Chrissy Munder's Blog, page 77

Excerpt Thursday! Stormy Weather

Another Thursday? Notice how I keep repeating that in surprise. Continuing the Anthology Excerpts - here's one from Stormy Weather available in the Make Me a Match Vol. 2 Anthology from Dreamspinner Press.

Summary: Meteorologist Grant Singer is sick of dates who only want to bed the TV "weather guy". But the matches from the online dating service he signs up with are even worse. In fact, the only thing that makes the endless dinner dates bearable is Craig, the cute waiter at his favorite restaurant. Luckily for Grant, Craig never misses one of his forecasts….

Buy Link: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?cPath=55_128&products_id=1013

Like Reviews? Click here .

Excerpt:

GRANT sipped nervously at his glass of iced tea and tried not to look at his watch again. He was sweating. He couldn't believe it. Here it was, his first meeting with—Grant looked down at the small note card on the table in front of him—Steve Winnette, and he was going to slide right out of his chair on a sea of sweat.

Usually Grant hated blind dates so he had to think of this as something else if he was going to get through it. It was his first opportunity to actually meet someone from the online dating service. He had gotten a fair number of matches and it had been nice to have a choice.

Grant had liked the looks of Steve's picture and his brief introductory email had been interesting. Grant ran his hand over the top of his head, checking that everything was still in place. Not that there was going to be anything out of place. He kept his hair cropped close not only to keep the station managers happy but also because he had inherited his father's tendency toward male-pattern baldness.

Grant snuck another quick look at his watch. A whole thirty seconds had passed. He wondered if David had remembered to pull the latest METAR reports before working up the preliminary forecast for the next broadcast.

He fidgeted with the neck of his navy polo and wondered if he should have worn something nicer than just khaki pants and the short-sleeved shirt. Grant didn't realize that the dark navy made his eyes seem an even deeper blue and accented his tan.

David was a good enough intern but forgetful about even the basics, and since Rick, the head weather broadcaster at the station, refused to do his own research for his program, Channel Eleven's reliability percentages for every broadcast but Grant's were falling just about as fast as the barometer during an incoming storm.

Well, that train of thought killed an entire sixty seconds. Grant looked around the restaurant. It wasn't one he usually frequented; he tended to avoid crowds and preferred to stick to familiar territory. But it was close to the station and Steve had suggested it in his e-mail. Nice plants, nice windows, the restaurant had nice everything.

Including the rather nice-looking waiter currently bent over and clearing a table close to Grant's. Very nice actually, Grant admitted as he watched the firm thighs flex and power the waiter quickly around the table.

Add in the brown curly hair and slim frame and the waiter scored a near ten on Grant's list of likes. Why didn't any of the men on his dating Web site look like that in their pictures? Of course, someone that looked like that probably wasn't hurting in the relationship department.

Grant wasn't sorry that the men sitting at the table the waiter was clearing had left after only a few drinks and appetizers. The group of businessmen had been obnoxious to say the least. He gave the waiter points for his tableside manner. No matter how many rude jokes had been made at his expense the man had stayed calm and professional.

Another five minutes had passed in contemplation of the attractive waiter. Grant sipped at his iced tea once again and fiddled with his fork. Maybe he should have ordered a drink. That might have helped take the edge off his nerves.

Of course, then instead of sweating he could just be passed out on top of the table when Steve arrived. Grant looked at his watch again. Who was he kidding? Steve was over a half-hour late. He wasn't going to show. Grant had been stood up.

Hell. Grant immediately started wondering what he had done wrong. Was it his last e-mail? Did his profile on the dating service Web site need revision? Did he need a different picture? What would make a man who had given him all indications of interest back out at the last minute? A car accident? A broken leg? A death in the family? Grant sighed quietly. Maybe he had seen a broadcast?

"Can I get you anything else while you wait for your friend?" The bouncy waitress was back. She was just too happy for Grant right now—all smiles and wavy blonde hair.

Grant gave her his professional smile; he had already given her an autograph when he first sat down and she had recognized him. "Just the check, please," he murmured politely. "It looks like my friend isn't going to make it after all."

"Oh." For a minute her wide smiled dimmed but then it was back in full force. "Well, you'll just have to be sure to come back again. Our special on Thursdays is a shrimp stir-fry to die for."

"I'll remember that." Grant slid his credit card across the table and concentrated on making it out of there with his dignity intact. It wasn't the first time he had been stood up but he had been hoping for something better this time around.

Meteorology had never made any claims to being a sexy profession what with all the math and science involved, and to Grant's knowledge his looks had never been described as anything other than average. But that was why he was using the dating service. Except it didn't seem the results were much different from those he had achieved on his own.

Dreamspinner Authors chatting at Love Romances Cafe Tomorrow!

Popping in for a quick reminder that the Dreamspinner Press authors will be chatting tomorrow, February 24th, over at the Love Romances Cafe Yahoo Group from 4pm - 11pm EST. Not sure who will be there or when, not even myself :) but I'm gonna try. Stop by for chatting, excerpts, fun times galore.

To all our friends in NZ

You are in our hearts and thoughts. Sending you prayers and good wishes for you and your families. As a reminder to everyone who wishes they could do more: Make an appointment to donate blood in your local area - a practical and much-needed way to honor those impacted by this terrible event.

Monday Rambling, Free Books from Dare Empire and Read some 1st Chapters.

Behold the additional 8.5" of freshly fallen snow. Wheee. Yeah, I hear you Mz. Minnesota. You're really buried once again. Sorry about that. Once again a good reminder not to run out of kitty kibble if you want to keep the toes. I'm rambling around this Monday, and thought I'd share/pimp/point the way to a rather neat website.

Have you visited Dare Empire yet? Not only do they have a really festive website and are currently offering free downloads of releases from Geoffrey Knight and G.B. Hobson, but you can also read the first chapter of any of their current releases. Check it out.

Excerpt Thursday! Milestones

Another Thursday already? Let's continue the anthology excerpts - and remember to celebrate love all year round. Not just on Valentine's Day.


Milestones by Chrissy Munder. Available in the Reflections of Love Anthology from Dreamspinner Press.

Buy Link: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?cPath=55_128&products_id=1014


Summary: Things started out great for Devon and Jeff, but as time passes and their work commitments grow, so does the distance between them. As Valentine's Day approaches, it takes a stranger's advances and a friend's well-meaning interference to remind them that sometimes it's more important to celebrate the little milestones in life than the big ones.

Excerpt:

"YOU aren't going to leave a message?"

The entire ambience of the hotel bar was on this side of being too much. Too much color, too much distraction, and the canned music was turned just a little too loud for Devon's tastes and the way his head felt. But he was still able to hear the smooth voice of the tall blond who had walked up beside him.

"You know what they say," Devon replied as he stared at the blank blue screen of his cell phone in disgust. Jeff hadn't answered; he was probably working late again and left his cell in his jacket. Nothing unusual there.

What was unusual was that this time Devon didn't know what he would say if he did leave a message. Usually Devon made it a point to say something loving at least once a day when he was away on business, either to Jeff or Jeff's phone, as happened far too often lately.

"If you can't manage to say anything nice…." Devon let his voice trail off before he finished the saying. That was the thing about old adages: the damn things were usually right when you thought about it.

"…Then don't say anything at all." The blond tipped his beer toward Devon in a mocking salute as he finished Devon's sentence. "My name is Hector. Hector Ruiz." He gestured politely to the empty seat beside Devon. "May I?"

"Uh… sure." Devon wondered what he was doing even as he nodded his agreement for the jeans-clad stranger to join him at his table. "I'm Devon Barnett." He extended his hand and watched as it was enveloped in the large, warm hand of the man now sitting across from him. This was not a good idea, especially when he was feeling down. He wasn't usually susceptible to the advances of tall blonds in hotel bars.

"Ruiz?" Devon questioned for something to fill the sudden silence between them. "Doesn't exactly go with the hair." He winced. That was a shitty thing to say even if it did go along with his mood.

"So much hair dye, so little time." Hector just smiled and ignored the implied insult. "Are you here on business?"

"Does it show?" Devon finally put his cell phone down on the table. There was a time when that cell phone had been his lifeline, his connection to Jeff and a source of constant comfort at being far away from home. They used to spend the nights he was away on business talking, laughing, having phone sex.

Not anymore.

"Well, you are sitting here in the hotel bar, all by your lonesome." Hector leaned back in his chair, his T-shirt pulled tight across his chest. Devon couldn't help but sigh as he compared the lean muscles to Jeff's slightly chubbier frame. He loved the way Jeff's belly curved under his hand. "I'm sensing there's a story here."

Amused despite himself, Devon laughed. His other options for the evening were sitting in his room and reviewing the client's latest irrational demands or heading for the hotel exercise facility to work off his frustrations. Based on the fact he was in the best shape of his life, Devon might have to admit he had a lot of frustrations. "Are you offering a sympathetic ear?"

Hector's eyes were brown, Devon thought absently. A warm brown. They reminded him of Jeff's eyes when they had started dating and Jeff actually used to look at him. Now it seemed like Jeff was always busy with work, or busy thinking about work or just busy being at work. When Devon really thought about it, work seemed to be all Jeff had time for over the past couple of years.

"I could be offering all kinds of things." Hector's voice had lowered and Devon blinked at the implications left hanging in the air.

"The question is: are you interested?"

Take a Look in our Drawers ... The Clare & Chrissy Show February 2011

Clare: Happy belated New Year! Welcome to the 2011 edition of The Clare and Chrissy Show. Our extra bit of fun on the side.

Chrissy: We hope everyone's New Year started out less hectic than ours. I can't seem to explain it; everything seemed to just explode quite messily this year, and the bubbles weren't nearly as pretty as these ones.

Clare: Well, I'm not much of a role model for anyone myself at the moment, as I'm still trying to keep my head above virtual water! But here's hoping we'll soon catch up with the rest of you, powering forward into 2011, once again on top of our lives, *crosses fingers* and ready for whatever adventures the rest of the year holds for us.

Chrissy: Wait, before we get started, where's my confetti?

Clare: Notice the word 'belated' in the opening sentence, Chrissy. We don't need confetti.

Chrissy: Bite your tongue. We always need confetti.

Clare: It did look festive tossed all over my Birthday Blog Month , didn't it? *smirk*

Chrissy: Absolutely. And if our reading audience didn't get a chance to visit Chez London for the extravaganza – just stop on by. I'm still reading through the offerings - thirty-one days of posts by guest bloggers, and free fiction - all served up with glittery stars.

Clare: Not that I really make resolutions, but I'm backing away from the glittery stars this year. I'm trying something new; something a little different, more mature. Maybe more edgy?

Chrissy: You go, woman. More website reorg, huh? *Sigh* Yeah, that's on my list too. I may not make resolutions either, but I do try to start my year out with an extra bit of organization (hence the explosion of boxes piled up in front of the shredder). This year I managed to drag Clare along to keep me company. That's why this month's post is: Take a look in our drawers.

Clare: Drawers? Right. Um …?

Chrissy: Kitchen drawers, that is. Nothing more intimate than that, whatever you thought. Did you think I'd learned *nothing* over the last couple of years about the Great Brit-Yank Language Divide other than the fact you'll stab me the next time I use the word 'gotten'?

Clare: *wipes brow, no longer poised to flee the country* BTW, that's not a word.

Chrissy: Moving on… unless you are one of those frightfully organized, a place for everything and everything in its place kind of people (in which case I bow before you), you might have one of these yourself.

Clare: Drawers, that is. One of those catch-all drawers that the kitchen designers set aside for knives or extra serving utensils, but we tend to toss in everything we can't find a place for.

Chrissy: Scattered amongst the expired coupons, rolls of tape, half-used tubes of glue, extra wire ties, body piercing aftercare instructions, and three open tubes of hairball remover for The Tyrant (what? I'm still looking for the one where he'll lick the goop right off the tube like the label swears) are fascinating glimpses of our lives and times past.

Clare: Be afraid. Be very afraid …

Chrissy: Here's a question: if we practiced what we preached as authors of erotic romance, how many tubes of personal lubricant would we have scattered around the kitchen and buried in these very same drawers?

Clare: *LOL* We're talking real life today, Chrissy. Not tropes. *Sniff * besides, isn't that what olive oil is for? *wink* Extra virgin, of course.

Chrissy: Like archaeologists, we peered through the layers of strata and exposed these depths to the harsh light of day. About time too, I think the bottom of the drawer was starting to break.

Clare: But we don't have space to detail everything that was in there. So, we're picking the top five interesting items found in our kitchen drawers.

Chrissy: You can join us. Turn on some music, grab the family, pull that drawer out in your own kitchen, and prepare to be amazed.

Clare: *still nervous about the sanctity of her drawers* This gives family fun night a whole new meaning.

Chrissy: Pffffft.

Chrissy:: I started off rather simply with my collection of 3D magnetic butterflies being close to the surface. Every Spring I resurrect them from the drawer and place them on my windows, front door, and doorwall. It's a two-person job to line them up correctly, as one half is set outside and the other is set inside. Then the magnets hold them together through the glass. I always know Spring has sprung when my colorful assortment of butterflies comes out to play.

Clare: That's really charming. What I can offer in that category are candles. We always have a ready supply for anyone who needs them. Not the elegant, sweet-smelling church candles you might put on your mantel, but the ones with Happy Birthday on the top. Or Congratulations. Or ones that fart blue smoke, or magically won't blow out *mwahaha*. See the shock on those impressionable children's faces after they've run out of puff…

Chrissy: And here I had doubts when it came to *my* parenting skills…

Clare: Hey. What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger, right?

Chrissy: My next find made me stop and say "awwwwwh". It was my Laa-Laa keychain from back when the Teletubbies were big at our house. Clipped onto my purse, she was an easy distraction every time fractious behavior threatened when out in public. The sound effects took some work, but I bet I can still do them.

Clare: No. Really. It's okay.

Chrissy: I think we still have some videos. They became our secret vice. We would come home after a hard day and pop one in. How can you beat a happy sun, green grass, flowers, and bunnies as a stress remover?

Clare: One word: Alcohol. But I've lived through a rather more aggressive upbringing with the Sons, who brought into our home Thomas the Tank Engine, Power Rangers, Yu-gi-Oh and Pokemon. Who am I kidding? They still love all that! Witness a little further back in the drawer, where I found several Lego characters from Star Wars, all missing heads, a Red Power Ranger with only one leg, and a slightly creased Blue-Eyes White Dragon trading card. Happy Days :).

Chrissy: Where do those heads go?

Clare: Truly, a question for the ages.

Chrissy: Directly behind Laa-Laa, I discovered a plastic model Sea-Doo Bombardier Jet Ski, complete with working water jets.

Clare: Let me guess, you tried it out.

Chrissy: Of course! Filled up the tub and away we went. The Tyrant loved it. This gem was from back in the day when one of the kids swore up and down they would die if we didn't get them a Jet Ski for Christmas. Well, they got one. *cough* Just, not exactly to scale.

Clare: Nowadays they call that child abuse.

Chrissy: *mutters in sotto voice* Pot meet kettle. From one side of the argument, perhaps. At least we fended off their certain demise.

Clare: I don't think I'm one to talk :). I sent both Sons on forced route marches with the Boy Scouts as soon as they showed any passing interest in camping. In the corner of my kitchen cupboard is a full set of billy-cans and … you guessed it … a spork!

Chrissy: Hahah, in the hands of our misguided youth those were definitely weapons of mass destruction.

Clare: Thankfully, no one sporked an eye out.

Chrissy: Leaving behind the question re: is that really a verb, I have no clue why this next treasure was in the drawer. How about an 8 track tape? A homemade mix tape to be exact, complete with tracks from Jethro Tull, Ted Nugent's Wango Tango, Eric Winter's Frankenstein, and Uriah Heep to name a few of the classics.

Clare: I have no words.

Chrissy: Pretty cool, huh?

Clare: No. Seriously. I mean, how can that nostalgia compete with the wallet I just found at the *very* back of the drawer with a selection of paper souvenirs from the trip Hubby and I made to Florence in 1999, including all the entrance tickets to the museums, receipts for our meals, and the outrageously-uncomfortable, narrow-toed, high-heeled shoes I bought. Oh, and some postcards of the superb and adorable Donatello's David. I sat for an hour in front of it, Hubby had to drag me away for sustenance. Of a different nature that is. *sigh for love of a statue*.

Chrissy:: Out of all that, all I can think about is how we need to do a shoe post one day.

Clare: We do know what's important, don't we?

Chrissy: Things took a more serious turn with my final find of the day. Years ago we made a cassette tape of my maternal grandmother talking about her life in the rural South. It's fascinating to listen to her speak about growing up as a multi-racial sharecropper's daughter. She was one of twenty-seven children, had five stepmothers, and when she passed, still lived on her husband's original family homestead first settled back in the 1800s.

Clare: That's fantastic. Why in the world would you have that in your junk drawer?

Chrissy: This is just a copy. But it has more to do with the fact I burst into tears every time I hear her voice than anything else.

Clare: *pets and hands over tissue* But I may join you at the hanky dispenser. I found a battered old box with a silver christening spoon in it. Maybe it was the 16 year old Son's, or even the 21 year old's. Yet I'm both afraid and moved at the same time to think it may be *mine*. Our house was my grandmother's originally. It was never a treasure trove of antiques, but the memories and occasional items of family tradition that we come across are worth more than that, of course.

Chrissy: *blows* Yep, now we're both tearing up. I admit, I thought this would be a fun and rather silly post when we started, but look where we ended up. I feel we've taken quite an unexpected and emotional journey. I may even have grown as a person.

Clare: *coughs* Down girl. Let's not get carried away. But like all things, this is merely another example of our lives imitating our work. We may start out with the simplest of directions for our writing, but where we end up is always a surprise.

Clare and Chrissy: That was our five most interesting items found in our kitchen junk drawers, what have you found in yours? Do you think Chrissy needs to work on her sadistic streak when it comes to gifts? Will Yo-Gabba-Gabba Dance Club really replace the Teletubbies for stress relief? Should Clare stop tormenting the Sons, and abandon her helpless love of a certain bronze? And, honestly, where do all the heads go?

Let us know what you think! Everyone who comments to this post will be entered in our random drawing with the lucky winner receiving their choice of either a Clare or Chrissy free eBook download from our mutual backlist. Winner to be announced in our next, monthly post.


Here's Chrissy! website // blog .


Here's Clare! website // blog .

Miss any of our monthly posting? Don't worry. Here's a handy, dandy quick link to get you all caught up. Feel free to add your thoughts to any of the posts. While we can't enter you to any of the giveaways we'd love to hear from you.

January 2011 – On Hiatus: catch our commas at Clare London's Birthday Blog Month
December 2010 – Christmas Crackers and that Perfect Gift
November 2010 – Clare and Chrissy Give Thanks
October 2010 – OMG! I'm published! Now what?
September 2010 – MySpace or Facebook – or, reports of my death are greatly exaggerated
August 2010 – Inspiration vs. Perspiration
The Intro Post – or, What is this all about again?

All Dreamspinner Titles 20% off at Rainbow eBooks!

Just a quick, flyby post to let everyone know that Andrew Grey (here on LJ as andrewgreybooks ) is featured at Rainbow eBooks this weekend, along with the Dreamspinner Press. What does that mean for you?



For starters, all Dreamspinner titles are 20% off. There's a free download of one of Andrew's short stories, and....Win it before you can buy it! Any purchase enters you to win a copy of Andrew Grey's newest release Accompanied by a Waltz before it is released on Monday.

Stop by and take a look!

Excerpt Thursday! Odds Are in the Mr. Right Now Anthology (PG-13)

This week's burning question: Do you like to read anthologies, or do you usually run from them as fast as you can?
Brrrrrrr. Hello everyone! How warm is it in your part of the world? I'm running behind again, (still, as usual, etc.) but my frozen brain has decided that I should feature some excerpts this month from stories currently published in anthologies.

I read a lot of anthologies and enjoy the format, both as a reader and as an author. Imagine my surprise when a discussion among friends turned up that there are folks that don't care for them. We tossed the pros and cons around, and while I can understand a lot of the cons, I'm still firmly stuck on the pro side. How about you?

Odds Are available in the Mr. Right Now Anthology.
Buy Link:http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?cPath=55_128&products_id=1009

Summary: Rick Page is renowned pulmonary specialist who normally would be pleased to be speaking at a yearly conference. But this year he's getting over the end of a long term relationship, trying to cope with his non-phobic fear of elevators and regain his lost confidence. What are the odds he will run into the one man who can help him with all of these issues?

Excerpt:
Jonah decided to up the stakes a little when he noticed Rick's distraction. Besides, that blush was just too damn cute in his opinion. He wanted to see more of it.

"That's one hell of a wet spot you've got there, Doc. But then you've just spent the last several hours with whats-his-name and you just don't have the look to go along with it. I can't say I'm surprised."

Rick flushed again and tried not to notice how damp his pants felt against his legs as he struggled to follow the conversational shift. "The look?" What the hell had happened to his vocabulary?

"You know." The voice lowered even deeper and other parts of Rick began to stand at attention as well, much to his dismay. What was it about this guy?

"That can't-wait-to-be-fucked-look." The dark eyes stared at Rick intently and this time Rick wasn't surprised to feel the small jerk in his equilibrium as well as his cock.

Rick would have given anything at that point to keep the tide of color from sweeping over the rest of his face. He was thirty-six years old for Christ's sake. You'd think he could manage to stop blushing. Wouldn't you?

"And you're an expert when it comes to that look?" Rick tried to match the other man's insouciance as he wiped his clammy hands against his pant legs. It's not like he was a rank virgin anymore.

Jonah wanted to grin. This hand went to the Doc. However, Jonah was the more experienced card player. "I am when it comes to you." The words were almost a purr.

Rick swallowed.

Hard.

This guy was so far out of his league he might as well have been nineteen and clueless all over again. Shit, ok, twenty-two if he was really being honest with himself about when he'd experienced anything other than a few fumbling attempts at intimacy.

"I knew the first time I saw you just how sexy you'd look, and what I wanted to do to you to get you there." Jonah deliberately let his voice lower until it was like velvet, rich and dark and oh, so sinfully soft. Just like he'd bet the Doc's skin would be.

"Rea…lly?" Did his voice just crack? Rick was embarrassed all over again but the other man didn't appear to notice.

"Really." There was that knowing smile. "I'd start with that tie, first thing. It's a nice color, but it has to go." It was finally time. Jonah decided. Time to stop bluffing and lay his cards out on the table, showing the sweet l'il Doc just what was in store for him if he kept playing.

Rick watched in hypnotized fascination as those strong hands reached out for his collar. A part of his brain that was still managing to function noticed the pale skin of the other man's palms, the other part just stood there, frozen and wondering what would happen next.
He didn't have long to wait. The hands were gentle on his shirt collar, easily working the knot in his tie loose until it slid down around his neck to be held captive by those long fingers.

"Then maybe I'd loosen a couple of buttons on your shirt."

Rick could only stare as a moist tongue peeked out between the white teeth and the lips so close to his and yet so very far away. A warm finger traced the small v of skin exposed by his now open shirt and Rick sucked in his breath at the unexpected touch and his body's helpless reaction to it. He'd gotten hard more often today than he had in months. Carol would be ecstatic.

Was he really just standing there, trembling?

"A little more time spent on the finer details and oh yeah, Doc, your cheeks would be flushed, your eyes would be half-closed with passion and your lips would be all swollen and pouty from our kisses." Jonah's voice was almost a whisper now. "And you know what?"

He moved even closer into Rick's personal space, just enough so that their chests were almost brushing but not quite. Rick should have found it intimidating; instead he found it undeniably arousing. Any closer and the man would have felt Rick's undeniable physical reaction to him. A tan finger raised and traced the outline of Rick's lips, barely touching, just close enough for Rick to sense the movement.

"You'd want more."

Excerpt Thursday! Drive Me Home

What, you gasp? Didn't I just post one in the last few weeks? Yes, actually. Thank you for noticing. But whenever I'm faced with dune-sized snowdrifts my thoughts turn to warmer climes. In this case, my attempts to escape the winter chill send me back to Las Vegas for a new excerpt from the novel Drive Me Home by Chrissy Munder. Available in print and eBook from Dreamspinner Press.

Buy Link: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?cPath=55_128&products_id=993.

Like Reviews? Click here.

Summary:
Las Vegas isn't just a glamorous, glitzy playground for high rollers,Elvis impersonators, and blushing newlyweds. It's also a seedy, worn-out dumping ground for the lonely, the broken, and the lost. Eric Moss is one of those drifters, just marking time, until he meets two very
different men, both of whom could change his life.

Marc Evans is a rich casino owner. He offers Eric safety, security, and a chance to regain some of his ravaged past. Brad Torres is a garage mechanic. He offers Eric nothing at all.

The choice might have been easy, if Eric weren't intensely attracted to both men. He has to choose between Sin City's sparkling lights and a life in the shadows—will he be able to live with his heart's decision?

DESPITE this being Vegas, it seemed Lady Luck wasn't on his side.

"What the hell?" Gardner exclaimed. He had been on the phone when a disheveled Eric forced his way into the office and told him what he needed. Gardner pushed himself back from his desk and looked at Eric in disbelief. "I don't keep cash lying around. And I certainly wouldn't give you an advance of that amount."

"I'll take anything you can give me." Eric tried to keep a tight rein on his temper, but it was difficult. He was too frustrated, and he knew Gardner was lying. He had seen the safe. "I told you I'd pay you back."

"Yeah? And I'm the mayor of Las Vegas. When exactly are you planning to do that? You think I was born yesterday? Whenever you get back from wherever you have to go in such a hurry? For what? A niece? You expect me to buy that? And what about tonight? What about Marc Evans? Do you realize that if you don't show we could lose the deal?" The words were spit out rapid fire one after another.

"I don't give a shit about any deal!" Eric finally exploded. He was fragmenting under the pressure, pieces of who he thought he was spiraling away from his control. He could only watch as one of his hands slammed down on Gardner's desk for emphasis and caused the older man to jump. "I need a favor. I need time off. I need money, and I need it now." Eric struggled to level out his voice, to hold on to himself amid the shaking.

"You'd better get a hold of yourself, Eric, before I'm forced to call someone." Gardner's voice changed, deepening and roughing around the edges. "You're acting crazy. You on something?"

"Dammit!" Eric yelled again, his control long gone. "You've made a mint off me and this Evans thing. All I'm asking for is an advance."

"And if you leave you're going to lose me the Evans thing." His patience also at an end, Gardner stood and yelled back, his surface layer finally falling away, revealing a tough and steely interior. "Do you have a clue just how many limo companies there are in Vegas? Do you know how many drivers there are in Vegas?" The older man snarled nastily at him. "Drifters like you are a disposable commodity, Eric, and I can replace you with a snap of my fingers." He sneered and snapped his fingers for emphasis, angry that his plans for getting control of Evans Enterprises' business were thwarted. "For some reason you've been Evans's flavor of the month, but that can change."

Gardner reached for a way to bring Eric back in line. "Trust me,you have to ride this out until he's tired of you and moves on. Then we can talk about some other options. I can use a smart guy like you."

"Please…." Eric had sworn to himself he wasn't going to beg, but he found himself pleading anyway.

"I can't help you, Eric, and if you leave here now, don't bother coming back."

Eric could tell there was no arguing. "Just fuck you, then." Eric knew it wasn't the most brilliant of responses, but it was all he could muster as he shoved the stacks of papers off Gardner's desk, watching with bitter satisfaction as they swirled about the office. "Fuck you very much."

He turned and strode out the office door, pushing his way past the curious onlookers who had been drawn by the raised voices. Rob and Warren backed away from him, and Eric wondered what he looked like. He made it to his truck and leaned against it for a moment, letting his head bang against the hot metal. Pull it together, Moss. They're depending on you. Don't fuck this up.

What was he going to do now?

Free Read: Made to be Broken by Chrissy Munder

In addition to the lovely Clare London's Birthday Blog Month (say that three times fast), there's a veritable Free Fiction Fest going on as well. Swing over and check out links to a slew of free reads from some of your favorite authors, and read a new short from yours truly as well.

Click here to read Made to be Broken.

And while you are there, be sure to read the hilarious short Clare wrote for me - here .