Sunday, April 28, 2024
Sunday's Sport Stats: Dance On Ice by RJ Scott & VL Locey
Chesterford Coyotes #3
For the figure skater and the hockey player, their sport demands total devotion, but can falling in love come first?
My name is Shaun Stanton, and I’m bisexual.
In hockey-obsessed Chesterford Academy, Shaun Stanton stands out as the star player and captain of the Chesterford Coyotes, and his exceptional skills have already attracted the attention of NHL scouts. He lives and breathes hockey, but there’s more to his story. His father wants Shaun to be the star he never was, and their relationship is a complex mix of guidance and intimidation. Worse, while hockey is Shaun’s sanctuary and a key part of who he is, he harbors a secret his dad can never discover: Shaun is gay He’s caught between the future career he’s destined for, and the truth he has to hide. There’s one bright light in his life, the vibrant figure skater who shares the early morning practice ice, a friend he worries about, but has now become something more—Kenji is everything Shaun wants and can’t have.
My name is Kenji Kelly, and I need to be perfect.
Kenji Kelly is a young man who walks two worlds: his family is a beautiful mix of American and Asian cultures. He loves both figure skating and hockey, and he’s a out and proud pansexual teen. While it seems to the world around him he has it all, deep down Kenji has a secret that’s slowly becoming harder to conceal. His life is the ice and his coach does not believe in failure. The one person who knows his hidden secret is Shaun, the captain of the Coyotes and a friend from youth hockey days. Shaun’s gaze towards Kenji, once filled with concern, now seems to hold something deeper, unsettling Kenji but also igniting similar giddy, burgeoning feelings in him. As their feelings for each other become stronger, the secrets both young men carry grow heavier and more distressing with each passing day.
NB: Trigger warning for mention of an eating disorder.
I said with the other two entries in Chestorford Coyotes and I'll say it again here: with a few exceptions I generally haven't read YA since I was about 14 years old but as this series is part of the Scott/Locey Hockey Universe there was no way I wouldn't give it a go. And boy was I glad I did!
Dance on Ice is an emotionally charged read that will first break the heart but then repair and warm it too. You can't help but feel immense anger towards both Shaun's dad and Kenji's coach, Ilya. Will either be redeemable? For that you'll have to read Dance for yourself but I will say emotions run very high and not always very favorably.
Watching both Shaun and Kenji become the people they are meant to be is hugely gratifying. The bulk of the story is the now timeframe but through the boys' inner thoughts we get a sense of who they were before their friendship went down the crapper so seeing them move past that is as I said, gratifying but also extremely heartwarming.
Scott and Locey do a magnificent job telling Kenji's eating disorder and how it is always there, no matter how you get a hold on it with therapy and time, it will always be lingering, needing to be cared for. What I really loved was they not only tell Kenji's side but also the side of those who care about them, who want to help, who tend to put their foot in their mouth more times than they intend in their quest to help.
It was nice to see Trent from Deep Edge, book 3 in the authors' Harrisburg Railers, the original series that jumpstarted their hockey universe. I had a feeling he would make an appearance with the figure skating connection and the authors didn't disappoint.
Dance on Ice is a lovely story of hurt, comfort, friendship, young love, but above all healing on multiple levels. As far as I know, Dance is the last entry in this series but I for one would love to see a holiday story to see where our young couples are 5 or 10 years down the road. Dance may take you through an emotional wringer but in all the heart-filled amazing ways.
There was a heated exchange of words, Kenji skating backward and away, almost at center ice. All I needed to do was to push forward on one skate, and glide there, and we could say hello. We’d been best friends once, and if I apologized—if I was honest with him about how I’d messed up—maybe we could go back to being friends. As the argument escalated between my dad and Kenji’s coach, I felt a knot form in my stomach and I was paralyzed by my own insecurities. I watched Kenji and cursed myself for not having the courage to reach out to him.
Dad was becoming more animated, Kenji’s coach just as loud, gesticulating wildly.
I didn’t have the balls to skate to the center ice.
And Kenji didn’t turn to look at me.
Dad returned, as scarlet as me, but where my reaction was shame and confusion, his was temper and hatred.
“You’re sharing the ice,” he snapped.
He was so angry, and I didn’t know how to feel. He’d sacrificed everything for me; worked three jobs to keep me in hockey gear, drove me to every practice and game, and even volunteered as a coach for the team. The thought of letting him down filled me with guilt.
I owed him.
He’d poured his heart and soul into my hockey career, and it all centered on us practicing six days out of seven on this ice, and today we didn’t have the ice.
I should feel territorial, right? It was what Dad wanted me to feel, I was sure. Instead I felt… weird. Then something hit me. Why was I sharing the ice that was for the school? I was somewhere for the Academy teams to practice and play, and it wasn’t open to the public, courtesy of a shit ton of funding from very rich benefactors at our very wealthy campus. Why was someone from outside Chesterford Academy on our ice?
“They’ll let anyone join this damn school, freaking twirly shit getting in our way. Fucking girls out here on our ice.”
“He’s—”
“No!”
I wanted to defend Kenji, to explain that figure skaters were as valid as hockey players, same as I’d done when Kenji had left hockey for the figure skating and begged to be allowed to be friends with him still. But my dad’s hatred had spilled over and scared me.
“Shut your mouth and listen up,” Dad snapped. His reaction stung, his threats left me feeling powerless and defeated, and small.
So small.
“Figure skaters are boys as well,” I word-vomited, thankful the boards were between me and him when Dad stiffened and sent me a stare that would kill other people. Dad had never touched me, apart from fixing my hockey hold, or straightening my back, but his expression was murderous, and that meant the curses would fly and he’d take out his impotent rage on me with words. He leaned over the barrier, and my heart skipped, my chest tightened. I held my position and tilted my chin as he lowered his voice, hate dripping from every word.
Saturday's Series Spotlight
Road to the Stanley Cup Edition
🏒👨❤️👨🏒💖👬💖🏒👨❤️💋👨🏒
Writing love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee.
(Not necessarily in that order.)
She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand.
Dance on Ice #3
Harrisburg Railers Series
Owatonna U Series
B&N / iTUNES / SMASHWORDS
KOBO / WEBSITE / GOODREADS TBR
Arizona Raptors Series
B&N / iTUNES / SMASHWORDS
KOBO / WEBSITE / GOODREADS TBR
Boston Rebels Series
B&N / iTUNES / SMASHWORDS
KOBO / WEBSITE / GOODREADS TBR
Saturday, April 27, 2024
Saturday's Series Spotlight: Soulmates by Felice Stevens
Summary:
Carter Haywood lives for the weekends—specifically the one weekend every month when he escapes real life, with all the pressures of work and caring for his special needs brother, to do whatever he wants, with whomever he wants. Sex is only a release; he's not looking for love, a relationship or even a second night with the same man, until he walks into a bar and finds someone who makes leaving it all behind impossible. After one incredibly passionate encounter, he breaks his rule and goes back. He needs to see this man again. And again.
Damaged goods. That's all Reed Kincaide sees and hears when he looks in the mirror. Anxiety and ADHD define his life and he’s learned to keep people at a distance, never letting them get close enough to know who he really is. When Carter proposes a monthly weekend of sex without strings, it's the ideal arrangement for him. Or so he thinks. Every month, leaving Carter proves to be more and more difficult. It’s not only the intensely hot sex they have in their hotel suite; Reed wonders about the secret life Carter refuses to share.
As months pass and they grow closer Reed finds himself falling for Carter, but he needs more than hurried hugs and farewell kisses. He wants it all. Letting Reed into his carefully constructed family life could upset Carter’s whole world, but it might be the risk he’s finally willing to take, if it means keeping Reed. Once bodies are engaged, the heart is sure to follow, and Carter and Reed discover that holding on to each other is the first step in letting go of the past.
Summary:
When a brutal attack from a jealous competitor leaves Noah Strauss, darling of the modeling world, physically scarred and emotionally damaged, he quits the runway to become a psychologist. Using his contacts from his time in the spotlight, he creates One Call Away, a radio show dedicated to gay men looking for love, advice or someone to talk to. But with secrets of his own and a mother who refuses to understand the career path he's chosen, the one person Noah can't seem to help is himself.
On a drunken dare from the senior partner's grandson, Oren Leavitt calls Noah’s radio show, pretending to be gay. Only Oren isn't certain if he's pretending. He's left his strict Orthodox Jewish upbringing behind, but the guilt remains. Guilt that his actions have prevented his sister from finding a husband and guilt that he's failed his parents. Talking to "Dr. Noah" helps, and as he finds himself calling the man again and again, he knows he must be honest. But Oren is unsure if he's lying to Noah or himself.
For Noah, trust is paramount; he's been deceived in his personal and professional life and while he desperately wants to help Oren, he also finds himself falling for the sweet and tortured man. Oren is trapped: he risks losing his job and more importantly the love and security of his family but knows he can't hide if he wants to be with Noah.
When unresolved heartaches from the past rise up to control the present, Noah and Oren discover that love often comes from the most unexpected places, and sometimes a call for help not only saves a life, it can be a new and beautiful beginning.
Summary:
It’s been a year full of love and learning for Carter and Reed. But marriage and caring for Jacks means less time for the two of them to be together. With Carter away on a business trip during Valentine’s Day, Reed returns to help out at the bar where he and Carter first met, so he wouldn’t be alone. Unbeknownst to Reed, Carter has a surprise planned for the two of them. One that will let his husband know exactly how much he is loved.
This is a 6,700 word short story in the Soulmates series about finding the one person who completes you and never letting them forget how much they are loved.
Despite multiple degrees and business success, in his heart Jeremy Strauss feels he’s never measured up. While he hasn’t lacked for men or women to share his bed, Jeremy has yet to find someone who sees beyond his muscles and perfect smile. Taking it slow with a lover isn’t how he operates, but something about the shy accountant he rescues in a snowstorm makes him want this time to be different. So what if Blake drops little comments here and there about Jeremy’s pretty face? Their relationship is perfect.
Or is it?
Lonely most of his life, Blake Myers is as careful with his heart as he is with a balance sheet. The last thing he expects is for a man like Jeremy to fall for him, and he can't help but wait for the bubble to burst on their relationship. When the stress of a professional crisis turns personal, Blake sees the perfect relationship he and Jeremy have built start to crumble. Caught in an ever-tightening web of lies, rather than wait for Jeremy to leave him, Blake breaks it off and vanishes.
Perfection is an illusion.
Jeremy doesn’t know which way to turn and for the first time in his life, he’s lost and uncertain. Believing he’s no longer the man Jeremy needs, Blake sinks deeper into despair. Both men struggle with secrets, lies, and hurtful memories until they are forced to look inside their hearts and learn the truth—that love is perfectly imperfect.
The Arrangement #1
Chapter One
“Come on, Jackson, you know it’s only for a few days. I’ll be back late Sunday night.”
Carter Haywood kneeled on the front stoop of the house he shared with his ten-year-old half-brother and forced a smile. As he did every month, Carter wrestled with his guilt and wondered if he was being selfish by leaving for the weekend. He loved his little brother dearly, and where most of his acquaintances spent their nights and weekends either hooking up at bars if they were single or being all domesticated and cute if they were married, Carter went straight home and did homework, worked on therapy exercises, and before he fell asleep, jerked off to nameless, sometimes even faceless guys whose profiles he saw online.
With certainty, Carter knew if he didn’t get away on these monthly jaunts, the pressure of not only his job, but being the sole caretaker of a child with special needs would consume him, and he might end up resentful and angry. Carter had precious little time to call his own. Not to mention it was the only opportunity he had carved out for actual physical sex with a person instead of his hand. And tonight would have to be the only night this weekend for fun and games, as he had a charity function on Saturday night that as a board member, he had to attend. Alone.
Sex with whatever man he’d find this weekend was the furthest thing from Carter’s mind at the moment, with Jackson’s soulful gray eyes gazing up at him, glittering with unshed tears. Carter felt like an absolute shit and was about to say fuck it, and stay, when Helen, knowing how he tortured himself every month, took control and said in her most cheerful voice, “Jackson will have the best time this weekend. After therapy tomorrow we’re going to go to the Hall of Science, right?” With genuine fondness, she placed her hands on Jacks’s shoulders and gave him a gentle squeeze.
In a flash, Jackson’s mood shifted, and his face lit up. “Yes.”
Carter relaxed at his brother’s spoken word. From the start, Jackson had been heartbreakingly silent, only occasionally verbalizing in school and at home. Recently, the paraprofessional who sat with Jacks during school reported he’d begun to participate in classroom discussion, and it gave Carter a little more positive reinforcement that all the therapy and help he’d given Jacks worked. And their neighbor Helen, a retired special education teacher, was probably the one person in the world he trusted to leave Jackson with.
“Go on, Carter. You know we’ll be fine.” Her reassuring smile took the edge off the constant worry that gnawed at him that no matter how much he did—the different therapies, the psychiatrist, the medications—it was never enough. That he wasn’t equipped to handle a child with problems. The last thing he wanted to do was fail his brother; all they had was each other.
“I’ll bring you back a present, Jacks. A surprise.”
Carter wasn’t certain Jackson always understood him, but by his bright smile and unexpected hug, he knew he’d been given the green light to leave. Swallowing down his emotions, he passed his hand over his eyes in an attempt to brush away the wetness and was met with Helen’s tender look.
“I’ll call you tonight and send you a video as usual. Maybe we’ll make cookies; how about that, Jacks?” She deliberately turned them both away to head back inside the house as Carter juggled his garment bag and small overnight case and hurried down the steps to the black car idling at the curb. Traffic into the city on any night was a bitch, but on a Friday night it could actually take an hour from his house in Brooklyn to the hotel he always stayed at in Times Square.
“Sorry to make you wait, Harry, but we’re ready to roll. I’m gonna take a nap.”
“Go for it, Carter. I’ll wake you up when we get there. Might as well rest up for the weekend.”
What used to stir his blood in his mid-twenties didn’t set him off now that he was thirty-two. Attracting guys had never been a problem for him; he’d been fucking guys since he was sixteen and walked in on Troy Latham jerking off in the shower after football practice. His dick hardened at the memory of Troy’s wet lips sucking him off as hot water spilled down over them and him sinking into Troy’s tight ass later on in the back seat of his car.
No, finding guys to fuck wasn’t an issue. Over the years, it had been easy enough to walk away in the morning before the man had the chance to walk away from him. He’d learned long ago to hold on to that power; never let them see you cry or hurt. Never let them think you might care—it made you vulnerable, weak, and at risk. The problem was, how long could he go on taking one weekend a month to screw his brains out, leaving the rest of his life devoid of human touch?
Yet Carter smothered any thoughts of a relationship or even dating. He couldn’t take the chance and disrupt Jackson’s life by bringing a stranger into their little family unit. It had taken almost a year for Jacks to learn to trust him after their mother dumped him off and ran, and Carter wasn’t about to jeopardize his young brother’s health for a random piece of ass.
The car bumped its way onto the entrance ramp to the Brooklyn Bridge, and Carter slouched in the soft leather seat, the prospects of a nap long forgotten. In his twenties he’d been busy building up his business; he’d meet someone in a bar, and they’d hook up once, never twice. His schedule of late night meetings and constant travel precluded any serious dating. Then it seemed he blinked and here he was in his early thirties and alone.
His phone buzzed, and his lips curved in a smile when he saw Helen had uploaded a video of her and Jacks already making the promised cookies. How wrong he was—he wasn’t alone. No matter how crappy a day he had, coming home to the innocence of his little brother always chased away the darkness inside, if only for a little while.
Harry pulled up in front of the hotel in Times Square, and Carter, still watching the video, opened the car door and absentmindedly said, “Good night, Harry. See you here on Sunday.”
“Have a good one, Carter.”
“You too.”
Hefting his bags, Carter kept walking and watching the video. God knows, he didn’t ever want kids of his own and barely tolerated other people’s children, but when Jacks faced the camera and gave him a shy wave, Carter’s heart seized up in his chest. He touched the screen as if it would bring him closer to the little boy he’d left behind.
Restless and edgy after checking in, Carter knew it was too early to go out, so he stripped and got into the shower. The hot water beating down on his tight shoulders achieved its desired effect; his muscles loosened and conversely his dick hardened. He might as well take the edge off now, Carter mused as he took himself in hand and with practiced strokes that had him quivering within minutes, brought himself to a climax onto the shower floor. His breath hitched in his throat, and he blinked several times to bring his surroundings back into focus. His strength sapped, Carter watched the running water mixed with his semen swirl down the drain.
A familiar lassitude stole through him, and Carter now craved that nap he didn’t catch on the car ride over. After a quick soap and rinse off, he wrapped himself in the terrycloth robe kindly provided by the hotel, then lay down on the king-size bed and let sleep overtake him, wondering who’d be sharing the bed with him tonight.
Six hours later, Carter sat hunched over his drink at the last bar he planned on hitting up that evening. Although he’d danced and drank at several other places, no one had caught his eye long enough to make him look twice. This place wasn’t a gay bar, but it happened to have an extremely good-looking male population, and Carter spotted some potential bed partners, including the sexy bartender he believed had been sending him signals, although he seemed delightfully shy about it. He liked the man’s strong neck and full, plush lips and imagined them wrapped around his cock.
Noticing his glass was empty, Carter lifted it to catch the bartender’s attention and winked when their eyes met. At the sight of the blush staining the bartender’s face under the obligatory scruff, Carter surmised he might have found his playmate for the evening.
Carter’s eyes narrowed in appreciation as he watched the man approach him in skinny black jeans and a tight white T-shirt that clung to his muscular forearms and chest. Imagining this man on top of him in bed, sliding inside him, Carter nearly shivered in anticipation. His body pulsed with the familiar slow rise of hunger.
“Wow. Either you really want another drink, or…” The bartender quirked a brow. Carter wondered if he waxed or kept his natural happy trail down to his groin. Carter loved investigating that line of hair down a man’s sculpted abs with his lips and tongue.
“Both.” Carter flung a fifty on the bar. “I want another Grey Goose on the rocks now,” said Carter, crooking his finger at the bartender, who sidled closer to hear what Carter had to say over the boom of the music. “And when I finish with the drink I want to take you back with me and drink you down.”
Startled, the man ran his hand through the golden-brown waves tumbling over his forehead and gave a shaky laugh. “That’s crazy. You’re not serious.” At the sight of Carter’s unsmiling face, he swallowed hard. “You are serious. Shit, I can’t—”
“You can do anything you want.” Carter gripped the man’s wrist, then slowly rubbed the pad of his thumb up and down the underside of his arm. Almost immediately the man responded, his amber eyes shooting off fiery sparks of gold. Carter pulled him closer, and the man yielded until he leaned over the bar and his lips came dangerously close to brushing Carter’s. “What’s your name?”
“Reed.”
“Well, Reed,” said Carter, pausing to lick his lips and in the process touching Reed’s pouty bottom lip with his tongue. “What do you say?”
Almost laughing at the dazed expression of lust in Reed’s eyes, Carter took a chance and kissed him, sucking that plush lower lip inside his mouth. Reed rewarded him with a moan of pleasure so deep and guttural, Carter almost climaxed in his pants.
When they finally broke apart, Carter made sure to keep a tight hold of Reed’s wrist. “So? Are you coming with me?” Out of every man he’d seen tonight, Carter wanted Reed with an urgency he hadn’t anticipated. There was nothing extraordinary to set him apart from the other good-looking men standing about the bar. Yet Carter couldn’t let go of his wrist, and even now, with his heart still stuttering and Reed regaining his composure, Carter wanted to kiss him until the rest of the world spun away, rendering them both senseless again.
“Um.” Reed consulted his watch. “My shift doesn’t end for another hour.”
“I’ll wait,” said Carter without hesitation. “And I’ll take that Grey Goose now.” He stroked Reed’s fine, thin skin. “But with a twist this time.”
Reed’s eyes widened, and his nostrils flared. Unconsciously he leaned forward and triumph surged through Carter.
Yeah, that’s right, baby. Smell me; you know you want it. Carter quirked a brow, and Reed jerked back to awareness and pulled his arm away. Shooting Carter frequent dubious looks, Reed made him his drink and proceeded to set it on the bar quick enough that Carter couldn’t make a grab at him again. He backed away and began to twist at the cords of his leather bracelet.
Chuckling to himself, Carter sat there for the next hour and sipped his drink, getting just the right buzz on to the point where he could forget everything else in his life except the man who’d be coming back to his room tonight with him.
He looked up from his now-empty glass to find Reed standing beside him, wearing a beat-up leather jacket. “I-I’m finished with my shift now, but I’m not sure—”
“Not sure about what?” Carter stood and slipped his arm around Reed’s waist, inside his jacket. His warmth enveloped Carter, and strangely enough, he wanted desperately to sink into Reed’s arms. Reed tensed, and Carter felt the flex and play of his muscles underneath his clothing.
“I want you, you know that. And you want me too; it’s obvious. It’s only sex.”
“Yeah, I know that, but still.” Reed chewed his lip, suddenly looking very young and vulnerable, and an uneasy thought crept into Carter’s mind.
“How old are you?” Carter asked and held his breath.
“Twenty-seven. I know I look younger, but…”
Relief poured through Carter. A nervous lover he could handle. Still holding Reed around his waist, Carter moved even closer, fitting their hips together, letting Reed feel the weight of his arousal through his jeans.
“I want you to fuck me,” he whispered into the startled man’s ear. “Make me scream.” He bit Reed’s earlobe, and that gasping groan was the only sound playing in his universe. “And then I’m going to do the same to you.” Reed sagged in his arms, and Carter laughed his victory into Reed’s curls. “Let’s go.”
The two of them threaded their way through the crowd, Carter keeping a strong hold on Reed. It seemed his chosen companion for the evening proved very popular, and Carter noticed more than one man shooting him envious looks.
That’s right; he’s mine. Look but no touch.
Yellow cabs idled outside, waiting for the outpouring of customers exiting the bar. Carter opened the door to one, pushed Reed inside, and followed him, squashing him up against the far door.
“The West Hotel, Times Square.”
The cab lurched forward, and Carter used the opportunity to cage Reed between his arms and kiss him until his head swam. This part of the game, learning the other man’s mouth and tongue, was Carter’s favorite part of foreplay, and he took advantage of the short traffic jam to cup Reed’s face in the palms of his hands and deepen his kiss.
What he didn’t expect was the intensity of Reed’s response—hesitant at first, then a shift toward acceptance where their tongues slid together. Their mouths slanted across each other, feeding off a mutual need to taste and possess. The softness of Reed’s lips intoxicated, his warm, heady scent aroused him to an almost feverish excitement, and Carter found himself drowning in a desire so thick and overpowering he nearly stopped breathing.
Only the jerk of the cab stopping brought Carter back to reality.
“Yo. We’re here, buddy.”
The fog of lust that addled his brain lifted, and Carter fumbled in his wallet for his credit card, then ran it through the machine. It didn’t matter that he was in the back of a smelly New York cab. If he could’ve, he’d have remained there tasting Reed’s lips all night.
He pulled Reed out of the cab, and with that same surprisingly protective arm clamped around Reed’s waist as before, Carter strode to the elevator, his nerves buzzing with anticipation. His lips still tingled from their earlier kisses. Reed remained silent, his eyes wide with curiosity, taking everything in. He hadn’t said a word since they left the bar.
The elevator whooshed up to his floor, and within moments they reached the door to his room. Carter swiped his card key, and they tumbled inside, ripping off shirts, pulling down zippers, and tugging off jeans and shoes until the clothes all lay in a pile at their feet. Neither of them had moved from the entrance, and Carter, fully naked, plastered himself against an equally naked and fully aroused Reed. Carter’s fingers curled against the doorframe, and he buried his face in the curve of Reed’s neck.
“Fuck, I want you.” It wasn’t that he hadn’t been with another man in a month. It was Reed. Carter wanted him. Now. The smoothness of Reed’s skin, his thick cock pressing against Carter’s, the feel of his stubble scratching and burning as their cheeks slid together amped up his arousal to the point where he was about to splinter apart. Helpless, he thrust his rigid cock against Reed’s, shamelessly pinning him to the door until with a shuddering cry he came, spurting all over Reed’s stomach.
To his surprise, Reed took him around the waist and led him farther inside the hushed room. The maid had been in and turned down the sheets, and in a corner a dim light glowed golden, casting shadows. Carter lay face down on the bed, his head turned to the side, watching Reed watch him.
“What do you want from me?”
Spreading his legs in a silent invitation, Carter kept his gaze on Reed’s face and registered his surprise.
“Oh. I thought you were kidding before.”
“I never kid. I don’t have the time.” With a tip of his head Carter indicated his duffel bag sitting on the floor next to the bed. “In the outside pocket are condoms and lube.”
Somewhere in the distance, a radio played soft music, and Carter let the familiar, post-sex languor steal through his body. Reed gave him a hard look but said nothing; he reached over to unzip the pocket and pull out a box of condoms and a tube.
“I see you came prepared for the weekend.”
“Yeah,” said Carter, a mirthless smile thinning his lips. “I’m a real boy scout.”
Reed put his knee on the bed and leaned over to kiss the back of Carter’s neck. Within moments, Carter found himself unashamedly moaning and writhing beneath the efforts of Reed’s eager and agile tongue as it left a warm, wet trail down his spine.
“Oh, fuck, that’s good. Don’t stop.” His hands scrabbled at the sheets, twisting them into sweaty knots. Everything in Carter’s mind—his home, his business, even Jacks—faded away as Reed’s mouth licked, sucked, and nibbled at his quivering body.
“Please,” he moaned. Carter hardly recognized that desperate and needy voice as his own, and was so far gone he didn’t care. “Please.” A ceiling of gold shimmered above him, growing brighter with each sweep of Reed’s tongue. Reed’s cool, slick fingers parted his ass, and a finger brushed his hole, then sank inside, working its way in and out. It was soon joined by another, and they both kept up a steady, pumping motion while his body hummed, on fire.
“Fucking hell,” he cried out, his cock once again painfully hard. His ass was up in the air, his legs spread wide, and Carter opened himself with complete abandon as he worked himself on Reed’s hand, uncaring how he might look. Sparks flew from that golden ceiling, and Carter trembled in anticipation of it shattering.
“No hell,” whispered Reed in Carter’s ear. “I’m about to take you to heaven.”
Then he was empty and bereft, Reed having removed his fingers. Carter wanted to protest, wanted to be filled again, when the head of Reed’s cock pushed into his hole.
“Uhh.” He grunted with the effort to relax. “Fucking shove it in me. I want it all.” It was as if knowing he only had tonight, Carter wanted it as hard and fast as he could, to wring as much pleasure out of his body as possible before he had to shutter it all down for another four weeks of darkness.
If he thought Reed was about to listen to his demands though, Carter was mistaken. Reed pulled him on his knees to the edge of the bed while he stood and fit his body to the curve of Carter’s back. Their torsos pressed close, and with his arm firmly wrapped around Carter’s chest, Reed began a slow, sensual rocking motion, his thick cock sliding inside Carter’s body, deep and strong. A wave of hunger, incredible in its neediness, rose within him to be taken, and Carter leaned back against Reed, blindly searching for his mouth. With a strong hand on Carter’s face, Reed took his lips in a bruising kiss while his other hand slid down to grab hold of Carter’s now-straining cock.
They kept up that rocking, sliding, stroking motion, Carter trembling with the effort of holding himself together until that golden ceiling eclipsed, showering bright shards of light behind Carter’s eyes. He came again, though it was a much sweeter, less fiery release. Reed lasted only moments longer, pumping hard, coming hot and heavy inside the condom, sobbing out his climax as he collapsed on top of Carter, pushing him face down on the bed.
They lay together, the sweat on their drenched bodies drying off in the air-conditioned cool of the room, and Carter found himself dozing once again, drained from the emotions of the day and the incredible sex he’d experienced. Reed pulled out of him, and with one eye cracked open, Carter tracked him as he tossed the used condom in the trash, then went to the bathroom. He heard the sound of the toilet flush and water run, and he used the last of his strength to wiggle under the covers. For a moment he considered asking Reed to stay, but that would get awkward in the morning. Besides, Jacks always got up early, and they had breakfast together over Skype.
“Make sure when you leave that the door shuts behind you. Thanks for everything.”
He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
One Call Away #2
Chapter One
“You’re listening toOne Call Away, New York City’s only relationship advice show on the radio catering exclusively to gay men. I’m Dr. Noah Strauss, and we’ll be right back after a short commercial break.”
The sounds of an antacid commercial piped into his headphones, and Noah pulled them off to give his ears a break for a minute. His tech, Joey, handed him a bottle of water, and Noah gave him a grateful smile then took a deep swallow.
“Ahh, thanks. That’ll keep me well lubricated until the show is finished.”
Joey spewed his own drink into his lap and wiped his mouth on his oversized NYU sweatshirt. With a mop of brightly dyed blond hair smoothed under a knit cap, black-framed glasses, and skinny jeans, Joey looked exactly like the typical Brooklyn hipster from Williamsburg or Greenpoint he delighted in muttering snarky comments about under his breath. When Noah pointed that fact out to Joey, the young man stared at him in disgust, insisting he was the real thing, and having been born and bred in Brooklyn, he had the right to say what he wanted, unlike the others who were nothing more than “interlopers, posers, and the Bridge and Tunnel crowd.”
“Nice play on words there, Doc.”
Noah rolled his eyes. “Not everything is sexual, you know.”
“Hey, I call it as I see it. And besides, you’re the one who’s making the connection.” He smirked, and Noah wondered why he bothered to engage. He never came out ahead in these weekly verbal-sparring matches. Joey was too quick.
The commercial finished, and Noah waited until Joey cued him to begin. He nodded, and Joey pointed to the flashing console, indicating phone calls waiting to be answered.
“Good evening. This is Dr. Noah. What would you like to talk about tonight?”
Thus began the last half hour of his weekly two-hour relationship show. He’d been doing the same time slot, Sunday nights from eight to ten p.m., for two years now, and from the first, he’d been busy fielding calls ranging from teenage angst and puppy love to the more serious issues of health scares and coming out to family members, friends, and coworkers. It provided a service he hoped helped his community and selfishly, kept him from dwelling on his nonexistent personal life.
“Hi, Dr. Noah, it’s Stuart. How are you tonight?”
Stuart, one of his regulars, called in every Sunday night to chat about his week and claim this would be the week he would look for an apartment and move out of his parents’ house. A relatively drama-free call, which Noah was happy for. His own week had sucked, and he wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl into bed.
“Hi, Stuart. How’d the week go for you?”
“Great. I have news.” The bubbly voice in the headphones, so different from Stuart’s normal depressing monotone, gave Noah hope Stuart had finally made a breakthrough.
“Tell us. Did you find a job?” In addition to apartment hunting, Stuart had been searching for a job and a boyfriend. The trifecta of life.
“Better than that. Remember, I told you about my college reunion and how I didn’t want to go?”
“Yes. We discussed how you should make the effort and try to speak to at least three new people.”
“I did, and it worked. I met a guy, and we’ve seen each other every day since then. We have so much in common it’s scary. And,” said Stuart, his voice racing to catch up with his enthusiasm, “I got a call back from that graphic design company you told me to try for, and they want me to come in for a second interview.”
I should take my own advice, Noah thought bitterly but forced a smile into his voice. “Good for you. I told you things would start happening if you only put yourself out there.”
“I had to call and thank you. I’d never have been able to do any of it without your help and encouragement.”
“You’re welcome, but you already had it inside you. I merely enabled you to see your own strength. Make sure you check in and let us know how it’s going.”
“I will.”
And he clicked off. Another happy customer.
“Next call’s on line two, Noah. I couldn’t get a name out of him. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”
His interest piqued, Noah nodded at Joey to start the call. “Good evening. This is Dr. Noah. Who am I speaking with?”
“Uh…I’d rather not say.”
Noah heard muffled sounds in the background he thought might be other voices, but though he strained to listen, it was impossible to tell.
“That’s fine. How can I help you?”
“Well, uh, since I was a kid, I knew I was different. Like, I knew I was interested in boys, but I didn’t want the kids to call me queer or anything. I wanted to fit in.”
His pulse quickening, Noah leaned forward in his seat. This. This was why he became a psychologist. These were the calls that drove his soul.
“Of course. I understand. Can I ask how old you are?”
“I’m twenty-eight.”
“And have you ever had an intimate relationship with a man?”
Again, Noah heard sounds in the background.
“Are you alone?”
The noises in the background silenced.
“Yeah, of course I am. I’m in the back of a cab, that’s all.”
That explained it. “So,” said Noah, prodding gently, not wanting to scare him off, “have you?”
“Um, well, in college I fooled around a little with guys but I was always scared.”
“Did you go out with women?” Certain of the answer, Noah wanted to keep the man talking. The emptiness in his voice touched Noah like no other caller had in quite a while.
“Yeah, of course. I had girlfriends; I had to, you know. But I don’t want to be like this anymore…”
“It’s understandable. It’s hard living a double life.”
“Yeah.” The guy’s voice rose in his effort to explain. “I see all these famous people coming out, and no one gives a damn, you know? So why am I still afraid? I’ve never told anyone. Not my family, my friends…”
“Why not? Do you think they wouldn’t accept you?” Noah’s heart broke for the guy. He’d never had that issue. Spoiled since birth, Noah had only known love and affection from his parents, and as the baby of the family, his brother and sister adored him. Even when he’d come out, it wasn’t a big deal since his brother, Jeremy, had already announced he was bisexual. His mother didn’t care about his sexuality as long as he stayed the course she had planned for his life.
“No, I know they wouldn’t. Don’t get me wrong. I have great parents and two sisters I love, except for the fact that they constantly keep trying to fix me up with their girlfriends.”
“So why can’t you tell them?”
Silence.
“Hello? Are you there?”
“Um, this was a stupid idea. I have to go.” The phone went dead, and Noah was left with nothing but empty air space hissing in his headset.
Wide-eyed, Joey stared at him and made a spinning movement with his finger. Say something, he mouthed, and Noah scrambled to fill the void.
“Um, I think we may have gotten cut off. If you’re listening, please call back. I’d love to continue our talk. While we wait, I’ll take another call. Hello, Brady from the Upper West Side, this is Dr. Noah. What would you like to talk about?”
Brady, another regular caller, suspected his boyfriend of cheating because he walked in on him checking out other guys’ profiles on a dating website. And though Noah thought it likely Brady was correct—after all, someone in a healthy relationship doesn’t have an account on a hook-up app to meet other men—he advised Brady to sit down and talk to his boyfriend calmly and not to get hysterical and accusatory.
The last half hour came to a close and still no call back from the mysterious man. Noah had no idea why the call affected him so; he’d had other callers before with personal issues or who’d hung up on him. But the melancholy voice sounded so wounded—as if at some point heartbreak had settled in his soul and he didn’t know how to evict it. Or had given up trying.
“I know you’re obsessing over that caller, but there’s nothing you can do.” Joey pulled off his headset and stretched. “He’ll never call back, and for all you know it was a prank.”
“I don’t think so.” Noah gnawed on a fingernail, staring into space. “I’ve heard enough over the years to know. That man is lost and in trouble.”
“Trouble how?”
That was the point. Noah didn’t know the whole picture, but from the little he’d heard, hiding his sexuality tore the guy to pieces, putting him possibly on the brink of a breakdown, or something worse. People say eyes are the windows to the soul, but over the telephone, Noah didn’t have that luxury. He had to rely on voice alone.
“In his heart and head. Maybe tormented is a better word. I’ve been lucky in that my family accepted both my brother and me. But living in the closet is hell. Imagine having to pretend you’re someone you’re not—dating a woman, maybe forcing yourself to kiss her when you’d rather be with a man.”
“That’s rough, dude. I couldn’t do it.”
Noah gave him a tight smile. “Sure, you could. You’d have to; what other choice would you have if you knew your family not only wouldn’t accept you but would kick you out and ostracize you?”
Joey pulled off his beanie and swept the floppy bangs off his forehead, then tugged the hat back on. “I thought here in the city people were more cool about it. I mean, it’s New York. Anything goes.”
“Sure. As long as it doesn’t make too many people feel uncomfortable. And you forget religious and conservative people still exist who don’t like seeing same-sex couples together. Period. My brother gets a whole different vibe from people when he walks down the street holding a woman’s hand than when he’s holding a guy’s hand. People proclaiming ‘love thy neighbor’ have called him every name in the book.”
“That’s fucked up.”
Joey Prescott: master of succinct one-liners.
“If this is what our mystery man is facing, he might have reached a point where the pressure of being gay and hiding it from his family, friends, and work boiled over to where it’s become untenable.”
The majority of his calls dealt with love-life problems—finding a new love, breaking up with an old one, or how to keep the spark alive in a relationship. For a call concerning coming out to family members, Noah often suggested an in-person session to be able to properly discuss the issues. This man never gave him that chance.
Joey propped his chin in his hands. “Yeah. I get it. Who’s screwing who is bullshit, but family crap needs more than a few minutes on the phone. That shit can fuck you up for life.”
“Sure, it can. But don’t kid yourself; a relationship with the wrong person can also ruin you.”
After more than a decade alone, he’d taken a step, believing himself ready to pick up his tattered life and begin again. Noah had opened himself up to a man and thought he’d fallen in love, only to have that lie in smoking ruins not quite a year later.
“Is that why you don’t date? You got burned?”
Normally, Joey couldn’t wait to leave after the end of the show. They’d worked together now for two years, and today marked the first time he’d asked Noah a personal question. Obviously, Joey hadn’t dug too deeply into Noah’s background before starting the tech job with him; otherwise, he’d have read about Noah’s disastrous professional and personal life.
“You might say that.”
“If you want my opinion—”
“Which you’re going to give me whether I ask for it or not, right?” Noah waved his hand. “Go on, I’m kidding. I’d love to hear you psychoanalyze me. You’ve been listening to my advice now long enough. I’m sure you’ve picked up a thing or two.”
“I sure have. And the way I see it, you’re afraid to take another chance ’cause you don’t want to get hurt again. Avoidance, I think I’ve heard you call it?”
Who thought the kid listened under the smirk and all that hair? Uncomfortable with Joey’s too-close-to-the-mark analysis, Noah shifted in his chair and tugged his knit hat farther down on his head. “Yeah? I’m not afraid.”
Joey shot him a triumphant look. “Man, you haven’t been out with a guy since you broke up with what’s his name last year.”
“Leon?” Even the sound of his name all these months later caused a painful clench in Noah’s gut.
“Yeah, that douche. You couldn’t pick a guy with a stupider name—Leon.” Joey shook his head in obvious disgust, and Noah smiled despite himself. Joey had never liked Leon and loved teasing him about his name.
“For all the words you lay on people, you need to take your own advice. He cheated on you, right?”
Noah’s smile faded. “Must we do this? Don’t you have a date or anything better to do?”
“Nah,” said Joey, irritatingly cheerful. “I’m free.”
“Great.”
Relentless, Joey continued. “The asshole cheated on you and a year later, you’re still out of commission. Do you think he’s sitting around moping over you? No way. He’s probably out screwing his way through the city and not giving you a second thought. Why are you wasting your time thinking about him? You need to meet someone else.”
Noah winced. Never less than brutally honest, Joey hit the nail on the head.
“I’m not thinking about him. I’m not interested in another relationship. I’m too busy.” His voice sounded as weak as his excuse, and Noah braced himself for Joey’s reply.
“Again, a bunch of crap. I’ve been with you for two years now and seen exactly how happy you were with Leon the Loser. You’re a relationship guru; how can you not want to have what you’re helping so many other people achieve?”
Right or not, Noah had no desire to listen to Joey pick him apart any longer, mostly because everything he said was the truth. “Okay, enough with the armchair analysis. I guess it’s time to go.” He checked his watch. The news had ended, and now the station had the obligatory five minutes of advertising to play before the next host, a woman who discussed babies, breastfeeding, and baking, was waiting. Three things he had zero interest in listening to. The console flashed, and Joey frowned.
“It’s on your line. Do you want me to pick up or forget about it?”
Noah stood and unhooked his jacket from the back of his chair. “You can get it. I’m sure it’s Brady again calling about his boyfriend.” He wrapped his scarf around his neck in preparation for going outside.
As he packed up his messenger bag, Noah idly listened to Joey’s practiced telephone spiel, only to snap to attention when Joey’s frantic hand motions caught his eye.
It’s him, mouthed Joey. The guy from before.
Noah dropped his stuff, sending his cell phone and keys scattering. Inexplicably, his hand shook as he took the phone from Joey.
“Hello? This is Dr. Noah.”
Don't I Know You #3
“I’m really sorry, Reed. You know I wouldn’t ask, but I’m sick. I gave Rick the night off to be with his girlfriend, and they’re out of town, and the new bartender just fucking quit on me. I need one other person to handle the bar besides Kevin.”
“Vernon, it’s no big deal.” Reed tucked the cordless phone between his chin and shoulder. “Carter’s not even home this weekend—he’s away on some business trip, and Helen’s been asking when Jacks can come for a sleepover. I’m sure she’ll be fine with tonight, even if it is short notice.”
“And you won’t get in trouble at work?”
“Nah. I took the night off. With Carter gone, Jacks needs someone home to watch him. Let me check with Helen and if you don’t hear from me, I’ll be there. I’m happy to help out.”
Valentine’s Day didn’t mean much to Reed with Carter away on business. He’d have to plan a belated celebration—something to make sure Carter never forgot the holiday again. It hadn’t meant much to Reed a month ago, but the closer it got to February, he couldn’t blink without being bombarded by ads featuring loving couples having champagne-infused dinners, and he started to feel a bit sorry for himself that he’d be sitting home alone. Now he’d be at the bar, surrounded by singles looking to hook up on the sexiest night of the year. Great.
“You’re saving my ass,” Vernon said, already more cheerful. “I really appreciate it.”
“No problem. I’ll see you tonight.”
After hanging up, Reed made his coffee, and when it finished perking, he poured himself a cup, scanning the empty table. On a normal Saturday, Carter would be there, reading the paper while he made them all breakfast. The house seemed so big with only him and Jacks home, and for a moment, his thoughts ran wild. What if Carter’s plane crashed and he never came back? What would happen to Jacks then? He twisted his wedding ring on his finger round and round.
“Stop it,” he muttered to himself. “Stop creating problems where there aren’t any.”
“Reed?”
He glanced up to see Jacks standing in the doorway of the kitchen. To the average person, he looked like any nine-year-old boy—except Jacks bordered on twelve. Yet he didn’t let that hold him back. In the span of a year, Jacks had acquired a full social life of afterschool playdates and weekend parties and sleepovers. It exhausted Reed thinking about it, but Jacks’s progression was remarkable and thrilled Carter who still, as Reed knew, wanted to protect Jacks from the world.
“Hey, what’s doing? Feel like some breakfast?”
“Yeah, sure. Do you have to work tonight?” Anxious silvery eyes, so like Carter’s, searched his. “Henry’s sick, so I can’t have a sleepover there.”
Like him, Jacks suffered from anxiety, and Reed sought to reassure him. “If that’s okay with you. I was going to text Helen to see if you could have a sleepover.”
The worried expression vanished, replaced by a delighted whoop of happiness. “Oh, yay. Helen said the next time I came over, we could make pizza.” All smiles, Jacks opened the refrigerator and took out the container of milk. “I want Froot Loops.”
Never underestimate the power of pizza. Reed chuckled to himself.
Perfect #4
Chapter One
Finding a lover was like eating a taco, Jeremy Strauss decided. The first date was like the untouched shell, sitting there all perfect-looking on the outside with everything arranged neatly inside. You want to know more, find out what it tastes like, so you take a bite. That’s when it all starts falling apart.
It had only taken two dates for Jeremy to figure out that Brent was a taco. He looked great, tasted even better, but in the end, the man was too much of a mess.
“Look what I got today.” Brent slid a little bottle of clear liquid across the table at the restaurant where they’d met for dinner. A tingling shock of dread hit Jeremy, and he expelled a harsh curse under his breath. He didn’t need to read the label to know what it said.
Steroids.He’d seen so many guys and even a few women fall into that trap, and though he tried to keep it out of his gym and steered clear of it personally, obviously he wasn’t one hundred percent successful.
As beautiful as Brent might be, Jeremy had no desire to continue to see someone who used performance-enhancing drugs. Or drugs of any kind. For him, there was plenty about life to get high on naturally.
“Jesus, Brent. Put that shit away. I don’t do drugs.” Darting a quick look around to make sure no one else saw or heard, Jeremy pushed the bottle back to Brent and scowled at him. “I didn’t think you were into that shit. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“It ain’t a drug. It helps me look good.” Flexing his biceps, Brent showed off his muscular arms and shoulders through his skintight, long-sleeved T-shirt. “And it ain’t like you’ve never seen it before. It’s just steroids. No harm, no foul.”
“No harm? What’re you, crazy? You can kill yourself with that shit. Work out the right way, and you’ll get as strong as you need to.”
“Not if I want to body build. You know that. Those guys got muscles on top of muscles.” Brent pocketed the steroid bottle. “That’s what I’m aiming for.”
“I don’t think you should do it.”
“I wasn’t asking your opinion.” Brent picked up the menu and studied it. “Didn’t figure you to be a pussy about it, though.”
Over the top of his own menu, Jeremy stared at the handsome man dispassionately. Why was he here? He didn’t need to get laid that badly. His brother, Noah, would shake his head and tell him it was time he stopped saying yes to everyone who paid attention to him. But Noah never had to fight to get noticed. He’d been all their mother needed, leaving Jeremy in the dust, wondering what he’d done wrong that his own mother had never come to his games or school award ceremonies.
Jeremy could never tell Noah, a relationship expert, that he didn’t believe in love. Life was about living and trying new adventures, places, and people—not settling. But watching Brent butter a slice of bread, then chew noisily, Jeremy realized it also didn’t mean he needed to be with someone he knew wasn’t right for him from the beginning. He’d thought after dinner they’d take it to the next level, but now all desire to get naked with Brent had vanished, and Jeremy only wanted to get away.
“Whatever, man. If you feel that way about that shit and about me, then I’m out. See you around. And don’t be bringing that garbage into my gym. I will kick you out.”
A stunned Brent sat with his mouth hanging open, and Jeremy couldn’t even laugh, disgusted as he was with everything. He stood, tossed the menu on the table, and left the restaurant, heading to the subway for the half-hour ride home to Brooklyn. It had begun flurrying when he was in the restaurant, and now the snow fell in heavy white flakes, coating him in minutes. Only early-November, but it was already cold as fuck. Jeremy shivered inside his too-light jacket and hustled across the street, anxious to get down below to the warmth of the train station. The ride home from Kips Bay to his apartment in Prospect Heights gave him enough time to contemplate—he must be the worst judge of character in the universe because damned if his last few dates hadn’t been major disasters. Olivia only wanted him for a free gym membership, Carlton was too wrapped up in his mother, and now Brent, a steroid user. Three strikes and he was out.
No more.He trudged up the steps of the station to find it snowing hard in Brooklyn as well. The wind whipped the flakes around, and he bent his head to begin the two-block trek to his apartment. Happy to almost be home, Jeremy looked forward to his sofa, an evening of Netflix, and a hot Irish coffee. He shivered and faced the wind, the snow driving sideways into his face.
The sky had taken on the eerie glow it often did during snowstorms, and the streets seemed hushed, almost as if he were the only one about. Jeremy had only managed to walk half a block when he saw someone struggling with two grocery bags and an umbrella. The wind had flipped the umbrella inside out and offered little protection from its hearty gusts. As he got closer, he saw that it was a man about his age, dressed warmly in a puffy down jacket and heavy boots, which were rapidly becoming obscured by the falling snow.
“Need some help?”
The man turned his attention from fumbling with his umbrella to Jeremy.
“Uh, yeah, sure. I’m trying to turn this stupid thing the right way around, but I don’t think it’ll do much good anyway, huh?”
The furry hood of his parka framed the man’s face, and Jeremy glimpsed a few dark waves of hair that had escaped to curl over his forehead, but he was more fascinated by the man’s soft-looking lips. Dark-framed glasses covered with dots of water and dissolving snow sat askew on the bridge of his nose, and Jeremy blinked several times, rocked by his instant attraction to the cute guy.
“Um, here. Let me take these for you.” Without waiting for a response, Jeremy plucked the bags out of the man’s hands and waited while he wrestled with the umbrella. The battle was lost when a sudden gust ripped the fabric completely off one side, leaving it flapping in the wind.
“Shit.” The expression of disgust on the man’s face was priceless, and despite the freezing cold and creeping numbness in his hands, Jeremy couldn’t help but laugh.
“Listen. I live right on the next block. Why don’t you come and get dry and have a cup of coffee? Maybe by that time, the snow will have tapered off.”
Uncertain blue eyes met his. “Uh, that’s nice of you, but—”
“Weird since we don’t know each other?” At the man’s nod, Jeremy lifted the grocery bags. “I’d shake your hand but mine are full. I’m Jeremy Strauss. I’m not a murderer or a con artist, but what I am is fucking freezing here. I promise if you want to leave after five minutes, feel free, but I will tell you I make a badass Irish coffee.”
“I’m Blake, Blake Myers, and, um, if you’re sure…” He bit that full lower lip, and another sizzle of lust burned through Jeremy.
“I’m sure I’m gonna get frostbite on my ass if we don’t get out of this. Come on.” Still carrying the groceries, Jeremy began to walk, and Blake fell into step beside him as they battled the wind. His building, an eight-story, pre-war apartment house, sat on the corner like a gray fortress visible through the swirling snow and feeble light thrown out by the streetlamps. “That’s me, right across the street.”
Blake didn’t answer, and they crossed the street, careful to avoid the slick patches. Jeremy fumbled for a second with the front doorknob, then pushed the door wide open with his shoulder.
“Go ahead. I’m on the sixth floor, so we need to take the elevator.”
“Um, okay.”
The door slammed shut, and finally they were out of the biting cold. He transferred one bag to his left hand and pulled his keys from his jacket pocket to unlock the inner door. They walked inside to the lobby.
“Damn. This doesn’t feel like November. Seems more like February, right?” He pushed the elevator button. “Are you from the city?”
“Yeah. I grew up in Brooklyn.”
The elevator arrived, and the door slid open. Jeremy got in with Blake right behind him.
“Yeah? Me too. I like the outer boroughs. More real, at least before everyone else decided to come live here. Right?”
“I guess. I couldn’t imagine growing up in Manhattan. So many people and crowds.” Blake shrugged and gnawed on his lip. “I like a little bit of quiet, especially after a long day at work.”
Guessing Blake might be a little shy, Jeremy didn’t want to overwhelm him by talking about clubs he’d been to. “Yeah. Well, we lived in an apartment, so I had my brother and sister in my face. I love living alone now.”
The elevator door opened, and Blake waited for him to exit, then silently trailed behind him. His apartment felt wonderfully warm after their snowy trek, and Jeremy immediately kicked off his soaked sneakers and pulled off his wet socks, while Blake stood watching him, still in his jacket and boots.
“Make yourself comfortable. Don’t be shy. I don’t bite unless you ask me to.” He winked, and color flooded Blake’s face. “Do you live near here? Duh, I mean you must if you were walking home from the store.”
“Yeah. I live about four blocks down. I thought I could beat out the storm, but I guess I misjudged it.”
Finally, he sat on the sofa and unlaced his boots, then took them off and wiggled his toes in obvious pleasure. To Jeremy’s surprise, Blake had on colorful, funky socks, which made him even more interesting. A buttoned-up, shy guy with funky socks? Jeremy wondered if his underwear was also as fun.
Slow down, buddy. An hour ago you were planning on getting naked with Brent.
“So, uh, how about that Irish coffee?” Jeremy ran a hand through his hair, surprised by the nerves fluttering through his stomach. He needed to do something.
“You don’t have to go to any trouble. It’s nice to sit and be warm without the snow hitting me in my face.” Blake gave him a hesitant smile, and Jeremy returned it, hoping to put him at ease.
“It’s not a big deal. I’ll make the coffee, and we can hang out and get to know each other since we’re practically neighbors.”
Funny how most guys he brought home wanted to get it on right away, and Jeremy had no objection. They both knew it was all about the sex and nothing more. But Blake didn’t act like the guys he normally hooked up with.
A bit confused, Jeremy made them each a large coffee, making sure to put an extra shot of whiskey in both their mugs. He tasted the drink and muttered to himself. “That’ll relax him for sure.” He held up the container of milk. “You want? I drink it with just a splash.”
“Yeah. Lots, please.”
Careful not to spill, Jeremy brought their drinks over and sat down next to Blake on the sofa, letting out a gusty sigh. “Nothing like a good Irish coffee on a night like this. All I’m missing is the whipped cream, but I’m trying to be healthy.” He ran a hand over his flat abs and watched Blake’s gaze follow the motion.
Well, well, what do we have here?He smiled to himself.
“Go ahead,” he urged and took a large sip himself, feeling the heat and burn of the whiskey seep through him. “It’ll warm you right up.” Watching Blake swallow and lick his lips afterward, Jeremy felt his dick stiffen.
“Good, right?” Jeremy gazed at Blake over the rim of his mug.
“It’s a little strong, but yeah. Really good.” Blake took another long drink, and Jeremy honed in on the smooth whiteness of his neck. When Blake set the mug down, he’d drained half the coffee and his eyes were a bit softer and less wary than earlier.
“Long day? What do you do?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m an accountant, a CPA. Not the most interesting job, I know, but I like working with numbers.”
“Numbers can be sexy. Don’t kid yourself.”
“What do you do?” Blake tucked his feet underneath him, a sign to Jeremy that he was a bit more comfortable.
“I own a gym. Hard Core Fitness.” He pointed to the sweatshirt he wore. “I do personal training there too. It’s located farther into Brooklyn, near Brooklyn College.”
Blake picked up his coffee and cradled it in his hands before finishing the drink. “I might have figured. You look like you work out a lot.” He stared down into his empty mug, a frown touching his lips. “I could lift weights for ten years and never get muscles like you.”
Not liking the shift in tone of the conversation, Jeremy plucked the mug from Blake’s hands and went back into the kitchen, swiftly making him another double Irish coffee. When he returned to the living room, Jeremy took Blake’s hands in his and wrapped them around the mug.
“Hey. Not everyone has the same body type. I’m not lean like you. I bet you’d be an amazing runner or swimmer.” Thinking to give Blake a kiss, Jeremy leaned over but when alarm flared brightly in Blake’s eyes, he took Blake’s obvious unease into consideration and trailed his fingers down Blake’s delightfully scruffy jaw, then smoothed his thumb over a deliciously full bottom lip. “We’re all different—that’s what makes us beautiful.”
His face flaming, Blake pulled away, gulped down the coffee, then set it on the table. “Uh, okay, hi.”
“I’m sorry, but you looked upset and I wanted to make you feel better.”
“I, um, didn’t think you were gay.” Keeping his gaze focused downward, Blake traced a circle on his pants with a fingertip.
“I’m not,” Jeremy said with a chuckle. “I’m bisexual.”
“Oh, sorry.” Blake shot him a half smile. “I just assumed…”
“It’s okay. I get that a lot.”
They sipped their coffee in silence for a few minutes.
“It must be fun to work at a gym.”
Did Blake think all he did during the day was ogle half-naked bodies? Running a business as a sole proprietor was hard work. “It keeps me busy.”
“Did you go to school for kinesiology?”
“Yeah, after I got my MBA in finance and business management.”
As Jeremy expected, Blake’s brows shot up in surprise. “Oh, wow. An MBA? I didn’t think—”
“I get that a lot too.” Hurt, he gave Blake a tight smile and left his seat, ostensibly to go to the kitchen to rinse out his mug, but in reality he used the opportunity to gather his thoughts. It was a battle to continually have to prove himself and convince people that owning a gym didn’t mean he was all muscle and no brain. It grew tiresome trying to change their minds, and it disappointed him to think Blake might be the same as everyone else.
A hand touched his back. “Hey.”
He faced a supremely miserable-looking Blake. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m sorry if you took it that way. I said ‘wow’ because that’s a lot of schooling.” His pretty eyes glimmered with regret. “I’m really impressed.”
“Yeah?”
Heat simmered between them, and Blake’s breath audibly hitched. His earlier misgivings thrust aside, Jeremy hooked his fingers into the belt loops of Blake’s pants and pulled the unresisting man close.
“How impressed? Enough to go out with me tomorrow night?”
Wide-eyed, Blake remained mute, and Jeremy took the opportunity to kiss him on the cheek. “Come on,” he murmured against Blake’s mouth. “Go out with me. Tomorrow night. We can have dinner.”
Felice Stevens writes romance because what is better than people falling in love? Her favorite part of a romance novel is that first kiss…sigh. She loves creating stories of hopes and dreams and happily ever afters. Her stories are character-driven, rich with the sights, sounds and flavors of New York City and filled with men who are sometimes deeply flawed but always real.
Felice writes M/M romance because she believes that everyone deserves a happily ever after. Having traveled all over the world, she can safely say that the universal language that unites people is love. Felice has written in a variety of sub-genres, including contemporary, paranormal and has a mystery series as well.
Felice is a two-time Lambda Literary award nominee, and Lambda award winner for Best Gay Romance for her book, The Ghost and Charlie Muir.
The Arrangement #1
One Call Away #2
Don't I Know You #3
Perfect #4
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