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One Last Note:
Some of those on my list I have read, reread, & even listened/re-listened so I've included the review posted in my latest read/listen. Also, those that are read/re-read as a series the latest review may be an overall series review. If any of the purchase links included here don't work be sure and check the authors' websites/social media for the most recent links as they can change over time for a variety of reasons.
The Prince and His Bedeviled Bodyguard by Charlie Cochet
You're the One by Davidson King
Original Review December 2021:
RATING:
Piece of Cake by Mary Calmes
Summary:
Matter of Time #8
Original Review August 2015:
What a great treat for fans of Jory and Sam. Loved seeing them get married now that they would be recognized nationwide but more than that, I just loved seeing everyone in a new story. This is a wedding done in the only way Jory could possibly be part of, trouble magnet extraordinaire. Hannah and Kola are still precious and definitely their fathers' children. I won't lie, I would have loved it to have been longer but I was just over the moon to just have Jory, Sam, and everyone back. A short but amazing addition to the Matter of Time series.
With the world suddenly teeming with zombies, Charlie and Bobby are fighting to stay alive. Being about as gay as two people can be, they insist on doing it with panache.
Even with the planet throwing up its legs in submission, there is no reason a couple of style-conscious guys can't look good while saying good-bye to the age of man and ushering in the age of… God knows what. Amoebas, maybe. With their loyal zombie poodle, Mimi, at their side, they bravely face the apocalypse head-on.
Death, destruction, and the undead they can deal with. But without electricity, it's the depressing lack of blow-dryers and cappuccino machines that really pisses them off—until Bobby goes missing! Suddenly Charlie has more than fluffy hair and a good cup of coffee to worry about….
RATING:
Charlie Cochet
Charlie Cochet is the international bestselling author of the THIRDS series. Born in Cuba and raised in the US, Charlie enjoys the best of both worlds, from her daily Cuban latte to her passion for classic rock.
Currently residing in Central Florida, Charlie is at the beck and call of a rascally Doxiepoo bent on world domination. When she isn’t writing, she can usually be found devouring a book, releasing her creativity through art, or binge watching a new TV series. She runs on coffee, thrives on music, and loves to hear from readers.
Davidson King
Mary Calmes
Mary Calmes lives in Lexington, Kentucky, with her husband and two children and loves all the seasons except summer. She graduated from the University of the Pacific in Stockton, California, with a bachelor's degree in English literature. Due to the fact that it is English lit and not English grammar, do not ask her to point out a clause for you, as it will so not happen. She loves writing, becoming immersed in the process, and falling into the work. She can even tell you what her characters smell like. She loves buying books and going to conventions to meet her fans.
John Inman
Alice Winters
Alice Winters started writing stories as soon as she was old enough to turn her ideas into written words. She loves writing a variety of things from romance and comedy to action. She also enjoys reading, horseback riding, and spending time with her pets.
The Poodle Apocalypse by John Inman
A Villain for Christmas by Alice Winters
Here at Padme's Library I feature all genres but followers have probably noticed that 95% of the posts and 99% of my reviews fall under the LGBT genres, so for this year's Pride Month I am showcasing 20 of my favorite M/M Rom Com reads in no particular order. Most fall into full on romantic comedy, some more dramedy, but there are some where humor is the highlighted emotion and they all generally lead to a perfect blend of romance, drama, healing, and heart, creating unforgettably fun entertaining reads.
One Last Note:
Some of those on my list I have read, reread, & even listened/re-listened so I've included the review posted in my latest read/listen. Also, those that are read/re-read as a series the latest review may be an overall series review. If any of the purchase links included here don't work be sure and check the authors' websites/social media for the most recent links as they can change over time for a variety of reasons.
💖💙💚💛💜💗💜💛💚💙💖
Summary:
Paranormal Princes #1
Prince Owin
Being a fierce predator—not at all adorable, despite my graceful stature—the last thing I needed was a bodyguard. Especially a wolf shifter, whose presence alone was an insult to my princely principles. As Prince of the Ocelot Shifters, I prided myself on my infallible feline instincts, uncompromisable dignity, and flawless fashion sense. If having a canine follow me around at all times wasn’t bad enough, I now faced the most important moment of my entire life. The time had come to prove I was worthy of my crown. If only I could find a way to get rid of the pesky bodyguard.
Grimmwolf
When the King of All Shifters asked me to guard Prince Owin, I admit I had no idea what to expect. Cat shifters tend to be a little intense, not to mention kinda cranky. Owin was no exception, though he seemed crankier than most. Being his bodyguard was proving to be one of the greatest challenges of my life—but not nearly as great as convincing him there was something special between us. When Owin is faced with a perilous quest to prove his worth, I was determined to keep him safe, even if the same couldn’t be said of my heart.
Original Review October 2019:
Charlie Cochet has done it again! Are there authors who might do the whole scary side of shifter stories better? Sure, but personally I have not a read an author who is better at blending paranormal, romance, AND humor than Cochet. The Prince and His Bedeviled Bodyguard is an A-Freakin'-Mazing introduction to her new series, Paranormal Princes. The danger and angsty levels are pretty low but the meshing of paranormal and rom-com is . . . well . . . heavenly, I can't think of a better word other than perhaps old fashion fun!
Owin and Grimmwolf are about as mismatched as you can get: a spoiled prince cat shifter and a dedicated but carefree bodyguard wolf and yet you know where the pair will end up(and that's not a spoiler because this story is about the journey getting there not the destination😉). Knowing where they'll end up doesn't make you not want to whack Owin upside the head a time or two though or better yet throw a bucket of water on him(we all know how much cats hate getting wet despite how much time they spend cleaning themselves😉). How Grimmwolf can be so positive and smiley when he's around Owin all the time is beyond me, I guess he's better than I. Are they enemies? No but I certainly wouldn't call them friends in the beginning, at least from Owin's viewpoint. Watching them together is magical though and for a story that made me laugh so much I just couldn't put it down any more than I could a heart-pounding nailbiter, that's how addictive this pair is and I look forward to seeing more of the Paranormal Princes and what makes them all tick.
As I stated above The Prince and His Bedeviled Bodyguard is a beautifully scripted paranormal rom-com, okay you might not find it on the Hallmark channel but if it was I can promise you I would be watching the channel a lot more. Humor isn't exactly the first thing that comes to mind when talking paranormal shifter stories but it definitely fits here. Shifting, romance, fantasy, humor, fairytale, friendship - it's all here making this gem an all around heartwarming fun experience.
Being a fierce predator—not at all adorable, despite my graceful stature—the last thing I needed was a bodyguard. Especially a wolf shifter, whose presence alone was an insult to my princely principles. As Prince of the Ocelot Shifters, I prided myself on my infallible feline instincts, uncompromisable dignity, and flawless fashion sense. If having a canine follow me around at all times wasn’t bad enough, I now faced the most important moment of my entire life. The time had come to prove I was worthy of my crown. If only I could find a way to get rid of the pesky bodyguard.
Grimmwolf
When the King of All Shifters asked me to guard Prince Owin, I admit I had no idea what to expect. Cat shifters tend to be a little intense, not to mention kinda cranky. Owin was no exception, though he seemed crankier than most. Being his bodyguard was proving to be one of the greatest challenges of my life—but not nearly as great as convincing him there was something special between us. When Owin is faced with a perilous quest to prove his worth, I was determined to keep him safe, even if the same couldn’t be said of my heart.
Charlie Cochet has done it again! Are there authors who might do the whole scary side of shifter stories better? Sure, but personally I have not a read an author who is better at blending paranormal, romance, AND humor than Cochet. The Prince and His Bedeviled Bodyguard is an A-Freakin'-Mazing introduction to her new series, Paranormal Princes. The danger and angsty levels are pretty low but the meshing of paranormal and rom-com is . . . well . . . heavenly, I can't think of a better word other than perhaps old fashion fun!
Owin and Grimmwolf are about as mismatched as you can get: a spoiled prince cat shifter and a dedicated but carefree bodyguard wolf and yet you know where the pair will end up(and that's not a spoiler because this story is about the journey getting there not the destination😉). Knowing where they'll end up doesn't make you not want to whack Owin upside the head a time or two though or better yet throw a bucket of water on him(we all know how much cats hate getting wet despite how much time they spend cleaning themselves😉). How Grimmwolf can be so positive and smiley when he's around Owin all the time is beyond me, I guess he's better than I. Are they enemies? No but I certainly wouldn't call them friends in the beginning, at least from Owin's viewpoint. Watching them together is magical though and for a story that made me laugh so much I just couldn't put it down any more than I could a heart-pounding nailbiter, that's how addictive this pair is and I look forward to seeing more of the Paranormal Princes and what makes them all tick.
As I stated above The Prince and His Bedeviled Bodyguard is a beautifully scripted paranormal rom-com, okay you might not find it on the Hallmark channel but if it was I can promise you I would be watching the channel a lot more. Humor isn't exactly the first thing that comes to mind when talking paranormal shifter stories but it definitely fits here. Shifting, romance, fantasy, humor, fairytale, friendship - it's all here making this gem an all around heartwarming fun experience.
Audiobook Review February 2020:
I really don't think I can say anymore than I did in my original ebook review to the story itself. Even only a few months since that original read and I still loved the book just as much. The adrenaline rush I get from reading a book the first time may not have been there having only been a few months but knowing what was coming didn't take away from the awesomeness either. I still want to whack Owin upside the head a few times and I still marvel at Grimmwolf's knack for positivity considering he's dealing with Owin. The Prince and His Bedeviled Bodyguard is still simply put: old fashioned fun and that's not an easy thing to do in a shifter tale so I tip my hat to Charlie Cochet's ability for meshing paranormal, romance, and humor.
As for the narration, well Greg Boudreaux just makes the world of Paranormal Princes come alive. As I said above, I still wanted to whack Owin upside the head and Greg's narration made me feel if I had a frying pan handy I could just reach out and swing😉. His portrayals may not have exactly matched what was in my head when I originally read the story last fall but honestly I can't imagine anyone doing a better job.
RATING:
I really don't think I can say anymore than I did in my original ebook review to the story itself. Even only a few months since that original read and I still loved the book just as much. The adrenaline rush I get from reading a book the first time may not have been there having only been a few months but knowing what was coming didn't take away from the awesomeness either. I still want to whack Owin upside the head a few times and I still marvel at Grimmwolf's knack for positivity considering he's dealing with Owin. The Prince and His Bedeviled Bodyguard is still simply put: old fashioned fun and that's not an easy thing to do in a shifter tale so I tip my hat to Charlie Cochet's ability for meshing paranormal, romance, and humor.
As for the narration, well Greg Boudreaux just makes the world of Paranormal Princes come alive. As I said above, I still wanted to whack Owin upside the head and Greg's narration made me feel if I had a frying pan handy I could just reach out and swing😉. His portrayals may not have exactly matched what was in my head when I originally read the story last fall but honestly I can't imagine anyone doing a better job.
RATING:
Summary:
Thomas Vale is one of Hollywood’s most sought-after actors. He’s as humble as they come and adores his family. This Christmas he wants to give his dying grandfather the only thing he’s ever asked Thomas for: for Thomas to fall in love.
Noah Berry has worked for Thomas since before he was a household name. He doesn’t have a close-knit family, but he’s fine with the way things are as long as he has Thomas. After all, Noah has been secretly in love with the man for years.
Thomas gets the crazy idea to bring a fake boyfriend home, but Christmas approaches and nobody is worthy enough to fulfill the task. Noah steps in—if he can’t have Thomas in real life, he can pretend for a little while and make an old man happy.
Davidson King does the holiday!! YUMMILICIOUS!!!!
Fake boyfriends✅
Unspoken love✅
Friends to lovers✅
Holiday-loving family✅
Romance✅
Humor✅
Heart✅
You're the One ticks all my holiday romance boxes. Thomas and Noah's Christmas journey may not have the mystery, violence, and action that Davidson King often brings to the page but that doesn't make it any less brilliant. Personally, I think those missing elements speak volumes to the incredible talent the author has for storytelling.
Knowing King's penchant for giving her couples a HEA, I think we can all guess where the men's journey ends up but the road they travel getting there is so much fun, so full of holiday spirit, so many edge of your seat smiles that I won't spoil it for anyone. Just know that you won't be bored, you won't be Bah Humbugging, you'll be Santa HO! HO! HO-ing! many hours after the final page.
If you're a fan of Hallmark Christmassy romances, not only will you love You're the One but you'll be blown away because IMO, King's holiday fare is 200% better. Some may call it "holiday schmaltz" but I call it "holiday heart". Davidson King may regret having written such a holiday gem because I am already highly anticipating next year's holiday story.
RATING:
Summary:
Matter of Time #8
After years of domestic partnership, Jory Harcourt and Sam Kage are finally going to make it official in their home state of Illinois. It’s been a long and rocky road, and nothing—not disasters at work, not the weather, not a possible stalker, not even getting beat up and having to attend the ceremony looking like he just got mugged—will make Jory wait one more day to make an honest man of the love of his life.
Should be a piece of cake, right?
Should be a piece of cake, right?
What a great treat for fans of Jory and Sam. Loved seeing them get married now that they would be recognized nationwide but more than that, I just loved seeing everyone in a new story. This is a wedding done in the only way Jory could possibly be part of, trouble magnet extraordinaire. Hannah and Kola are still precious and definitely their fathers' children. I won't lie, I would have loved it to have been longer but I was just over the moon to just have Jory, Sam, and everyone back. A short but amazing addition to the Matter of Time series.
Overall Series 5th Re-Read 2019:
Again there's really nothing new I can add that would express how much I love Jory and Sam. Not everyone likes the kind of alpha male that Sam Kage is and I too don't always appreciate that element but when the dynamic between the two men is so powerful as Sam and Jory then I completely fall in love. Just because Sam is so alpha don't think Jory is a pushover, oh no he definitely has no problem voicing his opinion either and I think that is what makes them work for me because its an even balance of push and pull from both.
Now as for the audios, there are four different narrators, three for Jory/Sam and one for Duncan/Aaron in Parting Shot. Some might find that off-putting but I actually found it fitting. Just why there is different narrators I don't know but as a listener, I found each one did a brilliant job and yes they are noticeably different but they bring the perfect nuances for where the characters are in their journey, we all change as life goes and Paul Morey, Jeff Gelder, and Finn Sterling showcase that wonderfully. Tristan James brings Duncan and Aaron's story to life that is a perfect fit for the Matter of Time series.
RATING:
Again there's really nothing new I can add that would express how much I love Jory and Sam. Not everyone likes the kind of alpha male that Sam Kage is and I too don't always appreciate that element but when the dynamic between the two men is so powerful as Sam and Jory then I completely fall in love. Just because Sam is so alpha don't think Jory is a pushover, oh no he definitely has no problem voicing his opinion either and I think that is what makes them work for me because its an even balance of push and pull from both.
Now as for the audios, there are four different narrators, three for Jory/Sam and one for Duncan/Aaron in Parting Shot. Some might find that off-putting but I actually found it fitting. Just why there is different narrators I don't know but as a listener, I found each one did a brilliant job and yes they are noticeably different but they bring the perfect nuances for where the characters are in their journey, we all change as life goes and Paul Morey, Jeff Gelder, and Finn Sterling showcase that wonderfully. Tristan James brings Duncan and Aaron's story to life that is a perfect fit for the Matter of Time series.
The Poodle Apocalypse by John Inman
Summary:With the world suddenly teeming with zombies, Charlie and Bobby are fighting to stay alive. Being about as gay as two people can be, they insist on doing it with panache.
Even with the planet throwing up its legs in submission, there is no reason a couple of style-conscious guys can't look good while saying good-bye to the age of man and ushering in the age of… God knows what. Amoebas, maybe. With their loyal zombie poodle, Mimi, at their side, they bravely face the apocalypse head-on.
Death, destruction, and the undead they can deal with. But without electricity, it's the depressing lack of blow-dryers and cappuccino machines that really pisses them off—until Bobby goes missing! Suddenly Charlie has more than fluffy hair and a good cup of coffee to worry about….
Original Review October 2017:
Charlie and Bobby find themselves to be the last two humans left on earth, except for the roaming zombies of all shapes, sizes,and species. They make their way day in and day out, surviving and loving each other. Then comes along a little poodle named Mimi, although the pup is a zombie Bobby doesn't have the heart to kill her. How will Charlie survive though when one day Bobby disappears? Will he and Mimi find Bobby or is Charlie destined to be the last man alive?
I have only read a few John Inman books but I have absolutely loved them, he has a way of turning even a love story into an absolute fear-inducing nailbiter. So when The Poodle Apocalypse crossed my path I knew it would be wonderful, I also had an inkling that it would be a bit different from the other Inman works I've read simply from the name and the cover. Let's face it, how fearful can a tale be if its titled The Poodle Apocalypse, right? You'd be surprised.
Okay, maybe fearful isn't the right word but it is fun, entertaining, humorous, and of course there is lots of love between Bobby and Charlie. I won't give away any specifics because I don't want to ruin the ending but I will say that I loved this little zombie tale and though humor may be the main element, the idea of being one of the last two on earth scares the beejesus out of me. The cliché, "you'll laugh till you cry" is the perfect way to describe this little Inman gem.
I have only read a few John Inman books but I have absolutely loved them, he has a way of turning even a love story into an absolute fear-inducing nailbiter. So when The Poodle Apocalypse crossed my path I knew it would be wonderful, I also had an inkling that it would be a bit different from the other Inman works I've read simply from the name and the cover. Let's face it, how fearful can a tale be if its titled The Poodle Apocalypse, right? You'd be surprised.
Okay, maybe fearful isn't the right word but it is fun, entertaining, humorous, and of course there is lots of love between Bobby and Charlie. I won't give away any specifics because I don't want to ruin the ending but I will say that I loved this little zombie tale and though humor may be the main element, the idea of being one of the last two on earth scares the beejesus out of me. The cliché, "you'll laugh till you cry" is the perfect way to describe this little Inman gem.
RATING: 
A Villain for Christmas by Alice Winters
Summary:Vexing Villains #1
“I want you to help me rob a bank.”
The moment I heard those words, I should have slammed the door in my brother’s face and cracked open a book. Though if I had, I wouldn’t have run into August, the city’s main superhero… and the man of my dreams. He’s sexy, kind, and sweet—everything I’m supposed to dislike.
You see, I’m a villain… well, kind of. Honestly, I’d rather curl up and read than commit crimes, but life doesn’t always go the way I want it to, especially after being raised by some cut-rate villains who can’t even steal toilet paper without getting caught.
Suddenly, I find myself spending time with August and realize that maybe there is more to life than petting my hairless cat, but the issue is… what happens when he figures out that I’m Leviathan, an extremely powerful villain? Can he still love me regardless of who I am?
When actual supervillains start targeting August, I might be forced to show everyone who I truly am, but villains and heroes aren’t supposed to save each other, let alone fall in love.
Although, I’ve never been one to do what I’ve been told.
Original Review January 2020:
There is just not enough superhero/supervillain(or in the case of Landon's family not-so-super-supervillians) stories in the LGBT genres. A Villain for Christmas was the first book of 2020 for me and what a way to kick off the year!
This is another one of those stories that I'm not going to say too much about because you really do need to experience Landon and August's journey to fully appreciate the magnificence that is Alice Walker's storytelling. There is so much goodness in this story and the genuine-ness of the characters, whether they fall on the good or bad side of the scale, is what makes them stand out. You'll have moments of shaking your head and saying "WTF is wrong with that person?" and you'll have equal moments of "OMG how can one person be so understanding?" It's these emotions that make this story so hard to put down.
This is only the second Alice Winters book I've read and it definitely cemented my desire to read more of her backlist this year. She has a way with what I like to call "snark and cuddle" that make her characters not only fun(even if you want to shake them or smack them upside the head with a kitchen appliance) but that much more real, which isn't easy to do in the fantasy world of superheros and villains. Being a holiday setting only makes the magic of the story that much sweeter. Definitely a win win for both my holiday and superhero shelf.
This is another one of those stories that I'm not going to say too much about because you really do need to experience Landon and August's journey to fully appreciate the magnificence that is Alice Walker's storytelling. There is so much goodness in this story and the genuine-ness of the characters, whether they fall on the good or bad side of the scale, is what makes them stand out. You'll have moments of shaking your head and saying "WTF is wrong with that person?" and you'll have equal moments of "OMG how can one person be so understanding?" It's these emotions that make this story so hard to put down.
This is only the second Alice Winters book I've read and it definitely cemented my desire to read more of her backlist this year. She has a way with what I like to call "snark and cuddle" that make her characters not only fun(even if you want to shake them or smack them upside the head with a kitchen appliance) but that much more real, which isn't easy to do in the fantasy world of superheros and villains. Being a holiday setting only makes the magic of the story that much sweeter. Definitely a win win for both my holiday and superhero shelf.
Original Audiobook Review October 2020:
I'll admit that with everything going on in 2020 that I forgot it had only been about 10 months since I read this delightful gem. Now I didn't forget just how delightfully genius and fun A Villain for Christmas was just that it had been only 10 months since reading it.
I'll admit that with everything going on in 2020 that I forgot it had only been about 10 months since I read this delightful gem. Now I didn't forget just how delightfully genius and fun A Villain for Christmas was just that it had been only 10 months since reading it.
Having re-read my original review, I don't think I can add much more without giving anything away because even though this was from last year's Christmas releases I have a feeling there is still plenty that have yet to experience it's greatness. There still isn't enough superhero stories in the LGBT genres for my liking so I know this won't be the last re-read/listen I enjoy of this Alice Winters gem.
I'll just add that this is the first audiobook with Michael Lesley as narrator for me, personally new-to-me narrators can be almost as "scary" as new-to-me authors. I needn't have worried because he does a wonderful job bringing this holiday fantasy to life, making Landon and August even more real than the author's words already did. I could almost feel the jarring sensation in my arm when I wanted to smack a couple of characters with a frying pan, that's how into the story the author and narrator make the reader/listener, which is a mark of true talent.
RATING:
The Prince and His Bedeviled Bodyguard by Charlie Cochet
“What the—” Grimm dropped the orb, and we both jumped back. To my utter disbelief, it spread upward and sideways until it was roughly the size of a large doorway, a forest appearing inside. “Hmm. What do you know? A portal that will take us where we want to go.”
How cross would the king be with me if I accidentally pushed Grimm off a cliff? Or left him with the Cù Sìth? Not like he didn’t have plenty of wolf shifters. What was one less in the grand scheme of things?
Grimm narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re not leaving me behind.”
How did he do that? “Are you sure you’re not a seer wolf?”
Grimm didn’t look impressed. “You’re right. I’m a seer. My curse is that I’m limited to visions of you being a jerk.”
I opened my mouth to respond, then thought better of it. “Can we just go?”
“As you wish, Your Highness.” He bowed and motioned for me to go ahead. Clearly, he thought I was an idiot.
“What if it’s a trap and I step through and burst into flames? You go first.”
“Your generosity knows no bounds, my liege. Fine. I’ll go first, but if I meet my demise, my blood is on your hands.”
I shrugged. “I’ll get over it.”
“So mean.” He shook his head at me and stepped through. On the other side, he turned and held his arms out. “See? All good. Wait….” He gasped and clutched at his chest. “What’s happening to me? It burns!”
“Grimm?” My heart lurched in my chest, and I stepped up to the portal.
“I can’t,” he gasped, falling to his knees. “I can’t….”
“Can’t what!” Oh my Goddess, oh my Goddess. I never expected him to actually burst into flames! I flailed around feeling utterly helpless. “What do I do? Is it flames? Are you bursting into flames?” I frantically looked around. “I don’t see a fire extinguisher!” Not that I knew how to use one. I’d just have to toss it at him and hope he could do it himself.
“I can’t….” He gasped for breath. “I can’t… believe you fell for that,” he said with a laugh.
“I’m going to kill you!” I darted into the portal, ignoring his laughter as he took off, his long legs putting him out of my reach in a heartbeat. “I hate you!”
“Admit it! You were worried about me,” he called out from across the field.
“Worried you’d die and I wouldn’t be able to pry the magic purse off your cold, dead, dog-smelling corpse!”
“It’s a satchel!”
How cross would the king be with me if I accidentally pushed Grimm off a cliff? Or left him with the Cù Sìth? Not like he didn’t have plenty of wolf shifters. What was one less in the grand scheme of things?
Grimm narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re not leaving me behind.”
How did he do that? “Are you sure you’re not a seer wolf?”
Grimm didn’t look impressed. “You’re right. I’m a seer. My curse is that I’m limited to visions of you being a jerk.”
I opened my mouth to respond, then thought better of it. “Can we just go?”
“As you wish, Your Highness.” He bowed and motioned for me to go ahead. Clearly, he thought I was an idiot.
“What if it’s a trap and I step through and burst into flames? You go first.”
“Your generosity knows no bounds, my liege. Fine. I’ll go first, but if I meet my demise, my blood is on your hands.”
I shrugged. “I’ll get over it.”
“So mean.” He shook his head at me and stepped through. On the other side, he turned and held his arms out. “See? All good. Wait….” He gasped and clutched at his chest. “What’s happening to me? It burns!”
“Grimm?” My heart lurched in my chest, and I stepped up to the portal.
“I can’t,” he gasped, falling to his knees. “I can’t….”
“Can’t what!” Oh my Goddess, oh my Goddess. I never expected him to actually burst into flames! I flailed around feeling utterly helpless. “What do I do? Is it flames? Are you bursting into flames?” I frantically looked around. “I don’t see a fire extinguisher!” Not that I knew how to use one. I’d just have to toss it at him and hope he could do it himself.
“I can’t….” He gasped for breath. “I can’t… believe you fell for that,” he said with a laugh.
“I’m going to kill you!” I darted into the portal, ignoring his laughter as he took off, his long legs putting him out of my reach in a heartbeat. “I hate you!”
“Admit it! You were worried about me,” he called out from across the field.
“Worried you’d die and I wouldn’t be able to pry the magic purse off your cold, dead, dog-smelling corpse!”
“It’s a satchel!”
You're the One by Davidson King
CHAPTER ONE
Noah
“You need to calm down, Miss Thing.” I narrowed my gaze at the blond bombshell standing in front of me who thought she was getting in to see Thomas.
“He’s expecting me.” She tried to push past security, toward me, thinking we’d roll over because she was Chantel Morrison, a box-office draw.
“No…no, he is not. Shoo.” I made a sweeping motion with my fingers, and her ivory skin flushed red.
“Listen, you little gnat—”
“Nope.” I covered my ears. “Bye.” I spun on my heel and went into the room she was desperately trying to enter.
When I shut the door, Thomas was sitting on the couch, a small smile on his face as he looked at me. “She’s relentless.”
“Why, Thomas? Why did you have to take her to the Oscars with you? Now she thinks you’re going to have babies with her.” After locking the door, I went and sat beside him.
“I didn’t know she’d turn into a face-hugger, Noah. She was actually quite relaxed and calm at the show. Then the next day it was bam, let’s get married.”
Thomas Vale was everything in Hollywood, and I was his personal assistant. I’d been by his side since the days he could only get a minor role on a soap opera. When he skyrocketed to fame, he’d made sure I was holding on. We were friends…and I was madly in love with him. Not that he knew that—no, he could never. The trust Thomas had in me was worth never telling him that little fact.
“Might I suggest going solo to the next award show?”
He chuckled. “Noted.” His phone buzzed and he sighed.
“What’s wrong? Did she get your number? I will go out there right now and—”
“No, she didn’t, and if she had, I’d have blocked her. No reason to summon your inner Bruce Lee on my account.”
Yeah, I was only five foot seven, and the only exercise I got on the daily was swimming laps at night…well, when I could. Sure, a swift wind could blow me over. But I was spunky. I had defensive skills, thanks to many bullies while growing up.
“Fine. Explain the frown and sigh and dejected body language?” I eyed him, then his phone, which he was scowling hard at.
“Christmas is next month.”
“Oookaaay? I’ve never known you to be a scrooge, Thomas. You’re actually a festive fella.” I laughed when he rolled his eyes.
“I love Christmas. You know I always go home. Spend it with my family in the mountains. It’s the only time all of us are together for the year.”
“And, what, it was canceled?” Getting him to tell me things sometimes was like pulling teeth.
He turned his body slightly, folding his leg so he was now sitting on his foot, staring at me. “My grandfather—”
“Victor or—”
“William.”
“Okay, continue.”
“He’s dying.” Thomas’s shoulders slumped, and as if his pain were mine, I gasped.
“Thomas, why didn’t you tell me?” I knew his family as if they were my own. Sure, I’d never met them because Thomas barely even had time to see them himself. But I’d practically memorized everything about them. Birthdays, anniversaries, where they lived, the pets they owned…all of it.
“I was well aware you’d do this thing you’re doing right now, had I told you.” He waved a hand at me.
“I’m concerned; how is that a thing?” He shrugged. “Just is. You’re dramatic.”
“Says the actor,” I huffed.
“I know my grandfather is old…like really old. It was going to happen eventually.”
“Yes. Life is funny that way.” He slapped my leg. “What? I’m agreeing with you.”
“Anyway. Last Christmas, he knew he was sick. Lung cancer.”
“Seriously, Thomas, why did you never tell me any of this? You said your grandfather had the flu. I sent flowers from you saying get well soon…to him…and he had lung cancer.”
“I didn’t want anyone to know. I’m sorry.”
Here I was making him feel bad for not telling me when his grandfather was dying… I suck. “No, forget it. I’m a brat. Go on. I assume the cancer is back?”
He nodded. “Thing is, last year he and I were sitting outside, watching my nieces play in the snow. He took my hand, Noah, and pleaded with me that before he died, he wanted me to fall in love. Of course I swore to him I was fine, but as his dying wish…he made me promise to try and let someone in.”
My eyes widened. “He made you promise to fall in love with someone?”
“No. He just said it would be his dying wish. And I really thought he was going to be okay, and I’d have time but…” He sighed again.
“But time is running out.”
He nodded. “I wish I could give him that. Show him I have someone in my life to love and I’ll be fine.”
“Thomas, you can’t force yourself to love someone to appease a dying man’s last wish, even if it’s your grandfather. Don’t you think it would hurt him even more if he found out you were putting on a show on his account?”
Thomas’s eyes widened and a huge smile graced his handsome face. I knew that look. “Noah, you’re a genius.”
“Um, Thomas, whatever you’re thinking, no. It can’t be good.”
“Because I’m happy?”
“No. Because something you clearly heard made you grin like the Grinch, and nothing I said was a good idea.”
He tilted his head back and laughed so hard his body shook. Carefree Thomas was the best.
“Hear me out.” He giggled like a child, excited and quite animated.
“As if I have a choice.”
My sarcasm was completely lost on Thomas, or he was ignoring it. More likely it was the latter.
“The doctor gave him three months. If I can bring someone home for the holidays, and it’s massively convincing that we’re in love, it will make his final time peaceful.”
All I could do was stare at him, waiting for the “Just kidding.” It never came. Sweet Mother Mercy.
“Thomas, that’s a disaster waiting to happen.”
“I don’t think so. If I find the right person to—”
“Lie to? Thomas, you’re going to grab someone and be all, ‘Hey, I love you, meet my family?’ ”
Thomas huffed. “No, but I’m in an industry full of actors. I’m sure I could find someone willing to do this.”
I had to pinch the bridge of my nose to release the pressure. “And you don’t think, at the slightest convenience, they won’t sell this story to the tabloids? Thomas, why are you acting dumb? It’s not who you are. You’re above average in the smarts department.”
He snickered and sat back. “It has to be the right person. Someone trustworthy but who could pull it off. We can have them sign an NDA.”
“We…oh, I’m helping?”
“Who else would be able to find the perfect person for me other than the person who knows me best?” He beamed and fucking fluttered his eyelashes…the asshole.
“One day I will quit.”
He stood and went over to the vanity. He was about to go on The Tonight Show in fifteen minutes, right before Chantel Morrison, which explained why she was there.
“You’ll never leave me, Noah.”
He looked at me through the mirror and I pouted, knowing he was right. Was it just because I loved him? No, Thomas needed protecting, and I’d never let anything happen to him.
“Fine, let me see what my brain can come up with. Operation Fool Grandpa is in full effect.”
They knocked and told him it was time, and with one last titter, he left the dressing room. I sat on the couch for a few moments wondering how in the hell I’d help him pull this off.
Piece of Cake by Mary Calmes
Chapter One
IT WAS my wedding day, so of course, Sam Kage, the love of my life, was standing in the middle of our quiet suburban street in a navy three-piece suit with a yellow tie and a gorgeous yellow orchid boutonniere with his foot on the jugular of a guy who’d just tried to shoot me.
The gun, equipped with a suppressor, was now in the hand of police Lieutenant Duncan Stiel, a friend and guest at my ceremony, who had picked it up using paper towels from my kitchen. He was currently standing there, also in the middle of the street, looking stunned as Sam reminded him that this was par for the course with me. Duncan’s husband—my ex, billionaire real estate mogul Aaron Sutter—was looking at me and shaking his head.
“What?”
He lifted his hands in total disbelief. “Who gets shot at on their wedding day?”
“This is not my fault.”
His squint told me he didn’t believe me.
“I—”
“Jory, goddamnit!” Sam bellowed from the road as we all heard the sirens.
I turned from Aaron to him. “How is this my fault?” I called over.
“I’m going to beat you!” he threatened, and his snarl was only made slightly less terrifying because he was in the suit we’d bought specifically for this occasion, for our wedding. The man was stunning, just the power radiating off of him making me want to run out there into the street and climb him like a tree. And since he was supposed to exchange vows with me in less than ten minutes, it was hard for me to take the threat seriously.
“We’re still getting married, right?”
IT WAS my wedding day, so of course, Sam Kage, the love of my life, was standing in the middle of our quiet suburban street in a navy three-piece suit with a yellow tie and a gorgeous yellow orchid boutonniere with his foot on the jugular of a guy who’d just tried to shoot me.
The gun, equipped with a suppressor, was now in the hand of police Lieutenant Duncan Stiel, a friend and guest at my ceremony, who had picked it up using paper towels from my kitchen. He was currently standing there, also in the middle of the street, looking stunned as Sam reminded him that this was par for the course with me. Duncan’s husband—my ex, billionaire real estate mogul Aaron Sutter—was looking at me and shaking his head.
“What?”
He lifted his hands in total disbelief. “Who gets shot at on their wedding day?”
“This is not my fault.”
His squint told me he didn’t believe me.
“I—”
“Jory, goddamnit!” Sam bellowed from the road as we all heard the sirens.
I turned from Aaron to him. “How is this my fault?” I called over.
“I’m going to beat you!” he threatened, and his snarl was only made slightly less terrifying because he was in the suit we’d bought specifically for this occasion, for our wedding. The man was stunning, just the power radiating off of him making me want to run out there into the street and climb him like a tree. And since he was supposed to exchange vows with me in less than ten minutes, it was hard for me to take the threat seriously.
“We’re still getting married, right?”
The Poodle Apocalypse by John Inman
Chapter One
IT WAS so hot you could stick a chicken in the trunk of your car and two hours later it would be parboiled to perfection. I would have passed out from the heat, but the mere thought of having to pick myself up off the ground later was too much to bear. A few moments before, I had peeled off my shirt. Now I was seriously considering ripping off my baggy cargo shorts too. Sweat burned my eyes. I took a moment to wipe my brow with a sodden forearm, which did no good whatsoever. With a monumental sigh, I took a firmer grip on the shovel and proceeded to dig the goddamn grave a little deeper.
And while I was at it, I thought I might as well make the hole a bit longer too. The last visitor who’d discovered our little corner of paradise had been a tall sucker. He had probably been a real hunk back in the good old days. Not now, of course. Now he was just ugly. And tall and beefy and smelly and cranky and harder to kill because of his size. Just my luck. If left to rot beside the front porch where I had knocked his brains out earlier with a claw hammer, he would have stunk up the place in no time flat. Especially in this heat.
I don’t know why we couldn’t have our lives threatened by a nice midget now and then. Or a third-grader. Or maybe some feeble ninety-two-year-old grandmother with a walker. But no. All our homicidal visitors looked like lumberjacks. Even the girly visitors were brawny and mean. Back before the world went to shit, those girly visitors must have been cranky motorcycle chicks with leather boots and spiky hairdos, who never got laid because they were just too damned ugly, which I suppose would go a long way toward explaining their nasty attitudes now that they were, for all intents and purposes, as dead as mackerels.
I use the word “visitors” loosely, you understand. It’s just I have a real hard time admitting, even now, after the past two months of dealing with them, that what I had just banged on the head with a hammer on the front porch—rather like driving home a railroad spike—and was now trying to bury underneath the front lawn before it started to reek to high heaven, was actually a fucking zombie. One of thousands. Maybe millions. In the city. In the country. In the world. Yep. You heard me. Zombies. Just like in those annoying old horror movies. Only now they had climbed down off the silver screen and were trying to kill us in real life. And that was really annoying, don’t think it wasn’t.
Actually, when I use the word “zombies” to describe these murderous poopheads, it is more of a euphemism than anything else. They aren’t real zombies, you understand. They didn’t claw their way up out of the grave. And they don’t infect you when they bite you either. The world hasn’t gone that screwy. No, these are just people. Sort of. People who used to be our friends and neighbors. Like the guy down the street who mows his grass every Saturday whether it needs it or not, or the florist on the corner who always waves hello when you walk by, or your kid’s first-grade teacher who says she’s sorry she stood your kid in a corner for two hours but good lord that kid’s annoying. People like that. Just ordinary people. But now, of course—well, now, they’re something else.
I should also add that when I use the word “dead” to describe these creatures, that is pretty much a euphemism too. Don’t ask me what it’s a euphemism for. Because these guys sure as hell aren’t alive. They just aren’t quite dead either.
But boy, are they mean. And driven. We assume they’re trying to kill us so they can eat us, but thank God that theory hasn’t been tested yet. If I could have my druthers, I’d rather not test it.
I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Charlie Pickett. That good looking guy lying over there in the hammock, as naked as a jaybird and acting like he’s asleep, is Bobby. Bobby Greene. Bobby’s my lover. We’ve been lovers for about three years now. And a happy three years it was, too, until a couple of months ago when the zombies started showing up.
And it isn’t only zombie people Bobby and I have to worry about now. When I say the world went to shit, I mean the whole planet. Now there are zombie bugs and zombie Chihuahuas and zombie grizzly bears and zombie cows and zombies of every size and shape and species imaginable. And if that isn’t enough, we have to deal with the screwy weather. One day it’s freezing, the next day it’s a scorcher, the day after is one continuous lightning storm, and the day after that there’s a tornado whizzing past your head. Jeez, you never know how to dress in the morning. Or what will be trying to kill you before the day is over.
I suppose you’re wondering why Bobby and I aren’t zombies ourselves. Well now, there you have me. Bobby and I have talked this over countless times in the past two months. It seems to us that if God was going to push the reset button and start all over from scratch to repopulate the world with people a little more in line with His own sensibilities—in other words, nice people, as opposed to the bungholes and politicians he had been filling it up with lately—to our way of thinking, surely God would plan ahead and not try to repopulate the joint with a couple of gay guys like me and Bobby. You see what I’m saying? Admittedly, we’re nice enough and all that, but there’s not much chance of building up a new world order with homosexuals, seeing as how homosexuals can’t breed. Not with each other, at any rate. Although, God knows we try often enough.
Plus, as far as we know, Bobby and I are the only two people left standing. We are, in toto, the only non-zombie beings we have seen. Can you believe that? We used to be known as gay people, Bobby and I, but now I guess we’re just people. Or survivors. Or remnants of a civilization. I don’t much care for the sound of that. Anyway, there’s not much need for labels when it’s just you and your lover and a couple of million zombies running around.
Here’s what happened.
A couple of months ago, we woke up one morning in each other’s arms, just like we normally do. Bobby and I have always been snuggly sleepers. We were jarred awake by the screeching of a car alarm outside our two-bedroom San Diego apartment. That car alarm just went on and on and on. Finally, after an exasperating twenty minutes of trying to stuff our pillows in our ears, we tugged on some clothes and stumbled outside to investigate. And lo and behold, that’s when we discovered we were the only two people left. Anywhere. The streets were empty. No hum of traffic or lawn mowers, no rumbling of skateboards, no distant thumping of car radios pounding out rap or golden oldies. Nothing.
And while we were standing on the street corner rubbing our eyes and wondering where everybody had gone, the power went out. What was silent before, except for that damned car alarm screeching across the neighborhood, had become dead silent. Stone silent. And then, five seconds after the power went out, the car alarm stopped screaming.
We’ve not heard another sound since that moment from another living soul that we did not make ourselves.
There had been some talk about massive sunspots before the day of the car alarm, but we’re not sure if that was the cause for everyone disappearing or not. Don’t see how it could be, really. Suffice it to say, they were simply gone. Vanished. Every single person, everywhere. And no bodies were left behind.
Bobby and I were alone. And with no electricity, no TV, no radio, no telephones, no traffic noises, no milling throngs of humanity rushing off to work on that eerie Tuesday morning, the silence was absolutely deafening. And creepy.
But enough about God unplugging and depopulating the world.
In the meantime, the goddamn grave still needed digging, and since it was my turn to dig and bury and Bobby’s turn to nap and look sexy, here I was still slaving away with the blasted shovel and occasionally leering at Bobby’s gorgeous nakedness over there in the hammock. He knew I was watching too. He had his strong, bare legs splayed wide and an arm dangling over the side of the hammock, exposing one beautiful fuzzy armpit and a neatly muscled bicep. He was trailing his fingers back and forth in the grass as he lazily swung there in the nonexistent breeze. Every now and then, I was almost sure I could see one of Bobby’s eyes peek open just to make sure I was watching. When he thought I might be, he nonchalantly readjusted his dick as if by accident. But it was no accident. And if he didn’t stop it soon, I was going to start mistaking the shovel handle for my own dick. One was getting to be just about as hard as the other, if you get my drift, and since it isn’t exactly rocket science, I’m sure you do.
It was late afternoon. Maybe four o’clock or so. Since it was summer, and this was California, the sun was still high in the sky. High and hot. Hotter than usual, of course, since the world had taken a screwy turn for the worse as far as weather went too. I figure the temperature was at about 110. It was humid as hell because two days ago it was snowing. That’s right. Snowing. In San Diego. And as of this morning, the blazing sun began turning that snow into steam. For a while you could actually hear it sizzling on the street like bacon grease popping in a red-hot skillet. Digging the grave, and simmering in my own juices, I was starting to feel like that parboiled chicken I mentioned earlier.
Bobby had a full-fledged hard-on now. He was watching me from the hammock and idly stroking himself at the same time, one hand gripping his cock, the other hand tucked behind his head. He was smiling, no longer feigning sleep. Now he just looked mischievous. God, he was gorgeous.
“Need some help?” he called out.
“No,” I said, rubbing my own crotch now. I loosened my belt and eased my shorts down past my knees, watching Bobby all the while I did it just to see what his reaction would be. The open air felt wonderful rustling the hair on my balls, almost like one of Bobby’s gentle caresses. Or the way it felt when he nuzzled me there with his nose. “But it looks like you might need some assistance,” I added with a smile.
I gave my thickening dick a good shake and a nice long stroke, just to make it stand up proud. Bobby whistled softly. “Bring that over here into the shade where I can get at it,” he said.
Then I managed to get a grip on something besides myself. Namely, the situation. I reluctantly tugged my shorts back up and tucked Charlie Junior away for another time. Charlie Junior wasn’t happy about it either, I don’t mind telling you. Neither was I.
“Let me get this Neanderthal underground first. He’s already starting to stink up the place.”
Bobby gave a monumental sigh and dropped his dick too. Being the gentleman that he is, he hauled his ass up out of that hammock and came over to help. He was still stark naked, of course, and he was still a beauty to look at, don’t think he wasn’t, but to be honest, I didn’t mind putting off sex for a while if it meant I would get some help planting this latest visitor. I did take a moment to bend over and give Bobby’s boner a gentle squeeze and a kiss on the top of its firm little head, just by way of saying hello. The crystal drop of precome glistening there tasted delicious. Bobby heaved up a pretty big moan of discontent when I stopped what I was doing, but it was planting season, dammit. There was work to be done. So after we got the sex out of our heads, we went back to grave digging.
After ten minutes of shoveling and sweating and bitching about the heat, our hard-ons were history.
When the grave was at a satisfactory depth and width and length, we each took a leg of you-know-who, dragged our visitor to the edge of the hole, and with our naked feet, tipped the bastard in. He landed flat on his back with a thud that sounded pretty doggone eternal, if you know what I mean. Yessir. He was home for good. The creep.
It took Bobby and me another thirty minutes to cover the guy up. When we were finished, we were just about done in. We flung our shovels across the lawn and headed for the backyard of this magnificent San Diego property we’d commandeered a few weeks earlier, and which must have cost several mil back in the days when that stuff mattered.
Behind the mansion was an Olympic-size pool. Since Bobby was still naked, all I had to do was drop my cargo shorts to put myself in the same condition, and hand-in-hand, we cannonballed into the deep end of the pool with a humongous splash. The water was damn near hot from the sun, but still it felt fabulous.
For the first time that day, I came to the conclusion that maybe I wouldn’t really die of heatstroke, after all.
The pool had not been cleaned for quite a while, since there was no longer electricity anywhere in the city, or pool boys either, for that matter. Not live ones, anyway. As I floated there in the still water, splashing leaves away from my face, Bobby swam up behind me and pulled me into his arms. He nibbled at the back of my neck while his hands reached around to stroke my stomach. His fingers traveled a wee bit south and twiddled with my pubic hair as I tilted my head back to nuzzle his cheek.
“I love you,” he said into my ear, and with a giggle, he pulled me beneath the surface.
“Glug, glug, glug, glug,” I answered, trying not to drown.
We laughed and roughhoused and grappled with each other as we spun around in circles beneath the water, first him on top, then me on top, then him again, then me, like a couple of frenzied crocodiles rolling over and over, tenderizing their dinner. Arms and legs flailing, Bobby’s naked body felt wonderful squirming next to mine. His arms strong. His flesh hot and firm and heavenly.
The water was glorious. Our hard-ons came back to life in about six heartbeats. It was great being twenty-five and being in love and being perpetually horny. I was pretty sure Bobby felt the same way, since he was also twenty-five. God knows he was perpetually horny. Even with the world fizzling out around us, nothing could have been finer than being naked and in love on this steamy California evening.
Well, that and the fact we weren’t zombies. That was pretty much a plus too.
I wondered how long we would be able to keep it that way.
BEFORE that disastrous Tuesday morning when everything changed, I was a waiter at Mr. A’s, an upscale restaurant perched atop a high-rise office building just up the hill from downtown San Diego. Mr. A’s had a reputation for offering its customers a resplendent view of the city and an even greater reputation for overcharging them to the hilt for the opportunity to take advantage of said view. The joint was a bastion of snootiness: the food exquisite, the service spectacular, the prices astronomical, and as if all that wasn’t pissy enough, you couldn’t get in without a tie. If you don’t mind my saying so, being a waiter there was rather a plum job. I made more in tips in a year than a cousin of mine who lives in Kansas City made teaching school. Of course, she’s probably dead now. Or zombified. Who knows? Anyway, as I was saying, I had a good job and I was perfectly satisfied with my measly little existence. Being happily entrenched in a loving relationship with Bobby played no small part in that satisfaction.
Bobby was considerably less enamored of his own place in the business world than I was with mine. On that eventful Tuesday morning when God took the world and stood it on its head, Bobby was earning his keep by holding down two jobs. Neither job was what you would call stellar. He was a dog walker in the evening and a San Diego Zoo snack bar clerk during the day. As he continually pointed out in his sweetly self-deprecating way, he was not exactly on the fast track to having his mug plastered across the cover of CEO Magazine. But even with all that, I think I can safely say he was, on the whole, satisfied with his life. And I like to think being happily entrenched in a loving relationship with me played no small part in that satisfaction.
Simply put, we were nuts about each other.
If I had any lingering doubts about that belief, the feel of Bobby’s stiff dick whapping me in the leg as we wrestled around in the pool and washed away the day’s miseries would have pretty well cleared it up. And if even that wasn’t enough to demonstrate the fact that we loved each other, the stiff he helped me plant in the front yard was surely more than enough to prove it. Bobby didn’t have to help me at all, you know. I had the watch. It was my turn to do the grunt work of slaughtering zombies and sticking them underground if one should happen along. Bobby just lent a hand because he loves me. That thought made my heart swell up. Rather like my dick at the moment. Only bigger, of course. And with less drippage.
Bobby and I were a team. Period. We had been a team before the world fell apart, and we were even more of a team now. As a matter of fact, now we were the only team.
Ain’t love grand?
IT WAS so hot you could stick a chicken in the trunk of your car and two hours later it would be parboiled to perfection. I would have passed out from the heat, but the mere thought of having to pick myself up off the ground later was too much to bear. A few moments before, I had peeled off my shirt. Now I was seriously considering ripping off my baggy cargo shorts too. Sweat burned my eyes. I took a moment to wipe my brow with a sodden forearm, which did no good whatsoever. With a monumental sigh, I took a firmer grip on the shovel and proceeded to dig the goddamn grave a little deeper.
And while I was at it, I thought I might as well make the hole a bit longer too. The last visitor who’d discovered our little corner of paradise had been a tall sucker. He had probably been a real hunk back in the good old days. Not now, of course. Now he was just ugly. And tall and beefy and smelly and cranky and harder to kill because of his size. Just my luck. If left to rot beside the front porch where I had knocked his brains out earlier with a claw hammer, he would have stunk up the place in no time flat. Especially in this heat.
I don’t know why we couldn’t have our lives threatened by a nice midget now and then. Or a third-grader. Or maybe some feeble ninety-two-year-old grandmother with a walker. But no. All our homicidal visitors looked like lumberjacks. Even the girly visitors were brawny and mean. Back before the world went to shit, those girly visitors must have been cranky motorcycle chicks with leather boots and spiky hairdos, who never got laid because they were just too damned ugly, which I suppose would go a long way toward explaining their nasty attitudes now that they were, for all intents and purposes, as dead as mackerels.
I use the word “visitors” loosely, you understand. It’s just I have a real hard time admitting, even now, after the past two months of dealing with them, that what I had just banged on the head with a hammer on the front porch—rather like driving home a railroad spike—and was now trying to bury underneath the front lawn before it started to reek to high heaven, was actually a fucking zombie. One of thousands. Maybe millions. In the city. In the country. In the world. Yep. You heard me. Zombies. Just like in those annoying old horror movies. Only now they had climbed down off the silver screen and were trying to kill us in real life. And that was really annoying, don’t think it wasn’t.
Actually, when I use the word “zombies” to describe these murderous poopheads, it is more of a euphemism than anything else. They aren’t real zombies, you understand. They didn’t claw their way up out of the grave. And they don’t infect you when they bite you either. The world hasn’t gone that screwy. No, these are just people. Sort of. People who used to be our friends and neighbors. Like the guy down the street who mows his grass every Saturday whether it needs it or not, or the florist on the corner who always waves hello when you walk by, or your kid’s first-grade teacher who says she’s sorry she stood your kid in a corner for two hours but good lord that kid’s annoying. People like that. Just ordinary people. But now, of course—well, now, they’re something else.
I should also add that when I use the word “dead” to describe these creatures, that is pretty much a euphemism too. Don’t ask me what it’s a euphemism for. Because these guys sure as hell aren’t alive. They just aren’t quite dead either.
But boy, are they mean. And driven. We assume they’re trying to kill us so they can eat us, but thank God that theory hasn’t been tested yet. If I could have my druthers, I’d rather not test it.
I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Charlie Pickett. That good looking guy lying over there in the hammock, as naked as a jaybird and acting like he’s asleep, is Bobby. Bobby Greene. Bobby’s my lover. We’ve been lovers for about three years now. And a happy three years it was, too, until a couple of months ago when the zombies started showing up.
And it isn’t only zombie people Bobby and I have to worry about now. When I say the world went to shit, I mean the whole planet. Now there are zombie bugs and zombie Chihuahuas and zombie grizzly bears and zombie cows and zombies of every size and shape and species imaginable. And if that isn’t enough, we have to deal with the screwy weather. One day it’s freezing, the next day it’s a scorcher, the day after is one continuous lightning storm, and the day after that there’s a tornado whizzing past your head. Jeez, you never know how to dress in the morning. Or what will be trying to kill you before the day is over.
I suppose you’re wondering why Bobby and I aren’t zombies ourselves. Well now, there you have me. Bobby and I have talked this over countless times in the past two months. It seems to us that if God was going to push the reset button and start all over from scratch to repopulate the world with people a little more in line with His own sensibilities—in other words, nice people, as opposed to the bungholes and politicians he had been filling it up with lately—to our way of thinking, surely God would plan ahead and not try to repopulate the joint with a couple of gay guys like me and Bobby. You see what I’m saying? Admittedly, we’re nice enough and all that, but there’s not much chance of building up a new world order with homosexuals, seeing as how homosexuals can’t breed. Not with each other, at any rate. Although, God knows we try often enough.
Plus, as far as we know, Bobby and I are the only two people left standing. We are, in toto, the only non-zombie beings we have seen. Can you believe that? We used to be known as gay people, Bobby and I, but now I guess we’re just people. Or survivors. Or remnants of a civilization. I don’t much care for the sound of that. Anyway, there’s not much need for labels when it’s just you and your lover and a couple of million zombies running around.
Here’s what happened.
A couple of months ago, we woke up one morning in each other’s arms, just like we normally do. Bobby and I have always been snuggly sleepers. We were jarred awake by the screeching of a car alarm outside our two-bedroom San Diego apartment. That car alarm just went on and on and on. Finally, after an exasperating twenty minutes of trying to stuff our pillows in our ears, we tugged on some clothes and stumbled outside to investigate. And lo and behold, that’s when we discovered we were the only two people left. Anywhere. The streets were empty. No hum of traffic or lawn mowers, no rumbling of skateboards, no distant thumping of car radios pounding out rap or golden oldies. Nothing.
And while we were standing on the street corner rubbing our eyes and wondering where everybody had gone, the power went out. What was silent before, except for that damned car alarm screeching across the neighborhood, had become dead silent. Stone silent. And then, five seconds after the power went out, the car alarm stopped screaming.
We’ve not heard another sound since that moment from another living soul that we did not make ourselves.
There had been some talk about massive sunspots before the day of the car alarm, but we’re not sure if that was the cause for everyone disappearing or not. Don’t see how it could be, really. Suffice it to say, they were simply gone. Vanished. Every single person, everywhere. And no bodies were left behind.
Bobby and I were alone. And with no electricity, no TV, no radio, no telephones, no traffic noises, no milling throngs of humanity rushing off to work on that eerie Tuesday morning, the silence was absolutely deafening. And creepy.
But enough about God unplugging and depopulating the world.
In the meantime, the goddamn grave still needed digging, and since it was my turn to dig and bury and Bobby’s turn to nap and look sexy, here I was still slaving away with the blasted shovel and occasionally leering at Bobby’s gorgeous nakedness over there in the hammock. He knew I was watching too. He had his strong, bare legs splayed wide and an arm dangling over the side of the hammock, exposing one beautiful fuzzy armpit and a neatly muscled bicep. He was trailing his fingers back and forth in the grass as he lazily swung there in the nonexistent breeze. Every now and then, I was almost sure I could see one of Bobby’s eyes peek open just to make sure I was watching. When he thought I might be, he nonchalantly readjusted his dick as if by accident. But it was no accident. And if he didn’t stop it soon, I was going to start mistaking the shovel handle for my own dick. One was getting to be just about as hard as the other, if you get my drift, and since it isn’t exactly rocket science, I’m sure you do.
It was late afternoon. Maybe four o’clock or so. Since it was summer, and this was California, the sun was still high in the sky. High and hot. Hotter than usual, of course, since the world had taken a screwy turn for the worse as far as weather went too. I figure the temperature was at about 110. It was humid as hell because two days ago it was snowing. That’s right. Snowing. In San Diego. And as of this morning, the blazing sun began turning that snow into steam. For a while you could actually hear it sizzling on the street like bacon grease popping in a red-hot skillet. Digging the grave, and simmering in my own juices, I was starting to feel like that parboiled chicken I mentioned earlier.
Bobby had a full-fledged hard-on now. He was watching me from the hammock and idly stroking himself at the same time, one hand gripping his cock, the other hand tucked behind his head. He was smiling, no longer feigning sleep. Now he just looked mischievous. God, he was gorgeous.
“Need some help?” he called out.
“No,” I said, rubbing my own crotch now. I loosened my belt and eased my shorts down past my knees, watching Bobby all the while I did it just to see what his reaction would be. The open air felt wonderful rustling the hair on my balls, almost like one of Bobby’s gentle caresses. Or the way it felt when he nuzzled me there with his nose. “But it looks like you might need some assistance,” I added with a smile.
I gave my thickening dick a good shake and a nice long stroke, just to make it stand up proud. Bobby whistled softly. “Bring that over here into the shade where I can get at it,” he said.
Then I managed to get a grip on something besides myself. Namely, the situation. I reluctantly tugged my shorts back up and tucked Charlie Junior away for another time. Charlie Junior wasn’t happy about it either, I don’t mind telling you. Neither was I.
“Let me get this Neanderthal underground first. He’s already starting to stink up the place.”
Bobby gave a monumental sigh and dropped his dick too. Being the gentleman that he is, he hauled his ass up out of that hammock and came over to help. He was still stark naked, of course, and he was still a beauty to look at, don’t think he wasn’t, but to be honest, I didn’t mind putting off sex for a while if it meant I would get some help planting this latest visitor. I did take a moment to bend over and give Bobby’s boner a gentle squeeze and a kiss on the top of its firm little head, just by way of saying hello. The crystal drop of precome glistening there tasted delicious. Bobby heaved up a pretty big moan of discontent when I stopped what I was doing, but it was planting season, dammit. There was work to be done. So after we got the sex out of our heads, we went back to grave digging.
After ten minutes of shoveling and sweating and bitching about the heat, our hard-ons were history.
When the grave was at a satisfactory depth and width and length, we each took a leg of you-know-who, dragged our visitor to the edge of the hole, and with our naked feet, tipped the bastard in. He landed flat on his back with a thud that sounded pretty doggone eternal, if you know what I mean. Yessir. He was home for good. The creep.
It took Bobby and me another thirty minutes to cover the guy up. When we were finished, we were just about done in. We flung our shovels across the lawn and headed for the backyard of this magnificent San Diego property we’d commandeered a few weeks earlier, and which must have cost several mil back in the days when that stuff mattered.
Behind the mansion was an Olympic-size pool. Since Bobby was still naked, all I had to do was drop my cargo shorts to put myself in the same condition, and hand-in-hand, we cannonballed into the deep end of the pool with a humongous splash. The water was damn near hot from the sun, but still it felt fabulous.
For the first time that day, I came to the conclusion that maybe I wouldn’t really die of heatstroke, after all.
The pool had not been cleaned for quite a while, since there was no longer electricity anywhere in the city, or pool boys either, for that matter. Not live ones, anyway. As I floated there in the still water, splashing leaves away from my face, Bobby swam up behind me and pulled me into his arms. He nibbled at the back of my neck while his hands reached around to stroke my stomach. His fingers traveled a wee bit south and twiddled with my pubic hair as I tilted my head back to nuzzle his cheek.
“I love you,” he said into my ear, and with a giggle, he pulled me beneath the surface.
“Glug, glug, glug, glug,” I answered, trying not to drown.
We laughed and roughhoused and grappled with each other as we spun around in circles beneath the water, first him on top, then me on top, then him again, then me, like a couple of frenzied crocodiles rolling over and over, tenderizing their dinner. Arms and legs flailing, Bobby’s naked body felt wonderful squirming next to mine. His arms strong. His flesh hot and firm and heavenly.
The water was glorious. Our hard-ons came back to life in about six heartbeats. It was great being twenty-five and being in love and being perpetually horny. I was pretty sure Bobby felt the same way, since he was also twenty-five. God knows he was perpetually horny. Even with the world fizzling out around us, nothing could have been finer than being naked and in love on this steamy California evening.
Well, that and the fact we weren’t zombies. That was pretty much a plus too.
I wondered how long we would be able to keep it that way.
BEFORE that disastrous Tuesday morning when everything changed, I was a waiter at Mr. A’s, an upscale restaurant perched atop a high-rise office building just up the hill from downtown San Diego. Mr. A’s had a reputation for offering its customers a resplendent view of the city and an even greater reputation for overcharging them to the hilt for the opportunity to take advantage of said view. The joint was a bastion of snootiness: the food exquisite, the service spectacular, the prices astronomical, and as if all that wasn’t pissy enough, you couldn’t get in without a tie. If you don’t mind my saying so, being a waiter there was rather a plum job. I made more in tips in a year than a cousin of mine who lives in Kansas City made teaching school. Of course, she’s probably dead now. Or zombified. Who knows? Anyway, as I was saying, I had a good job and I was perfectly satisfied with my measly little existence. Being happily entrenched in a loving relationship with Bobby played no small part in that satisfaction.
Bobby was considerably less enamored of his own place in the business world than I was with mine. On that eventful Tuesday morning when God took the world and stood it on its head, Bobby was earning his keep by holding down two jobs. Neither job was what you would call stellar. He was a dog walker in the evening and a San Diego Zoo snack bar clerk during the day. As he continually pointed out in his sweetly self-deprecating way, he was not exactly on the fast track to having his mug plastered across the cover of CEO Magazine. But even with all that, I think I can safely say he was, on the whole, satisfied with his life. And I like to think being happily entrenched in a loving relationship with me played no small part in that satisfaction.
Simply put, we were nuts about each other.
If I had any lingering doubts about that belief, the feel of Bobby’s stiff dick whapping me in the leg as we wrestled around in the pool and washed away the day’s miseries would have pretty well cleared it up. And if even that wasn’t enough to demonstrate the fact that we loved each other, the stiff he helped me plant in the front yard was surely more than enough to prove it. Bobby didn’t have to help me at all, you know. I had the watch. It was my turn to do the grunt work of slaughtering zombies and sticking them underground if one should happen along. Bobby just lent a hand because he loves me. That thought made my heart swell up. Rather like my dick at the moment. Only bigger, of course. And with less drippage.
Bobby and I were a team. Period. We had been a team before the world fell apart, and we were even more of a team now. As a matter of fact, now we were the only team.
Ain’t love grand?
A Villain for Christmas by Alice Winters
“Landon, I want you to help me rob a bank.”
I try to ignore my brother, since I clearly didn’t hear him right.
“Won’t you do me a favor?” he asks after letting himself into my house without bothering to knock. Not that knocking would have done him any good since I wasn’t planning on letting him into my house at all anyway.
“No,” I say without bothering to look up from the book I’m reading.
“Just hear me out!” he exclaims.
I lower the book and look up at my older brother Brandon. Thankfully, I don’t take much after him. Not that he’s ugly or anything like that, he’s not, but just because he’s an idiot. And the one thing I don’t want to be is an idiot. “What, Brandon?”
“I want you to help me rob a bank.”
“No! You asked me last week, and I already told you I have better things to do. Like…” I look around as I try to think of something. It’s hard when my life consists of trying to avoid my family and reading every book I can get my hands on. Oh, and did I mention avoiding my family? Honestly, that’s a full-time career when they all have powers that allow them to better annoy the shit out of me. “Work.”
“Mom told me you got fired,” Brandon says as he sits down on the couch next to me.
“I got fired because Mom came in and told the boss that she needed me. When he said I was working and couldn’t just leave, she told him he looks like an overripe nut sac.”
Brandon starts laughing. “That’s so cool.”
“I hate all of you,” I decide as I lift my book back up.
“About the bank. Come on, you borrowed money from me last week.”
I stare at my brother in disbelief. “Five dollars. You honestly think the equivalent of you lending me five dollars is me helping you rob a bank? I’m not going to help you rob a bank again!”
I try to ignore my brother, since I clearly didn’t hear him right.
“Won’t you do me a favor?” he asks after letting himself into my house without bothering to knock. Not that knocking would have done him any good since I wasn’t planning on letting him into my house at all anyway.
“No,” I say without bothering to look up from the book I’m reading.
“Just hear me out!” he exclaims.
I lower the book and look up at my older brother Brandon. Thankfully, I don’t take much after him. Not that he’s ugly or anything like that, he’s not, but just because he’s an idiot. And the one thing I don’t want to be is an idiot. “What, Brandon?”
“I want you to help me rob a bank.”
“No! You asked me last week, and I already told you I have better things to do. Like…” I look around as I try to think of something. It’s hard when my life consists of trying to avoid my family and reading every book I can get my hands on. Oh, and did I mention avoiding my family? Honestly, that’s a full-time career when they all have powers that allow them to better annoy the shit out of me. “Work.”
“Mom told me you got fired,” Brandon says as he sits down on the couch next to me.
“I got fired because Mom came in and told the boss that she needed me. When he said I was working and couldn’t just leave, she told him he looks like an overripe nut sac.”
Brandon starts laughing. “That’s so cool.”
“I hate all of you,” I decide as I lift my book back up.
“About the bank. Come on, you borrowed money from me last week.”
I stare at my brother in disbelief. “Five dollars. You honestly think the equivalent of you lending me five dollars is me helping you rob a bank? I’m not going to help you rob a bank again!”
Charlie Cochet is the international bestselling author of the THIRDS series. Born in Cuba and raised in the US, Charlie enjoys the best of both worlds, from her daily Cuban latte to her passion for classic rock.
Currently residing in Central Florida, Charlie is at the beck and call of a rascally Doxiepoo bent on world domination. When she isn’t writing, she can usually be found devouring a book, releasing her creativity through art, or binge watching a new TV series. She runs on coffee, thrives on music, and loves to hear from readers.
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Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.
When she's not writing you can find her blogging away on Diverse Reader, her review and promotional site. She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.
If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she'd tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you're afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.
Mary Calmes lives in Lexington, Kentucky, with her husband and two children and loves all the seasons except summer. She graduated from the University of the Pacific in Stockton, California, with a bachelor's degree in English literature. Due to the fact that it is English lit and not English grammar, do not ask her to point out a clause for you, as it will so not happen. She loves writing, becoming immersed in the process, and falling into the work. She can even tell you what her characters smell like. She loves buying books and going to conventions to meet her fans.
John Inman is a Lambda Literary Award finalist and the author of over forty novels, everything from outrageous comedies to tales of ghosts and monsters and heart stopping romances. John Inman has been writing fiction since he was old enough to hold a pencil. He and his partner live in beautiful San Diego, California. Together, they share a passion for theater, books, hiking and biking along the trails and canyons of San Diego or, if the mood strikes, simply kicking back with a beer and a movie.
John's advice for anyone who wishes to be a writer? "Set time aside to write every day and do it. Don't be afraid to share what you've written. Feedback is important. When a rejection slip comes in, just tear it up and try again. Keep mailing stuff out. Keep writing and rewriting and then rewrite one more time. Every minute of the struggle is worth it in the end, so don't give up. Ever. Remember that publishers are a lot like lovers. Sometimes you have to look a long time to find the one that's right for you."
Alice Winters started writing stories as soon as she was old enough to turn her ideas into written words. She loves writing a variety of things from romance and comedy to action. She also enjoys reading, horseback riding, and spending time with her pets.
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