Nov 19

New Release Blitz: The Breaths We Take by Huston Piner (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Breaths We Take

Series: Season of Chadham High, Book Three

Author: Huston Piner

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: November 19, 2018

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 101100

Genre: Contemporary YA, LGBT, historical/early 90s, YA, high school, first love, coming-of-age, aging relative, family issues, weddings, HEA

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Synopsis

It’s 1992, and seventeen-year-old Ben Carpenter has everything all figured out. He’s gay, with a supportive family; he makes decent grades; and in Ted, Hope, and Doris, he’s got three great friends he can always depend on. If he only had a boyfriend, life would be perfect, and he’s working on that.

But things are getting complicated. First, Doris drags him into an ill-fated matchmaking scheme that could destroy their friendship with Ted and Hope. Then, Grandpa Marty moves in, throwing the whole Carpenter household into a total uproar. If that’s not enough, the only way for Ben to get in his community service hours is to volunteer at the senior center, even though old people give him the creeps. And then there’s that little matter of his feelings for Ted’s brother Adrian that confuse him and threaten to expose a secret Ted must never know.

Ben’s journey is littered with misunderstandings, tender moments, and unexpected ghosts from the past that reveal a two-decades-old mystery. As events unfold, Ben is forced to reevaluate what friendship, family, and love are really all about, and he discovers that, sometimes, there’s more to life than a happy ending.

Seasons of Chadham High explores the evolving experience of gay teenagers in different eras—from the psychedelic sixties, through the me generation seventies and eighties, to the nihilistic nineties and beyond.

Excerpt

The Breaths We Take
Huston Piner © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
September 1992

There are certain days when everything just seems to come together. Then there are those days when things all fly apart. Well, there’s also the kind when things begin to change. For me, a sunny day at the start of my junior year of high school was such a day. It began like any other, but before it was over, my life had taken a turn, and soon, everything—from my relationships with friends and family to what I thought I knew about love—would be changed forever.

So there we were, at one of the tables outside the lunchroom, just back from Labor Day weekend. Doris and I were sitting across from Hope and Ted, all of us soaking up the sunshine. The wind was a little gusty, but nobody was complaining. At least it drove the stench off. (Only Chadham High would put the dumpsters right around the corner from the school’s one outdoor eating area.)

“Hey Ben, pass the salt.”

I cut Ted a reproachful glance. The only shaker was two tables away.

“Why am I always the one who has to get the salt?”

“Don’t be such a whiner. It’s like social contract theory. You do little things for us, and we all do little things for you.”

“Such as…?”

Hope flicked sandy-brown bangs out of her face. “Such as making sure you find the right guy to hook up with.”

“The right guy?” I said, depositing the shaker just out of Ted’s reach. “What do you mean the right guy?”

“Oh come on, Ben. You know when the right guy comes along, we’ll all chip in to help you get him.”

“Yeah, yeah, like that’s ever going to happen. Here. At Chadham High. In this lifetime.”

Doris nudged me in the side. “You’ve just got to be patient.”

“Patient? My high school career’s already halfway over, and I’ve got nothing to show for it. ‘The right guy.’ At this point, I’d be happy to have any guy show even a hint of interest in me.”

I hadn’t even finished speaking when Grant Framingham shuffled past us. Doris raised a sarcastic eyebrow and snickered, watching me grimace at his weasel-like nose and mousy brown hair.

“Really? Any guy?”

“Uh, no. On second thought, I’ll wait for the right guy.”

“You mean Colby Ryder,” Hope said in a playful, mocking tone.

As if on cue, Colby emerged from the lunchroom, that luxurious ebony hair of his floating in the breeze, those dark-chocolate eyes gleaming in the sunlight. My heartbeat quickened, and my skin tingled at the very sight of him. He was so hot you could get burned by just touching him—not that I’d ever had that opportunity.

I watched him pass us, my shoulders slumping, while various fantasy images danced through my head.

“Oh God, what I could do to that boy. Why oh why couldn’t he be gay?”

“Benjie,” Doris chirped in a singsong voice. “Whining.”

“It’s just not fair,” I said peevishly. “And I’m not a whiner.”

They all laughed.

Okay. The truth was, maybe I did whine a bit—every now and then. But whining just came with the territory when you were seventeen years old, gay, and devilishly handsome, and you had about as much chance of finding a boyfriend as winning the lottery.

My problem was a question of demographics. Chadham High was one of those places where everybody fit into neat little boxes. We had the snotty I’m Involved in Everything and All the Teachers Love Me association. Then there was the I’m a Jock and I’ll Punch Your Face if I Want To crew. We had the obligatory I’m Smart and You’re Not guild, the My Religion Says You’re Going to Hell congregation, and any number of the I’m a (fill in the demographic group of your choice) and I’m Better Than You societies. And of course, what self-respecting high school would be complete without the Dude, Pass that Joint tribe? As for the rest, they all fell into the Please God, Just Let Me Live Long Enough to Get Out of Here nation. That’s the box Ted, Doris, Hope, and I were all in.

But what we didn’t seem to have at good old Chadham High, at least as far as I’d been able to tell over the past two years, was more than the one lone gay student—me. Now, they say statistically, at least five percent of any given population will be homosexual. That meant there should have been about a hundred or so young gay people running around, and therefore, at least a few of them should have been healthy gay males. But if there were any other queers at Chadham High besides me, I’d long since come to the conclusion they were masters of disguise. I mean, sheesh. Talk about keeping a low profile.

I plopped my elbow on the table and cupped my chin in my hand. “Why can’t any of the beautiful guys around here be gay?”

“Well,” Ted said, “good looks are God’s compensation for not giving us straight guys a good sense of fashion.”

Doris leaned back in her chair with her mouth hanging open and stared at him.

“Oh Ted, I’m so sorry, and you lost out on both.”

She burst into a fit of laughter, and Hope and I snickered.

Ted ignored her, stretched for the shaker, and sighed when he had to half stand to reach it. Then he unceremoniously dumped an ungodly large mountain of salt on his food.

Doris scowled.

“Ted, I swear you’re going to give yourself a coronary.”

He raised a sodium-laden fork to his mouth. “It’s the only way I can stand to eat this crap.”

She shook her head as Hope picked up the shaker and poured a liberal mound of salt onto her own plate.

“You know, you could just get an apple or an orange.”

“Even the fruit here stinks,” he said through a mouthful of whatever it was he was eating.

He was right. I glanced at the orange peel lying in my tray. There’s sour, and then there’s sour, but the sour in that orange had just been plain off.

Doris twiddled a strand of wavy black hair. “Has anybody had any luck finding something for their community service project?”

“I was hoping to do the Y,” Hope said, “but they told me all their volunteer openings were already filled weeks ago, and they’ve got a waiting list a mile long.”

“Yeah,” Ted said. “I got the same answer when I called the city park service Friday afternoon. Apparently, the school board didn’t take into consideration there are only so many volunteer positions available in Chadham County. Adding juniors and seniors to the number of underclassmen already required to do CS was an idea bound to fail.”

“Well,” Doris said with a grin, “I’ve got mine all set and ready. I talked with my priest, and she said I could help out preparing the Saturday meals-on-wheels plates.”

“Hey,” Hope said, “do you think I could help out there too?”

“I can ask. I don’t know how much help they need though. She told me they’ve got a pretty large group of people working it. But yeah, I’m sure they’ll let you. And even if they don’t, if I drive you there Saturday, they’ve at least got to give you credit for the time you’re there with me.”

Hope smiled. “Cool. What about you, Ben? Are you having any luck?”

I folded my arms and sighed. “Oh yeah, I’m having great luck—all of it bad. Last week, I went to city hall, and they said no to everything, even the neighborhood beautification program. Apparently, you’ve got to have some kind of advanced degree in agriculture just to pull up weeds around here. And Saturday, I even checked out the library. Nothing.”

“Well,” Doris said, “you’d better come up with something. Two hundred hours is a lot of time to fill, especially if you’ve got to limit it to weekends and after school.”

“Don’t rub it in,” Ted said.

Hope patted him on the wrist. “Aw, I’m sure you’ll both find something.”

I scoffed. “Tell me something, Hope. Your middle name wouldn’t happen to be ‘Springs Eternal’ by any chance, would it?”

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Meet the Author

Huston Piner always wanted to be a writer but realized from an early age that learning to read would have to take precedence. A voracious reader, he loves nothing more than a well-told story, a glass of red, and music playing in the background. His writings focus on ordinary gay teenagers and young adults struggling with their orientation in the face of cultural prejudice and the evolving influence of LGBTQA+ rights on society. He and his partner live in a house ruled by three domineering cats in the mid-Atlantic region.

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Nov 19

New Release Blitz: Stay a Little Longer by Jess Bryant (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Stay a Little Longer

Author: Jess Bryant

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: November 19, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 56100

Genre: Contemporary, LGBT, in the closet, coming out, being outed, law enforcement, musician

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Synopsis

Country music superstar, Trent Thorne is on the run. What he’s kept hidden from the world is no longer a secret. He trusted the wrong person, a man he’d stupidly thought he was in love with, and instead of a happily ever after all he’d gotten was outed. Unwilling to sit around and watch his private life get plastered all over the news, Trent hits the road and somehow ends up in his best friend Lemon’s small hometown of Fate, Texas.

Lance Nichols knows a thing or two about hiding. He’s so deep in the closet he can’t even see daylight. The former womanizer finally admitted the truth to himself a few years ago but he never thought he’d be able to say the words aloud, not to his family, not to his friends, and certainly not to his secret celebrity crush when the guy stumbles awkwardly into his life.

Fate brought these two together, but will it also tear them apart? One newly outed man refuses to go back in the closet. The other can’t imagine coming out of his.

Excerpt

Stay a Little Longer
Jess Bryant © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Fuckin’ Heath motherfuckin’ Barber could go fuck himself.

Trent Thorne had been betrayed by a man he’d thought he could trust. The man he’d considered his best friend. The man who he’d convinced himself he was in love with. The man who he’d been delusional enough to believe might be in love with him too.

He white-knuckled the steering wheel and cursed his ex-best friend for the millionth time. He was an idiot. An idiot to have ever thought Heath reciprocated his feelings. An idiot to have ever said those three little words, to have ever said a thing about how he felt or who he was. A major idiot for ever having believed he could have it all.

He’d told Heath his biggest secret. The one thing he kept from everyone but a trusted few in his inner circle. Nobody on the outside knew. Not his record label or his band. Certainly, not the millions of people that bought his albums or the legions of women who threw themselves at him. He’d told Heath he was gay, and it had turned out to be the biggest mistake of his life.

Heath’s reaction to his confession had been swift and brutal. He’d recoiled, and he’d called Trent a liar. He’d said Trent had been lying to him from the moment they met. He’d said Trent had been lying to him every day for two years. Been lying ever since he’d hired the retired professional athlete as his trainer and then his personal assistant. Heath had been the person in his life he was closest to, only he’d said he didn’t know Trent at all.

And the thing was, Trent hadn’t been able to deny it. Of course, Heath didn’t know him. Very few people could say they did. Not the real Trent. Not Trenton James Thorne, Texas native, long-lost brother and exiled son with an unhealthy fear of firearms and dying alone. Because to be Trent Thorne, country music superstar, charmer and all-around lady’s man, he couldn’t be himself.

He couldn’t be gay.

That had been made clear to him from the day he set foot in Nashville, and in the years since, covering up and hiding his truth had been as much a full-time job as performing or recording. The first time that spotlight had hit him and the crowd went wild, he would’ve sold his soul to the devil to make that feeling last.

In a lot of ways, he knew now that he had.

He’d sold himself out for the money and the fame and the success of being worshipped by a bunch of strangers. Because he’d just wanted to play his music and he’d thought it was the only way. Because his manager, his record label, and his throng of adoring fans wanted the Trent Thorne who wiggled his hips and winked at all the girls, who sang bro-country anthems about hooking up with hot chicks down by the lake and crooned about soft bodies in moonlight.

Nobody wanted the real Trent Thorne. They never had. They never would.

The cell phone vibrating in the center console of his rental called him a liar now too. It hadn’t stopped ringing all day. Not since the news broke. It seemed the entire fucking world wanted a piece of the real Trent Thorne now, and it was all because he’d trusted the wrong person, fallen for the wrong person, shown his true self to someone who hadn’t liked what they’d seen.

Heath had fuckin’ outed him.

Considering it was his life being broadcast over every entertainment outlet in the western hemisphere, Trent was a little fuzzy on the details of how it had happened. He’d woken up to his ringing phone this morning. His manager, Rick, had said something about Heath telling a friend who told a friend who told someone who wasn’t a friend… or something like that.

It sounded so cliché. High school drama multiplied to the umpteenth level. Trent almost could have laughed. Almost. All of his carefully laid plans, skillfully guarded secrets, and he’d been outed by a game of telephone gone awry.

The entire fuckin’ world knew he was gay now, which meant life as he knew it was over.

Just that fast and just that easily, he was done in Nashville. He knew it. Had always known it would be the end of his career if he trusted the wrong person with his true identity and it got out.

But he’d thought he was in love with Heath, which was just so goddamn ridiculous in the bright light of today that he had no explanation for how he could have so monumentally screwed up.

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Meet the Author

Jess Bryant is an avid indoorswoman. A city girl trapped in a country girl’s life, her heart resides in Dallas but her soul and roots are in small town Oklahoma. She enjoys manicures, the color pink, and her completely impractical for country life stilettos. She believes that hair color is a legitimate form of therapy, as is reading and writing romance. She started writing as a little girl but her life changed forever when she stole a book from her aunt’s Harlequin collection and she’s been creating love stories with happily ever afters ever since.

Jess holds a degree in Public Relations from the University of Oklahoma and is a lifetime supporter of her school and athletic teams. And why not? They have a ton of National Championships! She may be a girlie girl but she knows her sports stats and isn’t afraid to tell you that your school isn’t as cool as hers… or that your sports romance got it all wrong.

For more information on Jess and upcoming releases, contact her at JessBryantBooks@gmail.com or follow her on her many social media accounts for news and shenanigans.

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Nov 19

New Release Blitz: Accounting for It All by r.r. campbell (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Accounting for It All

Author: r.r. campbell

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: November 19, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Female, Female/Female

Length: 89000

Genre: Contemporary, LGBT, bisexual, porn, accounting, professor, fraud, grief, wlw, money laundering

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Synopsis

Former porn-star Robin Whethers has skated by as Pornucopia’s do-nothing accountant for years. And who can blame her? Her supervisor has only encouraged her dillydallying, and it’s given her oodles of time to do what she loves most: coach the talent at her mentor’s all-female pornography studio.

But then the IRS comes knocking. With her supervisor unable to bail her out, Robin can either come clean and risk her friendships and career, or buck up and find another way to skirt the system. No matter how she chooses, along the way she’ll have to confront both her blossoming feelings for the man she’s enlisted to teach her accounting and the return of the woman she’s always loved, who’s finally ready to try to make things work.

This lighthearted yet evocative tale of one woman’s quest for self-actualization is sure to please anyone who’s ever made the wrong choice for the right reasons.

Excerpt

Accounting for It All
R.R. Campbell © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Miami, Florida—April 2017

Thursdays are my favorite days at Pornucopia.

For starters, it’s payday, and second, it’s in-house filming day, which means after a whole week of waiting, I finally get to work as a talent consultant again.

But it’s the simplest of things that make Thursdays the best of days, and there isn’t anything more predictable than the Thursday morning safe-looting operation.

Before I make it to the safe, though, I stop in the doorway of Jerry’s office for our routine Thursday conversation. “Morning, Jer.”

“We’re still doing this, huh?” He says it with a grin, so between that and me being—in his words—“a prized former starlet,” I know he doesn’t mind my teasing.

“I’m betting we only have a few thousand in the safe this week. Still want me to—?”

Jerry throws his hands up, pretending to look all exasperated as his double chin wobbles around. “Always. Go. To. The. Bank. Every Thursday. No matter how much or how little is in there. Always. Go. To. The. Bank.”

I repeat “always go to the bank” with him as he says it for the second time. “Right. How could I forget?”

“Never forget.”

“I won’t,” I say. And I never have.

I keep moving my way down our skinny, second-floor hallway and enter my office through the last door on the left. After I plop to my knees at the base of the filing cabinet, I ease out the bottom drawer. It slides with a terrible squeak—Jerry still hasn’t lubed it up with WD40 like he promised—and I lift the half-rusted safe from it, my palms running along its cool steel.

I punch in the combination and the safe clicks open, revealing the fat stack of cash inside. If Jerry’s makeshift receipt can be believed, we’re a tick under sixty-two hundred bucks.

As I double-check Jerry’s count, the graininess of each bill wears on my thumb. It’s probably my least favorite part of the safe-looting scheme, what with how tedious it can be. Honestly, for as much as I love the Thursday morning charade, I’d much rather be back talent-consulting full time. Or heck, even acting.

It could be worse, I suppose. Really, Jerry’s not bad where supervisors are concerned. He may be a ham-sandwich-pounding son of a gun, but since he’s the only person actually doing any accounting around here—and because he’s the only one who knows he’s the only person doing any accounting around here—I’ve got no plans to betray his trust.

After all, getting paid for five days of work a week when I really only have one? That’s a pretty sweet deal, if I do say so myself.

I wrap up counting Jerry’s stack of bills—a bit under six thousand two hundred, just as his scratch-paper receipt says. No need to count again; they’ll do that at the bank anyway. I wad it all together with a rubber band and exit my office.

Out in the hallway, I figure I may as well tease Jerry one last time before slipping downstairs and out the door. “Hey, Jer?”

My eyebrows knit when I hear nothing from him. I could’ve sworn I heard him shuffling around hardly a minute ago.

“Hey, Jerry.” Again the only response I get is my own breathing and the soft pad of my ankle-cut Chuck Taylors on the tiled floor.

I step into his office. “Hey, Jer. Looks like we only have a few thousand—”

There, facedown on his desk, rests the motionless body of Jerry Chalmers.

I drop the chunk of cash and rush to his side. “Jerry. Hey.” I shake him. He doesn’t stir. My fingers fly to his neck, then to his wrists in search of a pulse. Nothing.

After dashing back to my office, I fumble through my purse for my phone and dial nine-one-one.

Thursdays are normally my favorite days at Pornucopia, but this Thursday might change all that.

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Meet the Author

Born Ryan Campbell, r. r. campbell is an author, editor, and host of the r. r. campbell writescast. His work has been featured in Five:2:One Magazine’s #thesideshow, Erotic Review, and with National Journal Writing Month. He lives in Madison, Wisconsin with his wife, Lacey, and their cats, Hashtag and Rhaegar.

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Nov 17

Holiday Sale: September & Every Breath You Take by Robert Winter (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Don’t wait until Black Friday to take advantage of holiday savings!
Start your shopping early with this great sale on two amazing books.
The sooner you buy, the more you save!

Amazon US

November 17, 2018 at 8:00 AM (PST)      $0.99

November 18, 2018 at 9:00 PM (PST)       $1.99

November 20, 2018 at 10:00 AM (PST)    $2.99

Amazon UK

November 17, 2018 at 8:00 PM (GMT)     £0.99

November 19, 2018 at 8:00 AM (GMT)    £1.99

Sale ends on November 22nd

Books Sold Separately

Title:  September
Series: Pride and Joy #1
Author: Robert Winter
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Original Release Date: Dec 9, 2016
Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 304 Pages
Genre: Romance, May-December, Contemporary, Provincetown, Washington DC

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Synopsis

David James is smart, successful, handsome… and alone. After the death of his lover, Kyle, from cancer, he buried himself in his law practice and the gym. At forty-eight, he is haunted by his memories and walled off from the world. When David injures himself working out, he’s assigned to Brandon Smith for physical therapy. The vibrant young therapist is attracted to David and realizes he needs a hand to get back into dating. What begins as a practice coffee date escalates to friendship, passion, and maybe something more, as they navigate a new relationship in Washington, DC, and the gay mecca of Provincetown.

But David remains trapped behind the barrier of fear and guilt. Will he remain loyal to Kyle’s memory if he moves on? Can he and Brandon manage a twenty-two-year age gap? Brandon thinks he understands David’s concerns, and for him, the answer to those questions is yes. He wants to be with David, and he believes he can overcome David’s barriers. But Brandon fails to account for the world’s reaction to a handsome young man attached to an older, wealthy lover.

David’s memories, Brandon’s pride, and an unexpected tragedy might cost them something very special…

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Title:  Every Breath You Take
Author: Robert Winter
Publisher:  Dreamspinner Press
Release Date: May 5, 2017
Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 221 pages
Genre: Romance, Thriller/Suspense

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Synopsis

When Zachary Hall leaves Utah for a job in Washington, it’s finally his chance to live as a gay man and maybe find someone special. In a bar he meets Thomas Scarborough, a man who seems perfect in and out of the bedroom. But Thomas never dates. He never even sleeps with the same man twice. Despite their instant connection, he can offer Zachary only his friendship, and Zachary is looking for more.

Thomas is tempted to break his own rules, but years before, he became the victim of a stalker who nearly destroyed his life. Even though his stalker died, Thomas obsessively keeps others at a distance. Despite his fascination with Zachary, he is unable to lower his barriers. Frustrated, Zachary accepts he will never have what he wants with Thomas and soon finds it with another man.

But young gay men in Washington, DC are being murdered, and the victims all have a connection to Thomas. Once again someone is watching Thomas’s every move. Can it be a coincidence? When the depraved killer turns his attention toward Zachary, Thomas must face the demons of his past—or lose his chance to open his heart to Zachary forever.

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Meet the Author

Robert Winter is a Rainbow Award-winning author who lives and writes in Provincetown. He is a recovering lawyer who prefers writing about hot men in love much more than drafting a legal brief. He left behind the (allegedly) glamorous world of an international law firm to sit in his home office and dream up ways to torment his characters until they realize they are perfect for each other. When he isn’t writing, Robert likes to cook Indian food and explore new restaurants. He splits his attention between Andy, his partner of seventeen years, and Ling the Adventure Cat, who likes to fly in airplanes and explore the backyard jungle as long as the temperature and humidity are just right.

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Nov 15

Audio Release Blitz: Leaning Into A Wish by Lane Hayes

Title: Leaning Into a Wish

Series: Leaning Into #5

Author: Lane Hayes

Publisher: Lane Hayes

Original Release Date: November 22, 2017

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 3 Hours, 29 Minutes

Genre: Romance, Holiday, Bisexual, Humor, Winery, Working Relationship

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Synopsis

Ryan Haskell loves everything about the wine business. He’s fortunate to work at one of the most prestigious wineries in Napa Valley doing something he enjoys with the people who are like family to him. But he could do without the good-natured intern slash former jock with the wicked grin who always seems to be in the way. Ryan isn’t sure why the new guy is under his skin when everyone else loves him. Thankfully he’ll be gone after the holidays.

Danny Meyers can’t believe his luck when he lands an internship at Conrad Winery. It’s the perfect temporary gig to wrap up his graduate studies. He’s left his dreams of tennis stardom on the court to focus on a new career and a new life. However, he didn’t count on the spark of attraction he feels for his prickly co-worker. When their tentative friendship blossoms into something more than either man counted on, they may have to change direction and lean into a holiday wish.

Excerpt

A vacuum-like static rang in my ears. It wasn’t until Danny nudged my arm that the typical raucous bar noises filtered through again. And when he scooted his barstool back a foot or two and raised his hand to flag down a server, everything seemed to return to normal. Sort of.

“Gin and tonic for my friend and I’ll have another martini, please. Thanks.” Danny tipped back the last of his drink then handed it over before twisting to face me. “So other than being out twenty-five bucks and possibly having an awkward conversation at work on Monday, that didn’t go so bad.”

“I—I don’t get it. What just happened?”

“We agreed to let Geordie win the bet, remember?”

“Sure, but how did I get stuck here with you?”

Danny snorted. “We’ve already established that you like me. Stop being an uptight fuddy-duddy.”

“A fuddy—? You’re…” I gritted my teeth and tried to think of a stinging insult to fit the situation. “Annoying.”

Lame. And the “That’s the best you’ve got?” twinkle in Danny’s eye told me he agreed with me. I was about to let him have it when the waiter stopped to deliver our drinks. When we were alone again, I leaned into him and kicked his shin for good measure.

“Ow. Relax, Ry. I still want to kiss you, you know.” He popped the speared olive from his martini into his mouth. “With tongue.”

“You’re reading way too much into a stick of spearmint gum, honey. Don’t flatter yourself. It was a joke,” I huffed derisively.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Are you fucking nuts? I’m not kissing you,” I announced primly.

“You want to though. Admit it,” he teased.

I blew out an exaggerated breath, sucked down half my cocktail, and slid off my barstool. “I’m outta here. See you Monday.”

Danny grabbed my belt loop and yanked me to his side. “You didn’t let me finish. I was about to say…”

“Yes?” I prompted with a rolling hand gesture.

“I want it too.”

We stared at each other for a heated moment. I had no clue what he was thinking, but it seemed weird to ask for clarification. When the growing tension went on a beat too long, I wanted out. “See ya, Danny boy.”

I pushed my way through the crowd and gulped for air when I finally reached the sidewalk. I didn’t dare stop to enjoy the refreshing autumn breeze. If I wanted to avoid any further confrontation, I had to boogie. Danny was the type of guy who liked having the last word, and that wasn’t happening on my watch. I fished my keys from my pocket and power-walked toward the parking lot behind the bar.

“Ryan!”

I ignored him and picked up my pace. I spotted my car and clicked my fob to unlock the door. Danny called my name again. I could tell from the sound of his footsteps behind me that he was closing in quickly. I had to hurry or—

Too late. A hand on my elbow yanked me sideways.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I fumed, pushing his chest to no avail.

He moved into my space until his nose was less than an inch from mine. He was too big and imposing, and the look in his eyes was straight-up dangerous.

My dick twitched in my jeans. Of course it did. I had a bad habit of coveting what I couldn’t have and getting turned on by the chase. My past was littered with embarrassing short-term affairs or crushes on guys like Wes and Finn. Men I admired but never had a real shot with. I didn’t want to add Danny to that list because against my better judgment…I liked him. Really liked him.

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Meet the Author

Lane Hayes is grateful to finally be doing what she loves best. Writing full-time! It’s no secret Lane loves a good romance novel. An avid reader from an early age, she has always been drawn to well-told love story with beautifully written characters. These days she prefers the leading roles to both be men. Lane discovered the M/M genre a few years ago and was instantly hooked. Her debut novel was a 2013 Rainbow Award finalist and subsequent books have received Honorable Mentions, and were winners in the 2016 Rainbow Awards. She loves red wine, chocolate and travel (in no particular order). Lane lives in Southern California with her amazing husband in a newly empty nest.

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Meet the Narrator

 Nick is an award winning narrator with a fan following for his work in fiction, specifically in the romance genre. His performances in two of Amy Lane’s books, Beneath the Stain and Christmas Kitsch, made him the recipient of Sinfully M/M Book Review’s Narrator of the Year – 2015. When he’s not in the booth, Nick enjoys spending time with his wife, Jessica, and kids, (aka their beagle Frank and cat Stella), drumming in his cover band, exploring rural back roads with his wife on his motorcycle, or being enthralled in a tabletop role playing game with his friends.

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Nov 12

New Release Blitz: Rocky Road of Love…in Heels by Liam Livings (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Rocky Road of Love…in Heels

Series: Kev, Book Two

Author: Liam Livings

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: November 12, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 63200

Genre: Contemporary, contemporary, cross dressing, drag queen, family drama, coming-of-age, gay, romance, 1990s

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Synopsis

Still single, despite his best efforts, Kev is a gay cross-dressing teenager, searching for love in the late nineties in Wiltshire. He may not know whether to put Yours Sincerely or Yours Faithfully at the end of a letter, but he sure can belt out a show tune in a pair of heels and a frock.

Looking after his worrying mum, who refuses to slow down despite having a funny turn and ending up in hospital, Kev’s working in a shop to support the household now his dad has left. Irreconcilable differences. His dad said Kev needed fixing and Kev and his mum thought he was perfect as he is.

Tony, his best friend and Human League fan agrees, although he thinks Kev’s a chaotic big-hearted, trusting mess. But he’s Tony’s mess and they’re there for each other through useless boyfriends, jobs, and studying. Because that’s what friends are for, right?

Contains an inordinate amount of singing on stage, many costume changes, lashings of heart, family and friendship, an almost complete absence of the internet and a big dollop of optimism.

Excerpt

Rocky Road of Love…in Heels
Liam Livings © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
May 1999

Still no sign of Kieran. He was in Australia with Jo, living it up in the sun, enjoying the fun with the surfers and costumes and whatever else they had planned. And where was I? I was still in the same little village just outside Salisbury, with Mum. Who was better now. On the mend the doctors said. Making a full recovery, was another phrase they used at her review meeting.

I knew my luck was going to change because it was my birthday. Nineteen. I was in the final part of those teenaged days. This time next year, I’d be twenty. A proper adult. Probably.

Anyway, that’s a year away.

I was at the bar, of the Sailor’s Arms pub, in Southampton, getting Tony and Donna a drink.

Tony said, flicking his fringe from his eye, “One round, and then it’s back to us paying. This is your night. I told you how it was going to work, didn’t I?”

Donna sipped her lime and soda, the designated driver for the night. “Same again. Stack ’em up baby and I’ll glug ’em down.” She slapped her thigh. “If half as much has happened to you as he’s told me, you should be selling the rights to your story to a film company, love. Get back sharpish I want to hear all about your last gig. He said everyone stood and clapped at the end and asked for an encore.” She turned to Tony.

He nodded, flicking his fringe again.

So, in preparation for regaling them with the story of my past glories, I went to the bar for my one round of the night.

No Jo and Kieran because, oh yes, I told you that. The bar was three deep and I stood politely, waiting my turn, trying to catch the eyes of the bar staff with a smile. Much better than waving money at them. Oh no, never do that.

I wore a very understated and normal pair of flared jeans, platform trainers and a grey T-shirt with three-quarter length sleeves, Chinese wording across the front. Goodness only knew what it said, but its bright yellow and white had caught my eye in the shop. It had been a busy week of performing, lots of different costume changes, sets to learn, so tonight I wanted a night off from all that. And a night off from looking after Mum—not that I begrudged her it, not at all, but I wanted a night of not having to worry or think about her and taking her to appointments, picking her up, having to slip off work early to collect her, fitting eighty minutes of things into an hour. All that. And the Plan. I definitely wanted a night off from the Plan. And aren’t they always the nights when something unexpected happens? Like when you’re really gagging for it, and really on a manhunt, it’s a barren desert, but when you’ve sworn off men, it’s like a real-life underwear catalogue for Calvin Klein.

Well, this was one of those nights, this was the night, he came along.

And there in front of me, all six feet six and a bit of him, dark blond hair, dark jeans and a red and white plaid shirt, was a man who reminded me of He-Man.

“What have you done to mean you’re getting all the drinks?” He smiled, and his teeth were almost as white as He-Man’s too.

I smiled at him weakly. Now was not the time for men. Now was the time for friends, that was what we’d agreed a while ago, since my run of terrible luck with boyfriends over the past year.

He held his hand for me to shake. “Aaron.”

Another weak smile. I really wanted him to leave me alone, but part of me, and I was well aware which part, wanted to see if he still looked like He-Man under the plaid shirt, or whether he was wearing one of those fake muscle stomachs I’d read about in Gay Times. I caught the eye of a barman, shouted my order and thanked him.

Aaron’s hand hung in the air between us, not quite limp, he didn’t look like the sort of man who’d have anything limp about him, no, it was more in anticipation. He had a light dusting of mousy blond hair on the back of his hand, and his nails were perfectly clean and trimmed. “Why are you here tonight? Look, if it’s with friends, I’m just making conversation, I’ll leave you alone once I’ve got my drinks. I’m only having one, and then I’m off. I’m here on my lonesome.” And he did the smile thing again, and this time his blue eyes did something too, a sort of smile with the eyes, and I knew he wasn’t lying.

My stomach fluttered with butterflies. Shit, I think he might be my next mistake. I shook his hand. His handshake was firm. A good pump up and down. Smooth hand. It smelt of hand cream. He didn’t roof houses or shift pianos for a living. I looked up to his face. “It’s my birthday.” I was still holding his hand and found myself smiling back at him, staring into his greeny-blue eyes.

“How come you’re buying the drinks?”

“They’ve already got me a few, and I don’t want to take the piss. They did say it was my night, I could do anything I wanted, I didn’t have to pay for a thing. But I don’t want to freeload off them. Not with friends. You know?”

“I’ve just left an old friend’s twenty-first. Not that old. He wanted a pub crawl in the city centre, so we started at Above Bar and worked our way down towards St. Mary’s street.” He paused, told the barman what drink he wanted, then returned to staring at me. “He’s not that old, this friend. Twenty-one’s not old, is it?”

I laughed. “I’m nineteen, so you’re an old man as far as I’m concerned. Once you’re in your twenties, it’s downhill all the way. So I’ve heard.”

He knocked my shoulder playfully. “Cheeky. Anyway, after all that beer swilling in the sports bars. We ended up at the one by the river. They all wanted to go, so I followed alone.”

I knew of it well. It had a TV to rival the cinema and was always full of men in brightly coloured sports shirts, shouting at the TV and drinking pints of lager. I usually avoided it. “So you thought you’d grab yourself a bit of gay before going home.”

He laughed, his white teeth flashed. “No, nothing like that. I’m not on the pull. I just wanted to be. Without having to think about where I was.”

I looked him up and down. “Wouldn’t think you’d have too much problem blending in those places.”

“You’re hardly Julian Clarey yourself.”

Little did he know. I smiled, handed over my money as my drinks had arrived. “Still, better get back. My friends’ll be wondering what’s happened to me.” I started to leave.

He put his hand on my shoulder. “Wait until my drink’s here, eh? Keep me company a bit longer. I was enjoying talking to you.”

Is he really? Or is that just a line. “Five minutes.” I put the drinks back on the bar and sipped mine. I peered through the crowd to try and catch a glimpse of Tony’s lopsided black haircut but couldn’t see anything.

“What do you do?”

I rolled my eyes, internally, at his wonderfully original question and told him about TK Max and some singing work too, leaving out the dressing up part.

“I love coming here for the cabaret. That’s why I came here. Needed something to balance all the sport in the other pub. I hoped there’d be one of the drag acts on. I enjoy them. The put-downs, the songs. I’m a fan of it all.” He leant forward and whispered, like he was going to say something illegal. “It’s a bit of a guilty pleasure of mine as it goes. Do you like all that stuff?”

I smelt his aftershave. A sweet musky scent. His cheek had brushed against my ear as he’d whispered to me. The finest dusting of a weekend beard grazed my ear. Maybe I’ll stay with him just another five minutes, just until I’m a third through my drink. “Funny you should say that, I do actually. You know the singing I told you about?”

He nodded, accepting his drink and paying, taking a sip and listening to me as I told him about the Plan, and performing at that pub, and others in I’d visited on the circuit.

He asked me how I’d got into it, and how did I know I could perform.

“I’ve been performing all my life really,” I said with a smile. “Always loved karaoke, so singing on stage was pretty obvious for me.”

He chinked his now almost empty glass against mine, which was almost finished too.

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Meet the Author

Liam Livings lives where east London ends and becomes Essex. He shares his house with his boyfriend and cat. He enjoys baking, cooking, classic cars and socialising with friends. He has a sweet tooth for food and entertainment: loving to escape from real life with a romantic book; enjoying a good cry at a sad, funny and camp film; and listening to musical cheesy pop from the eighties to now. He tirelessly watches an awful lot of Gilmore Girls in the name of writing ‘research’.

Published since 2013 by a variety of British and American presses, his gay romance and gay fiction focuses on friendships, British humour, romance with plenty of sparkle. He’s a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association, and the Chartered Institute of Marketing. With a masters in creative writing from Kingston University, he teaches writing workshops with his partner in sarcasm and humour, Virginia Heath as www.realpeoplewritebooks.com and has also ghost written a client’s 5 Star reviewed autobiography.

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Nov 12

New Release Blitz: Checked Baggage by Valentine Wheeler & A Touch of a Brogue by Christine Danse (Giveaway)

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Title:  Checked Baggage

Author: Valentine Wheeler

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: November 12, 2018

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 11200{Audiobook Length:39}

Genre: Contemporary, Thanksgiving, travel, airport, Lebanon, grief, holiday

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Synopsis

A Thanksgiving Romance

When Faris has to take a trip back to his family’s home in Lebanon to handle his grandmother’s estate, he finds himself caught between the world he left and the world he’s built himself in the United States. After an exhausting stay with his boisterous extended family, all he wants is a quiet trip home and a chance to rest before Thanksgiving with his parents in Massachusetts. But the weather has different plans for him.

Charlie’s father left when he was a toddler, and he’s never gotten a chance to connect with his paternal roots. A trip to the village his grandparents left in the 1930s gave him the facts but left him yearning for a connection he still didn’t feel.

When both men are stuck in Beirut for the night unexpectedly, can they find the feeling they’re both missing and make it home in time for Thanksgiving?

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Meet the Author

Valentine is a latecomer to writing, though she’s always been a passionate reader. Through fanfiction she found her way to an incredible community of writers who’ve taught her to love making stories.

When she isn’t writing, she’s making bad puns, yelling about television, or playing with her small child.

Her life’s ambition is to eat the cuisine of every single country.  Find Valentine on Twitter.

Title: A Touch of a Brogue

Author: Christine Danse

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: November 12, 2018

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 28800

Genre: Contemporary, chef, restaurant owner, food critic, lies, second chances

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Synopsis

Eric Rossi isn’t a bad person. But he’s been talked into doing some pretty regrettable things by the man he thought he loved–like write a fake review of a pub he never stepped foot in for a food magazine that makes or breaks restaurants in Portland. He’s since dumped the boyfriend, but he can’t undo the review or the damage it’s done to the Irish Sisters and its passionate owner, Colm.

When Colm paid to have his family pub shipped from Ireland to Oregon, he put his savings, his heritage, and his sanity on the line. Now he gets so few customers, he notices each one. Especially the sweet, shy man who is dragged into the pub by his pink-haired niece. He calls himself Mark, and he is a chef’s dream, a man who completely enjoys everything Colm cooks. What Colm doesn’t know is that the man he’s falling for is the critic who’s almost cost him everything.

Eric didn’t mean to fall in love with the Irish Sisters or its blue-eyed, Irish-American owner. He definitely didn’t mean to lie about his identity. He’s already done enough damage, after all. Now he must make things right for the restaurant and disappear from Colm’s life before Colm learns the devastating truth, because the last thing Eric wants to do is destroy the chef’s heart, too.

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Meet the Author

Christine lives with her writing partner in the wilds of urban Oregon, where they raise weeds, worms, and eyebrows.

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Nov 12

New Release Blitz: A Deceptive Alliance by Sydney Blackburn (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  A Deceptive Alliance

Author: Sydney Blackburn

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: November 12, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 37200

Genre: Fantasy, twins, slow burn, royalty, cross-dressing, road trip, arranged marriage

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Synopsis

Kel and his twin sister Isabel have traded places before—to escape lessons, to prank their royal cousins, and for Kel to flirt with handsome men at royal balls. But when Isabel runs away in tears shortly before her proxy wedding to Prince Darin of Pervayne, Kel takes her place, knowing he could cause serious problems between Pervayne and their home kingdom of Karleed if discovered.

Isabel will show up—eventually—and take her rightful place and no one will ever know. The question is, will Isabel arrive before Kel falls hopelessly in love with the servant his sister’s husband has sent along? What if Kel isn’t the only one pretending to be someone else?

Excerpt

A Deceptive Alliance
Sydney Blackburn © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Kel was as nervous as any bride as he prepared to take his sister’s wedding vows to Prince Darin of Pervayne. More specifically, the prince’s proxy, a duke to whom Kel had never been introduced.

It wasn’t the first time he’d dressed as his twin, but never for occasions of state—her wedding, of all things!—and never before had the consequences of discovery been so great.

Twins were considered an ill omen in the kingdom of Pervayne, so Kel had been sequestered upon the arrival of the foreigners in a tower that had fallen into disuse. Isabel, who had always known that, as the king’s niece, her marriage would be arranged, had seemed resigned to her fate right until a few hours ago. She’d stormed into Kel’s draughty chamber in tears and swore she would only marry for love.

Kel had tried to reason with her, but that had resulted only in Isabel accusing him of betraying her before she left in as much of a flurry of silks as she’d arrived.

When her maid, Molly, was unable to locate her mistress in order to dress her for her wedding, she’d sought out Kel. He and Isabel spent a great deal of time together, under normal circumstances, and it was reasonable to assume that, even if they weren’t in company, Kel would know where she was. But he hadn’t.

He had donned a hooded capelet to search out Isabel’s usual haunts, without giving away his close relation to her, while Molly waited nervously in Isabel’s chambers.

Unable to find Isabel anywhere, he’d returned to her chamber, certain she must be there, letting Molly array her for the ceremony.

She wasn’t.

By that point, finding someone in the family—his cousin, the crown prince, for example—would delay the proxy wedding.

Kel and Isabel had been raised in the royal palace after being orphaned at the tender age of three. They knew almost as much about the king’s policies as his own children, their cousins. Kel understood this ceremony, proxy though it might be, was an important aspect of the treaty King Maurice of Karleed had negotiated with King William of Pervayne.

Now Isabel was gone, the proxy wedding only an hour away, and Kel was in his sister’s undergarments with his sister’s lady’s maid. “You could simply tell the king your sister’s run off,” the maid, Molly, suggested as she combed out Kel’s hair.

“I wish it was that simple. But it’s still a much-needed political alliance and informing the prince’s envoy that ‘oops, we’ve misplaced the bride’ may be taken poorly.”

“She is twenty,” Molly said with the kind of reproof only many years of personal service could get away with. “Time she wed and got over her foolish—”

Kel nodded in the mirror, jerking the brush stroke somewhat painfully. Already his hair, normally worn in a single plait down his back, hung in loose dark waves over his shoulders. It softened the planes of his freshly-shaven jaw and angular cheekbones. “I know of her lovesickness for the gardener’s first apprentice.”

Molly tutted. “If the world did not hold a woman’s virtue higher than a man’s, she’d have got him out of her system by now.”

Kel coughed out a surprised laugh at the lady’s frankness. “You think it’s merely a passion of the flesh?”

“I’m a woman myself,” she remarked. “I know of these feelings. Many a young woman in the palace feels the same for you, I’ve no doubt.”

Kel snorted.

“Pardon my frankness, my lord, but while it is fairly common knowledge among the staff at Castlemere that your eye never falls on the fair sex, many a maid desires to be the one to ‘fix’ you. Granted, many others are relieved to know there’s a man of rank in the palace who’s safe to encounter in a dark stairwell.”

“I hadn’t realized I was so transparent,” Kel said cautiously.

“Oh it’s none of ours what the above stairs get up to,” Molly said cheerfully, adopting a broad, country accent.

“I can see her fascination with the gardener’s first apprentice, though,” he said in a thoughtful, if hesitant tone, still studying his reflection. The chemise he wore had a scooped neckline and only the thinnest of straps to hold it up. The delicacy of the fabric served to emphasize the most unladylike shape of Kel’s arms and shoulders. Because his sister dodged needlework to join him in the yard learning swordplay, her arms were almost as muscled as his—the sleeves of her gown wouldn’t strain if they were of a close-fitting style.

Molly chuckled. “Simply to look at, he’s a fine specimen, especially when he strips down in the heat, but my mistress believes she’s in love with him.”

“Could she be? I’ve heard love is a fickle thing.”

“It is. But for people like you and the mistress, love and marriage are completely different things, my lord. Marriage is—”

“An alliance, a joining of houses,” Kel finished with her.

“You really should not be taking her place.” She lifted the frothy concoction Isabel was to take her vows in. “Come stand up and let me help you into this. Then we’ll see where we need to accentuate with some well-placed padding.”

“It’s a proxy wedding. If the groom needn’t be here, neither does Isabel,” he said, trying to hide his uncertainty of the truth of his words. “What do you know of padding? Do you dress other men in women’s clothing?”

“Naive child,” she mock scolded, dropping the heavy skirt over his head and tugging it into place around his waist. She quickly tightened the skirt strings. “You think every woman is naturally endowed with breasts ample enough, hips broad enough to suit herself?”

“I hadn’t ever thought about it, finding neither ample breasts nor broad hips desirable,” he said. His previous adventures in Isabel’s clothing had been wrought in secret, Isabel powdering his complexion paler and lacing him into one of her awkward bodices.

The ivory skirt was full and of a rather stiff fabric that someone had spent a great deal of time sewing pale pink, ivory, and white fabric flowers to, making it seem almost fluffy. “I think you can do without hip padding,” Molly said, giving him a critical look.

She helped him pull the bodice over his head, being careful of the hair she just dressed. She tugged the lacing at the back and then moved to the wardrobe to fetch two small bags. She handed them to him. “Put these in your bodice. It’s millet, which gives a natural enough shape, but it won’t pass a squeeze test. Not that anyone should be grabbing at your chest, anyway.”

Kel didn’t admit he was familiar with them. Nor did he ask how it was Molly knew of them. He simply did as she instructed. Today would be the first time he’d have to fool people in broad daylight. Including his own relatives.

Molly laced him up tight and fixed his hair before standing back to study him critically.

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Meet the Author

Sydney Blackburn is a binary star system. Always a voracious reader, she began to write when she couldn’t find the stories she wanted to read. She likes candlelit dinners and long walks on the beach… Oh wait, wrong profile. She’s a snarky introvert and admits to having a past full of casual sex and dubious hookups, which she uses for her stories.

She likes word play and puns and science-y things. And green curry.

Her dislikes include talking on the phone, people trying to talk to her before she’s had coffee, and filling out the “about me” fields in social media.

Besides writing, she also designs book covers for poor people.

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Nov 09

New Release Blitz: The Kinsey Scale by CJane Elliott (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Kinsey Scale

Series: Campus Connections Book 1

Author: CJane Elliott

Publisher:  Dreamspinner Press

Release Date: 11/9/18

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 89 pages

Genre: Romance, New Adult, contemporary, friends to lovers, college

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Synopsis

Life is good for Eric Brown. He’s a senior theater major, an RA for a freshman dorm, and has a great circle of friends. Single since sophomore year, Eric isn’t looking for love. But then Will Butler—fellow senior, co-RA, and the cutest guy Eric’s ever seen—walks into his dorm. Will has a girlfriend he sees off campus—a minor disappointment that becomes a major problem when a housing shortage causes Will and Eric to become roommates, and Eric is forced to witness Will’s hotness day in and day out. For protection, Eric asks Jerry, his ex-boyfriend, to pretend they’re still together. Jerry warns him it’s a stupid idea, but he reluctantly agrees.

Too bad it won’t save Eric from losing his heart.

Will Butler has never believed in himself. His dysfunctional family saw to that. Although Will has loved music since childhood, he’s never seriously considered pursuing it, and the person he’s dating doesn’t encourage him. Then he and Eric Brown become roommates, and everything changes. Eric believes in Will and his talent. He’s also gorgeous and playful and fast becoming Will’s best friend. And that’s not good, because Will is hiding some big things, not only from Eric, but from himself.

Excerpt

“So how’s it going with Hottie the Roommate?” Jerry asked. He lounged in the armchair at the coffee shop and took a languid sip of his latte.

“Fine.” Eric made a face. “We stay out of each other’s way. It sucks, but nothing we can do about it now.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t taken advantage of the situation.” Jerry arched his eyebrow.

“He’s straight. He has a girlfriend who doesn’t go here. I guess he sees her on the weekends. I don’t know. We don’t talk about that.”

“Don’t talk? Oh honey, that doesn’t sound like you at all. What’s up with that?”

“I don’t know. Shut up.”

“Touchy, touchy. God. You’re not usually this grumpy. Maybe you should look at changing this RA thing, because it sounds like it’s causing you stress.”

Eric shifted in his chair and sipped his latte. Jerry knew him too well. He was grumpy lately, but it wasn’t the RA thing. He enjoyed being an RA and counseling the kids. He and Will functioned well as an RA team, seeming to know instinctively when one of them would do better than the other in handling a situation, and then debriefing about it later. They talked about stuff really easily, and laughed a lot, having discovered they shared the same kind of crazy humor. And Will composed his own songs, which Eric thought was totally cool. He loved lying on his bed listening to Will play his guitar and sing.

“Yeah, it’s not that bad. We get along great, actually.”

And it wasn’t true that they never talked about Will’s girlfriend. Her name was Jessie, and Will sometimes mentioned her in passing, but Eric never pressed for details. In fact he had a strange reluctance to regale Will with his own sexual escapades, the way he always had in the past with friends or roommates. It was a weird thing, almost like a force field or something. They both shut up whenever the conversation veered too close to sex or relationships.

And then having to look at Will every day, with his bedhead when he woke up and his naked chest when he came out of the bathroom in his sleep pants, or when his face was animated and he threw back his head and laughed at something Eric said and…. God. No wonder he was grumpy.

“Let’s go out tonight. You need to dance and get laid.” Jerry’s voice brought him back.

“Okay.” It was Friday, so Will would be out of the room, thank God. Maybe Eric would even get lucky and bring someone back with him tonight… or go to their place, given the shitty dorm beds. He yawned, all of a sudden weary.

“Oh yes.” Jerry peered at him critically. “We’ve got to get you back to your perky self, my dear. I’m getting you another latte, for starters.”

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Meet the Author

After years of hearing characters chatting away in her head, CJane Elliott finally decided to put them on paper and hasn’t looked back since. A psychotherapist by training, CJane enjoys writing sexy, passionate stories that also explore the human psyche. CJane has traveled all over North America for work and her characters are travelers, too, traveling down into their own depths to find what they need to get to the happy ending.

CJane is an ardent supporter of LGBTQ equality and is particularly fond of coming-out stories. In her spare time, CJane can be found dancing, listening to music, or watching old movies. Her family supports her writing habit by staying out of the way when they see her hunched over, staring intensely at her laptop.

CJane is the author of the award-winning Serpentine Series, New Adult contemporary novels set at the University of Virginia. Serpentine Walls was a 2014 Rainbow Awards finalist, Aidan’s Journey was a 2015 EPIC Awards finalist, and Sex, Love, and Videogames won first place in the New Adult category in the 2016 Swirl Awards and first place in Contemporary Fiction in the 2017 EPIC eBook Awards.

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Nov 05

: The Duke and the Deadbeat by Gregory L. Norris (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Duke and the Deadbeat

Author: Gregory L. Norris

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: November 5, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 50900

Genre: Contemporary, romance, bisexual, contemporary, pansexual, musicians

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Synopsis

Duke Donovan was born into rock royalty. Front man for the popular Goth band 3-D, Duke’s had everything handed to him his entire life—fame, fortune, flesh. The problem is he wants none of it. After staging an unforgettable concert performance meant to give him an exit from the spotlight, Duke skyrockets 3-D’s rising star past the stratosphere, making the band more popular than ever and Duke ready to crack from all the unwanted attention and pressure.

Seamus Whyler is tall, handsome, and passionate about music. Seamus has had none of Duke’s lucky breaks and dreams of a rock star’s life while living out of his car between gigs. Meeting Duke is like looking into a mirror—and long last being given a shot at true stardom when the pop prince offers to switch places with the pauper. But as Duke and Seamus soon discover, leaving their real identities behind isn’t so easy a thing to accomplish while being dogged by their pasts and a ruthless celebrity music blogger who smells a ringer, and when the opportunity for true love forces them both to face the music.

Excerpt

The Duke and the Deadbeat
Gregory L. Norris © 2018
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Track 1
Maroon 5 stud Adam Levine had taken to the stage stripped down to his black boxer briefs, black socks, and smoldering Cheshire Cat’s smile that insured the other side of his bed would never grow cold. The guys in Blink 182 had turned mediocre talent into megasuccess by conveniently forgetting to put on their pants or underwear before streaking out to their instruments, dicks swinging, hairy butts displayed for the crowd to behold. Before them, Green Day’s handsome frontman Billie Joe Armstrong, with his mop of hair bleached blond and dyed neon-green, had strummed his guitar and crooned for the orgasming audience with his lush thatch of pubic curls and limp cock hanging in clear view. After, it was the Scissor Sisters and Queens of the Stone Age letting it all dangle. Once, live on MTV, some hairy Wolverine-looking tool going by the name of Evil Jared Hasselhoff hopped on a crate, whipped out his manhood, and relieved himself on the lead singer of the band Placebo.

Duke Donovan Dalton, the driving force behind the Goth-rock band 3-D, planned to outshine all of them. The Death Heart Tour’s final leg, winding through Austin and concluding in Boston, would be the ultimate musical mind-fuck.

“You can do this,” Duke said, casting a nervous glance into the mirror.

Harley shot him a look from the other side of the room. Duke’s trusted assistant, who also maintained the band’s website and social media pages on FaceSpace, MyBook, and Chatter, always knew when something dangerous was brewing, and what Duke sensed now was no different. What would he Chit about, using that economy of a hundred and forty-four words? Duke looking way too calm. Huge audience, eager to hear the tunes, screaming bloody murder. What if the murder victim’s Duke Dalton? I think he’s contemplating suicide!

Harley knew Duke, had since they were kids touring with their dads. An uncomfortable rush of warmth bloomed in his gut, threatening to crack the calmness staring back from the glass.

“What the fuck’s going on?” Harley demanded. No one else would dare speak to Duke Dalton that way, not the band’s concert promoters, the rock journalists or late-night talking heads. Not even Duke’s dad, Jack Dalton, lead singer in the big hair juggernaut, Stage Fright.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Duke said flatly.

“For starters, you haven’t touched the snack bar.”

Duke swept a glance across the table. There were plenty of bottles looming over a half dozen bowls, each filled with colorful, tempting vice—big red disks, blue ones, green, two shades of brown, yellow.

Duke marched over to the snack bar, grabbed a handful of green, and crunched down.

“Mmm, peanut butter, my favorite,” he said and then popped one of the bottles, washing the candy down with a jolt of lukewarm soda. “There, satisfied?”

Harley watched Duke from the cut of his eye but didn’t answer. The dude was onto him. Oh well, Duke thought. By the end of the show, the whole world would be. And he was okay with that. Better than okay. Every other day, some new scandal and sex tape broke on the news.

At least he wouldn’t bore them.

Shaye Floden, 3-D’s keyboard player, grabbed a handful of red candy. He stood in the middle of the backstage clubhouse and dressing rooms clad only in his underwear, a pair of tight-fitting designer whites stuffed to capacity in the front. Shaye had the second biggest cock in the band, inferior size-wise only to Duke himself, and wasn’t ashamed to let that fact be known.

“You nervous?” Shaye asked, crunching on candy and scratching at the meat of his balls.

“No,” Duke answered.

“Figured you must be, on account of the fact that you look so calm.” Shaye flashed a cocky smile and groped the front of his underwear. “Damn, I can’t wait to fuck something tonight.”

Harley, or the hotties in the makeup team, one of the best in the business… there certainly would be enough holes to plug after the concert. Ladies as well as dudes, depending upon where his tastes went. Shaye’s pale blue eyes drifted toward the little blonde thing waiting to paint his face.

“Okay, who’s ready to turn into a zombie?” she asked.

“I’m coming to get you, Barbara,” Shaye said in a comically sinister voice. He extended his hands. “And I’m so very horny!”

The makeup artist—Duke doubted her name was Barbara—giggled and waved him over to one of the chairs. There, Shaye Floden began his transformation into “Bones.”

Bass player Arif Yusian, better known to 3-D fans as “Scalpel,” entered the room for a drink and a snack. Another makeup artist seized him by the arms.

“Give me five, okay?” Arif said.

“Only if you tell Joe-Kev to hustle his ass in here. We need to start early on him for the full effect.”

Joe-Kev Hallet, who went by the handle “Autopsy,” soon made an appearance. The oldest member of the band at twenty-seven, his body was a canvas of colorful ink. A sleeve of thorns and roses covered one arm from shoulder to elbow. A tiger slinked down the opposing leg, its extended paw reaching across the top of his foot. A small constellation of five-pointed stars appeared to twinkle at his neck.

Duke knew the artistry didn’t end there. From their tumbles together in the early days of 3-D, he’d gotten intimate with the skull tattooed on the top of the dude’s shaft. When Joe-Kev’s bone snaked out, thickest in the middle, the skull swelled and stretched with it, flashing a sinister Halloween grin.

Their drummer joined Shaye in the makeup chairs. Arif wandered back in and took his seat. The usual banter filled the air, and a wave of nostalgia embraced Duke. By all outward signs, there had been many blessings associated with being the son of a rock legend. And a legend in his own right, lead singer and stud of a powerhouse coming into its own, this generation’s U2 or Electric Light Orchestra. Bigger blessings, like the fame, the fortune and, yes, all that fucking. But it was this little moment, seeing the guys get painted, that he hoped he remembered best when it was over.

And it would be over after this night.

Regret replaced the brief flicker of happiness.

A hand touched his shoulder. Duke seized in place. Turning, he faced Perry, 3-D’s lead makeup artist.

“Whoa, dude,” Perry said. “Didn’t mean to spook you like that. Forgive the pun, but you look like a fucking ghost.”

“Sorry, nerves,” Duke said.

The other man aimed a thumb toward the lone empty makeup chair. “You ready to become ‘Duke De Morte’?”

“Duke of Death,” Duke sighed, punctuating the statement with a humorless chuckle.

His emerald-colored eyes drifted back toward the guys, each man presently having his face painted into character. The nostalgia was gone completely. More importantly, so was Duke’s sense of regret.

“Not yet, man,” Duke said, clapping a hand on Perry’s arm. “Meet me in my dressing room, would you? And do me a favor. Bring some extra paint with you.”

The gimmick sounded lame on the surface at first but had caught on with the fans, especially the legions jerking off to vampire romance novels. The white faces looked elegant, more so when you factored in the crisp white button-down shirts, thin black ties, black suit coats, and shiny black shoes. Total sharpness—and those white ghost faces sure rocked when you shined a black light on them, picking up the phosphorescence on four handsome 3-D apparitions gyrating on stage.

The ghostly faces of 3-D had become as recognizable in recent years as the symbol for the Artist Formerly Known as Prince and Mick Jagger’s lips.

Perry finished working on Duke’s visage. Duke gazed into the mirror. The work was, as usual, artistry at its purest.

“What do you think?”

Duke studied the perfect glowing white skull painted over his handsome face, his dark hair, a messy but intentional thatch of cowlicks and spikes, his full lips, the lower slightly plumper than its twin on top. Those eyes were so green in the fake skull’s sockets that they glowed preternaturally like a wild nocturnal animal’s reflecting in a car’s headlights.

“I’d fuck me,” Duke said.

“Yeah, you and millions of rock junkies around the globe,” Perry said.

And Perry knew; they’d enjoyed the occasional fuck since the night that first smear of white face paint went on.

To enhance the look, the guys’ suits also reacted to the black light, transforming into an illusion of zombie rags thanks to the invisible chemicals painted onto them by the band’s wardrobe department. At intermission, 3-D did a change into kilts, black and white tartan, thick black wool socks, combat boots, and black tuxedo jackets over white shirts. During that fifteen-minute interlude when the opening act, some dude who’d won Idol two seasons back, entertained the crowd, the white skulls got a solid touchup.

The four men huddled offstage. Autopsy, his face streaked with intricate red strips of flesh on one side, extended his hand, palm side down. Bones clapped his hand over Autopsy’s. Scalpel tossed his mitt onto the pile. The persona known as Duke De Morte hesitated. The other characters, each demanding that their preconcert tradition be maintained, shot him looks.

Duke slammed his hand onto the top of the pile. “3-D on one… two… three—”

The four musicians barked the band’s name and, as one, raised their hands toward the ceiling. The announcer trilled their arrival over the speakers, and the crowd outside, some ten thousand souls deep, collectively screamed. Duke’s cock twitched, a sure sign that he’d gotten hard as he always did whenever the band played to a packed venue. His erections had also become part of the 3-D lore; crotch shots and camera phone video of his tented pants littered the Internet. At last count, according to Harley, there were over fifty thousand amateur websites devoted solely to his dick.

The guys raced onto the scallop-shaped stage ahead of him. More shrieks from their worshippers rose up, and he wondered if the concerts, not the eruption of some volcano, had taken bragging rights to the loudest sound event ever recorded in human history. His ears would ring for days. Duke’s nuts tightened against the root of his cock in anticipation. Once he started singing and sweating, they would loosen and spill down his pant legs, hanging, he sometimes imagined, all the way to his hairy ankles.

Steeling himself, Duke pursued. Fuck Vesuvius, the voice in his head decided. The roar that rose up as he trotted toward his Fender guitar was powerful enough to crack the fabric of time and space, to send planets spinning out of orbit and whole constellations of stars crashing into one another.

His cock pulsed.

The audience went insane.

That kind of power, Duke already knew, was dangerous. It could create the universe. But it could also destroy it.

They opened with “Guillotine Romance,” their anthem from the teen slasher flick, Spinal Column, a gore-fest about the vengeful skeleton of a high school newspaper reporter murdered by fellow students he’d dug up serious dirt on. Their cover of Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart” followed, in which hot female werewolf dancers gyrated and slithered to the smoky, liquid melody. From there, it was a catalog of their greatest hits.

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Meet the Author

Raised on a healthy diet of creature double features and classic SF television, Gregory L. Norris is a full-time professional writer, with work appearing in numerous short story anthologies, national magazines, novels, the occasional TV episode, and, so far, one produced feature film (Brutal Colors, which debuted on Amazon Prime January 2016). A former feature writer and columnist at Sci Fi, the official magazine of the Sci Fi Channel (before all those ridiculous Ys invaded), he once worked as a screenwriter on two episodes of Paramount’s modern classic, Star Trek: Voyager. Two of his paranormal novels (written under my rom-de-plume, Jo Atkinson) were published by Home Shopping Network as part of their “Escape With Romance” line — the first time HSN has offered novels to their global customer base. He judged the 2012 Lambda Awards in the SF/F/H category. Three times now, his stories have notched Honorable Mentions in Ellen Datlow’s Best-of books. In May 2016, he traveled to Hollywood to accept HM in the Roswell Awards in Short SF Writing.His story “Drowning” appears in the Italian anthology THE BEAUTY OF DEATH 2, alongside tales by none other than Peter Straub and Clive Barker.

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