Summary:
Tinsel and Tentacles 2.0
Felix
Combing the desert for aliens might sound a little out there, but I don’t care. They’re among us and I’m going to prove it.
Yet even I didn’t expect to get sucked up by a tractor beam and whisked off to outer space!
Also, why the heck does the interior of this ship look like a Christmas store exploded inside it? And, swoon, why does the big golden alien scowling at me have so many… tentacles?
Najar
For a second time, we’ve been forced to bring a human aboard our ship. And once again, it’s due to my crew mates’ foolishness. Sigh.
Christmas is in the air–Galactic gods, save me—and we’re exploring planets with similarly unusual holidays. So, Felix is stuck with us for a while.
But why can’t I leave the inquisitive human alone? He’s too tempting for his own good.
Our time together is limited, so hoping for something serious is ridiculous… right?
Chloe-isms: an alien abduction meet cute that's wholesome and sweet rather than creepy, I swear!; tentacles all the way, cuz heck yeah!; Christmas adventures in outer space--what could possibly go wrong?; how did Lord Vardox and Captain Starblade get into this story?; cozy but horny Hallmark vibes for days; animal-loving nerds are what do it for Najar; Felix has way too many fantasies about tentacles, but it's all because of that online story...
Tis the Season for Tentacles is part of the multi-author winter holiday M/M tentacle romance collaboration, Tinsel and Tentacles 2.0. All books are standalones but may be connected to some authors’ pre-existing worlds. Each book in the series brings festive fun related to a variety of winter holidays and explores the many delightful ways tentacles can be naughty and nice!
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:
Summary:
Collier's Creek Christmas
Nothing like sugar kisses to bring people together for the holidays…
After ditching the chaos of city life—and a cheating fiancé—I’m more than ready for a fresh start. Collier’s Creek, with its small-town charm and the warmth of my family, seems like the perfect place to regroup. Throw in a job offer as the new office manager for the local fire department, and it feels like everything is falling into place.
That is, until I meet Hayes.
The confident, cocky, and sinfully sexy firefighter is all smooth moves and effortless charm. Our connection? Instant. Our chemistry? Scorching. But here’s the problem: I’m supposed to be wrangling the firefighters and keeping the department in line, not getting distracted by the hottest man in town—who also happens to be my nephew’s best friend.
As the fire department’s Mr. December, Hayes is used to turning heads, but he’s got his sights set on me. And while I’ve sworn off mixing business with pleasure, this guy makes resisting nearly impossible. Every sweet gesture and playful flirtation chips away at my resolve, leaving me wondering if this time around, I should just give in.
Because the more time I spend with Hayes, the more I realize he’s not just fire and heat—he’s all heart. But with our undeniable attraction and my unease of our familial connection as well as our age gap, can we handle the sparks flying between us without getting burned?
Celebrate the holidays with the men of Collier’s Creek, where magic fills the air and irresistible romances are the highlight of the festive season. Six low-angst romances, each filled with heartwarming moments and swoon-worthy romance.
Summary:
In 1920s Cheltenham, Walter Webb has settled into a peacetime existence with relative ease. He's kept busy running the family grocer's shop with his father on Lower High Street, a working-class region of the famous Regency spa town. In his moments of leisure, he meets regularly with his ex-army pals that he served with in the Great War.
But being a respectable grocer means that Walter must keep his occasional liaisons with other men brief and anonymous. When he meets Stanley, the attractive and likeable brother of a customer, who is staying with his sister after a debilitating bout of pneumonia, Walter is tempted to throw caution to the winds on the chance of something more with this particular man.
Can these two men take a risk to find a lasting romance?
Dahlia Springs
On the first day of Christmas, my dear aunt sent to me: twenty-four dares in a fugly advent tree…
The only way I’m going to survive a month of holly jolly misery post-breakup is to hibernate through the Christmas season before moving away for my new job.
Two things blow my straightforward plan to smithereens: 1. My lovable aunt, who guilts me into watching her spoiled wiener dogs—who do NOT like me—while she’s gone for the holiday. 2. My scheming aunt’s surprising tenant, Warren, who I just can’t seem to get out of my head.
To add insult to inconvenience, I find my aunt’s filled my childhood advent calendar—the one I’d designed for dares instead of days—with sappy, festive, time-suckers. Now, stuck at her house, I’m completely baffled because I can’t look away from Warren’s big smile, warm eyes, and unrelenting Christmas cheer. I’ve never felt like this for a man before, but it’s like my heart’s a Magic 8 ball stuck on “All signs point to Yes” whenever he’s around.
Warren’s offer to guide me through the festive challenges as my personal elf raises my festive mood, among—ahem—other things. Now I’m coming to terms with not only wanting a guy to jingle my bells, but Warren’s company is taking me from local Grinch to wannabe Santa in a heartbeat.
Am I actually living in a Hallmark fan’s wet dream? Maybe, but Warren’s making me the jolliest I’ve felt in years—all while slowly but steadily capturing my reluctant heart.
24 Dares of Christmas is a low angst, bisexual awakening MM Christmas romance set in the Dahlia Springs universe. This standalone story is stuffed fuller than a stocking with Christmas traditions, family fun, candy cane sweetness, and appearances by characters in the Tap That Brewery series.
Tis the Season for Tentacles by Chloe Archer
Chapter One
Chronicles of Chaos: An Informal Record of Life Aboard the Sleigh Belle
Stardate: 78384.8
Origin: Helgar’s Nebula
Destination: Earth
Yet again, I have been overruled by my crewmates. Logic and reasoning are far from their minds when concocting new “adventures.” In particular, their fanatical obsession with all things “Christmas” has not abated over the last two years. If anything, it’s gotten worse. After our captain and his human partner got married on Christmas last year, they’ve been bound and determined to celebrate the holiday–and their first anniversary–in full festive style. Our ship’s engineer is also enthusiastic about this plan. There is but one problem.
They have decided to return to Earth. Again.
In order to procure, what will no doubt be, a metric ton of decorations to adorn the interior of our once majestic ship. And with no concern about the Alliance capturing and imprisoning us for illegal trespassing.
Fuck my life.
— Najar Mezdel, First Lieutenant and Voice of Reason on the Sleigh Belle
NAJAR
“Why did I agree to go along with this ludicrous plan?” My tentacles twitch in agitation.
“Because you love us?” Luna says around a candy cane that our captain’s human husband, Sasha, acquired on his first trip into a nearby human town.
He’s now on his fourth run to the store.
My best friend and our ship’s captain, Khephren, waves his bright pink tentacles in the air. “Ooh! Because you’ve finally found your Christmas spirit. It’s infectious, isn’t it?”
He beams at me and I sigh.
Luna’s droid, Rambo, lets out several beeps and says, “Why so serious?”
He only talks in human movie lines thanks to Luna’s programming. Naturally, Sasha—a filmmaker and self-proclaimed cinephile—loves this, as do my movie-obsessed Dravethian friends.
I, however, wish there was a mute button on the little robot.
Two of my tentacles rub my temples, where I swear I can feel the beginnings of a headache forming.
“We’ve been here too long already. It’s only a matter of time before the Alliance discovers our presence. We don’t have the clearance to be here,” I remind them all for the umpteenth time.
Luna, evidently tired of sucking on her candy cane, takes a vicious crunching bite out of it. “Lighten up, dude. Rambo’s right. You’re far too serious.”
Khephren, who’s wearing the ridiculous elf hat Sasha gave him when they first met, chortles smugly and waves an admonishing tentacle at me. “Don’t underestimate my skills, my good man. I have spent months calibrating our cloaking device. We got past the Alliance atmospheric sensors without registering as so much as a blip on their radars. There’s no way they even know we’re here.”
Thankfully, Kheph did have the common sense to land out in the middle of the desert, far away from human eyes. That’s the one saving grace in all of this.
He also made a small automobile-like device with its own cloaking mechanism for Sasha to drive into towns and purchase the goods we need.
Or rather, the frivolous Christmas items my crewmates consider necessities.
Luna finishes off her candy cane. “Sasha should be back soon and we can be on our way. In and out in no time flat.”
The vehicle Kheph made for Sasha does travel faster than most things on this planet, so it has sped up the process quite a bit. The problem is that it’s small, meaning there’s only so much stuff that can fit inside and be transported safely. Hence Sasha’s multiple trips to the store.
I thought we had plenty after the first shopping round, but I was overruled.
By now, several trips in, the interior of the ship has become almost unrecognizable.
Before we abducted him—I mean, invited him on an adventure in outer space, as Kheph likes to say—Sasha used to work at a place called Santa’s Winter Wonderland. I can only imagine it looked a lot like our ship does now.
Festive green garlands and strings of multicolored lights adorn every visible surface around me. Several artificial trees—I’m not sure what their purpose is in relation to this holiday—are set up in different parts of the ship and covered in an explosion of ball-like decorations and some strange, synthetic, furry substance Sasha calls “tinsel.”
Khephren hums happily as he continues attaching an odd plant to the tops of doorways.
“What is he doing?” I ask Luna in a whisper.
She grins. “Hanging mistletoe.”
I blink at her.
She rolls her eyes. “According to humans, if two individuals stand under that plant, they must kiss.”
Note to self—avoid doorways when anyone else is around.
“How long is all of this going to stay a part of the ship’s… decor?” I dare to ask.
“Who knows? Maybe forever?” Luna flashes me an unbothered smile and shrugs.
“Could be worse. Could be raining,” Rambo beeps cheerily.
I close my eyes.
At least my room has remained untainted by the chaotic explosion of holiday decorations. It might be the only part of the ship that is still unscathed. That means I have at least one place I can retreat to as I endeavor to retain my sanity.
Khephren pulls out his telecom pad and starts video-chatting with Sasha who’s still in the store.
“Holy fuck, babe! They have a twerking Santa figurine. It just needs batteries,” I hear Sasha say through the speaker.
Khephren’s eyes sparkle as he stares at the screen enthralled. “It is quite amazing. Of course, we must have it.”
“Natch,” Sasha agrees with an evil laugh.
“Wait!” Khephren cries. “Back up. What is that?”
Sasha starts laughing. “The tag says ‘it’s an inflatable ninjabread man.’ Heh. This is pretty cool.”
“Do you think we could fit it on the ship?” Khephren asks, biting his bottom lip.
“Hmm. Supposedly, it’s five feet tall when inflated but, ooh, it has LEDs inside.”
“No,” I proclaim, putting my foot down.
Khephren turns to me with pleading, puppy-dog eyes.
Too bad for him that I’m immune by now.
Mostly.
“Don’t worry, Naj.” Sasha raises his voice so I can hear him. “I’m grabbing a Grinch pillow just for you.”
I scowl.
“Good work, my darling,” Khephren coos.
After a year of marriage, he and Sasha are still in their honeymoon phase. It’s as disgusting as it is sweet.
“Babe, what about this shirt?” I hear Sasha ask.
Khephren gasps and his tentacles do a full-on cheer routine. “Dear goddess, Thekmis. Does that say ‘Meowy Catmas’?”
“Sure does.”
Kheph’s eyes are practically glowing. “It is amazing.”
“I had a feeling you’d like it. I’ll grab a couple of the different cat-themed holiday shirts for you. Your simulator should be able to fashion the holes you need in the back for your… tentacles.”
He whispers that last part.
“You are the best husband a Dravethian like me could ask for.” Khephren makes a kissy face at the screen of his device.
“Ugh,” I mutter.
Luna growls. “It is pretty annoying, isn’t it? Those lucky bastards found love and are getting laid on the regular while you and I are sad and alone, with only our tentacles to keep us company.”
“What happened to that Rendathian woman you met on Xiunderia? I thought you had plans to meet up again when we were next in that quadrant.”
Luna lets out a forlorn sigh. “The long-distance thing was too hard. She met someone new and ditched me in a hot second. We had fun, but I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.”
I reach a tentacle over and stroke her back. “One day you’re going to find the woman of your dreams.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Any other outcome is unacceptable.”
She laughs and favors me with a soft smile. “Thanks, Naj. I hope you’re right.”
Rambo does a little robotic twirl. “If you look for it, I’ve got a sneaky feeling you’ll find that love actually is all around.”
Luna rubs his shiny chrome head affectionately.
Neither Luna nor I have ever been lucky in love. Granted, she’s been looking for it
a lot more aggressively than I have.
To be honest, I’m not sure if I’m cut out for such things—namely, messy emotions.
I’ve had my share of bed partners over the years, but those arrangements were always about fulfilling a biological need more than anything else. I always made that clear from the start and went out of my way to select partners looking for the exact same thing. Romance, and the complexities of connection with a lover that go beyond sharing mutual physical satisfaction, are tiresome—and a whole hell of a lot of work.
I will admit, seeing the unfettered joy that Khephren basks in every day since he and Sasha became an item does occasionally tempt me to wonder what if?
Being an orphan, I’ve had limited experiences with genuine affection.
Khephren’s parents took me in and provided for my schooling, but it was all in service of protecting their son. I was never quite part of the family, more like the hired help. Having been born with a warrior’s mark, just like my parents who died in battle, I was a perfect companion for their brilliant young child growing up. It was advantageous to them to put me in their debt so that they could make use of my talents to safeguard their son. While I don’t believe their intentions were quite that mercenary, they were calculated to some extent. It all made perfectly logical sense, even to me as a young child, but such arrangements rarely foster deeper feelings.
Things could have gone very badly under the circumstances if I hadn’t gotten along with any of them. But I came face to face with the undefeatable and unrelenting optimism of Khephren—and I didn’t stand a chance in Helgar’s Nebula of not falling under his spell. The man is so caring and earnest, and when he decided he liked me from the moment we met, my status had been elevated to friend in Khephren’s mind.
It wasn’t long before we became best friends, in only the way young children can. Growing up, we were thicker than thieves and always at one another’s side. He won me over and earned my eternal loyalty from the get-go, having always treated me like a true brother. I will always love him for that.
Few can resist Khephren when his sunshiny personality is at full power. That’s why it came as no surprise to me when Sasha succumbed as well. The formerly grumpy, Christmas-hating human could not hold out against the power of Khephren’s magical rays of pure happiness.
It was quite entertaining to watch, actually.
Oh, how the mighty grumps fall in Khephren’s cheerful wake.
Because of the nature of our connection, Khephren and I never shared any romantic or sexual attraction. We weren’t one another’s type at all. Perhaps things would have been easier if we had been.
But now I know the universe had bigger and better things planned for my best friend, in the form of the tiny human we brought aboard our ship for a so-called “Christmas adventure” among the stars.
Newsflash: It was an abduction.
But on the whole, Sasha didn’t really seem to mind and has taken to life aboard the Sleigh Belle like an Agarthian swamp-rat to water.
We all discovered that Sasha has a will of iron, and when he sets his mind on something, he goes all in.
It’s no wonder he and my best friend are so well suited for one another.
I’m sure finding his soulmate made Sasha’s transition that much easier as well. He does, of course, get homesick from time to time, mostly for things he misses on Earth, which is yet another reason we have ventured into the danger zone once more.
But he didn’t leave behind much in terms of friends or family that would lament his absence from this world.
We were all shocked to learn that Sasha’s parents had disowned him because of his sexual orientation—something that would be unthinkable among our kind.
While the Dravethian people have many flaws, we have never had qualms about different sexual preferences so long as both partners are consenting adults. Variety breeds creativity and innovation, and we have never seen diverse sexual preferences as wrong.
Luna, for instance, is attracted to women, or feminine-presenting individuals, while Khephren prefers men or male-presenting individuals.
I have much broader attractions. Over the years, I have enjoyed lovers from many different species and genders. I don’t always know what will attract me to another, but I tend to trust my instincts.
Luna fiddles with the controls at Khephren’s terminal and Christmas music starts playing softly over the ship’s com system.
I study her as she tries to stealth-watch Khephren while he’s talking to Sasha on his telecom pad, a look of longing evident on her lovely face.
Luna may act tough, but she’s just as much of a marshmallow at her core as Khephren is. She’s a lot snarkier than my best friend, but that’s mostly a protective mechanism. Luna’s been hurt before. Her generosity is abundant, and unfortunately, there have been others who’ve taken advantage of that.
Is it so wrong that she just wants someone to love, who will love her too?
I’m not really a passenger on this Christmas-obsessed train that my friends have climbed aboard, but if I could gift Luna a partner worthy of her this season, I would.
Of course, I know that isn’t how these things work, but it would bring me joy to see her find true love.
I clear my throat and wave a tentacle awkwardly. “Maybe… you’ll… meet someone on our holiday travel adventures?” I try to infuse as much enthusiasm and optimism into my voice as I can.
Luna arches a quizzical green eyebrow at me. “You okay? The face you’re making reads as ‘supremely constipated.’”
And there’s the snark on full display.
I force a smile. “You never know. It could happen.”
“Are you high? Did you eat one of those psychedelic mushrooms Kheph brought aboard the ship when we visited that fungi forest on Blarnox V?”
My tentacles coil and uncoil.
Her eyes narrow.
Dammit. She knows all my tells.
“I’m not high. Just trying to be… supportive.”
The look she gives me screams, I call bullshit.
I sigh and relent. “Fine. I can tell you’ve been lonely lately, and I just want you to be happy. You’re my other best friend, after all.”
Her gaze wanders back to Khephren, who’s humming merrily to himself now that he’s ended his call with Sasha.
“It’s hard not to be envious when you’re around two love birds like Sasha and Kheph all the time. Even though it’s been nearly two years, they’re still in their blissful and harmonious newlywed phase.” She sighs wistfully. “Who wouldn’t want that?”
I cringe. I’m not sure that I’d want that, but I don’t say anything.
She reaches a tentacle over and pats me on the shoulder. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m okay. I’m still fierce and fabulous, even when I am single. And I have a lot going for me in my life. Getting to travel with my two best friends and explore the universe, all while escaping the stupid expectations of my parents and most of Dravethian society, is pretty damn sweet. I’m super fucking lucky.”
Indeed, we all are.
“At first, when Kheph came up with his plan to escape the arranged marriage his parents had set up for him and pull a runaway groom, I thought our off-world travels might be a temporary thing.”
Luna’s tentacles do a happy little shimmy. “But two years in, we’re still roaming the universe and living our best lives. It’s great. I know Kheph has no intention of returning to our home world, and neither do I.”
“Ditto for me.” I have nothing to go back to.
Rambo beeps three times. “Together, we are, the three amigos!”
Luna high-fives him.
It’s not that we hate our home world, but we were always misfits that didn’t quite fit in there.
I was born with the warrior’s mark, but I have never wished to fight someone else’s wars. That isn’t the purpose of my existence. Yes, I will enter into battle to protect those I love—my found family—but that’s different. I’m still searching for my personal passion, I guess, but I feel like I have a better shot at finding it out among the stars.
Kheph comes bounding over to us, grinning from ear to ear.
“Sasha is on his way back. Let’s fire up the engines, my friends.”
I heave a huge sigh of relief. “We’re done?”
Kheph nods happily.
“Affirmative,” Rambo chimes in with a series of beeps.
“Good, we really need to get going.” I don’t like tempting fate when it comes to the Alliance for Neutral Alien Lifeforms and we’re basically squatting in the backyard of their outpost here on Earth right now.
I study my view screen, and when I see dust churning in the air and coming straight toward us, I let down the ramp to our cargo bay.
Khephren hurries off to greet Sasha upon his return.
Once my monitor shows he and the vehicle are safely aboard the ship once more,
I close the ramp and fire up the engines.
Just as we begin to ascend into the air, Khephren and Sasha come hurrying onto the bridge.
“Hold on a second!” Sasha cries, waving his hands in the air.
I blink at him. “What is it? Did you forget something?”
He grimaces. “Um… so… we have a small problem.”
My brow furrows, and I feel that headache from earlier returning as my temples throb.
“What kind of problem?”
Sasha shifts nervously from foot to foot. “So, apparently, there’s a human lurking out in the desert here—and they saw us.”
My tentacles twitch as I bite back a curse. “Are you certain?”
Sasha winces. “Pretty sure.”
“Neptune’s motherfucking nads. What the hell are we going to do now?” I growl.
This is precisely the kind of thing that’s likely to sic the Alliance on our asses.
I run a tentacle over my face and sigh in defeat. “There’s no helping it. We’re going to have to call the Alliance in and have them wipe this human’s memories.”
Khephren’s eyes go wide and his magenta tentacles start undulating in the air around him. “Wait! I just had the most amazing idea.”
Luna bounces to her feet. “Is it the same idea I just had?”
They clasp tentacles and giggle.
“We should invite this human aboard the ship for an intergalactic Christmas adventure,” they chorus in unison.
“Dear Goddess Thekmis, please save me,” I mutter.
Sasha strokes his chin thoughtfully. “That might be a good idea. We can suss out this person and make a more informed judgment call about what to do next. If nothing else, we can still return them later and have the Alliance wipe their memory then. For now, I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t really care to spend Christmas in an Alliance jail or having all of our precious cargo confiscated.”
Khephren’s eyes widen and he gasps. “They wouldn’t dare.”
Sasha shakes his head sadly. “They could say we’re illegally importing goods we haven’t declared. After all, we weren’t exactly allowed in on the up-and-up anyhow. Hell, they might try to charge us with ridiculous customs fees and take our stuff. It’d be a giant mess.”
And that’s if they don’t throw us in an Alliance prison.
Khephren looks around at all of the holiday decor, and his bottom lip quivers. “Our precious Christmas decorations.”
I groan. Evidently Sasha has joined Team Christmas Nutcases and I’m all on my own.
Fuck my life.
All three of them turn their gazes on me and I know I’m sunk.
“Fine,” I snarl. I launch the ship’s sensors to perform a sweep of the surrounding area, quickly identifying where our troublesome human voyeur is lurking.
“Gotcha,” I say with satisfaction and activate the tractor beam.
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.
Tastes Like Sugar by Becca Seymour
CHAPTER ONE
SULLY
I accept my second beer with a grateful smile. “Thanks.”
“All good. Are you ready to order?”
I cast another brief glance at the menu, the name Jake’s Tap sprawled on the top. It’s fairly limited, but from the plates I’ve seen brought out of the kitchen, everything looks and smells incredible. “I’ll grab the burger and homemade fries, please.”
“Good choice. It won’t be long.” The bartender offers me an up-nod before he heads away to take another order. I track his movements for a few seconds simply as something to do, a distraction more than anything deeper.
Not that he isn’t attractive, but I’m pretty sure he’s got something going with the guy propping up the other end of the bar. The dark-haired man has barely taken his gaze off the bartender. The times he has, it’s to shoot people the stink eye.
Getting on someone’s shit list, especially since I need to decide whether to accept the job offer in this small country town, is the last thing I want. Collier’s Creek, from what I’ve seen and from the stories my sister’s told me, is pretty close-knit.
All it takes is one asshole to spin bullshit that makes the world you’ve built come tumbling down. Life has taught me that. The asshole I’m referring to is my ex, who’s also someone I used to work with.
The moral of that particular story is don’t mix work with pleasure. Okay, so there’s a second moral too. That one is don’t fall for pricks who think it’s fun to make false promises, offer you a ring and commitment, only to then fall on someone else’s dick the very same day.
Add in a steady buildup of gaslighting and ding, ding, ding, we have a winner.
Talk about a wake-up call.
At forty-seven, I’m over the bullshit. Over the drama.
I’m over big-city living, which is the reason six months after all that went down in San Francisco, I clung to my sister’s suggestion to stay in the small studio above her garage in this ridiculously cute town until I figured things out.
After just eight days, I scored a job interview and an offer that actually has me excited. Truthfully, I don’t really have that much to think about. The position feels serendipitous.
For one, as the only administrator—technically the office manager—I won’t get caught up in dick-measuring contests or have to live with my guard up to protect myself from backstabbers. This is a giant drawcard. The second is one that completely blew my mind. While the initial interview was conducted by the lead administrator, Jeremy, from the government office in Cheyenne, and the person I would be replacing—a woman called Marge who’s desperate to retire—the captain of the Collier’s Creek fire station was then brought in. Since I’d be directly working for them, under their command, it made sense.
And the mind-blown part?
Captain Zoey Jackson. When she’d stepped into the room, I’d done a double take, as did Marge and Jeremy when Zoey gave me a giant hug.
The world is a funny place and sometimes a small one.
While Zoey hadn’t lived in San Francisco for long, our paths had crossed during the Pride parade about ten or so years back, and we’d been good friends until we’d lost touch when she’d moved away. To Collier’s Creek, apparently.
And for the first time in what seems like years, I feel like I can take in a lungful of air and truly breathe. That alone tells me I’d been treading water in SF and had become tired of the game before I’d been ready to admit it.
Sure, Collier’s Creek has clean air, and the town’s idea of god-awful traffic is when three cars have to wait one minute when a moose decides to cross the road, gets spooked, and rams a pickup truck before bolting—which legit happened three days ago. But there’s more to it than my ability to breathe better.
I take a long pull of my beer, appreciating the crisp tang.
Laughter catches my attention, and a smile tugs at my lips when I see a burly man dot a sweet kiss on another guy’s forehead before he holds his hand.
Yeah, this place is helping to cleanse my soul or something. I think I need that.
The “Hey, Tad” directed at the bartender from my other side surprises me.
I jerk and grab hold of the bar top to stop myself from falling off my stool. A warm hand on my arm stops the final wobble.
“Shit, you okay?” the man with the deep voice asks.
I relax my grip and release a soft chuckle. “Almost got me.” I turn toward the younger guy at my side. As I do, he releases me, leaving a trace of warmth behind. My gaze lands on a smiling mouth, the smirk a little crooked, as though he’s not sure if he should be concerned or laughing with me. I flick my attention farther up, my mouth turning instantly dry at the thirst trap of a man before me.
Thirst trap?Jesus, is that even what people say anymore? Hell, perhaps they never even did. Thank fuck mind-reading abilities don’t exist. If they did, his crooked smile that’s becoming more amused by my wide-eyed stare definitely wouldn’t be directed my way.
A guy like this, all wide shoulders, broad chest, and a full head of hair that’s many years away from receding, wouldn’t even entertain the possibility of—
I stop myself short. The last thing I need to do is think about sex while in a bar full of strangers. Sure, if this were a club and that were the scene, I would drink my fill. But this bar definitely isn’t that.
What this is is him still staring at me.
“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for the save,” I respond quickly, figuring he’s just waiting for me to remember how to speak after eyeing him for so long.
“That’s a relief.”
“One burger and fries.”
My gaze snaps to the same bartender and then to the plate of food that he sets down. “Thanks.”
“All good. There’s a booth that just opened if you want to grab it,” Tad offers, dipping his head in the direction behind me.
“Oh.” I angle that way and realize no one else is eating at the bar. “Sure, thanks.” I pick up my plate as Tad focuses on the guy who I’m sure rarely eats a pile of grease-filled food. And if he did, from the way his muscles fill out his long-sleeved T-shirt, I suspect he spends an unholy amount of time in the gym.
“Hayes, what’ll it be?”
Hayes.I risk a glance at him, finding his attention on me before I look away and head to the open booth. That has to be his last name, right? Back when I was a teenager, my friends used to call me Sully. Sure, Tom’s a solid name, but my younger self thought shortening my last name from Sullivan to Sully was the coolest thing ever.
That nickname was quickly ousted by corporate when I got my first job.
I settle in the booth, wondering when it was I became so white collar and why, oh fucking why, I thought I enjoyed the rat race.
In the three different companies I worked for over the years, I was far from the top dog, nor was I a seven-figure executive like one of my previous bosses. But at some point, I’d bought into the whole fast-paced world, where it was all about who you wore and who you fucked and who you could get ahead of.
The friendly chatter drifting around me is nothing like I’ve experienced in the last few years. It’s not even like I have anyone to blame for that other than myself.
Not taking the job here would be foolish. The more I think about it, the more certain I am.
It’s less money than I’ve earned in years, almost a quarter less, in fact, but I’m also lucky that I bought a condo when I was just twenty-five—with the support of my parents—and sold it for a profit (thanks to the crazy house-price increase over the past twenty years), which takes the pressure off.
Mom inherited a house from her great-aunt, and because I have kick-ass parents (both are thankfully enjoying life in a retirement village a town over, having moved to be closer to my sister in their golden years), they split the funds from the sale of the house between me and my sister. Hence the reason I was lucky enough to afford a place in San Francisco and sell it so quickly a couple of weeks back.
I take a big bite of my burger. With light spices and tender beef, the combination is delicious. As is the grease I should really be trying to avoid.
Tomorrow morning, I’ll make sure I go for a walk. A run would be better, but the last time I ran, I was in my twenties, and even then, it was probably because I was late for work. My jeans have jumped up at least two sizes since then, and while I’m not 100 percent okay with that, it’s something I made peace with years ago.
Or as much as a guy can when in the company of fitter men.
But I really should be more heart-aware—at least according to my sister. Despite that, I take another bite of the burger, my shoulders relaxing at the flavor and the overall contentment over a successful day.
A presence has me pausing from taking another bite. My gaze lands on the same broad chest I spent a little too long admiring earlier before it travels higher.
Those same bright, slightly amused twinkling eyes meet mine.
“Mind if I join you?”
My brows shoot high.
“It’s busy tonight. Thought it would make sense to fill up the empty seat if that’s okay?”
“Sure,” I say with a nod, taking Hayes in as he places his thick jacket on the padded bench before settling his tall frame in. I return his smile, then have no clue what to do next.
Do I just take another huge mouthful of my burger, or do I make polite conversation? During the past six months—even before that, if I’m honest with myself—I’ve been a bit hermit-like. But being tired of the scene, tired of being taken for a fool by my ex, who lied when he said he wanted a monogamous relationship, meant moments like this—a couple of beers and a burger in a bar—were me having a “big night.”
“Please, don’t let your food go cold. Tad’s bringing me the same meal in—Here he is now.”
Tad places the piled plate, complete with a basket of onion rings, on the table. “Enjoy,” he says before returning straight back to the bar.
This Hayes guy wasn’t exaggerating about how full Jake’s Tap is. This is the first time I’ve been, so I have no idea if this is normal for a Thursday night or not.
“Thanks, Tad,” Hayes calls to the bartender’s retreating form, pulling my attention back to him. “The name’s Hayes.” He reaches out.
I quickly place my burger down, wipe my hands on the napkin, and shake his hand. “Sully.” The name’s out before I second-guess or even question it.
His smile brightens. “Good to meet you. Now”—he indicates toward my food—“don’t hold back on my account.” Unceremoniously, he picks up his burger and takes a large bite. I follow suit.
“I haven’t seen you in Jake’s before,” he says after swallowing his mouthful of food.
I shake my head. “First time here.”
“It was a good choice for food. The menu’s fairly simple, but I’ve never not had a good feed here.” He smiles before chewing on a fry.
“Well, this burger’s definitely hitting the spot.”
He nods before saying, “You’re not from around here, then? Just passing through?”
“No, and I’m not too sure yet.”
Hayes studies me, his gaze roaming my face before dipping lower. My brows shoot high. Is he checking me out? Straight guys don’t look at other men quite this way.
Heat forms in my stomach. I let it simmer, not wanting to douse the flame of possibility just yet.
Will I be disappointed if I’m setting myself up for rejection? Maybe a little, but also fuck it.
Today’s been such a good day—why not push my luck a little and see where it gets me? A cock in my mouth or my ass are pretty spectacular options.
When his attention returns to my face and he reads my expression, a smirk forms. There’s zero embarrassment at being caught out. The sexier his smile grows, the more I’m sure he’s definitely checking me out.
“A man of mystery and one who’s happy to go with the flow…. We could do with a little more of that around here.”
“Is that right?” I tilt my head, and this time, I’m the one dipping my gaze, eating up the expanse of his broad chest before reconnecting with his sparkling eyes.
He seriously is a good-looking guy, and he appears to like what he sees. Mama didn’t raise no fool. I was taught long ago not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Absolutely. An attractive guy possibly sticking around. Or maybe he’ll be leaving in the winter’s breeze in a day or two…. Either way, it’s important you get the best Collier’s Creek welcome going.”
A laugh breaks free between us. I shake my head in amusement, appreciating that Hayes doesn’t take himself too seriously.
“And you’re the best welcome?” I tease.
“Good food, good company….” He shrugs, taking another bite, leaving his words, which I’m totally interpreting as an offer, hanging.
We continue eating, chatting about TV shows and movies, music and sports, and nothing of deep significance. While our music tastes are leagues apart, the fact that he’s rewatched Ted almost as many times as I have makes me smile.
When I finally finish my burger, I pick up one of my fries.
“You’re one of those eaters, huh?”
I freeze with a fry touching my lips, gaze snapping to his. “Excuse me?” I pull the fry away. Our meal so far has been easy, companionable even. That it’s not been deep or personal, I’ve liked a lot. That he’s commenting on how I eat…. Yeah, that’s not going to—
“You eat each type of food separately rather than mixing it up.” From the speed of his answer, I’ve little doubt he heard the guarded surprise in my question. His slightly widened eyes are a dead giveaway too. He points at his plate. “I like to mix it up.”
I glance down. He’s polished off half of his fries and almost all of his burger.
Shit.
This is also why being a hermit over the past few years has suited me. Though, he’s done an impressive job at reminding me how, with the right person, it’s easy to be sociable and myself.
At work, I get into the mindset of the job and hold my own with ease. You have to in administration, especially if you don’t want to be walked over, but fuck, I hate that I’ve become oversensitive, prepared to defend myself. I never used to be this guy.
Aware I’ve made things awkward as hell, I force a smile. “Yeah.” That’s all I have. Any second now, Hayes, who, let’s face it, is no doubt wishing he’d found another place to sit, is going to stand up and leave.
Probably call Tad ahead of time before coming back to Jake’s Tap, checking I’m not here and that it’s safe to return.
“I had a roommate who used to do that,” he says immediately. His shoulders relax, and he picks up a fry and pops it into his mouth with a smile, completely ignoring the awkwardness. When he’s finished chewing, he continues, “He used to have a thing about his food groups touching. In the end, I found one of those split plate things. I don’t know what they’re called. They remind me a little of the old-school trays in elementary school.”
“A divided plate, so each section’s portioned off?” I pick up my beer and take a sip, happy he hasn’t run off.
“Yeah. They had a whole range. Metal, plastic, different colors. Phil—that was the guy’s name—thought it was awesome.” He takes a bite of his burger, seeming happy when I pick up a fry, following my movement with a smile.
Admittedly, his story, however random, is pretty sweet. That he’d do that rather than ridicule his friend says a lot about him.
“I don’t have issues with food touching.” I shrug. “I just eat the best bits of food first.”
He nods. “So if you get full, it doesn’t matter if you leave the rest.”
I chuckle. “That’s the reason. Though, to be fair, I can polish off a meal this size with no issues.” I rub my gut for good measure. Over the years, I’ve learned it’s easier if I draw attention to my thick waist. I know I’m not obese according to those depressing BMI charts, but I’m definitely overweight.
Hayes tracks my movement, but rather than laughing with me, which is the usual response I get, he tilts his head, and his brow furrows. Flicking his attention back to my face, he seems to study me a beat.
Heat gathers in my chest, and I try hard to shove away the impending embarrassment.
“In that case, do you have room for dessert?”
I part my lips but stop short of speaking, his expression halting me.
Deep brown eyes are fixed on me. There’s no amusement or derision in sight.
Holy shit.Does he mean dessert dessert?
“I have a pint of unopened ice cream at my place. It’s just five minutes away. Both the ice cream and my house.” His gaze doesn’t waver.
“I’m allergic to tree nuts” tumbles out of my mouth. Immediately, I want to take the words back. Maybe even cover my face.
His lips twitch. “I’ll keep the maple syrup and pecan ice cream sealed, in that case.”
I swallow hard, my cock thickening at the very thought of going home with Hayes. I dip the tip of my tongue out and swipe it over my bottom lip. “And when you say ice cream…?”
Leaning forward, he reaches out and ghosts his fingers over my forearm. My goose bumps are immediate. They intensify when he lowers his voice and says, “That’s exactly the plan. I want to see how quickly I can make you scream.”
Fuck.
A shudder weaves its way through me, and I’m nodding fast and hard and probably looking like a bobblehead. “Yeah, okay.” Damn, the man’s pickup game is strong. And I’m here for it.
He eases back in the booth, picks up a fry, and pops it into his mouth. “Let me settle up at the bar and we’ll go. Unless you want to finish your fries.”
“No.” I clear my throat, trying to calm down my eagerness. “I’m good to leave now.”
“Perfect.” He combines his response with a rake of his gaze over my face. I feel its journey. My cheeks flush, and I swear the heat in his eyes deepens. When he stands, I track his movements, my body vibrating with need.
Jesus H. Christ.
I take a calming breath, finish off my beer, then stand. This is not how I saw my night going. My lips twitch. Staying in Collier’s Creek permanently is looking sweeter and sweeter.
He’s back before I know it, and I realize I’ve let him pay. “Shit.” I tug out my wallet. “What do I owe you?”
He shakes his head. “My treat.”
“You didn’t need to do that.” That he did unfurls more heat in my stomach.
“I wanted to,” he says, indicating the door with a nod as he tugs on his coat.
“Thanks,” I offer, not quite sure when the last time was a guy bought me a meal.
We step out into the quiet street, the cool breeze whipping by us. “Fuck, it’s cold.”
Hayes’s chuckle is soft. “If you do stick around, just wait until the snow comes.”
I tug my jacket around me, wishing I had a hat and scarf. It’s something I really need to invest in. Maybe a giant sleeping-bag coat, too, which is a thing I saw on a sketchy website, so I know they exist. Though, knowing my luck, I’ll order it and end up with a miniature one made for a Ken doll or something.
“My place is south of town. I’ve just had one light beer, so are you okay if I drive us?”
“Sounds good,” I say gratefully, not having thought that far ahead. No way could I have brought Hayes back to my sister’s. Talk about sketchy.
Hayes’s shoulder brushes mine as we head down the street and toward his vehicle. Not only is his heat welcome, but he’s sticking close and clinging to the connection we felt at the bar.
“This is me.”
We stop outside an old pickup truck. It’s not souped-up, and it needs some TLC. It’s also not what I expected.
“Nice truck.”
He pauses from getting in the driver’s seat, his gaze meeting mine. I see the question there and am sure he’s wondering if I’m mocking him. That’s the furthest thing from the truth.
I like that he doesn’t have something flashy. Not a vehicle that’s all about image and bling or whatever kids these days are driving.
“It’s about the same age I am,” I offer with a chuckle. There’s no hiding that there’s a clear disparity in our ages. “It brings back fond memories. My uncle used to have one.”
He sends a beaming smile my way, and when he gets in, I settle beside him, grinning at the well-worn bench seat.
It takes a couple of tries to get the engine started, and while I’m pretty sure pink dusts his cheeks, the whole setup and his reaction are endearing. I like being surprised.
It finally gets going, and he pulls away from the curb, saying, “It’s a Ford F-100. It used to be my pops’s.” His voice takes on a softer tone, and I wince, pretty sure I know where he’s going with this story.
“Pops bought it brand new in ’75,” Hayes continues, glancing over at me with a grin that’s a mix of pride and nostalgia. “Man, you should see him now. He’s eighty and still driving his old Harley around town like he’s twenty. Last Christmas, he put on a Santa suit and rode around handing out candy canes. Ended up in a snowbank ’cause he insisted on doing donuts in the church parking lot.”
I burst out laughing, imagining an old man in a Santa suit causing chaos on a Harley. “He sounds like a riot.”
“Oh, he’s something else.” Hayes nods. “Last summer, he convinced the whole family to go on this wild goose chase to find ‘Bigfoot.’ We ended up camping in the woods for a week, Pops swearing up and down he saw something ‘real suspicious’ every night. Turned out he was just messing with us—had a costume and everything. Scared the living daylights outta my cousin Joe.”
I’m laughing so hard that tears prick my eyes. “Jesus, here I was thinking my dad was a handful when he glued all the remote controls together so we’d have more ‘family time.’ And yes, when I was a teenager, we had remote controls and everything. It was the most exciting thing to be invented before DVDs.”
Hayes snorts and shakes his head.
“But your pops sounds like he’s on another level.”
Hayes chuckles, navigating a turn. “Yeah, he’s a trip. Keeps everyone on their toes.”
We continue down the road, passing quaint storefronts and quiet streets, a happy warmth drifting between us. Am I still horny? Fuck yes. I’m sporting a semi, but the laughter between us is refreshing.
Turning the blinker on, Hayes glances at me, a wide smile aimed my way. “This is me.”
I look out the window and take in the small bungalow. Light spills onto the front porch from the lantern next to the door. “Nice place.”
Hayes’s fidgeting draws my attention back to him. He seems self-conscious.
“It’s not much, but it’s mine, you know?”
Surprise has me furrowing my brow. What on earth does he have to be embarrassed by? “It looks great. I imagine property prices here have gone crazy, as have rentals.”
“It’s not as bad as other places, but it’s pricy. I bought this fixer-upper a couple of years back. It’s just one bed, one bath—”
“It looks solid, and as you said, it’s yours. Which already makes me think that it’s a good place.”
“Yeah?” His eyes brighten.
This man, he’s fucking irresistible. So far, he’s taken the lead, so this hint of vulnerability is unexpected. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t like it.
“How about,” I say as I unbuckle myself, “you let me in, and I can see for myself?” I lean toward him, and he immediately takes the hint.
Hayes closes the distance between us, pressing his lips to mine with an unexpected tenderness. The kiss is soft, almost hesitant, as if we’re both testing the waters. The warmth of his breath, the slight quiver of his lips as they meet mine—I savor each sensation.
He cups my cheek, thumb brushing my skin gently, sending shivers down my spine. At his touch, the kiss deepens, drawing a soft gasp and a shuddering breath from me as our tongues brush.
Fuck, I want him.
Hayes is intoxicating, drawing me in with every passing second.
My palm finds its way to the back of his neck, tangling my fingers in his hair as I pull him closer.
“Inside,” he gasps, tugging us apart.
“Me,” I state, not the trace of a quiver in my voice, feeling bold with the firmness of my cock and the intensity of our kiss. “I want you inside me.”
“Fuck.” The word punches out of him.
Rather than going in for another kiss, Hayes shoves open his door, clasps my hand, and draws me out his side of the pickup.
Thank you, Ford, for the ease of bench seats.
He doesn’t stop, completely on a mission to get us inside his home. I’m on board, meeting him stride for stride. That he doesn’t need to unlock the door, just opens the damn thing, probably deserves a question about home safety, but I’m too desperate to care.
I don’t have time to take in the living space because Hayes’s palm against mine is firm, his stride unrelenting until we’re in his bedroom.
“Clothes.” He punctuates the growled demand with a heated kiss.
I don’t have time to grasp onto him or start humping his damn leg before he breaks the kiss to tug his coat off, then his long-sleeved tee.
But I can’t move, can barely remember how to breathe as I drink him in.
An expanse of skin is revealed, so toned and sculpted that my lips part. Wide-eyed, I stare. I’ve never seen a body so defined in real life before. Not even in my youth.
“Fuck, your body….”
The corners of his lips lift high, cockiness filling his features that’s all self-confidence and certainty rather than arrogance. “Is going to fuck you so damn good.” He steps into my space, his unzipped jeans revealing a splatter of pubic hair that I’m keen to rub my face against.
Before I can respond to his dirty-as-fuck words, he tugs off my jacket, pulls off my sweater, and unceremoniously removes my T-shirt. A flicker of unease pulses in my gut. We’re so different. Our age, our shapes and sizes, my—
Any uncertainty cuts off when he latches on to my nipple, nibbling and licking as he grips my ass with firm hands and squeezes.
My cock punches against my jeans, and I cling to him, dropping my head back and allowing myself to enjoy his warm mouth.
“I can’t wait to taste you,” he murmurs as he kisses his way to my other nipple and moves one of his hands to my groin. He squeezes lightly, pulling a gasp from me. “You’re going to stretch my mouth fucking perfectly.”
I groan when he squeezes again, barely registering how smooth and hot his skin feels under my wandering hands.
His mouth on me will have me coming too fast, and there’s not a chance I’ll be able to go again quickly. Hell, I can’t remember the last time I came more than once in a night. Even twice in a week without my own hand.
The thought has me tugging Hayes up and capturing his mouth.
I want him inside me. Want him to remind me how phenomenal it feels to get railed when fueled by lust and passion.
Everything about Hayes screams sex and fun and desire.
I need that now.
He plunges his tongue into my mouth, and I shiver in need.
I pull away, my heart speeding up when he chases me for more. “Lube?” I ask between his kisses. “Where’s your lube?”
He grunts and kisses me once, twice, and a third time before gripping my waist and urging me onto his bed. I sit willingly, kicking off my shoes and focusing on undressing as quickly as possible. The whole time, I keep my attention on him as he moves to his bedside cabinet.
He breaks eye contact, taking in my now-naked body.
I wait for the discomfort to kick in, but the lust in Hayes’s eyes doesn’t give me the chance to overthink.
He wants me—maybe even as much as I want him.
“You’re good to bottom, right?” he asks, voice dipping low as he tugs off his jeans. His cock springs free, long and uncut. It’s hard to look away as I imagine going down on him, playing with his foreskin. “Sully.”
My eyes snap up, and I meet his gaze. His brows are pulled up in question and amusement.
“Yes.” I nod.
“Thank fuck. I didn’t want to assume, but based on what you said earlier….”
I have no clue what I said earlier. All I can think about is his big dick, his perfect body, and the way he makes me feel sexy.
When he’s fully naked, he kneels on the bed with a smile. “You want to move back and let me take care of you?”
Fuck yes, I do.
I scramble back, head landing on the soft pillow that smells like him. It’s an aftershave I don’t recognize and his natural scent that’s woodsy and fresh. I consider turning my head farther into the pillow and inhaling deeply, but Hayes’s hand on my thigh leaves me trembling and aching.
“You’re so fucking sexy.”
My gaze snaps to his.
Everything from his gravelly tone to the intensity in his deep brown gaze tells me all I need to know.
He’s serious and he wants me.
“Even sexier when your dick’s inside me,” I challenge, the passion in his gaze bolstering me.
He’s quick to laugh. “I have no doubt you’re right.”
“Condom?”
He reveals the packet in his hand I hadn’t seen. “I’m on PrEP and negative. Regular checks, but—”
“Me too,” I’m quick to say. “I’m good to give that a miss if you are.”
With a smirk that’s all satisfaction and promise, he throws the condom on the floor.
The click of the lube bottle sounds loud. Tension hums through my veins, encouraging me to ease back and bend my knees. I spread my legs wide after planting my feet, then hesitate.
Maybe he wants me on my knees. Maybe—
“Just like that. Fuck, look at your hole.” A swallow follows, loud in the otherwise quiet room. “I’m going to stretch you so good.”
At the first touch, my eyes roll into the back of my head. His thick fingers drive into me, probing, careful to ease me open. He offers me sporadic kisses on my lips, my chest, my extra-sensitive nipples, working me up and taking care of me until I’m panting and writhing, asking for his cock.
“Hayes, fuck, I’m ready.”
A salacious grin forms as he rises and stares down at me. “You are, huh?”
“The three fingers in my ass say yes.”
His chuckle is loud. I grin even as he strokes against my prostrate and I arch up, squeezing his digits.
“In that case, I better not keep you waiting.”
“Best idea in the history of ever,” I say, gasping a little when he removes his fingers.
I swear, everything about Hayes—his attention, his sweet affection, the way he laughs and smiles, just how carefree he is—brings out a side of me I haven’t seen in years.
I’m embracing every moment. The fun, the eagerness of fucking, the joy of chasing pleasure.
I reach out and stroke his cock, joining in when he coats himself with lube. The shudder that racks through his body is mesmerizing. Fuck yeah, I did that. Am the reason Hayes’s muscles tense, his limbs vibrating.
This man is the ego boost I never dreamed I’d have. Fuck, I’m lucky.
And for the rest of the night, he’s mine.
Season of Joy by Ellie Thomas
Shortly before closing time, Mrs. Harris entered the shop, accompanied by her numerous progeny. It was for good reason that Walter’s father referred to the junior members of the Harris family as “the holy terrors.”
If Dad had known they were coming, he would have delayed nipping out for five minutes.
Walter hid a grimace while keeping a close watch on the arrangements of piled tins, all too tempting an obstacle for small, unruly children.
The three older ones, used to being well-behaved at school, stood quietly enough by their mother as she approached the counter. To Walter’s relief, the two youngest, a boy and a girl, the rambunctious pair of twins, were not running riot but remained contained, each holding the hand of an unfamiliar man.
“I only popped in for a couple of tins of corned beef,” Mrs. Harris said chattily. “I thought I had some put by in the larder. Isn’t it strange how quickly food gets used up when you’ve another mouth to feed?” She smiled and continued, “My brother Stanley is staying with us while he recuperates.”
Walter gave a nod of acknowledgement as he selected the tins of canned meat. He was already aware of the newcomer to the tight-knit streets that comprised old Cheltenham.
Local shops were a mine of ready information. It was surprising what intimate details people revealed to shopkeepers or loudly speculated about to each other in the shop.
Mrs. Harris’ brother’s arrival from the village of Lydbrook in the Forest of Dean, her home before marriage, had inevitably caused a steady stream of gossip.
“He’s not quite right, so I’ve heard,” one lady said, tapping the side of her behatted head sententiously. Another more sympathetic soul had added, “The poor chap has had repeated bouts of pneumonia as a result of the Great War, so I believe.” A final tactless commenter declared, “You’d have thought he’d have got over that by now.”
That remark had caused Walter to grit his teeth and hold back a pithy retort.
Most civilians back in Blighty had no notion of the horrors of trench warfare, often affecting a man for the rest of his days. Walter was mostly grateful that civilians were spared those harrowing experiences, but such ignorance raised his hackles.
“There you are,” he gravely handed the tins to two of Mrs. Harris’ most responsible children.
“Can I help you with anything else?” he enquired politely, as though he wasn’t eager to see the back of the family before the twins wriggled free to wreak havoc.
“A jar of Hartley’s jam would come in handy. It’s Stanley’s favourite.”
She jerked her head towards her brother. Walter naturally glanced in the same direction. Contrary to his first assumptions, rather than clutching the twins to keep them under control, the infants seemed to be helping to hold the man upright.
He’s hardly a heavyweight, more of a bantam in boxing terms.
He wasn’t tall, perhaps a few inches shorter than Walter’s five feet eleven inches and far less robust in build. Walter could hear the slight rasp of his breath from across the shop, confirming that he must suffer with his lungs. His face was downturned, hidden by his cap.
“Strawberry or raspberry?”
Walter addressed Mrs. Harris, but her brother answered.
“Damson, if you have it.”
He looked up as he spoke. Walter blinked.
Blimey, he’s a looker.
He was fine featured, but still managed to be handsome rather than pretty. His large dark eyes were emphasised by his sallow, over-thin face and his lush mouth was accentuated by a pencil moustache. Like a home-grown Rudolph Valentino.
24 Dares of Christmas by Lee Blair
Chapter One
25 days until Christmas
REED
I’d died and landed in purgatory. If purgatory was a Hallmark Christmas movie with the freshly dumped, Grinchy city guy exiled to a charming small town for the holidays.
At least my purgatory would only last for a month of dog sitting my aunt’s gremlins while she globetrotted around Europe with my parents. The bright spot at the end of my dreary December would be moving to Seattle to start my new position for the national marketing agency I’d worked at for the past nine years.
As I drove through Dahlia Springs, I spotted people—as in plural—hanging Christmas lights. On November thirtieth. November. No. Vem. Ber. It’s going to be a long month.
I shouldn’t be surprised the people of Dahlia Springs were early decorators. There was a picture of the town next to “quaint” in the dictionary. As a kid, I’d wanted nothing more than to live here, but it was hard to remember why a rural small town appealed to me. Downtown had a walkable stretch of blocks filled with more stores than I remembered from my last visit. Several of them had front windows filled with colorful fall displays. At least they weren’t decked out for winter or Christmas yet. I had just finished turkey day leftovers at lunch.
I didn’t exactly hate Christmas. It was fine, but it had been more inconvenience than fun for many years. Things began going downhill when my much-older siblings gleefully shattered my illusions about the reality of Santa. My first girlfriend in high school dumped me at Christmas after giving me mono, which made me miss all the fun holiday stuff. Then there was the horror of working retail in high school and college. Nothing killed the Christmas spirit faster than entitled customers. Once I began working in marketing, work stress and commitments zapped any lingering enjoyment of the season.
I supposed it was better to spend the month between my old and new job hiding out in Aunt Katherine’s cozy home rather than figuring out where my life had gone so wrong that my best option was starting over in Seattle. Two months ago, I’d been relatively happy living and working with my girlfriend. How quickly things changed.
Despite living in Portland, about an hour from Dahlia Springs, I rarely visited Aunt Katherine. I couldn’t remember when we last spent time together at her place instead of mine. Guilt gnawed at me while muscle memory carried me to her two-car driveway at the center of the cul-de-sac. Colorful lights trimmed the homes on each side of Aunt Katherine’s. Is Christmas decorating a Thanksgiving tradition now?
Under the motion-detecting light in her driveway, I retrieved the precious cargo from my passenger seat and the suitcase from my trunk. Through a gap in the curtains, I noticed the living room light was on. Nice of her to give me the strategic advantage of light before facing her two beasts.
I retrieved the spare key from the lockbox she’d directed me to in the novel-length instructions email she’d sent. It covered topics such as how to use the fireplace, the fuse box location, a warning that the oven ran about fifty degrees low, brief summaries of her neighbors and some townies I would never need to interact with, and more than I ever wanted to know about Tweedledee and Tweedledum.
My plan for the month consisted of leaving the house only when absolutely necessary for food and alcohol. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had substantial time off. The paid month of vacation between my old position at McIntosh Marketing’s Portland office and the new position at their Seattle office was the mental health break I needed.
As I approached the door, I heard excited barks and muffled baby-talking. Was Aunt Katherine in the habit of leaving the TV on for the dogs? I really should read those instructions.
“…Santa’s little helpers. Such good doggos, aren’t you? The goodest boys. You deserve treats for being so cute.” The man giggled when the dogs barked. Who the hell is in there?
I quietly placed my bags on the ground before reaching for the door handle. I had barely turned the knob when the ankle biters came yapping toward the door with the ferocity of feral tigers.
“Mulder! Scully! Don’t run through the door! Katherine would kill me if you made a break for it.”
At least the baby-talking intruder knew Aunt Katherine. I slid inside and closed the door as the wiener dogs reached me. The black one gripped the hem of my jeans with its pointy teeth while the tan one growled at my shoe.
“I think I just had a cardiac event.”
My head snapped up at the voice. A guy about my age with pale skin, brown hair, and a close-trimmed beard to match smiled through rapid breaths as he pressed a hand to his chest. He has really nice brown eyes.
Contagious like a yawn, I returned the smile. My cheeks creaked from lack of use. ”I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in here.”
“Please tell me you’re Reed.”
“I am. That makes you?” Aunt Katherine hadn’t warned me about a personal welcome from a Dahlia Springsian. Unless it was in the huge email that I barely skimmed.
“I’m Warren Mason, Katherine’s tenant. God, sorry. I probably scared the hell out of you.”
There was something about his smile that pulled me in. “Oh, Warren. Hi. I’ve heard a lot about you. Stop that,” I snapped at one dog when I heard my jeans tear. Did it make me a shitty nephew that I didn’t know which dog was which? Wait, did that make the dogs my cousins? I got a vision of Aunt Katherine forcing me to pose in a family photo with the dogs while wearing matching sweaters. I shuddered at the thought.
Warren dropped onto the living room carpet and sat cross-legged. “C’mere.” The dogs immediately lost interest in me and couldn’t race fast enough toward him. They crawled all over his lap and tried to lick his face like he was a lollipop.
My aunt mentioned Warren often when we talked. For whatever reason, when she’d told stories about the single man living in her small, freestanding studio out back, I imagined someone with that name playing shuffleboard with Fred and George at the senior center. Not a smiley thirty-something.
“I’ll, uh, put away my bag while you’ve got the beasts occupied.” The bottles clinked in the plastic bag I held as I set my suitcase next to the door.
“Brought the essentials?” He grinned. My stomach flopped. I hadn’t eaten in a while.
I chuckled. Smiling and chuckling? Look out, world, I’m a brand-new man. “Essentials to get me through the night.”
We stared at each other for a moment as he expertly scratched dog heads. The dogs watched him adoringly as they each claimed a knee to prop their paws on.
“Sorry for invading your space and scaring you. The dogs usually go outside by six, and I didn’t want you arriving to a mess.”
I squeezed my eyes closed. I hadn’t even thought about the dogs’ needs when I took my time packing up for the month and running errands before leaving Portland. “Thanks for doing that.”
He scratched the dogs’ ears once more, then stood. “No problem. I’ll get out of your hair. It was great to finally meet you. I kinda feel like I know you with how much Katherine talks about you.”
I wasn’t sure what she had to say about me. My nephew used to come and stay over school breaks, but now he works twelve-hour days and barely manages to get takeout for dinner. I’m so proud.
“Do you want to stay for a drink?” It was the least I could do, given he saved me from a piss-tastrophe. And I wasn’t ready to be alone with my thoughts yet. It wouldn’t hurt to know the guy since he lived in my aunt’s backyard. From what I’d gathered through Katherine’s gushing stories about him, he was practically a godfather to the dogs. It was too bad she said he was too busy to care for the dogs this month because they would have a much better time with someone who liked dogs.
“Are you sure?”
“Drinks are best enjoyed with company.” I walked to the familiar kitchen I’d spent so much time in as a kid. This house had always been my haven.
“Any requests?” I asked as I unpacked the bottles.
“I’m fine with whatever you’re making. I’ll keep these two away from your ankles while you fix them.”
I laughed again. It came easier. “Thanks. I’m sure it’ll take us a couple of days to get used to each other.” Are they glaring at me?
“Not a dog guy?” He sat at the dining table near the kitchen island I used for my temporary bar, and the dogs settled at his feet.
“I didn’t have pets growing up, and a bad encounter with a nasty dog bite put me off them.” I opened the cupboard next to the sink and smiled at Aunt Katherine’s collection of Christmas cocktail glasses. A wave of nostalgia crashed over me as I remembered her pouring Martinelli’s cider for me in one of the holly-painted crystal wine glasses when my siblings were old enough to drink. Was I even in middle school yet?
Aunt Katherine had always included me. Being over a decade younger than my siblings, I always felt like a kid, no matter my age. They’d been more like parents than my peers, which I’d felt the hardest at Christmas.
“Do you have pets?” I asked as I rinsed out two glasses.
He shook his head with a sad frown. “I’d love to get a dog. Maybe if I move to a bigger place.”
“What breed would you get?”
He cutely scrunched his face while tilting his head as I finished the gin cocktail I’d been perfecting for years. I carried our drinks over to the dining table and sat.
“I’m not sure. Mulder and Scully are cuties, and it’s fun to carry them around, but a medium-sized dog could be nice too.”
”A few of my friends have bigger dogs. They take them hiking all the time.”
“They also make dog backpacks.” His lips curved into a teasing grin.
“If I have a dog in my backpack, where would I put my water bottle and granola?”
“Granola?”
“Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. I make damn good granola.” I’d learned from an old marketing client before I’d sold out and gone corporate. When was the last time I went hiking? It’s been way too long.
“Cocktails and granola. What else can you do?” He waggled his eyebrows.
My brain buffered for a moment. “Lose an entire evening to watching TikTok videos and call it market research?”
Warren laughed. “I haven’t messed with TikTok yet, but I’ve lost a couple of siblings to the allure.” He hummed as he took another drink. “This is delicious. You can make drinks for me anytime.”
“You know where I live. At least for the next month.”
His smile was warm. “That I do.”
My stomach chose that moment to let out a hellacious growl.
“Maybe you didn’t get the most important groceries after all. Hungry?”
I jerked my thumb toward the pantry. “I’m sure she’s got something in the cupboard I can fix. I planned to go grocery shopping tomorrow.”
“I’ve got a hookup for great food. Let me feed you? It’s only fair after this amazing drink.”
I thought I would spend the evening enjoying a few drinks and watching crappy reality TV, but more time with Warren didn’t seem too bad. I could already tell I liked the guy. Aunt Katherine talking about him so much probably had to do with that. The month might not be so bad if there was someone cool to hang out with. You could’ve told me Warren is my age, Aunt Katherine. How did I not know that before?
Chloe ArcherChloe Archer currently calls the arctic wilds of Minnesota home but has spent much of her life abroad in places like Montreal, Edinburgh, and Tokyo. One day she hopes to live somewhere sunny and warm. She loves to travel, eat spicy food, and geek out about her fandoms. In her spare time (Ha! What’s that?) she’s an avid reader with far too many books and not enough bookcases, a wannabe tea and coffee connoisseur, and a karaoke fanatic. When she’s not making herself laugh out loud while writing adorkable gay rom-coms, she can be found walking her two Yorkies (Teddy and Jasper,) trying to finish that blanket she’s been knitting for five years or spending time with friends and family.
Clare LondonClare 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.
Becca SeymourBecca Seymour is the #1 gay romance best seller of the True-Blue series. Known for “steamy and endearing” and “emotionally profound love stories” (InD’tale Magazine) her books have been nominated for multiple RONE Awards.
Becca lives and breathes all things book related. Usually with at least three books being read and two WiPs being written at the same time, Becca’s life is merrily hectic. She tends to do nothing by halves so happily seeks the craziness and busyness life offers.
Living on her small property in Queensland with her human family as well as her animal family of cows, chooks, and dogs, Becca appreciates the beauty of the world around her and is a believer that love truly is love.
Ellie ThomasEllie 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.
Lee is a queer M/M author and screenwriter from Oregon. She’s constantly amused by the antics of her two ginger cats, considers daydreaming about future trips to Scotland a part-time job, and is obsessed with Schitt’s Creek to an alarming degree. She also hosts a podcast called the Low Angst Library—a show for lovers of low angst queer romance.
Chloe Archer
EMAIL: chloe@chloearcher.com
Clare London
Becca Seymour
Ellie Thomas
SMASHWORDS / JMS BOOKS / B&N
Tis the Season for Tentacles by Chloe Archer
Tastes Like Sugar by Becca Seymour
Season of Joy by Ellie Thomas
24 Dares of Christmas by Lee Blair
