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Summary:
With a Kick #6
Nuri’s expecting a quiet Christmas, driving his cab, doing some studying, enjoying good food and drink – and devoting some serious loving to boyfriend Eduardo. Occasionally he misses his homeland of Turkey, but he’s content to share the London celebrations with Eddy.
But what with Eddy’s distress over his new role at the local comedy club, interference in their love life from Nuri’s irrepressible brothers, a disturbing number of costumed Santas on the street, the dangerous slush on the roads, and then the portly, bearded man dressed in red, in need of an urgent cab ride…
It doesn’t look like things will be that quiet after all!
I'll admit as I haven't read any of the With a Kick stories, I had a bit of a hard time getting into this story. I say "a bit" because it only took half a dozen pages or so but it wasn't instant from word one. I wasn't lost but it took a few pages to connect to the characters already established relationship, I look forward to going back and seeing their beginning in A Twist and Two Balls, hopefully in 2024.
Even with that few-page-to-connect start, I loved the chemistry between Nuri and Eddy, it's realistic and fun. When one has to don the Santa suit for work they find a passenger in Nuri's taxi that might give them a little different take on the red suit and the man inside.
Yep, another deliciously fun holiday novella from Clare London.
Summary:
Slow Burn Holidays #2
It’s only a matter of time until Christmas works its magic on them...
Jack and I lived together for our entire twenties, friends so close that everyone just assumed: if we weren’t already together, we would be soon. Honestly, I believed it too.
Then Jack got married. I was his best man. Jack moved in with his new wife. And I was alone.
Four years later, with Jack’s terrible marriage over, we're roommates again—and it's all too easy to slide right back into the rhythm and comfort of living together. But something is different this time. Warmer. Closer. And just like before, everyone can see it.
When we agree to host my parents for the holidays, the slow countdown to Christmas wraps us in all the cozy, intimate warmth of holiday preparations. There are so many almost moments I think I might go mad… along with all our friends and family, who have been watching this dance for far too long. But when a friend talks me into buying Jack a romantic Christmas gift, the old fear comes rushing back. Revealing my feelings seems so dangerous, even after all these years. Especially now that I know what it’s like to lose Jack.
Have I waited too long? Is the risk too great? Or could this Christmas be the day we finally admit what’s been between us all along?
Say It Out Loud is a 19,000-word low-angst M/M romantic novella featuring roommates-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, meddling friends and family, warm Christmas feelings, and a super steamy and romantic first time. All books in the Slow Burn Holidays series can be read as standalones and in any order.
Generally(and by "generally" I mean 99.999% of the time) I'm a read-in-order kind of series gal, even a series of standalones, there's just something about "out of order" that seems out of whack, what can I say😉? On the odd occasion the "out of whack" happens I've never been lost, never missed anything and Say it Out Loud is no different. I featured Out Loud in my Random Tales of Xmas posts in December but just didn't have time to read it even though I skipped ahead and read book 3, Sing in the New Year for my New Year's post. So I can honestly say this trilogy really is a group of standalones even though the couples do seem to be friends.
So on to Say it Out Loud. As with the other two in Nico Flynn's Slow Burn Holidays, there is a certain amount of lack of communication mostly due to fear of lost friendship. I'll admit when an author goes the route of communication issues it can go sideways but when written realistically it can be magical. Let's face it, even when we're at our most honest we've all had communication hiccups and it's easy to say for an outsider/reader to scream "Just talk to each other!" but it isn't always easy to do. So again, when written right it can be a very special story and IMO, the author has written it right.
If I'm completely honest, I see Out Loud as more of a friends to lovers/right time, right place story more than lack of communicating. With Ezra getting what he sees as the perfect romantic Christmas gift to help him jumpstart the convo over loving and being in love with Jack forever, I can't help but love the big, adorable, scared goof and wrap him in the biggest Mama Bear Hug ever.
I don't know if the author has plans for any more holidays in this Slow Burn Holidays series but if there are more, I'll be sure to read them because I'm a sucker for a heartwarming, sweet, smile-inducing tale of love.
Summary:
PsyCop #3.1
Jacob Marks has noticed that crimes are committed whether or not he happens to have a social engagement on the agenda. Date another PsyCop, and the likelihood of having a successful night out are cut in half.
Of course Jacob feels sorry for the poor sap in the Fifth Precinct who's been shot. But did he have to go and get himself offed on New Year's Eve?
Complimentary copy on JCP Books website no longer available. Now included in PsyCop Briefs: Volume 1.
A lovely little short focusing more on Jacob but as his mind always drifts to Vic, his presence is always there. If you've been reading Jordan Castillo Price's PsyCop series then you have to give this one a go. Jacob is his own man of course but this little short shows how he's just not complete or completely happy without Vic. Gotta admit I loved that the author included how us here in the midwest don't get much of an actual Midnight ball drop anymore. If you tune in at midnight, they use to play it on TV so each timezone got to see it at midnight but it hasn't been that way for years now and when the clock strikes 12 and the new year begins for us poor suckers in the middle of the country, we get to see Time Square nearly empty and the street cleaners beginning. Just kind of nice to have that pointed out through Jacob's inner musings.
Summary:
In 1805, Charles Denham’s comfortable life in Regency London with his long-term partner Avery Mallory is disrupted by the sudden death of his father. As the heir to a modest country estate in Gloucestershire, Charles returns home to care for his bereaved family and take up his new responsibilities.
Overwhelmed with grief, rather than leaning on Avery, Charles becomes fixed on the idea of taking a wife for reasons of family duty alone. With this plan in mind, he travels the short distance to Bath only to find that Avery and his family have already arrived at the resort.
Will Charles follow through with his ill-conceived plan for a hasty betrothal by Christmas? Or will he come to his senses and resume his relationship with the nicest man in England?
Christmas ✅
Historical ✅
Second Chances ✅
Subtle(or not so subtle) Helpful Family ✅
Regency Era ✅
Friendship ✅
Heart ✅
Charles steps up to do what he thinks he has to when his father dies but is it really what is best for him? I think you can guess the answer to that but as I'm all about the spoiler-free zone I'll just reiterate my go-to line: you have to read for yourself to find out. There's always a fine line between duty and self, many can stand on the outside and not understand choosing duty over self but unless you lived that choice you can't completely get it. I can't imagine the heartache Charles faces when that line is before him and I can't say I would have Avery's willingness to accept that choice with such support but I do understand and commend it.
Ellie Thomas has once again painted a picture with words so deliciously that you can see it play out in front of you. If I wasn't already a fan, A Christmas Engagement would make me one. There's just the right amount of humor mixed into this heartbreaking yet oddly heartwarming tale of friendship, romance, and deciding if doing what society deems right is really what is best.
So many wonderful boxes ticked. My reading wants tend to favor the longer full-length novels but when a novella is well written it can pack quite a punch, A Christmas Engagement packs just that punch. I have already pre-ordered(2/10/24 release day) the follow-up novella, A Lasting Vow to see where the next leg of their journey finds Charles and Avery.
Summary:
Boys In . . . #2
A collection of Clare London stories full of sweet, sexy romance, and boys seeking friendship, fun and inspiration.
A GOOD YEAR
It’s Joe and Duncan’s first Christmas as a married couple, and there are bound to be tensions, right? Joe’s a man of few words, unlike Duncan, but he loves his guy and is happy to let Duncan talk as much as he needs. He’s even resigned to the occasional argument. But when Duncan wakes him in the middle of the night, Joe hopes he has something more interesting to share than what gifts to buy.
LUCKY DIP
Andy Jackson always knew that class 2C’s help in preparing for the annual Christmas Fair would be a mixed blessing. Then he’s paired up on the Lucky Dip with Greg, the man who dumped him but now can’t keep away, the pupils are either lecturing him on his lovelife or losing bladder control, and no one’s fixed the broken handle on the storage room. It may all be one whoopee cushion too far for him.
SECRET SANTA
Seb and Jamie argue over most things, even in the season of presumed good will. When a totally unsuitable "Secret Santa" present for each of them causes even more tension, the hostility threatens to ruin the pleasant Christmas meal they had planned with friends. But there are strange forces at work tonight and both of them seem to be acting out of character. They find they're working together in the kitchen, sharing confidences, and admitting to feelings they never dared before - and cooking up something rather more exciting than food!
BAH, HUMBUG!
Drew hates the Christmas season – the noise, the crowds, the commercialism, the enforced jollity. But on one notable bus journey, his friend Joe finally speaks out against Drew’s grumpiness and, for Drew, things will never be the same again!
FIRST FOOTING
Caleb and Owen are all but living together, but one couldn’t call it a harmonious time. Owen likes things to be his way, and Caleb just likes to argue. Two alphas, crazy for each other, but reluctant to give ground. When a silly challenge over how a late Christmas card is addressed turns into something more personal, passion is the only thing left to distract them.
IN THE WEE SMALL HOURS
In the small hours of the morning, on opposite sides of town, Jake and Matty each seek a shoulder to cry on after a fierce argument. But when their long-suffering listeners have had enough, it's time for the guys to realize where they've gone wrong.
Overall Collection Review
This collection of holiday treats from Clare London is just that: a treat to highlight anyone's holiday dessert table. I won't review each short but an overall collection review(though I did include my original reviews for Lucky Dip and Secret Santa as I had read & reviewed them as individual shorts a few years back). Each one of these gems put a smile on face, bounce in my step, and joy in my heart. Okay, that might be a bit OTT description but no less true. London has brought humor, heart, and harmony to this collection and though they are holiday shorts I feel they are perfect for any time of year because finding the goodness that comes with holiday spirit is never bad year round.
Lucky Dip
Original Review December 2018:
Clare London's Lucky Dip is a lovely fun holiday rom-com that will make you smile. It may seem cliche but sometimes happiness is all about timing and second chances can be hard to give so will Andy give Greg another chance? You'll have to read this little gem for yourself to find out but you won't be sorry. Lucky Dip might be short on quantity but it more than makes up for it in quality. I loaded this one up on my kindle last Christmas but unfortunately it got buried under all the other holiday tales I added, I'm glad I found it this year because it is a win-win from beginning to end.
Secret Santa
Original Review December 2018:
Clare London's Secret Santa is an absolute delight! I don't know if I would tag it "holiday rom-com" because for much of this short there is quite a bit of anger, okay maybe not "anger" but certainly a lot of feisty stubbornness between Seb and Jamie. Sometimes we need that last push to get everything off our chest so we can move forward and that is what Clare London has done with Secret Santa. Clearing the air can be highly invigorating if we listen as well as telling. Luckily for them(and for us) Seb and Jamie do listen and that is where the fun takes over😉😉. Just like the author's Lucky Dip that I reviewed a couple of days ago, Secret Santa found its way on my kindle last Christmas but got lost in the shelves and I am so glad I went looking through my list because this is a definite winner. Short on quantity but long on holiday packed quality that I would not have wanted to miss.
RATING:
Nice and Snow by Clare London
Nuri’s boyfriend was causing him indigestion.
Well, it may have been partly due to the oversized portions of supper at his brothers’ Turkish restaurant, but there were emotional reasons too. Eduardo was a constant delight—Nuri wouldn’t want anyone to think he had any complaint, for goodness sake, he’d never been happier—but Eduardo was a man who needed Nuri’s attention and care.
Right now, Eddy—his real name—was staring at Nuri over the dining table with dark suspicion in his eyes. “There was a group of them in the club last night,” he said. Eddy was a compere at the local Soho comedy club, a job that Nuri thought he did extremely well. He loved to watch Eddy up on stage, with no sign of the nerves he’d suffered as a dramatic actor, but now playing to the crowd with his impressions and clever mimicry as he bridged the gap between the comedians’ sets.
“I think you may be overreacting.” Nuri smiled to himself, knowing what “them” Eddy was talking about. Not that he wouldn’t have stepped to Eddy’s defence if there were any real threat to him.
“But it was spooky, you know? There’ve been so many around recently. Remember the crowd we saw in the pub last night? And I’ve spotted some on the bus, and at lots of stations on the Tube. They don’t seem to care where or when they’re seen. Do you know, I bumped into one at the supermarket, too, when I went for more milk.”
“What was he buying?”
Eddy glanced swiftly at Nuri. “Are you teasing me?”
Nuri smiled openly. He was sure—wasn’t he?—that Eddy didn’t really mind, because he knew Nuri’s teasing was never cruel, only fond. Nuri just couldn’t resist sometimes. And humour was so often part of the bedroom foreplay between them, leading up to some pretty sweaty and impressive—
“Squid!” announced Nuri’s brother Adem, delivering a large plate onto their table with a flourish and a thud. “It go extra with the kofte I bring, you call… ballocks?”
“Balls. Meatballs,” Eddy said, his voice strained. “You also brought dolma, extra halloumi, and then skewers of souvlaki. There’s too much food here, Adem.”
“Never,” Nuri muttered, reaching eagerly for the new plate. He absently brushed a crumb of bread from his beard. Their early supper at the restaurant had become a familiar routine, especially on the days Eddy finished work after a matinee show. Of course, the trade-off was that they both had to suffer Nuri’s brothers’ attention, especially about their love life. Nuri’s family had welcomed Eddy very warmly and didn’t seem to have a problem with the two men all but living together. But just now and then…
Adem remained staring at Eddy, his brown eyes bright with mischief. “I like hear your words, Eduardo. Very amusing, the way you say my words.”
“For heaven’s sake.” Eddy rolled his eyes. “Your English seems to be getting worse, not better, ever since I offered to help you with your London pronunciation. I could almost believe you play up the hapless Turkish accent act when Nuri and I are here.”
Nuri caught Adem’s eye and frowned at him. Adem winked back, and ran his tongue along his lower lip in a bizarre leer. Then he swung on his heel, his waist apron fluttering against his smart black trousers, and darted over to another table that needed service. He may have been swishing his hips just a little too much to be natural.
“He’s teasing me too, right?” Eddy said glumly.
“Of course,” Nuri said. He covered Eddy’s hand with his own, their hands pale and darker-skinned together on the red tablecloth. “He likes to pretend he understands the gay way. But he likes winding you around as well.”
“Winding me up,” Eddy corrected automatically, then caught sight of Nuri’s grin. “Oh God, you’re doing it too! Why am I suddenly the sole source of entertainment around here?”
Nuri tightened his hand, a little alarmed by Eddy’s tone. “What’s really wrong?”
“Wrong?”
Nuri knew Eddy’s denial tactics of old. He didn’t press him, but poured a small measure of raki into Eddy’s glass, then topped it up with water from the nearby jug. Eddy watched with his usual fascination as the liquid clouded to milky white. He’d grown very accustomed to the taste over the last few months with Nuri. “Drink this,” Nuri said softly. “You need it.”
Eddy sighed, but took a sip. Nuri knew the exact moment the sharp aniseed flavour tickled Eddy’s taste buds, because his nose wrinkled with delight. Nuri resisted the urge to reach over and smooth out the wrinkles. To hell with it. He just liked to touch Eddy, wherever and whenever.
“I’m not angry at Adem,” Eddy said. “Or you. You’re my rock, you know that?”
“I know that. But you are disturbed, I think.”
“Okay. Yes. A bit.” Eddy examined the table cloth as closely as if it held a secret treasure map and only he could decipher the code.
“Tell me,” Nuri urged. “You’re not really frightened?”
Eddy flushed. “God, that’d be childish, wouldn’t it? But it does seem bizarre. I’m beginning to feel stalked by them.”
Nuri shook his head. “You must be sensible about this. They’re common enough here in London. Especially at this time of year. We all see them.”
With a startling thump, Adem dropped into the seat beside Eddy. “What is this stalking?” For the first time that night, he dropped his sardonic look and seemed genuinely concerned for Eddy.
“Stalkers?” Sadi, Nuri’s other brother and co-owner of the restaurant, paused behind Adem’s chair, his hands full of crockery cleared from another table. “Eddy, are you having trouble at the club?”
“This month of December is very full of danger,” Adem said sombrely. “The shoplifters and pocket pickers are everywhere. I will lend you my sister’s mace spray. If you blind some person, Nuri will defence you in court when he is qualified as lawyer.”
“Defend. And no, it’s all right, I’m not talking about thieves.”
“Sex slavers?” Adem looked even more appalled. “They like young boys as well as the girls. Though…” He gave Eddy the once-over with what looked alarmingly like professional appraisal. “I think you are not so young any more, and they will not want one who wriggles as you do when a man like Nuri clasps you close—”
“Enough,” Nuri said, rather sharply, though he doubted Adem would pay any heed. He never had before. “Eddy’s talking about the pretend Father Christmases. They seem to be very plentiful this year.”
Adem and Sadi stared at him as if he’d just beamed down off the Millenium Falcon.
Nuri sighed. “The people dressed as Father Christmas, you know? Big bellies, red jacket and trousers, thick white beard.”
“Sounds like our new chef,” Sadi muttered. He leaned over the table toward Eddy and put on a sympathetic expression. “I understand how you feel,” he said. “Some people are scared of clowns.”
“And beetles,” Adem added.
Sadi didn’t look away from Eddy, but managed to reach over and clip his brother around the ear with deadly accuracy. “Those are weevils,” he hissed. “From old flour. And it’s perfectly reasonable to hate them in a restaurant.”
“It’s not fear. I’m fine.” Eddy laughed at the banter. But the laugh was shaky.
Nuri was concerned. He had walked with Eddy from the club to the restaurant and had seen an example of this effect. When a young Santa crossed their path by the Chinese grocer’s, Eddy had shivered and shrunk back against Nuri’s side. As far as Nuri could see, it was just a skinny young man dressed up for fun, the tee shirts he’d used to pad himself peeking out from under his tunic, a soppy smile on his face, and a rather strong smell of beer on his breath. Nuri noticed the guy’s shopping bags clinking as he passed, but had nodded an easy good evening to him. Eddy hadn’t. Nuri suspected there was still more to this situation, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—rush Eduardo.
A customer waved from the other side of the room, and Adem and Sadi moved away from the table.
“Tell me what is really worrying you,” Nuri said quietly to Eddy. He didn’t want his brothers zeroing back in on their problems, however amusing they found it. “I see it in your expression.”
“See what?”
“That it’s not just about the Father Christmases,” Nuri said patiently.
“Well, it is and it isn’t. Sometimes I think you’re psychic.” Eddy had on his 101-Dalmation-puppy look. “Patrick asked me to help host a Christmas Eve party at With A Kick. For the children, in the afternoon. It was such a great success last year, and they love the ice creams. All non-alcoholic for the kids, of course,” he hurried to add.
“Of course.”
“Apparently the guy who played Santa wants a break from it this year.”
Nuri nodded encouragingly. “You are an actor, Eduardo. I don’t see the problem.”
“Dressing up as Father Christmas? As Santa?”
Nuri’s eyes widened just a fraction. “As I say, I don’t see…”
Eddy groaned. “I don’t believe in Santa, Nuri. The whole thing is a bit creepy, men dressing in ill-fitting costumes with stupid cotton-wool beards. What sort of idiot am I going to look?”
Never to me, Nuri thought, and smiled encouragingly. “You’ll have a good time. You have a gift with entertaining children. And you love Christmas.” He and Eddy had never shared one before, but Eddy had been gazing at sparkly decorations in shop windows since October.
“I do. Yes, I do. It’s just the Santas I find weird. I don’t like them, and especially the fake ones.”
“How can there be fake ones without a real one to compare?”
“Smart arse,” Eddy muttered.
Nuri looked longingly at the plate of aromatic, steaming squid, but instead he concentrated on Eddy’s distress. “In Turkey, he is real.”
“He’s… sorry?”
“Baba Noel. Where all the Father Christmas stories began. He was a genuine Turkish man.” Eddy started to laugh, but Nuri frowned at him. “No, it’s true. The history is believed to begin with a bishop from Demre, in modern-day Turkey, who wanted to help poor people, but in secret. He helped girls without dowry, and also became the patron saint of children and sailors. Though I’m not sure of the connection between those groups. It’s said he climbed on roofs and dropped coins down the chimneys.”
Nuri loved the way Eddy’s face expressed everything he was thinking, even while Eddy himself thought he was being so discreet. At the moment, Eddy was obviously wondering how to challenge Nuri on such a ridiculously bizarre lie. And yet, Nuri knew it was the truth. Lucky he didn’t take offence that Eddy disbelieved the history of Nuri’s heritage. Poor Eddy was a victim of his British upbringing. Nuri loved him all the more for it.
Say It Out Loud by Nico Flynn
Chapter One
Tess Navarra is a woman on a Christmas mission, and I am firmly in her clutches. I've begged, I've bargained, but she refuses to be swayed.
I'm currently backed into a corner of an adorable bakery draped in gauzy fake snow and cheerful twinkling fairy lights, pinned there by the force of her glare. She presses her lips together into a thin line and stares me down.
"Ezra, you knew my opinion on this when you texted me this morning. I'm not sure why you thought it would change in the last..." She checks her watch. “Six hours?”
"Because your opinion is stupid and I hate it," I say with absolutely no whining in my voice. I pull my coat tighter around my thin frame, my shoulders rounded in what is definitely not a petulant sulk, and shove past her, out the door, into the chilled evening air. Tess jogs after me, blinking against the flurries of fine snowflakes that land in her eyelashes. As soon as she catches up, I try another tactic.
"How about a—"
She cuts me off. "No. Unless you're going to say a kiss, a card that includes the words 'I'm in love with you,' or you're planning to put a bow around your own dick—"
"Oh my god, you are the most mortifying human—"
She barrels on, completely ignoring the glare of a passing middle-aged man in an unfortunate scarf. "If it's not one of those things, then Jack doesn't want it, and I don't want to hear it."
I scowl. She makes it sound so easy. Like Jack and I don't have years of baggage working against us. We met in our freshman year of college when we were in the same core requirement history class. We started living together our sophomore year, then got a place off campus our senior year and just... stayed there. We have all the same friends. We've traveled together, spent holidays with each other’s families... and I've been in love with him the whole time.
Well, probably. There were a few years there in the beginning where I swore we were just really great friends. Best friends, the kind you have for life. In hindsight, though... I'm pretty sure it's always been more than that.
I just didn't realize it until Jack started dating the woman that would become his wife.
If we really were just best friends, then being the best man at his wedding would have been one of the highlights of our friendship. Instead, the day he asked me was one of the worst I've ever had. The whole experience left me sick. It was right after one of our biggest almost moments, too, the night of Jack’s twenty-seventh birthday, when we’d had way too much whiskey and I nearly fucked up our entire friendship.
I guess in the back of my mind, I thought we would always be together. Even throughout the whole wedding preparation year, I kept thinking... this will all go away. Something will happen, the wedding will get called off, and everything will go back to normal. I always thought... eventually, it'll just happen. We'll get there.
We didn't get there. Jack married Hannah four years ago. He moved out, and I stayed. We were still best friends, but he had a wife. Things were different.
Then they split up six months ago, though Jack was uncharacteristically vague on the 'why' of it. He moved back in a few months later. And now, everything is almost back to normal.
Almost.
"Look, Tess," I say, struggling to master my temper. "I’m not going to turn Christmas morning into some kind of grand romantic gesture. Especially not while hosting my parents. And you’re one to talk. You’ve been mooning over Imani’s sister for the last year. Why do you have to keep picking at this?"
"Because, Ezra—"
She snags me by the crook of my arm and tugs me to a halt. The grumbling, holiday-rushed crowd pushes us against the wall of yet another glittering shop, this one full of toys and delicate ornaments and a thousand other things I study intently instead of meeting Tess's gaze.
"Because you've been through enough," she says, her voice low and gentle. "The both of you have been through so much, and it's time to just be happy, okay?"
My throat goes thick, and I blink hard until the lights through the shop window lose their blur.
“It’s not like I’ve just been waiting around. I’ve dated. I have a job I love, and a seat in the orchestra—"
She cuts me off.
"It's time, Ez. You asked for my help, and I'm giving it. Let yourself be happy." She runs a comforting hand down my arm, then takes a deep breath and steps back. "Now, why don't we—"
I slip away before she can finish that sentence, already halfway across the street before she starts to follow. The light changes, and she gets stuck on the other side of the crosswalk while I disappear into the craft beer and wine shop I spotted in the reflection of the window. I have an idea. Maybe it's a stupid one... but it's the only idea I've had all day. It's worth a shot.
I must give off helpless vibes, because seconds after I stop in the middle of the store, a woman with a kind smile approaches me.
"Shopping for a gift?" she asks.
"How could you tell?"
She shrugs, eyebrows raised. "Just a lucky guess. Who's it for?"
"It's, uh..."
This question shouldn't be hard. It's for my roommate? It's for my best friend? It's for... the man I've been in love with for my entire adult life? I don't know how to answer without spilling way more than this poor woman asked for. She seems to sense my internal angst and comes to my rescue, thankfully.
"Is it for someone... special?" she asks delicately.
My cheeks go hot, and I look away, sure it's written all over my face.
"Possibly," I say, then immediately have to fight the urge to run away. Before I can flee, the woman's smile deepens. She waves for me to follow her.
"I think I know just the thing," she says as we weave through aisles of craft and imported beer toward the wine section. "Do they like red wine?"
"He does," I say, and the urge to flee overtakes me again as soon as I realize that I've just come out to this random stranger, which shouldn't be a big deal but always feels like it. She doesn't react at all, though, just scans a rack of red wines and gently withdraws a bottle with a quiet 'ah hah!'
"This merlot is deep and rich,” she says, angling the bottle for my inspection. “Beautifully seductive color, full-bodied flavor, very warming. It's a fantastic wine for a special occasion, or... a night in."
The flush spreads from my cheeks to the tips of my now burning ears, but I nod, a vision of Christmas possibilities unfolding in my mind. This wine, the right atmosphere, a touch of bravery, and maybe…
"I'll take two," I say, once my throat lets me.
Tess sidles up and bumps her shoulder against mine, having finally caught up. She nods at the wine.
"Good choice.”
I slide my card across the checkout counter and can't help the tiny, private smile that curls at the corner of my mouth.
"We'll see," I say.
The snow is falling in earnest by the time we get home from our shopping trip, my cheeks wind-burned and my hair dusted with fine powdery flakes. Tess and I chat on our shared front porch for a moment, then head for our respective doors. Jack and I have been renting this same duplex since college, and when our terrible previous neighbors moved out we begged Tess to apply to rent the other unit. One good word to the landlord later, and she was in. Good thing, too, because it made things at least slightly less desolate when Jack moved out.
I unlock the door, and a warm, sweet scent immediately fills my senses. What is that? Chocolate? As soon as I step inside, I see him. Jack, standing in front of the stove, stirring a pot with a wooden spoon and humming quietly to himself. My heart gives a painful contraction at the sight of him, so perfectly at home here, as much a part of this place as the walls. Some part of me is still expecting him to leave again, to come home one day and find it empty and quiet.
But he’s here.
"Welcome home," Jack says in that warm southern drawl of his. He doesn't look up, intent on whatever his project of the day is—the man can never just sit still and relax for an afternoon. I should reply. Thanks, or hello, or something.
Instead, I flee into my bedroom, darting past Jack with something like guilt or embarrassment twisting in my stomach. I practically slam the door behind me and shove the wine under my bed like a porn magazine hidden from a parent.
What am I doing?
I slump onto the floor next to the bed, forearms propped on my knees, waiting for my heart to stop trying to break out and fly away. Somehow, having the wine in the same physical location as Jack makes the reality of giving it to him, drinking it with him, so much more immediate.
Honestly, there’s probably nothing to worry about. It's wine. Jack will drink it and completely fail to understand the significance. He'll be a little confused, but he'll say thank you, compliment the wine's characteristics, appreciate its color without ever applying the word seductive like the woman in the shop did.
Things will continue as they always have.
I'll want him. Jack will be oblivious.
Fine.
But... agh. Tess's words are like a nagging fly I can't shake. On our walk home, I actually tried to backpedal and make her take the wine. The look she gave me was so fierce I thought she might eat my face off.
"Look, I understand that before he got married, you had lots of reasons to doubt,” she’d said. “But I just don't understand what you're so afraid of now."
I'd barked a harsh laugh right in her face, shaking my head.
"How am I not supposed to be afraid? I could lose my best friend. Again."
"You're not going to lose him, Ez. He's a sure bet. You have nothing to worry about."
"So everyone keeps telling me. Everyone thinks they know. But do they really? How sure are all of you?" I'd had to pause and rein myself in, hearing the ragged edge of hysteria in my voice. "No, I think it's a lost cause. If he wanted me, I'd know by now. I need to let this go. Jack isn't interested in me like that."
"Then why did he come running right back to you as soon as his marriage was over?"
"He's only been back for three months. They've been broken up for six."
Tess had hesitated for a moment then, setting off alarm bells in my brain. But she’d continued.
"He wanted to come straight back to you. But he didn't want you to feel like he was only coming back because he had nowhere else to go. He wanted you to know he was choosing to live with you again because it's what he wanted."
If only I could believe that.
"I think you're reading too much into the situation."
"It's literally what he told me. I'm not 'reading into' anything."
"But he never told me that."
"Because you are two thirty-something men who can't figure out how to talk about feelings. At some point, Ez, you're going to have to open your mouth and say words, and I can't help you with that."
I was grumpy and silent the rest of the way home, digesting that bit of info. Against my better judgment… it does give me a bit of hope.
And yet, here I am, sitting on my bedroom floor and running a thousand scenarios through the logical machinery of my brain. As always, I’m getting nowhere. It’s been a lifelong problem; I’m either thinking with my math brain or I’m drowning in my feelings. It even came out in my choice of college majors. I majored in math but minored in music because I couldn’t bear to put down the flute entirely. Everyone always said, ‘oh, yeah, there’s so much math in music!’
But they don’t understand. To me… I just can’t integrate them. They’re wholly separate parts of me that can’t seem to take possession of my body at the same time. Even now, I have a day job running probability models and managing statistics for a climate nonprofit. But I have a seat in the community orchestra, too.
Logic and feelings. And I can’t make myself accept logic where Jack is concerned, so my feelings just… overwhelm me.
Maybe I need more opinions here. Tess is too close to the situation. Maybe a different friend. I pull one of the wine bottles back out, snap a picture of it, then send it along with a text to one of the only people who might understand what I’m struggling with. Our friend Oliver is a genius scientist who finally just got together with his boyfriend, Chris, after years of pining. Maybe he’ll have some insight.
Ezra: Is this a terrible idea? Too obvious?Oliver: Not obvious enoughOliver: Get out a sharpie and write I FUCKING LOVE YOU on the label and you'll be halfway there.Ezra: Shit, if that's halfway then what's all the way??Ezra: Never mind, please don't answer thatOliver: Look, I know it’s terrifyingOliver: But it’s worth itOliver: Trust me
Ugh, smug bastard. He’s been like this ever since they got together. The sex must be really good.
Ezra: Easy for you to say. Chris did the wooing. All you had to do was be wooed.Oliver: Wooed? What are we, 16th-century ladies of the court?Ezra: I regret texting youOliver: Most people doOliver: But look, I DO know what it’s like to not trust what your eyes are seeingOliver: And to be too afraid to hope that it might be trueOliver: But you have to trust Jack, and trust the rest of usOliver: It’s going to happen. You just have to say something.
Ugh. It’s Tess all over again. I close my eyes and lean my head back against the bed, letting the tide of my feelings carry me out to sea. Jack. What am I going to do? Can I really go through with this?
A knock on the bedroom door startles me from my thoughts.
"Ez? You okay? Are you busy?"
Shit.
I shove the wine back under the bed and scramble to my feet, schooling my features into something less obvious, then crack the door open. A hand holding a cheery red mug pushes through.
"Come on," Jack sings, waggling the mug as much as he can without spilling. "Come join me. I built a fire in the fireplace, and I just made real hot chocolate from scratch. Try some."
My throat constricts at the sight of Jack's warm, crinkled smile, so all I can do is nod and take the mug, following him out into our living room. Jack picks up his own mug and goes to stand by one of the big windows overlooking the road. After a moment of hesitation, I join him. I'm careful to place myself a comfortable distance away, but Jack ignores it and shifts closer until our arms brush with each sip of hot chocolate. Outside, the fine powdery snow shifts to fat, wet flakes, falling in a thick rain over the dusted streets.
"Beautiful, right?" Jack asks. "I wonder if we'll get snow like this for Christmas."
He turns to me, as if I could possibly provide the answer to such an impossible, changeable thing... and my gaze falls to his lips. My mind automatically maps out the motions needed to bring our mouths together, the possible actions and reactions, the—
I drag my eyes back up to Jack's, finding them soft and glowing with something. And I think of the wine. Of that full-bodied flavor on Jack's mouth, of seductive red, warmth in my belly, first kisses, and laying Jack down in front of the fire while a winter wonderland swirls outside our window.
I take in a shuddering breath and lean away from Jack, bracing my forearm against the window. A topic of conversation, something to distract, anything, what can I say...
"My parents want to stay here for Christmas," I blurt, knowing the surprise of it will knock Jack off balance. I wasn't planning to bring this up until later, but needs must. “Instead of a hotel. They want a ‘cozy Christmas at home.’”
Jack predictably flounders, his mouth gaping open for a long moment. "What, here as in our house? Where will they..."
Jack pauses, his face shadowed with disappointment and hurt. "I guess I can call my sister, see if I can spend Christmas Day with them so your parents can stay in my room and—"
"No," I interrupt, half-panicked. "Stay. Please. They want to see you, too. I already talked to Tess and she’s going to let them sleep there while she’s out of town. Please stay here."
Okay, I’m practically begging now. Does this count as talking about feelings? I feel like I should get credit for this. Regardless, I catch the quirk of a small smile at the corner of Jack's mouth.
"All right, Ez. I'll stay, if you're sure you want me to."
Ha. As if we don’t all already know that I want him around at all times. I think back to the wine bottles hidden away under my bed and swallow hard, the anticipation of merlot on my tongue.
"Yeah. I really do."
The Stroke of Midnight by Jordan Castillo Price
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Famous last words, I know. But originally we would’ve had four hands to carry the six-pack of microbrew and the sub platter. Then we got a call (okay, Vic got a call). There was a body, and he had to go… which left me by myself trying to figure out how to ring the doorbell. I could’ve knocked on it with my foot, but I really wasn’t in the mood to hear SWAT team jokes for the rest of the night. I really wasn’t in the mood to be there at all anymore, but it seemed better than sitting alone in that minuscule apartment with a platter full of subs.
I managed to connect my elbow with the doorbell, and pretty soon a silhouette filled the frosted glass window. I hoped it was Manny. That surprised me. Keith might have been the one I’d known forever, but Manny had an easygoing way about him that Keith had never managed. Sure, Keith tried, or maybe he just tried to fake it, but all those bitchy remarks he made and then later claimed to be “just kidding” about, all the backhanded compliments and derisive eye-rolls— they added up. The front door opened. Keith. “Oh, here, let me get that.” He wrangled the platter through the door, then did a sudden stop as I mounted the single stair so he could peer over my shoulder. “Where’s this Victor person we’ve been hearing so little about? Parking the car?”
“He got called in. You’ll have to make do with me.”
He shooed me in out of the cold and bumped the door shut with his hip. “And what have we here? Alcohol and nitrates? Very decadent. And just in time— there’s been some grumbling about the gazpacho.” Civil enough. Maybe he was turning over a new leaf. A pleasant new leaf. He leaned over the platter and kissed me on the cheek, then headed for the dining room.
Whatever snow had landed on my leather jacket beaded up into water droplets in the heat of the foyer, and I shook them out before I tucked my coat into the closet. If Vic were there, I would have mentioned how nice it would be to actually have a coat closet. If he were there.
A Christmas Engagement by Ellie Thomas
Charles paused before saying clearly and deliberately. “With Papa’s passing, it seemed expedient to start to look out for a wife.”
He heard Avery’s sharp intake of breath as Aunt Clarissa looked at him shrewdly. Her bright, old eyes, darker and sharper than Avery’s, seemed to pierce his soul. “You have come to the right place,” she remarked. “Far better to make your selection at your convenience in Bath than to be bothered with the fancy folderols of the London Season. I might be biased as I have fond memories of the place. The town will never be the same as in the heyday of Beau Nash, but it still passes muster, although I say it myself. And you should find a wide array of suitable ladies now you are resolved on matrimony.”
Charles had the sneaking suspicion that Aunt Clarissa was laughing at him and was spared further embarrassment by the timely approach of Mr. King.
“Ladies,” Mr. King uttered, addressing the group. “Might I interest you in a game of Cribbage at the Card Room tonight? The tables are filling up quickly, and I’d be glad to put your names down. From experience, these events prove very popular and can be over-subscribed.”
That popularity was confirmed by eager fluttering from the group of ladies, mercifully distracting Aunt Clarissa’s attention away from Charles.
Charles’ dearest hope was for Avery to have melted away into the surrounding throng during the conversation. Having only begun to establish himself in the confines of Bath’s society, Charles could not afford to cause gossip or general disgust by delivering a cut direct. And in truth, he flinched from being unnecessarily and publicly cruel. None of this was Avery’s doing. He must simply accept that Charles’ priorities had altered with his father’s death.
But when Charles glanced around, Avery was still standing there. He looked a trifle pale at Charles’ announcement but managed a smile as he said conversationally, “You must wonder why we are here. I’m sure you remember all those letters from my aunts pressing Aunt Clarissa for suggestions for her seventieth birthday celebrations?”
Charles nodded as he remembered their shared London rooms in Rupert Street, Avery’s face alight with laughter as he passed Aunt Clarissa’s typically scathing letter over the breakfast table for Charles’ amusement, in a gesture of everyday intimacy.
“Well, Aunt Clarissa refused to be contained by any sedate or convenient notions and decided to drag us all to Bath for the occasion, complete with a hired house on The Circus. According to her, since she’s in her dotage, she won’t get another opportunity to relive her past successes or criticise the current fashions and assembled company at the top of her voice. As you can imagine, both my aunts are thrilled.” Avery’s mobile mouth quirked with humour, and Charles was almost tempted to smile with him until Avery asked, “What does your mother think of your resolution to marry?”
Avery was still smiling, but his eyes seemed almost as shrewd and watchful as Great Aunt Clarissa’s. Charles was only glad that the necessarily loud interchange between the Master of Ceremonies and a lady of the party who was hard of hearing masked the personal turn of the conversation.
“She is delighted I’m assuming my obligations in seeking to establish our family connections.”
“Is she?” Avery sounded mildly surprised. “I’d have thought she would be far more concerned about your happiness and state of mind.”
“I am happy,” Charles retorted.
“If you say so,” Avery smiled agreeably before asking casually, “and since when have you been attracted to women?”
Charles bristled, “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Everything, I’d say if you seek marital accord.” Avery had the gall to look faintly amused as Charles cast around for a suitable retort, stumbling over half-remembered phrases he had recited to his mama. As Charles reeled off homilies on duty and family responsibility, Avery’s smile faded. But rather than displaying the outrage or bitterness of a repulsed lover, Avery’s expression was full of compassion, tinged with sadness.
Charles completed his speech, sounding pompous and prematurely middle-aged even to his own ears. Avery opened his mouth to impart an urgent observation before hesitating. Instead, he patted Charles on the arm, saying, “I’m sure you know best, Charles,” in a manner that implied no confidence whatsoever in his former lover’s judgement.
Boys in Seasons by Clare London
Lucky Dip
“We’re not moving.”
I didn’t mean it to sound so aggressive. Really, I didn’t. Poppy and Benedict from 2C, plus Poppy’s little brother Tommy were working on the school hall floor at my feet, sitting cross-legged in a tangle of white crepe paper that was meant to be the basis of a snowy, Pyrenean mountain range but, at the moment, looked more like bandage supplies at the battle of the Somme. The rest of my team were working on the other side of our display table, bickering or giggling in turns. I’d only been allocated half a dozen of the younger pupils to help me out: the challenge had been in keeping them gainfully employed in creating separate scenes for Foods of the World.
Mrs Warren cleared her throat. “Mr Jackson, I welcome the full participation of all teachers, especially the newer members of staff, but as Head, I’m in charge of the Christmas Fair. It’s our major fundraiser every year, and as such, it’s important that tomorrow runs smoothly.”
“Of course it is.” I wished I didn’t blush every time she peered at me like that, like I was still one of her pupils.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Tommy’s big, round blue eyes flickering between us. I knew how it must look: two teachers, face to face over the top of his head. Our voices were raised and one of my fists had clenched with the tension. And Tommy hadn’t even started school yet.
“Mr Jackson, we need this area for the Lucky Dip barrel.”
“I’ve been setting up the display here all morning,” I said. “With 2C’s help. It’s their turn to be on duty for this display. They told me it’s always in this corner of the hall. Every year.”
Out of the corner of the other eye, I saw Amy nod her head quite firmly, as if she were part of the adults’ discussion. Poppy frowned, and the Sophies A and W both sniggered nervously. I suppose my tone may have sounded a little hysterical. It had been a very long Friday and it wasn’t even lunch time yet. Tommy stared at the girls around him, but then turned swiftly back to his task of peeling his fingers off the safety scissors. It looked like they’d been dipped in the pot of glue. I had no idea if that had been an accident or otherwise. I didn’t even remember agreeing to babysit Tommy for Poppy’s mother while she worked on Arts and Crafts, though between her and the Head, it seemed to be a done deal.
Elvira Warren’s gaze drifted to the crown of my head. She reached up and took a long strip of shredded paper out of my hair.
“Weeping willow, Chinese culture. Recreation of,” I said. I wasn’t making much sense, but 2C and I had been working on the papier-mâché backdrop of the world in miniature since early morning.
“They eat chicken’s feet in China, you know.” Amy brandished a garishly-pink plastic chicken and groped for the scissors. In the confusion of transferring them from Tommy’s sticky hands to Amy’s, Sophie A somehow stabbed her thumb and started up a wail.
Mrs Warren glanced down and grimaced. “I think the children need direction.”
“I think,” I said, not thinking first, “they need reassurance.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Thank you for your input, Andy. I’m not sure you should always take what 2C says as entirely accurate.”
“But sometimes, I should.” I winced. God. How to impress the boss in two clumsy lessons. “Sorry. I mean, if I sounded…”
But Mrs Warren smiled. “It’s all right, I take your point. 2C may keep this corner for the Fair. But you’ll have to share it with the Lucky Dip.”
I was sure I heard a whispered “yay” from Tommy, though hard to say over the level of background noise in the school hall. “I’m sure we can manage it as well…”
“Which will be run by Mr Canbury, like last year.”
I swallowed hard. “He’s not exactly a parent.”
“He’s in loco parentis, Mr Jackson. An uncle, and a volunteer. And we’re very grateful for them, aren’t we?”
“Of course. But I’d rather not…” I took an awkward step backwards, knocking against the box of plastic fruit and vegetables on our display table. Helplessly, I watched as it toppled off the edge and tipped over on to Poppy’s head. A bunch of neon green grapes landed on her shoulder and a baguette the colour of a pumpkin thumped into her lap. She and Sophie W, inseparable at the best of times, started up a joint wail this time, hopefully more from shock than injury. Tommy started giggling.
By the time I’d scooped up the box, Mrs Warren was on her way across the hall to the Fancy Dress stall. She called back over her shoulder. “You and Mr Canbury have worked events together many times, haven’t you? I remember last summer’s Jamboree, then Firework Night, although you unfortunately had to leave early when you singed your hair. And that Quiz Night when you…” She paused.
I groaned inwardly. “I just gave the tea urn a little knock. The tap seemed to be stuck. And no one was burned that badly.”
Mrs Warren was distracted by another member of staff, beckoning her over. “You and Greg Canbury work well together. You make a good couple. I’m sure I can leave it all in your capable hands.” She paused again and glanced back at me. A small frown line appeared between her brows. “Well, Mr Canbury will be over soon, I hope.”
“Mr Jackson?” Amy tugged at my jacket. “Benedict’s got his finger stuck in one of the onions. Are you in trouble with Mrs Warren?”
“No, Amy, there’s no trouble.”
Her little nose wrinkled. She looked older than her almost-seven years and decidedly unconvinced. “Tommy says he has to pee.”
“That’s fine, Poppy can take him –”
“Now,” she interrupted. “He says he has to pee now. He’s going to do it in the top of your model of the Eyefully Tower.”
“What? Tell him to stop that right n–”
“Too late,” said a low, male, and very adult voice at my ear, a flicker of amusement in its tone. “But I’m on my way to save France’s national treasure.”
I turned my head to see Greg Canbury smiling at me, his expensive designer, I’m-a-city-trader shirt tight across his chest, his skin smelling faintly of expensive aftershave, and – rather incongruously – a large dishcloth and bucket in his left hand. He stuck the right hand out in front of me, demanding I shake it.
“Good to see you again, Andy.” He gripped my palm and leaned in closer. “And sharing such close quarters.”
God knows why it made me shiver: the hall was far from cold. “Look, Greg…”
“On our Christmas stalls, I meant.” His laugh sounded nervous. He didn’t let go of my hand.
“Sir,” Amy cried in the background. “Tommy says he’ll do the Targy Marl next.”
Greg looked puzzled.
“The Taj Mahal,” I explained. “Took me three evenings’ work and a month’s worth of empty cereal boxes to create.”
“Sir, Mr Jackson, sir!” Amy shrieked.
Both Greg and I leapt into action, me grabbing Tommy who was just pushing down his school shorts, and Greg waving the cloth, ready to clean up any spillages. For the next few minutes we were kept busy either scolding or scouring, no time for any other conversation. After all, my only concern was in guaranteeing tomorrow’s smooth-running school event, wasn’t it?
I sneaked more than a few sideways looks at Greg Canbury as we brought things back under control. Trouble was, I suspected if I had to share a stall with him, even for a couple of hours, this corner of the hall would need more than crepe paper bandages to deal with the wounded.
Yours for the Holiday by DJ Jamison
Jason Hendricks threw his duffel bag on the neatly made bed and looked around the small bedroom that would be home over his Thanksgiving break. He’d joined the Wells family at their cabin — a structure so quaint it could be an advertisement for Lincoln Logs with its thick timber beams and huge stone fireplace.
Jason wasn’t in a guest room, but the small space that had long ago been designated for Remy Wells, his best friend’s younger brother. He was kind of like Jason’s little brother too. They’d all grown up together in Chicago, and Jason had spent more time with the Wells than his own family down the block.
Remy must be missing another holiday, or Jason wouldn’t have been given his room. Usually, he crashed with Derek — they’d been best friends since third grade — but Remy’s older brother had brought a girlfriend home for the holidays for the first time.
The room was tidy, with only a dresser and a few tasteful landscapes that Jason assumed were chosen by Remy’s parents years ago. The small patch of floor next to the bed would be Jason’s for the foreseeable future. At least it was covered in a thick, shaggy throw rug that would keep him from freezing too badly.
He examined a framed picture of Remy perched on the dresser. He hadn’t seen the younger Wells brother in three years. Between Jason’s obligations as a firefighter — which often required working shifts on holidays — and drama with his own family, hot mess that they were, he couldn’t make every Wells family function. And he knew Remy didn’t make every holiday either, between road trips with friends and meeting the relatives of boyfriends.
Boyfriends like the blond, shaggy-haired fool in the photograph with Remy. Jason studied Remy’s likeness: dark hair, dark eyes, delicate features set in an elegant face. He was gorgeous, and most likely too good for that schmuck beside him in the picture. Jason would have to ask some questions about this boyfriend. Do his duty as a pseudo big brother.
The door opened, and as if his thoughts had been rendered into life, Remy walked in, rolling a giant suitcase behind him.
“Ugh, can you believe we have to share a room? Crazy that Derek finally got serious about someone. I never thought I’d see the day.”
Jason normally would have chimed in with a joke here, but he was too busy gaping at Remy in stunned amazement. When Marjory Wells told him to take Remy’s room, he’d assumed the younger brother wasn’t coming for Thanksgiving. Now, he was face-to-face with Remy for the first time since the guy was nineteen years old.
Remy had been gorgeous at nineteen too, of course. Jason’s eyes had been drawn to Remy’s face since he hit puberty. But now? He’d matured in the past three years. Remy was still slender, still a good three inches shorter than Jason at five feet ten inches tall. But his shoulders were broader, his biceps defined enough to be visible through his long-sleeved Henley, and he’d finally grown a layer of stubble that was sexy as hell.
Remy flopped onto the bed with a tired groan. He turned his head, eyeing Jason’s duffel next to him. “I hope you don’t think you’re sleeping in my bed.”
Jason’s body flushed with heat at the idea. If only …
“Bad enough I have to share a room with you,” Remy continued. “I’m not sleeping on the floor. That’s all you, JJ. If you don’t like it, you can fight one of the cousins for a couch.”
Jason’s chest warmed to hear his nickname after so many years. When they were kids, Remy had learned Jason’s middle name was Jeremiah — and how much he hated it because it sounded like a “Bible name” — and started calling him JJ as a taunt. No one else took it up; somehow it became Remy’s special name for him, and Jason secretly loved it. He also loved that he ranked above the cousins in the Wells’ family social strata, because in his opinion, rooming with Remy was worlds above sleeping on a sofa in the family room of the little three-bedroom cabin two hours’ drive from Chicago.
“Aw, I missed you, too,” he cooed.
Remy looked up in alarm, probably hearing the note of mischief in Jason’s voice. But he was too slow to escape. Jason dragged him up from the bed and into a bear hug. He squeezed him tight, growling obnoxiously. His own well-muscled frame, enhanced by the rigorous duties of a firefighter, allowed him to manhandle Remy with ease. Lugging people around wasn’t usually this much fun, but it was essential in rescue situations.
“Jason!” he yelled, squirming to break free.
Heck yeah, Remy could rub all over him any day of the week. He’d have to find a few more reasons to wrestle with his favorite “little brother.” Then again, given how his cock was taking interest in Remy, maybe he should stop thinking of him as a little brother.
“Put me down,” Remy demanded. “I’m not a kid anymore!”
Jason released him with another growl and a quiet murmur in his ear. “You’re definitely not a kid, Remy.” He drew back and shook out his arms. “Damn, how much weight have you put on?”
Remy punched him in the shoulder. He was stronger than he looked, and the hit had some force behind it. Damn. Jason wasn’t about to let on that it hurt, so he laughed. “Nice to see you too.”
“You’re always such an asshole.”
Jason shrugged. “Just being myself.”
Remy smiled reluctantly, and Jason couldn’t get over how much he’d changed. Remy had always had good bones, but the full force of his attractiveness didn’t come out until he was older. He’d been gangly and awkward in his early teen years, but he’d grown into his body around seventeen and Jason suddenly had trouble looking at anyone else in the room. He’d been sideswiped by his interest in Remy, having dated only girls. He didn’t go to college, so he missed out on the typical drunk college experimentation, but eventually he’d come to terms with being bisexual. As usual, he was slow to catch on.
Unfortunately for Remy, those confusing years had led Jason to act in a less than mature manner. He tended to turn into an asshole anytime someone called attention to Remy as a way of deflecting. As his attraction grew, Jason put all his energy into treating Remy like a kid brother. He teased him to the point of tears, pulled pranks that made Remy crazy angry, and behaved like an all-around butthead. In turn, Remy had given him the cold shoulder — which only made Jason tease him more to get his attention — and matched Jason prank for prank.
Clothes were sabotaged; embarrassing photos were taken; shoelaces were tied together; and water was splashed over sheets to create the illusion of wetting the bed, and the list went on and on. It had turned into a rivalry between them. One full of animosity, but on Jason’s part at least, also admiration. He loved Remy like family — he loved all the Wells — and he always would.
Remy lugged his huge suitcase onto the bed and unzipped it. “Well, fun as this reunion has been, I’m going to hit the shower.”
“Holy hell, are you moving in, Remy?” Jason joked. It looked like Remy had enough clothes for a three-week stay, rather than a three-day one.
“Very funny.”
Remy flung open the suitcase, and Jason watched him pull out a T-shirt and sweats. But his attention stalled on the underwear. Holy fuck, those briefs were tiny.
He reached out and picked up a scrap of red silk and held it outstretched on each finger.
“Are you a stripper now?”
Remy would make a fucking fantastic stripper. Jason was willing to bet he was a good dancer. He probably hit the gay clubs and gave those guys a show that would be the stuff of Jason’s fantasies.
Remy snatched the underwear from his hand. “Give me that!”
He kept the briefs with his pile of clothes to change into and zipped the suitcase closed.
“Don’t even think of going through my stuff while I’m gone. If I find out you’ve paraded my underwear all over the house …”
“What, Remy?” Jason asked. “What are you going to do about it?”
Yeah, that’ll impress him. Good one, Jason.
The two of them had operated in adversarial roles for so long that antagonizing each other came naturally. But Jason wasn’t a teenager threatened by his own sexuality anymore. He was no longer interested in the immature warring of boys. He hoped this visit could change their dynamics to something friendly.
Just friendly, though.
As hot as Remy was, he was still off-limits, seeing that guy in the photo with the dumb hair and the smug smile. And even if he wasn’t, he was Derek’s little brother. Totally forbidden fruit. His gaze skimmed over Remy’s body once more, lingering on the fit of his jeans.
But tasty, I bet.
Remy shook his head with a weary sigh, completely unaware of Jason’s inner lust monologue. He seemed almost sad, though Jason couldn’t put his finger on what made him think that. Maybe the tightness around his mouth or the shadows in his eyes.
“Nothing, JJ. Have a blast. I’m not going to let you bother me anymore.”
Remy started toward the door, the red briefs still in his stack of clothes. Jason’s stomach clenched at the idea of Remy wearing that sexy underwear under his sweats.
“I wouldn’t mess with your underwear,” he blurted.
Remy glanced back over his shoulder. His lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. “No?”
“Like you said, we’re not kids anymore.”
Remy nodded, eyes still a bit wary.
“And that underwear is no joke,” he added, watching Remy’s expression. “It’s crazy sexy. I look forward to watching you in those sweats, knowing you’re wearing those tiny red briefs underneath.”
Remy’s mouth dropped open.
“Have a good shower,” Jason added with a grin.
Remy huffed and whirled back to open the door. He disappeared into the hall, muttering under his breath about straight men and their mocking. He was wrong on two counts. Jason wasn’t straight, and he wasn’t mocking. He was 100 percent turned on.
Remy might be forbidden fruit, but that didn’t mean Jason couldn’t rattle him without a single touch. In fact, it was better that way. He could release some of his pent-up attraction without the fallout of sleeping with his best friend’s little brother.
Clare London took her pen name from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with her other day job as an accountant.
She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with award-winning novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic, and sexy characters.
Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter-three stage and plenty of other projects in mind… she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home.
Clare loves to hear from readers, and you can contact her on all her social media.
Nico FlynnNico Flynn is all about stories that are heartwarming and steamy in equal measure, always with a healthy dose of humor. Bring on the snappy banter, mutual pining, and well-earned happy endings!
Nico lives a wild life out in the country with too many dogs, a family, video games, and a whole lot of books. If new releases suddenly stop, you can assume Nico was swallowed up by an out-of-control tomato plant or eaten by a bear.
After years of writing across age groups and genres in the traditional publishing arena, Nico is thrilled (and terrified) to finally be taking this first step on the indie side. It's a wide and wonderful world out here!
Author and artist Jordan Castillo Price is the owner of JCP Books LLC. Her paranormal thrillers are colored by her time in the midwest, from inner city Chicago, to small town Wisconsin, to liberal Madison.
Jordan is best known as the author of the PsyCop series, an unfolding tale of paranormal mystery and suspense starring Victor Bayne, a gay medium who's plagued by ghostly visitations. Also check out her new series, Mnevermind, where memories are made...one client at a time.
With her education in fine arts and practical experience as a graphic designer, Jordan set out to create high quality ebooks with lavish cover art, quality editing and gripping content. The result is JCP Books, offering stories you'll want to read again and again.
Ellie Thomas lives by the sea. She comes from a teaching background and goes for long seaside walks where she daydreams about history. She is a voracious reader especially about anything historical. She mainly writes historical romance.
Ellie also writes historical erotic romance under the pen name L. E. Thomas.
Clare London
EMAIL: clarelondon11@yahoo.co.uk
Nico Flynn
EMAIL: nicoflynnauthor@gmail.com
Nice and Snow by Clare London
KOBO / iTUNES / GOOGLE PLAY
Say It Out Loud by Nico Flynn
The Stroke of Midnight by Jordan Castillo Price
👀Amazon US/UK PsyCop Briefs: Volume 1👀
A Christmas Engagement by Ellie Thomas
