Hotshot (The Elmwood Stories #5) Read Online Lane Hayes

Categories Genre: M-M Romance, Sports Tags Authors: Series: The Elmwood Stories Series by Lane Hayes
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Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
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Still, I wondered who he was. We didn’t get many tourists in the middle of March. Not like summertime when the hockey community converged on Elmwood for our internationally renowned youth camps. But New England was cold as fuck this time of year, and Elmwood was remote with a series of winding roads separating the Four Forest area from the main interstate. You had to want to visit.

Mary-Kate hummed in a low tone. “Day-um. He’s dreamy.”

Affirmative. And you know what? He looked familiar.

Weird.

I picked up my glass, welcoming the cool condensation dripping between my thumb and forefinger as I watched the newcomer belly up to the bar, seemingly unaware of the buzz he’d caused.

“Who is he?” I asked.

Micah tore his gaze from his phone and squinted. “Oh, that’s our new boss. At least, I think that’s him.”

“It’s him,” Niall confirmed. “Dude, you need glasses.”

“Fuck off. My vision is fine.”

“No, you almost hit a deer on the way over here and⁠—”

MK held a hand up and pointed toward the bar. “Stay on topic, knuckleheads. Tell us about your new boss.”

“Hank Cunningham. His family bought the mill from the Larsons.” Niall swirled the contents of his glass thoughtfully. “They were silent part owners for a while, but Mr. and Mrs. L decided to cash out when the town council approved the new construction in Wood Hollow. That’s the official story, anyway. I’ve heard they were gently pushed out the door for a sweet pile of dough to make room for a corporate takeover.”

It was tempting to roll my eyes at Niall’s wary disdain, but I understood. Commerce in the four towns of the Four Forest area belonged to small business. We didn’t have Starbucks or Shake Shacks here. No, siree. We bought our lattes at Rise and Grind and ate ridiculously delicious burgers and fries at the diner. The lack of big-name logos on Main Street was a source of pride to the locals.

“Corporate takeover? Oh, shit,” MK murmured. “Poor Wood Hollow.”

“I didn’t know the Larsons sold,” I piped in. “When did that happen?”

“Around the holidays. They kept it on the DL, knowing it wouldn’t go down well. They cashed the check, sold their house, and caught the first flight to Fort Lauderdale,” Niall reported.

“Well, since he’s your boss, say hi and let’s shake some info out of the corporate cowboy and assure him we don’t play those games in Elmwood,” MK suggested playfully.

“No, thanks. We’re supposed to have fun tonight. Thinking about or talking about work is the opposite of a good time. Besides, I haven’t personally met him,” Niall said. “Have you, Micah?”

Micah shook his head, fingers still flying over his cell. “Not yet. I heard he bought the old Hamilton house and the land next to it, though.”

MK frowned. “In Elmwood? Why wouldn’t he buy something in Wood Hollow?”

“They’re fancy folks, MK. Wood Hollow doesn’t do fancy. Plus, the Hamiltons had a barn, so maybe he has animals?” Niall shrugged. “Fuck if I know. I’m sure he’s not staying for long. He’s from way out of state, like California or⁠—”

“No, no. The Cunninghams are from Colorado. They own the Rocky Mountain Mill in Denver,” Micah reported.

Whoa. That was a coincidence.

“Maybe you know him, Den.” Niall tipped his chin my way.

MK snorted. “Colorado is huge. Just because Denny lives there now doesn’t mean⁠—”

“Denny knows Cunningham?” Micah set his phone down. “No way. How?”

I ignored MK’s exasperation and the ensuing squabble as I tried to work through the puzzle pieces clicking together in my brain.

The Cunninghams, the billboards on I-70, the Rocky Mountain Mill…

I saw advertisements for the RM Mill all over town in Denver. Huh…it seemed improbable that they’d expanded this far east, but that had to be why the guy looked familiar. The hottie in the hat might just be the billboard cowboy who graced the giant sign near the off-ramp to my condo.

Picture this: a supersized cowboy perched on a horse in front of a log cabin, his shirt hugging his biceps like a glove, snug jeans with holes in the right places, snow-peaked mountains in the background advertising sustainable logging products. I mean, c’mon…how could I not notice? It was borderline obscene, and I was all for it.

Actually, the ads were perfectly tame, but they had sex appeal. I noticed. And I’d kept right on noticing something new every time I made the turn onto my off-ramp—the tilt of his hat, the slight cleft in his chin, the stretch of denim across his thighs.

I tried to tell myself the ads only caught my attention because they were ridiculous—too big and kind of corny. Real cowboys weren’t that hot, were they? He was like…a model, for fuck’s sake. A modern-day Marlboro man minus nicotine and carcinogen hazards. As far as advertising went, it was a hit.

Folks talked about that billboard everywhere in the city. I overheard the baristas at my local coffee shop fawning over it, and Trinsky joked that he wanted to be the billboard cowboy for Halloween. Everyone had laughed and teased him that he wasn’t handsome enough, and objectively speaking, Trinsky was a good-looking dude. Just not as hot as the cowboy who was currently sitting on a barstool in my town, chatting with my favorite bartender and my old biology teacher.


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