V.L. Locey's Blog, page 97
March 23, 2014
A Most Unlikely Countess Cover Reveal!
I hope you are as excited as I am. The lovely, and incredibly talented, Dawne Dominique has yet again captured the feel, sensuality, and look of our next Wildcat couple. Dawne`s skills never cease to astound me. Right down to the shape of Veikko`s nose, the way he wears his perfectly styled hair, and Liz`s swan-like neck, this is Liz and Veikko.
Notice how the covers have a slightly different tone, just like the women that are telling us their tales. Alain and Viviana`s was more tactile, rather possessive, fully erotic. Veikko and Elizabeth`s feels more softly sensual, yet still highly amorous and arousing. I could not be more pleased, and am anxiously awaiting release day, tentatively April 16th, to share this second book in the series with you.
How about we have a blurb and an excerpt?
~*~Painfully shy Liz Argon probably shouldn`t be dreaming of Veikko Aho, star goalie for the Philadelphia Wildcats. As she works side by side with 'The Count of the Crease' on his memoirs, she finds herself falling for the handsome goaltender. His tender ways with her and her mentally fragile mother are slowly claiming her heart. If only Veikko wasn`t already engaged to a woman far better suited to move in to 'The Count`s' world. In book two of the To Love a Wildcat series, we`ll see if a glass slipper can survive in the rough and tumble world of professional ice hockey. ~*~
Laughter broke out on the ice. Maggie sat down behind me and Donald, as did Viviana. They began gossiping. I eyed my cuticles with lust.
“So, Viviana tells me that you`re quite the word wizard.”
“I guess,” I managed to say, sitting in an awkward lotus position while Trevor slouched by the glass trying not to look interested. If only I could get that thumb closer to my mouth…
“She`s being modest, Donald. I have never read obituaries that are so artfully done,” Viviana interjected, rudely if you ask me. But, that was Viv. She did what she wanted, said what she wished, and slept with whatever man she desired. Envy blossomed in my chest but I beat it down. “Liz not only lists the details of death, she brings the person’s past to life. Each of her obits is like reading a mini-memoir filled with warmth, character, love, and above all compassion for the person. Which is why I know she will do Veikko`s amazing life story justice!”
If death would take me now I wouldn`t mind. I spied Donald smiling widely as he turned to look over his shoulder at the woman in purple and black.
“Are you sure I can`t lure you away from the Wildcats PR department? You really should be an agent.” He winked. A corner of my mouth twitched.
“Oh no, I`m perfectly happy where I am, both professionally and personally,” she purred, the sound that of a sexually satisfied she-cat. God, I wish I was sexually satisfied. Or even a she-cat. “You read her work, what did you think? I know Veikko was impressed when I gave him her clippings.”
That brought my head around like Linda Blair`s. “You gave him my obits!” I squeaked like the rodent I feel like most times. Maggie was lost to the conversation it seemed, her neck stretched out as she tried to look at something or someone on the ice, probably Captain Derrick. Viviana leaned back with a dramatic sigh.
“Yes, Liz, I gave him your obits. He wanted a taste of your style. Would you have rather I gave him the newest chapter of Mardavian Nights you sent me last week?”
If I were a fainter the mere thought of Veikko reading about my elvish prince of the ice would have sent me into a swoon. As it was I felt the stadium sway for a minute. My thumb found its way to my teeth. Viviana sat up briskly then tugged my hand from my mouth.
“Stop,” she whispered then tucked half of my bangs behind my right ear. “It`s going to be fine.”
“Yes, I promise neither I nor Veikko bite,” Donald Richer, CEO of Richer Hockey said. It was meant to ease my anxiety, I know, but it didn`t work. I studied him closely with one eye.
“I know.” The weak reply bubbled out of me. Donald seemed pleased at the answer. “I`m very nervous,” I whispered but if he heard that last comment or not, I couldn`t say. The sound of men coming off the ice at that moment drowned out my meek confession. Fans boiled out of the woodwork, jostling and pushing to draw close to the players as they exited the rink. Shrinking into my seat as best I could I watched, all Veronica Lake like, as Veikko Aho stopped to sign autographs, his goalie mask pushed upward to reveal his classically handsome face and dripping wet hair.
The mask was nothing shy of being artwork itself. The background was black and orange stripes, much like a tiger’s fur, the detailing so incredibly real it called to you to pet it just to feel the fur moving softly under your touch. Right above the grillwork that protected his face glowed amber eyes, curved up at the corner like a cat`s. Those eyes followed you and never blinked, sizing you up like a panther hidden in the shadows of the jungle. I bet opposing players got a shiver down the spine when they had to stare at those menacing yellow-gold orbs.
Then the goalie turned from his fans. Eyes deep and blue as a fjord landed on me. My insides went cold then hot when he smiled and lumbered his way over to his agent and me. Goalie padding and ice skates do not a graceful man make on carpet or cement. My neck slunk downward, like a turtle. I worked at getting inside my shell.
My vision was filled with goalie pants and leg pads. Fire engulfed my face. Someone behind me flicked the tip of my right ear. I jerked upward, my head tipping back slightly. There he stood, all six foot two inches of Finnish delight, perfectly white teeth flashing in a warm smile, his big hand waiting for mine. He smelled of sweat and leather with just a faint hint of that unique fragrance he wears.
“Hello again,” Veikko said. Something snuck past my lips, I think it was ‘hi’ or ‘hello’ or ‘blerk’. I placed my hand in his, hoping he didn`t see how it trembled. His grip was strong yet gentle. He bent over my thin fingers and brushed his lips over the knuckles. There was nothing for me to do aside from stare, blush, then stammer like a dolt. Then he released my hand. It struck me that there was no other sound now. It was just me and Veikko, in this wonderful cone of silence.
Notice how the covers have a slightly different tone, just like the women that are telling us their tales. Alain and Viviana`s was more tactile, rather possessive, fully erotic. Veikko and Elizabeth`s feels more softly sensual, yet still highly amorous and arousing. I could not be more pleased, and am anxiously awaiting release day, tentatively April 16th, to share this second book in the series with you.
How about we have a blurb and an excerpt?
~*~Painfully shy Liz Argon probably shouldn`t be dreaming of Veikko Aho, star goalie for the Philadelphia Wildcats. As she works side by side with 'The Count of the Crease' on his memoirs, she finds herself falling for the handsome goaltender. His tender ways with her and her mentally fragile mother are slowly claiming her heart. If only Veikko wasn`t already engaged to a woman far better suited to move in to 'The Count`s' world. In book two of the To Love a Wildcat series, we`ll see if a glass slipper can survive in the rough and tumble world of professional ice hockey. ~*~
Laughter broke out on the ice. Maggie sat down behind me and Donald, as did Viviana. They began gossiping. I eyed my cuticles with lust.
“So, Viviana tells me that you`re quite the word wizard.”
“I guess,” I managed to say, sitting in an awkward lotus position while Trevor slouched by the glass trying not to look interested. If only I could get that thumb closer to my mouth…
“She`s being modest, Donald. I have never read obituaries that are so artfully done,” Viviana interjected, rudely if you ask me. But, that was Viv. She did what she wanted, said what she wished, and slept with whatever man she desired. Envy blossomed in my chest but I beat it down. “Liz not only lists the details of death, she brings the person’s past to life. Each of her obits is like reading a mini-memoir filled with warmth, character, love, and above all compassion for the person. Which is why I know she will do Veikko`s amazing life story justice!”
If death would take me now I wouldn`t mind. I spied Donald smiling widely as he turned to look over his shoulder at the woman in purple and black.
“Are you sure I can`t lure you away from the Wildcats PR department? You really should be an agent.” He winked. A corner of my mouth twitched.
“Oh no, I`m perfectly happy where I am, both professionally and personally,” she purred, the sound that of a sexually satisfied she-cat. God, I wish I was sexually satisfied. Or even a she-cat. “You read her work, what did you think? I know Veikko was impressed when I gave him her clippings.”
That brought my head around like Linda Blair`s. “You gave him my obits!” I squeaked like the rodent I feel like most times. Maggie was lost to the conversation it seemed, her neck stretched out as she tried to look at something or someone on the ice, probably Captain Derrick. Viviana leaned back with a dramatic sigh.
“Yes, Liz, I gave him your obits. He wanted a taste of your style. Would you have rather I gave him the newest chapter of Mardavian Nights you sent me last week?”
If I were a fainter the mere thought of Veikko reading about my elvish prince of the ice would have sent me into a swoon. As it was I felt the stadium sway for a minute. My thumb found its way to my teeth. Viviana sat up briskly then tugged my hand from my mouth.
“Stop,” she whispered then tucked half of my bangs behind my right ear. “It`s going to be fine.”
“Yes, I promise neither I nor Veikko bite,” Donald Richer, CEO of Richer Hockey said. It was meant to ease my anxiety, I know, but it didn`t work. I studied him closely with one eye.
“I know.” The weak reply bubbled out of me. Donald seemed pleased at the answer. “I`m very nervous,” I whispered but if he heard that last comment or not, I couldn`t say. The sound of men coming off the ice at that moment drowned out my meek confession. Fans boiled out of the woodwork, jostling and pushing to draw close to the players as they exited the rink. Shrinking into my seat as best I could I watched, all Veronica Lake like, as Veikko Aho stopped to sign autographs, his goalie mask pushed upward to reveal his classically handsome face and dripping wet hair.
The mask was nothing shy of being artwork itself. The background was black and orange stripes, much like a tiger’s fur, the detailing so incredibly real it called to you to pet it just to feel the fur moving softly under your touch. Right above the grillwork that protected his face glowed amber eyes, curved up at the corner like a cat`s. Those eyes followed you and never blinked, sizing you up like a panther hidden in the shadows of the jungle. I bet opposing players got a shiver down the spine when they had to stare at those menacing yellow-gold orbs.
Then the goalie turned from his fans. Eyes deep and blue as a fjord landed on me. My insides went cold then hot when he smiled and lumbered his way over to his agent and me. Goalie padding and ice skates do not a graceful man make on carpet or cement. My neck slunk downward, like a turtle. I worked at getting inside my shell.
My vision was filled with goalie pants and leg pads. Fire engulfed my face. Someone behind me flicked the tip of my right ear. I jerked upward, my head tipping back slightly. There he stood, all six foot two inches of Finnish delight, perfectly white teeth flashing in a warm smile, his big hand waiting for mine. He smelled of sweat and leather with just a faint hint of that unique fragrance he wears.
“Hello again,” Veikko said. Something snuck past my lips, I think it was ‘hi’ or ‘hello’ or ‘blerk’. I placed my hand in his, hoping he didn`t see how it trembled. His grip was strong yet gentle. He bent over my thin fingers and brushed his lips over the knuckles. There was nothing for me to do aside from stare, blush, then stammer like a dolt. Then he released my hand. It struck me that there was no other sound now. It was just me and Veikko, in this wonderful cone of silence.
March 22, 2014
Sneak Peek Sunday
Here`s a fun way to discover possible new reads. Just hop from one blog to the next for six paragraphs from that author`s current WIP or published work! This week I`ll be sharing something from Goaltender`s Penalty, an M/M hockey romance novella. We join Daryl, our protagonist, who is smitten with goalie Ryan Amirault, at his first hockey game.
I shook my head and agreed to grab him a soda. He was driving after all. I jogged up the never-ending steps and made quick use of the trash can, dropping my soggy nachos into it. Then I found a men's room and located a booth that sold jerseys. Angus was right; I could buy a week’s worth of food for the cost of an officially licensed Hawks jersey with Ryan's last name and number on it. I bought it anyway. Tugging the oversized jersey over my head made me feel less a noob. Angus just shook his head when I returned, bomber jacket over my shoulder and a soda in my hand for him.
“You're an ass,” he grumbled, eying the cola with distaste. I took my seat and tried to relax for a moment. The arrival of the teams ended my R&R. We were all up and stamping our feet to encourage the Hawks. Ryan went to his goal, determination etched on his features. His mask went on. He slapped the ice with his huge stick. The other players got into their respective positions. A whistle blew and the puck raced down to the Aardvark's end of the rink.
If I thought the first two periods were frenetic, this last one was insanity. The teams were evenly matched in both skills and tempers. Numerous penalties for rough play, fighting, and various other infractions occurred. Blood speckled every player’s jersey. It was madness. It was amazing. In the last forty seconds of the third period, our left-winger Raymond Dupree scored. The place erupted and a countdown began. The final buzzer signaled a mass eruption of hysteria among the fans and Hawks. I was hugging Angus. Angus was slapping my back. After the joy dwindled, we lingered a bit, just sitting and talking while finishing our drinks to allow the crush to go ahead of us. The ice was cleared of players and the Zamboni made its final rounds of the night.
“You know what would be awesome?” I asked, leaning back in my seat with an ankle resting on a knee, “If I could get Ryan to autograph this jersey.”Angus glanced from the ice to me. “You can. We just have to go to the player's exit.”I sat up straight. “I'm sorry, there's an exit for the players where we can actually speak to them?”“Yeah,” Angus ran his fingers though his flat red hair then shoved his screaming Hawk back on his head.
We were up and moving before my buddy could complain. After a few hundred feet, Angus shook me off, grumbling about his big mouth. Outside we went. It was bitter cold now. My nose hairs froze instantly. Around the oval stadium we went. We found a rather small group of fans gathered at one of the double-wide security doors. “Too damned cold,” Argus said into his cupped hands as we slid through the meager assemblage. “Usually there are hundreds of people here,” he explained and began bouncing to stay warm.
“We'll go just as soon as I get him to sign my jersey,” I promised. The words had no sooner fallen from my blue lips and the doors swung open. The waiting fans engulfed the players. I noticed that there were fans and players from both teams here. I quickly removed my Hawk headgear, jamming it into Angus' chest. I raked my fingers through my hair. It was lying flat to my head. Cursing the stupid Hawk that had turned my usually perky hair to a Moe Howard coif, I looked around when I heard someone cursing lividly. Fingers still in my hair, I saw two enormous men tumble out of the stadium shoving and pushing each other. A dark-haired player with an Aardvark duffel over his shoulder stumbled into me. He ducked. I didn't. Ryan Amirault's right fist met my face and the world went black.
Torquere Press Store - Goaltender`s Penalty
*~*~*
Don`t forget to check out all the other great Sneak Peeks!
Sneak Peek Sunday
I shook my head and agreed to grab him a soda. He was driving after all. I jogged up the never-ending steps and made quick use of the trash can, dropping my soggy nachos into it. Then I found a men's room and located a booth that sold jerseys. Angus was right; I could buy a week’s worth of food for the cost of an officially licensed Hawks jersey with Ryan's last name and number on it. I bought it anyway. Tugging the oversized jersey over my head made me feel less a noob. Angus just shook his head when I returned, bomber jacket over my shoulder and a soda in my hand for him.
“You're an ass,” he grumbled, eying the cola with distaste. I took my seat and tried to relax for a moment. The arrival of the teams ended my R&R. We were all up and stamping our feet to encourage the Hawks. Ryan went to his goal, determination etched on his features. His mask went on. He slapped the ice with his huge stick. The other players got into their respective positions. A whistle blew and the puck raced down to the Aardvark's end of the rink.
If I thought the first two periods were frenetic, this last one was insanity. The teams were evenly matched in both skills and tempers. Numerous penalties for rough play, fighting, and various other infractions occurred. Blood speckled every player’s jersey. It was madness. It was amazing. In the last forty seconds of the third period, our left-winger Raymond Dupree scored. The place erupted and a countdown began. The final buzzer signaled a mass eruption of hysteria among the fans and Hawks. I was hugging Angus. Angus was slapping my back. After the joy dwindled, we lingered a bit, just sitting and talking while finishing our drinks to allow the crush to go ahead of us. The ice was cleared of players and the Zamboni made its final rounds of the night.
“You know what would be awesome?” I asked, leaning back in my seat with an ankle resting on a knee, “If I could get Ryan to autograph this jersey.”Angus glanced from the ice to me. “You can. We just have to go to the player's exit.”I sat up straight. “I'm sorry, there's an exit for the players where we can actually speak to them?”“Yeah,” Angus ran his fingers though his flat red hair then shoved his screaming Hawk back on his head.
We were up and moving before my buddy could complain. After a few hundred feet, Angus shook me off, grumbling about his big mouth. Outside we went. It was bitter cold now. My nose hairs froze instantly. Around the oval stadium we went. We found a rather small group of fans gathered at one of the double-wide security doors. “Too damned cold,” Argus said into his cupped hands as we slid through the meager assemblage. “Usually there are hundreds of people here,” he explained and began bouncing to stay warm.
“We'll go just as soon as I get him to sign my jersey,” I promised. The words had no sooner fallen from my blue lips and the doors swung open. The waiting fans engulfed the players. I noticed that there were fans and players from both teams here. I quickly removed my Hawk headgear, jamming it into Angus' chest. I raked my fingers through my hair. It was lying flat to my head. Cursing the stupid Hawk that had turned my usually perky hair to a Moe Howard coif, I looked around when I heard someone cursing lividly. Fingers still in my hair, I saw two enormous men tumble out of the stadium shoving and pushing each other. A dark-haired player with an Aardvark duffel over his shoulder stumbled into me. He ducked. I didn't. Ryan Amirault's right fist met my face and the world went black.
Torquere Press Store - Goaltender`s Penalty
*~*~*
Don`t forget to check out all the other great Sneak Peeks!
Sneak Peek Sunday
March 19, 2014
Spring Fling Blog Hop! Prizes Galore!
Hello everyone and welcome to my little corner of the internet! My name is V.L. Locey, and I`m a multigenre erotic romance author. Some people may ask if the multigenre pertains to subject matter. Yes, it does. It also refers to the fact that I pen both M/F and M/M romances. I suppose you could say I was a cross-writing, multigenre, erotic romance author, but that`s just too big of a mouthful. And for an erotic romance author to admit that, then you know it`s a choker. *wink, nudge*
Celebrating spring, and love, is the theme of this hop. Love for all people, between all people. Not just love for a person if they like hyacinth. Or love if a person thinks spring peeps are cuter than spring piglets. Both are cute. As are spring lambs, kids, ducklings, geese, or any other newborn critter. Love for those who like to hide brightly-colored eggs outside as well as love for those who don`t. See, love is okay. Love is a good thing. It`s a thing that we really need to stop putting exclusivity labels on. Labels are bad, and dumb.
"You can only love/marry if you`re this tall!" (Bet I`m left out.)
"You can only love/marry if you`re a size 4!" (I knowI`m left out!)
"You can only love/marry if you prefer Captain Picard over Captain Kirk !"(Oh damn. Really? Who could choose? Captain Janeway. There! Put that in your elitist Trekkie food replicator and, uhm . . . replicate on it!)
"You can only love/marry if you`re this color. No! Not that color plus that color! Just this color!" (But what if I`m a glorious mixture of colors?)
"You can only love/marry if you have chocolate eggs in your basket. No! No! Not those cream-filled ones with that silly clucking rabbit!" (I love that clucking rabbit!)
"You can only love/marry if you`re this gender and that gender." (How about if I`m this gender and my love is this gender too? To heck with me? Live alone? But . . . but . . . but . . .)
"You can only love/marry . . .
Well, you can see how silly it all is.
Love. Spring. Romance.
Let`s celebrate those things, hand in hand. Let`s work to make sure that one day everyone can love/marry who they wish. Even if that person does prefer green jelly beans to purple ones.
Speaking of sweets, what could be sweeter than winning a free ebook? Simply tell me what your favorite sweet treat is and you`ll be entered to win a copy of any of my books listed on Amazon. You can check out the selection here:
V.L. Locey on Amazon
Please, make sure you leave your contact information with your sweet treat comment. If you don`t, I`ll pass over your comment as I simply do not have time to track people down. So, make sure you leave that email address! I hate having to omit people. Once you`re done entering my giveaway, make sure you hop on to the rest of the participants, as well as entering the grand prize drawing! Here`s the grand prize list:
1 Kindle Fire (Donated by Blushing Books)1 $75 Amazon (or B&N) Gift Card1 $25 Starbucks Gift Card (Donated by Sue)1 $25 Blushing Books Gift Card (Donated by Patty)1 $25 Loose Id Gift Card (Donated by Cara)
a Rafflecopter giveaway
And here is the link to lead you back to the main blog. Please take a few moments to visit all the other bloggers who are participating.
Spring Fling Blog Hop Main Blog Page
Thanks for stopping by and have a glorious spring!
V.L. Locey
Celebrating spring, and love, is the theme of this hop. Love for all people, between all people. Not just love for a person if they like hyacinth. Or love if a person thinks spring peeps are cuter than spring piglets. Both are cute. As are spring lambs, kids, ducklings, geese, or any other newborn critter. Love for those who like to hide brightly-colored eggs outside as well as love for those who don`t. See, love is okay. Love is a good thing. It`s a thing that we really need to stop putting exclusivity labels on. Labels are bad, and dumb.
"You can only love/marry if you`re this tall!" (Bet I`m left out.)
"You can only love/marry if you`re a size 4!" (I knowI`m left out!)
"You can only love/marry if you prefer Captain Picard over Captain Kirk !"(Oh damn. Really? Who could choose? Captain Janeway. There! Put that in your elitist Trekkie food replicator and, uhm . . . replicate on it!)
"You can only love/marry if you`re this color. No! Not that color plus that color! Just this color!" (But what if I`m a glorious mixture of colors?)
"You can only love/marry if you have chocolate eggs in your basket. No! No! Not those cream-filled ones with that silly clucking rabbit!" (I love that clucking rabbit!)
"You can only love/marry if you`re this gender and that gender." (How about if I`m this gender and my love is this gender too? To heck with me? Live alone? But . . . but . . . but . . .)
"You can only love/marry . . .
Well, you can see how silly it all is.
Love. Spring. Romance.
Let`s celebrate those things, hand in hand. Let`s work to make sure that one day everyone can love/marry who they wish. Even if that person does prefer green jelly beans to purple ones.
Speaking of sweets, what could be sweeter than winning a free ebook? Simply tell me what your favorite sweet treat is and you`ll be entered to win a copy of any of my books listed on Amazon. You can check out the selection here:
V.L. Locey on Amazon
Please, make sure you leave your contact information with your sweet treat comment. If you don`t, I`ll pass over your comment as I simply do not have time to track people down. So, make sure you leave that email address! I hate having to omit people. Once you`re done entering my giveaway, make sure you hop on to the rest of the participants, as well as entering the grand prize drawing! Here`s the grand prize list:
1 Kindle Fire (Donated by Blushing Books)1 $75 Amazon (or B&N) Gift Card1 $25 Starbucks Gift Card (Donated by Sue)1 $25 Blushing Books Gift Card (Donated by Patty)1 $25 Loose Id Gift Card (Donated by Cara)
a Rafflecopter giveaway
And here is the link to lead you back to the main blog. Please take a few moments to visit all the other bloggers who are participating.
Spring Fling Blog Hop Main Blog Page
Thanks for stopping by and have a glorious spring!
V.L. Locey
March 17, 2014
Tuesday Tales - Nudge
Welcome to Tuesday Tales! This week I`ll be sharing excerpts from my 2013 NaNoWriMo novel, Laco Law – The Gnarled Oak. Laco Law is an M/M historical western romance, set in the fictional county of Laco, Texas in 1867.
This week our word prompt 'Nudge'. In our excerpt this week, Clayton and Zeke ride the rails to Galveston.
A note for my readers: This is a gay romance novel, and so the romance that occurs is man on man. If this is not your cup of tea, no one will think less of you if you read no further.
As this is my NaNo work, it is quite rough. I do ask that you overlook any glaring mistakes you may find. Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
It was noon before we roused ourselves. There is many an odd thing a man will face in his days upon this earth. Waking naked beside a Tonkawa scout, your hand cupping his genitals lovingly would be one for many a male. For me, it did not seem odd. Out of place, perhaps, but perfectly right for a man such as me.
We dallied as long as we could. Madame Moon fed us well, stuffing us on rich foods such as oysters, creamy soup, and delicate sandwiches with frilly lettuce. The room cost us the very last paper money we had, but it was worth it. Now when I looked at my deputy, or he me, our gazes were warmed with shared affections. Having that knowledge helped the guilt nestled in my chest some. Mayhap I was not so terrible a being if a man such as Zeke Fire Sky could love me.
In return for his fondness, I allowed him to enter the train depot at a little after two in the afternoon. A man must give the man he has fondness for some small trinkets to show he cares. Within moments Zeke exited the depot, his smile bordering on what some may call evil. I did not ask about the conversation with the clerk behind the barred window. Ezekiel did not relay anything.
We gathered our horses, paid the stable-master with our last silver dollar, and then boarded the Price Railways luxurious cattle car. As people moved from the train or onto it, we garnered many a befuddled look. I even had a porter, round as a spittoon he was in his dark blue uniform, dash up to inquire as to why I felt the need to ride with the lesser animals.
“I`m not riding with the lesser, you are,” I replied then took the strong hand of my deputy. Zeke tugged my lanky backside into the stock car. He whistled for Dog. The canine leaped into the cattle car. We closed the door on the puzzled porter.
“That was so touching. You almost made me cry, Pan,” Zeke said. I slugged him soundly in the arm. With a clatter the train jerked. I was lurched forward and back as it came to life. The steam engine`s whistle pierced the air. Massive steel linkages connecting one box car to another slammed into each other. Zeke staggered towards the sliding door. He pulled it open wide enough to see. The crack was perhaps a foot wide, just enough to allow sun as well as fresh air into the already fragrant train car. “Many say these will be the death of my people,” he said as another short burst of steam signaled our impending departure. He slapped the doorframe to indicate he spoke of the train.
I walked over to stand at his side, my hat resting low on my brow. “I thought your people were almost wiped out as it was.”
“Not the Tonkawa, the Indian nation as a whole.” He stared out at the station. I pushed him to elaborate, but as he was known to do at times, Zeke withdrew into himself. I left him at the door after I patted the back of his corded neck tenderly. Taking a seat on the rough plank flooring beside bags of grain, I spread my legs out before me. Hands resting on my thighs as we slowly pulled away from Carson Butte, I came to the conclusion that if it were the Cajun that was facing extinction, I would be prone to solitary reflection as well.
I smelled the cheroot. The wind coming in the cracked door carried the smoke back to where I sat. Some time passed. I dozed. Sleeping was easy as the wheels clattered in a steady rhythm over the newly laid tracks. Zeke woke me with a nudge to the ribs. He handed me a biscuit that was hard enough to use as a bludgeon. We sat side by side picking patches of green mold off our biscuits. We shared water from a barrel with our horses. We took turns sleeping. When the railroad men came to tend to the cattle, we assisted in the chores. The train made many stops. It took us well over thirty hours to arrive in Galveston.
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 talented authors of Tuesday Tales.
Tuesday Tales
See you next week with more from the old West!
This week our word prompt 'Nudge'. In our excerpt this week, Clayton and Zeke ride the rails to Galveston.
A note for my readers: This is a gay romance novel, and so the romance that occurs is man on man. If this is not your cup of tea, no one will think less of you if you read no further.
As this is my NaNo work, it is quite rough. I do ask that you overlook any glaring mistakes you may find. Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
It was noon before we roused ourselves. There is many an odd thing a man will face in his days upon this earth. Waking naked beside a Tonkawa scout, your hand cupping his genitals lovingly would be one for many a male. For me, it did not seem odd. Out of place, perhaps, but perfectly right for a man such as me.
We dallied as long as we could. Madame Moon fed us well, stuffing us on rich foods such as oysters, creamy soup, and delicate sandwiches with frilly lettuce. The room cost us the very last paper money we had, but it was worth it. Now when I looked at my deputy, or he me, our gazes were warmed with shared affections. Having that knowledge helped the guilt nestled in my chest some. Mayhap I was not so terrible a being if a man such as Zeke Fire Sky could love me.
In return for his fondness, I allowed him to enter the train depot at a little after two in the afternoon. A man must give the man he has fondness for some small trinkets to show he cares. Within moments Zeke exited the depot, his smile bordering on what some may call evil. I did not ask about the conversation with the clerk behind the barred window. Ezekiel did not relay anything.
We gathered our horses, paid the stable-master with our last silver dollar, and then boarded the Price Railways luxurious cattle car. As people moved from the train or onto it, we garnered many a befuddled look. I even had a porter, round as a spittoon he was in his dark blue uniform, dash up to inquire as to why I felt the need to ride with the lesser animals.
“I`m not riding with the lesser, you are,” I replied then took the strong hand of my deputy. Zeke tugged my lanky backside into the stock car. He whistled for Dog. The canine leaped into the cattle car. We closed the door on the puzzled porter.
“That was so touching. You almost made me cry, Pan,” Zeke said. I slugged him soundly in the arm. With a clatter the train jerked. I was lurched forward and back as it came to life. The steam engine`s whistle pierced the air. Massive steel linkages connecting one box car to another slammed into each other. Zeke staggered towards the sliding door. He pulled it open wide enough to see. The crack was perhaps a foot wide, just enough to allow sun as well as fresh air into the already fragrant train car. “Many say these will be the death of my people,” he said as another short burst of steam signaled our impending departure. He slapped the doorframe to indicate he spoke of the train.
I walked over to stand at his side, my hat resting low on my brow. “I thought your people were almost wiped out as it was.”
“Not the Tonkawa, the Indian nation as a whole.” He stared out at the station. I pushed him to elaborate, but as he was known to do at times, Zeke withdrew into himself. I left him at the door after I patted the back of his corded neck tenderly. Taking a seat on the rough plank flooring beside bags of grain, I spread my legs out before me. Hands resting on my thighs as we slowly pulled away from Carson Butte, I came to the conclusion that if it were the Cajun that was facing extinction, I would be prone to solitary reflection as well.
I smelled the cheroot. The wind coming in the cracked door carried the smoke back to where I sat. Some time passed. I dozed. Sleeping was easy as the wheels clattered in a steady rhythm over the newly laid tracks. Zeke woke me with a nudge to the ribs. He handed me a biscuit that was hard enough to use as a bludgeon. We sat side by side picking patches of green mold off our biscuits. We shared water from a barrel with our horses. We took turns sleeping. When the railroad men came to tend to the cattle, we assisted in the chores. The train made many stops. It took us well over thirty hours to arrive in Galveston.
Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
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March 16, 2014
The Naughty Leprechaun
I hope you enjoy this saucy little original tale starring Viviana and Alain. Please be advised that this post is NSFW. Enjoy!
I could sense him staring at me. Even in the packed bar, with all manner of flesh being pressed tightly to me, I could feel those hazel eyes resting on me. I, of course, ignored him. Not that I was hoping to punish him, per say, but he had been rather truculent about coming out at all. Don`t get me wrong, I enjoy staying home. I also enjoy the nightlife.
Alain would be perfectly content to remain in our studio apartment, with the dogs, cuddled on the couch. And yes, I know, that sounds dreamy, and it is. If this party were not a fundraiser I would have been mollified by him into staying home. He has the most delightful ways of making me see his side of things. But not tonight. This St. Patrick`s Day bash at the Black Boar was making money for Veikko Aho`s Seven Days Foundation, an organization that gives terminally ill children the chance to spend up to a week with their favorite players. There were Wildcats, as well as other Philadelphia sports personas, in every nook and cranny of the building.
The cash was coming in hand over fist. All sales of food and drink were being donated to the cause. Tickets to enter the sports bar sold for five hundred dollars each. The press were everywhere. Which was why my lover was hiding in the corner, his blue-green eyes locked on me as I schmoozed. When I could stand it no longer, I thanked the mayor for coming by then wiggled through the crush to Alain. He filed out his tuxedo to perfection. I ran my eyes over him. He cocked a dark eyebrow then took a sip of his cranberry juice on the rocks. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked. I nodded. His sight roamed over me slowly. I popped out a hip. The sequined emerald green gown slithered off my hip, showing him bare leg from toe to upper thigh. He took a quick sip of cranberry.
"Are you?" I asked. He shook his head. One stray black curl fell over his left eye. I reached up to push it back. "You`re doing really well. I know how you hate all of this," I said as I ran my fingers through his hair. It bounced back making darling flips at the ends.
"I know it is important, the charity does much good, but these press people. They don`t care about Seven Days, not like Veikko does, or the rest of the team. They are here only to snoop. To take pictures and spread lies. Pah! I would gladly pay Veikko the cash he makes here with this bullshit media frenzy then have to see one more flashbulb go off in my face!"
"Why don`t we step outside?" I slid my arm through his. "We can go sit in the car and sip on your juice."
"There are other things I would rather sip on," he said. I smiled up at him as he ogled my cleavage. There was plenty to ogle. I feared he might not let me wear the gown it was so daring, but he did. He didn`t like other men eying my bounty, but he was learning to dampen his possessiveness. That is one of many positive things about younger men. They aren`t so damned set in their ways. They can be led to a more rational behavior and mindset easier than a man in his thirties or forties can be.
I blew him a kiss. We made our way slowly through the mob. Irish songs were being sung by off-key patrons on the small stage. Green beer was being drunk in amazing quantities. The aroma of mouthwatering corned beef and cabbage clung to the overheated air. Veikko shouted something at us as we snuck out. Alain waved at the goalie. I ducked under his arm then ran smack dab into the coldest air I have ever felt this side of an iceberg.
"Where is your wrap?" Alain asked, his voice losing that hateful tone as soon as he closed the door on the party. He pulled me close.
"Back at our table. At least I have my purse," I said holding the small clutch over all that boob about to fall from my gown.
Alain hurried me along. He got me tucked into the Porsche then ran around the back of the car. I giggled when he tumbled into the car, his long muscular legs getting tangled in his rush. Once he had his door closed, he cranked the car over. My arms were folded over my chest. My teeth were chattering. Cold air blew out of the heater.
"Sorry, Viviana, she is as cold as you are." Alain peeled his jacket off then draped it over my bare shoulders. The hot smell of his cologne mixed with him rolled out of the fine fabric. I pulled the jacket closed then snuggled into it. "You want to get her hot faster?"
"I do love it when you ask a question like that." He winked at me, threw the Cayenne into reverse, then peeled out of the parking lot. My jaw dropped to my chest. "Alain!" I barked, letting the coat fall from my mouth and nose. "We are not leaving that party! My wrap is back there. And you promised Veikko that you`d be there."
"I was there. Now, I am leaving." The Cayenne surged forward, wanting to run like a race horse but being held back by Alain`s foot on the brake. I turned in my seat to watch the Black Boar fade into the night. When I flounced back around, Alain was peeking at me through his long lashes. "Do not be put off with me, Viviana."
"It`s put out, and I`m not. Well, I am, sort of. I was enjoying myself." I put my best pout out there.
"My biggest apologies. If I can make you enjoy yourself away from the party, will you be happy again?" he asked, his voice deep and sugary sweet with sincerity. I always did have a weakness for sugary sweet things. I may have nodded. "Shift for me."
"I`m sorry? Did you say shift? I`m a shiftless driver."
"Then it is time you learn if you wish to be made less pout out."
"That`s put out and well you know it, wise ass," I said but laid my hand on the shifting lever knob thing. I wasn`t lying. I do not do stick shifts well. But there was something sultry just under the surface of Alain`s voice that made me quiver with expectation.
"Put, pout, all the same. Now, ease it into first when I tell you too." His cold fingers slid into the slit of my green gown. I sucked in a sharp breath at the touch of icy fingertips to warm flesh. "Now, ease her into first. Straight up. Mm, yes. Nice."
I shifted. His fingers shimmied between my legs. It was nice. Very nice. I kept my legs tightly together, trapping his right hand.
"Viviana, where are your panties?" he asked gruffly, his middle finger finding what he was seeking. My fingers tightened on the Porsche's shifting lever.
"Who wants panty lines under a gown this exquisite?" I spread my legs. He dove into the honey pot, his fingers slick already.
"You naughty little Leprechaun," he teased with words then began to tease with touch. "Second, shift now. Straight down," he said as he brushed at my pearl with a rough thumb. I groaned then shifted. "Good. You listen so good. Third now, Viviana. We need to go faster. Up midway, then to the right, then up again."
"You need to . . . to do the same," I panted as we cruised through late night traffic, the lights of Philadelphia dimming as my lover began pleasuring me as only he knew how.
"Do the same what, Viviana?" he asked. I looked at him. He snuck a fast look at me undulating against his hand. His eyelids were heavy with lust. "Go midway? To the right? Up? Faster?" Each query was followed by his long fingers doing what had been said. By the time we sailed out of the Philadelphia city limits and into suburbia, I was clawing at the door with one hand while ramming the Porsche into fourth gear with the other.
"Faster would . . . be . . . Alain, God yes."
He gave me faster. I gave him fifth. When the last tremor subsided, I opened my eyes. We were sitting at a traffic light. I rolled my head to the left to find Alain studying me intently. His eyes were greenish-blue fiery gems, his fingers relaxing in the hot warmth of my core.
"Such skilled hands," I said."No wonder you score so often." He chuckled roughly then gently pulled his hand from the apex of my thighs. The light changed. We lurched forward. I had to giggle at his sudden lack of coordination. "What`s the matter? Are you feeling a bit . . . stiff from sitting in this car for so long?"
"Mm, yes, I am most definitely stiff, but from sitting? I think not."
"Can I help you out with that stiffness in any way? Perhaps rubbing the affected area would ease the stiffness?" My hand slithered over his thigh. I felt the hard muscle under my fingers twitch. I wet my lips. Alain shuddered as he pulled the tightest and most illegal U-turn I had ever seen. Laughter bubbled out of me as we raced toward home.
"Be careful," I warned as we made a right turn that left some rubber on the road, "My naughty Leprechaun magic might not work on the fine men in blue." I ran my palm back and forth on the inside of his thigh. His breathing was raspy, quick, heated. I had seen worse parking jobs, but not since my days in driver`s ed. Alain was out of the car, my wrist in his hand, and into our apartment building`s elevator faster than you could say 'O Danny Boy'. We managed to get inside our apartment before he pounced like the Wildcat that he is.
"Did anyone ever tell you that you`d have made a sexy Leprechaun?" I asked an hour later as I walked into the kitchen to find Alain making non-alcoholic Irish coffee in nothing but a silly green plastic hat with a ratty paper shamrock band. He smiled at me over his wide shoulder. I snuggled up behind him, my robe mysteriously coming untied so my bare breasts could tease his naked back. "Oh my, what a big shillelagh you have!" "You are just after me for my golden pot, aren`t you?" he asked then turned to capture my mouth with his. He shoved my robe off my shoulders then lifted me from the floor to set me on the counter, the coffee, brown sugar and heavy cream seemingly forgotten by the randy French-Canadian Leprechaun.
"And they say it`s the Irish who have all the luck," I whispered.
*~*~*
As Alain would say: "Heureux le jour de la St. Patrick!"
Happy St. Patrick`s Day!
I could sense him staring at me. Even in the packed bar, with all manner of flesh being pressed tightly to me, I could feel those hazel eyes resting on me. I, of course, ignored him. Not that I was hoping to punish him, per say, but he had been rather truculent about coming out at all. Don`t get me wrong, I enjoy staying home. I also enjoy the nightlife.
Alain would be perfectly content to remain in our studio apartment, with the dogs, cuddled on the couch. And yes, I know, that sounds dreamy, and it is. If this party were not a fundraiser I would have been mollified by him into staying home. He has the most delightful ways of making me see his side of things. But not tonight. This St. Patrick`s Day bash at the Black Boar was making money for Veikko Aho`s Seven Days Foundation, an organization that gives terminally ill children the chance to spend up to a week with their favorite players. There were Wildcats, as well as other Philadelphia sports personas, in every nook and cranny of the building.
The cash was coming in hand over fist. All sales of food and drink were being donated to the cause. Tickets to enter the sports bar sold for five hundred dollars each. The press were everywhere. Which was why my lover was hiding in the corner, his blue-green eyes locked on me as I schmoozed. When I could stand it no longer, I thanked the mayor for coming by then wiggled through the crush to Alain. He filed out his tuxedo to perfection. I ran my eyes over him. He cocked a dark eyebrow then took a sip of his cranberry juice on the rocks. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked. I nodded. His sight roamed over me slowly. I popped out a hip. The sequined emerald green gown slithered off my hip, showing him bare leg from toe to upper thigh. He took a quick sip of cranberry.
"Are you?" I asked. He shook his head. One stray black curl fell over his left eye. I reached up to push it back. "You`re doing really well. I know how you hate all of this," I said as I ran my fingers through his hair. It bounced back making darling flips at the ends.
"I know it is important, the charity does much good, but these press people. They don`t care about Seven Days, not like Veikko does, or the rest of the team. They are here only to snoop. To take pictures and spread lies. Pah! I would gladly pay Veikko the cash he makes here with this bullshit media frenzy then have to see one more flashbulb go off in my face!"
"Why don`t we step outside?" I slid my arm through his. "We can go sit in the car and sip on your juice."
"There are other things I would rather sip on," he said. I smiled up at him as he ogled my cleavage. There was plenty to ogle. I feared he might not let me wear the gown it was so daring, but he did. He didn`t like other men eying my bounty, but he was learning to dampen his possessiveness. That is one of many positive things about younger men. They aren`t so damned set in their ways. They can be led to a more rational behavior and mindset easier than a man in his thirties or forties can be.
I blew him a kiss. We made our way slowly through the mob. Irish songs were being sung by off-key patrons on the small stage. Green beer was being drunk in amazing quantities. The aroma of mouthwatering corned beef and cabbage clung to the overheated air. Veikko shouted something at us as we snuck out. Alain waved at the goalie. I ducked under his arm then ran smack dab into the coldest air I have ever felt this side of an iceberg.
"Where is your wrap?" Alain asked, his voice losing that hateful tone as soon as he closed the door on the party. He pulled me close.
"Back at our table. At least I have my purse," I said holding the small clutch over all that boob about to fall from my gown.
Alain hurried me along. He got me tucked into the Porsche then ran around the back of the car. I giggled when he tumbled into the car, his long muscular legs getting tangled in his rush. Once he had his door closed, he cranked the car over. My arms were folded over my chest. My teeth were chattering. Cold air blew out of the heater.
"Sorry, Viviana, she is as cold as you are." Alain peeled his jacket off then draped it over my bare shoulders. The hot smell of his cologne mixed with him rolled out of the fine fabric. I pulled the jacket closed then snuggled into it. "You want to get her hot faster?"
"I do love it when you ask a question like that." He winked at me, threw the Cayenne into reverse, then peeled out of the parking lot. My jaw dropped to my chest. "Alain!" I barked, letting the coat fall from my mouth and nose. "We are not leaving that party! My wrap is back there. And you promised Veikko that you`d be there."
"I was there. Now, I am leaving." The Cayenne surged forward, wanting to run like a race horse but being held back by Alain`s foot on the brake. I turned in my seat to watch the Black Boar fade into the night. When I flounced back around, Alain was peeking at me through his long lashes. "Do not be put off with me, Viviana."
"It`s put out, and I`m not. Well, I am, sort of. I was enjoying myself." I put my best pout out there.
"My biggest apologies. If I can make you enjoy yourself away from the party, will you be happy again?" he asked, his voice deep and sugary sweet with sincerity. I always did have a weakness for sugary sweet things. I may have nodded. "Shift for me."
"I`m sorry? Did you say shift? I`m a shiftless driver."
"Then it is time you learn if you wish to be made less pout out."
"That`s put out and well you know it, wise ass," I said but laid my hand on the shifting lever knob thing. I wasn`t lying. I do not do stick shifts well. But there was something sultry just under the surface of Alain`s voice that made me quiver with expectation.
"Put, pout, all the same. Now, ease it into first when I tell you too." His cold fingers slid into the slit of my green gown. I sucked in a sharp breath at the touch of icy fingertips to warm flesh. "Now, ease her into first. Straight up. Mm, yes. Nice."
I shifted. His fingers shimmied between my legs. It was nice. Very nice. I kept my legs tightly together, trapping his right hand.
"Viviana, where are your panties?" he asked gruffly, his middle finger finding what he was seeking. My fingers tightened on the Porsche's shifting lever.
"Who wants panty lines under a gown this exquisite?" I spread my legs. He dove into the honey pot, his fingers slick already.
"You naughty little Leprechaun," he teased with words then began to tease with touch. "Second, shift now. Straight down," he said as he brushed at my pearl with a rough thumb. I groaned then shifted. "Good. You listen so good. Third now, Viviana. We need to go faster. Up midway, then to the right, then up again."
"You need to . . . to do the same," I panted as we cruised through late night traffic, the lights of Philadelphia dimming as my lover began pleasuring me as only he knew how.
"Do the same what, Viviana?" he asked. I looked at him. He snuck a fast look at me undulating against his hand. His eyelids were heavy with lust. "Go midway? To the right? Up? Faster?" Each query was followed by his long fingers doing what had been said. By the time we sailed out of the Philadelphia city limits and into suburbia, I was clawing at the door with one hand while ramming the Porsche into fourth gear with the other.
"Faster would . . . be . . . Alain, God yes."
He gave me faster. I gave him fifth. When the last tremor subsided, I opened my eyes. We were sitting at a traffic light. I rolled my head to the left to find Alain studying me intently. His eyes were greenish-blue fiery gems, his fingers relaxing in the hot warmth of my core.
"Such skilled hands," I said."No wonder you score so often." He chuckled roughly then gently pulled his hand from the apex of my thighs. The light changed. We lurched forward. I had to giggle at his sudden lack of coordination. "What`s the matter? Are you feeling a bit . . . stiff from sitting in this car for so long?"
"Mm, yes, I am most definitely stiff, but from sitting? I think not."
"Can I help you out with that stiffness in any way? Perhaps rubbing the affected area would ease the stiffness?" My hand slithered over his thigh. I felt the hard muscle under my fingers twitch. I wet my lips. Alain shuddered as he pulled the tightest and most illegal U-turn I had ever seen. Laughter bubbled out of me as we raced toward home.
"Be careful," I warned as we made a right turn that left some rubber on the road, "My naughty Leprechaun magic might not work on the fine men in blue." I ran my palm back and forth on the inside of his thigh. His breathing was raspy, quick, heated. I had seen worse parking jobs, but not since my days in driver`s ed. Alain was out of the car, my wrist in his hand, and into our apartment building`s elevator faster than you could say 'O Danny Boy'. We managed to get inside our apartment before he pounced like the Wildcat that he is.
"Did anyone ever tell you that you`d have made a sexy Leprechaun?" I asked an hour later as I walked into the kitchen to find Alain making non-alcoholic Irish coffee in nothing but a silly green plastic hat with a ratty paper shamrock band. He smiled at me over his wide shoulder. I snuggled up behind him, my robe mysteriously coming untied so my bare breasts could tease his naked back. "Oh my, what a big shillelagh you have!" "You are just after me for my golden pot, aren`t you?" he asked then turned to capture my mouth with his. He shoved my robe off my shoulders then lifted me from the floor to set me on the counter, the coffee, brown sugar and heavy cream seemingly forgotten by the randy French-Canadian Leprechaun.
"And they say it`s the Irish who have all the luck," I whispered.
*~*~*
As Alain would say: "Heureux le jour de la St. Patrick!"
Happy St. Patrick`s Day!
March 15, 2014
Sneak Peek Sunday
Here`s a fun way to discover possible new reads. Just hop from one blog to the next for six paragraphs from that author`s current WIP or published work! This week I`ll be sharing something from An Erie Halloween, my M/M shifter romance about a mild-mannered skunk shifter that captures the heart of the Lake Erie pack alpha.
As I walked, I rolled odd change around inside my coat pockets. The streets were busy as last minute shoppers ran to get their candy and costumes for the big night tomorrow. Head down and mind running a mile a minute, I never saw the brick wall disguised as a man I ran into. Face into the wind, I never smelled him either. The amber eyes and brindle hair were all that stopped me from either screaming or shifting.
Mikel pulled me into a small bookstore. I went along because I really had no choice, but once inside the quaint bookery, I jerked my arm from his grasp. Several patrons glanced at us. Mikel muscled me into a row holding non-fiction and historical. He grabbed a book and opened it, his sharp gaze flitting between me and a fascinating how-to grow-your-own-beets book.
“Is there a reason you abducted me from the street?” I asked, moving back slightly when his big body pressed closer to allow a woman to pass behind him. His proximity was beyond distressing. It was arousing. Now that he had me cornered, there was no getting away from the heady scent that he exuded: Part sin, part warm fur, part earthy pine, wholly distracting.
“I`ve been trying to contact you for days. Why didn`t you return my calls?” he whispered, keeping his big chest plastered to my left arm. My spine was firmly against a bookshelf.
“There are several reasons,” I replied trying to sound snooty but sounding meagerly twitterpated.” One is that our classes don`t mix. . .”
“That`s a paltry reason, Templeton,” Mikel said gruffly, snapping his beet book closed.
“Well, it may be for you, but when one`s boss tells one to keep his distance and – hey!” I grabbed for my glasses when he plucked them off the bridge of my nose. Folding my arms over my pea coat, I glowered at the oaf. There would be no leaping up and down. Those days ended when I left high school. The touch of his fingers on my chin brought out an age-old response. I jerked back hard. The bookcase behind me wobbled dangerously. Mikel dropped his book to steady the shelving unit. My heart was trying to explode through my chest like an alien baby. The lycan inhaled several times then gave me a dark look.
“Calm yourself, Templeton, your odor is growing stronger.”
“Sorry, it`s just this is all too – too much,” I gasped, working to calm myself before the tingling at the base of my spine began. The bells over the front door tinkled melodiously. Soft conversation bounced off the spines of books. Mikel tipped my head back and kissed me. Right there in the middle of the non-fiction. His lips were soft. Sinfully soft. It took my lashes a moment after his mouth left mine to flutter upward. Squinting skyward, I tried to read his face but it was a blur. My glasses were placed back onto my face, albeit crookedly, and then I could see the glow of golden eyes. Oh my . . .
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*~*~*
Don`t forget to check out all the other great Sneak Peeks!
Sneak Peek Sunday
March 12, 2014
Kathleen Gallagher Pays a Visit/Giftcard Giveaway!
Please welcome the talented Kathleen Gallagher to our little corner of the interweb! She`s here to reveal the gorgeous cover of her upcoming novel from Secret Cravings Publishing as well as share a blurb. Take it away, Kathleen.
Night Magic Blurb
The beautiful, but lonely owner of a bath & body shop, Krista Winters, is in need of legal counsel. Her past is about to catch up with her. She was forced to flee from her life as a teacher in New Jersey after she was let go when the principal found out she was a witch. Life is not the same for Jon Bartolo. He’s a dedicated lawyer, living in the town of Conway, New Hampshire. His days are spent helping his clients with their struggles and his nights are spent in agony, lost in a world between life and death.
His mother who died three years ago, lurks in his house, suffering from a curse for eternity, without a resting place.
A smoldering fire between Jon and Krista ignites almost immediately, however he’s sure his secret would frighten a woman away. An afternoon escape brings them closer, but doubts lingers between the love-struck couple.
A touch of Night Magic might be exactly what Jon needs. How will his mother find eternal rest, so he can move on with his life? Or is he bound to a live of hell on earth?
Will Krista fit into his world when he learns about her past? Or is she hiding a bigger secret?
Although writing is my passion, nursing is my vocation. I work in an emergency room, and it’s been challenging, and rewarding, to be such an integral part of so many other’s daily struggles. I have a wonderful husband who always offers his support, and never complains about my crazy schedule. One of our favorite romantic getaways is Cape May, New Jersey, an old historic beach town where we take a step into the past, and enjoy life’s simple pleasures. Although my children are all grown with busy lives of their own, Chaz, our Shepherd mix, and Luc our Coton deTulear bring us joy and unconditional love. We are also blessed with three adorable grandsons. Other interests of mine include cooking, reading, and the theater. However, spending time with my family is most important to me. Even though my life is filled with work, family, etc., my mind continues to ponder the next story or concept for a new novel.
You can find Kathleen here. She loves to meet readers and make new friends.
http://kathleenanngallagher.net/Home.html
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http://kathleensplacetoreflect.blogspot.com/?zx=8449b834263ba5c9
https://twitter.com/Kathleenwriteshttps://plus.google.com/u/0/117606070036565136137/posts?partnerid=gplp0
http://www.pinterest.com/magicalwriter/
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Night Magic Blurb
The beautiful, but lonely owner of a bath & body shop, Krista Winters, is in need of legal counsel. Her past is about to catch up with her. She was forced to flee from her life as a teacher in New Jersey after she was let go when the principal found out she was a witch. Life is not the same for Jon Bartolo. He’s a dedicated lawyer, living in the town of Conway, New Hampshire. His days are spent helping his clients with their struggles and his nights are spent in agony, lost in a world between life and death.
His mother who died three years ago, lurks in his house, suffering from a curse for eternity, without a resting place.
A smoldering fire between Jon and Krista ignites almost immediately, however he’s sure his secret would frighten a woman away. An afternoon escape brings them closer, but doubts lingers between the love-struck couple.
A touch of Night Magic might be exactly what Jon needs. How will his mother find eternal rest, so he can move on with his life? Or is he bound to a live of hell on earth?
Will Krista fit into his world when he learns about her past? Or is she hiding a bigger secret?
Although writing is my passion, nursing is my vocation. I work in an emergency room, and it’s been challenging, and rewarding, to be such an integral part of so many other’s daily struggles. I have a wonderful husband who always offers his support, and never complains about my crazy schedule. One of our favorite romantic getaways is Cape May, New Jersey, an old historic beach town where we take a step into the past, and enjoy life’s simple pleasures. Although my children are all grown with busy lives of their own, Chaz, our Shepherd mix, and Luc our Coton deTulear bring us joy and unconditional love. We are also blessed with three adorable grandsons. Other interests of mine include cooking, reading, and the theater. However, spending time with my family is most important to me. Even though my life is filled with work, family, etc., my mind continues to ponder the next story or concept for a new novel.
You can find Kathleen here. She loves to meet readers and make new friends.
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March 10, 2014
Tuesday Tales - End
Welcome to Tuesday Tales! This week I`ll be sharing excerpts from my 2013 NaNoWriMo novel, Laco Law – The Gnarled Oak. Laco Law is an M/M historical western romance, set in the fictional county of Laco, Texas in 1867.
This week our word prompt 'End'. In our excerpt this week, Clayton and Zeke finally find a place to rest their heads.
A note for my readers: This is a gay romance novel, and so the romance that occurs is man on man. If this is not your cup of tea, no one will think less of you if you read no further.
As this is my NaNo work, it is quite rough. I do ask that you overlook any glaring mistakes you may find. Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
As it turned out, the horses almost ended up with better accommodations then Zeke and I did. It was pure hell to find a room. I grew more furious with each subsequent dismissal. If it were not for the generosity of the local bordello, Zeke and I would have been sleeping on the depot office bench. While my deputy may have drawn worried looks from a few of the ladies of the night as we hauled our tired asses up Madame Moon`s carpeted staircase, they held their tongues. One even went so far as to offer Zeke her services for the night. He graciously refused, casting a wary eye to me as we passed the ladies lined up along the balustrade.
Truly, the wonders of a whorehouse never seemed to escape me. Granted, not every brothel was as nicely decorated as Madame Moon`s, but so far the accommodations had been pleasant, clean, and the staff friendly. Given their profession, I had to assume the friendliness to anyone with a prick was part of the service, but it was well-received nonetheless. Our room was velvet-draped, scented thickly with perfume, contained a bed large enough to hold several men, and was blessed with a bathing tub tucked behind a tall Chinese folding screen.
Zeke and I both offered our thanks when our hostess arrived in a cloud of purple satin. Madame Moon was perhaps forty. Her face held pale blue eyes that possessed vast knowledge, round cheeks, a button nose, perfectly painted lips, and a heart-shaped beauty mark expertly applied beside her ruby lips. Her hair was bright yellow, festooned with purple flowers and small, stuffed violet birds. She was a substantial woman with tiny feet wrapped in purple slippers. She smiled down at Dog when he slithered under the bed.
“I always make room for lawmen,” she said, her voice holding a foreign accent I could not properly place. “They scratch my back. I scratch theirs.”
“Thank you most kindly, Ma`am,” I said, my hat in my hands. She smiled warmly at the gesture.
“Such a chivalrous young sheriff.” She laughed. "Imagine a lawman taking his hat off for a fat old whore! I do like you. Tell me, which one of the girls would you like? They`ll be included in the room rent. I think Janelle would be willing to bed that strapping Indian deputy of yours.”
Whatever it was that she heard in our refusal I cannot say. Madame Moon gave us both a long look, smiled knowingly, and then left us to “Enjoy the comfort of whatever it is that brings you comfort, Gentlemen”. The door closed behind her ample bustle. I looked sheepishly at Zeke. His sight was tacked to the back of the door.
“What did she mean by that?” he asked. I did not feel like pondering upon secret meanings. I began stripping off my clothes, my eyes fastened to the large tin tub filled with steaming water sitting behind that tall Oriental screen. “Do you think she knows about . . . what we do with each other?”
“I could not say,” I said as I bounced around on my right foot while tugging on my left boot. Zeke padded over to lock the door. Within moments we stood before each other naked. “But I would suspect there are no sexual proclivities that a whore that old has not been witness to or has partaken in.” I caressed him with a look. “Does it worry or offend you?”
“No,” he mumbled with a soft shake of his head. I was relieved to hear that. I reached for him. He took a step in reverse, his eyes roaming to the bed. “I`m making love to you then I`m bathing,” he announced. My cock leaped upward at his commanding tone. “Then I might take you again,” he added before he walked to the bed then lay down upon it. The thick mattress sighed. It ballooned up to envelope his long, brown form. I could not join him quickly enough.
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 talented authors of Tuesday Tales.
Tuesday Tales
See you next week with more from the old West!
This week our word prompt 'End'. In our excerpt this week, Clayton and Zeke finally find a place to rest their heads.
A note for my readers: This is a gay romance novel, and so the romance that occurs is man on man. If this is not your cup of tea, no one will think less of you if you read no further.
As this is my NaNo work, it is quite rough. I do ask that you overlook any glaring mistakes you may find. Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
As it turned out, the horses almost ended up with better accommodations then Zeke and I did. It was pure hell to find a room. I grew more furious with each subsequent dismissal. If it were not for the generosity of the local bordello, Zeke and I would have been sleeping on the depot office bench. While my deputy may have drawn worried looks from a few of the ladies of the night as we hauled our tired asses up Madame Moon`s carpeted staircase, they held their tongues. One even went so far as to offer Zeke her services for the night. He graciously refused, casting a wary eye to me as we passed the ladies lined up along the balustrade.
Truly, the wonders of a whorehouse never seemed to escape me. Granted, not every brothel was as nicely decorated as Madame Moon`s, but so far the accommodations had been pleasant, clean, and the staff friendly. Given their profession, I had to assume the friendliness to anyone with a prick was part of the service, but it was well-received nonetheless. Our room was velvet-draped, scented thickly with perfume, contained a bed large enough to hold several men, and was blessed with a bathing tub tucked behind a tall Chinese folding screen.
Zeke and I both offered our thanks when our hostess arrived in a cloud of purple satin. Madame Moon was perhaps forty. Her face held pale blue eyes that possessed vast knowledge, round cheeks, a button nose, perfectly painted lips, and a heart-shaped beauty mark expertly applied beside her ruby lips. Her hair was bright yellow, festooned with purple flowers and small, stuffed violet birds. She was a substantial woman with tiny feet wrapped in purple slippers. She smiled down at Dog when he slithered under the bed.
“I always make room for lawmen,” she said, her voice holding a foreign accent I could not properly place. “They scratch my back. I scratch theirs.”
“Thank you most kindly, Ma`am,” I said, my hat in my hands. She smiled warmly at the gesture.
“Such a chivalrous young sheriff.” She laughed. "Imagine a lawman taking his hat off for a fat old whore! I do like you. Tell me, which one of the girls would you like? They`ll be included in the room rent. I think Janelle would be willing to bed that strapping Indian deputy of yours.”
Whatever it was that she heard in our refusal I cannot say. Madame Moon gave us both a long look, smiled knowingly, and then left us to “Enjoy the comfort of whatever it is that brings you comfort, Gentlemen”. The door closed behind her ample bustle. I looked sheepishly at Zeke. His sight was tacked to the back of the door.
“What did she mean by that?” he asked. I did not feel like pondering upon secret meanings. I began stripping off my clothes, my eyes fastened to the large tin tub filled with steaming water sitting behind that tall Oriental screen. “Do you think she knows about . . . what we do with each other?”
“I could not say,” I said as I bounced around on my right foot while tugging on my left boot. Zeke padded over to lock the door. Within moments we stood before each other naked. “But I would suspect there are no sexual proclivities that a whore that old has not been witness to or has partaken in.” I caressed him with a look. “Does it worry or offend you?”
“No,” he mumbled with a soft shake of his head. I was relieved to hear that. I reached for him. He took a step in reverse, his eyes roaming to the bed. “I`m making love to you then I`m bathing,” he announced. My cock leaped upward at his commanding tone. “Then I might take you again,” he added before he walked to the bed then lay down upon it. The thick mattress sighed. It ballooned up to envelope his long, brown form. I could not join him quickly enough.
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 talented authors of Tuesday Tales.
Tuesday Tales
See you next week with more from the old West!
March 8, 2014
Sneak Peek Sunday
Here`s a fun way to discover possible new reads. Just hop from one blog to the next for six paragraphs from that author`s current WIP or published work! I`ll be sharing something from Pink Pucks & Power Plays, the first book in my To Love a Wildcat hockey romance series.
“You must forgive Bruno; he is sometimes very over protecting, je regret,” Alain said, waving at a bleacher. I strode up to the man and offered him the same hand I had given Bruno the Bruiser. This handshake was much warmer than the previous one. His palm was rough but his touch gentle. He held my hand just a fraction longer than required. “What brings you to our humble rink again?”
“I wanted to talk to you about my scout troop,” I said. He nodded sending a wild curl tumbling down to tickle the corner of his eye. It took every ounce of determination I possessed not to gently push the lock of onyx back from his face. I thought the overgrown haircut suited him as wayward curls danced over his collar and ears. I twisted my handbag strap and sat down in a rush. Alain finally sat as well. “They were really awed by what they saw here Saturday, and would like to try playing,” I explained, crossing my legs while hugging my midsection tightly. It was like sitting in a meat locker.
“I take it they have never played before?” he asked. I shook my head. “Well, the fact that they have never played before is not a problem. We all are beginners at some time, yes?” he inquired. My head bobbed up and down. His eyes moved over my face as he spoke, caressing me visually. I felt a touch of pink suffuse my cheeks. “What may be the problem is the fact that they will have to play against boys. Do they realize this? We do not have a girls` league, sadly. Ice hockey is not a very popular sport for female athletes. Although there are teams in the collegiate level and even a professional league but this small town?” He shrugged adorably. My stars this young man was charming! Far too charming, if you know what I mean. “Let me ask you this. You would be their head coach?” he asked.
“I know very little about the sport I`m afraid,” I admitted, hugging myself tighter. I saw his eyes dip down to the swells of my breasts as the 40D`s threatened to tumble from my scoop-necked tank. I instantly stopped cradling my midsection to affect a less tantalizing pose. His gaze roamed up my neck, stopped for just a moment to linger on my mouth, and then settled on my eyes once again. I wet my lips. One side of his tempting mouth twitched.
“Then perhaps you will need some private coaching time?” he asked, his voice suddenly an octave lower and smoky as an Easter ham. Flames raced through my body as erotic imagery engulfed my mind. “Just how much do you know about the sport?” he queried. I suddenly wasn`t cold but I was struck mute. I feared if I opened my mouth something inappropriate would rush out. So I dug into my purse and handed him my scratchpad. Our fingers brushed. A snapping current traveled from his skin to mine as if I had laid my hand on a Van de Graff generator. God, please don`t let my hair be standing on end. Alain`s laughter was sincere and rich when he saw the two meager lines of information. He then turned, tossing a leg over the bleacher. “I am afraid this is not enough knowledge to help coach. Private lessons are in order, coach…what is your name? I cannot call you the beautiful woman in yellow and black forever, now can I?”
“You can call me whatever you want as long as you call,” I managed to say, although it wasn`t as zippy as I had hoped. The comeback was actually a heated whisper. Alain`s smile turned from flirtatious to outright sinful. He said nothing, simply sat and stared into my eyes as he handed me the scratchpad back. I fumbled in my purse, found my Zoppini, and scrawled my name and phone number down on the hockey info sheet. There should have been something witty to say, but speaking would have ruined the moment. I honestly thought he just might lean in to kiss me the pull was that strong.
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~~*~~
Don`t forget to check out all the other great Sneak Peeks!
Sneak Peek Sunday
March 7, 2014
Seduced by the Game/ Cover Reveal and Exclusive Excerpt!
Holy Hannah, it`s coming next month! Seduced by the Game 2014 will release sometime in mid-to-late April, 2014.
I am thrilled to be a part of this wonderful collection of hockey romances, penned by many bestselling authors. You`ll not only be getting eight novellas for the price of one book, but every penny made on the sales from this book for a year go right to Hockey Fights Cancer. After the year is up, the authors are given the rights back to their tale to with as they please. Then the 2015 edition of Seduced by the Game will take its place.
This is planned to be an annual event, with all proceeds going to the charity. All of the authors involved donated our novellas for the anthology, but it didn`t stop there. Cover art, logo design, proofreading, editing, marketing support: it has all been donated. What a great team effort for a truly worthwhile cause!
I`ll keep my friends and fans updated as the news becomes available, but for now, here`s a little about my part of the novella.
My story is titled Heir Apparent. It`s an M/M romance that centers on two goalies. Goalies are my weakness, I can`t deny it. Want to know a bit more?
~*~
Jacobi Evans grew up watching Pittsburgh Puma superstar Cam Evans in the crease. After years of working diligently, as well as making all the sacrifices, Jacobi has made it. He`s gotten the call to try out for the spot as Cam`s back-up. His dreams are finally coming true, then Jacobi looks into the eyes of the man he grew up wanting to be. Now, Jacobi just wants Cam. But the young goalie knows Cam`s past; the marriage that failed, the daughter, the straight as a ruler lifestyle being played out in an elite Pittsburgh neighborhood. There isn`t a place for a young, gay goalie in that tightly laced world Cam lives in, is there?
What Jacobi, and the world, thinks they know is far different then what Cam Evans really is. For his entire career, hell, since he was old enough to know, Cam has been hiding his homosexuality. Now, after close to twenty years of self-imposed agony, Cam is slowly falling apart. His game is off. His job looks to be on the line. His nights are filled with emptiness. His days are spent pretending. The life of lies is shredding him to ribbons. Then this Jacobi kid shows up looking damn good in the net, and far too good up close. Does he dare reach out to the young man who looks at him with much more than admiration in his eyes? Or should he burrow deeper into that dark, safe, lonely closet?
~*~
Looking for a little more? How about an excerpt that shows just overwhelming the attraction between Jacobi and Cam is?
Turns out the Kaufmann Clock was this old, gold clock with naked Grecian men on either side of it. It’s a damned impressive clock that is a Pittsburgh landmark, I would learn later. It seems that it is quite the thing to meet someone under this over one-hundred-year-old clock. It was where I found Cam, bundled up in a thick blue parka, sipping a hot beverage. The corner of Fifth Avenue and Smithfield Street was pretty quiet. I pulled up in front of Macy’s, parked, then jogged over to Cameron.
"You could have picked somewhere warmer to meet," I said. Cam began walking. I fell in beside him.
"Like where?" the man asked, his face nearly concealed by the huge hood over his head. "Tell me one damned place in this town that we could meet to talk without someone knowing it was us."
I padded along beside him with no reply for his comment. He was right. Everyone knew his face in “The Burgh.” The longer we walked, the more I accepted that I would freeze to death. We made two complete laps in total silence. Cam stopped to drop his empty coffee cup into a trash can. We stood under a streetlight, our breath twin clouds of steam hovering in front of us.
"You have to understand that this…I don’t know how to go about…shit." He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his parka. Again, we started walking.
"Look, man, if I knew for sure what we were dealing with, maybe I could help a little better," I said. A biracial couple hurried past us. I burrowed into my flimsy coat until all that stuck out of the collar were my eyes.
"I have a daughter. She’s a senior in high school."
"Awesome," I mumbled into my coat. My forehead was extremely cold. Like ice cream eaten too fast cold. We kept walking that block.
"She is awesome." I peeked over at him. I wished he would drop that fucking hood so I could see his face. "And not aware of how things were with her mother and me."
"How things were, or how you were pretending they were?" I chanced it. What the hell? He would either slug me, call me a motherfucker, or stalk off. Whatever happened it had to be better than roaming around this fucking city block when the temperature was a balmy four degrees. "I mean, that is what you’re dancing around, right? That you’re so far back in the closet you just discovered Narnia? Why not just admit that much to yourself before we both succumb to fucking hypothermia."
I should have known that Cameron Evans was a man of action. I mean, I followed his career all though my school years. He was fast. My back was against the wall under that old clock before I could register the shove. Cam then got all sorts of in my face. I did not raise my hands. His angry exhalation was flavored with vanilla.
"Are you calling me a queer?" I shrugged one shoulder.
"I call them as I see them. Now, you can either step off or you can kiss me." I threw the challenge out without a second thought. I stared into the shelter of his hood, finding his dark eyes in the shadows. They flickered down to my blue lips. "Whatever you decide to do, do it fast. I’m cold, tired, and hungry."
He did. He captured my mouth with a kiss so aggressive my teeth ground into my lips. Yeah. This was it. This was what I had been pushing him to do…hoping he would do. His hands slapped to the wall on either side of my head. I grabbed his hooded head then ran my tongue over his bottom lip. The tempting taste of his latte lingered on his tongue. Then he lost the fingertip hold he had found on the slippery slope of sexual honesty. Cam stumbled backward. I remained flat to the wall, my lips warmed nicely. He threw horrified looks up then down the street.
"Cam, man, it’s okay. It is okay to kiss a dude on the street. It is totally acceptable."
"No one knows." He pulled his hood even farther over his face.
"Then tell them. Go to your daughter, tell her. Tell your ex-wife, unless she already knows?"
"No, she doesn’t know, but she suspected. I need more time to…think this through."
"Cam, don’t you think you’ve lived a lie long enough, dude?" I asked as he retreated farther into his parka.
"It’s so much easier to hide in the dark," he murmured then left me under the clock, back flat to the wall, lips tender from our kiss.
I am thrilled to be a part of this wonderful collection of hockey romances, penned by many bestselling authors. You`ll not only be getting eight novellas for the price of one book, but every penny made on the sales from this book for a year go right to Hockey Fights Cancer. After the year is up, the authors are given the rights back to their tale to with as they please. Then the 2015 edition of Seduced by the Game will take its place.
This is planned to be an annual event, with all proceeds going to the charity. All of the authors involved donated our novellas for the anthology, but it didn`t stop there. Cover art, logo design, proofreading, editing, marketing support: it has all been donated. What a great team effort for a truly worthwhile cause!
I`ll keep my friends and fans updated as the news becomes available, but for now, here`s a little about my part of the novella.
My story is titled Heir Apparent. It`s an M/M romance that centers on two goalies. Goalies are my weakness, I can`t deny it. Want to know a bit more?
~*~
Jacobi Evans grew up watching Pittsburgh Puma superstar Cam Evans in the crease. After years of working diligently, as well as making all the sacrifices, Jacobi has made it. He`s gotten the call to try out for the spot as Cam`s back-up. His dreams are finally coming true, then Jacobi looks into the eyes of the man he grew up wanting to be. Now, Jacobi just wants Cam. But the young goalie knows Cam`s past; the marriage that failed, the daughter, the straight as a ruler lifestyle being played out in an elite Pittsburgh neighborhood. There isn`t a place for a young, gay goalie in that tightly laced world Cam lives in, is there?
What Jacobi, and the world, thinks they know is far different then what Cam Evans really is. For his entire career, hell, since he was old enough to know, Cam has been hiding his homosexuality. Now, after close to twenty years of self-imposed agony, Cam is slowly falling apart. His game is off. His job looks to be on the line. His nights are filled with emptiness. His days are spent pretending. The life of lies is shredding him to ribbons. Then this Jacobi kid shows up looking damn good in the net, and far too good up close. Does he dare reach out to the young man who looks at him with much more than admiration in his eyes? Or should he burrow deeper into that dark, safe, lonely closet?
~*~
Looking for a little more? How about an excerpt that shows just overwhelming the attraction between Jacobi and Cam is?
Turns out the Kaufmann Clock was this old, gold clock with naked Grecian men on either side of it. It’s a damned impressive clock that is a Pittsburgh landmark, I would learn later. It seems that it is quite the thing to meet someone under this over one-hundred-year-old clock. It was where I found Cam, bundled up in a thick blue parka, sipping a hot beverage. The corner of Fifth Avenue and Smithfield Street was pretty quiet. I pulled up in front of Macy’s, parked, then jogged over to Cameron.
"You could have picked somewhere warmer to meet," I said. Cam began walking. I fell in beside him.
"Like where?" the man asked, his face nearly concealed by the huge hood over his head. "Tell me one damned place in this town that we could meet to talk without someone knowing it was us."
I padded along beside him with no reply for his comment. He was right. Everyone knew his face in “The Burgh.” The longer we walked, the more I accepted that I would freeze to death. We made two complete laps in total silence. Cam stopped to drop his empty coffee cup into a trash can. We stood under a streetlight, our breath twin clouds of steam hovering in front of us.
"You have to understand that this…I don’t know how to go about…shit." He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his parka. Again, we started walking.
"Look, man, if I knew for sure what we were dealing with, maybe I could help a little better," I said. A biracial couple hurried past us. I burrowed into my flimsy coat until all that stuck out of the collar were my eyes.
"I have a daughter. She’s a senior in high school."
"Awesome," I mumbled into my coat. My forehead was extremely cold. Like ice cream eaten too fast cold. We kept walking that block.
"She is awesome." I peeked over at him. I wished he would drop that fucking hood so I could see his face. "And not aware of how things were with her mother and me."
"How things were, or how you were pretending they were?" I chanced it. What the hell? He would either slug me, call me a motherfucker, or stalk off. Whatever happened it had to be better than roaming around this fucking city block when the temperature was a balmy four degrees. "I mean, that is what you’re dancing around, right? That you’re so far back in the closet you just discovered Narnia? Why not just admit that much to yourself before we both succumb to fucking hypothermia."
I should have known that Cameron Evans was a man of action. I mean, I followed his career all though my school years. He was fast. My back was against the wall under that old clock before I could register the shove. Cam then got all sorts of in my face. I did not raise my hands. His angry exhalation was flavored with vanilla.
"Are you calling me a queer?" I shrugged one shoulder.
"I call them as I see them. Now, you can either step off or you can kiss me." I threw the challenge out without a second thought. I stared into the shelter of his hood, finding his dark eyes in the shadows. They flickered down to my blue lips. "Whatever you decide to do, do it fast. I’m cold, tired, and hungry."
He did. He captured my mouth with a kiss so aggressive my teeth ground into my lips. Yeah. This was it. This was what I had been pushing him to do…hoping he would do. His hands slapped to the wall on either side of my head. I grabbed his hooded head then ran my tongue over his bottom lip. The tempting taste of his latte lingered on his tongue. Then he lost the fingertip hold he had found on the slippery slope of sexual honesty. Cam stumbled backward. I remained flat to the wall, my lips warmed nicely. He threw horrified looks up then down the street.
"Cam, man, it’s okay. It is okay to kiss a dude on the street. It is totally acceptable."
"No one knows." He pulled his hood even farther over his face.
"Then tell them. Go to your daughter, tell her. Tell your ex-wife, unless she already knows?"
"No, she doesn’t know, but she suspected. I need more time to…think this through."
"Cam, don’t you think you’ve lived a lie long enough, dude?" I asked as he retreated farther into his parka.
"It’s so much easier to hide in the dark," he murmured then left me under the clock, back flat to the wall, lips tender from our kiss.
