V.L. Locey's Blog, page 54

Crashing the Crease Release Day!

I am humbled and thrilled to be part of the Seduced by the Game Collection again this year. I hope that you support the cause and grab a copy of each book as they release. You can keep track of donations by visiting the Seduced by the Game website:

Seduced by the Game Website

Even if hockey romance or gay romance isn't your thing, consider purchasing the books and chalk up the $2.99 price as charitable donations to help the fight against cancer. You can find buy links below the blurb. Thank you! Together we will find a cure.



Blurb:
Isaac Spencer met J.D. Bazin for the first time during game one of the collegiate championship in Isaac`s junior year. The meeting did not go well. Bazin, a power forward for the opposing team, crashed Isaac`s net, taking the goalie out of the play and out of the series with a knee injury that nearly ended Isaac`s career.
Angry words flew back and forth between the players involved as well as the coaches, colleges, press, and fans. After a grueling summer filled with surgery and rehab, Isaac fought his way back. After graduating, the Baltimore Badgers drafted Isaac. The Badgers also drafted J. D. Bazin, much to Isaac`s dismay.
Isaac not only has to fight his disdain of the man who nearly ruined his career, he also has to battle the growing feelings that bubble up whenever J. D. is near. Is it possible to forgive and forget or will animosity over the past be too much for either man to absolve?
All proceeds from the sale of Crashing the Crease will be donated to the New York Rangers Garden of Dreams Foundation.


Buy Links
Amazon B&N Kobo
iTunes

Tuesday Tales - Cup

Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales.


Today we the next issue in my historical M/M romance, Dear Jon, which is set in 1945. Every issue of this serial will be under 1500 words so they're quick reads.  Our word prompt today is 'Cup'. This story contains mature language and gay sexual situations. If that offends now would be the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales offering. 
Don`t forget to visit the other talented Tuesday Tales authors. Thanks for stopping by!



The next day was Sunday. Nothing was doing as the good folks were off at church, praying to God to help cure the queers and dykes. Or, perhaps, they were praying for their own souls for once. Andrew and I had spent the morning eating a lazy breakfast then napping on and off. Well, I napped. Andy just pulled energy from that invisible well four-year-old boys seem to possess.  The previous night had been another bad one for the kid. Darkness seemed to make him miss his mother worse, so we cuddled, cried, and battled each other until dawn pinked the sky. Afternoon had crept up on us. I was sitting on the front porch having a smoke and sipping on a cup of terrible coffee, looking like someone who had been up all night. Andy was playing in a mud puddle the deluge had left behind. The radio was on inside. Exhaling a lungful of fine Turkish, my bleary eyes widened when Ross Coleman pulled into the driveway. Seeing that blue truck made my blood pump a little faster, I won`t lie. Andrew left his horse in the mud to run and greet Ross. I sat where I was, arms dangling over the knees of my home trousers. Ross exited his truck. He was in denim work pants, a short-sleeved button shirt of tan over a t-shirt, and loafers. His hair was windblown and his cheeks dark with whiskers. “Skipped services today, Ross?” I asked as he walked up to me. “Let`s just say the pastor and I don`t see eye to eye on a few key things. I have something for you,” he said. I couldn`t help but admire the way those denim`s cradled the weight of his crotch. I lifted my Pall Mall to my lips. “How`d you know where to find me?” I asked, smiling at Andrew as he jumped back into the puddle he and his pine Trigger had found. Wind rustled through the willows, the tree`s sorrowful tendrils scratching our vehicles lightly. The winged terrors were busy in the creek pinching fish for sport probably.“I asked Janice at the diner. Janice knows everything. She`s the switchboard operator during the day. So, do you want to see what I brought you?” he asked, folding his arms over his wide chest. Tossing what was left of my smoke to the yard, I stood up. Ross eyed me up and down. A shiver of delight tickled my spine when his eyes lingered on my mouth for a moment. “I`m not asking for handouts, Ross,” I said, glancing at my nephew mucking it up. His play pants and shirt were sodden and crusted with mud. I`d have to send him to the creek to play with the geese before I could let him inside. It crossed my mind to wonder if Betty ever let him get so grimy. Shit. I also had laundry to do. It looked like I was going to have a date with the Maytag in the corner of the ratty kitchen first thing in the morning. “It`s not a handout.” With that, he turned and walked to the truck. I followed, hands in my pockets, eyes on the ground. Looking into the bed of his truck my eyes widened when I saw the easel lying on its side. “My sister used to dabble before her son came down with polio.”“Sorry to hear that,” I said. Ross reached into the truck to pluck the easel out. “So were we, but, it`s not like he`s the only one. I keep hoping they come up with a cure,” he said, easel resting on his shoulder. “In the passenger seat is a bunch of oil paints and a couple blank canvasses. The paint might be dried up, it`s been a few years since they`ve been used.” “Thank you,” I murmured. He smiled at me. “It`s my pleasure. So, where do we want this set up?”I led him inside after fetching the oils and canvasses, feeling a little shame at the condition of the bungalow. The screen door slammed closed behind us. Andrew could be heard in the front yard shouting directions to his soggy wooden steed. “Over in the corner,” I said. Ross placed the easel by the window. I put the canvasses behind the sleeper sofa. The sun had shifted now but in the morning it would be perfect for painting. Ross turned to find me smelling a tube of light oxide red. I felt a blush rise to my face. “You think I`m some sort of hophead, don`t you?”“Not at all,” he said with humor, “You should see what I do with sawdust.”“Would you like some coffee?” I asked, placing the oils down on the radio stand. “Yes, I would.” I smiled then waved him into the tiny kitchen. Bustling around like a nervous housewife, I filled the tarnished pot with water and scooped grinds into the basket. I lit the gas range to boil the water. The blue flame flared up wildly under the percolator before it calmed. Turning to face Ross, I found him chuckling at me. “You`ve got red on your nose, Rudolph,” he said. I swiped at the tip of my nose, smearing the glob of paint over the back of my hand. That made the big man laugh even harder. “That didn`t help much,” he chuckled. “Let me,” he said, walking over to me while extracting a nicely folded handkerchief from his back pocket. It was my pleasure to allow him to clean the paint from my face. It was also my pleasure to let him kiss me after our eyes met and held. My rump plastered to the back door, Ross held my chin in his handkerchief and tasted my lips. His tongue was insistent. I acquiesced with a sigh. He took. I gave. His fingers clutched my chin more tightly as the kiss deepened.  The honk of a goose right behind me made me jump. Ross danced backwards. There we stood, both breathless, our hearts thundering in our chests, laughing nervously.The coffee was perking along nicely. Andrew raced by outside, calling to George and Gracie. The noisy waterfowl followed the boy with flapping wings around the house.“So, we have that out of the way now,” Ross said, rolling his dirty handkerchief in his rough hands. “What next?”“Would you like to stay while I burn dinner?” “I would like that a great deal,” Ross said, grey eyes igniting.


Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the Tuesday Tales authors.
Tuesday Tales
See you next week!

Monday Author/Book Spotlight - Jean Joachim's Sly 'Bullhorn' Brodsky Offensive Line

I am so excited to have Jean here today! Not only do I consider her a dear friend, she is one heck of an author. Jean has a new release and is here to chat about her next installment in the First & Ten series, Sly 'Bullhorn' Brodsky Offensive Line. 






BLURB:


Sly “Bullhorn” Brodsky wished winning the heart of Samantha Drake was as easy as protecting his quarterback. A top offensive lineman in the NFL, Bull tried to live down his rep as a womanizer. Locker room chatter had elevated him to the level of “player” in more than football. But Samantha Drake, dark-haired, stunning sister of a teammate, didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Or did she?
On his best behavior, Bull pulled out all the stops to woo the reluctant beauty. He was making progress until a woman from his past reappeared. Tiffany, the one woman who broke his heart, is in trouble. Is Bull the only man who can help?Samantha is overcoming her doubts about Bull until Tiffany arrives. Is the blonde really in hot water or does she just want another chance with the man she discarded?
Enjoy the return of your favorite First & Ten characters in this book, too. Surprises, twists, and football action scenes will keep you turning the pages. 

EXCERPT:
“I’m grubby. I need a shower,” she said, pushing to her feet to glance in the mirror.The next image to take over his mind was stepping into a steamy shower behind Samantha. He blinked a few times and took a deep breath, hoping his thoughts wouldn’t inspire an erection.“You okay? Were the boxes too much?” Her dark, chocolate brown eyes held concern.He laughed. “You kiddin’? That’s nothin’. I take down guys ten times that weight in every game. Geez. What do you think? I’m a pussy or something?”She made a face.“Sorry. I need to clean up my words.” He sensed color in his face. He’d never had a girlfriend like Samantha Drake. She was smart, beautiful, and nice. She did volunteer work at the New Life Shelter for battered women and kids. But she wasn’t his girlfriend, only a friend. With no benefits. He sighed.“My brother, Devon, talks like that too. You’d think football players never went to college.” She handed him a cold bottle of water.He downed the liquid. “What’s next?”She turned around in the room and sucked her lower lip between her teeth. “Bed, books, clothes, rocking chair. Hmm. How many boxes are still in the car?”“Two.”“Then that’s it. The place looks pretty empty.” She perched on the mattress, tucking her feet under her.“You’ll have it furnished before you know it. Come on. I’m gonna bring those boxes up then take you out to dinner.”“Thanks. Be right back.” Her thousand-watt smile turned his innards to jelly.He sat in the rocking chair while Samantha washed the dirt off her luscious body. Or what he assumed was luscious. Sylvester “Bullhorn” Brodsky, known to his teammates as “Bull,” had the hots for Samantha Drake, and it was keeping him up nights. While he waited for her to want him back, his imagination ran through a half dozen things he’d like to do to her under the warming spray of hot water. She was a little slip of a thing, and he was huge. Six foot three inches tall and two hundred fifty pounds of pure muscle, the offensive lineman could lift her up with one hand.

SHORT SNIPPETS:

1.                         Denial of their physical attraction crumbled in the dead of the night, when truth can’t be easily sidestepped. She’d noticed him the first time he’d passed in the hallway. Then the second time, when on a search for her brother, she’d spied Sly draped in nothing but a towel in the locker room. Embarrassment had filled her cheeks as she’d scurried outside to wait for Devon. The lineman had simply laughed, showing no modesty at all.

            Sly Brodsky. Bull. Did she want him? Sam smiled to herself. Of course, she did. But she wasn’t about to tell anyone, especially him. She could barely admit it to herself. He appeared content to wait, which was fine with her. She enjoyed being in control. Still, to be honest, she wouldn’t make him wait forever. Only as long as she could stand to back away, even when she longed to lose herself in his arms and let him take her home.

2.                            Bull shifted his weight. Blood rushed to his face, and his palms sweated. “This friend thing is great. But I’m interested in more than that. I want you to be my girlfriend.”“Maybe. Don’t you have a girlfriend?” She tilted her head back to make eye contact.“Nope. I haven’t dated anyone more than a couple of times in a long time.”“Huh? I’m surprised. Thought football players had women crawling all over them.”“Not the kind of women I want. I’m looking for a real woman, not a hook-up.”She narrowed her eyes. “And what’s a ‘real woman’ like?”“One-of-a-kind, like you.” 

LINKS:AMAZONhttp://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0180YBND0?*Version*=1&*entries*=0
AMAZON U.K.http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B0...
AMAZON CANADA http://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/B0180YBND0?*Version*=1&*entries*=0
ITUNES/APPLEhttps://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1059206728

Snippet Sunday

Welcome to another Snippet Sunday!



This week we have an excerpt from my NaNoWriMo novel/novella, Home Ice, a GFY M/M erotic hockey romance. Wow, that's quite the lengthy genre title!

In today's sultry snippet we have an intimate moment between our two leading men, Jarrod Troy, the star center for the Pittsburgh Steelheads, and Nash Sullivan, the far-too-handsome nanny who takes care of Jarrod's small daughter, Kenley. Jarrod's daughter has just shown an interest in potty training but her father didn't think he would be able to  find any girl's panties with Spider-Man on them as requested. So, he and Nash are using fabric paint to decorate plain white panties with spiders.

There is some language because hockey player. There are also some gay situations. If man-on-man love offends now is the time to hike up your petticoats and head to another blog.

Please forgive any errors, this is an unedited excerpt. Enjoy your snippet!

*~*
           "Thanks."I began dabbing at the black glob on my pants. "So what do you need to say?" I inquired while Frankie Goes to Hollywood's Relax spun behind us.
            "I've given this thing between us some long thought. I think that you're truly having some sort of awakening about yourself and your sexual identity. Why it's me that has stirred these cravings in you I can't say."            "Because you're nice, funny, have pretty eyelashes and know to dab and not rub," I told him and glanced up from the mess I was making out of my pants. Nash seemed to be intent on creating a spider web on the back of a pair of panties. His face scrunched up at the warm words. I smiled then returned to smearing the paint into my pants.             "I wasn't fishing for compliments but thank you."            "Just the truth," I said then tossed the wet cloth to the table and went back to work. I wanted to have the panties made before Kenley woke up. My stomach rumbled but I didn't ask where lunch was. Nash seemed to be preoccupied. I'd just eat bread pudding and enjoy the carb rush.             "Right, so here's where I am," the man exhaled then sat back. His chair squeaked softly. Information Society was asking What's On Your Mind. Had be burned this CD just for this conversation? "I like you, I really do. You're sexy, quirky, honest, and loyal which are all attributes that I find appealing in a man." I felt my cheeks grow warm but didn't say anything in reply. I merely tried to make a glob of black paint into a spider. "You also have some gender role issues that you need to work on, but I think with the proper guidance you'll come around and step out of nineteen forty-six."            "Me and Captain America," I said as made a long spider leg.             "If you had Chris Evans' abs we wouldn't be sitting here talking."            I glanced over at him. He was looking right at me, his hazel eyes sparkling. I felt some of the worry about what he was going to say ease away.             "I have the best abs in the NHL. Want to see?"            "Later."A fiery coal of lust ignited deep in my lower stomach. He wanted to see my abs. That was hot. "Jarrod, if you are serious about this we need to go very, very slowly. I'm not going to lose my job and be blacklisted because we were caught in a gay love scandal. Also, that would not be good for your reputation."            "Fuck the press. If that old winger in Florida can sleep with eighteen year olds and get praised for it, who's to say I can't sleep with my hot nanny?"            "I have no idea who you are talking about but I suspect the old winger in Florida was sleeping with an eighteen year old female. Your team and fans might not take to you sleeping with a man as sign of your prowess," he pointed out.             "Fuck them too. This is my life, my house, and my bed. I'll take a damned llama to my bed if I want. I think I have one too many legs," I said as I studied my Ogo.             "She can only count to five so you're good," Nash said so I pushed that pair aside and began creating more panty art. Flock of Seagulls began to play. I actually rather liked this song but kept that to myself. "I think we should see how this attraction plays out day-by-day and not rush into anything. There are so many things that can go wrong."            "I can do day-by-day," I confessed. Actually, that sounded like a good plan. While my body objected, the suggestion eased my mind. "So what happens if a nanny in your agency falls in love with the person they're working for? It has had to have happened in the past."            "Not in a gay situation as far as I know."            "Probably not," I had to concur. "Did you put a pink bow on your spider?"            "Sure." He held up his panty artwork. Mine looked like a rhesus monkey had made it compared to his. His blue-green eyes darted to my completed panty. "That looks good."            "It looks like a drunken pelican painted it. Is there one damn thing that you're not good at?" I frowned then made a lunge for the tube of pink paint.             "Finding a man who isn't a walking pile of conflict, drama and angst wrapped up in a sexy, eccentric package," Nash muttered in reply. That sounded like a slam hidden inside a compliment so I let it go. "So we proceed with great caution, is that agreed on?"            "Agreed," I said then tugged the tiny cap off the pink tube of fabric paint. Nash made a sound of exasperation when the paint ran over my fingers and dribbled onto my pants.             "It's like painting with Kenley only you're sloppier." He gently chastised then picked up the damp cloth and placed it to my upper thigh. I inhaled sharply. Our eyes met. His hand began to move in a slow circular motion. I wet my lips.             "You said not to rub," I gruffly mentioned, my cock lengthening quickly. Freaking Human League's Don't You Want Meflared to life on the CD player. I was now convinced this was all choreographed somehow.             "Yeah, I know." His voice was thick, hot, and sensual, kind of like the hand sliding around on my leg. If he touched my dick, I would make a fool of myself. My breathing kicked up a notch."I'm tempted to tell you to take your pants off so I can wash them out but I really don't think that would be wise."            "I think it might be really wise," I panted, my paint-covered fingers forgotten. *~*
Zip on over to Cathy Brockman's blog for a Sunday Snippet from her NaNoWriMo novel--
Cathy Brockman

Throwback Thursday Tune

Keeping in our theme for this month, here is Bon Jovi giving thanks for being loved. I never get tired of hearing Jon sing. He just gets better with age!

Veteran's Day

Honoring those who served.

Tuesday Tales - Flavor

Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales.


Today we the next issue in my historical M/M romance, Dear Jon, which is set in 1945. Every issue of this serial will be under 1500 words so they're quick reads.  Our word prompt today is 'Flavor'. This story contains mature language and gay sexual situations. If that offends now would be the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales offering. 
Don`t forget to visit the other talented Tuesday Tales authors. Thanks for stopping by!


 “Counter it is then.” I motioned for him to proceed me. He gave me a glance that said that he knew my game. He cut a fine figure from the back as well as the front. The suit added width to shoulders that didn`t need it. He had a slight swagger. My mouth was dry as the Sahara when I sat down on the other side of Andrew, my hand grabbing a skinny arm as the kid whipped past. “Andy, say hello to Mr. Coleman.”“Hello,” the boy said, listing to the left like a boat in an undertow. Ross ruffled the kid’s already messy hair. “Hello, Andrew. Name that horse yet?” Ross asked. Andy nodded in silence, the wooden steed clutched to his chest tightly. I prodded the lad a bit to tell Ross his horse`s name.“Trigger,” Andy whispered. That made Ross smile. I swear my heart danced around inside my chest like Carmen Miranda when Ross Coleman smiled. “Well, he needs a paint job to really look like Trigger,” Ross said while opening his menu. I did the same, although I knew I`d be getting the meatloaf dinner. “So, Jon,” Ross said as he perused the choices, “What do you think the damage to my truck door is worth?”I laid the paper menu down. “Hopefully not more than a few greenbacks,” I said. “What with the funeral and all things are a little tight.”Ross lowered the menu. I looked over the top of Andy`s sandy head. I got lost in those grey eyes as they churned with emotion. “What do you do for a living, Jon?” he asked out of the blue. It took me aback for a second.“I`m an artist,” I told him, nudging my hat over so I could rest my elbow on the counter. The waitress passed by with two cups of chowder for the older couple in the booth. “I have a little studio in Greenwich Village that--”“Why didn`t you enlist?” “Heart murmur,” I replied, wondering why I was getting the third degree all of a sudden. “Good,” he muttered. My left eyebrow climbed up to my hairline.“That`s the first time anyone was glad to hear I have a defective ticker."“I didn`t mean it like that,” Ross said quickly, the tips of his ears turning red. “I was just glad to hear that you did try to serve. I was too old.”Andy slid from his stool to run his horse over the footrest that ran the length of the counter.  Oh Nelly, this man was getting better and better all the time. The cutoff to enlist is forty-five, so Ross must be close to fifty now.  “Age is only a number,” I said casually. He nodded. “It can be a number that some find offensive.” He lifted his coffee for a sip.“Not me.”Ross nodded, replaced his cup to his saucer, and then looked me right in the eye. “Glad to hear it. So, how about we work out something for the cost of that ding in my door?”“What did you have in mind?” I asked. The waitress came over. We placed our orders. Andy was enjoying himself at our feet, so I ordered a platter of spaghetti and a glass of milk for the boy. Ross got a ham steak with a side of mashed potatoes. Me, I went with the meatloaf special. I hoped the bill would be under two dollars for the lad and I as that was all I had. “Well, I was thinking of you possibly hanging some of your paintings in my shop,” Ross said, carrying on the conversation as if it had never stalled to order supper.  “What do you paint?”“Cityscapes mostly,” I murmured as I rubbed my smooth chin. “I hate to be a fat-head, but how is hanging my art in your shop going to pay for your door?” Ross glanced over his shoulder at the couple enjoying their soup. “I`ll keep a small percentage until the damage is paid off. How does that sound, Jon?” “I`m not asking for any freebies,” I countered. He looked directly at me. “I`m not offering freebies,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, “You said you were strapped. I`m offering you a way to keep that pride of yours intact while paying off a debt,” he informed me flatly.“Thanks.” “You`re welcome,” Ross smiled. “Nothing wrong with pride, Jon, just don`t let it make life harder than it already is. So, think you can paint landscapes instead of cityscapes?  The tourists that pass through here aren`t looking for skyscrapers for their walls,” he said, his eyes moving from my mouth to the meal being plunked down in front of him. I lifted my nephew from the floor. His hands were grimy. Excusing us, I carried the dusty monkey to the men`s room, where he washed up so we could rejoin Mr. Coleman. Andrew did a fine job on his spaghetti and meatball meal. My meatloaf was quite flavorful. Ross and I made small talk. The diner slowly filled up as we ate. By the time we were eating our pie and drinking  our fourth cups of coffee, the joint was jumping. A small skirmish broke out over who was paying. We went Dutch to avoid more squabbling.Standing out by our vehicles I couldn`t help but wonder what would come next. Seems that Ross was a step ahead of me. Stepping aside to let a family walk past, we both nodded at the missus as she went by. Hubby placed his hand to her back. “So, how about we get together so I can see your artwork,” Ross asked, his eyes on the woman`s backside. Damn, but he played the game well. I had been so long gone from Hannity Hills I had forgotten to act straight in public. I missed Greenwich so much I could taste it. “That sounds good except I don’t have any here.” That pulled those smoky eyes from the woman`s ass. His handsome face was filled with questions.“I hadn`t planned on staying here,” I admitted. “When are you leaving?” he asked his rump on my front fender and his arms folded. “Well, that`s the snafu,” I said, peeking at Andy inside the car. He was turning the radio knobs. “It`s been a real – well, it`s been a real bitch to be honest.” “Yes, I can imagine it has been. Would you like to talk about it?” Ross inquired. Boy did I ever. I wanted to talk to him, then take him to bed and get lost in the textures and tastes of his body. “Maybe later,” I said, turning from him, his eyes, his mouth, and his damned kindness. “Jon?” he called as I yanked my car door open, “Remember what I said about pride.”“It goes before a fall, right?”“That it does.”

Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the Tuesday Tales authors.
Tuesday Tales
See you next week!

Monday Author/Book Spotlight - Aven Ellis' Breakout

Today we have the lovely and talented Aven Ellis here to tell us about her hockey romance, Breakout!



Amazon Preorder Link


Breakout-Dallas Demons #3
While Texas is known for loving football, Lexi Stewart has always been drawn to the ice. Hockey is her passion, and she wants nothing more than to pursue a career in video editing for the home network of the Dallas Demons hockey team.Lexi has an editing job for a corporate account, but it’s not fulfilling. Nor is her dating life, despite having the so-called help of The One Online Dating Service. Lexi knows there has to be more for her—on both fronts. She’s ready to take the next step, but it doesn't seem like it’s going to happen anytime soon.Until a flying puck changes everything.As Lexi shoots a Dallas Demons practice to hone her editing skills, a stray puck soars in her direction, and her whole life is turned upside down by the gorgeous man who pushes her out of harm’s way. Niko Xenakis is the new Dallas Demons TV producer, and he’s looking to make his mark in his new role and hopefully work his way back to his hometown of Baltimore.  But once he meets Lexi, he might just change his mind on what he wants for his future . . .
But the road to love is never easy, complicated by the fact that they both carry emotional baggage from the past in their hearts. Can these two breakout of the past to find lov







Aven Ellis has been writing fiction since she was sixteen. She studied communications at a large Midwestern university, and after graduation, Aven worked as a reporter for a community newspaper, followed by a stint at a public relations agency.
But writing about city council meetings and restaurant franchises was not as much fun as writing for young women trying to figure out their careers and potential boyfriends. So Aven got herself a job in television that allowed her to write at night.  She is the author of two hockey romantic comedy series: the Dallas Demons Series and the Chicago on Ice Series.In addition, Aven writes non-hockey romantic comedies, too.
Aven lives in Dallas with her family. When she is not writing, Aven enjoys shopping, cooking, watching hockey, connecting with friends on social media, and watching any show that features Gordon Ramsay.
Connect with me on Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/AvenEllis1
Talk to me on Twitter:https://twitter.com/AvenEllis
Visit me on the web:http://www.avenellis.com/index.html
Check out my pins on Pinterest:http://pinterest.com/avenellis/See my pics on Instagram:https://instagram.com/avenellis/

Snippet Sunday

Hi all! Since I'm busily working toward my 50,000 word goal for NaNoWriMo I don't have time for blog post writing. Instead I thought it would be keen to share a snippet from my current WIP. This month I'm working on an M/M erotic hockey GFY (Gay For You) novel titled Home Ice. 

At first I thought it would be a novella but it's already up to 15 K and our guys haven't even kissed yet. Looks like a novel to me! The basis of the story is that Jarrod Troy has lost his wife and now has to resume his hockey career with a young daughter to care for. He ends up hiring Nash Sullivan to fill the role of his nanny. And, of course, even though I know it does not work this way in real life, the previously straight (or so he thought) Jarrod finds himself wildly attracted to Nash. Will things end with a happily ever after for our two guys? I sure hope so.

 So here is a small excerpt from Home Ice. I hope you enjoy it! Please forgive any errors you may find, this is unedited and amazingly rough. See you next week with more!

*~*

            "You'll be okay." She reached up to pat my cheek. The doorbell rang. We both sat up and looked at each other. "Could that be the next nanny?"
            "Maybe Miss Boobs forgot something."
            Juliet shoved her glass into my chest, rocketed to her feet and then stormed to the front door, her arms swinging strongly. God bless Miss Tits if she had come back. I leaned up to put my sister's tumbler on a coaster that rested on the coffee table. I brushed off a few crumbs that Kenley had dropped then I picked up the baby monitor to listen in on my daughter. She was still napping nicely upstairs by the sounds. Her soft little exhalations always soothed me. Do parents ever stop listening for the sound of their children breathing in the night?
            "Jarrod?"My sight leaped from the monitor in my hand to my sister and an incredibly handsome if somewhat casually dressed man at her side. "I called you three times," Juliet explained as she slowly led the man into the living room. I pushed to my feet, my attention held by the man's soft hazel eyes. They were striking, the color of a new growth forest dappled with touches of the sky. "This is Nash Sullivan from The Carson Agency."
            "Sorry," I extended my hand to the sandy-blonde man. His handshake was strong. Had he drawn his hair up into a bun? "You're a nanny?" It fell out of me. I know that it was rude and sexist but one just didn't see tall, strapping males in the child care field. "I'm sorry again. My mind and my tongue seem to be at odds most of the time. It's been a rough time for us the past year or so."

            "I'm a nanny yes, and it's okay. I get that reaction quite a bit. I'm sorry for your difficulties."
*~*


Please visit some of my other NaNo buddies blogs who are also sharing some of their work every Sunday:

Ellie Mack

Cathy Brockman

Throwback Thursday Tune

For the month of November I though it would be fitting to feature songs about giving thanks, in one way or another. Let's kick things off with some Dido! You Scrubs fans may recall J.D. trying to sing this song on the show.