C.F. White's Blog, page 2

One Week To Love a Psycho!

We are one week from release day for the first book in the BRAND NEW To Love a Psycho trilogy!

As this is a little different from previous works, I thought I’d give a little background to the series and a chance to read chapter one of Dream a Little Dream.

To Love a Psycho Trilogy – A Dark MM Romantic Suspense Psychological Thriller Series

When love becomes obsession, and desire turns deadly, how far would you go to survive the one person who sees you completely?

In a world where secrets cut deeper than knives, To Love a Psycho follows Aaron Jones—the son of two infamous serial killers—who has spent his life outrunning the shadows of his past. But when he crosses paths with Dr Kenneth Lyons, a brilliant yet morally conflicted criminal psychologist, obsession blooms in the unlikeliest of places.

Each book unravels the fine line between trust and betrayal, innocence and guilt, love and destruction. As a new wave of murders haunts their campus, Aaron and Kenny are forced into a game of survival—one where every touch could mean salvation or damnation.

Meet Kenny and Aaron…

Book 1: Dream a Little Dream (Coming March 3rd 2025)
His Student. His Obsession. His Undoing.
He’s the son of serial killers. He’s the professor who should’ve known better.
A forbidden connection ignites between Aaron and Kenny, but when a new killer mimics Aaron’s parents’ crimes, trust becomes their deadliest weakness.

Book 2: Kiss Me Honey Honey (Coming March 31st 2025)
Every Kiss is a Sin
As bodies pile up and suspicion falls on Aaron, the bond between him and Kenny deepens into dangerous territory. With the past clawing its way back to the surface, survival means breaking every rule.

Book 3: Killing Me Softly (Coming April 28th 2025)
Some ghosts never stay buried and some lessons in love leave scars.
Aaron’s darkest secret resurfaces in the form of someone he thought he’d lost forever. Now, with the killer closer than ever, his love for Kenny could be the very thing that destroys them both—or sets them free.

Prepare for obsession, betrayal, and the kind of love that could ruin you.

So that’s a little about the books, now for a sneak peek, here’s the prologue for Dream a Little Dream and remember, you can preorder this right now, get it to your kindle and prepare to get OBSESSED.

Prologue

Dream a Little Dream

Ten years ago, September 21st, 2014

The cupboard door creaked open, piercing a narrow shaft of light through the bedroom. His mother knelt beside him, kind eyes pools of warmth in the dimness of the dark and dreary space. She ushered him inside with a gentle hand yet a quiet urgency, and through practiced obedience and a knowledge that good things were coming, he clambered in without hesitation. The coats wafted the faint scent of lavender and mothballs. He sneezed. The dust aggravated his allergies.

It wouldn’t matter in a minute.

“Time for your medicine, my darling boy.” His mum produced a syringe from the folds of her apron and he opened his mouth, the metallic taste expected and familiar.

 He swallowed in compliance. The drowsiness would follow, but his mum would cuddle him until he woke cocooned in her arms. She’d be humming to him, too. Rocking him. Perhaps playing to him on their vintage walnut piano.

He enjoyed his long sleeps.

Felt safe.

If he kept really quiet, she’d reward him with a cookie after.

“Good boy.” She brushed a lock of his nearly translucent blond hair from his forehead, tender fingers tracing the contours of his delicate face, and her voice, a soft melody, filled the small void when she sang. “Dream a little dream of me…”

He so loved it when she sang.

It meant good things. A long sleep. Maybe two cookies…

His eyelids grew heavy but, entranced by his mother’s serenading voice, he fought them. She was beautiful in these moments. And as she hummed his favourite tune, her voice enveloped him, shielding him from whatever lay beyond the walls of his cupboard. From whatever she didn’t want him to see. To know. But tonight, her tone, although soothing, hinted at an emotion he couldn’t quite grasp. It wasn’t like it had been before. It unnerved him.

“Mummy…?”

“Hush now, honey pie.”

He did. And he hung onto her every word, her every note. Nothing could penetrate the safety net his mother swathed him in.

Could it?

Why was he questioning it?

She cupped his face in her hands with such care, as though he were the most precious thing in the universe, and through her singing, her impenetrable gaze, her unwavering love for him, she rid him of any fear. She was his, and he was hers. They always would be.

An unbreakable bond.

She stroked his cheeks, and he focused on her fingertips, soft and gentle, but the medicine and her lullaby forced him into the open arms of the dreamland she sang about. He couldn’t imagine a life where his mum didn’t sing to him anymore.

Life would be sad. Dreary. Dark.

A distant clamour shunted him alert.

His mother’s voice wavered, but she didn’t break the song, only darted her eyes towards the door. His little heart raced, matching the heavy footsteps growing louder, threatening to stamp over his carefully constructed existence.

“Remember, you are my good boy,” she said, her voice a fervent hush. “My boy. You’ll always be mine.” There was a promise in her tone, a fierce declaration extending beyond the cupboard walls, beyond the looming chaos, imprinting on him forever. And she cradled his face in her hands, pressing him to memorise how it felt to be totally, consumingly cherished. “No matter where you are, who you become, you belong to me. No one will love you as I do.”

Abruptly, reality shattered.

A door burst open, and the unyielding grip of his father wrenched her away from him, the cupboard door falling almost closed. Sleep evaded, he peered through the tiny gap at the confusing scene unfolding before him. Figures swarmed the room, an ocean of white. Official voices covered by masks spoke in harsh, rapid tones. Words he didn’t know. Didn’t understand.

“Mummy…?” He feared raising his voice, but he couldn’t see her. Couldn’t feel her. Where was she?

His mother’s silhouette flickered like the eight candle flames on his last birthday cake. He had a birthday soon. Was it today? Tomorrow? He couldn’t ask because his mother disappeared from sight, eclipsed by a mass of white. He pressed his face against the gap in the cupboard door, small fingers gripping the wood.

“Mummy…?”

Muffled shouts and dulled thuds of boots trampling through the house vibrated the walls and his chest squeezed, each breath sharp as jagged ice. He clung to his soft toy, the stuffing straining against the worn seams.

He was alone.

Darkness poured over him in swathes.

He veered closer to the narrow gap in the door, digging his fingers into the fur of his teddy. But a fierce scream had him jolting away. Her. His mother. Screeching a primeval sound tearing through the air and laden with a terror clawing its way inside his tiny heart.

“It was him. Him! Him!”

His father’s returning yell, brimming with defiance, cleaved through the disarray.

“Roisin! Roisin! I’m sorry! I love you, Roisin!”

Passing figures contorted into monstrous shapes on the wall opposite him, a puppet show of horror and his imagination conjured images far worse than any storybook villain, feeding his dread, pushing his pulse to race.

Then the unmistakable sound of a taser rang out, a morbid drumbeat marking the end of something he couldn’t quite grasp.

Life as he knew it.

He recoiled to the back of the cupboard, teddy absorbing his tremors.

Haunting silence followed. And he forced his quivering to still, listening for any hint of what lay beyond the safety of his walls. Moments dragged like hours, each tick of the clock on the wall outside like a thunderclap. Eyes wide, he never left the sliver of light at the bottom of the cupboard door where the shadows danced. Until a shape blocked his view, and the door creaked open, cutting a shaft of light through the darkness, illuminating him and crowning the silhouette of a man coated in white plastic.

He flinched away.

The man’s face, as he crouched to his level, was a mask of professionalism, but his eyes showed his horror at finding him huddled in his cupboard.

“Hey there.” The man extended a hand to him, then pulled down his mask to call out to those beyond his walls. “There’s a kid in here! Get family liaison. Now!” He then beckoned him with softer tones. “You can come out now. You’re safe.”

His words, though meant to comfort, hung heavily in the air. Was he safe? He didn’t think he was. His mummy wasn’t there, waking him up with a soft lullaby, stroking her delicate fingers through his hair, telling him he was precious.

“Where’s mummy?”

“You’re safe.” How could he be safe when she wasn’t there? “I’m a police officer. PC Bentley. You can call me Jack.”

With one last look at the familiar confines of the cupboard—his castle, his spaceship, his den—he placed his tiny hand in the policeman’s and stepped into the unknown.

“What’s your name?” Jack asked.

The world beyond the cupboard was a blur of white suits darting between rooms, urgent voices ricocheting off the walls. His heart hammered as he clutched his teddy to his chest and he shook his head in reply. He knew his name. But he wasn’t allowed to talk to strangers. 

“Stay close to me,” Jack said, a gentle hand on his back guiding him onwards.

His home, once filled with laughter and bedtime stories, had transformed into an alien landscape. Family photos askew, drawers yanked open with their contents spilled along with their secrets, and his steps faltered as he was ushered towards the front door.

The cool outside air nipped his cheeks. He hadn’t been outside in…he wasn’t sure how long but long enough to not remember it, and he squinted as he walked into the night, blue lights atop the car painting the sky in strokes of sombre colour. His house, usually surrounded by peaceful woodland, was now guarded by navy and black uniforms, as if it was a prison. He darted his eyes around, searching for something familiar. Something safe.

But there was nothing.

Then, amidst the sea of strangers, stood a man, a figure of calm in the storm. With dark unruly hair to his jawline, intense deep eyes, no police uniform, and a furrow in his brow questioning his little hand clutched in the policeman’s.

“Did you know they had a kid?” Jack’s voice was hushed as he spoke to the dark-eyed man as if not to alert others to their muted conversation. Their exchange was a sparkling, crackling thing. Like a firework. Like his parents were when together.

The man shook his head, gazing down at him. A silent exchange passed between them, and in that moment, his own confusion mirrored in the man’s eyes. But he saw something else he couldn’t quite place.

His saviour?

No.

His tormentor?

Probably.

“Come on, buddy.”

Somehow, this didn’t feel like a rescue.

It felt like a kidnap.

He cast one last glance over his shoulder, searching for any sign of his mum, but only found the dark-eyed man staring at him as if confining him to memory.

He left an imprint right back.

“Let’s get you somewhere safe,” Jack said, securing him in the backseat.

As the car pulled away, the boy pressed his face against the window, watching the house, his home, and the mystery man shrink into the distance.

Highland Fling out now in AUDIO!

Highland Fling is OUT NOW at Audible!

This steamy, standalone forbidden lovers MM romance is a “A sizzling tale of culinary passion, unexpected connections, and the irresistible allure of Highland heat” featuring a fiery Scottish chef too used to his own way and a determined ex-footballer desperate to prove he’s more than a pretty face.

Audible US https://www.audible.com/…/Highland-Fling…/B0D6Z7X23T
Audible UK https://www.audible.co.uk/…/Highland-Fling…/B0D6Z84QNK

 Forbidden lovers
 Hurt/Comfort
 Forced proximity
 Found family

Want to listen to the swoon worthy Scottish Ewan? Have a listen here:

Not familiar with the Flying into Love series? Then check out all the completely standalone MM romances where men fall in love and find their HEA at a different location around the world each time. From age gap, childhood best friends to lovers, opposites attract, second chance, hurt/comfort, later-in-life tropes. there’s something for everyone!

All in audio, accents galore 

https://www.audible.com/…/Flying-into-Love…/B0B49M29KF

Love isn’t always responsible, especially when there’s so much at stake.

The Responsible Adult trilogy boxset is going on sale for 1.99! That’s three whole books for less than 0.99.

If you haven’t met Micky, Dan and the adorable little Flynn, then you can get acquainted as part of the Angst MM Romance promotion. Not for the fluffy hearted, these set of books will put you through the wringer but the HEA’s are worth every heartache.

Grab this and all the other books on promo now. https://books.bookfunnel.com/angstymmromance/orn4p6i6pa

Festive Fever Pitch (A District Line Christmas Novella)

That’s right, your eyes are not deceiving you, there is another book to be released in the world of Jay and Seb!

Festive Fever Pitch is a charity Christmas bonus novella set in the world the District Line football/rocker series in both eBook and Audio format with the ever wonderful Piers Ryman returning to narrate, and will be released direct to emails on 1st December 2024.

This book has been written and produced to raise money for my London Marathon Fund (yep, I’ll be running 26.2 miles across London – GAH) where ALL proceeds are going to First Step, a charity supporting families who have a child with SEN and/or disabilities and who were integral to me when my own child was born with a rare disability.

To get your hands on it, all I ask is for donations to be made via my marathon fund, anything you can afford, and all details of how, when and where can be found by completing this form:

https://forms.gle/wYFmJ2CjfRyWYzaV8

At a staggering 37k words, this is more than a bonus but rather a new edition into the District Line series with a potential to continue. What’s the book all about? Well, I’ll tell ya:

Festive Fever Pitch (A District Line Christmas Special)

The Ruttman’s usual Christmas surrounded by friends and family is turned upside down when Jay brings home a troubled teen from his U16 Academy squad. Opening their door to welcome talented footballer and looked-after-child Devon into their life might have been the charitable thing to do for Christmas Day, but it also might open a massive can of worms.

Devon has more in common with both Jay and Seb than even they could have accounted for, and understanding first-hand the barriers he faces to achieve his dreams, how will they be able to send him back to the children’s home come boxing day? Especially when daughter Bea asked Santa for a big brother.

Devon seems to shine a light on all the unresolved issues Jay and Seb have been avoiding confronting about their relationship all these years, making it harder to not to see him as the missing player in the Ruttman band.

Besides, a guitar-playing footballer shouldn’t just be for Christmas, right?

If you know NOTHING about Jay and Seb and the “penguin talk” quote has sailed over your head with its significance, then you can get up to speed with this “Intense and emotional” “epic love story” spanning four full books plus several bonus chapters in time for this Christmas special. Check out the official book trailer for the District Line here:

Watch the official trailer on YouTube

Grab the original trilogy boxset in KU or Audio here  https://mybook.to/TheDistrictLineBoxSet

Thank you so much for supporting me, my books, The District Line and, of course, my marathon efforts to raise as much as possible for disabled children.

Want FREE bonus content?

I’ve finally sorted myself out and updated the bonus content available on my website.

So if you want some extra juicy bits from the worlds of Jay and Seb, Fletcher and Jackson, Darius and Charlie, then you can download these bonus extras now.

Thought I’d pop on a Valentine’s Day special too, ’cause, why not, eh?

Go catch up with what Jackson and Fletcher got up to on their Valentine’s Day now!

http://www.cfwhiteauthor.com/bonus-content/

There’s also some free AUDIO content too.

And coming soon…. a whole novella totally free to subscribers. Street SmART is coming soon! Make sure you’re signed up.

Happy reading

Won’t Hurt a Bit (St Cross #3) Teaser

Celebrating getting to 400 members over at Tighty Whitey’s, I’m releasing this little chapter/teaser from Won’t Hurt a Bit, the third book in the St Cross Hospital series, for your reading pleasure. Made sense, it’s set at Christmas…

If you aren’t familiar with the St. Cross world, then you can catch up with the first two books here:

http://mybook.to/WFAT

So, this is Christmas

Elliot nursed his bourbon at the bar counter, sipping it elegantly whilst really wanting to down the entire lot. Austin was being his usual charming self, working the room, white teeth flashing along with the ridiculous monstrosity of Christmas themed bow tie. The ladies swooned at every ditty that bounced off the walls in his American accent, whilst the men stood in awe, wanting to be him. Maybe they’d even want to fuck him. Who knew?The man was fuckable. All gazes were on him, his deep laughter resonating around the festively decorated ballroom, except for those belonging to the two men, very together, very close, so very much in love and swaying to the gentle music tinkering out from the disco.

St. Cross’s Christmas annual fundraising dinner and dances were always a bore. But Elliot, as the Chair of the fundraising committee and the most influential doctor at the hospital, had to be in attendance. It was expected. The face of St. Cross, the chairman of the board, the highest graded cardiology consultant in the country, Elliot had to pay his dues to help earn the hospital its donations to keep afloat. NHS budget cuts affected all hospitals, but St. Cross had taken a fare brunt of the cut backs. Meaning they now relied heavily on their corporate doners than they ever had before.

This party, was lip service to those sponsors who’d promised to increase their sizeable funds. 

Last year the soiree had been at the Dorchester. A plush hotel in the centre of London where Elliot had sipped on cocktails, flirted with the donars’ wives, talked business with the corporate CEO’s in order to get them to dip further into their deep pockets and grant an end-of-year bonus which would give a Christmas to remember for those children stuck in a hospital bed during the festive season. And for those who cared for them around the clock. Nurses didn’t get a bonus for working out of “normal” hours. Many were contracted that way, simply keeping those holiday dates as shift patterns. Those nurses missed seeing their family on Christmas Day. Elliot didn’t have any family, so it didn’t bother him so much. But he knew those who it did.

He’d also had a hotel room that night. And he’d declined many an offer toward the end of an intoxicated evening to meander upstairs to his suite on the fifteenth floor where his own company awaited him.

Unfortunately, none of that was on offer this year.

Not only had he lost Ollie, the man who had waited for him for two years, a short time after that night, but this year the schmoozer of corporate sponsors and handling financial contracts had now fallen to Austin – the American businessman who’d flown into St. Cross to turn the place into a privatization. Austin believed in cutting deals, reducing staff and outsourcing important contracts, instead of using what St Cross had in their arsenal to gain funds to keep their services free; their workforce and the importance of saving children’s lives, regardless of their class status. Sick children don’t have a hefty savings or insurance policy to pay for urgent and vital treatment.

It should be a right to receive Elliot’s cardiology expertise, not a privilege. 

Elliot swivelled around in his stool, sipping the bourbon that scorched his throat. He was aware he was staring, but he couldn’t not. Ollie had always been a delight to watch, regardless of what it was that Ollie did. From changing hospital bed sheets, to clearing up sick and vomit, to making the faces of children in pain laugh and smile. Of course, Elliot preferred it when he had been able to watch the man on his bed, naked, and pleasuring himself.

Those days were gone.

All he had left were memories. And videos.

Elliot smiled, raising the glass in front of him. Ollie caught his stare, gave a momentary returning nod, before resting his head on his boyfriend’s chest and swaying in time to Last Christmas. Elliot chose to ignore the irony of the song that had decided to play at that very moment.

“Elliot!” Austin swooped in to sit on the stool next to him.

Elliot only just about managed to not grunt at the man. Austin’s wavy blond hair curled from underneath the red santa hat and his lips had a distinct purpling from the copious amounts of port he’d been guzzling at the highest donor table. Austin wobbled on the stool, then grabbed Elliot’s arm to yank himself steady. He chuckled, then hiccuped.

“Excuse me, Elliot!” Austin held a hand up to his mouth and darted his bloodshot eyes around the room before lowering his voice to a hushed whisper. “I do believe I may be a little tipsy.”

“You don’t say.” Elliot gave a sideways glance before hovering his glass in the air to cheers a few of the various invited guests bounding on to the dancefloor to join Ollie and his partner. Once they were out of his view, Elliot rolled his eyes.

“You wanna have a boogie, Elliot?” Austin’s cheery demeanor was a tad offputting to Elliot’s rather gloomy and nonchalant to the season state.

“No.” Elliot preferred one word answers. They could never be misconstrued.

Austin bumped Elliot’s shoulder with his own and beamed a handsome smile of dashingly bright teeth. Elliot assumed those pearly white’s weren’t cared for by the NHS either.

“Oh, come on, Doctor Doom and Gloom! This is a party. Let yourself go a little.” 

Elliot met with Austin’s blue eyes. They sparked. Probably just the strobe lighting or the blasted twinkling Christmas baubles that hung in decorations around the ballroom and reflected in the man’s bright iris’s. But still, it caught Elliot off guard. And so did the potent scent of aftershave that washed up Elliot’s nostrils as Austin leaned in toward him. 

“I know you like to let off a bit of steam every now and then.” Austin winked. 

Elliot inhaled, heavily, his nostrils flaring. That was some fragrance. Fresh, not too sweet with an earthy undertone. Not musky. It lingered, wafting over Elliot to bring those memories back. The one’s he’d been desperate to forget. And when he met with Austin’s gaze, it reminded him too much of it. 

“Did we not agree we wouldn’t speak of it.” 

Austin flashed up his hands, waving them in the air and chuckled. “Didn’t say a thing, doctor.” 

Elliot hummed in disbelief and sipped from his Bourbon. Chucking his head back, he downed the rest of the contents and slammed the glass on the bar service. The waiter behind instantly arrived, bottle open and ready to pour. Elliot slipped his palm over the rim and shook his head, declining the enticing offer to get as blotto as Austin evidently was. It wouldn’t be doing him any favours to get his mouth as loose as the new CEO of St. Cross Children’s hospital and, rather tiresome, his immediate boss. And it wasn’t like Elliot had anyone upstairs this year waiting for him to let his steam off on. 

He trailed his gaze over to Ollie. The dance track had changed to a more upbeat number and he jiggled along to the ditty with the other nurses from the ward. Jacob had scarpered and Elliot felt a slight sense of relief from his absence. Until the man appeared at his side, waving to the bar tender for another round of drinks. Elliot froze. His insides tangled in knots. Why was it he just couldn’t be happy for Ollie to have found someone? Was it because he hadn’t? Was it because he could have had Ollie if he had loosened up a bit more?

“Pint of lager and a glass of Pinot.” Jacob had to lean over the counter to shout in the bar tender’s ear and be heard over the thump of music. 

“Sorry, sir, we are out of the Pinot Grigio.” 

“Oh.” Jacob slumped back and wiped his scraggly, dark and too- long hair from his face. “What other whites do you have?” 

“Chardonnay or a Reisling.”

As as Elliot knew, the Chardonnay was cheap and the Reisiling came with a hefty price tag. 

Jacob blew out from rounded lips then glanced over to Ollie on the dancefloor. Elliot grinned. He didn’t know.

Jacob slapped the counter and shrugged. “Chardonnay?” 

Eliott closed his eyes and shook his head. He twisted in the stool and leaned forward to the bar tender. “He’ll take the Riesling. Englegarton.” 

The bartender, mid way to cracking open a bottle, furrowed her brow. Jacob whipped his head around, if only noticing Elliot for the first time. Elliot couldn’t blame him. He’d made damn sure he’d blended into the background. 

“Sorry?” Jacob narrowed his eyes. 

Elliot assumed he wasn’t apologizing, although he bloody well should. There was the man who had stolen his play thing.

“Oliver would prefer the Riesling.” Elliot winked. “Trust me.” 

Jacob opened his mouth to speak, and it looked as if he was going to refute the accusation, when Ollie approached them both. Ollie’s face and neck sprinkled with glistening sweat and his thin shirt was open at the collar, baring his tanned and, Elliot noted, still waxed chest. 

“Hey.” Ollie kissed Jacob. 

“Is Chardonnay okay?” Jacob drifted his gaze from Ollie to Elliot. 

Ollie screwed up his nose and peered over the counter. “The Riesling.” He pointed at the chillers. “That one’s pretty good here.” 

Jacob nodded, dragging his gaze from Elliot, and swivelled around to the bar tender to change his order. Elliot smiled in small triumph. That alone was worth having to sit through the laborious party for the past couple of hours for. He might have lost Ollie, but he still new what the man liked. And, once upon a time, Ollie had licked that Riesling off from Elliot’s chest whilst pleasuring himself and exchanging that liquid clinging to the dark hair on Elliot’s torso with his semen.

Elliot licked his lips at the recounted memory. 

“Well, well, well.” Austin hiccuped and rocked his stool from side to side. “You take your staff interests to a whole new level.” 

That voice slapped Elliot back to the present. He chose not to make eye contact with Ollie, even though his blue eyes burned onto his skin – like his tongue had.

Instead, he faced Austin. Elliot stood, brushing down his satin jacket. 

“A good wine choice, is a good wine choice.” Perhaps he should have stuck to one word replies. 

Austin nodded, sucking in his bottom lip. “Absolutely. I wonder, though, if he enjoys the same wine I do?” 

Elliot laughed, his booming outburst bouncing off the walls as the music came to an abrupt stop. Austin raised his eyebrows, challenging. Ollie exchanged concerned glances with his goddamn boyfriend. 

“That all depends.” Elliot clicked his fingers, ushering one of the hotel porters. He handed over his coat ticket tugged out from his trouser pocket and the porter scurried off. “The wine is an acquired taste. Some can only handle it in small doses. After a while, the taste burns and many choose a softer, lighter variation. Much like a Pinot Grigio.”

“I’ve never been a fan of the blander types.” 

Elliot smiled, his chest rising. “Is that so?” 

“Much like everything in my life, I prefer a challenge.” Austin waved his hand. “I wouldn’t have taken on the job of getting your hospital out of the depths of liquidation otherwise.”

“I see.” 

The porter returned with Elliot’s coat and helped him slip his arms into it. Elliot shook his hand, sliding a ten pound note into the man’s palm.

“Perhaps, one evening, if you aren’t tied up, we could share a bottle of this fine wine you speak so highly of.” Austin jumped out of his seat and slipped the ridiculous Santa hat off his head, the dirty blond curls ruffling up and enticing enough to yank. 

Elliot thought about it. Long and hard. To the point he wondered if his thoughts were visible beneath his tuxedo trousers and long woolen trench coat. 

“I’m afraid I’ve sworn off wine.” Elliot buttoned his coat up, bracing for the freezing ice showers outside to hail a black cab home. He hadn’t bothered with booking a hotel suite this year. “It has given me a lingering after taste I’m rather not too fond of.” 

Austin smiled. “I see.” He roamed his gaze along to Ollie, who’d been watching the exchange with intrigue plastered on his boyish face. Jacob stood beside him, hand on the small of his back and eyeing them both through gulps of his beer.  “Well, if you drink it properly, Dr. Elliot Rawlings, it shouldn’t have that affect. In fact, the wine in my cellar won’t hurt a bit.” 

Your FREE Festive Audio & Ebook!

Fancy a free festive audiobook or ebook from the world of Jay & Seb? Then look no further…

Download the Jingle Ball Rockdown right now:

Ebook – https://BookHip.com/XDCJVDN

Audio – https://BookHip.com/BKAXJNB

Reviews welcomed on Goodreads… https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/59815899-jingle-ball-rockdown

Jingle Ball Rockdown: A live narration by Piers Ryman

Are you having Jay & Seb withdrawals?
Do you love all things audio?
Wanna hear Jay & Seb narrated LIVE then bag a FREE copy of the District Line Christmas special?
Then you might wanna come join this fantabulous event! 

When: Saturday 11 December – 5pm GMT (12pm EST)

Where: Tighty Whitey’s (CF White Reader) Facebook Group

What: Watch on Facebook Live as Piers Ryman narrates the Jingle Ball Rockdown – a District Line Christmas special, followed by a Q&A with Piers and me while the audio gets proofed, edited and mastered live on air and into a brand spanking MP3 audio file that you can take home for FREE!

All subscribers get the audiobook via Bookfunnel after the event. Our little Christmas gift from us to you for being wonderful readers, listeners and supporters. 

Make sure you join Tighty Whitey’s and accept the event invite on there so we know you are coming along. 

If you aren’t on Facebook but still want a copy of the audio, then they’ll be a link to do that after the event. 

Looking forward to seeing you there! Bring mulled wine, Christmas crackers, festive cheer and all your burning questions for Piers Ryman and me. 

‘Til then!

Active Duty: A Spin Off

Small town delinquent runs off to the army… Sound familiar?

That’s right. Micky from Responsible Adult’s best bud Jason has his own story. I wrote it years and years ago, but thought I’d revisit it now all the audios are out. And y’know what, I quite like it. We all know Jason’s an acquired taste…as was mentioned in Reformed. But everyone deserves a shot at love and bit of redemption, right? Even a bit of a twat like Jason.

Take a look at a prologue, the moment it all starts for our Jase… (unedited, rough draft).

**Picture is NOT the cover, it was made as a motivation for me and acted as a placeholder on Wattpad. Book has been unpublished from there ready to edit and release**

Prologue: Pull Your Socks Up

Jason had barely pulled out, his dick deflating within the condom when he leaned away from Sophie’s face to ask, “What?”

He stepped back, careful that he didn’t trip over his MTP trousers ravelled down to his ankles and crumpling over his newly shined boots. Well, it was only polite to turn up to an illicit rendezvous with freshly polished army wear. She liked that.

Or,she’d used to.

“What the fuck did you just say?” He wasn’t asking for her to repeat herself because he hadn’t heard. Oh, he’d heard all right. Even over all the grunting and groaning—from her, he’ll fucking well add—but he did feel a little clarification was in order here.

“I’mgoing back to him.” Sophie shimmied down her pencil skirt.

Right.So, he hadn’t misheard.

Miffed, Jason slapped off the condom and struggled not to launch it at her face. He glanced around for somewhere to stash the incriminating evidence, but the dishevelled warehouse used for training scenarios they were currently hiding in would be checked over later, so after yanking up his camouflage, he pocketed it to discard it somewhere else. On a scrap heap somewhere.

Likewhere he was evidently being thrown.

“Youknow what, Soph.” Jason tugged out his beret from his back pocket. “You can gofuck yourself. ‘Cause I’m done doing what he should be doing for you.”

Itwasn’t exactly a great comeback. She’d kind of already insinuated that she nolonger wanted him…this. Whatever this had been for however long it hadbeen going on. But he wasn’t taking it lying down. He wasn’t surrendering. Hewas the one who pointed the gun. Not her. She just messed with people’s heads.

Mostlyhis.

“Jase—”She reached out for him after having ruffled her dark hair back into its neatbun. “Don’t be like this.”

“You’rea fucking bitch.” Jason scrunched the beret in his hand and pointed an angryfinger. His face was as scarlet as his hat, and it wasn’t all down to havingfucked Sophie against the wall at lightning speed. They only ever had a fewmoments of peace before someone would be looking for them—him mainly—so theirtime on the base had always been a rush job. No time to savour the moment.Which, in hindsight, was probably a fucking good thing.

Shedidn’t deserve his tenderness.

Evenif he had any.

“Whatdo you expect?” Sophie rammed a hand on her hip, her hourglass figure huggedand accentuated by those pencil skirts and blouses she wore. She did it onpurpose. Jason knew she did. She loved turning the heads of the hundreds of soldierswho roamed the barracks when sauntering by, only for them to be reprimanded by SergeantBrighton for it. She loved making him jealous.

Brighton,that was. Cause Jason couldn’t give a fuck.

Ah.Yeah. He sort of understood her question now.

“Notto be told mid-fuck would be a start,” he barked instead, ‘cause he was stillpissed off. This hadn’t been how he had envisaged his homecoming would go.Coming back from his recent tour, he’d expected a fuck, a puff, a chillout anda catch up with all those he’d left behind when holed up in a desert for ninemonths.

“Itried to talk to you first.” Sophie folded her arms. “But you launched yourselfat me.”

Jason bellowed a laugh. “Sure you did, babe. You need have only said no and I’d’ve backed off.”

Shegave him a dubious look. One he knew all too well from having had to sitopposite her in the psyche office.

“Anine-month deployment, Soph!” Jason scrubbed a hand across his forehead. “Ninefucking months and I come home to this!”

“Whichis why I let you.” She reached out a hand that Jason supposed was going tosqueeze his biceps, probably offering a lighter touch than when she’d beengripping them to keep from sliding down the wall moments earlier. He couldstill feel the fingertips indenting into his skin. “I missed you too.”

“Yetyou’re buggering off back to him? Him!”

“Shh!”Sophie darted her gaze to the open door of the warehouse. “Do you want someoneto hear us?”

Fora brief, career sabotaging moment, he did. But ingrained training kicked in andhe shook himself out, adjusted the beret on his head, slightly to the side, andstepped back. “Go on, then,” he said. “Go be miserable.”

“Ineed stability, Jason.”

“Course you do.”

“He’sa sergeant, on his way to Lieutenant.”

“And me? I’m just his fucking grunt. Yeah. Cheers, Soph.” Jason spun on his heel. “Don’t call me when you wanna play-away again. I ain’t your toy fucking soldier!”

He’dkill Micky for telling him that story.

“Jason!”Sophie’s squeal followed him out into daylight.

Jason didn’t slow his quick march. He was too riled to let himself form words. No doubt he’d be court-martialled for the things he wanted to say to her. What a fucking bitch! He stamped over the dirt mound, back toward the main housing units, saluting to those in superior ranks as he passed, game face on but eyes focused ahead and his block of single-soldier units. Thank fuck he didn’t share with the grunts anymore. He had his own digs. Small, but equipped with all he needed to get through the days of being back on home-soil.

Lettinghimself into his room, he scraped off his beret and placed it on the pride ofplace hook, then collapsed to sit on his bed. The mattress dipped and the metalprongs squeaked as he placed his head in his hands and drove his fingernailsthrough his hair. He needed to buzz it off again. It was almost a couple of incheslong now. Least he could grip it and yell, “Fuck!”

Witha furious huff, he yanked his phone from the charger on his bedside unit andslammed in the right number. He needed a talking to. And whereas normally he’dbe signposted to the unit psychologist, he’d just fucked and been dumped by her,so he needed someone else to have a moan at.

“You’reback?” The bloke answered pretty quick, which was a good a sign as any that hewas available for a chat. Or perhaps waiting for his call. Which brought abrief smile to his lips and a warmth to his belly.

Leasthe could always rely on Micky.

“Remindme to keep my dick away from women for the foreseeable, yeah?”

“Sure.What you done this time?”

Jason flickered his eyes closed. Everyone would always think it was his fault. To be honest, it mostly was. But this time, he wasn’t so sure.

“Stuckit in the wrong person, mate.”

“Well,y’know what they say?” Micky’s chuckle indicated that he would be reciting somejoke on him any moment now.

“What?”

“Betterto have tried out the wrong person than to have potentially missed your chancewith the right one.”

“Fuck,bruv, what the fuck is that?”

“Theycall it a motivational quote.”

“Icall it wanky bollocks.”

Mickychuckled. “When d’you get back?”

Jasonlooked at his watch. “Two hours ago.”

Mickywhistled. “Nice work then. Picked up some girl on the bus home and alreadyticking her off to a bad mistake. Record time, Jase. I’m almost impressed.”

“Yeah.Me too.” He didn’t bother correcting Micky. He was his best mate, yeah, butlong had since gone the times that they shared everything. And the fact thatMicky was shacked up and married to another bloke, it was probably a good thingthat they didn’t. Micky was all monogamous and happily married and didn’t makethese mistakes anymore.

And,fuck, did Jason envy that.

So, having had the decision made for him by his biggest mistake to date, he thought that perhaps he needed to sort his life out like Micky had. He’d made an epic load of mistakes in the past, but that was it now. Gone. No more fucking about. No more getting himself in situations that could potentially end his career before he made it to the next rank. Total, one hundred percent, give it all he’s got, respectable, obedient, fucking-great soldier from now on. Nothing—no one—was going to make him risk his love of the Army. Ever. He was going to climb the ranks and show Sophie and every other fucker that he means business.

Therap at the door startled him. “Gotta go, Mick. Give my love to the fam.”

“Willdo.”

Jason clicked off, stood and when he yanked open the door to his room, he baulked. Sargant Brighton stood behind it and Jason wasn’t sure whether to expect his right hook or not. Could he have seen? Could Sophie have told him already?

“Welcomeback, Corporal.”

Jasonhad to force himself to salute.

“Noneed for that.” Brighton waved him off. “I heard you didn’t want to go off basefor a bit?”

Jasonwent to open his mouth to explain that it had been a poor oversight to havesaid that on his return, but he knew Brighton would end up asking morequestions that Jason, as his minion, would struggle to answer. Truth had been,he’d fancied letting off a bit of steam with Brighton’s fiancée. But that wasn’tavailable anymore.

“Ifthat is the case.” Brighton rocked back on his heel. “I got a job for you.”

“Whatsorta job?”

“Training.”

“I’mup to date on all my—”

“Not your training. You as the trainer. To the new recruits. How’d’you fancy being the one separating the men from the boys, eh?”

“Youserious?”

“Wehave a bus load coming in the next couple of days. We start oh-eight-hundredMonday. Toughest gig on the planet. You ready?”

Jason grinned. Yeah. He could do that. What could possibly go wrong with a bunch of scared little boys leaving mummy’s side for the first time? Or the ones who think they’re rough and ready and will piss all over the tests. He’ll show them what being in the army is all about. That was a sure-fire way to get his head back in the game and keep his dick out of it.

Herubbed his hands together. “Born ready.”

Like it or Lump it

Hey there. Thanks for stopping by. If this is your first time reading a blog post of mine, rest assured they’re not always as self-involved. Mostly, I keep myself to myself. I’ve been burned in the past, so I tend to keep a low profile. That doesn’t help with the old book promo, but it does help with keeping me that little bit sane at home.

Anyway, I kinda needed an outlet for some things going on and thought what better place to shove it all than in my blog. I mean, it’s what this is here for right?

Why am I needing to chat? Well, you might know if you follow me on fb or are in my author group that I’ve been a bit poorly. About three weeks ago, my usual, regular, comes-and-goes back trouble turned into something way more painful. Sciatica. Horrid, sharp, throbbing pain from my lower back down my right leg. The first week, the pain was worse than childbirth. I shit you not. I’ve had two kids, both natural births without any pain relief. And I can say to you now, I’d do that over and not ever have this pain again. At least there’s solace in labour contractions. Until the big push that is, but that, for me, was short lived, less than five minutes, and, well, I had a cute little baby dumped in my arms after as a reward.

This pain, no reward has been given as yet.

So I’m on a cocktail of pain killers, nerve drugs, stomach lining drugs, laxatives (TMI?) just to be able to lie in bed, cause none of that is enabling me to walk very far. I’m an active person. I run daily in the mornings, my job requires me to be out and about delivering activities for disadvantaged young people, I’ve got two boys who demand things of me to the point I rarely sit down (only when writing), and I’m usually carting myself off around the country visiting the variation of friends who have been spat out around the UK (and beyond). So to be stuck in bed, horizontal, for this long has ripped me of my very being. Luckily, one of my hobbies is writing. Meaning I can at least do that until the drowsiness from the drugs kicks in and I fall asleep with my laptop on my stomach.

Yesterday, I made the decision to go private to get things going with my recovery. Love the NHS, but we all know how stretched they are at the moment. So to take the pressure off them and to give me some peace of mind, I paid upfront for an MRI scan that my GP had said would take about 4 weeks on the NHS.

That scan has led me to here.

They found a lump.

We all know we shouldn’t google our symptoms. We’re all one step away from the grave if we do. But we also can’t help it. My search has given me food for thought.

The lump could be as insignificant as a cluster of cells on my spine that just need dispersing for me to get better. It could be a benign cyst, might need an operation or an injection to burst it. It could be nothing. It could also be something serious. I won’t know the answer to that for a few days. And whilst I should sit tight (lay tight?) and wait for the expert to take a look at those scan pictures and decide what it is, I don’t have a right lot of stuff to take my mind off it.

I’m 41. Mother to two boys. One with a lifelong disability and special needs. I can’t die! I can’t leave them. I was coming to terms with the fact that I’ll be looking after Finlay for eternity. How can I possibly leave him without a mummy? What would that do to his brother? His father?

Right, so now that panic is out of the way, I’ll be more rational. It’s probably nothing. I’ll be fine. In a few weeks, I’ll be chugging Pinot at my mate’s gaff and asking Alexa to play Green Day, once again pretending the nineties never ended. But what this has done is made me reflect on things. On what I wanted to achieve. On how I’ve been going about all this stuff that is my pastime, but also my passion – writing. I hear you, finally! That’s why you’re here, to read about my writing, not my health crisis.

So, here goes…

I have wanted to write since I was a child. I wrote constantly back then. My dad used to bring exercise books home from work for me to fill up with short stories. I can still remember a few of them now (The Cave that No One Knew…). When I was about 14, we got our first computer. I don’t know the make or model, all I remember was that I had to write in green typeface! I wrote two novels on that. SEALS, about a competitive swimming club (I was a bit of a swimmer myself) and all the characters in it striving for the European Events gold (made up) whilst also growing up. Bit of a teen/kids mini drama. Then there was When Friendship Ends, a rather harrowing story considering I was 14 at the time, about an opposites-attract friendship between a poor girl and a rich boy that ends suddenly when the girl dies of a rare disease. Told in flashbacks, as the boy has to come to terms with being left behind. Rather bleak really.

I sent a synopsis and first couple of chapters off to a few publishers. At 14, rejection is hard. Way too hard. I wasn’t prepared for it. I did get a callback, from Penguin Books I believe. They wanted to read the whole MS of SEALS, but I’d gone and hidden under a rock somewhere and refused to have to read another, “thanks, but no thanks”. So I sailed through life after that…finding new hobbies, falling in and out and in of love many times, going to university, landing and leaving many, many jobs… I still wanted to write but I did far less of it. I always had ideas and thought maybe I’d work in film, television, theatre with it. I did for a spell, but never really felt like I fit in. So I started working in higher education. Kinda found my groove there. I still wrote a bit but had resigned myself to never being brave enough to actually do it.

Jump forward, I was married with a kid. Then came the second one. Finlay was a difficult baby. He was born exceptionally small for full term (just 4lb, could fit him in my palm). He didn’t feed very well. He cried, incessantly. Screamed. I knew there was something wrong but every doctor, health visitor, tom, dick and harry, would tell me that ‘babies cry’. I’d obviously had a good one first time around. It took a breakdown on my GP for him to take notice. I’d not slept for more than 45 minutes in a three month period. I was exhausted. So was my baby! My GP followed me home after I’d broken down in his office. He’d written a letter, sealed it, and told me to take it to the hospital paediatrics team. I was elated! Someone believed me! I, of course, opened that letter as I made my way there. In handwritten doctor scrawl, it simply said,

“Baby is fine. Please examine for the mother’s sake. Then reassure her best you can.”

I could have screamed. I might have done. He thought I was losing it. He thought I was mad. But I took my baby, and my stupid letter, to the paediatrics team. Low and behold, he had a heart murmur. One week in the hospital monitoring him (and me), then we’re sent to Great Ormand Street. He needs an op. To save his life! Six weeks later and I’m holding my baby as he’s put to sleep in order to have open heart surgery. Oh, and he also has a rare lifelong debilitating condition called Williams Syndrome.

That was one of the hardest times of my life. Ten days I stayed in that hospital with nothing but bleeping machines and my baby and the fear and the worry and the overwhelming feelings of uselessness. I only saw my older son once in that time, he was six and had to go to school and my husband had to work. So we can add guilt to all the other emotions stabbing through my soul like the needles in my baby’s arm. But what that moment did for me, was enable me to find an escape. To stop all the intruding feelings of inadequacy from taking hold, I started to write again. I found a way to switch off, to go live in another life for a while.

From then on, every spare moment I was given, I wrote. During the night, when Finlay wouldn’t sleep, I’d hold him in my arms with my phone in one hand, making notes and writing. I’d just got my spark back! And I wanted to do something with it this time. I wanted people to read my stuff.

I wanted to be an author.

I didn’t know MM existed when I first started. I’d had an idea about a footballer dealing with his sexuality whilst trying to make it professional for a long time – years actually. My dad used to be a referee and I’d been brought up around football all my life. I dabbled with many ideas for that story. Wrote many different versions. Once I believed my book had some merit, I started to look at what to do with it. I researched other novels dealing with similar themes. The first mm book I read was The Front Runner by Patricia Nell Warren. First published 1974, it was a ground-breaking novel of its time and quite possibly the first MM book ever written (as in it was a love story – let’s not digest the HEA thing, it’s a love story not a romance) detailing the relationship between two men, age gap, coach/athlete, during a period when homosexuality was demonized.

As soon as I read it, I was hooked. And knew that my book had a place. It didn’t take long before I found the MM genre and devoured many, many books and realised that I wasn’t a ground breaker. That my book was one of many. But what it did do was show me that I belonged somewhere. That there was an readership ready and waiting for my stories.

Another few tweaks and my footballer book found its feet. That’s now the District Line series if you wasn’t aware.

During this time, I was also writing a more personal book: Responsible Adult. Original wattpad cover for your pleasure, cause I still think it’s cute…

I was on Wattpad and The District Line had taken off on there – featured by the staff, excerpt in Cosmopolitan Magazine, followers galore exploding out of nowhere. I sent it off to some publishers. It was rejected. So I concentrated on Responsible Adult. That won a few awards on Wattpad. After chatting to a fellow Wattpad author, I sent RA off to Totally Entwined Group. It was one whole book back then at about 150K words long and I was mid-writing the sequel to fans demands. It got accepted! I was elated! I was going to be an author!!!!! And it was my special book that had my heart and soul poured into it that did that. There was an agreement to split it into three books and they soon became, Misdemeanor, Hard Time, Reformed.

My dream had come true! I couldn’t wait. I belonged. I was worthy. This was going to be AMAZING!

In the words of Helen Fielding: “Nothing is ever as good or as bad as you think it’s going to be.”

That line stays with me, because it’s so blinking true.

I had a difficult entrance into the mm community as we call it. I wasn’t exactly met with open arms. In fact, I was met with some hostility. I won’t go into everything that happened, I don’t want to talk about the misunderstanding that went out of hand because it still hurts. I’m a big girl, I left school ages ago, I learned how to deal with bullies by putting my head down, not engaging, and just writing. I am, however, worried I’ll never get rid of feeling like an outsider in somewhere I desperately thought I could find myself. Or maybe hide from myself and my RL woes.

So, yeah, this is a long post. That lump they’ve found, maybe that’s given me a bit of courage to poke my head up and address all this. I don’t work the social media game because I’m so scared that this will all come up again. I don’t want to poke the beast. All I’ve ever wanted to do is write and the fact that there are people out there who read and like my stuff is actually quite mind blowing. So I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, if you are one of them (and a massive applause for getting this far in my epic mind dump).

Every one of my books is important to me. I put a LOT of hard work and effort into them. Not to mention cash. I pretty much work full time to pay my bills and to create my books. I have little spare time, but when I do, it’s making sure I’m putting out the best books that I can. I don’t write to market, so maybe I’ll never be bestseller. I have to come to terms with that. This lump, whatever it is, has made me re-evaluate what is important. And that’s to be proud of every book. Every word written. The way I have conducted myself even during the time my name was mud. I never bit back. I apologised directly for any wrongdoing that was born out of naivety and ignorance. I’ve never sent 1*’s to those who were part of all that, like they have to me. I’ve concentrated on my books. Cause I got a lot of other shit to contend with now rather than to pander to twats on the internet.

Don’t get me wrong though, I have met some truly amazing people during my 5 years of being published. I have a publisher and an editor who took a chance on a no-body and stood by me after the tirade, believing that I had something of worth to them. I’ve met some wonderful authors who I hope I can call my friends. I’ve gathered some awesome readers who cheer me on with their likes and comments, without them (you, maybe?), I wouldn’t keep doing this. I’ve found an epically talented narrator who is also one top gent who seems to love my stuff as much as me, and I thank him, enormously, for his generosity, his kindness, his ego-stroking, and his utter professionalism with getting things right. Cause he’s brought my characters to life, giving them a charm that my words alone couldn’t.

I achieved my goal. To be published. Everything else is added sprinkles.

So, to end, as I gotta sometime, I’ll say that I’m trying to think about my author life differently. I’m going to stop worrying that I don’t fit in. Stop muting myself through fear. Stop the imposter syndrome. Stop the crippling anxiety that makes me delete my posts in author groups and in author forums through fear people won’t like me, or worse ignore me. I’m going to stop comparing myself to those who churn out book after book and ride the wave of Amazon algorithms and ratings. Well done to you all. Congratulations. I’ll gaze in awe at you from the back, hoping that maybe one day, I’ll be considered a hidden gem.

That’s what I want on my gravestone: Here lies a hidden gem.