’m fragile. I point to him. “You’re fragile.”
“I’m tougher than I look.” Dimples. Is he flirting?
“Not that tough. There’s got to be a better way to bond with your brother than entering a contest in an extreme sport you’ve never tried before.”
The dimples disappear. “I’m not allowed to see him.” He looks down at his feet. “My stepfather doesn’t want a ‘dumb fucking faggot’ around his kid.”
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