A.O. Chika's Blog, page 4
October 6, 2017
Book Blitz: Tender With a Twist by Annabeth Albert
Title: Tender with a Twist
Series: Rainbow Cove #2, but stands alone well
Author: Annabeth Albert
Publisher: Annabeth Albert
Release Date: October 2, 2018
Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 79,000 words
Genre: Romance, Contemporary, May-December, BDSM (light), Small Town
Add to Goodreads
Synopsis
One kinky wood carver. One younger chef looking to try new things. A series of lessons that bring both men more than they bargained for…
Curtis Hunt has made a name for himself as a chainsaw wood carver, winning national competitions and operating a small business in Rainbow Cove, Oregon. As winter whittles away his tourist traffic, his goal is just to survive the season and try to not get lost in grief for his dead lover. It’s been two years, but he’s sure he’ll never be over the love of a lifetime. However, his body has a certain restlessness that he doesn’t quite know how to calm.
Logan Rosner knows a thing or two about restlessness. It’s what drove him to Rainbow Cove to be a chef at a bar and grill run by his friends. And it’s what drives him to a single sizzling encounter with the local legendary lumberjack. Both men get far more than they expected and learn that first impressions aren’t always accurate…
But when Logan proposes a series of sexy lessons, Curtis must decide how much he’s willing to risk. He knows he can’t afford to get attached to Logan’s good cooking, his easy smiles, or his caretaking, but he keeps going back for more, even as deeper emotions become involved. Soon, Curtis must decide whether to risk his heart again or risk losing Logan for good.
Tender with a Twist is a 75,000 word stand-alone gay romance with a May/December theme, featuring a second chance at love, opposites attract, loads of sexy times with mild BDSM elements, and one emotionally-charged, guaranteed happy ending with no cliffhangers.
Excerpt
Logan
The crazy woodcarver was shirtless. Again. It was a sleepy Thursday in January on the Oregon Coast which meant most sane people were in flannel and jackets and bundled for the sharp bite of the wind. I was wearing fleece-lined bike pants and a long-sleeved cycling jacket myself as I celebrated the first good ride of the year, and I was still chilly when I stopped my ride near the jewelry store on 101—the main highway running through Rainbow Cove. I told myself that I’d stopped for some water from my bottle, but I knew it was a weak excuse. Really, I’d been transfixed by the sight of Curtis Hunt carving up a giant tree trunk with his chainsaw.
For all that rumors flew about his eccentricity, the man was an unparalleled artist, and watching him do his thing was a true pleasure. Sweat dripped from his head and back despite the cool temperature, and he worked like a man possessed, moving this way and that around the piece, dancing almost as his chainsaw flitted about with the sort of grace I’d expect from the jeweler, not this buff lumberjack with heavy machinery.
He wore sawdust splattered jeans, heavy boots, safety goggles and ear protectors, but his red flannel shirt lay discarded on a nearby sculpture of a falcon, showing off his shimmering muscles and tats that even from a distance were impressive. For all that the guy had probably fifteen years on me, he was in amazing shape. Hell, if I had ink and muscles like that, I wouldn’t keep my shirt on, either. All the muscles made something warm unfurl in my gut, but I dismissed the low thrum of arousal as a never-happening-in-this-lifetime thing. Chances were very high that he’d laugh at any of my fantasies, especially the ones involving him, some rope, and his usual intense stare replaced with something closer to supplication.
But, a guy could still look. And want. So I took my time drinking my water, watching as the outline of a bird slowly emerged from the raw tree trunk.
In a town as tiny as Rainbow Cove, the rumor mill worked overtime, and I knew all the rumors about Curtis. Knew he’d lost his longtime lover a year or two ago and that the two of them had been mythic fixtures in the area. Curtis had apparently gotten more eccentric since the other guy had passed, moving into the old gas station he used as a gallery for his carvings, growing his own food, and going notoriously cranky about change.
And change was what had driven me to Rainbow Cove. Change was what my restaurant represented—hope that the area economy could find a new foothold in tourism. So it wasn’t surprising that Curtis didn’t seem to like my friends and me any. Probably wouldn’t appreciate me looking at him like he was a lumbersexual Tumblr all queued up for my viewing pleasure. But damn, those muscles…
I gave myself last look before I pedaled away, heading away from the center of town, taking the turnoff that would lead me to the narrow residential road that skirted the beach to the south. I was alone on the road, glorious, vast gray skies and sprawling blue ocean my only companions. This was what I’d come to Rainbow Cove for, the space to be alone, the quietness that I’d only ever found before in a dojo. Portland was crowded, and not just with people. My parents’ expectations always loomed large, as did past mistakes and hurts, and the general hustle of the area made it hard to catch my breath, hard to think and breathe and simply be. The traffic. The noise. The demands. All of it had gotten to be too much for me, and when my friend Mason had proposed the idea of the bar and grille here on the coast, I’d leapt at the chance to start fresh, especially since I’d loved the coast from some of my earliest memories of family weekends away.
Eventually, my ride returned me to the tavern where Mason was signing off on a meat delivery from a local farm.
“Chef!” The driver greeted me with a wave as I locked up the bike. “We’ve got some new fillets in. Think you might want some for a special this week?”
My mind immediately flitted away the shirtless woodcarver and back to my real passion—cooking. I loved being the chef here, the guy who made the decisions and the specials. I’d had years of sous chef positions in Portland, growing ever more eager for my own menu, one where I could play with sauces and presentation and choose my own local ingredients.
“I’m picturing a peppercorn crusted fillet with red wine reduction.” I inspected packages Mason was loading into the freezer and fridge. We’d do most of our business with the endless stacks of burger patties, but I loved changing things up with my daily specials, too.
“Don’t know if anyone will pay fillet prices.” Mason shook his head. The slow winter season was starting to wear on my friend, who also served as our business manager. “You can try it as a special, but let’s not over-order.”
I reluctantly took a small order of fillets, ceding to Mason’s wishes, and rounded out my weekly specials plan with cheaper options like shepherd’s pie.
“How was your ride?” Mason asked after the delivery guy was on his way.
“Fine.” I didn’t feel the need to report on my perving of the woodcarver. It had been a little personal indulgence. Not to mention the fact that Mason’s police chief boyfriend, Nash Flint, was close friends with Curtis, which meant I’d be in for double the teasing if I let on that I’d let my eyes wander in that direction.
“You’re not too lonely, are you?” Mason pressed. “It’s your first winter on the coast, and I know that can be hard.”
“Not lonely,” I said, truthfully. I was so happy to be free of all the voices of Portland—my well-meaning parents, my ex, my aikido master, my many opinionated friends, the executive chefs and restaurant managers who hadn’t seen fit to promote me. The silence of the off season meant that for the first time in my life I was finally free to figure out my own direction, and I intended to seize that. I wasn’t telling Mason, but that was my New Year’s resolution—be the person I’d been reluctant to embrace in Portland. It was high time I took a chance on myself.
REVIEW COMING SOON
Purchase at Amazon
Meet the AuthorAnnabeth Albert grew up sneaking romance novels under the bed covers. Now, she devours all subgenres of romance out in the open—no flashlights required! When she’s not adding to her keeper shelf, she’s a multi-published Pacific Northwest romance writer.
Emotionally complex, sexy, and funny stories are her favorites both to read and to write. Annabeth loves finding happy endings for a variety of pairings and is a passionate gay rights supporter. In between searching out dark heroes to redeem, she works a rewarding day job and wrangles two children.
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads
Annabeth’s Angels Facebook Group | Sign Up for Annabeth’s Newsletter!
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The post Book Blitz: Tender With a Twist by Annabeth Albert appeared first on A.O. Chika Book Blog.
August 3, 2017
Book Blitz: Into the Mystic Lesbian Anthology collection
Title: Into the Mystic
Series: Volume One
Author: Brooklyn Ray. J.C. Long, Kara Race-Moore, Samantha Kate, Nicole Field, J.P. Jackson, Caitlin Ricci, L.J. Hamlin, Kayla Bashe, Charli Coty, Tay LaRoi
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 7/31/17
Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex
Pairing: Female/Female
Length: 101100
Genre: Paranormal, paranormal, witches, werewolves, lesbian, bisexual, mermaids, fae, zombies, shifters
Add to Goodreads
Synopsis
Eleven lesbian/bisexual paranormal short stories…
Reborn by Brooklyn Ray – Dark magic, mystical bloodlines, a living forest, and two women fighting to reclaim a love they lost.
Zero Hour by J.C. Long – She can’t outrun the full moon.
Dove in the Window by Kara Race-Moore – As if the Great Depression wasn’t bad enough, Cissy’s first love is back from the dead.
Bottom of the River by Samantha Kate – The demon isn’t always the monster.
If You Want to Walk by Nicole Field – Follow Chess into the Underneath and meet the strange creatures she finds there.
A Tended Garden by J.P. Jackson – Immortality or humanity—which one will win out in the end?
Romancing the Healer by Caitlin Ricci – In a deadly snowstorm a werewolf needs all the help she can get, and the werebear coming to her aid is more than she appears to be.
Midnight Kisses by L.J. Hamlin – A local witch, a new-to-town werewolf, and a mystery to be solved.
Like a Bell through the Night by Kayla Bashe – Guarding a faerie princess? All in a day’s work for a werewolf bodyguard. Avoiding falling in love with said princess? The hardest mission of Jaffa’s life.
The Imp in the Rock by Charli Coty – The cure for a bad breakup might be magic.
Smile Like You Mean It by Tay LaRoi – Ingrid meets a terrifying Japanese legend, but the stories are all wrong.
Excerpt
Reborn by Brooklyn Ray
Thalia Darbonne left Port Lewis three years ago with no intention of returning. Despite being a powerful witch, she’s now known as a deserter – an outcast in the magical society. But after her mother’s untimely death, Thalia is called back to her hometown in order to fulfill her duty as matriarch, and take the place as head witch of the Darbonne Clan.
Being back home isn’t easy, especially when Thalia is confronted by a ghost from her past, the beautiful, dangerous necromancer, Jordan Wolfe.
As Thalia tries to cope with the loss of her mother, she’s also faced with her feelings for Jordan, the responsibility of becoming matriarch, and the strange, dark magic lingering between her and her first love. Thalia and Jordan fight through three years of confusion in the forest they grew up in, where trees whisper, the night sky bleeds, and sigils are carved into flesh.
Zero Hour by J.C. Long
After being bitten by her long-time girlfriend Robbin in werewolf form, Simone does the only thing she can think to do—she gets in her car and drives as far away as she can. As the first full moon since she was bitten approaches, Simone is faced with a difficult choice: does she trust Robbin, who wishes to guide her through her first transformation, after being hurt by her? And more importantly, with the full moon drawing near, does she really have a choice?
Dove in the Window by Kara Race-Moore
In 1930’s Appalachia, Cissy McGurk is still mourning the death of Pearl, her first love. However, Pearl shows up one night and crawls into bed with her, bemoaning that she can’t sleep. More and more people from the local cemetery are crawling from their graves because something won’t let them rest. Cissy has to find out how to fix it, even if that means asking Death himself for advice.
Bottom of the River by Samantha Kate
Anja Bauer is the daughter of rich but cruel parents who care little about her happiness. Despite her revulsion toward men, they plan to marry her off to a faraway suitor. But Anja’s discovers a contract they signed with the demon they’d warned her about, and she learns the true extent of their wickedness and the reality of the demon.
If You Want to Walk by Nicole Field
Chess runs into the world of the Fae to try to escape her depression, only to find it comes there with her. When she finds her way back, she knows she will have to leave many things behind. Is leaving worth that price?
A Tended Garden by J.P Jackson
Alyssa is a natural witch whose thoughts have a way of coming true. Her coven is the only one around—well, the only one she’ll practice her beliefs with – but her high priestess, Rachel, is particularly difficult to please.
Rachel has a secret she hasn’t told anyone in her coven—one that her ancestral witches before her kept from their covens too. If Rachel’s to hold on to her traditions and the immortality she’s been promised, she’ll have to keep the women in her coven returning to the sacred grove, and that includes Alyssa.
But secrets have a way of being revealed, and when Alyssa stumbles across Rachel’s violent and horrifying history with the trees of the grove, the pact between the sacred grove and Rachel’s family may have a price too steep to pay.
Romancing the Healer by Caitlin Ricci
When she takes too long to come back to her pack, Aria is caught up in a snowstorm. To make matters worse, she’s twisted her ankle while running. Hurt, freezing, and alone, her best chance for survival is to stay under an evergreen until the storm clears then try to limp back to her pack. Zoe has a better idea. She’s a healer without a pack to call her own, although she’s desperate for the kind of family Aria has with hers. Being trans, Zoe has never felt all that welcome with other shifters, but Aria promises to show her that there is at least one pack who would gladly have her. All they have to do is wait out the storm together.
Midnight Kisses by L.J. Hamlin
A night out in a bar before a big council meeting to relax seems like a good idea, talking to the cute werewolf at the bar seems like a better idea. But when they meet again will sparks get in the way.
Like a Bell through the Night by Kayla Bashe
Rhiannon, faerie princess in exile, has been on the run for her entire life. Hunted by her most dangerous enemy yet, she turns to her childhood crush for help: immortal, smolderingly sexy werewolf Jaffa Volkovitch.
Jaffa’s scars and secrets haunt her, and she doesn’t let anyone get close. She remembers Rhiannon as an optimistic child… not an alluring, resilient young woman whose every touch awakens forgotten feelings. Keeping up her emotional barriers could mean breaking Rhiannon’s heart. What will Jaffa decide?
The Imp in the Rock by Charli Coty
Wendi Tamura turns to her favorite beach to calm her jangled nerves after she’s dumped by her cheating boyfriend. The water near her home on the Oregon Coast is never warm, and no place for a nude woman, so when one appears before her seemingly by magic, Wendi offers her help. It’s been years since she’s been with a woman, but when the beautiful Hanako reveals her true nature, Wendi doesn’t let either detail keep her from the most magical and steamy night she’s ever had.
Smile Like You Mean It by Tay LaRoi
Ingrid Smith, a young American living in Sendai, meets the cursed Slit-Mouthed Woman of Japanese folklore and does her best to rid herself of the woman. When a conflict reveals that Ayame isn’t as terrible as her legend says, she’s embarrassed by the truth and vows to haunt Ingrid until they can figure out how to lift the curse. For weeks Ingrid tries to lift Ayame’s curse, but with each passing day, she’s not sure she wants to.
Purchase
NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | Kobo
Tour Schedule
7/31 Books,Dreams,Life
8/1 MillsyLovesBooks
8/2 Wicked Faerie’s Tales and Reviews
8/2 Love Bytes
8/3 Divine Magazine
8/4 A Book Lover’s Dream Book Blog
Giveaway
Save
Save
The post Book Blitz: Into the Mystic Lesbian Anthology collection appeared first on A.O. Chika Book Blog.
Book Blitz: Into the Mystic Lesbian Anothology collection
Title: Into the Mystic
Series: Volume One
Author: Brooklyn Ray. J.C. Long, Kara Race-Moore, Samantha Kate, Nicole Field, J.P. Jackson, Caitlin Ricci, L.J. Hamlin, Kayla Bashe, Charli Coty, Tay LaRoi
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 7/31/17
Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex
Pairing: Female/Female
Length: 101100
Genre: Paranormal, paranormal, witches, werewolves, lesbian, bisexual, mermaids, fae, zombies, shifters
Add to Goodreads
Synopsis
Eleven lesbian/bisexual paranormal short stories…
Reborn by Brooklyn Ray – Dark magic, mystical bloodlines, a living forest, and two women fighting to reclaim a love they lost.
Zero Hour by J.C. Long – She can’t outrun the full moon.
Dove in the Window by Kara Race-Moore – As if the Great Depression wasn’t bad enough, Cissy’s first love is back from the dead.
Bottom of the River by Samantha Kate – The demon isn’t always the monster.
If You Want to Walk by Nicole Field – Follow Chess into the Underneath and meet the strange creatures she finds there.
A Tended Garden by J.P. Jackson – Immortality or humanity—which one will win out in the end?
Romancing the Healer by Caitlin Ricci – In a deadly snowstorm a werewolf needs all the help she can get, and the werebear coming to her aid is more than she appears to be.
Midnight Kisses by L.J. Hamlin – A local witch, a new-to-town werewolf, and a mystery to be solved.
Like a Bell through the Night by Kayla Bashe – Guarding a faerie princess? All in a day’s work for a werewolf bodyguard. Avoiding falling in love with said princess? The hardest mission of Jaffa’s life.
The Imp in the Rock by Charli Coty – The cure for a bad breakup might be magic.
Smile Like You Mean It by Tay LaRoi – Ingrid meets a terrifying Japanese legend, but the stories are all wrong.
Excerpt
Reborn by Brooklyn Ray
Thalia Darbonne left Port Lewis three years ago with no intention of returning. Despite being a powerful witch, she’s now known as a deserter – an outcast in the magical society. But after her mother’s untimely death, Thalia is called back to her hometown in order to fulfill her duty as matriarch, and take the place as head witch of the Darbonne Clan.
Being back home isn’t easy, especially when Thalia is confronted by a ghost from her past, the beautiful, dangerous necromancer, Jordan Wolfe.
As Thalia tries to cope with the loss of her mother, she’s also faced with her feelings for Jordan, the responsibility of becoming matriarch, and the strange, dark magic lingering between her and her first love. Thalia and Jordan fight through three years of confusion in the forest they grew up in, where trees whisper, the night sky bleeds, and sigils are carved into flesh.
Zero Hour by J.C. Long
After being bitten by her long-time girlfriend Robbin in werewolf form, Simone does the only thing she can think to do—she gets in her car and drives as far away as she can. As the first full moon since she was bitten approaches, Simone is faced with a difficult choice: does she trust Robbin, who wishes to guide her through her first transformation, after being hurt by her? And more importantly, with the full moon drawing near, does she really have a choice?
Dove in the Window by Kara Race-Moore
In 1930’s Appalachia, Cissy McGurk is still mourning the death of Pearl, her first love. However, Pearl shows up one night and crawls into bed with her, bemoaning that she can’t sleep. More and more people from the local cemetery are crawling from their graves because something won’t let them rest. Cissy has to find out how to fix it, even if that means asking Death himself for advice.
Bottom of the River by Samantha Kate
Anja Bauer is the daughter of rich but cruel parents who care little about her happiness. Despite her revulsion toward men, they plan to marry her off to a faraway suitor. But Anja’s discovers a contract they signed with the demon they’d warned her about, and she learns the true extent of their wickedness and the reality of the demon.
If You Want to Walk by Nicole Field
Chess runs into the world of the Fae to try to escape her depression, only to find it comes there with her. When she finds her way back, she knows she will have to leave many things behind. Is leaving worth that price?
A Tended Garden by J.P Jackson
Alyssa is a natural witch whose thoughts have a way of coming true. Her coven is the only one around—well, the only one she’ll practice her beliefs with – but her high priestess, Rachel, is particularly difficult to please.
Rachel has a secret she hasn’t told anyone in her coven—one that her ancestral witches before her kept from their covens too. If Rachel’s to hold on to her traditions and the immortality she’s been promised, she’ll have to keep the women in her coven returning to the sacred grove, and that includes Alyssa.
But secrets have a way of being revealed, and when Alyssa stumbles across Rachel’s violent and horrifying history with the trees of the grove, the pact between the sacred grove and Rachel’s family may have a price too steep to pay.
Romancing the Healer by Caitlin Ricci
When she takes too long to come back to her pack, Aria is caught up in a snowstorm. To make matters worse, she’s twisted her ankle while running. Hurt, freezing, and alone, her best chance for survival is to stay under an evergreen until the storm clears then try to limp back to her pack. Zoe has a better idea. She’s a healer without a pack to call her own, although she’s desperate for the kind of family Aria has with hers. Being trans, Zoe has never felt all that welcome with other shifters, but Aria promises to show her that there is at least one pack who would gladly have her. All they have to do is wait out the storm together.
Midnight Kisses by L.J. Hamlin
A night out in a bar before a big council meeting to relax seems like a good idea, talking to the cute werewolf at the bar seems like a better idea. But when they meet again will sparks get in the way.
Like a Bell through the Night by Kayla Bashe
Rhiannon, faerie princess in exile, has been on the run for her entire life. Hunted by her most dangerous enemy yet, she turns to her childhood crush for help: immortal, smolderingly sexy werewolf Jaffa Volkovitch.
Jaffa’s scars and secrets haunt her, and she doesn’t let anyone get close. She remembers Rhiannon as an optimistic child… not an alluring, resilient young woman whose every touch awakens forgotten feelings. Keeping up her emotional barriers could mean breaking Rhiannon’s heart. What will Jaffa decide?
The Imp in the Rock by Charli Coty
Wendi Tamura turns to her favorite beach to calm her jangled nerves after she’s dumped by her cheating boyfriend. The water near her home on the Oregon Coast is never warm, and no place for a nude woman, so when one appears before her seemingly by magic, Wendi offers her help. It’s been years since she’s been with a woman, but when the beautiful Hanako reveals her true nature, Wendi doesn’t let either detail keep her from the most magical and steamy night she’s ever had.
Smile Like You Mean It by Tay LaRoi
Ingrid Smith, a young American living in Sendai, meets the cursed Slit-Mouthed Woman of Japanese folklore and does her best to rid herself of the woman. When a conflict reveals that Ayame isn’t as terrible as her legend says, she’s embarrassed by the truth and vows to haunt Ingrid until they can figure out how to lift the curse. For weeks Ingrid tries to lift Ayame’s curse, but with each passing day, she’s not sure she wants to.
Purchase
NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | Kobo
Tour Schedule
7/31 Books,Dreams,Life
8/1 MillsyLovesBooks
8/2 Wicked Faerie’s Tales and Reviews
8/2 Love Bytes
8/3 Divine Magazine
8/4 A Book Lover’s Dream Book Blog
Giveaway
Save
Save
The post Book Blitz: Into the Mystic Lesbian Anothology collection appeared first on A.O. Chika Book Blog.
August 2, 2017
Free Read: Romancing the Healer by Caitlin Ricci |Snippet
Title: Romancing the Healer
Author: Caitlin Ricci
Collection: Into the Mystic lesbian anthology collection
Genre: Urban Fantasy, Paranormal, Shifters
Release Date: July 31, 2017
Publisher: NineStar Press
Rating: 4.5 Stars (Goodreads)
Blurb
When she takes too long to come back to her pack, Aria is caught up in a snowstorm. To make matters worse, she’s twisted her ankle while running. Hurt, freezing, and alone, her best chance for survival is to stay under an evergreen until the storm clears then try to limp back to her pack. Zoe has a better idea. She’s a healer without a pack to call her own, although she’s desperate for the kind of family Aria has with hers. Being trans, Zoe has never felt all that welcome with other shifters, but Aria promises to show her that there is at least one pack who would gladly have her. All they have to do is wait out the storm together.
Excerpt
The coming storm raged along the mountains to the southeast, and I knew that soon those strong winds and walls of snow would be barreling toward my forest home. My pack had provisions, and our homes were deep underground, safe from the storm, but I was nowhere near them. With my dinner of a hare clenched between my teeth, I hurried along. I had maybe ten miles between myself and safety. My scouting trip to find fresh hunting grounds this late in winter had taken me far, but I knew my way back well enough. On my paws, I was light and fast as I darted between trees, following my own trail back the way I’d come.
The storm chased me, riding fast on my heels. Much faster than I was able to run on my own, even on four legs. Icy air whipped against my fur, and I turned to bare my teeth at the falling snow as the dark clouds grew above me. In the mountains, the snow was unpredictable. It came hard, often with little warning, and it was fast. If I didn’t get home soon, I would soon be faced with the unpleasant prospect of fighting my way through not only the six inches I was running through now, but feet of it. I had to hurry if I was going to make it back before the storm, and if I wasn’t, then I needed to find shelter a lot sooner than that. I didn’t have time to build anything, so that left spending the night in a cave. I’d done it before, but it wasn’t my first choice for a place to sleep. Still, it would get me out of the wind and snow for the night.
I turned and ran, darting toward home as fast as I could. I was no longer concerned about following the trail I’d made out there, or of not disturbing the other forest creatures I shared the land with. Those were concerns for a nice day, and I expected the animals to be in their homes, safe and warm, right where I should have been too.
My back leg caught on a tree root in my haste, and I went down hard. I dropped the hare and shifted. Thumbs were useful when feeling for broken bones. I hoped my ankle was fine. I needed it to be. But that didn’t seem to be the case. Nothing was broken, at least that I could tell, but it throbbed and was quickly swelling. I shifted back and began to limp along, the rabbit back between my teeth and my leg held high off the ground.
My progress was slow, and I knew there was no way that I was going to be able to get home before the storm now. Snow began to fall into my eyes as I looked around the evergreen trees, trying to find a place to hide among them. With no cave immediately coming to my rescue, I looked for the next best thing—low branches that touched the ground, giving me enough space to hide out from the worst of the storm.
I found a tree that would work, at least for a little while. It would be better than nothing. The cold started to seep into my fur as I huddled under it. The winds came and the snow slammed down, coating the world around me in white. I stayed still, tucking my tail around me, whimpering through my pain.
I closed my eyes. Not wanting to sleep but being too tired to stay awake. I knew I needed to be awake though. Hypothermia wasn’t just something humans got, and being a werewolf, my coat wasn’t quite the same as a wolf’s. It wasn’t something a human would necessarily notice, not unless they were familiar with actual wolves, but I knew when I was meeting a werewolf or a real wolf. They had thicker coats that made living out here in the mountains easier. Being away from humans made the mountains an easy choice for my pack, but we were much better suited to suburban life. I’d grown up on the outskirts of a big city, but looking human and never being able to shift wears on a werewolf after a while.
I heard the crunching of snow, the sound of something coming toward me. It didn’t take long for the scent of a bear to reach me. I hoped they wouldn’t notice me hiding as I was. With my pack, I could take on a bear, but injured and alone, I was no match for one, and if the bear wanted my hiding spot, I would have to give it up to them.
The bear came closer, and I held my breath, fighting back my urge to whimper in pain. The bear shifted just feet away from me, becoming a slim man with long black hair. “Come on out, you don’t have to be afraid of me.”
I shifted as well. “I didn’t know there were werebears in these parts.”
He smiled at me and offered me his hand. “I’ve got a better place to hide out from the storm than under that tree, if you’re interested.”
Buy Links
NineStar Press | Amazon | Kobo | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble
The post Free Read: Romancing the Healer by Caitlin Ricci |Snippet appeared first on A.O. Chika Book Blog.
July 31, 2017
Book Blitz: One Plus One by P. A. Friday
Title: One Plus One
Series: Maths, Book Two
Author: P.A. Friday
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 7/31/17
Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 40400
Genre: Contemporary, gay, bi, age gap, friends to lovers, grief, slow burn
Add to Goodreads
Synopsis
James Cape has been in love with his mother’s best friend Laurie since James was sixteen and Laurie an inaccessible twenty-six. When he’s turned down flat by the older man just after his nineteenth birthday, James’s best friend Al encourages him to forget Laurie and find someone else. And James tries, he really does. But can he cope with his feelings for Laurie, his best friend’s home-life problems, and the deteriorating health of his father, all at the same time? And will Laurie ever notice the young man who’s right in front of him?
Excerpt
One Plus One
P.A. Friday © 2017
All Rights Reserved
Chapter One
James Cape was fourteen years old when he realised he was gay, fifteen when he came out to his best friend, and sixteen when he realised how he’d recognised he was gay in the first place. He’d thought he’d ‘just known’ until his mother’s friend Laurie came over one day with his new boyfriend, Kieran—the first boyfriend he’d ever bothered bringing round—and James had felt his heart explode with jealousy and rage. Kieran couldn’t have Laurie. Laurie belonged with him.
The longed-for relationship wasn’t—quite—as inappropriate as it might have sounded. Laurie was his mother’s friend, yes, but he wasn’t his mother’s age. Gillie, James’s mum, was thirty-nine; Laurie, twenty-six. They’d met online when James was about nine and had made friends over the next year, despite the age gap. When Gillie had discovered that Laurie was a student at the university she herself taught at, she’d invited him over, and he’d become a regular visitor. To start with, James hadn’t been much interested—the gap between ten years old and twenty was a big one, and James had been more interested in playing with Al, his best friend both then and now. Between them, the pair had teased and hassled and joked around with Laurie, treating him as something between a friend and an older brother; but as the years had passed, James’s feelings towards Laurie had changed. He just hadn’t realised quite how much they had changed until Laurie turned up with Kieran by his side.
It wasn’t as if Laurie had never had boyfriends in the past. He had. But he’d never brought them over to James’s house before, and that made all the difference. When Laurie had been at James’s house, he hadn’t belonged to anyone else. He’d been theirs. With Kieran there, the dynamic was different—spoilt. Al, also over for the weekend—as usual—cocked a knowing eyebrow at James’s moodiness and dragged him out for a long walk.
“You don’t like the boyfriend,” Al said when they were in the woods and miles from anywhere. Trust Al to get straight to the point.
James shrugged. “Bit of a wanker, that’s all. Laurie could do better.”
“Mm.” Al didn’t sound convinced. “D’you remember telling me that you weren’t interested in Laura Fielding because Mary MacDonald had bigger tits?”
“What?” James looked at his best mate in bewilderment. “That was nearly two years ago. Why are you bringing that up again?”
“You weren’t interested in Laura Fielding because she was a girl, and you weren’t interested in girls,” Al said bluntly. “By the way, I’m still pissed off it took you nearly a year to tell me you were gay. You can’t have thought I’d give a toss.”
“You’re still the only person who knows,” James pointed out.
James and Al’s school was not the sort of place where it was safe to be ‘out’. James had no intention of telling anyone else about his sexuality until he’d left. Telling Al was different—Al was Al. And he was quite right; James knew he could tell Al anything and Al wouldn’t care. You could say what you liked about Al—and most people did—but he was intensely loyal. To James, at any rate. When it came to relationships, it was a different matter. Unlike James, Al liked girls and had a steady stream of girlfriends, but none of them lasted longer than a month before he got itchy. Usually it was considerably shorter.
“They get so clingy,” Al had complained. “They want stuff.”
“That’s called dating,” James had told him unsympathetically.
He was amazed anyone still agreed to go out with Al, but there was something about his best friend. He had a strange sort of manic charm, and his very unpredictability seemed to draw people in. However, that was a different matter. Why Al had gone back to harping about old news, James couldn’t imagine.
“Thing is,” Al said, scuffing the last of the autumn leaves with his shoe—the woods didn’t seem to have cottoned on to the fact that it was March, “it didn’t have anything to do with Mary MacDonald.”
“Al, you’ve lost me.”
Al—so very like James to look at in some ways: dark-haired, regular features, similar body shape, albeit several inches shorter—looked seriously at his friend.
“It’s not Kieran you don’t like,” he said. “It’s Laurie having a boyfriend.”
“He’s had boyfriends before,” James said defensively.
“Ah. Hasn’t brought them home, though, has he? Different thing altogether.”
James shrugged petulantly. “I just think Kieran’s an idiot, that’s all.”
Al knew when to stop—usually. “Whatever you say, mate. Just…don’t piss Laurie off by being too rude to his guy, you know? Probably a bad plan.”
Which, as James admitted and worked by, was a sensible idea. But when Laurie turned up a fortnight later alone, James couldn’t help his heart lifting.
“No Kieran?” he asked, hoping Laurie would say that they’d broken up.
Laurie gave him a lazy smile. “No, not this time. I wanted you lot to myself. Any objections?”
“Nope.”
The weather was nice, and they were all sitting out in the garden, drinking beer. James and Al—who spent considerably more weekends at James’s house than at his own, to the point that Gillie and Terry, James’s dad, had assigned the spare bedroom as belonging to him—had been told that one was their limit, to Al’s laughing protest. James had his guitar out and was strumming it from time to time. He had a passion for music and already knew that he wanted to study it at university; it was just a case of getting through GCSEs (now only a few months away) and A levels first. Al was more interested in drama and films, which gave him something in common with Laurie, who was currently working on a PhD in Film Studies, focusing on bringing books to life as films, with particular emphasis on the Lord of the Rings trilogy. The trilogy was special in another way—Gillie and Laurie had met via an online discussion board about the films and had found they got on well, moving from there to talking about everything under the sun. “And some things not under it,” Gillie usually added at this point, as science fiction and astrophysics had also been discussed. James joked that his mum was a science geek on the quiet.
“Just surprised you could bear to be parted from him,” Al added cheekily.
Laurie took a gulp of beer and shook his head sadly at Al. “We’re twenty-six, not sixteen, Al. We can manage to be parted for an entire afternoon without dying of angst. You might be like that, but we’re not.”
James snorted. “Al? Seriously? God knows why he has girlfriends because he seems to spend all his time hiding from them once he’s dating them.”
“An interesting approach.”
“I like snogging them and suchlike,” Al said cheerfully. “It’s just the rest of it which is a bother. Is it like that with you, Laurie, then? You’ve only got your bloke for the snogging? And the suchlike,” he added thoughtfully.
James tried not to blush at the thought of Laurie doing ‘the suchlike’ with Kieran. It seemed Laurie was having a similar problem as he choked back a laugh.
“I can’t say I object to that side of things, but no, there’s a little more to it than that, thanks.”
“Al, are you teasing Laurie again?” Gillie called from where she was chatting animatedly with James’s dad. Terry was having a good day today; the wheelchair was at the side of the garden, and he was managing to potter round to check on his vegetables with just the aid of a stick. James was pleased—his dad had had too few good days recently. Multiple Sclerosis was a bugger. “I’ll have to get you a muzzle.”
“Just showing a friendly interest,” Al said, blinking would-be innocent green eyes at his friend’s mother, who unfortunately for him knew quite how much to trust that particular look.
“That’s what they’re calling it nowadays, is it?” Laurie riposted, and James and Gillie both laughed. Laurie smiled at James. “So, what are you up to, James? Apart from studying for GCSEs, that is.”
James rolled his eyes dramatically, though he was secretly pleased that Laurie cared enough to ask. “Nothing, really. Study, study, study.”
“Liar,” Al said mildly. “You spend all your time with that guitar. I reckon I’m losing my place as your best mate to that thing.” He looked across at Laurie. “I think he goes to bed with it, you know. A love affair like no other.”
“Oh, shut it, you,” James said, taking one hand off the precious guitar to give his friend a shove. “Anyway, I’m working on my composition, so it’s not like it’s not work.”
“The best sort of work is work you actually enjoy,” Laurie commented. “Al’s clearly just jealous. But you’re still loving the guitar as much as ever then.”
“God, yeah,” James said fervently. “It’s like… I dunno. It feels right, somehow—do you know what I mean? When I’m playing, it’s like my fingers know what they should be doing. Bit like Dad and the garden, I guess. He just seems to know what to plant where and what to do to make things grow, and I’m hopeless. But my teacher shows me things on the guitar, and it makes sense.” He flushed, embarrassed. Trying to explain how he felt about his instrument made him self-conscious. Al hadn’t laughed at him, as he’d feared, when he’d said a bit about it to him—but then Al was his best mate. Laurie was…well, something different. And if Laurie laughed or teased, James didn’t think he’d cope.
“That’s brilliant,” Laurie said, though, his expression genuinely delighted. “It sounds like you’ve found what’s right for you, and there’s nothing like that feeling. Trust me, I know.”
Al ruffled James’s hair. “See, it turns out you’re not a weirdo. You’re talented. Bastard,” he added, laughing.
James was grateful for Al’s interjection. It stopped the conversation getting too heavy. Talking with Laurie like this, after realising just how he felt about him…it was almost too much, in some ways.
“I wish,” he said instead. “Just obsessed.”
“Obsession got me a long way,” Laurie assured him, looking around the garden with an expression of affection on his face. “My obsession with Lord of the Rings, for example, found me my best friend—and her family,” he added, smiling at James, “and now my PhD. Don’t knock obsession.”
“I’ll bear it in mind,” James said, smiling back. “Speaking of which, how’s the thesis going?”
Laurie sighed. “Well, it’s going. I just had my last chapter ripped to shreds by my supervisor, but that’s pretty much always the way. Apparently, this time, I’ve put in too many examples. Last chapter, it wasn’t enough.”
“Still searching for the pleased psychic?” James teased.
It was a long-time joke between them: at twelve, hearing the phrase “happy medium” for the first time, James had been merely bewildered, his mind quite seriously running on the idea of the paranormal. Laurie had patiently explained and had the courtesy not even to crack a smile as he did so, though they’d all laughed about it since—and the alternative term had become a standing gag.
Laurie laughed. “Apparently so. The annoying thing is my supervisor is always right. I went away and looked back through what I’d written, and every third line was an example. But still. On the plus side, I’ve had an article accepted by a journal this week.”
“Really?” Gillie, who had wandered back to the table whilst James and Laurie chatted, settled herself comfortably in a chair and leaned across. “Which one? That’s fabulous!”
Gillie was an academic herself, lecturing in English Literature, with a special interest in fantasy and science fiction, hence the shared love of the Lord of the Rings in both book and film version. The conversation got a bit technical for a while; James tuned out as phrases such as ‘peer reviewed’ and ‘on the e-library catalogue’ got thrown about. He concentrated instead on his guitar. He was writing a piece for his GCSE composition, and there were a few bars he wasn’t happy about.
Once he settled down to music, he was lost to the world and barely noticed as Al wandered off, only registering when Al shouted, “Oh, hey, there’s a bird stuck in the netting here.”
“What?” demanded Terry, fired to interest as James put down his guitar to look over towards where Al was standing. “Are they after my brassicas again? I knew I was right to put those nets up.”
“Its wing’s all caught up, poor thing,” Al said, trying to get closer to it and making the bird flap more wildly.
“Serve it right,” said Terry firmly. Easy-going about most things, James’s dad was undeniably overprotective when it came to his vegetables.
Laurie got to his feet and cast a laughing glance at Terry. “Probably so, but we can’t just leave it there. Here, Al, move back a bit. I’ll have a go.”
“You?” Al looked at him doubtfully. “Aren’t you a bit…big?”
Laurie stood a couple of inches over six feet and was broad-shouldered with it. Compared to Al, who was a skinny five foot six and impatiently hoping for a growth spurt which showed no sign of coming, he was definitely sizeable. And, James thought wistfully, bloody gorgeous, with his muscular physique and lazy, lopsided smile.
“Oh ye of little faith,” Laurie said genially.
James watched as Laurie went carefully and quietly over to the bird, murmuring to it in an undertone. It still flapped and tried to escape, but not as manically as it had done for Al. Laurie caught it up in big gentle hands, stilling its movements with ease with one hand as he untangled the netting with the other one. It was less than a minute until he had freed the bird, which looked dazed and scurried into the undergrowth, leaving a couple of fawn-coloured feathers behind it.
“Collared dove,” Terry said. “They’re the worst. Still, I suppose you’re right. Couldn’t have left the little bugger there. Thanks, Laurie.”
Gillie went over and gave Laurie a kiss. “My hero,” she said. “Well done.”
Laurie turned to Al. “Too big?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Al threw his arms up in a dramatic display of defeat. “I admit it. I was wrong. Apparently not too big at all. Having enormous hands is a great thing for rescuing small fragile creatures. Who’d have thought?”
Only James said nothing. He hated the way it had made him feel, watching Laurie concentrate so carefully on the bird. All fluttery inside, like a girl or something. Wondering what it might feel like if Laurie put those hands against him. He blinked and looked away, back at his guitar, back at anything else, and the moment passed. It didn’t help him get over his crush on Laurie, though—anything but.
Still, in retrospect, that had been the best afternoon of the entire year when it came to Laurie. Most of the other occasions on which he visited, he did indeed bring Kieran. James reluctantly had to admit to himself that there was nothing intrinsically wrong with the other man except the sin that he was Laurie’s boyfriend, and James was insanely jealous.
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Meet the AuthorP.A. Friday fails dismally to write one sort of thing and, when not writing erotica and erotic romance of all sexualities, may be found writing articles on the Regency period, pagan poetry, or science fiction. She loves wine and red peppers, and loathes coffee and mushrooms.
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July 25, 2017
Book Blitz: Wehr Wolff Castle by B. Bentley Summers
Title: Wehr Wolff Castle
Series: The Wehr Wolff Chronicles, Book One
Author: B. Bentley Summers
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 7/24/17
Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 120200
Genre: Paranormal/Horror, WW2, Alternate history, Lit/genre, fantasy/paranormal, horror, war, action, thriller, cisgender, abuse, military, experimentation, shifters, werewolves, spies, scientists
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Synopsis
During the rise of Nazi Germany, Hagen Messer joins the Royal Air Force as an American soldier who specializes in tracking. He’s attached to British commandos and given a seemingly simple mission—to find a captive and destroy a dam—but everything goes awry. Hagen’s plane crashes into Germany’s Wehr Forest and he has to use his extrasensory abilities to track the captive to nearby Wehr Wolff Castle, a secret Nazi base where vile experiments are being conducted.
Hagen and his surviving team members must sneak into the castle and devise a way to destroy the experimental labs creating diabolical creatures. Hagen is horrified to find Nazis and scientists with no scruples, and at the most inconvenient time, he learns that he may be in love with one of his teammates, an Irishman named Liam. In order to protect his love and his friends, Hagen must feign nonchalance amidst pure degeneracy and suspicion. Hagen soon discovers, though, that he is in over his head.
What may not only redeem him, but also save his lover and friends, is a childhood past and a darkness lurking deep inside him, just waiting to be engaged.
Character Bio – Dr. Roesia Caron
Dr. Roesia Caron was born in Germany though she is half French. She earned a doctorate degree in Architectural Engineering. She was a professor at Humboldt University and defected to England. She is recruited by the British to parachute into Germany and aid in blowing a dam that will destroy a nearby munitions plant.
Excerpt
Wehr Wolff Castle
B. Bentley Summers © 2017
All Rights Reserved
Chapter One
Hagen
May 10, 1940
Somewhere over the border of Switzerland & Southern Nazi Germany
The wind whistled through the shattered window and into the airplane’s cabin. The draft had a cold bite, the air a metallic smell. A tremble spasmed through Hagen, and he crossed his arms over his chest and shivered.
On the row of seats facing him, blood spatter spread over the chairs and over the remaining wall. The engine nearest him sputtered.
This time, it’ll surely stop.
He rose from his seat and looked out through a nearby window to the wing. Black smoke poured from the spinning propeller but then cleared, and the engine roared back to life, setting into a steady thrum. He stared past the wing to the mountain range below. The plane passed through a heavy white cloud, and he sat back down in his seat.
One recurrent thought plagued him. If we crash, will it hurt? Breathe. Just breathe.
Raising his hands, he stared once again at the blood that had partially dried on them. Not his, thankfully. He wiped them on his shirt-front, which was soaked with blood, then reached for his forehead and winced as his fingertips dusted his wound.
Shouting from the cockpit drew his attention.
Lt. David sat in the one-man cockpit and turned so he could shout up to the white-haired pilot assistant, Alan Hodges. Hodges stood close to the pilot’s chair, holding onto a map and yelling down.
Someone grabbed Hagen’s knee and shouted at him gruffly. He met Sgt. Collins’s gaze. The man’s short salt-and-pepper stubbled face had specks of blood in it. The large man sat back on his haunches, his belly protruding over his belt. He peered at Hagen’s forehead and nodded with approval.
“Cheers, Kraut, received your first war wound.” Sgt. Collins leaned in and touched Hagen’s paratrooper jacket. “That blood yours?”
Hagen shook his head, licked his lips, and then asked, “We on the right course, Sarge?”
Sgt. Collins cupped his hand to his ear and furrowed his brow.
“Are we on the right course?” Hagen shouted.
Sgt. Collins glanced up at the front of the plane, where Lt. David and Officer Hodges argued, then brought his eyes back to Hagen.
“Have no bloody idea, Kraut. All I know is that I hope we don’t land in Hitler’s front lawn.”
Hagen nodded and clenched his fists. The sergeant shouted something else at him, but Hagen stared over his shoulder at the woman on the other side of the airplane. Roesia. He barely knew her, but it was comforting to see a survivor from the onslaught. So many had died. Her face was pasty white, and she had a vacant stare.
Sgt. Collins snapped his fingers in front of Hagen’s face, gaining his attention once again.
“Bloody hell, you’re completely out of it!” Sgt. Collins said, patting Hagen’s chest and sides, looking for any wounds. “Nothing. You’re lucky, Kraut.”
Sgt. Collins stood, went toward the tail, and yelled down to the lower gun turret. “O’Malley, say something, you Irishman!”
“Me arse is killing me, Sarge!”
A smile formed on Hagen’s face at hearing his friend’s voice.
The sergeant moved toward the tail and yelled up to the upper gun turret. “Kirby, keep your wits about you! If those bandits come at us, you take as many of them as you can.”
Corporal Kirby yelled something unintelligible. Hagen shifted in his seat and stared down as a viscous red fluid ran across the floor. A photograph lay near his foot. Reaching down, he plucked it off the ground—the one of him and his father from a year or so ago. Except half of it was now bloodstained and he could only see himself. He studied the broad-shouldered striking nineteen-year-old with a full-face grin that made him radiant. The picture could easily have been of one of those Hollywood actors, but it was of himself.
He leaned his head against the chair as his teeth chattered and his eyes became impossibly heavy.
Seems like so much has happened since then. But I arrived in England just two days ago? That’s it? Just two days?
A slap of metal caused his gaze to shift to the other side of the plane. A commando by the name of Commander Ford picked up the assault rifles and opened each ammo clip to check the bullets inside. Once satisfied, he laid them on top of a tarp that had turned a dark maroon from the blood-drenched floor. A second commando sat in a seat next to him, twirling a serrated knife in one hand.
The spinning knife mesmerized Hagen and helped him ignore the macabre scene around him.
Yes, it was. Two days ago, I rode into Shoreham Royal Air Force Base.
A freshly trained paratrooper from America with no war experience. While my brother’s mortally wounded body lay in front of me years ago, it was nothing like this.
Memories of the last couple of days reeled through his mind.
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Meet the AuthorBryce is a psychologist, gay author, and the founder of Queer Sense Theory.
Not sure what he wanted to do in life, Bryce spent his 20s exploring different jobs and landed one job in Bangkok, Thailand, which has yet to be topped. Deciding it was time to get a career, Bryce completed his doctorate degree in psychology at the University of Houston. Upon graduation he worked for the Department of Veteran Affairs for six years before becoming a contract psychologist who provides examinations to veterans, helping them get their disability and pension entitlements.
Bryce writes popular fiction genres that fall in the areas of Sci-Fi, Horror, Fantasy, Thriller, Supernatural, Suspense or a blend all of them, and he has a passion for gay fiction. He has self-published several gay fiction short stories and a novel that follow the character, Daemon the Demon Boy. He also published YA Post-Apocalyptic novels, Amen to Rot series as well as The Zombie Squad. The Zombie Squad was a finalist for the 2016 Readers Favorite in YA Horror. Rotville is a self-published Sci-Fi Thriller/ Horror that has been self-published was a finalist for the 2016 US Book News Contest.
He is also the founder of Queer Sense theory which provides a theoretical model on how people form attitudes towards LGBTQ+ individuals and shape one’s gender and sexual orientation identity. The theory looks closely at the interaction between social models, language, and attachment, or human connections, affect one’s feelings and thereby influence attitudes. Queer Sense is currently under review by a literary agency and will hopefully be published soon.
A new middle-grade werewolf book as well as a gay erotic urban fantasy book are in the pre-publishing phase.
Wehr Wolff Castle is the first installment of The Wehr Wolff Chronicles.
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July 24, 2017
Book Blitz: Queen Called Bitch- Tales of a Teenage Bitter Ass Homosexual by Waldell Goode
Title: Queen Called Bitch: Tales of a Teenage Bitter Ass Homosexual
Author: Waldell Goode
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 7/24/17
Heat Level: 1 – No Sex
Pairing: No Romance
Length: 69300
Genre: Memoir, Memoir, Lit, gay, coming of age, African-American, family drama, high school, college, humorous
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Synopsis
A loud-mouth, black, gay teenager struggles to find himself in rural America. After having realized his inability to attend his top-choice school, Waldell Goode embarks on a journey to reevaluate why the grand departure appealed to him in the first place. He learns that as much as he can control his nonexistent love life, there are other factors that aren’t as easily mutable. He comes to terms with his peculiar relationship with his mother, the inevitable heartbreak in store for him no matter how hard he’s tried avoiding it, and the voice of God, in all her beguiling glory.
Guest Post by Waldell Goode
I wrote the damn book because I needed to free myself. Because, without a clear sense of self, I was lost and didn’t respect my own existence, as I frantically searched for validation in the email queue of every queer interested publisher and agent found within the first three pages of a simple Google search. I wrote the book because I liked what it said about me, that I’m tenacious and intelligent. Driven and accomplished and only 20. Then 21. 22. 23 as of a month ago. And now, after having waded through the necessary obstacle course adolescence imposes on the most vulnerable, I struggle to see how I’m any different than the 17 year old boy who sat down at a computer and started singing his life story like an allegorical country song.
I’m about ten pounds heavier and a little less jaded. More jaded. Less jaded. You see where I’m going here?
I’m 23. I’ve never been in love, had a boyfriend, fucked. FUCKED. Everything else has been thoroughly practiced at both the amateur and expert level. Don’t know how I should feel about this. Self-pity’s a top running boner killer anyway. I’ve been rejected from grad school, by my family, by myself on numerous occasion. It’s been lonely and dark and confusing. And it’s long. And it gets worse. You see, I’ve got a good 11 months left with this whole 23 gig, and it sorta feels like I’m still playing catch-up from 21. Student loans have not forgotten me. I’ve had my identity stolen, heartbroken and reality crushed by dreams and dreams crushed by reality.
I was supposed to have a female president.
I was supposed to be moving to LA.
I was supposed to have a zero balance on my credit card.
I should have been more prolific.
I should be more self-confident.
I’m wading.
I haven’t called my best friend and it sucks. I’m unreliable, hard-to-reach, overly emotional and combative. Dreams scare me. So, hit after hit, I self-abuse, continuing the nightly practice of stoning myself unconscious. I lie there beneath the tarnishing rubble of everything I could’ve accomplished that day, paralyzed by the rocks I lit on fire seeping into the cracks of almost healed wounds. I ooze from the pain of my body trying to heal itself – ignoring its cries of probable infection while I flip through the contents of my life (my tablet) for the proper escapist portal (the apps) to distract from what I wholly disregard: I can be better. I can do better.
They say I’m full of potential. That there’s talent in these veins. That my smile can brighten a room. And “Sunshine” is the most organic epithet that’s rolled off the tongues of those I know. They tell me I’m special.
And yes.
I’m know it.
And still, not much else. When does magnificence match with melancholy? Who’d win and when would the other surrender? I’ve already started losing.
I’m proud of myself, of what I’ve pushed through and how I’ve landed on my feet. I’m thankful to a God who steadies the ground. To allow the storm to pass. To destroy. To reform my destiny and until I’m forced to pursue it. To quiet my devices devised to quiet my calling. God knows. And does. And that’s how I breathe a little easier.
Perhaps I’ll know love. Self or otherwise, purely. Perhaps I’m petrified by needing. Pursuing. Purchasing a pussy (I don’t know if I’m trans. Not if I’m honest. Not yet).
For now, I’m here.
And for now, I’m free.
I’m grateful, thus far, I’ve been able to document my journey. I’m grateful for all others who have shared theirs with me.
I’m flawed. Unfucked. Unforgiving and frigid.
And they say you can’t change.
Make peace. Don’t fuck with fire. Use an oven mitt.
There’s only one reason to play it safe.
The rest is bullshit.
Book Excerpt
Queen Called Bitch
Waldell Abraham Goode © 2017
All Rights Reserved
ONE: Ryan Murphy’s a Fucking Liar
I officially begin with this because it is one of the more poignant issues I’ve been dealing with. It’s not that I have anything against Glee. I applaud the nature and success of the series, but I dislike how certain plot points, characters, storylines, and adolescent relationships deviate from realities concurrent with that of the authentic experience of my life. Glee is an excellent series, bringing awareness all across America of certain groups that have been neglected or outcast in a universal school setting. There isn’t any show that has mastered such a feat at the level Glee has, which is why the series remains a phenomenon, reaching and inspiring children all over the world to be themselves and embrace each other’s differences. Unless they’re Asian, in which case they’re promptly reminded to remain silent and take their proper places in the background where they belong; it’s amazing they’re allowed to consider themselves series regulars and not simply extras. I hate what they did with the token Asian character, Tina. They tried making her a more prominent character later in the series, failing miserably.
Reflecting on Glee, I would say their portrayal of high school is fairly accurate minus the students who appear to be better suited for an AARP commercial. I would even say my high school career was somewhat similar to Kurt’s, the token gay character. I was unsure of myself freshman year. I spent my time mostly in solitude, trying to avoid much of the ridicule I received in my eighth grade year. I was involved with the drama team where I met fellow weirdos like myself, I was hiding the fact that I’m gay, and I unwittingly thought no one knew it—despite how blatantly obvious it was, and everyone else must have been previously enlightened.
Sophomore year was even better. People began to know me and who I was, that I wasn’t a predator and spiritually intertwined with Satan. I came out as completely gay that year. Even I wasn’t buying the bisexual nonsense I fed myself and others in years past. I began to dress as I so desired and fully embraced the inner, gayer me. Being involved with the local university’s theater department, I had become acquainted with more degenerates who celebrated abnormality.
Junior year was when I finally came into my own. I led the drama department to a couple of victories as I was cast in the main role, and attended the Governor’s School of Southside Virginia Community College. I enjoyed myself the most that year, even though Governor’s School was stressful as hell and I failed chemistry. Senior year, the focus was on finding money to attend a university or college, and that didn’t happen so I suppose one could consider that a failure, but I considered it an opportunity to fuck around for another semester.
My high school career, one could say, was excellent and probably everything it was supposed to be. A necessary step in my life, but I can’t seem to shake the part about loneliness. For my senior trip at Governor’s School, we went on a boat ride for an hour and a half. In a tiny vessel meant for maybe eight to seat comfortably were crammed fifteen people shoulder to shoulder, stuffing packed lunches into their mouths as the tour guide blabbed on and on about the three foot deep lake that takes twenty minutes to travel from shore to shore. Rounding the trip for the fourth or fifth time, my English teacher, sitting beside me, established conversation as a means to keep me either from sleeping, or hauling my ass overboard. Our discussion grew from her love of animals to my high school experience, to her decades—long marriage with her husband of infinite years, and on to the scandal of her marrying her old high school principal. She asked me the one question everyone in my high school career managed to avoid, ignore, or already know the answer to. It was remarkable. Before that moment, I had never considered it. I wanted to contemplate the depth of my relations, possibly due to a lack of allowing myself to ponder the grim truth of deeply rooted negative dispositions I choose to utilize as defense mechanisms.
She looked me in the eye and leaned in close. “Waldell, are you lonely?” She spoke as if she was asking about the weather.
Although we were gently gliding atop a lake and I had consumed two bottles of water with my complimentary lunch, my mouth ran completely dry.
I took a second, regained the wind that had instantaneously been trounced out of my chest, and replied with a smooth and concrete, “No. I have amazing friends.”
Somehow she knew. I could see it in her eyes. That wasn’t what she was asking. She would clarify, and there would be no way I could playfully avoid its severity or laugh it off as I had become accustomed to doing.
She looked at me with deeper expression now, and asked, “No, but Waldell, are you really lonely?”
I began to look away and pretend to notice an area of the lake I previously hadn’t seen; we circled back for the thousandth time and nothing could’ve been missed. I couldn’t avoid it. I couldn’t make it funny, laugh it off, reference my mother or her alcoholism. I could only be honest with my professor, and in doing so, stop lying to myself. This is the one instance I can recall when lighthearted commentary failed to enter my mind when I needed some sort of comical relief… or relief in general. I looked her in the eye again, and with all the gusto I could find out there on the lake with sixty other people strolling along the pier, going about their day, eating their triangularly shaped cold cuts, I told myself the truth for the first time in four years with a single word.
“Yes.”
And here lies my problem with Glee. Kurt is an amazing character. He’s beautiful, funny, witty, he has flaws, and the greatest attribute a creator may accomplish with any character is the fact he’s human. I appreciated that representation of a homosexual teen in mainstream media. Before him, there weren’t many who closely resembled me. Friends and family who were familiar with the show deemed me “black Kurt,” or “Blurt.” I admired him, the character, his weakness and ultimate triumph over an oppressive society. As Oprah taught the world, one of the singular greatest gifts a person in the media can give is lending voice to the voiceless. That was Kurt Hummel, analogous with millions of gay teens all throughout the world, struggling to find themselves against social pressure and bullying. Kurt, portrayed by Golden Globe Award winner Chris Colfer, was a hero in a generation needing one.
I relate to this character. I understand this character; he lives in a small town, I live in small town. He knew he was gay from a very young age, and I remember when I was five and my father told my sisters they were turning me into a faggot. Kurt might as well have been real as far as character development goes. Many people felt or feel as if they know him. My biggest hindrance isn’t Kurt. It’s Kurt and Blaine, the boyfriend he found by transferring to a private magical school for gays only. Where was my Prince Charming, willing to stop the world and sing me thirty-two bars of a romantic cliché written nearly one hundred years ago, warning me of the freezing air outside as a means to keep me inside and eventually sleep with me? Where was my holiday crush, dying to sing a song with me made famous by a legendary songbird and famed homosexual porn star husband? Google Jack Wrangler, your life will be better because of it. I’m happy for the characters. I’m glad that it was as simple as taking a trip to Gay Land, picking out the sweetest model, and driving him back home to live out your days in happy gay bliss while each of you takes turns being more perfect. Kurt and Blaine are so wonderful, they even have sex in a special teenage special gay way, fully clothed, when Kurt loses his virginity.
Truth is, there was no guy willing to sing me anything. There isn’t a school of gays you can attend while testing the waters, trying to sniff out the next Neil Patrick Harris. Chances are if you’re a gay male and you’re from a small town, you won’t get many Prince Charmings knocking down your door, willing to make you feel special. Hell, chances are if you’re a gay kid attending high school in a small town, you’re probably the only gay in the vicinity—the only openly gay one, of course. Where was my romance? The best I’ve gotten was a thirty-eight-year-old on Grindr lusting after a minor’s dirty pictures he never received. I didn’t go to the prom with my boyfriend, I was never sung to or caressed in that way, I don’t know what “I love you” means beyond friendship, my first and last kiss occurred in tenth grade and the next day the boy denied it ever happened. The only time I’ve ever been called attractive was by a straight bi-curious friend who considered me his “experiment” that led absolutely nowhere, and the only date I’ve ever been on was a non-date with a gay guy who just wasn’t interested in me that way. Glee is astonishing, but honestly sometimes even after you’ve had the proper revelations and accepted yourself and others around you, life still hurts.
It’s not Glee’s fault that I don’t have anyone. I take sole responsibility. But I blame them for hope. I, along with the rest of America, cheered for Kurt and Blaine’s first kiss. However, their kiss didn’t make me any less alone. It’s me who still cries in the middle of the night for reasons I “thought” I didn’t know, but in actuality was avoiding. It’s me who lives with the moment my teacher decided to get personal and made me truthful. It’s me who has no one and continually decides to largely suffer in silence. How do you tell a friend, “Hey, I need you” without sounding weak? How do you admit it to yourself without remembering how painful it is? And how do you still believe in love when it has never happened to you?
I falsely call Ryan Murphy a liar, because it has never happened to me. He’s deceitful because he made me forget that characters, while closely resembling real people, are fiction and their stories can have endings that include tremendous declarations of love and overwhelming displays of affection because they’re written in. As a real gay teenager living in a real small town, I have been living the truth of what Glee has to avoid if only for their namesake; there is quite possibly no love story waiting for me.
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Meet the AuthorWaldell Goode was born in Halifax, VA and is currently following dreams in Boston, MA.
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7/23 We Three Queens
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Book Blitz: Stormy Nights by Jules Jones and Storm Duffy
Title: Stormy Nights
Author: Jules Jones, Storm Duffy
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 7/24/17
Heat Level: 5 – Erotica
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 45000
Genre: Contemporary, Paranormal, contemporary, paranormal, fantasy, mermen, fae, D/s, leather underwear fetish, older men, public sex, cottaging, menage
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Synopsis
Sex and love, lies and truth, shades in between. Happy endings and might-have-beens. Nine tales of these things between men.
Blurbs
Gone Fishing
Mike’s doctor prescribed a few weeks on a lonely beach as a rest cure for a weary mind. But even if the beach is empty, the sea holds more than fish.
Naked
Just how far will a man go to understand his partner’s desires? Will he bare all – including all of his skin to the razor blade?
One Size Fits All
Hugh’s everything that Gavin could ask for in a lover. Everything, apart from his taste in underwear. It’s boring. So Gavin decides to rummage through Hugh’s underwear drawer—and what he finds is so interesting that he tries it out for size.
The Fraudster
A forensic accountant’s job offer to a computer fraudster fresh from prison is a second chance for both.
A Sparrow Flies Through
High tech cottaging provides a few moments of light and warmth on a dark cold night.
If I Offered Thee a Bargain
Just one night of your life in exchange for seven years of love. Would you pay the price?
Jack never dreamed that a reluctant trip back to his home town would thrust him into the world of the sidhe. He finds that the legends are true, but the sidhe have changed.
Any Port in a Storm
A spilt coffee at the tram station on a snowy night leads to a table set for three.
Car Wash
Colin had always loved washing the neighbour’s car for pocket money. Rod’s classic car collection was a boy’s dream. And so is Rod, now Colin’s home from university and not a boy any more. Colin’s had a little fantasy about Rod’s vintage Jaguar and her gleaming curves for a while now…
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Meet the Author
Storm Duffy has a number of erotica shorts published under that and other names in a variety of venues, including “The Mammoth Book of Quick and Dirty Erotica”. As Jules Jones, she has written several erotic romance novellas and novels, including the first M/M romance published by Loose Id.
Amongst the 2500 or so books on shelves in her house, there is room for rather a lot of cross-stitch thread and entirely too many balls of wool. There are also more bits of computer kit than is quite reasonable for someone who doesn’t do that for a living. The two microscopes, on the other hand, are entirely in keeping with a career in science.
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July 7, 2017
Book Blitz: Lying Eyes by Robert Winter
Title: Lying Eyes
Author: Robert Winter
Publisher: Robert Winter Books (self-published)
Release Date: July 7, 2017
Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 84300
Genre: Romance, Mystery, BDSM
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Synopsis
This bartender’s art lies in more than mixing drinks …
Randy Vaughan is a six-foot-three mass of mysteries to his customers and his friends. Why does a former Secret Service agent now own Mata Hari, a successful piano bar? Where did a muscle daddy get his passion for collecting fine art? If he’s as much a loner as his friends believe, why does he crave weekly sessions at an exclusive leather club?
Randy’s carefully private life unravels when Jack Fraser, a handsome art historian from England, walks into his bar, anxious to get his hands on a painting Randy owns. The desperation Randy glimpses in whiskey-colored eyes draws him in, as does the desire to submit that he senses beneath Jack’s elegant, driven exterior.
While wrestling with his attraction to Jack, Randy has to deal with a homeless teenager, a break-in at Mata Hari, and Jack’s relentless pursuit of the painting called Sunrise. It becomes clear someone’s lying to Randy. Unless he can figure out who and why, he may miss his chance at the love he’s dreamed about in the hidden places of his heart.
Note: Lying Eyes is a standalone gay romance novel with consensual bondage and a strong happy ending. It contains potential spoilers for Robert Winter’s prior novel, Every Breath You Take.
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Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon CA
ExcerptSaturday rolled around, and Randy headed to town early to make sure everything was ready for Mata Hari’s busiest evening of the week. Although the bar officially opened at five-thirty, it was rare for anyone to wander in much before seven o’clock. Randy was surprised when the front door opened at six to admit a good-looking man.
The stranger was probably about five foot nine or ten, and wore a three-piece suit that seemed tailored to accentuate a lean build. His dark hair was cut stylishly short on the sides but thick and swept back on the top, and his mustache and full beard were closely trimmed. A brightly colored necktie contrasted with the somber gray of his suit. Randy had trouble assessing the man’s age, but he would go with thirty. European, though—Randy would stake the bar on that guess.
The newcomer contemplated the walls of Mata Hari, passing almost dismissively over the art on display. He studied each piece for no more than a second before moving to the next, but Randy had a distinct impression the man sought something in particular. As he completed his survey, he kept turning and eventually met Randy’s eyes across the bar.
Immediately desire flared in the man’s face as his hungry gaze drifted over Randy’s tight white shirt and up to his face, lingering on his mouth. Shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly as he drew himself to his full height, yet Randy recognized a softening of hard edges. He lazily ran his own eyes to the stranger’s luxurious beard, and he imagined stroking the softness there. He sensed something accommodating. Something potentially submissive, yet more subtle than the wanton displays of obedience and posing he was used to on Mondays at his private club.
Something he would enjoy channeling and rewarding, in the right circumstance.
The man started toward the bar. As he moved, Randy had the odd sense that the suit he wore was ill-fitting, even though it seemed perfectly tailored. A step away from the bar, his face just—closed. That was the only word for it. One instant he was cruising Randy; the next he was stone.
Randy sighed to himself. The guy was probably a closet case on his first night at a gay bar. That usually meant an unsatisfying encounter, even if the newbie didn’t rabbit. In any case, it wasn’t Randy’s thing. He’d had plenty of virgin ass over the years, and preferred his men experienced.
Fine. Nothing for me here. He waited at the bar, vaguely disappointed.
“Sir, good evening.” The man’s accent was English, his words precise and elegant like his hair and his clothes and his beard. Probably from London. Up close, Randy could see his eyes were a deep shade of brown graced with streaks of gold around the pupils that caught the lights over the bar. “I’m looking for a Mr. Randall Vaughan.”
Despite forswearing his immediate attraction to the stranger, that honeyed voice caused Randy to smile slowly and show his teeth. He registered the slight widening of the eyes behind the stranger’s mask as he focused on Randy’s mouth.
“I’m Randy Vaughan. And you are…?”
The man blinked in surprise. “Oh. The Mr. Vaughan I was seeking is an art collector.”
Shit. Just another jerkwad, making assumptions right away. Randy was a big man so he couldn’t possibly be knowledgeable about art, could he? Well, fuck that noise. One more chance.
“I wouldn’t use the term collector, but…” Randy gestured at the walls.
“Quite so,” the man said distantly, and turned to sweep his gaze over the works on the nearest wall. “Neither would I.”
Randy’s back stiffened immediately. The stranger—no, the asshole—turned his attention back to Randy and held out a hand. He seemed oblivious to the fact that he’d just royally pissed Randy off. “My name is Jack Fraser. I’m from the Kensington Museum in London.” Fraser paused as if waiting for Randy to be impressed. “I sent you a letter recently.”
Randy willed himself not to think further about Fraser’s whiskey-colored eyes or the luxuriousness of his beard, and he didn’t take the offered hand. Instead, he wiped a small spill on the counter before him. “You did,” he agreed in a bored tone.
Fraser dropped his hand. “Ah, yes.” A pause. “My secretary didn’t hear from you to set up an appointment.”
“Which was my answer to your request,” Randy said, letting some snarl appear as he met Fraser’s eyes. They were still guarded and closed off, but Randy could see embers burning deep inside. In the right setting, and with proper motivation, he could imagine making those embers flare and ignite in the slender man before him. For the moment, though, the eyes just narrowed in calculation.
Before Fraser could say anything, Randy turned away. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
“May I buy a pint?” Fraser asked, desperation shading his smooth accent.
Randy considered calling Malcolm over to deal with it, but stopped in front of the beer taps. He was annoyed at his lingering attraction, and he decided to push back on this prick a bit. “Fine. What’s your pleasure?”
“Guinness. If you have it.”
“Of course you’d drink Guinness.” A little scorn curled Randy’s lip. “Well, the closest beer I have is a stout from Flying Dog.” He let his sneer turn feral. “It’s called Pearl Necklace.” He dropped his eyes to Fraser’s necktie, as if he could picture that very thing replacing the colorful silk.
Fraser blinked nervously. Probably he could picture it too. Maybe he even imagined Randy’s hot jizz splattering his chest and neck as his reward. Well, he shouldn’t have been a condescending shit out of the gate then. Randy waited, one hand on the tap, the other idly scratching his ear to make his bicep flex under his white shirt. Fraser focused on his arm and swallowed audibly.
“That’ll be fine,” he said. “A, uh, Flying Dog then.” Randy drew the pint to set before Fraser on a coaster. He didn’t wait for the man to take a sip or comment, but headed to the other end of the bar to check inventory.
He stayed busy but somehow noticed that Fraser lingered at the bar for several minutes, apparently hoping Randy would come back and let him ask again about the piece Randy had purchased from the Gates Gallery. When Randy deliberately kept his distance, Fraser took his beer (which, Randy was pleased to note, was more than half gone) and wandered around the room to examine more carefully each painting displayed. Sometimes he moved on quickly to the next piece of art. Other times, he gave a slight shake of his head.
Randy’s ears burned, and he considered throwing the guy out. Since he’d opened Mata Hari no one had given him grief about his collection. To be honest, no one had studied it the way Fraser did, but still. Each piece had been acquired because Randy connected to something in it. To have this handsome English stuffed shirt look down his nose offended Randy in a way he couldn’t even articulate. He seethed inside the longer Fraser spent on his dismissive tour of the room.
When Fraser reached a landscape that was hung over a small settee, he gave a distinct snort. He set his empty beer glass on a nearby table and Randy swooped over to pick it up, ostentatiously swiping the wood as if it had left a ring. “Another Pearl Necklace?” he snarled.
“Ah, no. Thank you.” Fraser seemed surprised to find Randy standing so close, though his eyes remained closed off and stony. “But it was a quite nice stout after all. Thank you for the recommendation.”
Randy gestured at the landscape with his chin. “Is that painting offensive to you for some reason? You’re practically laughing at it.”
“What? Oh no, it’s…fine. Competent. It’s the presentation, the arrangement of the art, that I find amusing.”
Randy ran his gaze over the pieces arranged on that wall of the bar. He’d decided where to hang each and every work over a long stretch of time as he’d readied Mata Hari for opening. He revisited the collection frequently and rotated different pieces in and out of prominent positions. Most of his customers were oblivious but Randy took great satisfaction in presenting something unique in the atmosphere of his bar.
“What’s amusing about it?”
“Well, there’s no story, is there?” Fraser answered him.
“What do you mean?”
“Individually each piece is presentable. A few are even intriguing. But see here,” he gestured at the landscape, “this is a nicely executed pastoral, yet it’s positioned between a Japanese scroll and a watercolor of a monarch butterfly. The pieces say nothing about each other, and have no intrinsic relationship.
“But over there,” he indicated the wall opposite, “is a modern landscape. Change the frames to something complementary, place them side by side, and the two landscapes together suggest a conversation in, oh, quite a lot actually. Painting techniques, the subject and tonal changes in works separated by two artistic traditions. You see?”
Randy did see, but he’d be damned if he’d admit it. “Two landscapes here wouldn’t fit,” he said stubbornly.
“Ah. Art as furniture. Of course,” Fraser said with a smirk, and that did it.
“No charge for the Pearl Necklace,” Randy barked. “Since you made the trip for nothing.”
Meet the Author
Robert Winter lives and writes in Provincetown. He is a recovering lawyer who prefers writing about hot men in love much more than drafting a legal brief. He left behind the (allegedly) glamorous world of an international law firm to sit in his home office and dream up ways to torment his characters until they realize they are perfect for each other. When he isn’t writing, Robert likes to cook Indian food and explore new restaurants. He splits his attention between Andy, his partner of sixteen years, and Ling the Adventure Cat, who likes to fly in airplanes and explore the backyard jungle as long as the temperature and humidity are just right.
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July 4, 2017
Book Blitz: Force of Nature by J.K. Hogan
Title: Force of Nature
Series: Coming About, #4
Author: J.K. Hogan
Publisher: Euphoria Press (self)
Release Date: 7/4/17
Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 80,000 words
Genre: Romance, contemporary, adventure
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Synopsis
Everyone knows that bonds formed under extreme circumstances never last.
Harbor Patrol officer Neal Hesse has had his life turned upside down by a sudden break-up with his partner of ten years. After sleeping his way through Seattle failed to take his mind off his broken heart, he decides to take a leave of absence from work to find himself again. He hires a professional wilderness guide to take him up into the mountains, so he can get away from everything and live off the grid for a few days.
Travis “Rock” McCreary, ex-Army Ranger turned survivalist, hates doing guided excursions, but it’s his primary source of income while he’s working towards getting his own survival show. Working in such a testosterone-fueled profession has forced him so deep into the closet, he feels like he might never see the light of day again, which makes it even harder to put on a friendly face for his happy, normal clients.
When Rock is hired by clumsy city-boy Neal to take him up into the North Cascades for a survival adventure, his patience and his resolve are tested at every turn. He has to teach Neal to survive in the wilderness while fighting an attraction he can’t allow himself to act on. When their trip doesn’t go as planned, Neal’s getaway turns into a true survival situation, and he and Rock are forced to rely on each other to stay alive. If they make it out of the wilderness, can their newfound connection survive in the real world?
Excerpt
Neal didn’t see how this was supposed to help take his mind off his ex because, as they trudged up the trail mostly in silence, he had nothing but time to think. Time to think about how he’d fallen for and spent years with a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He thought he’d been settled, that Tony was The One, that they had been on their way to growing old together. How wrong he’d been.
When the party reached an overlook at the highest point on the trail, they stopped for a panoramic view of the waterfall. Even Neal had to admit, with the sun streaming into the gorge and casting rainbows from the mist, it was a beautiful sight. It was still hard to drag himself out of his head, though. He knew his friends meant well, and they were right, of course. He needed to get up, get out, get back on the proverbial horse of life. But he didn’t wanna. He wanted to be at home on the couch moping, damn it.
He wished for that even harder when he saw the so-called trail that descended from the overlook to the foot of the falls where hikers could walk around or swim on warm-enough days. This trail was also steps, but natural ones of smooth, flat rock. It was narrow. Very narrow, and the lower part had a thin coat of slime from the water spray and mud. So it was fucking slippery.
When he’d almost made it to the flat riverbed, Neal lost his footing on a slick rock. He barely avoided taking a tumble—probably would’ve cracked his skull open—but he gained his balance again at the last moment. He breathed a sigh of relief when he stepped off that part of the trail. The falls dumped into a wide open part of the gorge, forming a broad pool that was bordered by a large, semicircular bank of river rock. There, day-hikers and tourists spread out on the rocks, picnicking, sunning themselves, or generally just taking in the scenery. Neal’s friends spread out to do their own thing.
Addison stalked off to the tree line with her cell phone, probably trying to get a signal so she could call her girlfriend. Bennett led Rory around the edge of the pond so they could get close to the actual waterfall. He was wearing a chest harness that held his Go-Pro, the action camera he usually kept on his boat. Rich and Paddy sat down on some large rocks and got out their trail snacks. And Nic Valentine, the crazy fucker, was wading in the frigid pool while Justice looked on, shaking his damn head.
Neal shivered just thinking about it. It was the tail-end of summer, so it was still quite warm, but these high lakes and rivers were always brisk, even on the hottest days. He’d been trained to withstand cold water temperatures for marine rescues, but that didn’t mean he had to like it, and he certainly didn’t do it for fun. Turning away from the splashing idiot, Neal looked around at all of the tourists and vacationers. Everyone had phones out, taking pictures, and he was sure they were tweeting and Instagramming like mad whenever they could find a bar or two.
He shook his head, then smirked and took his own phone out. “When in Rome,” he muttered. First, he snapped a picture with the reverse camera of himself with the waterfall in the background. Then he flipped the view so he could get a shot of the gorge. His frame wasn’t wide enough, so he took a few steps back, mindful of the rocks that became more slippery the closer he got to the falls.
His foot slipped and plopped down into water still cold enough to make him gasp, and right at the same time, he backed into something hard. Solid. Something alive. Neal winced when he heard an outraged cry and a splash behind him. Oh, fuck. Had he just…knocked someone into the water? He knew he needed to make sure they weren’t hurt or anything, but damn, he was afraid to turn around…because that had not felt like a small person.
Cautiously, he turned around and looked down, where he saw a man flailing around in the shallows of the pool. Once he got control of his feet, the man sprang up in the perfect kip-up. Neal cringed when he saw that his clothes and trail pack were completely soaking wet. And when he looked at the man’s face, he froze. His brain registered three things almost simultaneously: he looked vaguely familiar, he was very attractive, and he was really fucking mad.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” the stranger shouted.
He stepped forward so aggressively that Neal backed up, and his right hand went instinctively to his hip, where he would’ve put his hand on the stock of his service weapon—only there was nothing there because he was off duty.
Not wanting to seem like an equal aggressor, he covered the move by sticking his hand in his pocket, hoping to appear non-threatening. This guy was about his age and shorter by a few inches, but he was ripped. He looked rugged and whipcord strong and looked ready to kick some ass in a heartbeat. Neal might’ve been able to take him—he had him on height and weight, but the guy looked like he might be stronger…and a lot meaner. Neal really didn’t want to fight. That was a helluva lot of paperwork.
He held his arms out in front of him, both as a gesture of peace and to stave off an attack if that were to happen. “Man, I am so sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was behind me.”
“Clearly,” he growled, shrugging out of his pack. He unzipped it and started digging through it.
“Again, really sorry. If anything in your pack got damaged, I’ll reimburse you.”
He scowled at me. “This is a waterfall hike. I’m not an idiot. Anything of value is inside a dry bag.”
Neal bristled because the guy was basically calling him and everyone with him an idiot because they hadn’t brought dry bags. They’d just figured they could avoid, you know, falling in the water. Probably should’ve planned better, because if Neal hadn’t knocked into this guy, it would’ve been him in the water. But Neal had been the one to cause the fall, so he tried not to let his attitude get to him. “If you need a towel, I think one of my friends might’ve brought one.”
He sat down on a large, flat rock and pulled off his hiking shoes, probably to let them dry a little in the sun. His socks looked dry, so Neal assumed his footwear was waterproof. That also would’ve been a good idea, since Neal’s right sneaker was soggy as hell from stepping in the water.
The guy shook his head and didn’t make eye contact. “I’ve got more hiking to do. I’ll air-dry. Just try not to drown anyone, will ya?”
Neal’s eyes narrowed, and he fought a valiant battle not to tell the guy to fuck off. Instead, he fell back on his usual façade of charm and reached out a hand. “I’m Neal. Wish it had been under better circumstances, but it’s nice to meet you.”
His mega-watt smile, the one that had gotten him laid all the time when he was with Tony and before, bounced off this angry stranger like he had some kind of nice-guy force field. He glared at the proffered hand until Neal got the hint and put it back in his pocket. Just when he was about to say ‘fuck it’ and walk away, the guy mumbled, “Travis.”
“Pardon?” Neal asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Name’s Travis.”
“Well…Travis. It’s been a pleasure. I’ll get out of your hair.” About maxed out on politeness, Neal turned on his heel and started walking, stumbling slightly on the wet stones.
“Hey, Neal?”
He turned and looked at Travis. “Yeah?”
“You should stick to walking in the park or going to the gym. You don’t belong out here.”
Rage burned in Neal’s gut. He’d apologized profusely, and this guy just wouldn’t let it go. Where the hell did he get off? “The fuck did you say to me? I’ll have you know, I’m a police officer.”
Bennett had obviously picked up on the tone because Neal sensed his partner and Paddy creeping up on his flanks.
Travis’s eyes flicked back and forth between the three men, then he shook his head with a scoffing sound. “I’m just trying to give you some advice. It’s guys like you who come out here and fall down into the ravine because you don’t have the instincts to pay the fuck attention to where you put your feet.”
Neal lunged forward, but Bennett stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Nuh-uh. Walk away, Hesse.”
“But—”
“Nope.” Paddy started pulling him backward.
Travis spoke again, and the sound of his voice grated over Neal’s nerves like sandpaper. “I’m not just trying to be an asshole, although I’d be justified, considering.” He gestured down at his wet clothes. “But seriously, if you want to be all outdoorsy and shit? Get yourself some survival training, because you seem pretty fucking hopeless.”
Neal growled and lunged again, but was stopped by his two strong friends.
“Aaaand we’re done here,” Bennett said, as he and Patrick hauled Neal to the other side of the river where the rest of their group was waiting.
“Come on, just one swing!” Neal shouted over his shoulder. It was just for show because his pride was more bruised than he wanted to let on, but the boys kept a firm grip on him just in case.
Why the fuck did it matter that some asshole stranger thought he was incompetent? But Neal knew the answer to that—because his own boyfriend had as well. Tony had basically unmanned him by suggesting Neal’s career and choices didn’t matter, and now some random guy was telling him he couldn’t even wipe his own ass without help.
Neal seethed quietly all the way back down the trail. He’d never see that crazy fucknut again, but he’d be damned if he’d let the guy be right. So as soon as he got back, he booked himself on a survival excursion with a professional wilderness guide. That’d show that asshole. The one he would never see again.
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Euphoria Press (self) | Amazon
Meet the Author
J.K. Hogan has been telling stories for as long as she can remember, beginning with writing cast lists and storylines for her toys growing up. When she finally decided to put pen to paper, magic happened. She is greatly inspired by all kinds of music and often creates a “soundtrack” for her stories as she writes them. J.K. is hoping to one day have a little something for everyone, so she’s branched out from m/f paranormal romance and added m/m contemporary romance. Who knows what’s next?
J.K. resides in North Carolina, where she was born and raised. A true southern girl at heart, she lives in the country with her husband and two sons, a cat, and two champion agility dogs. If she isn’t on the agility field, J.K. can often be found chasing waterfalls in the mountains with her husband, or down in front at a blues concert. In addition to writing, she enjoys training and competing in dog sports, spending time with her large southern family, camping, boating and, of course, reading! For more information, please visit www.jkhogan.com.
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