Kaleidoscope Sunsets (Colors of Love #7.5) Read Online V.L. Locey

Categories Genre: M-M Romance, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Colors of Love Series by V.L. Locey

Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 52243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)

This sports agent is about to be shown there’s far more to life than money.
Ever since Arn Toras graduated from college he’s been all about the job. Building himself up and leaving his poor roots behind had been priority number one for New York City’s most prestigious sports agent. Now he’s courting a young Swedish superstar for his management business and things are starting to feel as if they’re less about the money and more about Anders Viklund’s bright blue eyes, charming smile, and golden-blond hair.

All things that he really shouldn’t be noticing as he’s considered himself to be straight for years. Perhaps sexuality isn’t as black and white as the contract Arn is desperately trying to get Anders to sign. Maybe the high-power, workaholic agent is about to discover a few things about himself and his life that will lead him down a path he never could have foreseen. A path he is suddenly all too willing to walk down with Anders.

Kaleidoscope Sunsets is an age gap bi-awakening MM romance with lots of self-discovery, tender kisses overlooking the sea, and a cookie-sweet happily-ever-after.


Chapter One

“…no, no, that’s not the point here, Lawrence.” I paced back and forth in front of the window of my doctor’s office overlooking West 44th in nothing but my boxers and an undershirt. Oh, and of course dress socks, because nothing said sexy man like black dress socks on skinny black legs. “No, this kid is going to set the NHL on fire. Listen to me. I’ve been doing this job since before you were born.” My new PA was a good kid, sharp as a Bowie knife, and eager, but he didn’t know the underside of the sports representative business like I did nor would he until he’d put in his time and paid those dues. “I’ve had scouts reporting back to me about Viklund. He’s purported to be the next Gretzky or Lemieux. Nope, we can’t wait to court him. Jamison is already sniffing around, according to Sven. Sven is old yes but he knows more about hockey than you’ll ever be able to learn. No, we can’t just hit the kid up with texts. Sometimes you have to do this the old-fashioned way. Like courting a lady.”

I burped and grimaced. Ugh. The fucking heartburn had been steady the past few months. This morning I had woken with bile in my mouth and my throat on fire. That had been enough to make me call my doctor for an emergency visit. A visit I was now regretting as I’d lost hours of work time. Time that could have been spent in my office at Toras & Mills nailing down how to approach this wunderkind in Sweden.

“My last girlfriend was a total text pickup,” Lawrence replied.

I checked my Rolex again. Jesus fucking Christ, did this man not realize I had a business to run and sports stars to sign?

“And that’s why your generation can’t forge lasting relationships. You don’t woo a woman with a text and a dick pic. You take her to dinner, send her flowers and candy, and write her sexy love poems.”

“I took her to dinner,” he argued as he jogged. On his lunch break. What kind of lunatic jogged when he could be sipping a martini and enjoying a good steak?

“McDonald’s doesn’t count. My point is that sometimes you have to use a personal touch. I want you to track down Gloria and see if she’s willing to travel to Sweden to wine, dine, and get this kid signed to Toras & Mills before Jamison lands him.”

“Right. I’ll see what she’s involved in.”

“Tell her whatever she’s got going can be sent to Boom. He can tie up any loose ends she may have contractually. I want her on this one. She’s got legs that—” The door opened and my physician strolled in, my file in his hands. He did not look happy. “Pretend I didn’t even start to say that about Gloria’s legs but yeah, her legs are selling points. Find her and get her on this. See you back at the office.”

Dr. Sugarman gave me a once-over. “You could have gotten dressed,” he said as he lowered himself to a short, padded rolling stool, crossed his legs, and opened my file.

I usually liked the tall Black physician. He was right around my age and a straight-shooter. I dealt with enough bullshit ass-kissing in my profession. I did not want to have a doctor fawning over me like I was a prized teacup Chihuahua. I’d lived through a childhood that had forged me into a junkyard dog. I didn’t need coddling as so many of my clients did. Jocks could be tender little buttercups at times.

“I got a business call,” I explained, laying my phone on the exam table to lift my slacks from a wall hook then step into them.