C.F. White's Blog, page 4

Responsible Adult Box Set OUT NOW!

Hey there!

If you haven’t had the chance to read my debut series Responsible Adult, consisting of Misdemeanor, Hard Time or Reformed, then now is your chance to get your hands on all THREE books at a discounted price by buying the entire box set. And might I say, this is a great idea as book one has the pretty dangerous cliffhanger so you’ll need the next book a mere scroll away! 

Here’s the link to the box set that Pride have released from TODAY! 

If you’re still unsure whether to take the leap and read these rather angsty, rather gritty and rather realistic portrayal of small-town Britain, then read on for some exclusive snippets from each book! 

Responsible Adult Serial

The Responsible Adult series follows bad boy Micky O’Neill as he attempts to better his life to bring up his disabled little brother. A past full of juvenile delinquency and living in a small town rife with idle gossip means Micky struggles to be seen as anything other than a no-hoper from the wrong side of the tracks… until he takes a job at the local supermarket and meets his boss, Dan, a university graduate and self-proclaimed shy, awkward bookworm.

Dan, older and burned from a past relationship, is the one person who sees through Micky’s tough-guy façade to the true heart underneath. With fear and mistrust on both sides, the two must steer their way through a complicated relationship where outside forces are determined to break them up at every turn.

Responsible Adult is a series about growing up and learning that falling in love always brings responsibility.

Fifteen minutes later, Micky came looking for them. He rested against the door frame of Flynn’s room. The lights were off, but Flynn’s torch shone down on the book Dan was reading. Dan’s long legs almost came off the end of the bed and Flynn’s little head rested on Dan’s shoulder, listening intently to the passages from The Gruffalo. Dan did all the voices, which made Flynn giggle and demand more. Micky watched for a while, unnoticed, taking in the sight while trying to figure out what the feelings bubbling up inside his stomach were. After a while, he cleared his throat and pushed off the door frame.

“Sleep time, Flynn,” Micky said. He held out a syringe full of yellow liquid and walked into the room. “Meds.”

Dan sat up from the bed and scooted his legs off as Micky bent down and Flynn opened his mouth to take the medicine. Flynn never complained anymore. He was used to it.

“Night, night, Dan,” Flynn said and threw his arms around him.

Dan returned the hug and stood.

“Night, night, Micky.”

Micky leaned down to give his brother a kiss. Flynn pressed a finger onto his eye, then onto his chest, then pointed it at Micky and giggled, shuffling farther down under the duvet.

“Love you, too, kid.”

Micky turned off the torch, placed it on the bedside table and switched on the frog-shaped nightlight. He nodded, indicating for Dan to follow him out.

Downstairs, Micky handed Dan a glass of wine and they settled on opposite ends of the sofa.

“He’s cute, your brother,” Dan said, taking a sip of the wine.

“Yeah,” Micky agreed. “Livewire, too. Cheers for playing with him today. That’ll have him made up for weeks.”

“No problem. I enjoyed it.” Dan took another gulp of wine. He ran a finger around the rim of the glass, making it sing against the moisture. “I do have to admit something, though.”

“Yeah, what’s that?” Micky asked, taking a drink from his own glass. He hadn’t drunk any alcohol in a really long time. He couldn’t have it in the house and, as he never went out anymore, there was no real reason to drink it. Which meant the couple of mouthfuls he’d consumed went straight to his head. He felt the fuzzy cloud drifting over his mind and the warming sensation soothing his body. It was dangerous. But he kept drinking, anyway.

“I was only doing it to get closer to you,” Dan finally admitted.

Micky laughed. “No shit, Sherlock.” He drank another gulp of wine, the contents in his glass nearing the end.

Dan’s eyes glazed over as he rested his head back on the sofa and smiled over at Micky.

“What?”

“You are an enigma,” Dan said. He pointed a finger out from around his wineglass, then shook his head and chuckled, taking yet another sip.

“Not really,” Micky replied. “I’m an onion.”

“What?” Dan asked, narrowing his eyes in confusion.

“Not seen Shrek? Lots of layers,” Micky explained. “And if you start to peel mine off, you’ll probably end up in tears.”

Dan’s smile faded and he widened his eyes, not letting them falter from Micky’s gaze. Micky shrugged. He was intrigued as to where Dan might take all this. If he were brave enough. Dan shuffled up to sit straighter, the foam seat ruffling underneath him. Twisting his wineglass between his palms, Dan took a deep breath. He gazed down into the wine for a moment, watching the reflective swirl from the ceiling spotlight above.

“I really want to kiss you,” Dan finally breathed out.

Micky didn’t say anything. The tingling on his lips started again, so he rested the cool glass against them to tone it down a bit. He took a last swig of wine, throwing his head back to finish off the remnants. After placing his drink on the floor, he shuffled in the seat to face Dan.

Dan finally looked up, his face serious, dimples hidden behind a mask of fear and desire.

“What are you waiting for? A written invitation?” Micky taunted.

“I think you’re right,” Dan said.

Micky glanced up, finally looking Dan in the eye. Dan smiled and saw the ease of Micky’s shoulders. He nodded at Flynn.

“Wales would be good for him,” Dan explained.

Micky peered back to his brother and watched for a while. He breathed in deeply and scratched at the contents within his pockets. Dan could practically see the thinking process going on behind his eyes. He had to bite his tongue not to demand that Micky spill whatever was on his mind.

“We could go now,” Micky finally said, still looking out at his brother.

Dan glided the hand ruffling through Micky’s hair down to his back and let it drift away. He shuffled and searched his brain for a response. He seriously hoped Micky wasn’t suggesting what he thought he was. Running now could never be an option. He knew that. Micky would know that. The question was, he supposed, did Micky really care at this point?

“What?” Dan urged quietly.

“Fuck all this, Dan,” Micky said more forcefully and scraped his hands out of his trousers to slap down to his thighs. “Why wait around in fucking limbo, letting other people decide what happens to me? To him.” Micky waved a hand in Flynn’s general direction and turned to finally look Dan in the eye. “To us,” he stated poignantly.

“Micky—” Dan cautioned.

“What, Dan?” Micky scorned. “This place is toxic. For me. For Flynn. I’ve never really understood that until now. Until you.” Micky twisted to face Dan and glided a thumb across his cheek. “There’s a shit ton of bad memories on every street corner here. I need to start fresh. You said you’d always come find me. Or wait for me. But will you follow me?”

“I miss you, Dimples.”

Dan exhaled. Which probably sounded like a hurricane down the phone. At least Micky chuckled.
“I miss you, too, baby.” Dan curled his hand around the wooden pillar and squeezed, regardless of the splinters it could cause to his palm. “Real bad.”

“I’m going to get better, Dan. I promise.”

Dan blinked. Micky sounded like he was slurring, or that could have been the added distance and crackle of signal going in and out of range.
“What do you mean?”

“I’m a shit boyfriend. I know I am. When I get back, I’m going to be better. I swear to fucking God, when Flynn gets outta here, I’m gonna get my head screwed on.”

Dan stumbled forward down the front step, doing his utmost to get a better range of signal. Micky’s voice was garbled and not just because he was pouring his heart out.

“Micky, baby.” Dan sat on one of the wooden benches and rested his elbows on his knees. He was shaking. He didn’t like the way Micky was talking.

“And, y’know, screw you good and proper.”

Dan laughed, but it was drowned out by the raucous one that wafted from the open pub door when a man popped out to light up a cigarette. Dan stood and fumbled farther away from the entrance to the edge of the car park.

“Where are you?”

Dan scrunched up his face. He spun to look back at the Old Red Lion. He should tell the truth. But something in Micky’s voice made him twist and bundle farther into the darkened valley.
“At home. Just putting the rubbish out.”

Dan closed his eyes. There was a brief pause the other end of the line. Dan’s hand shook as he held the phone to his ear.

“I love you, Dan. I do. And I’m sorry.”

“Get home, Micky.” Dan trotted faster down the valley, heading toward home, not bothering to go back for the jacket he’d left on the pub chair. “Bring Flynn home. And we’ll talk it all out.” He practically ran the rest of the way. “I love you, too.”
 

I hope I’ve whet your appetite to try this series. As my debut, these books were and still are so important to me. If not solely for introducing the world to Flynn – a little boy with a rare disability called Williams Syndrome that makes him overly social, deliriously happy and a  full of joy! In fact, I’ll let Micky explain him a little:

“He’s an eternal child, sees the world like a fairytale minus the evil characters. Everything is bright, everything is beautiful and everyone is his friend.” Micky paused. “It’s a real shame life isn’t like that. Because a world full of Flynn’s would be the onw I wanna live in.”

Until next time…

This image captures how we leave Micky, Dan and Flynn in the Responsible Adult series perfectly. A family. At last.

Autism Awareness Blog Hop & Giveaway

Today I’m here as part of R J Scott’s Autism Awareness Blog hop where we authors are coming together to offer facts about autism. Here’s mine and it’s a bloody important one – Over the last two decades, extensive research has asked whether there is any link between childhood vaccinations and autism. The results of this research are clear: Vaccines do not cause autism. FACT.

I had to be part of this blog tour as Autism and special needs plays a big part in my life. Not only do I have a child with a disability, but I worked for an Autism charity supporting families through diagnosis. They currently have an awesome awareness raising campaign called Dare to be Different. It’s a chance to dress up, have fun, forget the “social norms” and be different whilst demystifying Autism Spectrum Disorder.

But I’m here to talk about childhood toys….

Childhood Toys Can Be Forever

It’s rather poignant for me to be discussing this subject at the moment, as it’s my little kid’s birthday! He turned 6 at the end of March, so toys are a huge part of his life at the moment. I say at the moment, when in reality toys are going to be a huge part of his life forever.

Here’s him with the only thing he asked for – a drumming bear! They don’t make these toys anymore. My kid had seen it on You Tube and talked about it for months before. It would have broken his heart to not have opened this on his birthday. Thank heavens for ebay!

Finlay was born with a rare disability called Williams Syndrome. He has learning difficulties, along with other medical and complex needs. For those that don’t know what this means for him, he’ll have the outlook of a child forever. And that’s absolutely fine with me! Because we can sometimes forget the sheer joy that childhood brings. We get bogged down with our teenaged angst, the following adolescent drama and the bouts of stressful adulting. We forget to stop and take in the joy of the world around us and see it from a child’s perspective. That’s something my Finlay will be able to do forever. Lucky him!

Finlay will always have that natural innocence. Part of his condition means he has no awareness of danger, he’s overly social and enjoys absolutely everything. And I mean everything. A crisp packet floating in the breeze will have him dancing with delight. A lone flower on a rose bush will make him stop and sniff and he’ll call it beautiful. Counting the bin bags put out on a Friday on our walk to school has him clapping in excitement as to who has the most. He finds joy in everything.

I wrote a character based on him in my debut series, Responsible Adult, because I had to portray what an absolute delight he is to be around. So I’ll let Micky – Flynn’s big, protective brother in the Responsible Adult series – tell you what he’s like:

“He’s like an eternal child. Everything is bright, everything is beautiful, and everyone is his friend.” Micky paused. “It’s a real shame life isn’t like that, because a world full of Flynn’s would be the world I wanna live in.” 
– Micky, Misdemeanor (Responsible Adult #1)

https://www.pride-publishing.com/book/responsible-adult-box-set

When I was a kid, toys were in certain age categories. And
don’t get me started on gender categories. I’m sure that someone else will tell
that story! You’d go to the section in the toy store that says, preschool toys,
toddler toys etc. And if you were caught down the wrong aisle, you felt
embarrassed. If you didn’t pick the right toy, the flavour of the month, the
in-thing at that moment, then you were ridiculed. My older boy has the weight
of that on his shoulders. The only kid without a fidget spinner, or whatever it
was at the time, was unbearable for him.

Finlay, however, doesn’t care for fashion. He cares for what makes him happy. And what makes him jump for joy are the light up, singing, talk-to-you “baby” toys that you secretly hope will run out of batteries. They do eventually, FYI, just after a very, very long time.

I was in Tesco the other day and he likes to be let out of his seat to roam the toy aisle. I allow this, because there’s got to be some reward for him to be strapped into his trolley seat while I do the boring weekly shop. He presses everything, he laughs, he sings, he jumps up and down and cuddles every soft toy. I stand and smile, inside my heart bursting with joy. All he wants is to play. And he wants you to play with him. Occasionally he will become fixated on something and ask to take it home. After I’ve baulked at the price, I’ll decide whether I can bare another overly-cheerful singing bear in my house.

The answer is always yes. Because I have an overly-cheerful,
singing, dancing, loving son to go with it. Who am I to deny him a friend?

But I’ve got to the counter before, with my 6 year old in
his trolley seat that he’s apparently too big for (I won’t start on the need
for more special needs trolleys to strap older kids in) and playing with a
singing bath toy that says it’s for 6month-2year olds, then had the serving
lady say he’s too old to be playing with baby toys.

Who’s too old to play with toys? Who made toys have age
ranges on them? I get that there is a need to say that the toy might be
unsuitable for under three year olds, but why is there a maximum age on a toy?
Why can’t my 6 year old play with a toy designed to help speech and language
when that’s something he struggles with at 6 years old? Why does he have to be
laughed at or ridiculed for wanting a talking penguin? Why when we go to a soft
play that has a designated area filled with baby toys, is he not allowed to
play with them because he’s too old? Why can’t we all throw these rigid barriers
away and have fun? Why can’t we all find our inner child, our inner-Flynn, and
enjoy a toy for what it was made for – having fun!

Remember that toy you loved as a child? Take it out one day, or find it on Amazon or a toy store, buy it and play with it. Whether it was a toy train, a Barbie, a head with hair to plait, or a singing, dancing, flashing light-up talking animal. Have a go. It might make you smile.

Tom Hanks in Big

This blog post was part of the RJ Scott Autism Awareness blog hop. You can find out more about this and who else is getting involved here: rjscott.co.uk/autism19 

I’m also offering a giveaway today of an ebook of your choice from my District Line series. Kick Off (The District Line #1), Break Through (The District Line #2) or Come Back (The District Line #3). You can enter by submitting a comment and you’ll go into a draw at the end of the month!

Can a romance between a Premier League footballer and a Rock Star really have a HEA?

E

And whilst we are on the subject of special children, I’m supporting a local charity that is in desperate need of funds to keep their vital services open. First Step in a charity specialising in supporting children with disabilities and/or special needs and their families. Last year they lost ALL of their local authority funding, citing that these children can get the support from mainstream provision. This is an utter travesty as this service is second to none and they have personally supported me into my journey as a special needs parent. For more information on our plight to save First Step, read the local article here.

If you can spare a little change to offer this charity to help keep their doors open for disabled children to receive specialised pre-school care, and a supporting foundation for their entire families, then please donate on First Step Just Giving page.

If you do donate, I’ll be happy to offer an ebook in return from any of my back catalogue

Kick Off with a Playlist!

I’ve had a few people ask me about the musical influences behind the District Line series. With MC Seb being a musician, singer/songwriter and overall awesome rock-God, I often get asked what the series anthum would be.

So I thought I’d address that question with this: Yes, it’s The District Line – Album!

It’s no secret that I was heavily influenced by Green Day music and more importantly, lead singer himself, Billie-Joe Armstrong, when I wrote these books originally on Wattpad. This quote itself seems to sum up Sebastian…

The rewrite of the District Line books as they are now, Kick Off, Break Through and Come Back, saw Seb and his band come into their own, but the music was still a huge influence for many of the scenes and in creating the characters. With Seb being a musician and singer/songwriter, I couldn’t not get immersed into what I would imagine he would write in his lyrics, and the music he would have in his head whilst going through the motions of falling in love with Jay, when I wrote the books.

So I created a playlist with the songs that helped shape and form this series. Each song is linked to a direct scene or feeling/mood within the three books, and I’d happily go through each song with you and which scene it would be for. But maybe it’s best to leave some things to your imagination. You can always ask in the comments if you like

Come Back (The District Line#3) Exclusive First Chapter!

I'm psyched to announce that the long wait for the final instalment of the District Line series will be coming to an end on 10 December 2018! But, even more magnificent, is that you can PRE ORDER your copy from TODAY. That's right, Come Back (The District Line #3) can be one clicked today and delivered right to your kindle on 10 December 2018. That means you can complete the series before Christmas! Woo hoo! And, because I'm so excited for you all to read it, I've put the whole FIRST CHAPTER on here for you to get all tingly about and hopefully then go over and pre order the book. 'Cause we really do need to know if Jay and Seb can get their HEA, right, right? So read on for an exclusive...The bigger you become, the harder you fall.Sebastian Saunders is a rising rock star. Jay Ruttman is a Premier League football player. Their year-long relationship is hot commodity. Hounded by the press and fans alike, the lovers struggle to keep their private lives private.Flying high in the charts and having Jay by his side, Seb is finally living his dream. But Jay’s new, promising career is threatened when a horrific injury on the pitch has him side lined—not only in the game but also in his relationship with Seb.Jay’s crippling self-destruction spirals out of control, tearing them apart. To move forward, both men must learn to leave their past behind—not so easy when it keeps coming back to haunt them. Can their hard-fought relationship survive the ultimate test?This is the concluding part to the District Line series where the full-time whistle could signal an end to their turbulent journey… or is it just the beginning?Chapter OneMovers & ShakersJanuary 2007“Y’know they just make you look more conspicuous down here, dun’t ya?”Seb curled a finger around the arm of his shades and slipped them to the end of his nose, his chocolate-brown doe eyes focusing on Jay. “Conspicuous?”Jay raised his eyebrows to the point they were hidden underneath the peak of his baseball cap. He stepped in closer to Seb, avoiding another influx of commuters to the Underground platform. The musty smell of a day’s office work wafted from the nearest suited male, masking the dust and cast-iron scent, and the echoed tap of kitten heels ricocheted off the curved walls.Tutting, Seb slipped the glasses back up. “That’s four syllables, Champ.” Bashed by another oversized handbag passing him, Seb grimaced. “Careful, you’ll quash the stereotypical notion that footballers are all as thick as shit.”Jay snorted and glanced up to the digital timetable display. “Two minutes.”“Fuck’s sake, why did you have to trade in our tangerine machine? We could have used that car right now.”“I had to, to get the upgraded motor. Least the BMW will be more subtle. With blacked-out windas, an’ all.”“Damn right. But we could have taken a cab.”“And fork out a fuck ton to pay some geezer to sit us in midday traffic? No, ta.”“Isn’t now a little prudent to be counting the pennies? If that last contract you signed at West Ham for a cool half a mil is anything to go by.” Seb tsked. “New money.”“I’ll always count my kilkennies,” Jay retaliated. “No matter what I earn now. Just like you’ll always be an entitled rich kid who throws away his mash the moment it touches his sky rocket.”“I won’t even attempt to decipher what you just said.” Seb twirled a crunchy tip of dark brown hair between his fingers. “And I swear you do it to confuse the fuck out of me.”“Nah. I just know you like it.”“Ha.” Seb ran his tongue along his front teeth. “That I do. Say more.”Jay chuckled. A group of rowdy lads bundled down the underground steps to the platform, each one wearing a replica Tottenham football shirt, and the remnants of their drinking session hit Jay in the face. Jay cursed under his breath. Why he’d agreed to do this on the same day as a London derby was due to kick off, he’d never know. Edging closer to the yellow line, he impatiently awaited the next train hoping to avoid any undue attention.It had been getting harder to venture out in public, but he couldn’t remain inside with Seb forever. Not that it was a particularly bad thing when they did get to close the doors to their poky flat and shut out the world for a while.“Ah, bollocks.” Seb shoved Jay on the arm and squirmed through a crowd of commuters. “Who the fuck invented a fucking camera on a fucking phone? How is that ever going to be fucking useful?”Stumbling to the end of the platform, Jay peered over Seb’s shoulder. The flash of a mobile camera illuminated the tunnel, and all the other passengers scrambled to see who or what had been the target of the non-consensual snap. Him? Seb? Both of them. Together. Bowing his head, Jay gripped the peak of his cap to conceal as much of his face as possible into the shadows.This was also taking some getting used to—the attention, the random cameras being shoved in his face, the recognition on the street that his status as one of the top goal scorers of last season had brought him. Seb seemed to take the attention in his stride. But he’d always been destined for celebrity status, and revelled in the public’s scrutiny. Like a moth to a flame, Seb was drawn to the bright lights of the media circus they’d inadvertently created for themselves. Jay wouldn’t have him any other way, of course. Well... Maybe sometimes.“The specs ain’t working.”“Nor is the cap.” Seb slapped the peak of Jay’s hat and it fell to obscure his vision.“Piss off.” Ripping it from his head, Jay huffed and slicked back his floppy blond hair. His hooded sweatshirt rose to reveal his stomach, but he slapped it down, double lively, on seeing Seb’s roaming gaze. “And you can put your tongue back in.”He almost wiped the corner of Seb’s mouth with his thumb. But that would have caused even more of a stir, and they’d made their pact not to fuel the speculation in the press about them. Jay may have outed himself last year, but he refused to speak of his love life—of Seb. Keeping that firmly in the shadows aided his survival on the pitch, the training ground, the changing rooms, even if he claimed it was so Seb could find his own path without the links to him. And he was.“You show those abs,” Seb licked his lips, “and I’m going to drool. Sue me. I got a lawyer.”“Speakin’ of cash...”The tube train shunted into the station and the doors bleeped open, stifling the conversation that Jay had been meaning to have for a while. Well, since this had all got a bit more serious. Steering Seb onto the carriage, Jay pointed toward two vacated seats and Seb grabbed the copy of the Metro newspaper left on the multicoloured cushion.“Hmm?” Seb sat and flicked through the pages, eyes hidden behind his dark glasses, but Jay knew they’d be darting across the printed words and no longer focused on him. Priorities. Not for the latest news in the capital: probably more for the entertainment section. The hottest in music releases, more specifically.“We need to get the finances sorted.”“Like how?”“The club are setting up a meetin’ with an agent, so I gotta know what we got between us.”“An agent? Why do you need one of those money-grabbing sleazes?” Seb slapped the paper to his lap. “You have me to swipe your hard-earned cash off your hands.”“Ain’t that the truth. But the club recommended it. Could be a good move. Getting someone to, y’know, deal with all the shit. Especially with what we’re about to go do right now.”Seb chewed his lip. “How much?”“They’ll take ten percent.”“Of your wages?”“No, off my boot laces.” Jay tutted.“That’ll make it hard to kick a ball.”The train pulled out of the station and Jay rocked against the window pane. The raucous banter from the group of lads all squashed into the vestibule drowned out the squeal of the metal wheels on the track. Jay tensed, wriggling in the seat and adjusted his trackie bottoms down his legs. This train couldn’t go quick enough.“And what do these people do for the sweat off your back?” Seb returned his interest to the Metro.“Sort my life out.”“They’ll tell you to stay in the closet.”“Bit hard that now, innit?”Seb smiled. “Whatever you want, Champ.” He trailed his gaze back to the printed text on the newspaper. “But you are aware of my own background in business? I can sort your finances out into various investments that’ll mean you won’t be destitute by the time you’re thirty.”“You mean, put my hard-earned dough into your band?”“No sell-by date on rock and roll. Look at Bowie.” Seb grinned. “No, you don’t need an agent. You just need some sweet talker to answer all those OK! And Hello requests. What about your dad? Surely the man wants to give the decorating stint up at his age? I would pay good money to read John Ruttman’s response to a photo shoot, ‘fuck off sweet’art, my son ain’t no piece of meat to sell your shit rag so you can stop getting’ your knickers in flap over ’im. And you at the Mail, you homophobic twat with a microphone, you can go fuck yourself. ‘”Jay glared. Hard. “And that’s the reason, right there, why you ain’t allowed to talk to the press.”Seb chuckled.“And my old man don’t speak like that.”“Pretty much word for word what he said when the journo’s knocked on his door after your press conference. Absolute legend. The man’s going down in history. Love him.”“I meant the accent. It was shit.”“Knees up, Mother Brown.” Seb over pronounced every blasted syllable.Drumming his fingers on his knee, Jay settled back in the seat. Seb had been right, they should have got a cab. But Jay’s habit for saving money was so deep-rooted that he hadn’t been able to shed it even after a year of earning a professional footballer’s wage. Now on a packed tube train at the busiest time of the day, with a bunch of football supporters heckling through the latest scores, Jay’s instinctive fear was getting the better of him. Splashing out on a little indulgence, like Seb might say, would have been better all round.One of the blokes slammed up against the pane beside Jay’s seat, rattling the glass and Jay’s nerves. The geezer shoved his mate out of the way and started up with a play fight inappropriate for a packed tube ride. New Year in the city and people go mad.“What a fucking load of wank.” Seb slammed the paper shut.“What is?”“My latest album is not a pitiful self-indulgent ramble from a group of private school boys trying to proclaim the working-class hero subculture as my own.” Pouting, he shoved the Metro between his and Jay’s seats.“What was it then?”Seb crossed his arms, jiggling his leg so the designer rip on his black drainpipe jeans tore farther across his knee. “Firstly, Kensington Boys is a state school.”“Yeah, but you were at private school before that.”“Unnecessary details.” Seb waved a hand. “Secondly, the album was a deep and meaningful glance into the angst of discovering who you are and where you really belong.” He grinned. “And a brief fuck-you to the bourgeois hypocrisy.”Jay nodded. “Yeah. Your usual stuff.”“Don’t humour me.”“I ain’t. It was good.” Jay shrugged. “What do you care what a tosser from the Metro thinks, anyway? Don’t ever read the rags. That’s what I’ve learned. Ain’t worth the agg. What does some journo who sits on the side lines know about it? He ain’t out on the pitch, doing it.”“Good point.”“You got to number one. So, fuck ’em.” Jay smiled. “Can be our New Year motto if you like?”Seb bounced his knee, but his arms did unfurl from their stiffness. For all Seb’s confidence and the fuck-you to the world he composed on a daily basis through his rocking guitar-riff songs, he could be seriously affected by a local rag review. No matter, Jay would relieve that for him later. After they’d done the grown-up stuff, that was.“Next stop.” Jay nodded to the sign and flinched when another loud burst of laughter exploded from the group beside them.The train screeched into the next station and Jay shot up from his seat. He had to squeeze through the lads, accidentally stepping on one of their toes. “Sorry, mate.” He tapped the man’s arm in apology.“Watch it.” The bloke spat lager breath onto Jay’s face, then stopped, gawked and pointed. “Fuckin’ ’ell. Lads, it’s Rutters. From West Ham.”“What, the queer?” another one blurted out, scrambling through the mob to get a proper look. “You should be on the girls’ team, mate!”Head down, Jay jumped off the train with his heart pounding and gut wrenched in knots. Another thing he should be used to by now—the casual homophobia of fickle football fans. It never made it any easier to cope with, no matter how many times he heard the usual rants. And certainly not when on a packed train and having to witness his boyfriend swivelling his middle finger in the air whilst bounding off the carriage behind him.The lads all bundled forward, and Jay had to grab Seb’s arm to yank him away. Luckily, the doors dinged shut, preventing the group from clambering off and no doubt pummelling Seb, and him, to the concrete. Instead, they all offered the wank sign through the glass and Seb had delight in keeping his skull and crossbones tattoo erected high until the train had left the station.Jay shook his head, inhaling a fierce breath.“What?” Seb slapped his arm down to his side.“You remember our deal, right?”Seb smiled. Then shrugged. “Fuck ’em?”“Keep everything on the low-key. Don’t make a scene, don’t engage, don’t—”“Retaliate. I know, I know.” Seb angled his head and they both made their way to exit the station via the twist of steps and emerged outside where the freezing mid-evening temperature smacked Jay in the mouth.He yanked his hood over his cap and rubbed his hands together, shaking his head at Seb’s inappropriate slim-fit leather jacket barely being any protector for the thin T-shirt beneath.“Right, this way.” Jay tugged on Seb’s fingers, but he didn’t entwine his with them. He couldn’t. Not here. Not after what had just happened on the train. Will I ever be able to?Seb hurried alongside him, through the bustling high street, passing the gastro pubs, the trinket gift shops selling Harry Potter memorabilia and university branded hoodies. They ambled through the busy market place wafting an array of international spicy street foods, and dodged the after-work crowd bundling into the nearest boozer with an open fire.A stone-brick church stood on the corner, prominent along the cobbled streets, and gazed down on the area as its master and protector. Jay chucked a left, leading Seb over the road and snaked through the bumper-to-bumper cars until they hit the first residential street. Everything calmed to the point that the tweet of birds were noticeable over the burst of exhaust fumes.“This one.” Jay stopped, squinting as he lifted the shield of his cap.Seb’s mouth fell open.“You like it?”“Shit, Jay. It’s—”“Ain’t as big as your Kensington gaff, I know, but it’s five bed. Music room already sound-proofed. Kitchen-diner. Conservatory and two reception rooms. Ain’t got a clue why you need two—”“One for guests.”“Well, yeah. ’Spose we could shove Martin, Noah and Ann in one room and we fuck off in the other.”“That’s a recipe for disaster, and a headline waiting to happen.”Jay chuckled, then tilted his head toward the house. “It’s also got all the latest security features. Take it you wanna go in?”Seb grinned, then leaned closer to whisper in Jay’s ear. “Try and stop me, Champ.”That warm soft breath danced down Jay’s spine, but he shook it off to allow Seb to walk through the open gates first.It didn’t take much convincing on Jay’s part. Not that he thought it would. He knew Seb needed more room with their Limehouse loft flat now filled to the brim with Seb’s music gear. The stunning light-brick detached house situated in one of the more affluent areas of Greenwich, east London, had already been refurbished and decked out to pristine standards. Even without Seb’s knowledge of property development, Jay knew this was the right place for them. And after one brief look around with the vendors, Jay signed on the dotted line with Seb’s signature scrawled beside his. Their house. Their first joint home. Seb might be crap with money, but Jay had managed to get him to save enough of his royalties over the past year of touring the indie music scene in order to afford the hefty mortgage on the place. Things were looking up. Ain’t nothing, not even the slurs from those wankers who think there ain’t room in football for a gay player, can ruin this.“Come on.” Jay nudged Seb with his elbow as they emerged back out to the street. “Got one more thing to check out.”“What?”“Let’s run.”Seb blinked. “What?” He shot a frantic look over his shoulder. “Why? Which paps are chasing us now?”“None. Thank, fuck. But we’re right by the park. Run with me. To the top and back. Promise the view is worth it.”“Baby, I love you. I do. And you know I’ll do anything for love.” Seb breathed in, glancing up the street to Greenwich Park and its huge slanted hill. “But I won’t do that.” He grinned. “Meatloaf, F Y I.”Jay tutted. “I know. See you up there, then.”He bounded across the road, setting a pace to pound the pavement until he reached the black gates to enter the park. It was generally a clear run, but he could imagine how the place would get crowded in the summer months with it being the optimal place for kite flying and other family sporting endeavours. This season, though, it was mainly a few couples snuggled together on the benches dotted beside the greenery, and dog walkers sipping from take-out coffee cups. Jay smiled, inhaling the scent of fresh, cold air that he drew into his lungs to sprint faster up the steep rise. Off-season, he’d still need to maintain his fitness and this hill work-out would be perfect for morning runs, and dusk ones if he could ever convince Seb to come with him.The January wind chill slapped against his cheeks, that ever-present reminder of his early morning runs from his old gaff in Plaistow to the university in Beckton. Where he’d met Seb. That industrial working-class east end he’d grown up in now swapped for the affluent and leafy Greenwich with his live-in boyfriend. Pretty amazing how much life changes within a couple of years. Reaching the top, he swerved in front of the bronze statue of General Wolfe and, hands on hips, breathed in the glorious view. The crisp, clear sky allowed for the winter’s sun to shine over the city. His London. Although, now, it felt bigger.The Royal Museums of London and the University of Greenwich spread out before him like a panoramic picture-postcard. Beyond that curved the River Thames, and farther still new London appeared in Canary Wharf’s gleaming silver skyscrapers that reflected the sun’s rays, along with the iconic rods poking out of the 02’s dome like structure. The view brought a whole new level of beauty to a city that Jay had grown up in. That he’d never leave. He’d just made it to the top. And he planned to stay there. Even if that meant having to live as far away from the flurry to keep his life as much in the shadows as he could.“Hey.” Emerging from the pedestrian walkway a short time after, Seb sipped through the hole in a plastic top of a cardboard cup and offered over one to Jay. “No sugar. No syrup. No milk. No taste.”“Cheers.” Jay took the cup and ignored the jibe. Water. He smiled as he took a sip. Seb had learned that nothing was allowed to slip through the net of Jay’s strict diet now it was controlled by the club’s nutritionist, not even for him.“I was not in any way prepared for running.” Seb held out his arms in display of his tight ripped jeans, fitted shirt and leather jacket. “Next time. I promise.”“Sure.”They slid down to sit on the grassy bank, taking in the view that now belonged to them. Seb slurped away on his no-doubt sugary sweet coffee, not saying a word. Not even singing, or humming.“You’re unusually quiet,” Jay remarked, voice low.Seb waved a hand, indicating the view.“I know, right.” Jay leaned back on one arm. “It’s somethin’ else, innit?”“Yes. Yes, it is.” Seb gripped the cup between his legs and inhaled, his chest rising. “This’ll do, Champ. This’ll do. So us.”Jay swallowed. It was. It was so them. Away from everything and up in the clouds. Things were different down there, amongst the hustle and bustle. Least he could stay here for a while.Until football beckoned.

Come Back (The District Line#3) Exclusive First Chapter!

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I’m psyched to announce that the long wait for the final instalment of the District Line series will be coming to an end on 10 December 2018! But, even more magnificent, is that you can PRE ORDER your copy from TODAY. 

That’s right, Come Back (The District Line #3) can be one clicked today and delivered right to your kindle on 10 December 2018. That means you can complete the series before Christmas! Woo hoo! 

And, because I’m so excited for you all to read it, I’ve put the whole FIRST CHAPTER on here for you to get all tingly about and hopefully then go over and pre order the book. ‘Cause we really do need to know if Jay and Seb can get their HEA, right, right? 

So read on for an exclusive…

The bigger you become, the harder you fall.

Sebastian Saunders is a rising rock star. Jay Ruttman is a Premier League football player. Their year-long relationship is hot commodity. Hounded by the press and fans alike, the lovers struggle to keep their private lives private.

Flying high in the charts and having Jay by his side, Seb is finally living his dream. But Jay’s new, promising career is threatened when a horrific injury on the pitch has him side lined—not only in the game but also in his relationship with Seb.

Jay’s crippling self-destruction spirals out of control, tearing them apart. To move forward, both men must learn to leave their past behind—not so easy when it keeps coming back to haunt them. Can their hard-fought relationship survive the ultimate test?

This is the concluding part to the District Line series where the full-time whistle could signal an end to their turbulent journey… or is it just the beginning?

Chapter One

Movers & Shakers

January 2007

“Y’know they just make you look more conspicuous down here, dun’t ya?”

Seb curled a finger around the arm of his shades and slipped them to the end of his nose, his chocolate-brown doe eyes focusing on Jay. “Conspicuous?”

Jay raised his eyebrows to the point they were hidden underneath the peak of his baseball cap. He stepped in closer to Seb, avoiding another influx of commuters to the Underground platform. The musty smell of a day’s office work wafted from the nearest suited male, masking the dust and cast-iron scent, and the echoed tap of kitten heels ricocheted off the curved walls.

Tutting, Seb slipped the glasses back up. “That’s four syllables, Champ.” Bashed by another oversized handbag passing him, Seb grimaced. “Careful, you’ll quash the stereotypical notion that footballers are all as thick as shit.”

Jay snorted and glanced up to the digital timetable display. “Two minutes.”

“Fuck’s sake, why did you have to trade in our tangerine machine? We could have used that car right now.”

“I had to, to get the upgraded motor. Least the BMW will be more subtle. With blacked-out windas, an’ all.”

“Damn right. But we could have taken a cab.”

“And fork out a fuck ton to pay some geezer to sit us in midday traffic? No, ta.”

“Isn’t now a little prudent to be counting the pennies? If that last contract you signed at West Ham for a cool half a mil is anything to go by.” Seb tsked. “New money.”

“I’ll always count my kilkennies,” Jay retaliated. “No matter what I earn now. Just like you’ll always be an entitled rich kid who throws away his mash the moment it touches his sky rocket.”

“I won’t even attempt to decipher what you just said.” Seb twirled a crunchy tip of dark brown hair between his fingers. “And I swear you do it to confuse the fuck out of me.”

“Nah. I just know you like it.”

“Ha.” Seb ran his tongue along his front teeth. “That I do. Say more.”

Jay chuckled. A group of rowdy lads bundled down the underground steps to the platform, each one wearing a replica Tottenham football shirt, and the remnants of their drinking session hit Jay in the face. Jay cursed under his breath. Why he’d agreed to do this on the same day as a London derby was due to kick off, he’d never know. Edging closer to the yellow line, he impatiently awaited the next train hoping to avoid any undue attention.

It had been getting harder to venture out in public, but he couldn’t remain inside with Seb forever. Not that it was a particularly bad thing when they did get to close the doors to their poky flat and shut out the world for a while.

“Ah, bollocks.” Seb shoved Jay on the arm and squirmed through a crowd of commuters. “Who the fuck invented a fucking camera on a fucking phone? How is that ever going to be fucking useful?”

Stumbling 

to the end of the platform, Jay peered over Seb’s shoulder. The flash of a mobile camera illuminated the tunnel, and all the other passengers scrambled to see who or what had been the target of the non-consensual snap. Him? Seb? Both of them. Together. Bowing his head, Jay gripped the peak of his cap to conceal as much of his face as possible into the shadows.

This was also taking some getting used to—the attention, the random cameras being shoved in his face, the recognition on the street that his status as one of the top goal scorers of last season had brought him. Seb seemed to take the attention in his stride. But he’d always been destined for celebrity status, and revelled in the public’s scrutiny. Like a moth to a flame, Seb was drawn to the bright lights of the media circus they’d inadvertently created for themselves. Jay wouldn’t have him any other way, of course. Well… Maybe sometimes.

“The specs ain’t working.”

“Nor is the cap.” Seb slapped the peak of Jay’s hat and it fell to obscure his vision.

“Piss off.” Ripping it from his head, Jay huffed and slicked back his floppy blond hair. His hooded sweatshirt rose to reveal his stomach, but he slapped it down, double lively, on seeing Seb’s roaming gaze. “And you can put your tongue back in.”

He almost wiped the corner of Seb’s mouth with his thumb. But that would have caused even more of a stir, and they’d made their pact not to fuel the speculation in the press about them. Jay may have outed himself last year, but he refused to speak of his love life—of Seb. Keeping that firmly in the shadows aided his survival on the pitch, the training ground, the changing rooms, even if he claimed it was so Seb could find his own path without the links to him. And he was.

“You show those abs,” Seb licked his lips, “and I’m going to drool. Sue me. I got a lawyer.”

“Speakin’ of cash…”

The tube train shunted into the station and the doors bleeped open, stifling the conversation that Jay had been meaning to have for a while. Well, since this had all got a bit more serious. Steering Seb onto the carriage, Jay pointed toward two vacated seats and Seb grabbed the copy of the Metro newspaper left on the multicoloured cushion.

“Hmm?” Seb sat and flicked through the pages, eyes hidden behind his dark glasses, but Jay knew they’d be darting across the printed words and no longer focused on him. Priorities. Not for the latest news in the capital: probably more for the entertainment section. The hottest in music releases, more specifically.

“We need to get the finances sorted.”

“Like how?”

“The club are setting up a meetin’ with an agent, so I gotta know what we got between us.”

“An agent? Why do you need one of those money-grabbing sleazes?” Seb slapped the paper to his lap. “You have me to swipe your hard-earned cash off your hands.”

“Ain’t that the truth. But the club recommended it. Could be a good move. Getting someone to, y’know, deal with all the shit. Especially with what we’re about to go do right now.”

Seb chewed his lip. “How much?”

“They’ll take ten percent.”

“Of your wages?”

“No, off my boot laces.” Jay tutted.

“That’ll make it hard to kick a ball.”

The train pulled out of the station and Jay rocked against the window pane. The raucous banter from the group of lads all squashed into the vestibule drowned out the squeal of the metal wheels on the track. Jay tensed, wriggling in the seat and adjusted his trackie bottoms down his legs. This train couldn’t go quick enough.

“And what do these people do for the sweat off your back?” Seb returned his interest to the Metro.

“Sort my life out.”

“They’ll tell you to stay in the closet.”

“Bit hard that now, innit?”

Seb smiled. “Whatever you want, Champ.” He trailed his gaze back to the printed text on the newspaper. “But you are aware of my own background in business? I can sort your finances out into various investments that’ll mean you won’t be destitute by the time you’re thirty.”

“You mean, put my hard-earned dough into your band?”

“No sell-by date on rock and roll. Look at Bowie.” Seb grinned.  “No, you don’t need an agent. You just need some sweet talker to answer all those OK! And Hello requests. What about your dad? Surely the man wants to give the decorating stint up at his age? I would pay good money to read John Ruttman’s response to a photo shoot, ‘fuck off sweet’art, my son ain’t no piece of meat to sell your shit rag so you can stop getting’ your knickers in flap over ’im. And you at the Mail, you homophobic twat with a microphone, you can go fuck yourself. ‘”

Jay glared. Hard. “And that’s the reason, right there, why you ain’t allowed to talk to the press.”

Seb chuckled.

“And my old man don’t speak like that.”

“Pretty much word for word what he said when the journo’s knocked on his door after your press conference. Absolute legend. The man’s going down in history. Love him.”

“I meant the accent. It was shit.”

“Knees up, Mother Brown.” Seb over pronounced every blasted syllable.

Drumming his fingers on his knee, Jay settled back in the seat. Seb had been right, they should have got a cab. But Jay’s habit for saving money was so deep-rooted that he hadn’t been able to shed it even after a year of earning a professional footballer’s wage. Now on a packed tube train at the busiest time of the day, with a bunch of football supporters heckling through the latest scores, Jay’s instinctive fear was getting the better of him. Splashing out on a little indulgence, like Seb might say, would have been better all round.

One of the blokes slammed up against the pane beside Jay’s seat, rattling the glass and Jay’s nerves. The geezer shoved his mate out of the way and started up with a play fight inappropriate for a packed tube ride. New Year in the city and people go mad.

“What a fucking load of wank.” Seb slammed the paper shut.

“What is?”

“My latest album is not a pitiful self-indulgent ramble from a group of private school boys trying to proclaim the working-class hero subculture as my own.” Pouting, he shoved the Metro between his and Jay’s seats.

“What was it then?”

Seb crossed his arms, jiggling his leg so the designer rip on his black drainpipe jeans tore farther across his knee. “Firstly, Kensington Boys is a state school.”

“Yeah, but you were at private school before that.”

“Unnecessary details.” Seb waved a hand. “Secondly, the album was a deep and meaningful glance into the angst of discovering who you are and where you really belong.” He grinned. “And a brief fuck-you to the bourgeois hypocrisy.”

Jay nodded. “Yeah. Your usual stuff.”

“Don’t humour me.”

“I ain’t. It was good.” Jay shrugged. “What do you care what a tosser from the Metro thinks, anyway? Don’t ever read the rags. That’s what I’ve learned. Ain’t worth the agg. What does some journo who sits on the side lines know about it? He ain’t out on the pitch, doing it.”

“Good point.”

“You got to number one. So, fuck ’em.” Jay smiled. “Can be our New Year motto if you like?”

Seb bounced his knee, but his arms did unfurl from their stiffness. For all Seb’s confidence and the fuck-you to the world he composed on a daily basis through his rocking guitar-riff songs, he could be seriously affected by a local rag review. No matter, Jay would relieve that for him later. After they’d done the grown-up stuff, that was.

“Next stop.” Jay nodded to the sign and flinched when another loud burst of laughter exploded from the group beside them.

The train screeched into the next station and Jay shot up from his seat. He had to squeeze through the lads, accidentally stepping on one of their toes. “Sorry, mate.” He tapped the man’s arm in apology.

“Watch it.” The bloke spat lager breath onto Jay’s face, then stopped, gawked and pointed. “Fuckin’ ’ell. Lads, it’s Rutters. From West Ham.”

“What, the queer?” another one blurted out, scrambling through the mob to get a proper look. “You should be on the girls’ team, mate!”

Head down, Jay jumped off the train with his heart pounding and gut wrenched in knots. Another thing he should be used to by now—the casual homophobia of fickle football fans. It never made it any easier to cope with, no matter how many times he heard the usual rants. And certainly not when on a packed train and having to witness his boyfriend swivelling his middle finger in the air whilst bounding off the carriage behind him.

The lads all bundled forward, and Jay had to grab Seb’s arm to yank him away. Luckily, the doors dinged shut, preventing the group from clambering off and no doubt pummelling Seb, and him, to the concrete. Instead, they all offered the wank sign through the glass and Seb had delight in keeping his skull and crossbones tattoo erected high until the train had left the station.

Jay shook his head, inhaling a fierce breath.

“What?” Seb slapped his arm down to his side.

“You remember our deal, right?”

Seb smiled. Then shrugged. “Fuck ’em?”

“Keep everything on the low-key. Don’t make a scene, don’t engage, don’t—”

“Retaliate. I know, I know.” Seb angled his head and they both made their way to exit the station via the twist of steps and emerged outside where the freezing mid-evening temperature smacked Jay in the mouth.

He yanked his hood over his cap and rubbed his hands together, shaking his head at Seb’s inappropriate slim-fit leather jacket barely being any protector for the thin T-shirt beneath.

“Right, this way.” Jay tugged on Seb’s fingers, but he didn’t entwine his with them. He couldn’t. Not here. Not after what had just happened on the train. Will I ever be able to?

Seb hurried alongside him, through the bustling high street, passing the gastro pubs, the trinket gift shops selling Harry Potter memorabilia and university branded hoodies. They ambled through the busy market place wafting an array of international spicy street foods, and dodged the after-work crowd bundling into the nearest boozer with an open fire.

A stone-brick church stood on the corner, prominent along the cobbled streets, and gazed down on the area as its master and protector. Jay chucked a left, leading Seb over the road and snaked through the bumper-to-bumper cars until they hit the first residential street. Everything calmed to the point that the tweet of birds were noticeable over the burst of exhaust fumes.

“This one.” Jay stopped, squinting as he lifted the shield of his cap.

Seb’s mouth fell open.

“You like it?”

“Shit, Jay. It’s—”

“Ain’t as big as your Kensington gaff, I know, but it’s five bed. Music room already sound-proofed. Kitchen-diner. Conservatory and two reception rooms. Ain’t got a clue why you need two—”

“One for guests.”

“Well, yeah. ’Spose we could shove Martin, Noah and Ann in one room and we fuck off in the other.”

“That’s a recipe for disaster, and a headline waiting to happen.”

Jay chuckled, then tilted his head toward the house. “It’s also got all the latest security features. Take it you wanna go in?”

Seb grinned, then leaned closer to whisper in Jay’s ear. “Try and stop me, Champ.”

That warm soft breath danced down Jay’s spine, but he shook it off to allow Seb to walk through the open gates first.

It didn’t take much convincing on Jay’s part. Not that he thought it would. He knew Seb needed more room with their Limehouse loft flat now filled to the brim with Seb’s music gear. The stunning light-brick detached house situated in one of the more affluent areas of Greenwich, east London, had already been refurbished and decked out to pristine standards. Even without Seb’s knowledge of property development, Jay knew this was the right place for them. And after one brief look around with the vendors, Jay signed on the dotted line with Seb’s signature scrawled beside his. Their house. Their first joint home. Seb might be crap with money, but Jay had managed to get him to save enough of his royalties over the past year of touring the indie music scene in order to afford the hefty mortgage on the place. Things were looking up. Ain’t nothing, not even the slurs from those wankers who think there ain’t room in football for a gay player, can ruin this.

“Come on.” Jay nudged Seb with his elbow as they emerged back out to the street. “Got one more thing to check out.”

“What?”

“Let’s run.”

Seb blinked. “What?” He shot a frantic look over his shoulder. “Why? Which paps are chasing us now?”

“None. Thank, fuck. But we’re right by the park. Run with me. To the top and back. Promise the view is worth it.”

“Baby, I love you. I do. And you know I’ll do anything for love.” Seb breathed in, glancing up the street to Greenwich Park and its huge slanted hill. “But I won’t do that.” He grinned. “Meatloaf, F Y I.”

Jay tutted. “I know. See you up there, then.”

He bounded across the road, setting a pace to pound the pavement until he reached the black gates to enter the park. It was generally a clear run, but he could imagine how the place would get crowded in the summer months with it being the optimal place for kite flying and other family sporting endeavours. This season, though, it was mainly a few couples snuggled together on the benches dotted beside the greenery, and dog walkers sipping from take-out coffee cups. Jay smiled, inhaling the scent of fresh, cold air that he drew into his lungs to sprint faster up the steep rise. Off-season, he’d still need to maintain his fitness and this hill work-out would be perfect for morning runs, and dusk ones if he could ever convince Seb to come with him.

The January wind chill slapped against his cheeks, that ever-present reminder of his early morning runs from his old gaff in Plaistow to the university in Beckton. Where he’d met Seb. That industrial working-class east end he’d grown up in now swapped for the affluent and leafy Greenwich with his live-in boyfriend. Pretty amazing how much life changes within a couple of years. Reaching the top, he swerved in front of the bronze statue of General Wolfe and, hands on hips, breathed in the glorious view. The crisp, clear sky allowed for the winter’s sun to shine over the city. His London. Although, now, it felt bigger.

The Royal Museums of London and the University of Greenwich spread out before him like a panoramic picture-postcard. Beyond that curved the River Thames, and farther still new London appeared in Canary Wharf’s gleaming silver skyscrapers that reflected the sun’s rays, along with the iconic rods poking out of the 02’s dome like structure. The view brought a whole new level of beauty to a city that Jay had grown up in. That he’d never leave. He’d just made it to the top. And he planned to stay there. Even if that meant having to live as far away from the flurry to keep his life as much in the shadows as he could.

“Hey.” Emerging from the pedestrian walkway a short time after, Seb sipped through the hole in a plastic top of a cardboard cup and offered over one to Jay. “No sugar. No syrup. No milk. No taste.”

“Cheers.” Jay took the cup and ignored the jibe. Water. He smiled as he took a sip. Seb had learned that nothing was allowed to slip through the net of Jay’s strict diet now it was controlled by the club’s nutritionist, not even for him.

“I was not in any way prepared for running.” Seb held out his arms in display of his tight ripped jeans, fitted shirt and leather jacket. “Next time. I promise.”

“Sure.”

They slid down to sit on the grassy bank, taking in the view that now belonged to them. Seb slurped away on his no-doubt sugary sweet coffee, not saying a word. Not even singing, or humming.

“You’re unusually quiet,” Jay remarked, voice low.

Seb waved a hand, indicating the view.

“I know, right.” Jay leaned back on one arm. “It’s somethin’ else, innit?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” Seb gripped the cup between his legs and inhaled, his chest rising. “This’ll do, Champ. This’ll do. So us.”

Jay swallowed. It was. It was so them. Away from everything and up in the clouds. Things were different down there, amongst the hustle and bustle. Least he could stay here for a while.

Until football beckoned.

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Celebrating England getting over the curse of penalty shoot outs with a #sneakpeek

If you’re a football fan, and an England one at that, I’m sure you’re all a flutter today after the spectacular break through from the England team last night. We finally managed it! On a World Cup stage, we won a penalty shoot out!!! 

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That, in my opinion, needed some sort of response from me as someone writing a three-book romance series based on a professional English Premier League footballer. 

So I thought I’d let you all have a sneak peek at the third book in the series. Come Back (The District Line #3) *should* be out this year. I’ve had a few set backs with it, mainly lack of time to edit due to several reasons I won’t bore you with. But it’s getting there! And in celebration of the England win last night (and because I can’t be sure they will actually bring home the World Cup in order to wait until then to release this – of course, if they do, I’ll have to release another excerpt lol) here’s a sneaky look at the cover, followed by an excerpt from the first draft of Chapter One…

September 2006

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“Y’know they just make you look more conspicuous down here, dun’t ya?”

Seb curled a finger around the arm of his shades and slipped them to the end of his nose, his chocolate brown doe eyes settling on Jay. “Conspicuous?”

Jay raised his eyebrows to the point they were hidden underneath the peak of his baseball cap. He stepped in closer to Seb, avoiding another onslaught of city commuters to the underground platform. The dank smell of a day’s office work wafted from the nearest suited male, masking the notorious dust and cast iron scent, and the echoed tap of court shoes ricocheted off the curved walls. Tutting, Seb slipped the glasses back up.

“That’s four syllables, Champ.” Bashed by another oversized handbag passing him, Seb grinned. “Careful, you’ll quash the stereotypical notion that all footballers are as thick as shit.”

Jay snorted, scratching the nape of his neck and glanced up to the underground timetable. “Two minutes.”

“Fuck’s sake. Told you, we should have taken a cab.”

“And fork out a fuck ton to pay some geezer to sit us in midday traffic? No, ta.”

“Isn’t it now a little prudent to be counting the pennies? You’re no longer a poor boy from a poor family. If that last contract you signed at West Ham for a cool half a mil is anything to go by.” Seb tsked. “New money.”

“I’ll always be from a poor family,” Jay retaliated. “No matter what I earn now. Just like you’ll always be an entitled rich kid who throws away his cash the moment it reaches his wallet.”

“Visa credit, Rutters. No-one carries cash anymore.” Seb flicked up his dark brown hair, and twirled a crunchy tip between his fingers. “Or a wallet. They can get lost rolling around on a grassy bank, you know.” He winked.

Jay chuckled. A group of rowdy lads bundled down the underground steps to the platform, each one wearing a replica Chelsea football shirt, and their remnants of a drinking session hit Jay in the face. Jay cursed under his breath. Why he’d agreed to do this on the same day as a London derby was due to kick off, he’d never know. Edging closer to the yellow line, he impatiently awaited the next train and desperately tried to avoid any undue attention. It had been getting harder to venture out in public over the past year since coming out during his first season playing professional football. But he couldn’t remain inside with Seb forever. Not that it was a particularly bad thing when they did get to close the doors to their poky flat and shut out the world for a while.

“Ah, bollocks.” Seb shoved Jay on the arm and squirmed through a crowd of commuters. “Who the fuck invented a fucking camera on a fucking phone? How is that ever going to be useful?”

Stumbling to the end of the platform, Jay peered over Seb’s shoulder. The flash of a mobile camera illuminated the tunnel, and all the other passengers scrambled to see who or what had been the target of the non-consensual snap. Him? Seb? Both of them. Together. Bowing his head, Jay gripped the peak of his cap to conceal as much of his face as possible into the shadows. It was taking some getting used to―the attention, the random cameras being shoved in his face, the recognition on the street that his status as one of the top goal scorers of last season brought on him.

Seb seemed to take the attention on him all in his stride, though. But he’d always been destined for celebrity status, and revelled in the public’s scrutiny. Like a moth to a flame, Seb was drawn to the bright lights of the media circus they’d inadvertently created for themselves. Jay wouldn’t have him any other way, of course. Well…maybe sometimes.

Now for a little reminder of the first two books in the series…

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What happens when opposite sides of the track collide?

East Londoner Jay Ruttman has only ever wanted one thing― to be a professional footballer. But after a disastrous brawl on the pitch gets him released from his pro-Academy, he has to follow plan B and enrolls as university Sports Scholar. Head down, train hard and get scouted is his motto. Until he crashes into the man who might just shoot his dreams out of the park.

Kensington elite Sebastian (Seb) Saunders has only ever wanted one thing―to be a rock star. But his father has other plans for him, including taking the helm of his multimillion-pound new business venture across the pond. Live it up, chase the dream and rock out for as long as he can is his mantra. Until he crashes into the man who might just rock his world off its scale. 

Jay and Seb live at opposite ends of London’s District Line, separated by wealth, status, family traditions and their own life-long dreams. This startling and gritty contemporary romance series sees them both having to overcome barriers, face fears and beat rejection to fight for the love they need to achieve it all. 

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Should falling in love really get in the way of your lifelong dreams? 

Sebastian Saunders is 3000 miles away from home. Working for his father’s expanded business in New York, he’s left behind the music career he craved, the friends he relied upon and possibly the love of his life. In a city that never sleeps, how can the nights cure a broken heart? 

Jay Ruttman is in London, throwing himself harder into football and his quest to make it on the professional playing field. Locking himself back in the closet, how can he ever open the door, and his heart, again?

A chance encounter in New York where Jay and Seb rekindle their lost romance sets them both on a path to self-discovery and coming to terms with their past, their present and their future. 

This is the second part of the District Line serial, where half-time oranges are swapped for the Big Apple.

Thanks for popping over and taking a look! I’ll get back to writing now… 

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COME ON ENGLAND!!! 

Share Your Heart: Williams Syndrome Awareness & Book Price Promotion

May is Williams Syndrome (WS) Awareness Month. And in particular the 18th May is the national gathering of families in both the US and the UK who live with someone who has this rare condition. And I couldn’t let that pass without a mention, so here I am to tell you about WS and why it’s important to me, and my books.

Williams Syndrome is a rare genetic condition that affects one in twenty thousand births and is caused by a spontaneous and random deletion of 26-28 genes on chromosome #7. The condition itself is characterized by medical problems, including cardiovascular disease, developmental delays, and learning challenges. But a far more fascinating trait that those who have WS share is their unique personalities. WS people are particularly friendly, overly social, and have an affinity for music. In a nutshell, they are everybody’s friend, will talk the hind legs off a donkey, and love a good boogie. Don’t we all, I hear you say. Well, not like these lot, I can assure you. I’ve been to many a party and gathering with them, because my son was diagnosed with WS at three months old.

It’s been a massive learning curve for me and my family, and we are still at the very beginning of this journey into special-needs parenting. My little trooper has been through life-saving open heart surgery, ongoing painful and invasive hospital stays, constant appointments, whilst also having to deal with those who are not so understanding when it comes to children with learning disabilities. But I wouldn’t change him for the world. His WS makes him exactly who he is, and that’s a fun-loving, hilarious, good-natured, upbeat little boy who is everyone’s friend. I can’t get through a Tesco shop without him having to stop every other customer to say hello and ask them how they are. He might even throw in a hug for good measure, too. He’s a joy to be around and lifts my spirit on a daily basis. It doesn’t mean he’s easy to deal with, not in the slightest. There are downsides to having the condition as well as the ups. But I won’t dwell on those. Not here. Here I will be celebrating Williams Syndrome and all that has come with it.

So why am I telling you about WS and my son? Well, he’s pretty much the very reason why I started writing again. I used to write as a child and into my teen years, but then life took over and I never found the time anymore. Ironically, the moment my free time was scarcely limited after my second son was born disabled, I suddenly found myself making the time. I had a lot of it when he was a baby―he never slept. And when I mean never, I’m talking never. He’d be up all night. So to keep myself amused whilst gently rocking him or pacing the living room whilst soothing him, I created stories in my head. Then, when I got the chance, I started writing them down. Slowly but surely, I was working on a couple of novels without really realising it.

My son is the very inspiration behind my Responsible Adult series of books. And, in honour of Williams Syndrome Awareness Day, Misdemeanor, Hard Time and Reformed are all going on a price promotion. So I thought I’d explain not only WS and why it’s a huge feature of the books, but also why certain things were written the way they were.

You see, being so overly social, so friendly, and not seeing the ill in anyone, a WS little boy made for a perfect character. Especially when giving him a bad boy big brother who has a past life full of juvenile delinquency and making him his sole carer. Because I defy anyone to not have their hearts melted by Flynn. And that was the whole premise behind the three-book series. How this little boy sees the good in everyone, when many of the other characters struggle to do the same.

All the characters in the book are flawed. Many are obviously flawed, others their flaws are skin-deep or buried beneath the surface. The whole idea was to show how these flaws make us human, and how Flynn sees beyond them all to the true person beneath. Because that is the beauty of WS. But that can also make these unique individuals extremely vulnerable in a society that isn’t as carefree and wonderful as WS people presume it to be. Like Micky says in Misdemeanor:

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I wrote Responsible Adult as one book. Since publishing they have been separated into a three-book serial. It means there is a bit of a cliffhanger at the end of book one, something that I couldn’t avoid and I know it’s had its fair share of controversy, but there simply wasn’t enough room to put everything into one book. By the end of the three books, WS shines through. All characters grow, develop, and maybe the world does become like the fairy tale that Flynn always sees it as. Because that is how I want it to be―I want everyone to be accepted for who they are. And in Responsible Adult, although it is based in real-life and a gritty, raw piece of work, eventually everyone gets their HEA.

As you can kinda see here…

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Responsible Adult was my way of raising awareness for a condition that has taken over me and my family’s life. It gave me a chance to have a crack at writing again, within a genre I’d come to love, and it’s an extremely dear-to-me series of books. When people say your book is like your baby, well, this is that and then some. Because my baby is actually in it. Something that I oftentimes wish I hadn’t ever done, but am also proud that I did as it’s given me this opportunity to talk about it. My hope is that those who read it, who meet Flynn, will see how he manages to brighten the life of his brother and brings out the best in those who come into contact with him.

This series is about having to grow up, having to make sacrifices, having to make tough choices, and having to take responsibility. Micky is nineteen and had to take care of his little brother after the tragic death of his mother. He’s already harbouring many a secret and had a past life of juvenile delinquency in a small town that he cannot escape from. Micky wasn’t ready, nor equipped, to be sole carer to a disabled child. And, although I am a fair bit older than he, and I, at least, made the choice to have a child, I still feel exactly like he does—juggling through life, making decisions and choices I feel completely unqualified to make. But that’s my lot as a mother. And that is Micky’s lot as a big brother. And eventually Dan gets involved in all that, too.

If you would like to give this series a try, then Pride Publishing have beautifully accepted to honour Williams Syndrome Awareness Day by offering all three books at a price of 99p each on 18th May 2018. Click on the three books to take you to the Pride site. 

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If you’d like to learn more about Williams Syndrome, then you can find out all the excellent work that the charities in both the UK and US do here:

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These charities are solely run by the parents for the parents. They don’t receive government funding, they rely on donations. Without these charities, many families would be completely isolated in their communities, and I salute the brilliant work they do in raising awareness, giving information, and organising gatherings for all our WS people to chat, laugh, and dance at. Just like we all need to do from time to time. Which is where what I will be doign this weekend at the national convention and family gathering as I volunteer as a regional co-ordinator for the WSF in my spare time.

I’ll finish off by asking that we all try to be a little bit like our Williams Syndrome friends. Be nice. Be kind. Be friendly. And, using the WS motto, please, if only for today, share your heart.

Thank you for listening and giving me this opportunity to share a little of my heart with you all.

C F White xx

BEFORE YOU GO….

As of the 25th May 2018, the new data protection laws in the UK come into affect. That means I have to delete anyone who has signed up to this website to receive updates and newsletters and ask everyone to reconfirm their interest. 

If you would like to still hear from me and my new releases, please can you reconfirm your sign-up by completing the form below. There is also the chance to receive ARCs of any upcoming books by being part of this list. 

https://goo.gl/forms/bjrWKzMHEcMqJtHh1

Thank you so much. And as an added incentive, I’m offering a chance to win signed paperbacks of my newest releases Kick Off (The District Line #1) and Break Through (The District Line #2), see below for rafflecopter entry

Share Your Heart: Williams Syndrome Awareness & Book Price Promotion

May is Williams Syndrome (WS) Awareness Month. And in particular the 18th May is the national gathering of families in both the US and the UK who live with someone who has this rare condition. And I couldn’t let that pass without a mention, so here I am to tell you about WS and why it’s important to me, and my books.Williams Syndrome is a rare genetic condition that affects one in twenty thousand births and is caused by a spontaneous and random deletion of 26-28 genes on chromosome #7. The condition itself is characterized by medical problems, including cardiovascular disease, developmental delays, and learning challenges. But a far more fascinating trait that those who have WS share is their unique personalities. WS people are particularly friendly, overly social, and have an affinity for music. In a nutshell, they are everybody’s friend, will talk the hind legs off a donkey, and love a good boogie. Don’t we all, I hear you say. Well, not like these lot, I can assure you. I’ve been to many a party and gathering with them, because my son was diagnosed with WS at three months old.It’s been a massive learning curve for me and my family, and we are still at the very beginning of this journey into special-needs parenting. My little trooper has been through life-saving open heart surgery, ongoing painful and invasive hospital stays, constant appointments, whilst also having to deal with those who are not so understanding when it comes to children with learning disabilities. But I wouldn’t change him for the world. His WS makes him exactly who he is, and that’s a fun-loving, hilarious, good-natured, upbeat little boy who is everyone’s friend. I can’t get through a Tesco shop without him having to stop every other customer to say hello and ask them how they are. He might even throw in a hug for good measure, too. He’s a joy to be around and lifts my spirit on a daily basis. It doesn’t mean he’s easy to deal with, not in the slightest. There are downsides to having the condition as well as the ups. But I won’t dwell on those. Not here. Here I will be celebrating Williams Syndrome and all that has come with it.So why am I telling you about WS and my son? Well, he’s pretty much the very reason why I started writing again. I used to write as a child and into my teen years, but then life took over and I never found the time anymore. Ironically, the moment my free time was scarcely limited after my second son was born disabled, I suddenly found myself making the time. I had a lot of it when he was a baby―he never slept. And when I mean never, I’m talking never. He’d be up all night. So to keep myself amused whilst gently rocking him or pacing the living room whilst soothing him, I created stories in my head. Then, when I got the chance, I started writing them down. Slowly but surely, I was working on a couple of novels without really realising it.My son is the very inspiration behind my Responsible Adult series of books. And, in honour of Williams Syndrome Awareness Day, Misdemeanor, Hard Time and Reformed are all going on a price promotion. So I thought I’d explain not only WS and why it’s a huge feature of the books, but also why certain things were written the way they were.You see, being so overly social, so friendly, and not seeing the ill in anyone, a WS little boy made for a perfect character. Especially when giving him a bad boy big brother who has a past life full of juvenile delinquency and making him his sole carer. Because I defy anyone to not have their hearts melted by Flynn. And that was the whole premise behind the three-book series. How this little boy sees the good in everyone, when many of the other characters struggle to do the same.All the characters in the book are flawed. Many are obviously flawed, others their flaws are skin-deep or buried beneath the surface. The whole idea was to show how these flaws make us human, and how Flynn sees beyond them all to the true person beneath. Because that is the beauty of WS. But that can also make these unique individuals extremely vulnerable in a society that isn’t as carefree and wonderful as WS people presume it to be. Like Micky says in Misdemeanor:I wrote Responsible Adult as one book. Since publishing they have been separated into a three-book serial. It means there is a bit of a cliffhanger at the end of book one, something that I couldn’t avoid and I know it’s had its fair share of controversy, but there simply wasn’t enough room to put everything into one book. By the end of the three books, WS shines through. All characters grow, develop, and maybe the world does become like the fairy tale that Flynn always sees it as. Because that is how I want it to be―I want everyone to be accepted for who they are. And in Responsible Adult, although it is based in real-life and a gritty, raw piece of work, eventually everyone gets their HEA.As you can kinda see here...Responsible Adult was my way of raising awareness for a condition that has taken over me and my family’s life. It gave me a chance to have a crack at writing again, within a genre I’d come to love, and it’s an extremely dear-to-me series of books. When people say your book is like your baby, well, this is that and then some. Because my baby is actually in it. Something that I oftentimes wish I hadn’t ever done, but am also proud that I did as it’s given me this opportunity to talk about it. My hope is that those who read it, who meet Flynn, will see how he manages to brighten the life of his brother and brings out the best in those who come into contact with him.This series is about having to grow up, having to make sacrifices, having to make tough choices, and having to take responsibility. Micky is nineteen and had to take care of his little brother after the tragic death of his mother. He’s already harbouring many a secret and had a past life of juvenile delinquency in a small town that he cannot escape from. Micky wasn’t ready, nor equipped, to be sole carer to a disabled child. And, although I am a fair bit older than he, and I, at least, made the choice to have a child, I still feel exactly like he does—juggling through life, making decisions and choices I feel completely unqualified to make. But that’s my lot as a mother. And that is Micky’s lot as a big brother. And eventually Dan gets involved in all that, too.If you would like to give this series a try, then Pride Publishing have beautifully accepted to honour Williams Syndrome Awareness Day by offering all three books at a price of 99p each on 18th May 2018. Click on the three books to take you to the Pride site. If you’d like to learn more about Williams Syndrome, then you can find out all the excellent work that the charities in both the UK and US do here:These charities are solely run by the parents for the parents. They don’t receive government funding, they rely on donations. Without these charities, many families would be completely isolated in their communities, and I salute the brilliant work they do in raising awareness, giving information, and organising gatherings for all our WS people to chat, laugh, and dance at. Just like we all need to do from time to time. Which is where what I will be doign this weekend at the national convention and family gathering as I volunteer as a regional co-ordinator for the WSF in my spare time.I’ll finish off by asking that we all try to be a little bit like our Williams Syndrome friends. Be nice. Be kind. Be friendly. And, using the WS motto, please, if only for today, share your heart.Thank you for listening and giving me this opportunity to share a little of my heart with you all.C F White xxBEFORE YOU GO....As of the 25th May 2018, the new data protection laws in the UK come into affect. That means I have to delete anyone who has signed up to this website to receive updates and newsletters and ask everyone to reconfirm their interest. If you would like to still hear from me and my new releases, please can you reconfirm your sign-up by completing the form below. There is also the chance to receive ARCs of any upcoming books by being part of this list. https://goo.gl/forms/bjrWKzMHEcMqJtHh1Thank you so much. And as an added incentive, I'm offering a chance to win signed paperbacks of my newest releases Kick Off (The District Line #1) and Break Through (The District Line #2), see below for rafflecopter entry :)

Break Through (The District Line #2) Cover Reveal & Exclusive Excerpt

Kick Off (The District Line #1) is on a freebie this week over at Amazon, and it’s given me the perfect time to reveal the cover for book two in the District Line series! 

Break Through is up for pre-order today and will be released 28th May 2018 on Amazon KU (sorry it is a little later than expected).

Exclusive cover reveal and excerpt below

Break Through (The District Line #2) Cover Reveal & Exclusive Excerpt

Kick Off (The District Line #1) is on a freebie this week over at Amazon, and it's given me the perfect time to reveal the cover for book two in the District Line series! Break Through is up for pre-order today and will be released 28th May 2018 on Amazon KU (sorry it is a little later than expected).Exclusive cover reveal and excerpt below :)Should falling in love really get in the way of your lifelong dreams? Sebastian Saunders is 3000 miles away from home. Working for his father's expanded business in New York, he's left behind the music career he craved, the friends he relied upon and possibly the love of his life. In a city that never sleeps, how can the nights cure a broken heart?Jay Ruttman is in London, throwing himself further into football and his quest to make it on the professional playing field. Locking himself back in the closet, how can he ever find the strength to open the door, and his heart, again?A chance encounter in New York where Jay and Seb rekindle their lost romance sets them both on a path to self discovery and coming to terms with their past, their present and their future.This is the second part of the District Line serial, where the half time oranges are swapped in favour of a Big Apple backdrop.Pre-Order your copy here!Exclusive excerpt“I’m terribly sorry about that, sir.” The girl at the front desk smiled, white teeth and green eyes sparkling. “We have a kind of unorthodox way of working around here. What was your name again? Without an appointment, I have to check Mr. Saunders’ list.”Jay’s mouth hung open. He’d been so close. He could almost taste Seb. “What list is that?”“Oh, Mr. Saunders has a list of people I’m allowed to disturb him for. As you just witnessed, he is quite particular on who makes it through his door. So you are?”“Ruttman, Jay Ruttman.” A small smile curved Jay’s lips as Natalie rolled her finger down the list of names scrawled in pen on a torn piece of lined A4 paper. That handwriting, carefree and messy with circles over the i’s instead of dots, made Jay’s spine tingle.“I’m very sorry, sir.” Natalie furrowed her brow. “But you’re not on the list. I’m going to have to ask you to make an appointment.” She swivelled in her chair and clicked a few buttons on her mouse. “How about next Thursday at two p.m.? He has a vacancy then.”“How about I go knock on his door now?”“I can’t let you do that, sir. It really is more than my job’s worth.”Jay glanced over Natalie’s head. “What if I guarantee you that he won’t mind?”“You’re not on the list, sir. This is my guarantee.” She waved the piece of paper in the air. “He’d fire me on the spot. He did it to Geena last month. And I need this job. It’s really good money.”Jay scanned the office again, brain ticking over. He tugged out an envelope from his inside jacket pocket and waggled it. “How much is a week’s wages for ya, then?”“What? Why?”Jay opened the envelope, showing the wodge of American dollars wrapped up in a travel currency wallet. “There’s about five grand in there. How about I go knock and if you do get fired, you can keep it.”Natalie gaped. Slowly, she reached over the desk, slid the envelope from Jay’s hand and flicked through the paper bills with a low whistle. “Okay.”Jay nodded, pushing open the hip-height barrier. With soft steps, he walked through the main office, focusing on the closed wooden oak door ahead displaying the name Mr. Sebastian Saunders, Partner, engraved on a brass plaque.Natalie trotted after him as quickly as her tight pencil skirt would allow. Clutching the wallet of cash to her chest, she swallowed as Jay rapped his knuckles on the office door.“Fuck off!” The reply barked through the wood.Natalie raised her eyebrows and bit her manicured thumbnail. Jay cleared his throat, pressing down the brass handle and as he opened the door, Seb whipped his head up from the computer with a firm scowl across his lips.“I know I ain’t on that special list of yours.” Jay’s heart beat a little faster as Seb’s gaze finally met his. “But I sorta hoped that was an oversight on your part.”Seb blinked. “Jay?”Jay smiled, then angled his head back to Natalie peering in through the doorway. “I’ve given your flouncy receptionist five grand to be able to come in here and she not get the can. Don’t make me lose that cash. It’s all I got ’til I get home.”Seb’s mouth fell open. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, as if he were frozen to the spot. Eventually, he cleared his throat. “Natalie?”“Yes, sir? I’m sorry, sir―”“Close the door behind Mr. Ruttman, please, and divert all calls to the shitbag. I’m no longer available for the rest of the night.”Jay’s smile grew.“Yes, sir. No problem, sir, and by shitbag I assume you mean Mr. Coles?”“That’s right, Natalie. Thank you. Oh, and Natalie?”“Yes, sir?”“Mr. Ruttman would like his money back.”“Oh right, yes, sir.” Natalie handed the envelope back to Jay and closed the door behind her swift exit.Tucking the envelope into his inside jacket pocket, Jay’s stomach fluttered unbearably as Seb’s impenetrable brown doe-eyed stare landed on him.“Now, Rutters, you best tell me how the fuck you are here.” Seb stood, his chair rolling away on its wheels. “As I am hoping to fuck this isn’t some dream. Because if it is, I don’t want to wake up.”Jay smiled, his chest rising. “I made pro. West Ham. We’re playing the New York Red Bulls tomorra for a pre-season friendly.” He shrugged. “Thought I’d check you out while in the area. Rude not to. I’m actually skiving training to be here, which’ll probably land me back on the bench.”“Fuck,” Seb breathed out, shaking his head as he smiled. “That fucking accent.”“Fancy hearin’ some more? If you ain’t busy?” Jay tucked his hands into his jeans pockets. “Might even say Babs for ya.”Seb laughed, then switched his computer off at the mains. “Well, in that case.” He scooted around the desk and loosened the knot on his silk tie. “I better make this little rebellious stint of yours worth the while.”Jay reached out, delicately brushing his fingers over Seb’s to prevent him ripping the tie off altogether. “Leave it.” He roamed his gaze up and down Seb’s suited attire. “Quite like it.”Seb cocked his head. “Whatever you want, Champ.”To register your interest in receiving an ARC of Break Through, contact me now at c.f.whiteauthor@gmail.com.