Love in the Balance by Brigham VaughnSummary:
Peachtree #2
Love isn’t always enough.
Russ Bishop and Stephen Parker are in love. They’ve settled into their relationship and are both happy. But Russ wants more than what they have now, he wants forever.
To him that means marriage, but for Stephen that has never been an option. Marriage equality still isn't recognized in Georgia so why want what he can't have?
When Stephen’s ex re-appears, they’ll have to decide once and for all if they’re ready to commit to a lifetime together.
Russ Bishop and Stephen Parker are in love. They’ve settled into their relationship and are both happy. But Russ wants more than what they have now, he wants forever.
To him that means marriage, but for Stephen that has never been an option. Marriage equality still isn't recognized in Georgia so why want what he can't have?
When Stephen’s ex re-appears, they’ll have to decide once and for all if they’re ready to commit to a lifetime together.
As with the release of Off-Balance, I wasn't going to read Love in the Balance right now either because I'm so far behind on my 2020 reading list BUT once I read Off-Balance I couldn't deny reading the second installment either.
Russ and Stephen are just as yummy as they were 5 years ago(Holy Hannah Batman has it been 5 years since I finished their journey?). There is just so much goodness in this pair that makes them not only fun to read but realistic too. Considering the area I live in I doubt I'd meet them next door but I certainly feel like I could meet them for lunch at the local restaurant or pumping gas and I always love having that possible connection to a book character, it just helps me fall that much harder.
Now, if you are new to Peachtree and hadn't read Brigham Vaughn's original released Equals series, this is a journey that must be read in order. If you are like me and read Equals before, trust me you'll love Russ & Stephen even more the second time around.
Original Editions Review:
Family #3
Original Review April 2015:
This was a perfect addition to the Equals series and the love story of Russ and Stephen. I've been wondering about that box that Miss Esther gave Stephen from his father's things. I loved finally getting to meet Russ' family too. I won't lie, there was some dread I was fearing when faced with Addison meeting Stephen considering the way their aunt had raised her but it worked out even better than I expected. Such a lovely and beautifully written Christmas story. I look forward to more of Russ and Stephen, hint, hint Miss Vaughn.
Husbands #4
Original Review April 2015:
I don't even know where to begin. Russ and Stephen had me from their first spilled coffee and being able to see their relationship grow, mature, and evolve has been a joy and has earned a prominent spot in my personal library. Brigham Vaughn has a way with the written word, she conveys so much emotion and detail with a relatively limited number of words. I'll admit that there are moments that I would sit and imagine what was going on between the pages, yes they would have added to the story but truth is that there is nothing lacking from Russ and Stephen's story without those moments. Sometimes, readers need to read certain points and others you just need to imagine and for me, Miss Vaughn has given us a perfect blend of visual and imagined nuggets.
Husbands is a perfect conclusion to this couple's tale, I can't say "ending" because that elicits too much sadness but it definitely wraps this romance up in a neat little bow. Now, having said that, it's not a sugary sweet, no problems kind of ride, the bumps are there and one bump is Jeremy, Stephen's ex. I was glad that we finally got to meet Jeremy and his part is not the cliche "ex wants back in". Calling Jeremy a "bump" is not giving him the credit he deserves on my part but there are some tense moments, even if it's mostly inner monologue. Yep, if you have been following Russ and Stephen's story, you just can't miss Husbands. And if you haven't read the Equals series, well, what are you doing sitting here reading my review, check it out because you won't regret it. I can't wait to see what the mind of Brigham Vaughn brings next.
RATING:
Goddess-Blessed #3
There’s not enough Yuletide spirit in the world to fix this holiday disaster…
Eben Sypeman’s world is falling apart. It’s two days before Yule and his business partner is dead, leaving behind empty accounts and looming bankruptcy. And if that isn’t bad enough, his patron goddess is irritated with him. It seems she’s tired of his tendency to mince words and avoid conflict. She’s insisting—quite forcefully—that he start being totally honest with everyone, including himself. Divinely enforced honesty couldn’t have come at a less opportune time, especially when his clerk’s tall, dark and distractingly handsome son enters the picture.
The last thing on Tim Pratchett’s mind is romance. All the former soldier wants is to fill in for his sick father at work and recover from his war wounds in peace. But there’s something about the grumpy Eben that confounds and entices him in equal measure. Their timing couldn’t be worse. They’re complete opposites. And yet…none of that matters when he’s with Eben.
But if Eben and Tim have any hope of finding their very own happily ever after, they’ll have to survive a dickens of a truth curse and the machinations of a trickster goddess—all while searching for enough yuletide treasure to save them all.
A joyous, relaxing Yule indeed. Bah, humbug.
This is an M/M romance with explicit scenes, a voyeuristic pagan goddess, and an odious nephew. Despite any other possible similarities to A Christmas Carol, there are neither ghosts nor geese, but readers can expect a happy ending and at least one use of the word “dickens.”
Summary:
Love in O'Leary #5
One night in Vegas I gave him my heart… one day later, he broke it.
Look, I’ve never claimed to be a nice guy. I don’t do pretty words, I don’t give polite smiles, and I refuse to be sucked into the sappy bucket of sentimentality that is Christmas in small-town O’Leary. Smiling neighbors, overly decorated trees, a town parade, a Santa contest? Ho ho no. I do shifts as a firefighter, and I go home alone.
I fell into the trap once — that stupid night in Vegas — of believing there was more out there for me. I took a chance on a guy with magical green eyes and a gorgeous smile. The next day, Liam McKnight was gone. He took my heart with him… and left his wedding ring behind.
Except now my once-upon-a-time husband has reappeared with a kid in tow, and there are carols, lights, and cookies everywhere I turn. And worst of all? The spark between us burns brighter than ever, because whatever happened in Vegas definitely didn’t stay there. Liam came to town looking for an ending, but what’s building between us feels an awful lot like a beginning. Too bad it’s going to take more than a dozen interfering O’Learians to convince me to take a second chance on heartache, on love… on us.
Note: While The Night is very much Liam and Gideon's story, characters from past books do make an appearance, and you'll enjoy the book exponentially more if this isn't your first trip to O'Leary.
Summary:
The Hollydale Omegas #3
Tom Collins is a lonely omega. One by one, Tom's watched his friends pair up and find their forever mates while Tom goes out alone to flirt with randos at the Big O. Manager of Sweet Ballz, the popular candy shop in downtown Hollydale, Tom has his career on track. Now if he could just find an alpha to stick around for longer than a night.
Dr. Colin Samuels is busy. As an alpha specializing in emergency medicine, he keeps a punishing schedule. He doesn't have time, patience or even the energy to take up with an omega. Especially not a sassy little brat like the one he keeps running into. All he wanted was one hot night with the guy, not forever. So why can't he get the frustrating twink out of his mind?
Will Tom finally find love? Will Dr. Samuels get that speculum dislodged from his rear pocket and give them a chance? And who is the little girl that hits both men right smack in the feels? And what's the story with Tofer O'Toole, the new cage dancer at the Big O?
This is the third book of The Hollydale Omegas series. This book is about 30k and most likely contains an HEA. 18+ readers only please! And yes, this book contains M/PREG, adults adulting in sexy grown-up ways, and way more than an occasional use of potty mouth language.
Summary:
One of Santa’s elves is fed up with tinsel, mistletoe, lawn angels, and everything Christmas. Bah humbug!
With the costume for his office Christmas party chafing at him and his dream promotion lost to his firm’s new wunderkind, snarky numbers guy Kyle resolves to change his whole life, starting with kicking his lackadaisical artist boyfriend, Vince, to the curb. Little does he know that Vince is playing Santa this year and has plans for his Scrooge-like elf.
Poor but happy Vince doesn’t need to be rich, but he does need Kyle, and with Christmas only a day away he doesn’t have a lot of time to set his plan to keep him in motion. Hopefully, he’s not too late to show Kyle what’s truly in his heart, and what Christmas really means.
Grab Bagging Santa’s Elf for a cute, sweet but spicy, heartwarming tale about two guys who snag their happy ever after just in time for Christmas. Don’t miss it!
Bagging Santa's Elf was a part of the 2018 Rainbow Advent Calendar Giveaway. Please make sure you don't already have this book before purchasing.
A wonderful blend of fun, sexy, drama, humor, romance, holiday, friendship, and realization that fear of what we don't have shouldn't keep us from what we do have. Sometimes listening to our inner voice is not the right decision. A short fun read that will delight from beginning to end.
RATING:
Love in the Balance by Brigham Vaughn
He reached out and squeezed his thigh. “Speaking of commitment, I know we’ve talked about this before, but I’d like to make an appointment with a lawyer to draw up all the power of attorney and living will paperwork soon. If something happened to you … Well, I don’t want to find myself in the position I was in with Jeremy. Alan is wonderful, so I know he wouldn’t keep me away, but we might as well have all of the legal protection in place.”
Russ nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. We should do that soon.”
They had essentially already made the commitment to each other, so why not formalize it? Even if Stephen lost every penny or became sick or injured, Russ wasn’t going anywhere, and he knew Stephen felt the same. There was no question in his mind that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Stephen. And after meeting his mom, he no longer had the smallest doubt that he was capable of serious commitment. He wasn’t her, and he never had been. He was in this relationship for the long haul with Stephen, and the law should recognize that.
It seemed so cold and soulless to go to a lawyer’s office to draw up paperwork though. It felt like too big a moment to treat that way. He knew some couples had parties after, to celebrate, but that didn’t seem right. No, what he wanted was to publicly declare his feelings for his partner and show the rest of the world how much Stephen mattered to him.
He didn’t want to sign a few sheets of paper and pretend as if it weren’t one of the biggest moments in his life. He wanted more than that. He wanted … Russ stilled as it hit him what he truly desired. He wanted marriage. He blinked, trying to absorb the enormity of that realization. For a guy who’d struggled with the idea of long-term commitment, he knew he had come a long way. Maybe it was time he showed Stephen how serious he was about their relationship. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if Stephen had wanted it for a while and had been hesitating because he was worried Russ wasn’t ready.
He glanced over at Stephen and pictured standing in front of an officiant, their friends, and family and telling all of them that he wanted to spend the rest of his life making Stephen happy. He could picture it so clearly, and it felt right.
Maybe Georgia was light-years behind other states when it came to marriage equality and all it would legally recognize was signatures on a power of attorney form. But there was no reason they couldn’t go out of state to get married. And someday, when Georgia finally recognized it, they’d be married there too.
Husband. Russ tested the word out in his head, and something about it felt so right. He felt a surge of giddy elation as he imagined sliding a ring onto Stephen’s finger as they promised to spend the rest of their lives together.
He was going to do this. He was going to ask Stephen to marry him.
Russ nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. We should do that soon.”
They had essentially already made the commitment to each other, so why not formalize it? Even if Stephen lost every penny or became sick or injured, Russ wasn’t going anywhere, and he knew Stephen felt the same. There was no question in his mind that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Stephen. And after meeting his mom, he no longer had the smallest doubt that he was capable of serious commitment. He wasn’t her, and he never had been. He was in this relationship for the long haul with Stephen, and the law should recognize that.
It seemed so cold and soulless to go to a lawyer’s office to draw up paperwork though. It felt like too big a moment to treat that way. He knew some couples had parties after, to celebrate, but that didn’t seem right. No, what he wanted was to publicly declare his feelings for his partner and show the rest of the world how much Stephen mattered to him.
He didn’t want to sign a few sheets of paper and pretend as if it weren’t one of the biggest moments in his life. He wanted more than that. He wanted … Russ stilled as it hit him what he truly desired. He wanted marriage. He blinked, trying to absorb the enormity of that realization. For a guy who’d struggled with the idea of long-term commitment, he knew he had come a long way. Maybe it was time he showed Stephen how serious he was about their relationship. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if Stephen had wanted it for a while and had been hesitating because he was worried Russ wasn’t ready.
He glanced over at Stephen and pictured standing in front of an officiant, their friends, and family and telling all of them that he wanted to spend the rest of his life making Stephen happy. He could picture it so clearly, and it felt right.
Maybe Georgia was light-years behind other states when it came to marriage equality and all it would legally recognize was signatures on a power of attorney form. But there was no reason they couldn’t go out of state to get married. And someday, when Georgia finally recognized it, they’d be married there too.
Husband. Russ tested the word out in his head, and something about it felt so right. He felt a surge of giddy elation as he imagined sliding a ring onto Stephen’s finger as they promised to spend the rest of their lives together.
He was going to do this. He was going to ask Stephen to marry him.
Yuletide Treasure by Eliot Grayson
Sypeman drew himself up, straightening his spine and lifting his chin. “I don’t think you can be of any assistance to me, Mr. Pratchett. You should —” He stopped abruptly, swallowed hard, and went on with, “I won’t dock your father’s pay. He’ll receive his usual week’s salary on Saturday. Just — just go.”
Timothy frowned down at him, and his fingers flexed around the knob of his cane. Oh, that wouldn’t do at all. It would be plain cruel to leave this sad slip of a man here alone to fret himself to death. “Not until you go too.”
That acted on Sypeman like a red cloak in front of a bull. He popped to his feet, glaring, standing perfectly straight like he was trying to draw himself up to the fullest height he could. The top of his glossy hair came just to Tim’s nose. And that might’ve been all right, except that Tim got a full breath of Sypeman’s scent, some kind of lavender soap, perhaps, and beneath that the faint impression of his skin and body. Tim’s cock gave another little twitch. Bloody hell.
“If you want your father to receive his full pay at the end of this week, you will leave,” Sypeman said slowly and clearly — so much so it’d have been insulting, if Sypeman’s pupils hadn’t been betrayingly huge, like a panicked deer face-to-face with a wolf. “Now. And perhaps I won’t see fit to tell him about your interference.”
And that was too much. He leaned forward, too fast and too far, and Sypeman stumbled back, catching himself with his trembling hands against the edge of the desk. Timothy followed, bending close enough that he could see nothing but Sypeman’s parted lips and wide eyes, and could feel his too-quick breaths against his own face. An inch or two more, and he could have sampled those lips, have seen if they tasted as soft and sweet as they looked.
The Night by May Archer
Chapter One
Liam
Funny how five years could change things.
Back then, I’d loved to travel. I’d traveled for jobs, I’d traveled for fun, and really, it had all been one and the same for a professional photographer who was thrilled on the daily by his work.
I vaguely remembered a life where I kept a carry-on in the closet, pre-packed with my passport, camera, and maybe five or six other minimalist travel essentials, trusting I could acquire anything else I needed when I got where I was going.
My editor needed me in Budapest? My sister wanted to spend Christmas in Seychelles? Some hot guy invited me to Steamboat in January? Yes, yes, yes.
Nowadays, a seven-hour car trip required four days of planning, three whole suitcases, and an internet deep-dive into reviews of the rest areas along I-90—yes, those were an actual thing—so I could map out our stops with a kind of devotedness I’d once only applied to my craft.
And still? Despite all my best efforts?
“But you said you would pack them!” My daughter’s big brown eyes met mine in the Volvo’s rearview mirror, wide with the kind of accusation and outrage that only a forgotten bag of red-frosted Santa cookies from the Stop & Shop could engender. “You said!”
“I know.” I ran a hand through my hair and reminded myself to be patient. “In my defense, I did remember to pack my suitcase, your clothes suitcase, an entire second suitcase full of toys you can play with when we get to the hotel in Syracuse tonight, your stationery and markers so you can write more letters to Santa Claus, and a whole cooler full of healthy snacks.” Along with the folder full of papers my attorney had drawn up, tucked into a brown leather messenger bag and riding shotgun. “And, the cookies will still be there when we get home tomorrow night—”
“But I asked you three times, Daddy! And you said, ‘Hazel Grace McKnight, for the love of all that’s holy in the universe, stop asking me about the cookies!’ So I did. And you forgot them anyway.”
“Yes. I know. Thanks for the recap.” Just in case I’d forgotten. Or begun to think positively about my parenting skills. “Bug, I will buy you a cookie as soon as we see a place that sells cookies. Promise.” I peered out the window at the desolate road surrounded by forest and wondered if we’d be in Canada before that happened.
“Fine. But you’ll need to buy me several cookies.” She blinked guilelessly, a sure sign I was being conned. “Because I had several cookies at home, and fair is fair.”
I snorted. Who taught kids this crazy stuff?
Oh, right. Me.
“How much longer?” she asked.
“GPS says twenty minutes to O’Leary.” I spoke like this was an actual fact, though I saw almost no signs of civilization except for a couple of unmarked driveways and a speed limit sign with a Christmas wreath hanging beneath it. “Hang tight, kiddo.”
The road was strangely appealing—curving and nearly hidden in some places, straight and flat and arched with trees in others—and the whole idea of some paths being obscured while others were straightforward was so perfectly metaphorical that part of me itched to pull over and grab my camera so I could document the play of light and shadow. In the time I referred to as BH—Before Hazel—I wouldn’t have hesitated, even if the road was narrow and a little dangerous. Before Hazel, my camera would have been riding shotgun.
Now, my Canon was buried in the trunk under fifty pounds of Hazel-related clothing and accessories, and the tiny dictator in the backseat would have me flogged if I made her spend even a minute longer in the car than absolutely necessary.
The weirdest part was, I really didn’t mind the change at all most of the time.
“You could turn up the music,” Hazel suggested.
Okay, I didn’t altogether mind the change.
The music Hazel was referring to—a little album called Kiddie Bop Christmas. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?— was a form of torture surely outlawed by the Geneva Convention, and yet somehow still widely available in stores, where just anyone’s crazy sister could find it, buy it, and send it to her seven-year-old niece eight entire weeks before Christmas. After seven hours in the car, my eyelid had begun twitching to the rhythm of “Jingle Bell Rock.”
And, just to say, I really hoped my sister was enjoying her month-long motorcycle trek across Mongolia because payback would be swift and painful once Auntie Livvy was stateside again.
“How about we talk instead,” I suggested.
“Talk?” she said in a tone that probably perfectly foreshadowed her teenage years.
“Yes, talk. That thing with the voices where we say what we’re thinking.”
Hazel giggled, then immediately sobered, clasped her hands under her chin, and stared sadly out the window, the very picture of a Dickensian street urchin. “I’m thinking, ‘Oh, good heavens, I do so love cookies,’” she said in a flawless British accent.
I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling. Well-played, kid. Though possibly over-acted.
“Wow. Those hours watching Peppa Pig have really paid off, haven’t they?”
“Maybe.” Her eyes met mine in the mirror.
“Mrs. Boudreaux only lets us watch kid shows at her house.” Mrs. Boudreaux, our seventy-year-old neighbor, was the epitome of a kindly grandmother—short and stout, with curly white hair and reading glasses she could never seem to find, though she wore them on a beaded string around her neck. She definitely erred on the side of caution when it came to anything on television—a fact I appreciated, and Hazel did not.
“Mrs. Boudreaux is a very kind and responsible person, which is why I trust her to take care of you when I have meetings or need to work late,” I informed her. “You can wait to watch Wild Nature and your Michio Kaku documentaries when I’m home.”
“But nature is fascinating.”
“I know.”
“And learning about black holes is educational.”
“Uh huh.”
She was quiet for a second, then said, “I just really hate it when you work late. I might possibly get slightly scared when you’re gone. And everything’s better when you’re there.”
My stomach clenched with the guilt and worry that had basically been my constant companions since Hazel was a toddler. Was I gone too much? Was I taking care of her appropriately? Was I raising her the way Nora would want? Was I enough?
“I hate it too, sweets.” Then, because you were supposed to be honest with your kids or something, I clarified, “I mean, I like photography, but I miss you a lot.”
“You could just take pictures during the day. Mrs. Boudreaux says nothing good happens after dark anyway.”
I gritted my teeth and slightly revised my opinion of Mrs. Boudreaux. “That’s one way of looking at things,” I said, hopefully diplomatically. “But I don’t only take pictures of daytime stuff. When my boss wants pictures of a specific event that’s at night, I have to go.”
Hazel nodded, pondered this silently for a minute, then grinned. “It’ll be fine, Daddy. I’m gonna ask Santa to fix it for Christmas. I’m asking for a cat, a big house, a baby sister or brother, a real Christmas tree, and to become a princess.”
“Are you?” Figured it wouldn’t be anything, you know, attainable. I pressed my lips together again, this time for a different reason. “Hazel…” I began, then faltered.
Dear Gossip Girl: How old was too old for your daughter to believe in Santa Claus? At what age did the letters written in tipsy capitals and the ceremonial walk to drop the envelope in the mailbox become lying? At what age did you have to kill her innocence if you ever wanted your daughter to trust you as an adult?
These were some of the many, many parenting questions I had, and it was times like this when I wished I had a partner, or a local parent group, or hell, parents in this time zone to consult. Turned out, when you suddenly inherited your best friend’s toddler kidlet, she didn’t come with an instruction manual. See also: no safety net. For either of us. I was learning shit as I went along, in real time, and sometimes I was absolutely certain I was fucking it all up.
Laughing brown eyes—eyes so exactly like Nora’s that I sometimes did a double-take—watched me in the mirror, and Hazel’s dark curls bounced against her red jacket as she shook her head. “You’re wondering when to tell me Santa’s fake, aren’t you?”
I don’t know why the things that came out of her mouth still surprised me sometimes. Hazel was seven going on thirty-five, which made her just slightly older than me, and she called me on my shit—another trait she shared with her mother—with remarkable frequency. Sometimes, looking at Hazel, I missed Nora so badly I could cry, even five years after the car accident that had left Hazel an orphan.
It was a little bit of a reprieve when the GPS interrupted to inform us it was time to turn off the twisty road and onto a residential street with a hopeful little sign that read “Welcome to O’Leary, Population: 1074.”
“See, the thing is, Bug…” I cleared my throat, opened my mouth to say… I didn’t even know what… when Hazel interrupted.
“It’s cool, Daddy. Don’t stress. I already decided Santa’s real.”
I shut my mouth with a clack. “You decided it.”
“Sure,” said my pint-sized philosopher with another of her shrugs. “He’s real because I believe he’s real.”
And… damn. That was some next-level ish right there. The kind of shit that made you wonder if maybe you were born knowing things that life made you forget.
“Well.” I cleared my throat again. “Just in case, I think I won’t quit my day job yet. But hopefully things will change in the future. Maybe…” I hesitated. “Maybe you won’t have to stay with Mrs. Boudreaux when I’m gone for much longer.”
I’d been saving fanatically to fund a sabbatical from my usual contract jobs and work on my photography book full time. It was a crazy dream, and I knew it. Everyone I’d confided in about it said so. And I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to make it happen immediately. But someday, maybe I’d be able to work fewer hours and spend more time with Hazel. Maybe I’d be able to do work I actually enjoyed and found fulfilling again. Maybe I’d be able to resuscitate my practically non-existent love life too.
Just as soon as I took care of one teeny, tiny little piece of unfinished business in O’Leary, I thought, with another glance at the bag on the passenger’s seat.
“This isn’t about Scott, is it?” Hazel asked, suspicious as a cat.
“What? No.” My smile faded. “But what’s wrong with Scott? He’s a friend of mine. And he likes you very much.”
She shook her head sadly at my naïveté. “He likes you very much.”
I released a loud breath. Hazel wasn’t wrong. Scott—the tall, dark, handsome, successful journalist with the toned body and the hair that fell just so over one eye—had started out as a colleague I’d met while covering local politics and had quickly become a friend, sort of. But it was fairly obvious—apparently even to seven-year-olds—he wanted more, and I was fairly sure I was going to give it to him…
Again, once I’d tied up this one teeny, tiny—did I mention how teeny-tiny it was?—loose end.
“Hey, now! Didn’t Scott talk with you about the pictures you were coloring when we were at the coffee shop last weekend? He’s making an effort to get to know you.”
She pursed her lips. “He suggested I color inside the lines.”
“Oh.”
“Like a big girl.”
I winced. “Okay, okay. Look, I said he was trying, not that he was succeeding. Yet. Some guys don’t have a lot of experience with kids your age, babe. Give him time—”
“He called me Bug.”
“I call you Bug!”
“Because you’re my father. No one else can call me that unless I say. And he got very huffy when I told him so.”
I ran my tongue over my teeth. On the one hand, I was glad my lessons on personal boundaries had taken root. On the other…
“Also? Scott won’t drink hot cocoa because he doesn’t put processed foods or refined sugar in his body, he thinks Beyoncé’s talent is overhyped, and he has a pet bird.”
I blinked. I… didn’t know any of those things about Scott. But then, I’d never bothered to ask, and I didn’t doubt Hazel had.
Sometimes my overwhelming like of her swamped me. I mean, I’d loved her from the first moment I saw her, all red-faced and scrappy, snuggled in Jake and Nora’s arms, but you couldn’t help loving people sometimes. It wasn’t always voluntary. Liking someone was an entirely different matter.
“What’s wrong with having a pet bird?” I demanded. “You’ve been harassing me for a pet for months!”
“I don’t trust anything that doesn’t have whites in its eyes,” she said, like this should be obvious, and I wondered if maybe I should quit photography altogether and spend my time writing a book called Life Advice from Hazel. I wasn’t sure if it would be shelved under comedy or self-help, but either way, it was bound to be a bestseller. “And besides, I have been asking you for a cat. Cats and birds are mortal enemies.”
“Bug,” I said patiently. “Scott’s a nice guy. He’s got a good job. And he’s hard-working and responsible.”
“Hmm.” She narrowed her eyes. “Well, if nice and responsible’s what you’re looking for, Mrs. Boudreaux is single.”
I gaped. Direct fucking hit. “Listen to the sass! Who even are you right now?” I demanded.
She sat back in her booster seat with a self-satisfied smile. “Your daughter.”
Yes. Yes, she definitely was. And she was worth any sacrifice of time or money or effort or—I swallowed and glanced at the passenger’s seat, a bit guiltily this time—or anything.
“You can just chill right the heck out, daughter, because I’m not marrying Scott or anyone,” I informed her.
“Ever?” She frowned.
“Ever.”
More specifically, I wasn’t marrying anyone ever again. I was busy trying to dissolve a relationship, not get into one.
Hazel sighed and kicked at the back of my seat. “How much longer now?”
“Uh, less than two minutes. We’re basically there,” I said.
“Where’s there?”
“I told you. A tiny town called O’Leary.”
“And why are we here?”
I hesitated. “I have some forms I need to get signed for my attorney.”
She frowned. “What kind of forms?”
“Hmmm, how about the kind that are grown-up business?” I was starting to feel a bit queasy as we got closer to O’Leary… which was stupid, really. This was gonna be easy-peasy.
A two-minute job. A scribble on a piece of paper to cancel out another scribble on another piece of paper.
A task I should have completed years ago, and one that would never have had to be done in the first place, if I hadn’t been an absolute sucker for a sexy smile, a deep voice, laughing golden-brown eyes, and an instant spark of connection that couldn’t possibly have been half as soul-meltingly meaningful as I’d thought at the time.
A chore I wouldn’t have to do now, if the things that happened one night in Vegas ever really stayed in Vegas.
Who could a guy sue for false advertising? Asking for a friend.
I cleared my throat. “Besides, I thought it would be fun to take a road trip together. Are you saying you wish I’d left you with Mrs. Boudreaux overnight?”
“Maybe! Now that I know she’s your perfect girlfriend, maybe I could have made her fall in looooove with you!”
“Wow, yes, and then she could move in with us forever, and I would totally put her in charge of screen time. Isn’t she allergic to cats, Bug? You’re so selfless to give all that up for the sake of my true love!”
Hazel mock pouted. “You’re mean.”
“I know,” I sang.
“Can we put up our Christmas tree this weekend? Can it be a real tree this year?”
I sighed. The small, fake tree in our storage unit got sadder and more dilapidated every year, but also…
“How many times have I explained that our landlord doesn’t allow real trees, Bug? But yes, we can put up our tree.”
“And buy a new ornament for this year too?”
“Sure.”
“And I can pick it out?”
“Absolutely, you can.”
I slowed down to take a gander at the sleepy little town. O’Leary’s center appeared to be one wide street lined with slanted parking spaces. On both sides, brick and white clapboard storefronts were already decked out for the holidays, and adults and children alike stood chatting in merry little groups before them.
“This town looks… odd,” I said aloud, looking at a lit-up train display in the window of a hardware store. It was like the town had transported itself in time from 1950-something, and only the cars and the people were new. Oh. And the rainbow pride flag hanging out in front of one of the stores. That too.
“This town looks fun,” Hazel corrected, leaning forward to get a better look out the window. “Like a carnival. Look at all the Christmas decorations! And look at that girl’s coat! I would treasure a coat with purple sparkles beyond anything in the entire world. And—” Hazel let out a blood-curdling scream. “Oh my God, Daddy! Stop the car! Stop the car right now!”
I pressed my foot all the way down on the brake, coming to a screeching halt in the center of the street that had the Volvo rocking back on its rear wheels. “What?” I demanded, shifting into Park and unbuckling my belt. “Are you okay, baby? Did you hurt yourself? Did you—”
“There’s a bakery right there!” Hazel bounced up and down in her seat, curls shimmying as she pointed excitedly out the window. “Bakeries sell cookies!”
“Are you… Christ alive, are you kidding me? For heaven’s sake, I thought you were dying, Hazel!” I clapped a hand to my heart, which was about to beat out of my chest, and scowled at the face in the mirror.
“But I am,” she said solemnly. “I am dying for cookies! Please can we go? Please?”
I checked the GPS again. The address I’d found on Google earlier this week was about a half mile down the road, and it was already mid-afternoon. If I wanted to get back to Syracuse by bedtime, I had to finish my business here by six at the latest. And if he wasn’t home, or if the address was wrong and I had to ask around, it could take a while to—
“You promised, Daddy.”
“Oh, fine.” I swung into a parking spot outside a quaint-looking little bakery called Fanaille. “One cookie. And no more screaming, Hazel Grace. Got it?”
“Got it,” Hazel promised, staring out the windshield at the bakery with shining eyes, like she had seen the Promised Land and found it was made of sugar.
“These better be the best darn cookies in the universe,” I grumbled. I pushed open my door.
“They will,” she assured me confidently, unbuckling her belt and jumping out of the car. “They’ll be the best, most magical cookies ever.” She grabbed my hand and towed me toward the door. “And all that magic is just sitting there waiting for us.”
Peppermint Spiced Omega by Susi Hawke
Chapter 1
Colin
I Iwalked into the crowded O-zone Lair, or Big O as we locals call it, and looked around the packed club. I made a beeline for my favorite seat at the end of the long mahogany bar. My buddy Greg was manning the bar tonight. Before my butt was all the way on the cracked vinyl cushion of the worn out stool, he had a full draft poured and was sliding it across the counter.
It had been a long sucky-ass grind of a week and all I wanted was a cold beer, a hot omega, and three days of uninterrupted sleep. I couldn’t do much about the latter two items, but I sure as hell could get a drink.
“How’s it hanging, doc? Just ending another week of strutting around that big fancy hospital like you’re God’s gift to the nurses?” He took the $50 bill I tossed down and put it in the register. Greg would let me know when I needed to kick in more, he was skilled in that department.
I snorted and held up my drink. “Shit. I wish. You don’t want to know what my week was like. Let’s just say that you read my mind with this and keep ‘em coming.”
Greg leaned toward me with a leering smirk. “Well, I’ve got something that might cheer you up. We have a new boy. He’s dancing in the cage by the DJ booth tonight. His name’s Tofer and he’s wearing a bright green jockstrap and enough glitter to make Tinkerbell choke. Or, if blondie isn’t what you’re looking for tonight, then maybe look out on the dance floor. There’s a certain ginger out there that I’ve seen you eyeballing in the past.”
I forced myself not to automatically seek him out. I wasn’t going to give Greg the pleasure of knowing he was right. Instead, I gave a noncommittal shrug and took a long drink. After running the back of my hand across my mouth to wipe away the foam, I casually looked around the club.
“He’s over there dancing by the caged blonde I mentioned, if you’re looking for him.” Greg wiped the counter and put a clean dish of nuts in front of me. “By the way, I know you’re not interested, but his name is Tom. He manages Sweet Ballz.”
I had just taken a drink and pretty much choked when I heard that. Coughing and sputtering, I glared at the smirking little prick. “Seriously? Did you time that shit on purpose? You do know that if you kill me, you won’t have a doctor friend the next time you cut your hand on broken glass, right?”
“Aw, come on! That was a one time thing, it could have happened to anyone. There was a broken glass in the dishpan. The fact that I may or may not have been a little bit sloshed at the time and had no business in the kitchen has nothing to do with it.”
He studied his hand, looking yet again for the invisible scar that didn’t exist because I was just that good. I smirked as I shook my head and popped a handful of nuts into my mouth.
Greg got sidetracked a few minutes later by some other customers, and I took the opportunity to spin on my stool and look around the bar. There he was, just as Greg had said, dancing in front of the big birdcage and laughing with the dancer inside.
The little ginger was glorious. His toned, limber body moved fluidly under the moving lights, not missing a beat while laughing and chatting with the caged blonde. There were seven of the large silver cages spread around this bottom floor area. Each one held an omega dressed in a different color jockstrap with his body painted in glitter to match it. Most of the other cages had alphas swarming around it, except for that one by the DJ booth. There were a few alphas hanging around dancing in the vicinity, but not being creeps about it.
The blonde vaguely reminded me of a dirty elf, for some strange reason. Even from here, I could see that his almond shaped eyes were just a little too big and his nose a little too pointy. Of course, that could just be an optical illusion, brought on by the holly green glitter and jock strap he wore.
A well dressed blonde alpha came walking over and took the stool two down from me. He ordered two straight tequila shooters with beer chasers, then looked over at me with a grin and shoved one set my way.
“Here, man. Don’t make me drink alone. It’s been a shitty fucking day that topped off a craptastic week.” His green eyes sparkled in the light of the bar as we clinked our glasses and did the shot.
I sucked on the little lime wedge that Greg had stuck on the salt coated rim of the glass and held out a hand. “I’m Colin, by the way. Thanks for that, I’ve had one of those weeks myself.”
The other alpha grinned in solidarity and shook my hand. “Ian. Glad to be a bright spot in your week.”
“Shit. You have no idea. I was half-assing the idea of picking up an omega for the night, but I think I’m too fried for that shit.” I shook my head with a self-deprecating smile and took a pull from my beer.
“I hear you on that one. Rosy Palm is a lot easier when you’re worn the fuck out. You don’t have to worry about being gentle or if you used enough lube. Rosy don’t give a shit about no stinkin’ lube.” We both laughed at that one.
“So what do you do, Colin? I’m an attorney, myself. I lost a pretty big case in L.A. today. I just got back to town an hour ago. The Big O is always a good place to blow off some steam, right?”
“No, shit. Sorry about your case. I’m a doctor. I work in the emergency room at the hospital here in town. One of my favorite patients, a little girl from the foster system that comes in a lot with different problems, was finally diagnosed today with non-Hodgkin lymphoma. She was admitted to the hospital, and her foster parents are backing away right when she needs someone the most. People fucking suck, you know?”
“You win, dude. Shittiest week award goes to you, doc.” Ian frowned sadly at his beer. What I’d shared had been a little heavy for Friday night at the Big O.
Changing the subject, I brought up the latest ballgame. We drank our beers and bullshitted for awhile. We sat with our backs to the bar. I was enjoying the man’s company. It was as a good way to unwind as any, I supposed. Ian’s eyes flitted around the room, checking out the different omegas but not settling on any one type in particular. I had just ordered another round for me and my new buddy when a familiar red-headed dynamo came flying up out of nowhere.
Practically springing up on tippy-toe, he threw his arms around my neck and planted a big kiss on me. He was wedged in between my open legs. If he got any closer, we’d need some lube so nobody got hurt. I barely had time to register what was happening, let alone respond to the tongue that quickly slipped in and out of my mouth before it was over.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Daddy. Tom was caught up in the music.” He pouted out his words, then turned to do an overly dramatic double take in Ian’s direction. “Ian! Tom is so, so sorry! Tom would never flaunt the hot daddy in front of Ian, even if Ian did make stupid choices.”
Ian rolled his eyes and gave the ginger twink a lazy grin. “Hey, Tommy boy. Didja miss me? I missed you.”
Tom gave Ian a cold eyed smile and waved his fingers dismissively as he spoke in a cheerfully passive aggressive tone. “Has Ian been gone? Tom didn’t notice. Hmm. Maybe it could be that Ian was never around enough for Tom to notice one way or the other?”
I was really confused at this point. Was the ginger talking in the third person and his name was Tom? Or was there a third guy they both knew named Tom? Either way, this didn’t look amicable and I was a little too buzzed to process subtlety right now.
“Who the fuck is Tom?” I asked a little more rudely than I’d intended.
The ginger looked back at me and turned up the flirt level. His smile was pretty, but didn’t reach his eyes. His eyes were blank, like this was just an act for him. I wished I was more sober so that I could try and figure him out better.
“Silly Daddy! Like Daddy doesn’t know Tom! Although,” he stopped and tapped his lip thoughtfully, “maybe we got to the naughty stuff so fast last time that we never got to the name exchange?”
Ian stood and drained his glass. He looked at me with an insolent grin. “He’s all yours, buddy. With my blessings. Consider him your prize for winning the award. I’m done with this on again, off again bullshit. I never wanted more than a fuck buddy anyway. Enjoy him though, he’s really bendy if you haven’t discovered that yet.”
Tom turned his back on the departing alpha without a word and held a hand up to get Greg’s attention. I pushed my untouched beer at him.
“Here, kiddo. You look like you can use this more than me. Sorry about that, whatever it was.” I hoped that I was speaking clearly. I was getting more buzzed by the second, a fact not helped by my lack of sleep and an empty stomach.
Tom pushed the beer aside and shook his head. Holding out his hand, he demanded instead, “Give Tom the keys, and let’s go. Tom will get the sweet daddy alpha home.”
I blinked at him stupidly. “Why would I give my keys to Tom? Could you just take me?”
The ginger giggled wildly and stepped forward. He tugged on my hand to get me up, then dug my keys out of my pocket with nimble fingers. He turned to Greg.
“Did the sexy Daddy here run a tab or does the hot barkeep need Tom’s card?”
Greg grinned. “Naw, man. It’s cool. Colin gave me enough cash earlier, he’s good.” He looked over at me with a grin. “You want your change, big guy? This little scene here is all the tip I need.”
I flipped him off with a teasing smirk and said, “Here’s your tip, fucker. And yeah, keep the fucking change.”
Tom pulled on my hand and led me out of the bar. He didn’t bother asking which car belonged to me. Instead he clicked the button on my key fob and headed toward the car that reacted.
“Come on, Daddy. Let’s roll that tight ass into the car. Is Daddy’s GPS set for home, or does Tom need to rely on Daddy’s iffy directions?”
I snorted. “I’m buzzed, not shit-faced. I’m pretty sure I can get you to my place. Now what I’m gonna do with you when we get there? Well, that’s a whole other question, isn’t it?”
Tom flashed me a flirtatious smile that still didn’t quite reach his eyes. “If Daddy is awake and can make that alpha equipment work, then Tom will be happy to show Daddy exactly what can be done with Tom.”
Stunned into silence, I turned on my GPS and hit home. Tom turned on my radio to some insipid holiday station while I leaned back against the headrest and wondered how the hell I’d managed to score with the hot ginger.
Bagging Santa's Elf by Kayleigh Sky
Santa's Helper
An elf with big, pensive eyes and a skinny, waif-like face stared at Kyle from the mirror. Kyle leaned on the counter, palms on either side of the sink, and blinked. The elf blinked back.
Oh, God.
A minute ago, he’d been a blond, gray-eyed guy, and now—
Now he was an elf. And not just any elf, but a girl elf.
Goddam Vince. He had to have gotten the girl costume on purpose. Plotting a stupid joke to get Kyle back for rejecting his proposal. Was Kyle crazy for saying no? An icy wave of worry broke over his skin. What if Vince left him?
Well, what if he didn’t? Wouldn’t marrying Vince be like embracing chaos? A crazy rollercoaster of a life when all Kyle wanted was to get off the fucking rollercoaster for once?
And anyway…
“He doesn’t care about me getting this promotion,” he muttered to the long-haired chick in the glass.
Who didn’t look like she gave a good goddam about Kyle’s predicament. Or that he was an elf when he was supposed to be Bob Cratchit. How did the damn costume shop get this screwed up? There was zero connection between a poverty-stricken Victorian era clerk and Bambi the Friendly Christmas elf.
He was screwed.
“Isn’t going as Bob Cratchit a little passive-aggressive?” Vince had asked, sipping his morning coffee with sleepy-eyed contentment. One of the few mornings they’d done more than pass each other in the hallway.
“How is it passive-aggressive? Bob Cratchit is a Christmas character. From Scrooge. The most Christmassy of all Christmas stories.”
Vince had smiled over the rim of his cup before he swallowed and said, “Christmassy?”
“It’s a word.”
“If you say so. I still think it’s passive-aggressive to go to a party where the winner of the promotion will be announced as the penniless clerk of a heartless, anti-Christmas boss.”
Well, no worries about that now, because Kyle wasn’t going to be the winner. Not in this costume. What the hell would his boss think? His conservative, probably homophobic boss, though Kyle didn’t know that for sure. But Ashwood Grove wasn’t exactly a bastion of gay pride. Kyle wasn’t in the closet really, but this? What if he lost the promotion? Was that Vince’s plan? Hot-blooded, artistic, humanity-loving Vince. The guy was so damn comfortable in his own skin he made Kyle want to crawl right out of his.
Such a mismatch. What if Vince got tired of him? Stopped noticing him? And why wouldn’t he? Kyle was tired himself too. He’d been fine until that damn proposal had made him act like a complete asshole. Buy me a car first.
Who said things like that?
Your mother.
Oh, yeah.
“Hey, babe.”
“You aren’t putting any makeup on me,” he growled through the bathroom door.
Alissa’s laugh rang out. “Oh, come on. Be a good sport. It’s Christmas.”
Kyle sighed, swiped his clammy palms off on his red velvet skirt, and yanked open the bathroom door. “This is the men’s room, you know.”
Alissa cocked her head and flashed him a dimpled smile. “Well, you probably shouldn’t be in there then, should you?”
“Very funny. I belong where I identify.”
She grabbed his hand and dragged him down the hall to the office kitchen, which was luckily empty because everybody was downstairs in the main conference room.
“Sit there.”
She pointed him to a chair and opened a pink plastic toolbox crammed full of cosmetics and bottles of nail polish. “You see…” He leaned his elbow on the table and peered at her cache of paints and dusts and sparkles. “The boss is going on a month long cruise tomorrow, and his personal assistant is reduced to selling Avon to get by.”
Alissa barked out a laugh. “I don’t sell Avon, though…” She straightened and tapped her sooty little chin with a tube of lipstick. “That’s not a bad idea.”
For somebody who adored makeup and shoes with heels that rivaled stilts, coming to the Christmas party as a chimney sweep was an odd choice.
“What made you pick your costume?”
She chewed her lip while she loaded a brush with cotton-candy-pink blush, then straddled his knees and smiled. “It was Scotty’s. His class put on Mary Poppins, and he played Dick Van Dyke’s part.”
Her ten-year-old son, which explained why the costume fit her. She should have come to the party as Tinker Bell or somebody else as equally fluttery. How he’d become such good friends with her was as much a mystery to him as how he’d ended up with Vince. But Alissa was just as unflappably good-natured. All Kyle’s thoughts revolved around money. Not having any. Going without.
“I’m screwed,” he muttered.
“You are not.” She pulled back and examined his face with the focus of a diamond cutter. “You’re perfect to manage the team, and you’ve earned it. Look what you did with the Christmas party. Best turnout yet. And on Christmas Eve. A costume party was a fabulous idea.”
“It kinda blew up in my face. I think Vince planned this.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake. Why would he do that? Personally, I think you should thank him. Coming as Bob Cratchit is what might have blown up in your face.”
“Bob Cratchit is Christmas.”
“Close your eyes.” She tipped his head back. “You need a little sparkle. Christmas elves are fun, Kyle, and taking a dig at your boss is a bad idea.”
“I wasn’t—”
“That’s how Dave’ll see it. He pays us for shit.”
Kyle’s eyes snapped open.
“Hey,” said Alissa.
“You swore. You never swear.”
She sighed and put her hand back on his forehead. “Let me finish. It’s almost the new year and maybe time for you to think about a change, even if you do get this promotion. You can open your eyes now.”
“Why would I do that? I can advance.”
Besides, Kyle’s thing was rock-solid security, not change.
“Honey, this is a private company. Dave has a son. Trust me, he isn’t leaving this business to you. Do we make a living here? I don’t. Seriously, I’d be hard put to make ends meet, but I don’t need another job. I live five minutes away, which gives me time at home, and that’s important to me. We make money for somebody else. And I don’t like a lot of our clients. You can do so much better than this, and you’re so young.”
“I’m thirty, and you’re only thirty-seven.”
“I feel old.” She laughed and dug a peach-colored jar out of her toolbox. “Look at Vince. He’s happy driving a cab and painting on his days off. You don’t need money to make you happy.”
Well, that was a lie told so many times to pacify the poor it had no life anymore. Kyle had been poor. He knew what it was like when the cereal box was empty because one of his drug-addled, so-called stepfathers had eaten it all and the only milk in the fridge was sour.
The lack of food had gotten to the point of scaring him. Scaring him enough to filch it from the grocery store one time. The fear of cops rushing out of nowhere to haul him off to jail was worse though. That and the fear of going to Hell because he was forever a thief in his heart. Maybe that was why he was such a stickler for rules and precise things like numbers.
He knew what it was like when the school lunch was the only meal he got. When Christmas was A Christmas Story or Scrooge on TV but sure as hell wasn’t presents or a Christmas tree. He knew how slippery the slope from something to stone-cold nothing was. And money mattered. It mattered because it put a roof over your head, and fixed your twenty-five-year-old car, and slammed the door on the bitter memories clamoring to get in, even though the only safe place in Kyle’s life was in Vince’s arms.
“And anyway,” Alissa said, “you have Vince, and he adores you.”
So safe.
“I’m leaving him.”
The words spilled out like lumps of coal falling out of a stocking on Christmas morning—and for fuck’s sake, he had no idea where they’d come from. The thought of living without Vince sent panic spinning through him.
Alissa’s face turned snow white under the soot she’d painted on. “What?”
He swallowed. Now that it was out…
His heart jackhammered as though possessed by a deranged sprite. Did he mean it? Would he leave Vince?
That’s what rejecting somebody means.
But that was fixable.
Wasn’t it?
He makes no money. What if something bad happens?
“We’re just… We aren’t compatible.”
“What does that mean? How long have you been together?”
“Three years. Almost,” he added.
Their first date had been nothing like a regular hookup or a fancy night out, not with Vince so excited over his buy one, get one free coupon for Bello Bliss’s Pizza. There’d been hardly any money spent, and it had been… magical.
As though reading his mind, Alissa drilled her stare into his eyes. “Is this about money?”
“Of course not.” Liar. “He works all the time.”
“So do you.”
“We don’t want the same things. You said it yourself. It’s the new year. Out with the old.”
“I don’t believe this for a minute,” Alissa said. “Close your mouth.” He snapped it shut. “Pout.” Glaring, he stuck his lips out, and she dabbed on sticky cinnamon-scented lip gloss.
He grimaced. “It’s not what I want.”
“Then why do it?”
“It’s for the best.”
She rolled her eyes. “Please. What I don’t get is why you’re so motivated to cut off the best thing that ever happened to you and so determined to keep your nose to Dave’s grindstone.”
“Dave pays me.”
“Please tell me this isn’t about money after all. I don’t want to put myself in the unenviable position of reminding you that money isn’t everything.”
“Then don’t.”
“It isn’t everything.”
Kyle got to his feet, smoothed out his skirt, and crossed the room to the mirror on the wall. He hated this kitchen. It reeked of lasagna. The kind of food people made to stretch a budget.
He stared at his reflection, his wig a riot of black curls. He had to admit the black hair was striking on him. Alissa had brushed on a smoky eye shadow and the lip gloss was a peachy-pink, a pretty color with the dark hair. There was no hiding the fact he was dressed up like a fucking girl though. It unnerved him, because he liked to blend in. He turned in work that was flawless but never flashy so he wouldn’t stick out. Let someone else be the star.
Kyle wanted to be a workhorse his rider couldn’t do without. Instead, on the night of his promotion, he showed up as Santa’s December centerfold.
“You notice Vince isn’t here,” Kyle said, turning back to Alissa.
She closed her toolbox. “Did you ask him to be here?”
“Of course. It wasn’t a secret.”
Not with him complaining out loud after Dave had roped him into being the “social director” for this party. “It’ll look good on your resume,” Dave had said after Kyle had thrown Alissa under the bus by suggesting she take over arrangements for the party—which he was never going to admit to her he’d done—and Dave had screwed up his face and said, “I’m looking for something a bit more creative than a potluck. Come on. This is the night of the big announcement. The promotion.”
Then he’d grinned the grin that worked wonders sealing deals with complete strangers, but had always made Kyle want to run and jump into the nearest shower. Especially after sweating to death wondering what the hell “It’ll look good on your resume” meant. Had that been Dave’s way of telling him he wasn’t getting the promotion? If it had, it had been as subtle as asking Kyle to dig his own grave.
“Okay,” said Alissa, coming over and fluffing the curls under his Santa cap. “Can I take It wasn’t a secret to mean that you invited him with actual words?”
He scowled at her as he wriggled up his stockings. “These things itch.”
“I know, which is why I don’t wear them. And don’t deflect.”
“We barely talk anymore,” he blurted.
“Honey, shouldn’t you? Before you do something you can’t take back.”
He couldn’t put his fear into words though. For the life of him, he didn’t know what he was afraid of. He wasn’t a little kid staring out his front window at all the other little kids playing with their new toys on Christmas morning anymore. He didn’t need Vince for money. He could buy his own damn toys. But…
Well, he didn’t have time to think about it now. He straightened, smoothed his skirt, and said, “We have to get downstairs.”
“All right. You don’t have to talk to me.”
“I’m trying not to.”
Alissa sighed. “It’s just that I’ve been there before.”
“With Zach? Seriously?”
“No, Kyle. With my first three husbands. Yes, with Zach. Do you think staying together is easy for anyone?”
“I thought you guys were made for each other.”
“We are. That’s what I’m saying.” She hooked her arm in his and steered him to the bank of elevators in the corridor. “It’s easy to get lost in your own drama and forget you’re supposed to be doing this together.”
“Zach isn’t here.”
“Zach is a paramedic, Kyle.”
And Vince drove a cab. What happened if people couldn’t afford cabs anymore and took buses? Uber had already eaten a hole in his income, and Kyle didn’t want to struggle. He didn’t want to wonder if he could afford fucking cereal. Or a doctor. Or a tune-up for his car, which was already overdue. “We don’t even have sex anymore.”
His cheeks flamed. Not that he was embarrassed. Alissa never held back any of the details of her sex life, and in the early months of his relationship with Vince, Kyle had shared more than his fair share of sexual escapades.
But just saying it brought up memories of those days.
Sure, in public he might be a little stuffy, but in private… Kyle reveled in games, so why was he so freaked out about this costume? It was exactly the kind of thing he’d love to wear. The kind of thing he’d love Vince to rip off him. Santa and the naughty elf. The librarian and the wealthy donor. The sassy nurse and the bossy doctor. The bank teller and the bank robber.
But now…
Had they even had one kiss this month?
Not after…
“We had a fight,” he said, raising his gaze to the arrows over the elevator door.
“About what?”
Money. “I don’t even remember.” But he did. It had been over the hundred-dollar increase in their rent, which was why his car still didn’t have its tune-up. And marriage. Even now, his insides scrunched at the memory of pain on Vince’s face.
“It’s not about money,” Vince had said. “I know you had lousy role models.”
“I had no role models. And don’t make this about me. We can’t afford to make a family. Not to mention we’re on different wavelengths. We want different things.”
Brigham Vaughn is on the adventure of a lifetime as a full-time author. She devours books at an alarming rate and hasn’t let her short arms and long torso stop her from doing yoga. She makes a killer key lime pie, hates green peppers, and loves wine tasting tours. A collector of vintage Nancy Drew books and green glassware, she enjoys poking around in antique shops and refinishing thrift store furniture. An avid photographer, she dreams of traveling the world and she can’t wait to discover everything else life has to offer her.
Her books range from short stories to novellas to novels. They explore gay, bisexual, lesbian, and polyamorous romance in contemporary settings.
I’m an editor by day and a romance writer by night, at least on a good day. I’m more of a procrastinator by day and despairing eater of chocolate by night when inspiration doesn’t flow and my day-job clients are driving me to insanity. Go ahead and guess which of these is more common.
My steady childhood diet of pulp science fiction, classic tales of adventure, and romance novels surreptitiously borrowed from my grandmother eventually led me to writing; I picked up my first M/M romance a few years ago and I’ve been enjoying the genre as a reader and an author ever since.
May is an M/M author who lives in Boston. She spends her days raising three incredibly sarcastic children, finding inventive ways to drive her husband crazy, planning beach vacations, avoiding the gym, reading M/M romance, and occasionally writing it. She also writes MF romance as Maisy Archer.
I'm a happily married mom of one snarky teenage boy, and three grown "kids of my heart." As a reader and big romance fan myself, I love sharing the stories of the different people who live in my imagination. My stories are filled with humor, a few tears, and the underlying message to not give up hope, even in the darkest of times, because life can change on a dime when you least expect it. This theme comes from a lifetime of lessons learned on my own hard journey through the pains of poverty, the loss of more loved ones than I'd care to count, and the struggles of living through chronic illnesses. Life can be hard, but it can also be good! Through it all I've found that love, laughter, and family can make all the difference, and that's what I try to bring to every tale I tell
So… About me. I’ve never run a marathon or scaled Mt. Everest. I’ve never scuba dived or sky dived. I’ve surfed though. That was fun. I have six tattoos, and I really love ink. I also love all plants. Zinnias are one of my favorite flowers. If you’ve never see a zinnia, look it up. Very pretty. It’s an old-timey plant but super easy to grow. Anyway, the big thing I do is write m/m erotic romance. But as much as I love romance and sex, I really love going deep into the dark with my characters. What are their wounds? How can I peel them raw and drag them into the light? This leads to some fairly dark stories sometimes, but even the dark ones come with humor. I think the contradictions in people are ripe for hilarious scene setups. I need humor and light in my life—otherwise, I go into some pretty dark places myself. I live with only one cat now—I once had thirteen. That was crazy. I take up most of the things I research for my characters—photography, tarot, and jewelry making for example. I even bought a recorder once because Ori from Jesus Kid played one. I love that part of my job. I also love to walk and lift weights. I’m not a big fan of yoga—just throwing that out there. So far, all of my characters embody something of me, and all of my characters have given me something of them. But no matter what the struggle is from book to book, love always wins out. I'm strong on plot, strong on character, stronger on love. You can count on happily ever after from me every time. I write my stories to open hearts and uplift spirits. Love matters. It counts. And it's for everyone.
Brigham Vaughn
SMASHWORDS / PINTEREST / SCRIBd / B&N
EMAIL: brighamvaughn@gmail.com
Eliot Grayson
May Archer
Susi Hawke
Kayleigh Sky
Love in the Balance by Brigham Vaughn
Yuletide Treasure by Eliot Grayson
The Night by May Archer
Peppermint Spiced Omega by Susi Hawke
Bagging Santa's Elf by Kayleigh Sky
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