Dec 19

New Release Blitz: Nuclear Sunrise by Jo Carthage (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Nuclear Sunrise

Author: Jo Carthage

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 12/19/2023

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 90900

Genre: Historical, historical/1950s, science fiction, romance, interracial, bisexual, gay, military, blue slips, scientific installation, Idaho desert, family drama, physical and mental abuse, homophobia, racism, sexist language, othering, in the closet, Atomic Age, science romance.

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Description

It’s 1951, and US Air Force Captain Brian Flynn hails from Roswell, New Mexico. He’s twenty-six, queer, and back in the closet thanks to his homophobic father. And he’s deeply tired of alien jokes. But Brian has bigger worries than his hometown’s recent extraterrestrial reputation. Brian’s the new security director at a top-secret atomic energy research facility in the sage-dusted plains of Idaho. His job is simple: keep any plutonium from walking out the door, keep the scientists safe from themselves, or, failing that, keep them from killing anyone else.

Nuclear physicist Dr. Aaron Antares is a cowboy in every sense of the word: the boots, the attitude, the homoerotic overtones. But in addition to gleefully violating every security procedure Brian can come up with, he’s also keeping a secret.

Brian knows Aaron is dangerous long before he discovers his out-of-this-world secret. The man flirts too freely, laughs too loudly, and can’t play straight to save his life. But Aaron’s amber eyes and gen-tle offers of a ride home in the flurrying Idaho snows are wearing down Brian’s defenses.

Will these two men find love in the high desert, or will they be kept apart by the cruelties of the Atomic Age?

Excerpt

Nuclear Sunrise
Jo Carthage © 2023
All Rights Reserved

September 11, 1951

Experimental Breeder Reactor 1 (19.9 miles outside of Arco, ID)

Captain Brian Flynn slung his duffel bag over his shoulder with a grimace as he stepped out of the air force Jeep, boots crunching in the black volcanic gravel. An older white man in a lab coat hustled out of the massive white cinder block building that nearly glowed in the Idaho twilight. Brian settled his feet a little more firmly in front of the building that would be his home for the next two years as his ride peeled away, heading back east toward the saw-toothed mountains.

“Captain Flynn!”

Brian’s attention snapped to the approaching scientist, and he forced a smile; he had to make this posting work. He had to.

The man’s broad grin made him look a half century younger. Brian felt something lift in his chest. The man’s voice was a warm baritone when he said, “Welcome to our little science experiment.”

His hand-stitched name tag identified him as Dr. Zinn, the chief scientist of this project. He turned to face the installation, its anonymously industrial architecture stark against a sunset-gilded sea of scrubby sage and dark stone. “It sure is a shitty-looking building.”

Brian kept his face stony. “I couldn’t say, sir.”

Dr. Zinn’s gray eyes twinkled, but he kept a straight face. “They picked this site for the Experimental Breeder Reactor number 1—EBR-1 to those of us who know and love her—so if we all blow ourselves up tomorrow, it’ll be a thousand years of poisoned water for the local cows rather than a real metropolitan area. The fact that they built it to look like a high school gymnasium speaks more to the air force’s aesthetics than our mission here.”

Brian glanced back across the vast volcanic plain to the mountains, the last of the light shining off their man-eating snowdrifts. “Beautiful mountains though. I’ve never lived near the Rockies, and with all the sage, it smells like New Mexico.” He ground a heel in the gravel beneath his military-issue boots. “The soil here is all volcanic, right? So it’s too impermeable for any uranium spill to touch the aquifers of the Snake River Valley? Since they’re buried under a thousand square miles of pahoehoe and aa and the intrusive basaltic flows that underpin them?”

Dr. Zinn’s eyes widened. “I knew you had a physics background from your commander’s letter of introduction, but I didn’t know you had an interest in geology as well.”

Brian shook his head with a smile. “Only as it relates to atomic energy production. And I had a lot of downtime at my last base and free access to UCLA’s library.”

“Very good, Captain,” Dr. Zinn said. A gust of early fall wind blew around them, and Brian shivered in his thin uniform shirt. Zinn patted his arm, and Brian held back a flinch. “Let’s get you inside.”

He gestured for Brian to follow him across the parking lot toward the lab. A junior airman opened the door and saluted; Brian returned his salute and stepped inside. He yanked off his hat as the airman swept a Geiger counter over Dr. Zinn’s shoes, pants, chest, shoulders, and hands. Brian followed, holding his arms out for his wanding, eyes sweeping from the leaded-glass shielding around a sort of chamber on his left to a thick-walled vault on his right. Above him hung a tangle of tubes covered in a layer of asbestos that would carry liquid metal to the small reactor in the center of the building. Given the pipes’ design, Brian figured it would be a sodium-potassium alloy, rather than the light water or graphite the folks at Oak Ridge were experimenting with. Then Brian stepped through the metal detector, glancing up. A high catwalk swept around the three quarters of the building, presumably leading to a few control rooms and labs. And in the middle of everything stood a steel spiral staircase leading up to the nuclear reactor platform. No windows and only one way in or out; good for avoiding Russki spies, bad in case of a fire.

Dr. Zinn tapped him on the shoulder. “Captain, you can leave your bag with Junior Airman Freeman. He’s on the night shift again, and most of the scientists have headed home already, so he can keep an eye on it while we get acquainted.”

Brian nodded and laid the book-heavy duffel with what remained of his earthly possessions down behind the guard’s single folding chair. He straightened up, hiding a wince.

“I’ve got some paperwork for you in my office,” Dr. Zinn continued, “then I’ll give you the grand tour.”

Brian followed him along polished concrete floors to an office the size of a closet. Brian got the distinct impression Dr. Zinn would rather be out in the lab than in this tiny room, but leadership demanded a price from everybody.

“All right, son,” he started once he was seated behind his paper-engulfed desk. Brian perched on the edge of the chair and avoided leaning back. “We probably only need to have this conversation once. But this is an Argonne Labs project, and your authority as the incoming security director and as an officer in the air force extends exclusively to the uranium we are working with. The plutonium, too, when we figure out how to make it at scale here. It doesn’t mean you can tell my dozen-odd scientists what to do, even if they are pains in the butt. It doesn’t—”

Brian held up his hand. “Let me stop you there.” He tried to think of a diplomatic way to say it, then he just bulled through. “I don’t have a lot of ego tied up in this role. If by the end of two years, no uranium or plutonium has been lost or stolen, I’ll count that as a win. My commanding officer back at Vandenberg will as well.” Brian paused and then asked slowly, “Did he tell you why I requested this role?”

“No, son. He didn’t even tell me you requested it. I figured you’d been volun-told—”

“No, I requested it. Just like I requested Vandenberg right out of West Point.” He saw the doctor straighten at the name of his alma mater.

“Duty, Honor, Country?”

“Duty, Honor, Country,” Brian replied. He looked at the piles of textbooks heaped on the bookcase wedged between two overflowing filing cabinets; several of the spines sported Dr. Zinn’s name. “Cards on the table. I requested this posting because I want to be good enough to work here someday. I had the option of Los Alamos, Travis, or Oak Ridge, but I’m not going back home to New Mexico again if I can help it. Travis was straight security, no science. And Oak Ridge is working on weapons projects.” He leaned forward, eyes intent. “EBR-1 is the only project in the US focused on using atomic energy for peaceful means. That’s the work I want to be a part of.”

Dr. Zinn sat back, eyes beginning to brighten as he gestured for him to go on.

“I graduated with a degree in physics from West Point in ’48, but they didn’t want to send me to grad school right away. So I went to help run security at Vandenberg, to get to know the conventional weapons research side. With support of my commander, I applied and had been accepted to UCLA’s PhD program, was due to start this week, but”—he took a hard breath—“the air force had other plans. So this is me, doing my service so I can separate honorably in two more years and use my GI Bill to get a physics doctorate. And,” he said, lowering his voice with a tiny smile, “I find that when I’m stationed someplace with a lot of physicists, I get to have a lot higher quality coffee break conversations, no matter my actual title. I was hoping it would be the same here.”

“And a recommendation letter from a chief scientist for one of the national labs would go a long way to getting back into UCLA or an even better program when your two years is up?”

“I’m not gunning for that, Dr. Zinn. I’m here to do my job. I’m sure we’ll butt heads at some point, so I don’t want to have that between us. But what I want you to know is that I am here because I believe in your mission—good, reliable energy for millions. Turning a power that killed 210,000 people into a source of life. Helping with that seems worth spending two Idaho winters wanding scientists coming into and out of a cinder block building in the middle of the high desert.”

“You said two years. That’s how long your assignment is for?”

Brian nodded.

“You know we’re a time-bound mission,” Dr. Zinn said, folding his hands across his belly. “As soon as we achieve it—breed the plutonium from the uranium, that is—they’ll bulldoze this place, and no one will ever know that we did the work.”

Brian tilted his head. “But it’s not about credit, is it, sir?”

Dr. Zinn’s eyes caught his, widening a touch. “No, Captain. It never is.” Then he clapped his hands, leaning forward. “All right, it seems we’re on the same page. Here is the briefing packet Captain Jerush put together before he caught the bus out of Idaho Falls yesterday.” He handed over a black folder. “It has current threats, past incidents. Nothing too thrilling; I promise. You have a six person staff—”

Brian nodded. “That was in the briefing I got before leaving Vandenberg. I used the Greyhound ride from Roswell to plan out the new schedule until the reading lights went out. I’m going to put myself in the rotation with ten-hour shifts. So the rest of the team’s shifts will be seven hours of watch duty, which we can extend to eight for training, research, and paperwork if they end up needing it—”

Dr. Zinn gave him a knowing smile. “I do find that as the days get shorter, tempers do, too, so giving those young men a break will probably help everyone’s nerves. Can I ask which shift you’re planning on taking? Not because I have approval power of any kind, mind. I’m just curious if I’ll see you around for some of those ‘coffee break conversations.’”

“I’m that rare beast that enjoys nightshifts, so unless one of those under my command has a major preference, I’ll take those solo.”

Dr. Zinn nodded. “In a few months’ time, there’s going to be little enough sunlight during the day, so you won’t be missing much.” He took a breath. “There’s really only one of our scientists who uses the lab after eight o’clock.” He checked his watch. “We’ll probably see him when I show you the reactor. He’s a night owl. Honestly, I think it’s because he likes talking to the reactor when he’s working, and even he’s realized it scares the nurses. So he’s restricted himself to times no one will eyeball him over it.”

“I’ve worked with scientists before,” Brian said evenly. “Like I said, to me, that’s one of the perks.”

Dr. Zinn shook his head, neatening a stack of papers on the edge of his desk, which only threatened to unbalance the whole edifice. “We’ll see what you say after six months of dealing with his, shall we say, unorthodox approach to nuclear material management. It’s scared airmen off in the past.”

Brian frowned, leaning forward in his chair, barely feeling the fresh scabs on his back stretching under his uniform. “As long as the ‘unorthodox approach’ doesn’t lead to it going missing or irradiating anyone, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Jo Carthage is a bi, cis woman living in Silicon Valley. In her career, Jo has worked with survivors of labor and sex trafficking in DC, helped get incredible women and queer folks elected to state and national office in three states, and thinks politics and science fiction go together beautifully. Jo’s grandfather worked as a nuclear physicist at Oak Ridge in the 1950s, but it wasn’t until a 2019 family road trip veered off course and she spent an afternoon at EBR-1 that she started to write Atomic Age fiction.

Jo was honored to have Nuclear Sunrise favorably reviewed by the Director of the Mescalero Apache Cultural Center and intends to donate a portion of proceeds to their important work. As a writer, Jo loves slow burn, hurt/comfort, queer history, enemies-to-lovers, and happy endings.

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Dec 15

Book Blitz: ‘Tis the Season by Gale Stanley (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  ‘Tis the Season

Series: Passages #1

Author: Gale Stanley

Publisher: Changeling Press

Release Date: December 1, 2023

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 63 pages

Genre: Romance, New Adult, Contemporary, Gay, Holiday

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Synopsis

Is it possible to be both a good Jew and a gay man? Jonah Dillon doesn’t think so. He can’t reconcile his faith with his attraction to men so he turns his back on Judaism. Away at college for the holidays, he plans to lose his virginity to Christian, the blue-eyed, blond, goy of his dreams.

But fate intervenes when Jonah meets Aaron Beck, an observant Jew, and they end up celebrating Hanukkah together. Aaron tells Jonah they’re beschert—meant to be. Jonah not sure he believes, but he’s lonely and welcomes Aaron’s company even if he has to celebrate Hanukkah to get it.

Can Aaron bridge the gap and convince Jonah to take a leap of faith? Or will they have to give up their desire for a future together?

Excerpt

Copyright ©2023 Gale Stanley

The man’s image in the mirror, framed by small twinkling lights and swags of spruce and holly, appeared to be just the sort of ornament Jonah had been looking for all his life — or at least the part of his life that spanned the years since puberty. The phrase “objects in the mirror are closer than they appear” came to mind, making him smile. I should be so lucky.

Unfortunately, Jonah’s plan to remain on campus for the holidays and lose his virginity to a non-Jew, a goy, wasn’t going according to plan, although he’d gone to great lengths to make it happen.

The worst part had to be when he told his parents that he wouldn’t be coming home for Hanukkah. None of the excuses he came up with felt right and he procrastinated for a long time.

Finally, he could wait no longer. Working up the courage, he called his mother and blurted out the dreaded words, before he lost his nerve. “I’ll be staying on campus for the holidays.”

Dead silence followed his announcement, followed by a worried, “Why?”

Jonah had never been good at lying. He struggled to sound believable. “I have so much to do. The workload in grad school is much heavier and the holidays are the best time to catch up.”

“Bring your work home.”

Also not good at asserting himself, Jonah hemmed and hawed. “I’d be way too busy. No time to interact.”

Unfortunately, his mother was way too good at guilt-tripping him.

Her voice wavered, and she sounded on the verge of tears. “We just want to see you. We don’t ask for much. And we’ve always spent Hanukkah together. I’m making your favorites, latkes and sweet kugel.”

A knife pierced his heart, but Jonah thought fast and stayed firm. “One of my friends is stuck on campus, too, and I promised him we would study together.” Another lie.

“Bring him home.”

“I can’t, Mom, He’s… it’s just that…”

“He’s a girl, isn’t he? Well, if it doesn’t work out, you can always change your mind and come home.”

“Sorry, Mom. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Jonah hung up before his mom could ask any more questions. Damn, she sounded like her world had come to an end. If only he wasn’t an only child. If he had a sibling to pick up the slack, it would make his life a whole lot easier. Taking a few deep breaths, he calmed himself. There would be other holidays.

Now, sitting alone at a bar, he wondered if all the grief he’d caused his mother had been for nothing. Not many students or professors had remained on campus, so Jonah had ventured off campus to find a hook-up. Happy Hour at a bar seemed the best option, but Jonah didn’t have an ounce of gaydar in his body, and gay guys didn’t go around wearing sexual ID tags. Luckily, he’d found a gay watering hole in the small college town. The rainbow flag flying out front had been a dead giveaway, and the name, The Rainbow Room. Could it be any gayer? When he first saw it, he wanted to take off like a scared rabbit, but he’d been doing that for far too long.

Jonah had forced himself to open the door and go inside. It was a gay bar, so what? Nothing remarkable, nothing to be scared of, just a neighborhood bar, a place where a guy could have a conversation without screaming over loud dance music. Actually, there was no dance floor, and that was all good too. Jonah Dillon didn’t dance, especially with other men. The only thing that differentiated The Rainbow Room from any other corner dive was the fact that it was devoid of women.

Wooden stools butted up against a foot rail at the bar and the mirrored wall behind the bar threw back his reflection. A bearded bartender, sleeves rolled up over hairy forearms, filled orders. Holiday decorations were minimal. Other than the lights around the mirror, there weren’t any, and that was okay because he’d been born and raised Jewish, and a man assimilated a lot of attitudes and beliefs in twenty-one years. Ridding himself of them would take a lifetime. At least.

Having to stare at a Christmas tree or a Nativity scene while flirting with a blond goy would have made him feel even guiltier. Ironic, that the thought of sucking an uncut cock didn’t inspire quite the same guilt. Or maybe he was just too fucking horny to care anymore. Lost in thought, Jonah wondered if he was normal. Between waking up with morning wood and masturbating before bed, it seemed like he was always thinking about sex.

When he got to college, he’d settled for hurried blowjobs with other students. It took the edge off, but Jonah wanted more. It was time to let someone put their dick in his ass so he could lose his anal virginity. Finding a willing partner who made him feel comfortable was primary. One thing he was sure of, he wouldn’t be comfortable having sex with another Jew.

So here he was, trying to fit in with the goyim, to the point of actually shopping for one of those ugly red and green Christmas sweaters with prancing deer. Seeing himself in the dressing room mirror shocked the hell out of him, but he bought it anyway, and ran out of the shop before he could change his mind. He wore it like a costume, thinking it would make him feel less inhibited and able to take some risks.

But as Jonah discovered, the sweater didn’t help him blend in. His appearance in the bar had triggered a few snickers, and after glancing around at the jeans-and-sweatshirt crowd, he’d regretted his choice.

His inner voice told him he was trying too hard and he looked like an asshole. At the time, it’d seemed like a good idea. Now, he just felt dumb, but he forgave himself for not getting it right and toughed it out. Fuck it.

Jonah ordered a beer. The bartender set down a mug wet with condensation, and a bowl of peanuts. Jonah took a few and cracked them out of their shells. He tried to look like he belonged, but nobody looked like him and everybody seemed to be with friends. Ignoring the conversations around him, he glanced at his watch every so often, as if he were waiting for someone. It made him feel less alone. Pathetic.

What would his mother say if she could see him now? Come home, boychik. You don’t belong there. Thank goodness, she was miles away and oblivious. He’d never told his parents he was gay. Hell, it had taken years to admit it to himself.

He concentrated on today’s goal — find a guy to have sex with. How hard could it be? Pretty damn hard, even in a place that was user friendly.

Jonah took another swallow of his beer. God, he hated this time of the year. The holidays always made him feel more alone than ever. His back was to the room, but he could still see the crowd in the mirror — guys of all shapes and sizes, pairing up like animals ready to board Noah’s Ark, while he was mooning over a stranger. It was damn depressing.

Finishing his beer, he scanned the mirror for the blond. Yep, still there, but focused on the two men who framed him like bookends.

Hooking up with the man in the mirror didn’t seem likely. Jonah would not, could not, make the first move, and for sure he didn’t expect the hot blond to hit on him. Why would he? Jonah was a man who didn’t stand out in a crowd, unless it was for all the wrong reasons. After a lifetime of doing stupid shit, he’d become an expert at sabotaging himself. Too bad State College didn’t offer a course in How Not to Embarrass Yourself.

The hot blond was exactly the type of man he could see himself with. He had the sun-kissed good looks of a surfer dude — blond, blue-eyed, and cherub-cheeked — a nice contrast to Jonah’s dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and stubbled jaw. The nerdy guy and the goy. Pitiful. More than the width of the bar separated them.

But looking couldn’t hurt.

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Changeling Press | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes | Smashwords

Meet the Author

Gale Stanley grew up in Philadelphia PA. She was the kid who always had her nose in a book, her head in the clouds, and her hands on a pad and pencil.

Some things never change.

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One lucky winner will receive a $10.00 Changeling Press Gift Code!

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Dec 12

New Release Blitz: Fairest by K.S. Trenten (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title: Fairest

Author: K.S. Trenten

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 12/12/2023

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 30800

Genre: Fantasy, Fairy tale, romance, witches, royalty, magic, enemies to lovers, revenge to romance

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Description

All my life, I’ve been haunted by her dark eyes. At birth, she cursed me to prick my finger on the spindle and sleep for a century. She appears in my dreams, my reflections, shaping my desires. Who is she? Follow me into the lonely Forest of Tears where the dwarfs dwell, walking where she once walked. Gaze into the depths of the magic mirror which reveals her secrets. For I refuse to fear her, even if I should.

Excerpt

Fairest
K.S. Trenten © 2023
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Dark Eyes

My first memory was of her dark eyes. They captured all the colors of my infant universe, threatening to swallow me. Those eyes should have been terrifying, but they weren’t.

Her bloodred lips moved, shaping words I could not recall.

My parents remembered them only too well, along with everyone else who’d gathered in the castle for my christening.

“I too have a gift for this child. She will grow up with all the beauty and promise of the dawn, but her sun will never rise.”

My mother told me she nearly swooned with terror at the look of sheer malevolence the witch gave the sunbeams playing around my cradle. She wanted to stop the witch from speaking, as did my father.

No one could speak, no matter how much they wished to. Everyone froze in place, spellbound by the witch’s gaze.

“Before the sun sets on her sixteenth birthday, the princess shall prick her finger on a spindle. With the first drop of her blood, a sleeping curse will fall upon her, claiming her for a hundred years.”

The witch disappeared into a cloud of emerald smoke.

No one could find her after my christening, despite many attempts. The only thing she left behind was the memory of her dark eyes.

I wondered if she’d been real. Her appearance was the sort of thing I’d read about in old legends. The way she haunted my dreams, I felt like I was being drawn into one of them.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

I’m a California Bay Area author, exploring the borders of reality and gender to create new worlds and populate them with compelling characters. I live with my husband and our two four footed children, i.e. cats.

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Dec 12

New Release Blitz: A City of Abundant Opportunity by Howard Leonard (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  A City of Abundant Opportunity

Series: Seattle City Limits, Book Two

Author: Howard Leonard

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 12/12/2023

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 67400

Genre: Contemporary, Diverse relationship structures, age disparity, interracial, over 40, therapist, gay, cisgender, gender queer

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Description

Becoming single in middle age was difficult for Alan, until a seemingly ordinary day turns extraordinary, when it presents him two very different but promising paths forward. On that day, Alan unexpectedly runs into a prior lover, moments after a new acquaintance offers him an unusual proposition.

One man provides youthful comfort and enthusiasm, and the other, the task of forming intimacy with a person who was raised from a lineage quite removed from his own. Either man might lead to a fortunate future, yet each inevitably requires tender navigation. Knowing he must make a decision, Alan eventually chooses and is then faced with new challenges, insights, and a struggle to obtain and hold onto what he hopes his future will become.

In this follow-up novel to A City of Hopes Unrealized, familiar characters re-emerge with the maturity of time, and new characters add a depth of diversity, creating a need to explore potential challenges and rewards, often accompanied by intergenerational, cultural, and racially diverse relationships.

Excerpt

A City of Abundant Opportunity
Howard Leonard © 2023
All Rights Reserved

On an unusual summerlike weekend in early June, which brought crowds of underdressed men to the normally empty outdoor cafes on Seattle’s Capitol Hill, I was enjoying a rare and refreshing sidewalk brunch with my best friend, Mica, and Mica’s husband, Lyle. Time had passed since Mica and Lyle had nearly ended their long-term relationship, a relationship I had a part in fucking up. Time had also passed since I had begun my own frantic search for a new partner, a quest which followed the breakup of the relationship I had created in my twenties. Having dated, slept with, or at least had coffee or a drink with an embarrassing number of prospects, I was finally beginning to believe my worth was not dependent on meeting Mr. Right. That may suggest my transition into being unexpectedly single was a natural one, but my move into singledom had been anything but smooth.

It took three years, but life was finally getting easier. I was now able to go out, not driven by compulsion, but instead only when I genuinely wanted to get out, and my mood walking home was no longer determined by a chance meeting, or the lack thereof. I was neither running toward, nor away from therapy with Dr. Goldberg, nor was I obsessed with Marley, the man who most stood out in the crowd of men I’d tried to couple with since Teddy ended our long relationship. With only a few exceptions, most of the people I’d dated, other than Marley, were seemingly erased from my memory. I was finally becoming more confident about my work as a primary care doctor, and for some reason, my practice was also easier to manage.

In recent years, the Off, a smallish bar and restaurant on Capitol Hill, had become both my home away from home and my habit. At times I fit right in, while at other times I felt unseen there. I always worried my age created a creeping invisibility, as I and my peers in the over-fifty afterwork crowd cleared out in time each day to be replaced by younger and objectively cuter arrivals as the sun set and the evening’s darkness approached. Although today, yard work was calling, and after finishing brunch, I wanted to enjoy the weather and walk by the Off before heading home. In Seattle, one was never certain if or when there would be another warm Sunday.

Being the middle of the afternoon, the Off was busier than I would have expected. The mix of age, look, and dress was also diverse compared to the familiar men I’d see during the work week. Of course, it was the men in tanks and shorts, or just shorts or onesies, who were having the best time, while those of us standing off at a respectable distance, looked ill at ease as we fixated on the young bare-skinned among us. I didn’t immediately see anyone familiar, but recent months had made it more okay than ever to stand by myself on the periphery with my rum and cola, and simply enjoy the view. Practice also lowered my self-consciousness, allowing me to notice that I was not the only man who was alone in the crowd.

Lost in my own head and unfocused ruminations, it took a moment to become aware that someone was trying to engage me. I think the man introduced himself as DeVon. Not wanting to be taken as rejecting, my first words were of apology for being obtuse, and I extended my hand. “Hi. Sorry. I’m Alan. I guess I was lost in my own head.”

“DeVon here,” which confirmed his name and helped me continue the conversation.

“Actually, you are Noah. At least you look exactly like the Noah I’ve been telling my coworkers I’m seeing. I know all this might sound crazy, but have you ever had the experience of being the only one at work, or anywhere, I guess, who’s single?”

“Oh, God, yeah,” I nearly yelled, while scrunching my face into a well-practiced, disgusted frown, which I’d recently perfected to replace the look of apology I used to carry for being single.

“Well, a few months ago, I made up a new boyfriend to get my coworkers off my back. I told them I was seeing this guy, Noah, and we were getting pretty serious. I know this is weird, but you look like the personification of this imaginary man I’ve been describing to them. Handsome, smart, friendly, Semitic. So, that’s my story,” DeVon explained with the cute, embarrassed expression of someone admitting how contrived this all might sound.

Only random murmurs escaped my lips, as I really didn’t know how to respond.

DeVon, following up seemingly with intention to recapture control, or perhaps fearing coming across like someone who was trying to pull something over on me, turned to fully face me, and he gently touched my arm. “I know this is strange and maybe it’s the beer talking, but I’ve got this major work event in a couple of weeks, and my coworkers have been unrelenting in telling me that I have to bring Noah. But there is no Noah, so might I bring you, Alan, as Noah?”

I stammered, not knowing exactly what I was thinking, let alone how to respond. Fortunately, DeVon rescued me. “Like I was saying, I know this is strange, but if you’d let me take you to dinner tonight, I’ll explain it all. My treat. Will you meet me for dinner?”

Once I said “Yes,” the awkwardness between us began to dissipate. I nursed my drink as a subtle sign meant to convey my desire to extend the conversation, even if we were going to meet up again for dinner in only a few hours. We talked about what it was like to be middle-aged and single in a coupled world, or at least a world that made those who were single work harder to feel okay about ourselves. But beyond sharing the commonality of being single, I had no idea who DeVon was, nor did we ask anything substantive about the other. I made a conscious decision to save the details about my life for the evening’s dinner. He might have figured the same, though I wondered if he even wanted to know me, or if I was just a potential prop to get him through some undefined work event. We did discuss the unusual June weather and the gifted view of male skin the warmth had unleashed. And as gay men do, we bantered through sexual innuendos that bring that pseudo-intimacy which our straight friends envy, given they’re denied the liberty of sexual banter, especially upon first meeting. The comfort that was forming between us had me looking forward to the night’s dinner, and I became a bit aroused by the unknowns of this man.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Howard Leonard earned his PhD in Clinical Psychology in 1981. Dr. Leonard and his partner moved to Seattle, Washington, in 1983, where he began a private practice which he maintained for thirty-five years. He chose Seattle in part due to his belief the region would allow two men to legally create a family through the use of surrogacy, something largely unchallenged by gay men in the eighties. He has two daughters, now adults, and one grandchild. Howard and his husband, Robert, live in Palm Springs, California. Writing has become an important part of his life since retiring from clinical practice. A City of Hopes Unrealized is the first novel in the “Seattle City Limits” series.  You can find Howard on Facebook.

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Dec 05

New Release Blitz: Heart First by S.B. Barnes (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Heart First

Series: Hudson Valley Murder Mysteries, Book One

Author: S.B. Barnes

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 12/05/2023

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 90800

Genre: Contemporary, contemporary, gay, mystery, murder, campus, town/gown, professors, auto mechanic, family drama, classism, class difference

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Description

Daniel Rosenbaum leads a predictable life. He’s a professor at Lobell, a small liberal arts college in the Hudson Valley, where he spends his days teaching classes and doing research alongside his friends and fellow professors, Colette and Mario. The biggest change Daniel’s routine has seen in years is when car trouble leads him across the Hudson and into an unexpected romantic encounter with local mechanic Tony.

When tragedy strikes in the form of Mario’s murder, Daniel’s orderly life is thrown into chaos. Not only is his friend dead, it seems Mario was keeping secrets that could cause rifts in Lobell’s close-knit community. At first, Daniel’s intensifying relationship with Tony is the only way he can find solace from his grief and confusion. But all too soon, the trail of Mario’s secrets leads Daniel to the same place he’s been seeking comfort: Angel Automotive, the auto repair shop run by Tony’s family.

Before long, Daniel is forced to question everything: his friends, his job, the way he lives his life, and the relationship he’s not even sure he’s in yet. Only one thing is for sure: Daniel is falling heart-first—in love or into mortal danger.

Excerpt

Heart First
S.B. Barnes © 2023
All Rights Reserved

Hello?” Daniel calls out into the seemingly deserted garage. “I, uh…I brought my car in?”

He winces at himself. Of course he brought his car; it’s an auto repair shop. What else would he have brought? A tricycle? There’s something about places like this that make him acutely self-conscious of his own ignorance. There’s probably nothing seriously wrong with his car, and he’s already bracing for some guy with a mustache and a baseball cap to tell him condescendingly he could have easily fixed it himself.

“Just a second,” a voice calls back, much closer than Daniel expects. He flinches and looks around, trying to find the source.

There’s a clanging noise, like someone dropped a tool on the floor, immediately followed by the sound of wheels scraping over asphalt. From beneath the sleek black car parked to the left, a guy in a pair of washed-out jeans and a stained white tank top emerges.

He has a mustache.

Daniel called it.

Granted, he also has a beard, which makes the mustache less out of place, but still.

“Hi,” Daniel says and waves awkwardly.

“Hey,” the guy says. “Wasn’t there someone at the front office?”

“There was.” Daniel bristled a little. “She told me to come here.”

The guy rolls his eyes and pushes a strand of hair out of his eyes. The rest of it is in a short ponytail at the back of his head, with the once close-shaved sides grown out a bit. With the mustache, it’s an intense look.

“Fuck,” the guy says. “Uh, sorry. I’m guessing she didn’t give you any paperwork?”

Daniel shakes his head. Mostly, the goth girl at the front desk snapped her gum and said “Uh-huh” when he tried to describe the sound his car started making this morning on the drive over from Rhinebeck. When he finished, she pointed him wordlessly toward the garage. She didn’t look up from her phone once during the interaction.

“I wish I could fire her,” the guy mutters to himself, wiping sweat off his forehead with his forearm.

It gives Daniel an unobstructed view of his arms, which are really nice.

Not the time, he chastises himself. Hitting on a mechanic in an auto shop in a dinky little town in upstate New York sounds like a neat way to get himself in trouble, and anyway, making a move on someone while they’re at work is just bad manners. Besides, that mustache is really something, and while it does suit the man’s face, Daniel’s not sure how he feels about it.

“Sorry, I’m Tony. I should probably have led with that.”

Daniel grins. “Hi, Tony. I’m Daniel, and I’m having trouble with my car.”

“Well, you’re in luck. I happen to be a mechanic.”

“Wow, what are the odds?”

Tony shrugs and gestures to the rows of different-size chains hanging on the wall. “You walk into a setup like this, it’s an even split—mechanic or sex worker.”

It shocks a laugh out of Daniel. He gets the impression he doesn’t need to worry about homophobia here if Tony’s using respectful language, which is a relief.

“So, what’s wrong with your car?”

Daniel winces. “It’s been making this weird noise all morning. Like a kind of irregular clunking?”

“All the time or just when you go over a bump?”

“Um…” Daniel considers. The roads are pretty shitty between Rhinebeck and Lobell College anyway, so he wasn’t exactly sure how frequent the noise was. He didn’t hear it much on the better-paved way into Kingston, but he was also focused on finding the garage and wasn’t really paying attention.

“Your muffler might be loose,” Tony tells him when he fails to answer the question.

“Okay,” Daniel says slowly. “And that’s…bad?”

Tony blinks. “Not a car guy, huh?”

“No,” Daniel says quickly. “Computers guy. Classic literature guy. Fourth season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer guy. Very much not a car guy.”

A frown line draws tight on Tony’s forehead. “That’s a really bad season, which, okay, no one’s perfect. Here’s what we’ll do. Technically, we’re booked totally full today, but you’re here now, and I don’t feel great about sending you away when we don’t know for sure what’s wrong with your car. I’m gonna take a quick look at it to see what’s wrong.”

“That would be amazing,” Daniel says. “Thank you so much. I’m sorry to put you out.” It figures they’d be busy. He chose this place because it’s the only auto shop in a twenty-mile radius that takes walk-ins, and he couldn’t quite work up the motivation to call somewhere. He’s probably not the only one.

Tony waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Just don’t tell my boss or Mrs. Cooper when she comes to pick up her car in an hour.” He nods toward the car he’s been working on, and Daniel taps the side of his nose.

For a long moment, they grin at each other widely. Tony has really nice eyes. Daniel’s always thought brown eyes exuded warmth, and Tony has exceptionally long eyelashes. There’s something kind in there, in the crinkles around the corners. He must laugh a lot.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

S. B. Barnes attended college in the Hudson Valley, studying English Language and Literature and Anthropology (although unlike her characters, her time there was not interrupted by crime-solving). She grew up split between the USA and Germany, attending university in both countries before eventually settling in Germany. Today, she works as a teacher and lives with her husband and two cats in an apartment with too little shelf space. Fiction has always been one of her greatest loves, as a reader, as a teacher, and as a writer. While S.B. has been writing for most of her life, this is her first foray into publishing her work.

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Dec 02

20th Annual A Very Changeling Christmas Celebration

‘Tis the season of giving! That means it’s time for our 20th Annual
A Very Changeling Christmas Celebration

Are you on Santa’s naughty list? Worried you won’t receive presents this year?
Well, at Changeling Press we’ll be giving gifts to some lucky readers.


Want to know more?

Naughty Nights of Christmas:

  • Twelve Changeling recipients will receive one e-book download of your choice from ChangelingPress.com


Free Books For A Year:

  • Three Christmas 2023 recipients will each receive one e-book download of your choice per month from ChangelingPress.com —
    Three recipients, twelve e-book downloads each for 2024 from ChangelingPress.com.
  • Two Christmas 2023 recipients will each receive one e-book download of your choice per week from ChangelingPress.com —
    Two recipients, fifty-two e-book downloads each for 2024 from ChangelingPress.com.

No entry form. All you have to do is buy any Christmas themed book at ChangelingPress.com between November 24th and December 30th, 2023.

The Not So Fine Print:

  • Naughty Nights of Christmas gift recipients are eligible to receive more than one Christmas Gift.
  • Christmas Gift recipients will be chosen randomly from purchases of books in the Christmas Theme at ChangelingPress.com made between November 24th and December 30th 2023 and will be announced December 31st on the Changeling Bar and Grill (changelingpress.wordpress.com/), and the Changeling Facebook Page (facebook.com/changelingpress/).
  • Weekly and Monthly Christmas Gift e-book downloads will expire if not used within 30 days.

Shop For Christmas Books HERE

 

Nov 28

New Release Blitz: Lose Me to Love You by Chloe B. Young (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Lose Me to Love You

Author: Chloe B. Young

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 11/28/2023

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 64000

Genre: Fantasy, contemporary, gay, romance, urban fantasy, paranormal, suspense, magic/magic users, slow burn, tattoos, depression, grieving, second chances, religious parallels/subtext

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Description

At the bottom of a downward spiral of alcohol, sex, and risky behaviors, Matty Hill discovers that magic is real and that a mysterious man will teach him how to wield it if he can deal with the trauma of his past and present.

Sean Wildgust, Matty’s new teacher, is as secretive as he is fascinating. But when those secrets come back to haunt them both, Matty must decide if obsession is the same thing as love.

Excerpt

Lose Me to Love You
Chloe B. Young © 2023
All Rights Reserved

Matty gasped awake.

He opened his eyes, then closed them immediately when the light pouring in the grimy window burned. Recoiling from the light set off a chain reaction of aching muscles tensing, nausea roiling, head pounding, and there was nothing he could do to keep from throwing up.

The desperate lurch of his uncoordinated limbs had him puking off the side of his makeshift mattress instead of on himself. Though he wasn’t particularly happy about it while choking on stomach acid.

He’d never understood why people said it was better to throw up. Sure, his nausea wasn’t dragging him through the dirt anymore, but he had to deal with a dozen other smaller discomforts. When it was over, he flopped to his back again, his throat burning and his ribs sore from uselessly trying to suppress the inevitable. He blinked the tears out of his eyes, stinging from the sun and the force of his gagging.

When he’d rubbed most of the crud out of his vision, he looked around.

Nate’s house. Weird. They’d started at a rave with a lot of people Matty didn’t know. He knew Nate, and Nate knew everyone else, so he supposed it made sense that they’d all crashed at his tiny two-bedroom house.

Not all, it seemed. He could only see two others, and bits of flickering footage from last night told him the living room had been a lot more crowded before he’d passed out.

Carefully, so he didn’t upset his stomach’s tentative equilibrium, he pulled his feet out from under the strange bunk bed he and a stranger had made from the couch. The other guy was still sleeping on top of the bare springs while the cushions sank almost to the floor under Matty’s ass.

Getting up was a multistage process that took anywhere from ten minutes to half an hour. He couldn’t be sure. Had he fallen asleep in child’s pose between stage three and four?

Eventually, he made it to his feet and took a few cautious steps to test whether the floorboards stayed under him, giving the mess a wide berth with a silent promise to return and clean it up before he left.

The other person in the room was dead to the world, curled up tight in a sagging armchair, her jeans wormed down so low she was basically naked. Matty didn’t recognize her from the ratty mess of her hair and the bare expanse of her back.

A pattern of goosebumps traveled up her spine.

The sweater hanging on a hook near the front door was way too big to be hers, but it wasn’t Nate’s either, so no one would miss it, probably. When Matty draped it over her, it covered everything she would have wanted to be covered, and he hoped it was warm.

He found Nate in the kitchen but didn’t say anything and, instead, unscrewed the cap from a bottle of clear alcohol. Vodka, he guessed from the blurry red logo. It took two small swigs to chase away the sweet, metallic taste in his mouth. He rolled the liquid across his tongue like mouthwash and swallowed it down instead of spitting it into one of the plastic cups on the table.

Blue cups, not red. They were sophisticated, postcollege wastrels, after all.

The clock on the microwave told him it was earlier than he thought…until he spotted the clock on the stove. He looked at the microwave again and then at the stove as if staring at the glowing red numbers would help him decide which one to believe.

“Is one of those right?” Matty asked, his voice wrecked. (One of the least shocking discoveries he’d made today.)

Nate looked up from the pot he was watching and glanced at both of the clocks, then nodded. “Yep.” He jerked an elbow at the one next to his hip. “That one.”

That meant it was 1:36 in the afternoon, a fact Matty didn’t have any particular opinion about, other than surprise he’d slept so long on pillows about as soft as a pack of printer paper.

Nate tapped a dry spoon against the rim of his pot. He leaned on the counter, away from the glowing element. He was so skeletal-skinny Matty had no problem reading the clock past him. Had he always been that way, or had Matty not noticed until now?

Matty laid his arm on the cool counter and squeezed his wrist. He’d always been taller than he was broad, but was he thinner? Undoubtedly. The new hole in his belt told him so. But was he skin and bone, like Nate?

He couldn’t tell anymore. Like Nate, he didn’t have anyone to tell him to eat more solid meals or get some sleep while the sun was down.

The problem with eating was it required a few things Matty hadn’t had in months: an appetite and a base level of concern for his continued existence.

Sleep though. That was different. He wished he could sleep. He’d gladly put his ear to the sheets if it meant everything would just…stop. For a little while. But it didn’t work like that, and if avoiding a REM cycle meant avoiding all the bullshit that came with it, he’d never count sheep again.

“What are you doing?” Matty asked, standing on tiptoes to try to see what was sloshing around in Nate’s battered pot.

“Water for jello.”

A visceral memory of the time Matty had found out how gelatin was made sent a rippling shudder through him—not unlike a wiggling cube of set jello, actually. “Really? That’s your idea of brunch?”

Nate’s spoon didn’t falter. “Jello shots, dude. For tonight.”

“What are you—fourteen?”

Nate’s bony shoulders lifted and fell under his T-shirt as he kept stirring, not sparing Matty’s derision a look. “Never too old for fun. You coming?”

Matty had forgotten that the weekend wasn’t over yet. What was the end of a week when he didn’t have a Monday grind to return to?

He looked around the kitchen at the abandoned cups and bottles in various stages of emptiness. The overflowing ashtray. The smudges of pale powder under a potato chip bag Matty didn’t want to think about very hard.

It was crazy to think that in a few hours, the place would be as clean as it had been on Monday. Nate was a hell of a cleaning machine when he was on a bender. It wouldn’t be spotless, but garbage bags would bulge on the porch and none of the surfaces would be mysteriously sticky, which was all Nate’s friends seemed to care about.

“Yeah, probably,” Matty answered, leaving room for bowing out so Nate wouldn’t get on his case if he decided to stay home and stare at his ceiling instead.

“Do you remember last night?” Nate finally stopped stirring long enough to toss something at Matty’s face.

He flinched but caught it. It was a bag of plastic shot glasses. Four hundred of them. He ripped it open and started lining them up on the available counter space. The popping noise they made as he put them down was nice, and the neat rows satisfied something childish in him.

“Not really,” Matty said. “I remember leaving the rave, but once we got here, it’s kind of fuzzy.”

“Man, you missed out. Don found a playlist of trippy screensavers on YouTube, and we all got high and watched them.”

“You’re a true party animal, Nate.”

“It was awesome.”

Matty tuned out of the play-by-play, getting into the rhythm of shot glasses coming out of the package. Slide, tap. Slide, tap. Slide, tap.

“And then you did a line,” Nate added, “and you were singing too.”

Plastic cracked under Matty’s hand. “Fuck off,” he blurted. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah,” Nate answered, placid as always rather than offended. “It was my stuff. Why would I lie about it?”

Out-logicked by a guy who watched screensavers for fun. If Matty didn’t know about Nate’s engineering degree and valedictorian plaque, he would’ve thought he’d hit a new low, which would’ve stung all the more, considering the record had only been reset twelve hours ago.

“Shit,” Matty said, dropping the crushed plastic cup next to the good ones. “I don’t—”

No, he did remember. It was in snatches, but the longer he thought about it, the more his own memories filled in the gaps: the offer, the temptation, the refusal, then another offer, and the tone of the evening changing.

The intensified blast of the giant, flashing neon sign that read in two-foot-high letters shone over every decision he’d made last night:

FUCK IT.

Nate took the pot off the stove and set it down next to the lines of plastic soldiers. He tore into a box of red jello. His yellow-stained fingers were obviously working more carefully than he was used to, but he still managed to spill pink powder all over the counter.

It was kind of pretty. It sparkled in the afternoon daylight, like snow, but wrong.

“I’m going home,” Matty said, and he chucked the half-full bag of shot glasses onto the biggest available space.

“See you tonight?”

“Maybe.”

Matty went through the living room to get to the door and saw that the girl hadn’t woken up or moved. Her hair, though, managed to look even more of a disaster from a new angle. Where it wasn’t a mess, it was blond and straight, though neither of those things came naturally, he was pretty sure.

It was basically the antithesis of Matty’s hair; the only thing it shared was it hadn’t seen a comb in too long. They were visual opposites, like he and—

He left Nate’s behind. He hadn’t cleaned up the floor, which he figured to be Nate’s punishment for offering him blow when he was drunk, but he had turned the guy on the couch over, so he wouldn’t choke on his own vomit.

Good friend? No. Great friend.

No one should have to ride in an ambulance with someone who was already as good as dead. Not even Nate.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Writing is just one of the many ways Chloe gets her storytelling fix. In her other life, she sings and acts to fulfil the urge, and is never far from a stage.

When not writing, Chloe cooks with too much garlic, sharpens her eyeliner to a deadly point, and tries to accept that she’s turning into one of those people who only wears one color. (Pink.)

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Nov 24

Book Blitz: A Barista for Christmas by J Hali Steele (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  A Barista for Christmas

Author: J Hali Steele

Publisher: Changeling Press

Release Date: Dec 8, 2023

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 64 pages

Genre: Romance, Christmas Romance, Gay, Second Chance, Age Gap

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Synopsis

With a lot of hard work, Aspen Ferris’ dream of owning his own coffee shop has finally come true. Unfortunately, renovations are almost complete on a nearby mall that will house a chain coffee establishment. Not only that, Christmas is a few weeks away! When the electricity goes out at the mall, the construction company’s owner visits Asp’s store. Insulting the pushy brute gets Aspen thoroughly told off and… kissed! A kiss he can’t forget.

Dandridge St. Clare speeds to his worksite to handle an electric outage and misses his morning coffee. Locating a place to grab his caffeine fix, he’s offended by the barista at Your Coffee Cup. Anxious and upset, Dan pulls the man over the counter and can’t resist kissing the handsome jackass. On top of that, he enjoys the best cup of coffee ever. More unsettling still, he can’t erase the taste or feel of the man’s mouth. Dandridge returns for more of both.

The holidays are approaching and neither man expects much. Both get more than they bargained for.

Excerpt

A Barista for Christmas
J. Hali Steele
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2023 J. Hali Steele

Three stores from the corner, a wall of plate glass gave Aspen Ferris a great view all the way to the end of the block. He removed his net cap as he watched a big silver pickup emblazoned with a Rayburn & St. Clare Construction logo tool around the corner, causing a car to slam on brakes in the intersection. Tires screeching turned pedestrians’ heads. “Did you see that?”

“Wow!” Eric Winters, Asp’s oldest friend and partner, gawked over the counter. “Close call.”

“Animals. They’re animals.” Asp finished restocking the sugar packets in the ceramic bowls on each table, checking napkin holders and filling glasses with wooden stirrers as he made his rounds.

“Asp, don’t stoop to the level of name calling.”

“It’s true.” His mood darkened under Eric’s scolding. “They’re stone-aged he-men.”

“For goodness sakes. Stop.”

Almost complete, the renovations to the stores in the nearby strip mall included competition Aspen resented. The Bean and Leaf had already opened, and they were hanging dreadfully festive Christmas decorations all over the damn store. Aspen hated Christmas. Morning rush at his shop, Your Coffee Cup, had dwindled to a crawl. Staring out the window brought him no comfort. “Can you believe The Bean and Leaf is already prepared for the holidays? Thanksgiving is less than two weeks away and I haven’t even purchased decorations.” Malls nearer the city were probably alight with holiday cheerfulness and teeming with shoppers Asp had no wish to join. It seemed a trip to Walmart was in his future as he’d volunteered to shop for decorations, thinking it might help him get a handle on his angst regarding Christmas.

“At least business was brisk this morning.” Air huffed from Eric’s mouth. “Get prepared, Asp. It is our first winter open and people will decorate all around us. I know it’s not your thing.”

Not anymore. Aspen ignored his partner’s hint. “Traffic is picking up. It looks like the whole town is heading to grab a fancy cup of coffee and factory-produced pastry.”

Eric wiped around the coffee pot he had filled before coming to stand at a table near Aspen. “Most travel past here to get on the highway into Philly. You know that.”

“They’re going to kill our business just when we hoped to hire permanent staff.” Open twelve hours a day, six days a week, Aspen and Eric took turns working Saturdays with help of part time high school students. Sundays they were closed. “If we only had a few more months to get established. Why did the section of the building housing The Bean and Leaf have to be finished with its renovations before other shops?”

“Asp, Rayburn & St. Clare Construction provides jobs for struggling families in town.”

“We can’t compete with chain shop prices.” Asp sat on the windowsill. Pulling his legs up, he tucked knees under his chin.

“Don’t put your dirty shoes up there!”

“Sorry.” He settled his feet back on the floor. “Our coffee is better. Richer.”

“More expensive. Lowering prices, we might scrape by until people discover Your Coffee Cup serves the best in town. For now, Asp, we could buy pastries in bulk and forego homemade from the bakery across town. Maybe we should consider staying open later.”

“Your Coffee Cup is not a restaurant, Eric. We agreed six in the morning to get the early traffic and close at two. Now we’re coming in at five to set up and staying after five cleaning up since we serve food until four.”

“Business is better.”

“I yielded to your suggestion of salads and sandwiches along with a soda fountain, but this is a coffee house and we’re green. Doesn’t the environment mean anything?”

“Adding food, I don’t know if we’re just a coffee shop anymore. Our bottom line has improved with regular customers stopping in for meals to take home.” Eric sighed. “Hell, I don’t know if the idea of serving only coffee was ever feasible.”

“Our salads have become popular and most folks seem to appreciate our meats are sliced fresh for each sandwich.” Shaking his head, Asp added, “They’ll want french fries and a pickle next.”

“You’re right. We better order potato chips.” Eric laughed so hard, the table he rested his hip on squeaked against tile.

“Smart ass.”

Eric sighed. “If we had a dime for every time someone asked for a carryout coffee cup…”

“Your coffee cup. Bring your favorite travel container or we provide mugs they can use should they remain on site. And we do have carryout cups.”

“Go-green paper cups which sometimes spring a leak before they get out the door. And I’m doubling them to alleviate complaints.”

“I hoped we could make a difference.”

“I hoped to entice more of the workers from the site to at least see what we have to offer,” Eric shot back.

“Last thing we need. A bunch of rowdy construction workers tracking in.”

“If I recall correctly, big with an air of rowdiness is just your type. Anyway, they’ll be gone soon enough.” Eric winked. “Your loss. You need to get laid, my friend.”

Purchase

Changeling Press | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes | Smashwords

Meet the Author

Growl and roar — it’s okay to let the beast out. — J. Hali Steele

J. Hali Steele wishes she could grow fur, wings, or fangs, so she can stay warm, fly, or just plain bite the crap out of… Well, she can’t do those things but she wishes she could. A winning ex-quarter mile drag racer, J. Hali often angles to get her butt back in the driver’s seat!

Multi-published, best-selling author of romance in Paranormal, Fantasy, and Contemporary worlds which include ReligErotica and LGBTQ stories where humans, vampyres, shapeshifters, and angels collide—they collide a lot! When J. Hali’s not writing or reading, she can be found snuggled in front of the TV with a cat in her lap, and a cup of her favorite beverage of the moment.

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One lucky winner will receive a $10.00 Changeling Press Gift Code!

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Nov 21

New Release Blitz: Sugar and Ice by Eule Grey (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Sugar and Ice

Series: Kitten and Blonde, Book 1.5

Author: Eule Grey

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 11/21/2023

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 26100

Genre: Holiday Paranormal, Contemporary, paranormal, lesbian, British/Yorkshire, holiday/Christmas, news bloggers, mystery, witch, ghost hijinks, bakers, holiday baking, humorous, over forty, disability-confident, neurodivergence

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Description

Sugar, ice, and bumps in the night…

After a thrilling year of ghost-whispering, monster-chasing, and blogging for the Echo, Mave Kitten is keen to abandon her witchy hat for a well-earned break. Snowflakes are drifting in; the office is stuffed with fruit cake. How to win the pub karaoke without cheating (too much) is all that’s left to worry about.

Aside from fiddling the office’s debts and choosing a suitable karaoke costume, Lisa Blonde is also ready for the party season, not forgetting a crate of beer. As long as Mave’s happy, Lisa’s happy.

But best-laid plans can come unstuck for witches and their leather-clad familiars. The ghost of Jacky Frost blows in with the snow, demanding a playmate. How can Mave and Lisa say no to the dancing queen of ice? Even ghosts deserve a Christmas.

The playful ice queen goes viral, and the Echo unexpectedly gains hundreds of readers. Only a few gremlins remain: What of the Echo’s overdraft? Who’ll win the karaoke? Where’s Lisa’s motorcycle?

Kitten and Blonde: Holiday Baking Hijinks Mostly Paranormal. Sometimes alien. Always gentle.

Excerpt

Sugar and Ice
Eule Grey © 2023
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
The first fluffy snowflakes floated past the office window on Friday afternoon three weeks before Christmas. Mesmerised by crystalline sugar bombs descending in battalions of tiny white parachutes, bursting with glee, I hurried to the window.

“Eeeeee. Ooooo. Snowwwww.”

The weightless descent of the snowflakes eased the tension gnarling up my muscles. My shoulders—hunched past my ears from stress—relaxed for the first time in months.

I’d always loved the snow and everything it brought. Frozen puddles, frost-stiffened leaves, snow angels, death-defying sledges, snowball fights, hot chocolates heaped with marshmallows, and sweet kiddie choirs.

During the annual festivities the Echo was due to close for two weeks, and I couldn’t wait. Everyone was reeling from a long and arduous year, including yours truly. Fifteen hauntings, two monster searches, an alien brothel, and a tryst with the lizard lady of Ladybower Reservoir had fallen into my pile of to-dos during the last twelve months. Consequently, I was ready to hang up my witch toolkit for a few days of well-earned rest.

“Oo, Lise, look!”

The boss held up one finger, rigid with tension. “Two minutes.”

I held my breath.

The root of our anxiety was the financial report Lisa had all but completed. Compiling the lengthy document had taken months of work and required much patience from each member of the Echo’s employees—me, Lisa, and Penelope.

Our workforce enjoyed an equal distribution of labour. My contribution had been to make tea and to keep the biscuit jar filled to bursting. Lisa’s had been to manipulate monetary figures through a sweary haze, one eye closed. Penelope snoozed, paws in the air, perhaps dreaming of overdrafts.

Finally, at three anxious minutes to two, Lisa furiously poked one finger against her keyboard before heaving an expansive sigh that probably reached the northern pole. “Finished. Delivered. I doubt we’ll still be in business by Easter.” She pulled her Medusa face and made the slit throat gesture. “Accountants, ugh. Why must they be puritanical about zeros? It wasn’t like I meant to mix up the thousands with the tens.”

I was too relieved to listen well. The report had been on my mind since autumn when the accountant had unexpectedly appeared, brandishing threats of closure. Now it was finished, my brain demanded a rest. “Mm. Easily done. Well done, babe.”

It had been fifteen months since my employment commenced at the Echo. A day hadn’t passed without Lisa proclaiming the tiny newspaper where we worked debt-ridden and doomed. And yet, the journal continued churning out local stories and offering a home to our resident kitty, Penelope Sardine. Somehow, we three made the Echo work. My blogs about the paranormal and Lisa’s ‘cunning’ grant proposals brought in enough revenue to continue another month and then another, even if our wages had plummeted to the frugal depths of bugger all. With all of my heart, I trusted Lisa to secure the necessary dosh—she was leather-clad, six feet tall, and oozing with grr.

There were other concerns to think about. Lisa’s Christmas present, Dad’s arthritis, and—elixir of life—the fast-approaching Christmas karaoke showdown at The Grouse. Lisa and I had won the big prize back at Easter but later lost the Halloween crown to the vampire sisters of Whitby. Heck, I was bitter. A free tankard of Witches Tipple ale was not to be belittled. With finances tricky, any win was a grin, especially when accompanied by thunderous cheering. Even the pub gremlin, Pat, had admitted our rendition of “Bat out of Hell” had been impactful enough to shatter glass, though the stingy bastard hadn’t said we were good. Huh.

A firm grip on my shoulders saved me from the murky world of memories and brought me back into the office. I loved Lisa’s shoulder massages, often coinciding with a wee cuddle.

She pushed aside my hair and tickled my neck. “I’m on edge now. What’re you dreaming about, Mauvery? Is it me?”

I answered honestly; my voice turned mushy from the intimate pressure of her hands against my skin and the subsequent promise of spending the night at hers. “Always.” Lisa filled most of my waking hours and most of my sleeping time. “Forget about the report. It’s done, and there’s nothing more we can do. What are we going to sing at the karaoke? Only three weeks till the big day.” I couldn’t help a soupçon of yippee from entering my voice. “We’d better get cracking with rehearsals if we’re going to beat the fanged sisters.”

She nibbled my neck. “True. Did you know you taste of gingerbread?”

We hugged into Friday afternoon, a cherished time to forget niggly worries and welcome in the heady pleasures of pub singing. Lisa and I adored karaoke. Our weekly practice precipitated a wealth of welcome shenanigans, such as snogging and boogie-boogie. Both were vital components of a healthy life.

As Lisa’s nibbles reached the point of no return, more substantial snowflakes floated down in ever-increasing battalions.

I waved my pen towards the window. “Have you seen the forecast?” Because we both biked to work, we scrutinised the weather like meteorologists. A patch of black ice could potentially mean a broken wheel or worse. In our mountainous part of the north, snow could mean a total shutdown of roads and passes. At the first hint of snow, Yorkshire folk took up arms. Bus drivers refused to leave the depot, trains remained safely at stations, and workers hurtled through the white to get home however they could.

I wasn’t worried about a little white stuff. Lisa would take care of things, and her cottage was only a few miles from the Echo. We could walk to hers during heavy snowfall and snuggle up with Tom, her younger brother, for the weekend.

She blew a raspberry on my neck. “Meant to be a flutter today and then nothing till next week. The gritters have been out. He’s a devil in disguise.”

My poor brain—scatty at times—struggled to follow the conversational thread from ice into devils. I naturally assumed the devil to whom she referred was the accountant who’d chastised Lisa for glossing over the size of the Echo’s overdraft. “Disguised as what?”

Lisa perched her lovely self on the only posh stool we possessed—pink, transparent, bought from Salts Mill, no less—and squinted into the snowflakes gathering on the window ledge. “Oh? I never thought of costumes.” An irresistible energy lit her face. She rubbed her hands together gleefully. “Now you’re talking! We’d need wigs, and you could get away with a sexy white suit.” She flashed her molars. “The vampire sirens won’t stand a chance. You’re a genius, Mauve Mave.”

By then, I’d exited the arena of confusion and skidded right into the land of clueless. The only answer written on Lisa’s face was a glowing excitement you didn’t see enough of anymore. People were more often pinched about money and how to heat the house. The pursuit of fun for no other reason than its own sake seemed to have passed into yesterday, along with other stalwarts such as yo-yos.

I willingly dived into the glee shining from her eyes. Weary of the stresses and strains of life, I, too, ached to forget about adulthood, if only for a while. To live within a moment rather than being hammered by the past and the future.

So I agreed to her suggestions though I had no clue what she was on about. “Yeah! Wig and white suit.”

Lisa leaped to her feet and punched the air energetically. Her top rode up to reveal a very kissable belly button. The spectacle was marvellous, and I’d rather have turned into a toad than crush her enthusiasm. Hence my mini Friday dance. In the heady chaos, I clean forgot to worry about the dreaded report or if we’d have a job come January.

Just as a sprinkle of pure magic illuminated the afternoon, Lisa had to throw a figurative spanner into my happy cauldron. In a sexy, lasso-like action, she deftly threw me my coat.

“C’mon, chick. We’ve done enough work for one day. Let’s visit Jalila. There’s something you need to see. The roads are meant to be okay until Sunday. If we run, we’ll catch the twenty-past bus.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Eule Grey has settled, for now, in the north UK. She’s worked in education, justice, youth work, and even tried her hand at butter-spreading in a sandwich factory. Sadly, she wasn’t much good at any of them!

She writes novels, novellas, poetry, and a messy combination of all three. Nothing about Eule is tidy but she rocks a boogie on a Saturday night!

For now, Eule is she/her or they/them. Eule has not yet arrived at a pronoun that feels right.

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Nov 14

New Release Blitz: sub/Dom by Rab Green (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  sub/Dom

Author: Rab Green

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 11/14/2023

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 25000

Genre: Contemporary BDSM, businessmen, bears, dark, sex in public places, BDSM

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Description

Twelve hours wearing his collar—that’s how it starts. But where does it lead when you give yourself over to what you want the most? From sessions on cam to real-life meets, from twelve hours to three nights to nine years, handing over control can bring satisfaction and frustration in equal measure, and maybe something deeper than you could ever have hoped for.

Excerpt

Excerpt
sub/Dom
Rab Green © 2023
All Rights Reserved

I can’t do this.

We’ve only just entered the club, walked down the stairs, haven’t even got to the coat check at the bar, but this feeling in my gut is… What? What is it?

The half dark and bar lights, the men standing around, talking or checking each other out, voices raised against the thumping background music. And this feeling in my gut is—a thread, yanking me back to the first time I ever set foot in a gay bar. Standing here now, full-grown man, the years of experience and confidence I’ve built up are wiped away like all that time didn’t matter. Overwhelmed and exposed, desire laid bare to be judged.

I’d assumed tonight would be a fetish night, and tho there are a few guys stripped to the waist, one or two stripped down to their underwear, everyone else is dressed in their street clothes. And I see them, looking at him in his leather chaps and jeans, and looking at me, more like them, in plain jeans and T-shirt, except for what I’m wearing round my neck: the leather collar he put on me.

He’d said the walk from the apartment to the club was only five minutes. He either lied or got lost; we took the long scenic route. He took us through the busiest, well-lit streets of a Friday night in the city, so the collar round my neck could be seen by everyone and anyone who cared to look. And with him walking beside me—the sheer fucking leather horniness of him—I felt obvious and on show. By the time we got to the club, my brain felt fried and exhausted.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him watching me, and I know my panic is starting to show.

“I have to go.”

“Go?”

“I have to leave, I have to go—”

I stop myself from saying home because that would make me sound like a child, even tho that’s where I want to be.

“I want to go back to the apartment.”

“I don’t.”

He takes a slight step away from me, looks me up and down, and waits for me to admit—

“I can’t do this. Can I have the key?”

“To the apartment?”

There’s a small padlock on the collar; he has that key too.

“Yes, the apartment key. Can I—?”

“No.”

“But I want—”

“I don’t want to leave. There’s only one key, and I’m not giving it to you. I’m not going to waste my night wondering if you’ll still be awake to let me in or if you’d even still be there when I get back.”

“So what am I—?”

“You have your phone and your wallet. If you want to leave, find somewhere else to stay.”

“But—”

Is this it?

“My bag is at the apartment.”

“You can pick it up in the morning.”

Our first proper meet, ending like this.

I touch the collar.

“But what about—?”

“The key’s back at the apartment.”

“So I have to wear it? I can’t take it off if I leave?”

He shrugs.

“It’s leather. It’s not metal, it’s not welded on. If you want to take it off, you’ll take it off.”

I see it all fall away.

The engulfment of me, by him, that I’d willingly stepped into, gone.

Nothing’s keeping me here; he’s not keeping me here. I could leave, get a room in one of those dingy hotels round the station, stay there, get my bag in the morning, get the train home, all done, all doable—and it’s horrible to imagine.

He steps back towards me, hooks two fingers under the collar, pulls my face close to his.

“Twelve hours wearing my collar—that was the deal. I’m not the one going to break it.”

There’s a long bench attached to the wall to the side of the stairs we came down. He walks over and takes a seat, sits there, watching me, with his hands on his knees, legs wide apart, heavy boots planted solidly on the ground. And I know that position. It’s how he sat in the chair in the apartment earlier this evening.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Rab Green is a Scottish writer and artist living in London. He can be contacted via Twitter and his personal website.

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