Reviews for Jay Hogan

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“Kinky tricks, sixty-six.” Carmen Bendover’s sultry voice filled the crowded function room of Downtown G to a cacophony of hoots and hollers. Carmen’s gay bingo events were legendary.

Dressed in a red sequinned evening gown that was pretty much painted on her curvaceous figure; fuck-me black stiletto heels; an impressive cleavage that defied explanation; and a tiara that sparkled almost as much as the mischief in her eyes, the notorious drag queen had captivated the room from the minute she’d sashayed in and wafted her black feather boa seductively under the current, and very straight, All Blacks’ captain’s nose. To his credit, Andrew Simons had run with the challenge and got to his feet to waltz the notoriously sassy drag queen up to the front stage, and Carmen had appeared . . . charmed.

“Come on, you sexy young things.” She arched a brow at the crowd sipping on cocktails with enough alcohol to fuel the next landing probe to Mars. “Someone must at least have a line. If I have to come down there and check people’s cards, I’ll be paddling a bottom or two and leaving a mark. And don’t think I didn’t see the excitement in your eyes at the prospect, Roland James.”

The handsome Blues’ halfback blushed a deep red and everyone laughed. The room was loaded with enough glitter and rugby muscle to make any young gay boy weep, and quite a few of the older ones as well.

“Hey, Carmen.” I got to my feet a little unsteadily and waved my bingo, or rather my bingay card. “I haven’t won anything, and it’s my damn bachelor—”

“Our damn bachelor party.” Reuben’s hand glided over my arse.

“Our bachelor party,” I corrected with a bow to my fiancé, which was greeted with much banging on tables since everyone knew I was a bossy bitch, and yet somehow, Reuben had my sappy heart wrapped up in enough knots to make a Shibari convention ecstatic.

“Mm-hmm.” Carmen eyeballed me without an ounce of sympathy. “And exactly how many calls have you missed already?”

Most of them. My chin jutted. “Pfft. One or two at the most.”

A blatant lie, which earned me another round of mocking applause. Reuben and I were, in fact, sharing a bingay card—mostly because I’d given up being able to identify any individual numbers a few cocktails back or even hear the calls, apparently.

We were also sharing some increasingly indiscreet gropes, well, at least on my part. Reuben slapping my hand away probably didn’t count.

Carmen smiled like the shark she was. “I rest my case, sugar. Besides, I think you’ve hooked a big enough prize already.” She waggled her impeccably coiffed brows and nodded Reuben’s way, and yeah, it was hard to argue with that. “So sit that pert arse of yours back down on those impressive All Black thighs and let the rest of us drool in peace.”

I did as I was told, which, to be honest, was the least painful way to deal with Carmen. She returned to calling the numbers, and I turned and cuddled up to my fiancé and—fuck, I missed the next number as well.

I grabbed my card and eyeballed Sandy across the table. “Come on, Sandy, you have to be nice to me. It’s my party—”

“Our party.” Reuben bit my ear.

“Our party. Exactly what I was going to say, baby.” I turned and kissed him soundly on the forehead.

“I’m not telling you a thing.” Sandy side-eyed me and laughed. “If it’s another manicure coupon, I need that prize. Have you forgotten I work in a damn morgue?”

“A pitiful excuse.” I glared at him, which only made his eyes roll. I was clearly losing my edge. “And here I thought you were a friend.”

“Hey, you.” Reuben pulled me back against him in a transparent attempt to sabotage my epic board game skills. “How’s it hanging?” His hot breath brushed my ear, and my dick pinged to attention as best it could in its slightly inebriated state. Having said that, the persistent appendage was nothing if not determined, and Carmen and her bingay went up in a puff of inconsequential smoke.

His arm tightened around my waist, and I turned to place a reasonably well-aimed but sloppy kiss on his lips this time. Yeah, I might have had one or six more than I should have, but it was our damn bachelor party and Rube had my back.

With the rugby season still in process, albeit winding down to the end of year All Blacks’ tour to Europe, Reuben was nauseatingly sober, whereas I . . . wasn’t. And I also wasn’t about to miss any opportunity to get handsy with my own personal All Black booty, especially since all that glorious six foot three inches of rippling power was currently stuffed into a size-too-small—so sue me—black Henley and a pair of silk mix black slacks that fitted those drool-worthy thighs like a fucking glove.

Ninety kilos of eager-to-please hard muscle, and all mine for the taking.

Auckland Med Series

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