Becca Seymour's Blog, page 3
August 1, 2023
Release Week Chapter 1 Sneak Peek
The start of the school year is always kind of chaotic. Or more specifically, the prestart, since classes don’t begin until Monday. I arrived at Brixham U a couple of days ago, wanting to settle in and catch up with my housemates before school begins and practice starts.
I plan to make the most of my senior year at Brixham. Not only by playing my ass off in basketball, but come next year, adulting begins.
I knock back the shot Sammy hands me, holding back my cringe. I’m not sure if the sour aftertaste of his gross concoction or the thought of working full-time causes the reaction.
“Leon, you want another?” Sammy grins and offers me a full shot glass. The contents of this one are red and gloopy-looking.
I scrunch my nose, undecided. I don’t plan to get too wasted tonight, but if there was a night for it, this is it. It’s probably my last chance of getting hard-core drunk. We’ll meet with Coach in a few days, get our first look at the newbies, and I expect I’ll receive an unforgiving reading list and class schedule.
Just the thought of the madness to come makes me nod and reach for the shot.
“Good man.” Sammy clinks his glass against mine and downs it. While this one goes down easier, it’s strong, and I’m pretty sure I’ve sprouted hairs on my otherwise smooth chest.
“Shit, Sammy, what the hell was in that thing?”
His snort doesn’t reassure me. “You don’t wanna know.” He follows up with a wink before turning his attention to the brunette Bentley’s talking to a few feet away.
Grinning, I leave him to it, swipe a beer from the counter, and work my way through the crowd.
Almost all my teammates are here tonight, which includes my four housemates. Other than Sammy and Bentley, I have no idea where the rest are, but that’s more than okay. It’s easy to get lost in the crowd, and at times like tonight, I like to blend in a little. That’s not the easiest thing to do when the team is together. Sure, there’s the whole height thing—we’re pretty much giants among this crowd—but we also get loud and rowdy when together. So many personalities and big egos tend to make us one-up one another. It’s fun, but tonight I just wanna go with the flow.
Maybe get my dick sucked.
I stop near the makeshift dance floor. It’s full, with plenty of gyrating bodies to catch my attention. In theory. I glance around. There’s no one I want to sidle up to. But that’s okay. I’ve only been here an hour and am in no rush.
It’s not like I’m looking for anything in particular. Honestly, a willing mouth will do.
Now, now, before you start wondering who this douche is—meaning me, obviously—I’m not that bad. I make it clear I’m just looking for a good, albeit quick time. It’s also been a long, dry summer.
Taking another sip of my beer, I make my way around the outside of the crowd. A few people catch my eye, offering hellos or smiles. Each time, I grin back or give an up-nod. What I don’t do is allow myself to get caught up in conversation.
Last season, our team, the Brixham Bears, kicked ass and won the playoffs. It means my face is recognizable. Not only on campus but in town and, honestly, to most discerning college basketball fans.
It’s helped a lot to get no-strings-attached head, so I like the attention, but it sometimes gets exhausting. Did you know people can be fake as fuck? Go figure.
It’s tiring to get bombarded by hangers-on who think I can give them street cred or an in if I go pro. That sounds all “woe is me,” I know, but bear with me. People try to take advantage. People get in my space without an invite. It makes my whole no-strings head make more sense, right? Outside of my buddies, who are all my teammates, I don’t trust anyone.
A round of cheers followed by hollers and laughter captures my attention. I follow the sound, curious that the noise broke through the pumping music. The journey takes me to a side room that, despite the volume, isn’t crammed. There’s probably fifteen people in the room, and I shit you not, they’re playing spin the bottle.
I snort, mildly interested as the bottle spins. Seriously, I was fifteen the last time I played this game. I remember it, as Debbie Leicester shoved her tongue in my mouth, and to this day, I don’t know how I stopped myself from gagging and humiliating her.
When the bottle lands on a couple of girls, my brows shoot up in surprise, and my mildly interested becomes a little more fascinated. Two girls making out… well, it’s something different to look at. The group’s reaction is like it was for the previous pair—a freckled redhead and skinny guy with specs.
It’s kinda cool that they react the same. There’s no sleazy comments, no lewd gestures or anything. I can’t help but wonder if the reaction would be the same if it were guys kissing.
“You wanna play?”
It takes me a moment to realize the question is thrown my way. My gaze lands on the speaker, a brown-haired guy with longish hair and wearing an old-school Nirvana T-shirt—something I only recognize courtesy of my uncle. The guy indicates toward the space next to a blonde.
With a shrug, I make my way over. Why the hell not? Kissing can be fun, plus there’s the whole adulting bullshit next year. When will I get the chance to do something so ridiculously immature again?
“Sure,” I say, sitting my ass down, grinning at the round of applause and claps. “Anything I need to know?”
The same guy, who on my second look appears vaguely familiar, smirks and then quirks his brow. “Just that wherever the bottle stops, that’s the person you’re matched with. Tongues are optional, and on the mouth is essential.” He bounces his brows, and a couple of people around the group chuckle. I join in and bob my head, not pulling away from the intensity of his dark gaze.
Do I have a problem if it lands on a guy? Not especially. Not that I’ve ever kissed a dude before, but have I thought about it? A time or five for sure. You can only hang out in a gay club so many times before your interest is piqued, right? Or is that just me?
Not that I go to gay bars for shits and giggles. It’s always been doing my best-friend duty, with me and my housemates joining Kieran. He’s one of my best friends, also our team captain, and over the years, when he’s been looking to hook up, we’ve gone with him.
That’s not as creepy as it sounds. We don’t, like, watch him or anything. Well, not deliberately. But we have his back, have since the day we met, and there’s no way we’d let him head into Atlanta without looking out for him.
I space out a little as the bottle spins, aware there’s been some kissing. There’s a couple of funny statements made, which are amusing, and when a guy to my right starts laughing about something Tiller said, I realize that’s the name of the guy who invited me to join.
“A tongue piercing isn’t the only one.” Tiller’s smirk is wide as he arches his brow. He tugs his tee, revealing ink on his pec and a bar through his nipple.
It’s a struggle to pull my attention away. Ink and a nipple piercing… separate, they can be sexy, but together, they’re hot as fuck. I’ve always thought that, whether on men or women. They look particularly spectacular on Tiller with his defined chest and washboard abs that I haven’t failed to notice.
“It’s the Prince Albert I’m curious about.” The girl opposite me smirks, laser-focused on Tiller.
“Is that right?” Amusement colors Tiller’s words while I flick my gaze down to his crotch.
Am I intrigued? Heck yes. I’ve always wondered what they look like in the flesh. No pun intended. Sure, I’ve seen photos, but the thought of seeing Tiller’s dick, ideally when he’s naked so I can see if the tattoos spread anywhere else, slams into my mind.
It’s front and center and not going anywhere.
And fuck if my dick doesn’t twinge in interest.
Again, not the first time this has happened. It is the first time, though, that my dick’s reacting to a guy sitting within arm’s reach of me and looking at me with barely concealed amusement.
Wide-eyed, I figure he’s caught me staring at his junk. Heat burns my cheeks, and I glance away, trying to discreetly clear my throat while pulling up my knee, foot flat, to prevent any more awkwardness.
And by that, I mean this group getting an eyeful they never asked for of the boner growing in my pants.
The chick with short hair spins. Rather than focus on the bottle, I concentrate on how that means it’s Tiller’s turn next. My stomach dips at the thought, but it’s not dread causing that reaction.
Awareness ripples through me. If the bottle lands on me, it means I get to kiss a guy—something I’ve been curious about for a while—but more than that, I get to kiss Tiller.
I have no idea who this man is, and despite seeming vaguely familiar, I can’t for the life of me place his face. Regardless, he has my interest—100 percent of it, in fact.
Maybe it’s because he hasn’t said my name, made a big deal of knowing who I am. I don’t say that because of my overinflated ego either. It’s hard not to know I play for the Bears if you’re a student here.
After the current kiss ends, I swallow hard and hold air in my lungs. I risk a glance toward Tiller. My breath whooshes out when his attention is already on me. With his head cocked, he seems to be studying me, and since I suck at hiding my reaction to him, a surge of “fuck it” slams into me.
I arch my brow at him. He can read into that whatever he wants. And then he spins. Rather than focusing on the bottle, I stare at him. His gaze doesn’t drift either. We’re caught up in this challenge of sorts, and I hope like fuck the bottle lands—
A squeal has me jerking my attention to the redhead. From the expression on her face—the goddamn glee there—I don’t even have to look to know the bottle is pointed right at her. Hell, I would likely react the same way if the stupid bottle had singled me out.
I can’t blame the girl.
I don’t know if fascination or envy has me staring hard at her as Tiller leans across the space. A beat before their lips collide, his gaze snags mine. My chest tightens at that one look, and I can’t watch. Glancing away, I focus on the window, which is a mistake as the reflection shows Tiller pressed against the girl.
And then it’s over.
Is it me, or was that kiss super short? Like, a good ten seconds less than the others. Am I grasping? Maybe, but still, the cheering’s died down, though there’s plenty of laughter and talking, and the next spin has started.
But I don’t really want to play anymore. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t had my spin; the fun factor disappeared when I focused on the reflection.
“Your turn.”
A nudge in my side startles me. The group’s looking at me, and apparently, it’s too late to make a run for it. Forcing a smile, I pick up the bottle. I may as well just get on with it.
I spin the damn thing and look away. At this point, I don’t care who it lands on. A kiss is a kiss and isn’t a big deal. Hell, I’ve lost count of how many kisses I’ve had over the years.
None of them have left a mark.
It’s the sound of catcalls that alerts me to the bottle stopping. With a sigh, I peer down and focus on the bottleneck, my gaze traveling in its direction.
I swallow hard when I see a pair of black boots. Jerking my gaze up, I focus on Tiller, pretty sure my lips part and my heart is beating so hard that it will leave a bruise behind.
And then we’re moving.
Piercing dark eyes are focused on me so intently that it’s impossible to look away. They draw me in, our bodies getting closer as if he’s a magnet and I’m iron shavings or some shit. Whatever the hell it is that’s making me move, I’m happy not to question it. Especially when his gaze dips.
When I do the same, glancing at his mouth, Tiller’s tongue peeks out, and he wets his bottom lip. While I don’t see it, I know there’s a bar through it. Do I want to suck it and see what it feels like?
Damn straight, I do.
There’s a moment that we pause. Maybe it’s not apparent to anyone else but the two of us. But it’s enough for our gazes to catch, for me to see how wide his pupils are blown, and enough for me to know that Tiller is as invested in this moment as I am.
July 18, 2023
Cover Reveal & Giveaway!
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★ Assistant Coach x Basketball Player
★ College Antics
★ Head Coach’s Son
★ One Kiss is All It Takes
★ Keeping Things Secret
★ Found Family Fun
★ Hot & Heavy Deliciousness
★ Low-Angst Swoons
★ Stand-alone Escapism
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July 5, 2023
Dean & Kieran Build A Fort!
-- -- --
𝗞𝗶𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗻 (𝗦𝗲𝗻𝗶𝗼𝗿 𝗬𝗲𝗮𝗿, 𝗕𝗿𝗶𝘅𝗵𝗮𝗺 𝗖𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗴𝗲)“What’s he doing?”
Ty’s question makes me jump. How the hell did he manage to sneak up on me? “Jesus.” I press my hand against my racing heart and cut him a look before returning my confused stare to Dean. “I want to say practicing, but….” Yeah, I’m not quite sure what’s going on.
Dean, the man who is undoubtedly the love of my life, is on his back in the hallway of our shared house. Cushions and pillows surround him. It actually looks like a snug place.
Sheets, blankets, and… I lean forward, trying to make out what’s at his side.
“Looks like wood. Some long sticks.” Ty beats me to it. I angle to look at Ty as he tilts his head. “Is that a pair of skis?”
Honestly, I’m a little afraid to look too closely. The whole image before me is too boggling.
An hour ago, I melted under Dean’s touch as we showered together. He disappeared on me a little while later when I told him I needed to catch up with my parents. Which leads me to now.
Is it wrong I’m tempted to back away? Maybe I could head to the kitchen for a snack. If I take slow steps back, he’ll never know I was here, peering over at him, trying not to wonder what he’s doing.
“So, what are we doing?”
Jesus. I shake my head as Ty steps forward, drops to the ground beside my boyfriend, and nudges him over so he can share the pillow under Dean’s head.
There’s still time to retreat, right? Ty appears to be all over whatever th—
“Yo, Key. You should totally take a look at this. Get your ass down here.”
There’s no point trying to escape, not with Ty’s ability to be as subtle as a bull in a china shop wearing tap shoes.
“Do I really need—”
Dean’s gaze snaps to mine. That damn arched eyebrow he lifts all sexy-like when he’s all but begging me to try to disagree with him is aimed directly at me.
“Fine. But do we know when the last time this floor was cleaned?” I eye it warily, but that ridiculously sexy quirked brow is still set on Dean’s face. It doesn’t stop me grumbling as I settle down beside him.
If I’m forced to be on this gross floor, at least I can be snuggled up to Dean.
A loud belch destroys that fantasy.
“Hell, I feel better.” Ty rubs his stomach. "Did you know that the average person's burp travels at a speed of ten miles per hour?” Ty’s still glancing at the ceiling, but I dare not look away in case he burps again in our direction to try and prove something. “That burp there was like unleashing a tiny sonic boom.”
“Why are we here again?” I ask, not even attempting to get into a discussion about belching and speed records.
Dean angles to look at me. Our faces are close, so close in fact, I can’t not lean in to dot a kiss to his lips. Considering the third wheel at his side, it's super brief but enough to earn me a soft smile. “Just look.” Dean flicks his gaze to the ceiling.
Reluctantly, curiously, and damn well wishing I’d been more strategic with the placement of cushions, I glance up at the ceiling.
“The hell is that?”
“Do you remember when there was that whole Jesus on toast thing years back?” Dean’s still staring at the off-white ceiling. “It’s like that—”
“But not toast,” Ty supplies super helpfully.
Dean nods. “—and not Jesus.”
It’s impossible not to stare at what looks to be a watermark on the ceiling. There are varying shades of brown and a little gray, and the more I stare at it, the more— “It’s a bear.”
“Holy shit, you’re so fucking right.” Dean pounds my chest with an enthusiastic slap to my chest, tugging a grunt from me. I snatch his hand before he can do some damage.
Seriously, he may be practically a foot shorter than me and weigh a buck fifty soaking wet, but Dean is strong. The muscles he gets from spending so much time as the team mascot, and the dancing he has to do, means he’s fit and toned.
I’ve spent so many hours mapping out every curve and hard line on his body with my fingers and tongue, I can resolutely say, any more enthusiastic smacking will result in bruises.
“I think it’s a sign,” Ty says.
“For what, there’s a water leak?”
“No, asshole. It’s a bear. We play for Brixham Bears.”
Oh boy.
“Yes, definitely a sign.” Dean bobs his head, and I wish I’d stayed away and not mentioned that the water stain resembles a bear. “What sort of sign?” he follows up with. And I know he can’t be talking to me.
The front door opens, and Leon walks in. The scuffle of shoes follows, as does the close of the door. Immediately after, there’s a presence above my head, and Leon’s confused face comes into view.
“What are we doing?”
“Looking for the meaning behind the bear.” Ty sounds far too serious.
“Huh?” Leon looks at me for clarity, but I have none.
“You can take my pla—”
Dean snags my arm. “Nuh-uh. You discovered it.”
“You were the one on the floor, camping out with sticks.” Hold on. “What’s with the wood and blankets?”
A light pink caresses Dean’s cheeks. I follow the trail as it spreads across his skin. My gut clenches as it dips below his collar. Fuck, I love it when he blushes, and from the flare of heat in Dean’s gaze, he knows exactly how I feel.
A thud beside me pulls me out of my Dean trance. Leon’s pressed up next to me, his head next to mine as he readjusts the pillow under my head to share it.
This is so fucking weird. But in truth, the amount of crazy shit we’ve got up to together over the years, us crammed in the hallway on the floor is pretty lowkey.
“Is that a bear?”
“See, even Leon thinks it too.” Dean sounds far too smug, but it’s best not to engage, so I sensibly keep quiet.
“You were in the middle of telling me what all the equipment’s for,” I push, not letting Dean distract me.
“I wasn’t in the middle of—” At my pointed stare, he huffs a sigh. “I was making a fort.”
A fort? My lips part, and I scrunch my brow, nonplussed.
Of all the things Deans could have said, a fort was so not it.
“Any reason why you’re making a fort in the hallway?” Hell, if he suggested a fort in my bedroom, I’d be totally on board. It could have been our very own cuddly sex cave.
Not so much in the middle of our hallway, though.
“I took the rubbish bag outside, found the wood and skis at the curbside someone had dumped.”
“And that screamed ‘fort’ to you?” Amusement colors my question, and hell if Dean’s level of adorable doesn’t reach new heights.
“It’s your fault.”
“My fault?” I bark out a laugh, even more confused.
“I got dragged into a TikTok hole because you were on your phone forever. There’s something wonky with my algorithm, as it was video after video of all these awesome forts. Then I saw the wood and skis and yeah… fort.”
“God, I love you.” I have no qualms in telling him how I feel in front of my friends, or anyone for that matter.
A wide, perfect smile stretches his lips as he looks back at me. “Love you back.”
“That’s all great, but it still doesn’t explain why there’s a bear on our ceiling.” Ty moves his head this way and that, as if the movement changes his perspective.
“Screw the bear. I want to make a fort,” Leon pipes up.
Me? I just want to drag Dean to my bedroom and have my way with him again, but I know that won’t happen. Plus, hello, fort-making. I am so up for making a fort.
Everyone’s quiet for a beat. Ty is the first to break the silence. “Okay, I’m up for a fort, as long as we order pizza.”
Dean snorts, and I shake my head, making a mental note to call the landlord tomorrow to check out the water stain.
And then we’re scrambling to get up. Just four twenty-two-year-olds debating the best and most secure structure to create a fort that, to be honest, needs to cover the entire hallway to fit the basketball players amongst us.
We measure and collect more random items in our pursuit—a chair, a sweeping brush, the clothesline that Leon takes down in the dark backyard. When Dean pulls out the fairy lights from who knows where, we all grin, totally on board with the added prettiness.
Ty tries to talk us into dragging out mattresses, but we overhaul the idea with a majority vote. He does set up his and my laptop, doing something fancy to them so they’re screen mirroring.
A sound at the front door, and I scramble to my knees. We’re expecting the pizza delivery. My head’s sticking out the opening between the curtains we took down from Ty’s room when the front door opens.
Sammy stops short, Bentley smacking into him with a grunt, almost upending the boxes of pizzas he must have intercepted at the door.
I stare up at them, a head between curtains, not saying a word.
“Fuck yes.” Sammy kicks off his shoes, tearing off his coat.
Unless I want to get squashed, I need to shift. I do so quickly as Sammy, all long limbs and big feet, dives through the opening, landing half on Leon with a grunt.
Bentley, still holding the boxes, stares at me. A slight uptick lifts his mouth as Leon cussing Sammy out drifts from behind me. “Do I want to know?”
“Meh.” I lift my shoulders, my lips twitching. “Probably safer not to, and get your ass in here before there’s descension coming from within.”
Bentley snorts, hands me the pizzas, and quickly tugs off his sneakers and his jacket to he can clamber between our curtained door.
Dean’s saved me a space. I snuggle next to him, repositioning a moment later when it’s clear six grown-ass men make for a mighty tight fit. Once Dean has settled between my legs, his back against my chest, I exhale and dot a kiss to his head.
A glance at my friends spread out in blankets and cushions, pretty much like a puppy pile, pulls a smile to my lips.
The end of our senior year is drawing close so quickly. Between classes, training, games, and spending as much time doting on Dean as possible, it would be easy to miss out on moments like this.
I squeeze Dean to me and try to capture the cozy fort home we’ve created to my memory. It’s times like these that will keep me going when I leave and go pro next year. Sure, I’ll make new friends and have new players to connect with, but I can’t imagine they’ll be anything like my Brixham Bears brothers.
Since that’s the case, I’ll ensure we stay connected. Missing out on such ridiculous nights isn’t worth imagining.
June 1, 2023
Weaker Than Instinct - Chapter One Sneak Peek
With the release of Weaker Than Instinct creeping closer, it's time to share with you some of the opening chapter. Why only "some" do I hear you cry? Well, as standard for urban fantasy romances, my chapters are looonnng, as in there are only 12 in the entire novel.
I hope you enjoy getting to know Agent Michaels better!
Chapter OneMichaelsWedged to the ground, I took stock of my limbs. Wriggling toes. Flexing fingers. Cracking neck as I turned it left, then right. Three good things going for me. Shoulders— there was no holding back the grunt of pain tearing out of me.
Red hot and intense, agony sliced through my stomach, my side. I screwed up my eyes, willing my breaths to even.
One breath. Two. All the way up to five before it was time to assess the situation.
I pried my eyes open and squinted through the smoke-filled air.
Debris surrounded me, disorientating and chaotic. Lucas was going to kick my arse. There were no ifs, buts, or maybes.
Obviously I’d heal. My shifter abilities came in super handy, but the blazing ache on my right-hand side couldn’t be magicked or wished away.
Focussed on slow and steady exhales, I guided my hand to the area, already guessing what I’d find. A heavy sigh, followed by another throb of pain, trickled free when my palm connected with wet metal.
Blood. The sticky liquid coated the steel, the metallic scent thick and cloying.
Impaled was never a good look, let alone an ideal situation. But I wasn’t dead, so there was that.
My comms sparked to life. “Michaels, this is Kent. Check in. Over.”
Biting back my urge to grunt as I moved to touch the small device in my ear, I held my breath and finally pressed the button. “Michaels checking in. Over.” With no quiver, no shake, my tone remained neutral, controlled.
The two-second beat before Kent’s voice sounded in my ear was enough to warn me that she knew that shit had hit the fan. Her instincts were spookily accurate, even when a hundred kilometres away. “Status report. Over.” There it was—her tight voice, her tone making it clear I should be more concerned about her kicking my arse rather than Mathew Lucas, the head of the ITU—the Infiltration Tactical Unit—I was a member of.
“I may need an assist. Over.” I wasn’t quite gung-ho enough to think I could pull the steel out of myself. Well, not without causing more injuries. The thought of taking longer to heal, which meant more time out of the field, was enough for me to admit I needed backup.
Kent didn’t hold back her pissed-off snarl. “Two minutes. Over and out.”
Yeah, Kent was definitely the vampire I should be more concerned about.
Waiting out the two minutes wasn’t a hardship. The explosion had killed Muerso. The pool of blood decorated with ash and debris, as well as his prone form, was all the confirmation I needed. Plus the explosion was directly linked to the computer systems. I expected that would annoy Kent, our department whiz at all things cyber, but Muerso’s death would put an end to his criminal dealings.
Three months of intel told me he hadn’t been part of a wider ring. And with his servers destroyed, it was one more shady criminal enterprise dismantled. The metal piercing my side was totally worth it.
“You look like shit.” Chris’s grin was wide as he stepped carefully over the debris. His attention drifted to Muerso’s motionless form before returning to me, his brow quirked high. “I take it you not waiting for your team was worth it?”
I studied him closely, assessing if he was as annoyed as Kent. With his grin still in place, his posture relaxed, he seemed okay, but as he crouched before me and prodded my wound, I reconsidered my evaluation.
There was no holding back my hiss at his touch. Narrowing my eyes, I stared hard, holding back my snarl.
“You’re meant to wait for your partner.” His dark eyes appeared black in the flickering lights and the smoke that had yet to settle.
I rolled my eyes, which did nothing to ease the guilt bubbling to life in my gut. “You were warned I was an arsehole in the first five minutes of joining the team,” I grumbled.
“True, but you seem determined to push your reputation into uncharted waters. Putting yourself at risk like this is bullshit.” The calm tone, the casual way he scanned me for further injuries, didn’t gel with his words or the hardening glint in his gaze.
“Sorry. The wanker in me is strong.”
Chris’s lips twitched.
“While I’m digging the kebab look, you know, the whole wolf-on-a-skewer thing, you wanna help un-stab me?” I worked hard at controlling my expression, my voice. The injury in my side was a constant pulse of agony, and the sooner I was free, the sooner I could get pain meds and heal. While I was a legit arsehole lately, like right now for heading into the building without Chris, my partner of six months, I wasn’t a masochist.
I wasn’t that at all, and everyone in the team knew it, even Chris, the newest enforcer to join our unit.
At the sound of leather soles on rubble, he glanced behind him when a couple of medics entered, giving them a nod. “Looks like we can un-skewer you.” With an effortless grace I was envious of right now, Chris stood and made room for Grace and Hansen.
The two medics made quick work of checking that pulling me from the steel was the best way to tackle my release, and within a few minutes, the three of them yanked me free. Chris took a little too much pleasure in my grunt and groan.
“Fuck.” Lightheaded and shaky, I trembled, wavering on my feet. Hansen stopped me from faceplanting by putting a strong arm around me. My head swam, a fresh wave of agony rolling through me and turning my stomach.
I swallowed hard. No way would I vomit. I’d never live it down. Chris would waste no time at all spreading that story about me in the unit. Would I deserve the shit talk? Absolutely. No chance would I make it easy for him, though.
“Let’s get you a stretcher,” Hansen said.
“Nuh-uh. I can walk.”
The three of them rolled their eyes. Not that I gave two shits. The investigation was over. The crim was dead—honestly, the best place for the blood dealer. As far as I was concerned, this was a win.
Directing me forward, Chris tugged out his phone, beginning to record the mass of devastation I’d caused. “Kent is going to go for your jugular, man.”
Not bothering to glance back as I unsteadily stepped over the rubble, trying not to stumble, I shrugged. “There might be something salvageable.” There so wasn’t anything left that could be rescued from the burst of flames and mini-explosions I’d detonated earlier.
Chris’s snort called bullshit.
Ignoring him, I made it outside to the waiting ambulance. With blood trickling down my side and seeping into my tactical pants, I couldn’t risk not getting patched up. I clambered into the open back, Grace following me inside.
“You need me to cut your shirt off?”
Wide-eyed, I stared at her in horror. “Fuck no.”
Her lips thinned out as she waited for me to unfasten my bulletproof vest and tug off my black SICB-issued T-shirt. These things were expensive as hell. The Supernatural Investigation & Crime Bureau budget was shit, and our unit’s even worse, which meant if I wrecked the damn thing, I’d have to buy a new one.
Screw that. I’d wait till my yearly replacements.
By the time I eased the bloody shirt off, sweat trickled down my temples and my spine. A hot shower, a coffee, maybe some whiskey, probably a few stitches to help the wound along its way, and I’d be golden.
“Oh fucking hell.” A gaping hole from the skewer had destroyed my shirt. I flicked my attention to Grace, who remained stoic as she stared at me, no doubt thinking I was a prize dickhead. “You could have told me it was wrecked.” Petulance rumbled through my voice.
“Could I?” she deadpanned, swiping up some medical supplies so she could clean me up.
Keeping my mouth shut as she dabbed at my wound, I grimaced, knowing better than to complain. A wince and a hiss escaped as she cleansed the wound, and I glanced away quickly.
“You need an injection to numb the area?”
“I’m good,” I said tightly, earning myself a grunted mumble about me being a pain in the arse. This wasn’t Grace’s first rodeo of stitching me up, especially over the past year. If I were her, I’d be sick of me too.
A few stitches later and a bandage taped on, I was good to go.
“I’ll be happy if I don’t see you again.” Grace shot me a pointed look, and Hansen snorted as he closed the rear doors of the ambulance.
“You won’t miss me?” I tugged on a fresh tee that was shoved at me by Hansen. Unfortunately, not a new SICB one I could steal.
“Miss your surly arse? Hell no.” She followed up with a smirk.
I waved her off, giving my thanks to both of them before seeking out Chris. Already in his car, he was tapping his fingers to whatever bad-taste beat was playing on the radio.
“You done?”
“Yeah.”
He bobbed his head. “I’ve asked Tony to take your vehicle back to the main headquarters.” Meaning, as opposed to our unit’s covert location. “Thought it would give you a chance to heal before you head out later.”
It would be easier if Chris was a dickhead. It would mean I could keep my distance and not like the man, but when he did stuff like this, it made it tricky. “Thanks,” I grumbled, settling down in the passenger seat. “You get my bag?”
He snorted. “You mean the one that’s burned to a crisp?” The sound of the engine cut through his chuckle. “That’d be a no.”
“Damn it. I liked that bag. It had my favourite Beretta in it.” What a clusterfuck. I secured my seatbelt, readjusting the belt strap so it didn’t press down on my injury. Not only would I be getting a bollocking from Lucas, but I’d destroyed my bag and one of my handguns.
But at least the bad guy was toast, and I could close my eyes for a few minutes while Chris drove us to the ITU headquarters.
Or maybe not.
Barely sitting up straight in the SUV, I grimaced as Chris took each turn fifteen kilometres faster than necessary. Despite his smile and ease with handling this situation, and the several others since he joined the ITU, the lion was pissed off.
I got it. Deserved it. Absolutely understood it.
Since Jenson’s—my old partner’s—death last year, I hadn’t made life easy for myself or my team. I kept pushing the boundaries and had been reprimanded more than once for taking unnecessary risks. Add to that the number of times I’d gone lone wolf, and I was surprised I still had a job.
That I did such things, was so selfish at times, didn’t sit easy. But I didn’t know how to stop, how to process Jenson no longer being around. And no amount of talking about it, including the mandatary six sessions of therapy after the whole Lentwood shitshow, changed that one bit.
It didn’t help that I’d refused to share a single thing the whole time. Well, nothing of value or truth.
“You doing okay there?”
I tilted my head to look at Chris and offered a chin lift. “Still alive.”
He grunted in response.
“You got something to say?”
He sent a quick glance my way. “Not sure there’s any point.” His gaze returned to the road ahead.
The headlights caught on the late-night mist that had settled over Sydney. I always liked this time of night, especially on a weeknight. The busy city was virtually still with most residents tucked up for the night, ready for their early starts in the morning. So close to the headquarters, it was especially quiet.
While I registered Chris’s words, I struggled to form a response that wouldn’t simply piss him off even further. Landing on “Fair enough,” I watched as the electronic gates whirled into action at the compound and thought about the report Lucas would demand I write.
We pulled into the underground parking, and Chris found a space and parked. I exited with a grunt, irritating my injury.
“Get to the infirmary. You’re going to need all the strength you can get before Lucas sees you.”
Not wanting to rile Chris up any more, I held back my refusal, since I’d already been patched up. Though some drugs that actually blurred the edges of my pain wouldn’t go amiss. “He really that upset?”
His brows shot high. “I don’t think upset quite covers it.”
With a nod of thanks and a grimace, I waved off his help and headed to see the doc.
It didn’t take too long to get the all clear—after having a couple of shards of metal pulled out of my back, which I hadn’t noticed before—and make my way to the central workspace. This was really Kent’s domain, and she was the first to spot me.
“You know what they call a dead shifter who goes in blind and plays with metal sticks?” Kent deadpanned, her unwavering attention on me.
Knowing not to bait the vampire, I simply looked at her.
“Whatever the fuck they want because the cockhead is dead.” Her stare was hard, the only tell she gave that she wanted to lay me out.
I sighed, hating the guilt raising its ugly head.
When Jenson had been killed by our former division manager, it shook the whole team, devastated us all. Despite knowing how much it had impacted everyone, I found it easier to not focus on any of it. It hurt too fucking much otherwise. “I’m sorry I was a cockhead.”
An unimpressed grunt filled the space as Kent narrowed her eyes at me. “Stop trying to get dead.”
“That’s not what—”
“Michaels, office, now.” Lucas’s usually quiet, steady voice was tense and filled with ice. My attention still on Kent, I widened my eyes.
The vamp simply smirked at me and flipped me off. “Enjoy getting your arse handed to you.”
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May 26, 2023
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May 25, 2023
Find Love Abroad Under the Blazing Stars of the Aussie Outback
It's Release Day and I am totally here for it.Not only did Under the Blazing Stars allow me the opportunity to give a voice and a storyline to a character I fell hard for in High Alert--the gorgeous PE teacher Alec--but it also allowed me to revisit the Queensland outback, a place I spent three incredible years and where I first understood the true meaning of Aussie mateship and how small-town communities rally, especially during natural disasters. And of course, contributing to the Love Abroad collection was such incredible fun. I hope you've already visited the four fabulous locations already live and are excited for the final four releases
WHAT TO EXPECT:- Brother's best friend pining
- No-holding-back bi-awakening
- Late-night sexy swim
- Romantic under-the-stars whispered words
- Hot rancher action
BLURB:Find Love Abroad Under the Blazing Stars of the Aussie Outback
I’m a glutton for punishment.
The reason? My foolish pursuit of straight guys. Correction. One straight man.
Alec Rose.
For twelve long years, my best mate’s brother has starred in practically every fantasy I’ve had.
Massage… oops… my towel slips.
Swimming adventure mishap with a huge wave. Yep. Alec gives me mouth-to-mouth.
Shower with soap that refuses to stay in my hands. I’d best bend over.
Now, it’s become something of a game. I flirt outrageously, just to see the big guy blush. The thing is, he takes it all in his stride. Even attempts sweet, flirty moments back, but he will never be mine.
Until the impossible happens and interest sparks in his eyes and shines bright. Just maybe, under the blazing stars of the outback, we can navigate this connection and Alec will finally give me a chance.
Under the Blazing stars is a 42,000-word, superhot, super-low-angst, bi-awakening MM romance starring a loved-up Aussie cowboy and a fun-loving teacher.
WHAT THE REVIEWERS ARE SAYING:"The romance made my heart happy whilst the HEA for Patrick and Alec left me smiling." - Vicki, Goodreads
*****
"This is absolutely my favourite book that I’ve read by Becca Seymour to date." - Book Binge
*****
"I love a good brother’s best friend story. This one certainly fits the bill! This one is sweet, swoony, and steamy." - Princess Bookwyrm
May 1, 2023
Under the Blazing Stars - Chapter One
Chapter One AlecSomething’s wrong with me. Picking up one-and-done hook-ups has always been my thing. Yet here in Bali, not even halfway through my much-needed vacation, the only person who keeps my attention is Patrick.
Sure, his flirting game is on point. It always is. But there’s something different, and the only “something” that’s changed in this scenario is me. My reaction. My desire to spend time with him.
What the hell am I meant to do with that?!
“Ten o’clock for jet skiing tomorrow, right?”
I blink rapidly, only just realising I totally zoned out and was probably staring at Patrick like a confused fool. “Yeah. We’ll grab a taxi at nine thirty. Should give us plenty of time.”
He bobs his head and angles his beer, taking a hefty gulp. A smile tilts his lips high. “You sure you don’t mind me being pillion, Alec?”
My heart flips over and I swallow hard. The fuck is happening?
For years Patrick has made it his mission to flirt with me. He’s made no secret that he loves to see me blush. It’s always been with good humour, though. Harmless teasing. Never has he actually come on to me or even asked for a kiss.
But why would he, since I’ve never given him any indication that he has my attention. Hell, that any guy has had my attention, for that matter.
“No, it’s fine.” I clear my throat, trying to push my imagination aside at what it’s going to be like to have Patrick pushed up against me, holding me tight. Escaping the visuals by winding him up seems like a great idea, so I relax my shoulders, saying, “I’ll see how many flips we can manage.” I wink and start to chuckle when he widens his eyes before he narrows them, picking up that I’m teasing him right back.
The narrowed-eyed stare disappears, and he quirks a brow at me. “All the more reason for me to be pinned so tight to your arse that you’ll miss me when I have to let go.”
And there it goes again. A heart flip followed by so many wings in my gut, I think I might take off. I should tease back. He expects it, as it’s how I’ve always reacted. Sure, I blush like I’ve spent too much time in the Aussie sun around him, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy dishing it back.
With my brain ensnared by his words and visuals, I don’t have it in me. For the life of me, I don’t understand what’s changed. Why now do I like the idea of Patrick clinging to me? Why, two days ago when he rubbed sunscreen into my skin, did it feel like I was touched by a live wire? And yeah, I got hard, like full-on erection that took me twenty minutes to breathe away.
Not that it’s really the first, if I’m truly honest with myself. Years of being flirted with hasn’t gone unnoticed, and my mind has roamed a time or two. Maybe it’s because on day one, a bartender made his interest in Patrick super clear, and the thought of seeing him getting it on slammed distress into me so hard, my knees nearly buckled. Yeah, that’s something I don’t want to see.
“Grub’s up.”
I startle at my brother’s voice, grateful he’s cut through my brain fart and inability to function. “Excellent. I’ll grab the salad.”
“See where Charlie’s at as well,” he says.
Nodding, I jump up and head indoors. What I need is space and the chance to collect myself.
It’s not that I’m freaked about the getting hard for Patrick. Well, not totally. It’s more that I don’t understand why, at thirty-four, my cock’s responding to him. We’ve known each other for years. As one of my brother’s old housemates from uni, Patrick is a familiar face and a good guy. I also know him well enough to enjoy spending time with him, and even though we don’t see each other often, I consider him a friend.
Maybe it’s just that I have thoughts of unrequited affection on my brain.
Ross, my mate from work, is crushing pretty hard on his own brother’s best friend. The guy recently showed back up in town, unearthing a shitload of feelings in Ross. Now here I am, aware my own brother’s best mate has a thing for me—well, if the years of him flirting with me is to be trusted—which has started to make me think. That has to be it.
Am I a little lonely and think a relationship would be kind of nice? Maybe a bit.
Am I realising that with Patrick’s flirting comes a healthy slice of sweetness and thoughtfulness? Probably a lot.
Yesterday, he made me the perfect coffee and even managed to scrounge up some mangosteen. I’ve only eaten the delicious fruit in Bali before, and I may have gone on about them. And Patrick, being his awesome self, located some at the market and prepared them for a snack just for me.
There are also the small touches that have started to get my fire burning a bit brighter. Truth is, I’m liking the contact and enjoying his interest. It feels like more than simply craving attention, though.
Last night’s dream of me making out with him kind of confirmed it. Waking up with a raging hard-on this morning, I was oh so tempted to seek him out. Constantly imagining what kissing him would be like is just another nail in the coffin of my interest being absolutely piqued.
Hell knows what I’m going to do about this intense attraction, though. Do I simply offer to suck him off? And don’t even get me started that the idea of giving Patrick head only makes me nervous in the “will I even be any good at it?” way, rather than the “dude, aren’t you straight?” quandary. Maybe I should wear supertight shorts and wiggle my arse or some shit?
I am so not good with this and am way out of my depth.
Trevor hollers my name, so I quickly pull the prepared salad out of the fridge, call for Charlie, another of my brother’s friends, and head outside.
We stayed in tonight. I was enjoying taking some time off from the bars and clubs. I’m beginning to feel every one of my years. When we’re out and I see eighteen-year-olds getting it on, awkwardness slams into me. I could have taught so many of the Aussies partying in Bali this summer.
I shudder at the thought.
Placing the salad on the table, I sit opposite Patrick as Trevor sets down the chicken he’s barbequed. “Good job, bro. Not burned to cinders.”
Trevor flips me off—his usual sign of sibling affection. “You can cook next, arsehole.”
“What? I said good job.”
Patrick chuckles. “I wonder what your schoolkids would think about you if they saw you interacting with Trev.”
“Ha. They’d realise that there’s no hope for mankind and true maturity is impossible if they have brothers.” It’s true. “Alec the big brother,” who still on occasion likes to pin his brother down until he taps out, is so far removed from “teacher Alec.” Sure, I have fun with the kids. Most of the time. Being a PE teacher helps with my relaxed vibe. I’m hoping the new role I’m taking on next month when I get back to work doesn’t change that too much.
“I reckon having a sister is a hell of a lot worse.” Swiping a chicken breast, Patrick places it on his plate. I pass him the salad. “Thanks.”
“You think a sister is worse than having this clown for a brother?”
Once again, Trevor flips me off. I fake catch it and put it in my pocket.
“Hell yes.” Patrick accepts the mustard I’ve passed him with a smile and a little eye contact that makes my pulse race. Not that he asked for the mustard, but I know he likes it with his chicken. The combination is weird, but still, I made sure it was on the table. “Try sleepovers with eight fourteen-year-old girls.” He shudders, and I screw up my nose.
“Okay, knowing what year nine girls can be like, especially at school camp, I totally would not have wanted to experience that.”
“Right. Growing up with my sister and her gaggle of friends made me realise super early on that I could never work with kids.”
I snort, thinking about Patrick’s profession. He’s a geologist, which sounds all levels of exciting and hot. But since my brother is too, and they both use their degrees for jobs in the mines, I know for a fact it’s not all that exciting.
“Rocks or kids,” I tease. “I can see how the balance would have weighed in favour of rocks.”
Patrick smirks as he chews.
“That means I must have been saintly, since you experienced all this perfection”—Trevor indicates himself—“and decided teaching was your dream job.” He tips his bottle of beer up to me. “You’re welcome.”
I scoff loudly. “As if. You were such a pain in the arse that I figured if I could survive you and keep you in line, a class of thirty kids would be a piece of piss.”
Laughing, Patrick knocks his beer bottle to mine. “He didn’t lose that quality all the way through uni.”
“Bloody hell. Remind me again why I thought it was a good idea for you two to be here together?” There’s zero heat in Trevor’s attempt to sulk.
“What, us?” Patrick presses his palm to his chest. There’s nothing innocent about his tone. “We make the perfect pair. Honestly, I don’t know how we’ve both survived not seeing each other for two years.”
Charlie steps out onto the wooden patio, his phone to his ear. He rolls his eyes as he listens to whoever is on the other end of the call.
“Two years?” Turning my attention back to Patrick, I scrunch my brow, trying to recall the last time we saw each other.
“Yep. Trev’s thirtieth.”
“Damn.” I nod. “I didn’t realise it was that long. That was a good weekend.”
Patrick’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. I don’t like the look on him at all.
Thinking back to Trevor’s birthday, I’m sure it was a great party. We visited the Gold Coast, drank beer, went on a boat trip, and partied at a club. Pretty sure I hooked up that night too. Not that I recollect who or the finer details.
Patrick had been in my orbit for most of the weekend. I do recall that. We teased. He flirted. We laughed. My heart stutters when a memory rushes to the surface. It’s a moment that seemed insignificant. Until now.
Patrick looking… damn, looking sad. Him glancing away and barely maintaining eye contact. It was when I was dancing with someone.
While I did absolutely nothing wrong, it doesn’t stop the strange unease in my stomach, especially not when Patrick might be thinking about that night and the same memory.
Tension pulls taut between us. I don’t know what to do with the invisible cord. Will it snap? Flex and settle? All I know for sure is I like it when Patrick smiles. When he’s genuinely happy and relaxed.
“—tomorrow?”
“What?” Dragging my attention to Charlie, I frown, missing completely what he said.
“Tomorrow’s mine and Pat’s last night. Thought we’d hit a club.”
The words are a smack to my face. How has the time passed by so quickly? While I’m not heading home, courtesy of my awesome summer holidays, the reminder that Patrick’s leaving doesn’t sit right.
“Sounds good.” Trevor’s up for it, apparently. Not that he’s rushing off anytime soon. He managed to score a month off work and will still be here over Christmas and the New Year when our folks will fly in.
Unable to resist, my gaze finds Patrick. My eyes widen when I realise he’s staring at me. And shit, I recognise that look… his expression. It’s one I’m familiar with from him. What’s new is how I’m sure I’m peering at him in exactly the same way.
It’s one of longing.
Unsaid words. Regrets.
Something’s wrong with me. I swallow hard, calling bullshit.
Nothing is wrong with me. Nope. The only thing possibly wrong about any of this is letting Patrick walk away for another two years without me finding a way to finally kiss the longing off his handsome face.
And isn’t that a “holy fucking shit” moment? I want to kiss Patrick Boundary.
March 26, 2023
Cover Reveal: Under the Blazing Stars!
Check out the gorgeous cover for Alec's story (hint: you met this character in High Alert!) This title is part of a fun collection of wonderful characters in various "off grid" destinations.
Preorder: https://readerlinks.com/l/3278683
BlurbI’m a glutton for punishment.
The reason? My foolish pursuit of straight guys. Correction. One straight man.
Alec Rose.
For twelve long years, my best mate’s brother has starred in practically every fantasy I’ve had.
Massage… oops… my towel slips.
Swimming adventure mishap with a huge wave. Yep. Alec gives me mouth-to-mouth.
Shower with soap that refuses to stay in my hands. I best bend over.
Now, it’s become something of a game. I flirt outrageously, just to see the big guy blush. The thing is, he takes it all in his stride. Even attempts sweet, flirty moments back, but he will never be mine.
Until the impossible happens and interest sparks in his eyes and shines bright. Just maybe, under the blazing stars of the outback, we can navigate this connection and Alec will finally give me a chance.
If you'd like to enter the special group giveaway and be in with a chance of winning a $50 Amazon gift card, you can do so by joining my Facebook group and completing the entry form there. Each author's group has a unique form to fill in, giving you plenty of chances to enter.
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February 6, 2023
First Look: Facts, Smacts!
With just over a month to wait until the release of Ty's story--Facts, Smacts!--it's time I treat you all to the opening chapter. I loved writing Tyron and Logan's story so much. It was such fun to write. I hope you're eager to get to know my guys soooo much better.
Facts, Smacts! © Becca Seymour, 2023 --Unedited and subject to change Chapter 1Tyron“Fourteen times a day.”
“No way. It’s gotta be more than that.”
I ruffle Brody’s hair and snort when he attempts to duck away while sending me a glare. “Maybe for you, kid. You’re a regular fartin’ machine.”
My little brother huffs and bats my hand away when I attempt to destroy his carefully styled hair. I swear, when I was fourteen, I didn’t give a shit about my hair. Hell, I still don’t.
Admittedly I shave most of it. Who has the time to stand in front of a mirror? Not this guy.
“I do not, asshole.”
My grin stretches wide. “You let Pops hear you cuss like that, I dare you.”
Once again, he narrows his gaze at me. “Shouldn’t you be leaving now?”
“Aw.” I clutch my chest. “You tryin’ to get rid of me already?”
Brody rolls his eyes, something he’s perfected a little too well since I was last home from college. “Yes,” he deadpans, causing my lips to twitch. He looks far too much like me when he does that, and a bit like Pops as well. We’re all grumpy shits at times.
“You about ready?” Dad steps out into the courtyard where I’ve been shooting some hoops with Brody before I head to the airport. His smile is soft as he takes us in, and I know he will get sappy in three, two… “I can’t believe you’re going to be a senior.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know, Dad. I’m all grown up and remarkably handsome, considering my weird-ass genes.”
Pops catches the tail end of my words when he opens the patio door. He looks between us, eyes staying a few moments longer on Dad before he huffs out a breath. He should be used to Dad getting all sentimental. This is the fourth time he’s had to say goodbye at this time of year. Make that eight if we include his goodbyes to my twin sister.
Christ knows what he will be like next year when my other sister Tammy leaves, and then when Brody finally flies the coop, I imagine Pops will have to work triple time at containing Dad so he doesn’t hang on to my brother’s leg or something.
Preventing him from leaving… I can totally visualize that.
“He’ll be fine, Jack,” Pops says, moving into Dad’s space and wrapping an arm around his waist. He follows up with a kiss on his cheek and whispers something in his ear. I smile over at them, relieved Pops handles Dad so well.
Don’t get me wrong, my dad is hardly a shrinking violet. My height is all his, which means he’s a tall guy. He’s also got a fierce protective streak and knows how to wrangle four hyper kids while running a successful gym and keeping my much more serious and grumpy Pops in line.
Yeah, I get my outward “don’t give me any shit” disposition from Pops. Funny how that works. Dad likes to tease that when they started IVF with their surrogate, their swimmers did a little meshing, blending Pops’s crabby with his awesome good looks.
Pops doesn’t even argue, probably because we all suspect he’s right.
“I know he’ll be fine, Mac,” Dad agrees, albeit a little whimsically, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to miss him and be sad that he’s leaving.”
That’s my cue to sweep in and give him a tight hug. He loves this shit¾when I initiate hugs and remind him I love him. He’s told me more than a million times how he was so relieved I broke out of my dickhead stage when I was fifteen and stopped being embarrassed about showing affection.
Not that I’ll admit it, but I was glad too.
Being a sulky fucker is exhausting at times.
That doesn’t mean I’m prepared to be all rainbows. Screw that.
Having two dads comes with a shitload of bullshit. My go-to is to defend and keep wannabe shitheads at a distance. Thank Christ, during the first week of training at college, one of my now best friends, Kieran, shared with us that he’s gay. It made dropping my guard much easier, especially when our team offered unconditional support.
“You ready, Tyron?” Pops’s deep voice catches my attention, and I bob my head, dragging Brody one last time into a hug that he pretends to hate.
“Yeah. Is Tammy still around?” I wonder if I can get one last hug from my kid sister.
“Nope. She’s already headed out with her friends.”
“Of course she has.” I swear Tammy’s social life is busier than all of ours combined. And since she turned seventeen, I’m relieved I’m not at home to deal with the army of douches trying to date her. Pops and Dad have it handled, though.
I hug Dad once more, reassuring him it’s okay for him not to come with us to the airport¾one time of him being the clingy, cringeworthy parent in public was enough¾and I promise I’ll make it home for Thanksgiving. It tends to be the only time I can get away between practice and games. Last year I didn’t even come home for Christmas, heading to Sammy’s parents’ place instead, as they live just an hour away from campus rather than the long-ass flight it takes for me to come home.
Not long into the journey to the airport, I receive a text from Sammy, asking what time I’m flying in.
I shoot him the time, and he lets me know he’ll collect me.
Sammy: 2nite party
Me: Sounds good. Where?
Sammy: Off-campus. Bradshaw’s.
I grin. Bradshaw always throws great parties.
Me: Sounds good
“Who’s blowing up your phone?”
A quick glance at Pops and he’s side-eyeing me, the dark eyebrow I can see arching impressively.
“Just Sammy. Making plans for tonight.”
Even though I expect it, I still sigh when he frowns and purses his lips.
“Out with it.”
“It’s just, it’s your last year. You need to make sure you don’t take too much on. That means balance and not worrying so much about letting your friends down if you can’t go out or something.”
“I know that.” I can’t hold back my second sigh. Pops is a hard-core academic. You wouldn’t think it really to look at him. He’s got this whole Idris Elba thing going on, and I love mocking him, saying he’s too pretty to be so smart. Yeah, you can imagine the clip around the head I get when I say that sort of shit to him, but still, he’s smart as hell.
On top of his crabbiness, we suspect some of his brainiac genes shimmied over to the donor’s egg.
It also gifted me with a photographic memory. Tricks. There’s no such thing as a photographic memory, but I’m pretty damn smart—an IQ of 185. I shit you not. Sounds like bullshit, right? Well, some of my teachers thought that over the years as well. The number of times I’ve been accused of cheating on a test is no joke. It wasn’t until I was in fifth grade that my parents reached out for specialist support and found that my eidetic memory was just a ripple of what my brain was capable of.
“Just remember your end goal. Don’t let basketball or other distractions get in the way of your upcoming application. And by that, I also mean take time to breathe.”
I bite my cheek to stop the snide remark wanting to break free. He’s not being an asshole. Well, not deliberately, but he knows how badly I want this. He knows how hard I’ve worked to juggle my accelerated program to finish this year with a B.S. and M.S. in Criminal Justice and Criminology. All while training, playing my ass off, and making sure I have time for my friends.
“I’ve got this,” I manage, ensuring there’s no bite to my voice.
He huffs out a breath and glances at me as we reach the airport drop-off. “I know you do. I’ve seen how hard you’ve worked this summer to make sure you’re a step ahead for your final year.”
“So I can play and not let my team down.” Wanting to do it all isn’t a bad thing, right?
Pops pulls up, engages the brake, and turns toward me. The struggle is clear as day on his face. He thinks I should drop out of the Bears this year so I don’t screw up my chances of joining the FBI.
It’s not only that.
What Pops hasn’t come right out to say is he’s concerned that I’ll take on so much that I get lost. It all links to that balance dig he made earlier.
“You know I need this,” I say. It’s something I won’t budge on. Sure, it means I hardly have any free time, but the camaraderie is worth it. I need the relief of being part of a team with my friends. Plus, it keeps me strong and fit. Above all else, playing with my friends keeps me grounded.
Finally, his shoulders relax, and he nods. “I know you do. Just remember to breathe, okay?”
I snort and lift both my eyebrows high. “Pot, kettle much?”
He shoves at me before tugging me into a hug. “I love you. Be sure to call if you need anything.” He squeezes tightly before releasing me.
“Will do.” I step out of the car and collect my two bags from the trunk. When Pops calls my name, I return to the open window. There’s a new intensity in his gaze, and I immediately know what he’s going to say.
“Your sister…”
“Will be fine. I’ve got her back.”
Pops nods, a little guilt registering in his eyes that I have my work cut out for me looking out for my party-loving sister on top of everything else I manage. “Thanks, Tyron.”
I smile and tap the top of the car. “You heading to the station?”
“Yeah. My shift starts in an hour. I need to get moving.”
“Go fill up on donuts and shi¾crappy coffee,” I jest, leaning back. “Stay safe, Pops.”
He nods once before he pulls away to head to work. I watch him go, dread hitting me as always. While Pops is a kick-ass detective, it doesn’t stop the sliver of worry that creeps inside me whenever I leave for college.
I huff out a breath, shaking off the stink of anxiety.
Instead, I focus on this being my final year and ensuring I make the most of it. I crack my neck before heading into the airport. In a few hours, I’ll be with my friends, drinking a beer and finally relaxing.
Feeling more at ease, I tug out my phone and distract myself with some more studying.
***
I wince when I spot Angie at the party. While we didn’t start up anything last year, me ending things before they had a chance came out of the left field for her. But there wasn’t a connection there.
But what else was I to do? She’s a nice enough girl, but she wasn’t the person I thought she was. We’d been slowly building a friendship, and what I thought was a spark of attraction I was looking forward to exploring, ended up not existing.
One exchange I witnessed between her and a friend made that clear. And while I was polite, it doesn’t mean I want to see her anytime soon.
I head toward Sammy and Bentley, who are in the kitchen of the sorority house we’re in. Sammy’s mixing liquor and pouring it into shot glasses.
“Hey,” he greets. “You want one?” He already knows my answer, but he’s a good guy, so he offers anyway.
“I’m good,” I say with a shake of my head. “You know they use diethylene glycol in antifreeze and brake fluid, right?”
Sammy rolls his eyes before knocking back the shot. “And it tastes delicious.”
I snort at his wince. “Sure it does.”
He chuckles before reaching into a cupboard. “I hid this for you.” In his hands is a bottle of Goza tequila. Other than beer, it’s the only thing I drink. It’s not full of half the shit of the crap he’s mixing up.
I grin and take it from him. “Good man.”
He places three plastic shot cups in front of me, and I pour. We lift the shots. “To senior year,” Bentley says and knocks back the contents.
I repeat the words and do the same.
“One more.” Sammy places his cup down, and I refill.
Holding the drink up, I look at my two friends. Sammy’s close to wasted, but Bentley seems to be holding his own. I won’t have much more, not willing to fall on my face and end up on someone’s social media. “To kicking ass,” I say.
Sammy snorts before drinking up. He seems steady enough that I know I can leave him to it, plus Bentley is the only one who can keep him in line.
“I’ll catch you later.” I’m feeling restless tonight. Spending the whole summer at home studying, only taking breaks to hang out with my little brother to play some one-on-one will do that to a guy.
I wander around, hoping the answer will come in the form of finding someone I know well enough to have a conversation with or, hell, maybe even see a familiar face who sparks my curiosity. But after ten minutes and avoiding the conversation starters too many people attempt with me, I head outside.
The noise is getting to me, the loud voices rubbing me the wrong way. And while I appreciate so many students telling me they’re excited about this year’s basketball season, it’s hard to give a shit when I want to relax.
Once in the darkness, I step farther away from the house. Despite the number of residences dotted around the area, it's a big yard. I walk away from the twinkle lights haphazardly tied up at the back of the building and make my way toward where I can just make out some sort of seating in the blackness. It’s a rickety wooden bench, and I test it with a shove of my foot, checking it won’t collapse on me. When it doesn’t wobble, I sit, relaxing in the quiet.
While it’s not silent, because of the music and noise from the party, it’s much more peaceful here. As I stare at the sky, it’s hard to spot any stars; there’s too much light pollution around. But the half-moon is bright.
The “Fuck” snaps my attention to the shadows surrounding the house. A grunt follows along with a thud. Alert, I jump up and head toward the sound, my steps quiet, my movement cautious.
I don’t call out as I follow the shuffling. There’s no one I can see milling around, but I know what I heard.
Once around the corner of the building, my eyes take a second to adjust to the slip of light seeping out of the side window. A quick scan of the area shows me a couple of trash cans and mountain bikes. There’s a shift of movement, and my gaze drops to a sneakered foot.
I react immediately, my pulse picking up speed. “Hey, you okay?” Two steps forward, and I crouch.
“Fuck.” A groan. “Yeah.”
From the gruffness and strain in the voice, it doesn’t sound like the guy’s okay. “You need a hand? What happened?” My gut tightens.
A grunt escapes him as he pushes himself to sit, revealing his face. Even in the shadows I see the scrape on the side of his temple, and it looks like he has a bruised eye too. “I can manage,” he says gruffly, and I ease back, taking in his face entirely.
Surprise flickers through me. “Logan?” As soon as his name escapes, the feeling in my gut pulls taut. A pulse of vibrating energy fills my muscles, making my limbs shake.
I know this guy.
Logan’s gaze connects with mine. His wince is immediate; whether from the movement or the fact it’s me, I have no idea. “Fuck. Tyron.”
Well, that clears that up. His reaction doesn’t do a thing to release the tightness in my limbs. It does the opposite.
My feet propel me forward, and for the first time, I’m touching him. Logan. I carefully tug him up, but rather than stepping away, I palm his cheek, tilting his head, forcing him to look at me. “Who did this to you?”
You hear that deep-ass grumble in my voice? Yeah, it kind of surprises me too. While I don’t like seeing anyone hurt, my reaction to Logan is over the top. But between you and me, I’ll be honest here and let you know there’s no reining it in.
And why’s that exactly?
Here’s the thing. Logan Bryce is fucking beautiful.
It’s something I thought for the first time last semester, after listening to him interact with the class and the professor in one of our shared subjects. He’s eloquent and funny. Smart too.
There’s also this embarrassed smile that quirks his lips just so when he realizes he has the room's attention. There’s usually a slight flush of his cheeks as well.
That I felt all this had taken me by surprise, for sure. But one thing I’ve learned from growing up in such an open family is you follow your gut and what feels right.
Last year that meant me staring a hell of a lot.
But now…
After searching my gaze and swallowing, he closes his eyes. “No one. I’m honestly fine.”
I should let go of him. The warmth of his skin is pretty damn addictive, though, and honestly, I’m struggling to pull away and release him. It’s only when he bites his bottom lip and his eyes flutter open, our stares connecting, that I know me being up all in his space will make no sense to him.
How can it when we’ve barely made eye contact over the past three years? Not for lack of trying on my part, though. Some of those blushes I just mentioned? Yeah, they may have been reacting to my full-on stares.
Forcing a step back, I scan what I can see of his body, giving him a quick check. His clothes aren’t torn or soiled, and there’s no fresh blood on his face that I can see either.
With a sigh, he wobbles. Instinctively, I reach for him, holding his arms carefully.
He looks a mess. From the stink of alcohol, he’s been drinking a fair bit too.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
I don’t let go, partially because he may fall on his ass if I do, but he’s so not “fine.” The swelling on the corner of his eye is fresh, and the graze on his temple isn’t deep. It does trail to a small cut, though. I examine it a little more closely, getting into his space once again. Since he doesn’t push me back or try to get out of my grasp, I can get close enough to see it’s not deep and won’t need stitches.
And I totally don’t inhale. Do I want to? Maybe a little. But I imagine all I’ll smell is liquor rather than his enticing scent. His enticing scent?! The fuck.
Apparently, I’m more fascinated by Logan Bryce than I realized.
Not that I usually go around sniffing people, but I’m curious about Logan.
“Can you see out of your eye?” I ask, ducking down a couple of inches to see the damage better.
“I see four of everything,” he murmurs, his limbs trembling under my hold.
“That the beer, or do you have a concussion?”
He sniffs, a wince quickly following. “Shots.” His words don’t sound super slurred, so that’s something.
“Perhaps we need to get you checked out.”
A soft chuckle escapes him, and he wobbles. “You wanna check me out? All you have to do is ask once, Tyron.”
Alrighty then. I hold back my smirk, even as Logan’s eyes widen. It’s as if he can hardly believe those words spilled out of his mouth. This is not the time to be amused by his half-assed flirting, faux pas, mistake… whatever it was. Sober, Logan Bryce is pretty quiet¾not to be confused with dull or even an introvert.
Last year he became the treasurer of the LGBTQIA+ club, and as I mentioned earlier, he’s witty. I witnessed his humor many times in class.
As far as I’m aware, other than being the club treasurer and part of the social club, he keeps to himself. Hell, I’ve never even seen him at a party before. What’s brought him here tonight? Did he arrive like this, or has someone done this to him since being here?
Whatever, the answer is one I won’t like. Him or anyone being hurt like this is not okay, and fuck if my protective instincts don’t rush to the surface.
“Come on. Let’s get you inside.” I shift to move him. When I do, he stiffens, shaking his head, wincing just once before he stills. “What’s wrong?”
“I just need to head home.” More certainty and a little clarity enter his tone. His attention drifts to my hands. “You can let me go. I’m not going to fall.”
I’m not convinced, but when his gaze jerks to mine, I can see he’s on the edge of freaking out or snapping or something. “Okay.” Releasing him, I shuffle back a little. “Do you have any friends inside? You need me to call anyone?” The question of who did this and what happened burns on my tongue.
“Uhm, yeah. My friend Michelle’s inside. That’s who I’m here to meet.”
“Michelle Carter?”
“How did you…? Never mind. I’ll text her again.”
I stay alert as he texts his friend, scanning the area to look for signs of… something, a scuffle maybe. One of the bins is tipped over. There’s a gate from the front leading to this side alley. It’s a small gate, and it’s latched, but there’s no lock. To get to the side of the house, I passed a small shed. Angling toward it, I see the door’s slightly ajar, and there’s no light.
Before I can ask if he came from there, Logan’s name is called from the front of the house. It’s Michelle. She appears before the small gate, her gaze widening when she sees me before it narrows when Logan turns in her direction.
“What the hell?” She shoves through the gate, only stopping when she’s holding Logan’s face. “Logan.” Clear exasperation colors her voice. “You need to be¾”
“I’m fine.” Logan cuts her off, and her gaze flicks back to me.
“I’ve got him,” she says, her words a little uneasy. “Thanks for helping him.”
I stare at her, gaze unwavering. She doesn’t seem overly surprised by his condition. That she just assumes I have nothing to do with this is… I don’t know… odd. It’s strange, right? Well, obviously I don’t go around beating the shit out of people. But it’s not like I don’t have a reputation for being a cranky motherfucker. People tend to stay out of my way.
I’ve heard the rumors about me, though. Some are accurate, and most simply hilarious. All I stay clear of and don’t bother confirming or denying.
“You need a hand getting him home?”
Immediately she shakes her head. “I’ve got him. Thanks.” She loops her arm through his and leads him away. I watch their slow progress, uncertainty and curiosity vying for the top spot.
If I’m sensible, I should forget this ever happened.
You’re smirking, right? Maybe shaking your head a little while scoffing, “Sensible?!”
Yeah, me too.
Releasing March 29th, Facts, Smacts! is available for preorder. Yet to read book one? While Facts, Smacts! is a stand-alone, you'll get more enjoyment if your read Kieran's story in Rules, Schmules! first.
October 22, 2022
Release Day Blip
The irony of the book title is not lost on me.If you've preordered, you may have received the bonus content rather than the actual book. If this is you, I am so sorry. I have been in contact with Amazon and asked for them to send you the correct copy. If you don't receive the correct copy, I believe you should be able to push the updated file to your Kindle via your dashboard. This may take a few hours, as I'm still waiting for Amazon to respond to my message, but rest assured, I'm doing everything humanly possible to correct this error.If you're still struggling, please be sure to reach out to me.
