Summary:
Running in Circles Novella
Enzo Amaro has a specific reputation to maintain. And a grumpy celebrity chef running an exclusive restaurant with a two-year waitlist is not the kind of man who does themed Valentine’s Day menus.
Nor is he the sort of chef that appears on amateur YouTube channels.
But when Enzo makes a thoughtless comment about being able to cook any dish blindfolded, Tristian Iyer takes it upon himself to issue his own challenge:
Cook blindfolded with a blind chef.
In an attempt to save some face, Enzo says yes, but he has no idea how that single agreement is going to change his life. Whether he likes it or not.
A Running In Circles Novella.
EM Lindsey is a new-to-me author and I can say without a doubt this will not be my only EM Lindsey story to cross my reading radar. Just Say When is a lovely Valentine short that is full of sweet, sass, and heat. The idea of a popular chef humbling himself on a YouTube channel show to try an appease his restaurant fans after sticking his foot in is immensely pleasing. But there is so much more to Enzo than first impressions. As for Tristan, the YouTube channel host, well he too is more than what Enzo expects. On the surface their only shared interest is food and their apparent hatred for Valentine's Day but once Enzo lets Tristan in, the obvious sexual attraction is only the beginning. The epilogue gives us a look at the men's future and if we're real super uber nice maybe the author will let us see one of their future Christmases too😉😉. As I said, Just Say When is my first EM Lindsey story and what a short but perfect introduction. Definitely going on my authors-to-watch list.
RATING:
Valentine's Hearts by RJ Scott & VL Locey
Summary:Owatonna U #5
Will broken hearts replace the wedding they dreamed of?
Ryker's heart has space for three things—his family, hockey, and Jacob. As their wedding grows closer, it seems that nothing can stand in the way of an idyllic celebration, surrounded by friends and loved ones. But things appear to be changing; Jacob is forging a future that might take him away from Ryker, and Ryker alternates between pride and fear when a new man comes into his fiancé's life. A hockey season from hell has him doubting his life choices, but worse, he's driving Jacob into another man's arms. How has their perfect life suddenly gone so wrong?
Life has certainly thrown many twists and turns in Jacob's path. Most of the goals he’d set for himself as a teenager had to change, but one has remained constant: finding his heart's desire and marrying him. That aspiration was reached when Ryker said, "I do". Planning their wedding was meant to be the best time of their lives, but Jacob unwittingly puts his trust in the wrong man and finds himself in danger. Is their love strong enough to survive the fallout?
First and foremost: WOW! WOW! and WOW AGAIN!
I've always had a special place in my heart for Ryker and Jacob. Maybe it's because Ryker is the son of the original entry and character in Scott & Locey hockey universe, Jared Madsen, maybe it's because Jacob is a farmboy born and raised from the upper Midwest, maybe it's because they are just so darn cute . . . or the most likely scenario: a combination of all three. In my mind, there is just not enough Valentine's Day stories, despite reading so much romance it doesn't seem to be a holiday that gets a lot of settings so when one of my favorite series and characters were getting their own Valentine novella, I knew I had to read it.
I was not disappointed.
For a holiday wedding novella, there is a surprising amount of drama that our couple faces and though I won't go into just what that drama is, I will say that Ryker and Jacob deal with it realistically, heartwarmingly, and flat out beautifully, which is a perfect example of why I love these guys, this universe, and these authors. I won't say anymore other than to add, once it happened I had a hope where it would end up, or at least be mentioned and I was right. Cryptic, I know(as I often say "no spoilers from me"), but once you read it you will understand where my hope stemmed from.
Ryker is growing, both on and off the ice but he still has that hot headedness that comes with having that much talent at a young age and can leave one a bit reckless when your head isn't entirely on the ice as it should be. Jacob is growing as well, finding his place in the "desert" but never quite losing that need for the farm, truth is there is more to Jacob's place at the university but I don't want to give too much away so I'll just stop here in that regard. Together they are a force to be reckoned with which is expressed amazingly well when they face the future.
Valentine's Hearts is the latest entry in the authors' Owatonna U series but since Ryker has appeared in all three series that make up Scott & Locey's hockey universe, there are some character relationships and cameos from multiple entries. Does that mean you have to read all 19 previous books before this one? No, but as a series reader I know I enjoyed it more having read them all in order as written. If you haven't been reading this universe prior to Valentine's and 19 sounds like a big number, I do highly recommend at least reading Ryker and Christmas Lights of the Owatonna U series as they tell Ryker and Jacob's story so far. A true reading gem and definitely worthy of it's place in RJ Scott & VL Locey's hockey universe(serious ladies you need an umbrella title for that😉😊😉).
RATING:
Aye Candy by Claire Castle
Summary:Angus MacIntyre doesn’t have a date for Valentine’s Day, but that doesn’t stop him from dreaming of the possibilities. On a night out with his best friend, he impulsively says hello to a stranger and is disappointed when they don’t reconnect before the night is over.
Angus just knows they’d had a moment and is delighted when the stranger finds a way to make contact via a roll of candy hearts.
Together they enjoy one week in Scotland, the stranger bound for home in Canada when business concludes. Angus just knows that there can be more, that it’s meant to be, but how, when there is a literal ocean between their hearts?
Original Review February 2022:
Another new to me author and what a great place for an introduction. Aye Candy is short, sweet, and an all around delightful Valentine's read. Heck, it's just a great short read for anytime of year.
I have wonderful memories of giving and receiving the tiny little boxes of candy hearts at school on Valentine's Day, it was wonderful to see them used as a flirty adult holiday gift. You know what? I'm not going to say any more as I don't want to spoil this delightful little gem for those who like me are just discovering Aye Candy. I will say that it definitely puts Claire Castle on my authors-to-watch list.
Chaos Theory by Duckie Mack
Summary:Can Jon find Mr. Right when everything else has gone wrong?
Valentine’s Day is a day for lovers and dreamers. But not for Jon. He is cursed with the worst luck every February 14th.
This year is no exception. From clothing mishaps to vehicle disasters, Jon is in a battle against chaos.
In the midst of it all, he meets the handsome and successful Archer. Archer is the calm in the middle of the storm, but Jon isn't sure if he can trust something good on such a bad day.
Chaos Theory is a stand-alone novella that will make you laugh, cringe, smile, and swoon.
Original Review February 2024:
I won't go as far as to say Jon is a touble magnet but boy the powers-that-be certainly don't favor him on February 14th. A series of tiny little things that alone wouldn't give a person a second though but put them all together and you have a man who probably should never leave the house on Valentine's Day.
Ashton may not be exactly a knight in shining armor but he definitely comes into Jon's life at the time he needs assistance most. I don't always believe in coincidences but they can happen and they can then lead to great things. Then again, sometimes I think those powers-that-be just like to play a good old fashion game of chess, us being the chess pieces.
Chaos Theory has a definite rom-com vibe. Sweet, funny, cute-meet, awkwardness, and tons of adorableness. Added all together and you have a great Valentine short novella that will turn your chaos into smiles.
This is the second work of Duckie Mack I read, the first being part of a Christmas anthology. I've loved them both and definitely look forward to checking out the author's backlist as well as any future endeavors.
RATING:
Summary:
Bake Sale Bachelors Season Three #5
An alpha no omega would want…
Jace has no desire to date; after all, what good is an alpha who can barely afford to take care of himself, let alone a mate? Maybe someday – when he gets his finances under control – he’ll find that special omega.
Despite his money troubles, Jace wants to give back to the hospital, but all he can do is supply something for the bake sale auction. In order to avoid an awkward cheap date with an omega, he agrees to make his popular maple sugar candy, but only under the condition that his friend bids for the item. Jace helps and doesn’t have to go on a date; problem solved. But he never expected someone to outbid his friend…
An omega who can do it alone…
Omega Ashton is thrilled to donate to the hospital that saved him and his daughter. When he sees the maple sugar candy – just like his grandmother used to make – he has to have it, luckily, money is no object; the only downside is the unwanted date that comes with it.
Ashton is so over alphaholes who date him for his money but also feel threatened by it. Worse than the ones who break his heart are the ones he trusts enough to introduce to his daughter, only to have them leave too. No more. Ashton is finished with dating.
Once on the date, however, Ashton and Jace can’t deny the chemistry between them. But will Jace’s insecurity over his financial situation be an all too familiar red flag for Ashton? Throw in some unexpected ice and a broken ankle and you have a recipe for a love story sweeter than candy.
Maple Sugar Mix-Up is an M/M mpreg romance in the Bake Sale Bachelors series. Each one can be read as a standalone. In this book you’ll find an alpha learning he’s worth more than what’s in his bank account, an omega doing his best as a single dad, and the surprise baby who brings them together. If you love books that are sweet with heat and full of characters who you’ll laugh and love with, get Maple Sugar Mix-Up today.
Original Review February 2024:
I'm still fairly new to the omegaverse so my experience is limited for comparisons but I've loved everything so far and Maple Sugar Mix-Up is no different. Perhaps a bit different as Kallie Frost is also a new-to-me author so in a way Maple is doubly fresh and exciting.
One thing that was completely new to me(and again limited experience here😉) was the role reversal of financial and status structure in this novella. Completely polar opposites of what one tends to think of when dealing with alpha/omega pairings. I can understand Ashton and Jace's hesitancies due to the whole station-in-life labeling. The emotions behind Ashton and Jace's scenario adds a lovely hint of realism to an already entertaining and delicious blend of fiction and fantasy.
Maple Sugar Mix-Up is a delightful novella that warms the heart, soothes your soul, and put a giggle or two on your face.
**Blogger Note: Unfortunately I only had time to read this entry but it lead me to place the entire season on my #TBRList.**
Just Say When by EM Lindsey
Chapter One
“… and a fifteen top who wants to come in at seven. They’re requesting to order the pre fixe menu but they’d like a couple of changes because one of the members of the party has…”
“No.” It had been years since Enzo bothered with tact in his kitchen. He was always a control freak, set in his ways, a bit of an asshole. But that was why he did what he did for a living. “I’m not serving it early. It’s bad enough I’m serving it at all.”
Paul, his long-time kitchen manager— a man who would absolutely be sanctified upon his death— let out only the smallest sigh. “You have to work with me here. You knew that people were going to push it. I warned you, limiting this event to one night…”
Setting his knife down, Enzo turned and fixed Paul with a level stare. “It’s Valentine’s Day. You know how I feel about this god-forsaken holiday.”
“I do,” Paul said tiredly.
“The fact that I got talked into it in the first place is bad enough, but if you think I’m going to serve a themed menu more than one single night for this joke of a…”
“I know,” Paul interrupted. “I do. But you’re the one who always loses his shit when bad press comes in the following week. We were only able to book two critics…”
“Yeah well, I asked for none,” Enzo muttered.
Paul rolled his eyes. “Please work with me here, man. I love you, but please don’t make me protect your own restaurant from your self-destructive spiral.”
Enzo felt his insides clench a bit, because Paul was one of the few people in the entire world brave enough to utter those words. Paul was also one of the few people left in the world who knew Enzo before he became a local celebrity with tables booked three years out. Once upon a time, Cherry Creek was their sanctuary— now, it felt like a prison. He was going stir-crazy and he knew Paul really was trying to soften the blow of what would rain down on him because of his own stubborn nature.
“You have two options,” Paul said after a beat.
Enzo leaned back against the counter and rubbed at his eyes. “If you’re going to say extend the menu…”
“Extend the menu, let me invite the rest of the critics trying to get on the list, and do the two interviews after,” Paul said slowly.
“No,” Enzo ground out.
“Or,” Paul went on, like Enzo hadn’t said anything, “do that puff piece video with that YouTuber whose been calling you out on twitter.”
Enzo instantly bristled. Taste with Tristian was a YouTube channel Enzo had been blissfully unaware of until three months prior when the vlogger caught wind of one of Enzo’s interviews. He’d thoughtlessly made a comment about being able to cook any dish with his hands behind his back, or blindfolded. It was an innocuous comment, only Tristian’s entire channel was dedicated to getting both local and celebrity chefs to cook in his kitchen blindfolded.
It was less a kitchy sort of trend and more because Tristian was an amateur cook who was also born blind. His channel was popular— something Enzo learned after only five minutes of research after his restaurant’s Twitter had blown up— and it had been a non-stop barrage of people daring him to put his money where his mouth is.
Once a week now, at the end of each video, Tristian had been calling on the owner of Mangia E Zitto to answer the challenge. Enzo had every intention of ignoring it until Tristian got bored and set his sights on another unsuspecting victim, but he knew he was reaching a crossroads. If he did this, it would soften his image a little. He’d fallen down the rabbit hole of videos one night during a fit of insomnia and watched almost everything Tristian had ever uploaded. Most of the chefs who filmed with Tristian were gently humiliated in their inability to function in their own kitchens without sight, but the thought of putting himself out there like that for public mockery made his stomach twist.
The worst part, though— the most gutting part— was that a tiny piece of him wanted to do it. Deep down, he knew it wouldn’t hurt to make himself look a little foolish. He’d clung on to this infallible, untouchable chef image for far too long, and as the years went by, the harder it became to keep up that ruse. Tristian wouldn’t ruin him, he’d just… humanize him a little bit.
It didn’t hurt either that Tristian was possibly one of the hottest men Enzo had ever seen. He was tall— or, at least, he looked tall on his videos. Muscular, broad shoulders, sharply cut jaw. His eyelids were closed in a perpetual squint, nose often wrinkled, pouty mouth curved in a grin like the entire world existed for his own amusement.
And his hands— god, his hands. Long-fingered, soft-looking, constantly dragging over his marble counter tops and kitchen tools, and occasionally into his mop of dark blonde hair. He laughed all the time, and Enzo envied him with a ferocity he hadn’t expected to feel toward any stranger.
In truth, he was witty, and clever, and sweet, and Enzo knew it would be all over for him if he and Tristian were in the same room. Tristian would see him for the fraud he was— he would see all the fake it till you make it moments which carried him until he became this. Because Tristian had a way of picking chefs apart, of cutting them all down to the quick in every video. The other chefs seemed thankful, but Enzo felt a bit too fragile to allow himself to be flayed open like that.
He wasn’t like the other people in Cherry Creek. He wasn’t a quirky, middle-class local. He wasn’t some bougie tourist who stumbled into town after a long weekend on molly and then decided to stay. No, Enzo had come from the quiet little neighborhood no one talked about and everyone warned against. He was the scholarship kid in the secondhand clothes with dirty fingernails because he worked where the other kids had daddy’s credit cards.
Deep down, Enzo knew he didn’t belong with the elite. And it was easier when other people didn’t know that.
“Hey.” Paul’s voice was soft, carefully dragging him out of his head. His friend’s rough, calloused fingers closed around his wrist, and the touch grounded him. “You don’t actually have to do either, you know.”
Enzo licked his lips, allowed himself just the barest moment to bask in the touch of another person, then he pulled away. He was safer alone— stronger alone. “I know. But you’re right, I don’t need any more bad press.”
“So, extend the menu by…”
“Call Tristian’s people,” Enzo said just as Paul started to speak.
His friend was silent a long moment, then he swallowed hard and looked almost terrified. “You… want to do the video?”
Enzo dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, feeling a surge of regret, though he knew he wasn’t going to take it back. Maybe he needed this— a step outside of his comfort zone, a moment to just face the thing he was terrified of most— being seen as the person he truly was.
“Lorenzo,” Paul breathed out quietly.
Enzo waved his hand. “Just… make the call, okay? Try to get something set up so it airs right after this stupid fucking weekend.” He couldn’t face Paul right then, couldn’t face himself, so he turned on his heel and marched toward of office. When he slammed the door hard enough to feel the vibration through the soles of his shoes, he allowed himself that moment of satisfaction.
“… and a fifteen top who wants to come in at seven. They’re requesting to order the pre fixe menu but they’d like a couple of changes because one of the members of the party has…”
“No.” It had been years since Enzo bothered with tact in his kitchen. He was always a control freak, set in his ways, a bit of an asshole. But that was why he did what he did for a living. “I’m not serving it early. It’s bad enough I’m serving it at all.”
Paul, his long-time kitchen manager— a man who would absolutely be sanctified upon his death— let out only the smallest sigh. “You have to work with me here. You knew that people were going to push it. I warned you, limiting this event to one night…”
Setting his knife down, Enzo turned and fixed Paul with a level stare. “It’s Valentine’s Day. You know how I feel about this god-forsaken holiday.”
“I do,” Paul said tiredly.
“The fact that I got talked into it in the first place is bad enough, but if you think I’m going to serve a themed menu more than one single night for this joke of a…”
“I know,” Paul interrupted. “I do. But you’re the one who always loses his shit when bad press comes in the following week. We were only able to book two critics…”
“Yeah well, I asked for none,” Enzo muttered.
Paul rolled his eyes. “Please work with me here, man. I love you, but please don’t make me protect your own restaurant from your self-destructive spiral.”
Enzo felt his insides clench a bit, because Paul was one of the few people in the entire world brave enough to utter those words. Paul was also one of the few people left in the world who knew Enzo before he became a local celebrity with tables booked three years out. Once upon a time, Cherry Creek was their sanctuary— now, it felt like a prison. He was going stir-crazy and he knew Paul really was trying to soften the blow of what would rain down on him because of his own stubborn nature.
“You have two options,” Paul said after a beat.
Enzo leaned back against the counter and rubbed at his eyes. “If you’re going to say extend the menu…”
“Extend the menu, let me invite the rest of the critics trying to get on the list, and do the two interviews after,” Paul said slowly.
“No,” Enzo ground out.
“Or,” Paul went on, like Enzo hadn’t said anything, “do that puff piece video with that YouTuber whose been calling you out on twitter.”
Enzo instantly bristled. Taste with Tristian was a YouTube channel Enzo had been blissfully unaware of until three months prior when the vlogger caught wind of one of Enzo’s interviews. He’d thoughtlessly made a comment about being able to cook any dish with his hands behind his back, or blindfolded. It was an innocuous comment, only Tristian’s entire channel was dedicated to getting both local and celebrity chefs to cook in his kitchen blindfolded.
It was less a kitchy sort of trend and more because Tristian was an amateur cook who was also born blind. His channel was popular— something Enzo learned after only five minutes of research after his restaurant’s Twitter had blown up— and it had been a non-stop barrage of people daring him to put his money where his mouth is.
Once a week now, at the end of each video, Tristian had been calling on the owner of Mangia E Zitto to answer the challenge. Enzo had every intention of ignoring it until Tristian got bored and set his sights on another unsuspecting victim, but he knew he was reaching a crossroads. If he did this, it would soften his image a little. He’d fallen down the rabbit hole of videos one night during a fit of insomnia and watched almost everything Tristian had ever uploaded. Most of the chefs who filmed with Tristian were gently humiliated in their inability to function in their own kitchens without sight, but the thought of putting himself out there like that for public mockery made his stomach twist.
The worst part, though— the most gutting part— was that a tiny piece of him wanted to do it. Deep down, he knew it wouldn’t hurt to make himself look a little foolish. He’d clung on to this infallible, untouchable chef image for far too long, and as the years went by, the harder it became to keep up that ruse. Tristian wouldn’t ruin him, he’d just… humanize him a little bit.
It didn’t hurt either that Tristian was possibly one of the hottest men Enzo had ever seen. He was tall— or, at least, he looked tall on his videos. Muscular, broad shoulders, sharply cut jaw. His eyelids were closed in a perpetual squint, nose often wrinkled, pouty mouth curved in a grin like the entire world existed for his own amusement.
And his hands— god, his hands. Long-fingered, soft-looking, constantly dragging over his marble counter tops and kitchen tools, and occasionally into his mop of dark blonde hair. He laughed all the time, and Enzo envied him with a ferocity he hadn’t expected to feel toward any stranger.
In truth, he was witty, and clever, and sweet, and Enzo knew it would be all over for him if he and Tristian were in the same room. Tristian would see him for the fraud he was— he would see all the fake it till you make it moments which carried him until he became this. Because Tristian had a way of picking chefs apart, of cutting them all down to the quick in every video. The other chefs seemed thankful, but Enzo felt a bit too fragile to allow himself to be flayed open like that.
He wasn’t like the other people in Cherry Creek. He wasn’t a quirky, middle-class local. He wasn’t some bougie tourist who stumbled into town after a long weekend on molly and then decided to stay. No, Enzo had come from the quiet little neighborhood no one talked about and everyone warned against. He was the scholarship kid in the secondhand clothes with dirty fingernails because he worked where the other kids had daddy’s credit cards.
Deep down, Enzo knew he didn’t belong with the elite. And it was easier when other people didn’t know that.
“Hey.” Paul’s voice was soft, carefully dragging him out of his head. His friend’s rough, calloused fingers closed around his wrist, and the touch grounded him. “You don’t actually have to do either, you know.”
Enzo licked his lips, allowed himself just the barest moment to bask in the touch of another person, then he pulled away. He was safer alone— stronger alone. “I know. But you’re right, I don’t need any more bad press.”
“So, extend the menu by…”
“Call Tristian’s people,” Enzo said just as Paul started to speak.
His friend was silent a long moment, then he swallowed hard and looked almost terrified. “You… want to do the video?”
Enzo dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, feeling a surge of regret, though he knew he wasn’t going to take it back. Maybe he needed this— a step outside of his comfort zone, a moment to just face the thing he was terrified of most— being seen as the person he truly was.
“Lorenzo,” Paul breathed out quietly.
Enzo waved his hand. “Just… make the call, okay? Try to get something set up so it airs right after this stupid fucking weekend.” He couldn’t face Paul right then, couldn’t face himself, so he turned on his heel and marched toward of office. When he slammed the door hard enough to feel the vibration through the soles of his shoes, he allowed himself that moment of satisfaction.
Valentine Hearts by RJ Scott & VL Locey
One
Jacob
My eyes burned. And no amount of rubbing them was helping.
“… the same thing all the time? Maybe we should experiment sometime. Do some hot and sour soup or beef and broccoli.” Ryker’s voice broke my concentration. I sat up, scrubbed at my face with my fingertips, and focused on the proposal that’d fallen to me to type up. Why me? I was the newest guy.
“Yeah, we should,” I called back to my fiancé who was dishing up our late lunch/ early dinner in the kitchen behind me. Mind snapping back to work from Ryker, I stared at my laptop resting on my thighs and tried to pick up the threads of what was, in effect, a groveling letter from the U of A ag department to the company that’d been paying us to research and report on their seeds and would hopefully continue to do so. I began typing, blocking out everything and everyone in my space.
Furthermore, through our technology differentiator we have made great strides in understanding the microbial interactions of the latest Bygenta BG Triple Grow which have allowed us to lower the cost of drying time by 0.07 per bushel. Combining that with the higher yield growth and moisture advantage we see a possible change in bushels/ acres needed to recoup additional seed cost from $ 3.81 BU/ A to $ 3.27 BU/ A. Further testing on Bygenta BG Triple Grow should show significant gains for hybrid high yield corn seeds if combined with above ground technology to combat the Southwestern Corn Borer. Additional testing could save farmers millions of dollars a year in management costs and—
The lid of my laptop snapped shut. “Hey,” I snarled. Ryker lifted the Dell from my thighs, placed it onto the coffee table, and then took its place. “I was in the middle of something.”
“I know, you’re always in the ‘middle of something,’ even on the weekends. You worked on Christmas Day and yesterday— and they were our two days off together.”
“I didn’t,” I lied.
“Don’t think I didn’t see you take your phone into the bedroom and then not come out for an hour.” “I was…” I had no excuse really, because I’d been checking on overnight reports, but that was the job, and I had a deadline that coincided with Christmas Day, and then more on the twenty-sixth. Then I recalled a fact that made his accusations seem wrong. “How do you know what I was doing? You were in a turkey coma on the big day.”
“A turkey coma that would’ve been better snuggling with you on the sofa.” He was making it sound as if he was joking, but there was an edge to his tone. Why didn’t he get that I needed to put the hours in— the same as he’d done getting to be a pro hockey player? He’d done the hours, still did them, and now it was my turn. I had all that defense in my head, but he didn’t give me a chance to talk. “Eat.” He settled squarely on my lap, a huge bowl of chow mein in his hand. I huffed at the interruption just as my stomach grumbled. “See, you’re hungry.”
He held the green ceramic bowl out to me; his dancing hazel eyes alight. Sighing, I took the bowl as he plucked some chopsticks out of his back pocket. Cradling the bowl to my chest, Ryker wiggled his ass around a bit then gathered up some savory noodles, bok choy, and a fat mushroom and led them to my mouth. I opened and let him drop the food in. Then he gathered some for himself, and then for me, and so on. We sat chewing, staring at each other, the weight of him on my thighs pleasant and arousing. When his tongue danced over my lips I grunted and wished we didn’t have our meal between us. He licked in when I opened my mouth, moaning. He tasted of soy sauce and ginger.
“Do we have time?” I asked breathlessly when the kiss ended. He opened his mouth to reply just as his phone alarm sounded. We both mumbled in disgust. “Guess not.”
“Sorry, we have a game tonight.” He dropped a dry kiss to my brow and jumped up, leaving the chow mein behind. “We’ll pick this up when I get home, yeah?”
“Sure, yeah.”
His smile brightened the room. “Excellent. Finish that up. You’ll watch the game?”
“Of course. Go. You know how Coach gets when you’re late.”
He looked as if he wanted to say something more but he just nodded then ran off to change. Within minutes he was in a suit, his shades on, earbuds dangling round his neck, and his hand on the doorknob. I was still on our tan couch holding the bowl of takeout.
“Are you sure you can’t come to the game? Maybe we could go out afterward? Check out that restaurant that we were talking about having the reception at?” He stood waiting at the door.
“I have to get this proposal done or I’d go,” I explained for the fourth time. He forced a smile and bobbed his head, soft curls falling over his sunglasses. “As for that restaurant, I thought we’d decided it was too expensive for the reception.”
“No, you decided it was too expensive. But whatever. I have to go.”
I let the jab roll off my back. There were few things Ryker and I argued about, but money always seemed to be a problem. He tended to spend without thought, and I held onto every penny. I knew it was because of our childhoods. He’d grown up with Jared Madsen as a father, a hockey superstar who could afford to give his only child— at the time— anything he desired, from hockey equipment and cars, to cash for college. Then there was my childhood on a struggling dairy farm, wearing the same chore coat and boots until my feet busted out of them because my parents couldn’t afford new ones. A farm that my parents had ended up losing. The cost of this wedding was a constant source of contention.
“Ryker, don’t get pissy. I’m just saying—”
He threw a hand into the air then left, the slamming door jarring me. I blew out a long breath then pushed to my feet, tossing the bowl of takeout to the end table. I padded to the window to watch him. He stalked out of our brick building, cut through the small flower and cactus garden, and headed toward the arena. We could see it from our window. Brow dropping to the warm glass, I stared down at him until he disappeared from view.
“When will you learn to just shut up?” I asked myself then lifted my head and stepped out onto our tiny balcony. There was room for one chair and a tomato plant out here. I knelt beside the plant and touched the dirt. Dry. Everything out here was always dry. Heaving a sigh, I stood, went to get some water in a glass and my laptop, and came back out to give Mr. Roma a drink. Then I sat beside it, legs stretched out in front of me and I watched the sky for the longest time, wishing I had handled the most recent tense moment with Ryker differently.
“I just have to chill out, let him do the wedding his way, and everything will be fine,” I said to my tomato plant. “Just stop fighting him about costs. I mean, who cares if we blow every penny in our savings account? What’s financial security compared to having four hundred guests and shrimp canapés? What the hell is a canapé anyway?”
Mr. Roma just sat there in his pot, soaking up the sun. Man, I wished we had a dog. I missed dogs. I’d grown up with the best farm dogs. There was nothing like a dog at your side. They listened much better than a tomato plant. But there were no pets allowed here. To be fair, a small apartment with two men who worked/ travelled all the time was no place for a dog. For a dog, we’d need a house. For a house, we’d need a down payment. For a down payment, we’d need to stop planning an extravagant wedding and put the cash aside. And here we were back at money again.
“Ugh.” My head dropped back to the brick wall. Mr. Roma was no help at all. “I bet an Early Girl tomato plant would have had better advice.”
My phone buzzed against my ass. Hoping it was Ryker calling before he entered the dressing room to say he was sorry, I lifted an ass cheek and yanked the cell free of denim. I was monumentally disappointed to see that it was Adam Isaksson calling— my boss and lead on the Bygenta study. The millionaire tech giant was all about sustainability, and determined to change the world— I felt honored to be part of this new future at inception, and he valued my input on all levels.
“Hey, Adam,” I said as I flipped open my laptop and found the document I’d been typing before the Ryker/ chow mein interruption.
“I’m glad I caught you. Do you have that proposal for Bygenta done?”
I looked at the mostly blank screen. I had two paragraphs. Did that count as done? Doubtful. My gut began to churn.
“I’m working on it.”
“Good! Finish it up then bring it to me and we’ll polish it tomorrow. They’re eager to see our results so far over in the main office. I’ve told them about the incredible work that this team, and you in particular, have been doing. I’m calling everyone to ensure all the data has been double and triple-checked. After we’re done we can grab dinner somewhere and discuss your future with Bygenta Agrochemicals.”
On some surface level, it was nice to have him speak so highly of me. I’d been working my ass off on this project, and Adam had been supportive of all the time and energy I’d put into my work. Unlike Ryker, who only bitched about my job. Still, if I went to his place to work tomorrow Ryker would come unhinged. I sensed that Ryker disliked Adam for some reason he wouldn’t cop to.
“But tomorrow is Sunday. I have plans with Ryker to ride out to the ten bakeries he has on his wedding list and—”
“Jacob, I know it’s the weekend, and I’m sorry for calling you in, but this is too big a chance for you to miss out on. If it’s any consolation, I had to cancel a dinner date with my mother in Tempe. And you know how much I love spending Sundays with her.”
Yeah. I did know. Adam Isaksson was close to his mother and spoke of her with great affection. I’d learned a lot about Adam over the past few months of this massive study. If I could just wrap this job up with a stellar report, Adam had promised to drop my name when he reported to the main Bygenta office in Switzerland. Maybe I’d get a higher position with more pay, then Ryker and I could stop fighting over cash all the time.
Now I felt doubly shitty. “Sorry. I know this sucks for all of us. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Jacob. Tell Ryker I’m really sorry for ruining your plans.”
“He’ll understand.” I lied a huge lie. Even Mr. Roma knew it and was judging me in silence as only a tomato plant can. “See you tomorrow.”
I cut the call and then let my phone slither down my chest to my leg, then onto the cement. Great. This would not go over well. We’d had Christmas and the twenty-sixth off together, but that had been caught up in Skype calls, and visits, and turkey, and tomorrow — the one day Ryker had off before a Canadian road trip — I get called into work to prepare for some asshole from the main office in some other country. Gazing at Tucson’s arid mountain backdrop, I longed for Minnesota and the soft lows of cattle. It was seventy degrees in January. No way would I ever get used to the lack of seasons.
I missed snow and cold so much I could taste it. This city and this small apartment were chafing at me. I needed a big farmhouse, acres of corn and soy to tend to, cattle to milk, calves to bottle-feed and raise. I needed a dog.
“Nothing personal, Mr. Roma.” I reached over to pat his green leaves. There was no wagging tail or lick of my hand. Blowing out a breath that puffed up my cheeks, I opened my laptop, rolled my head, winced at the cracking of my neck, and dove back into the world of dry data and ass-kissing. This whole Arizona experiment was not working out as I’d envisioned. It was midnight when Ryker got home.
I was waiting up with a sour stomach, a fake smile, and a tray of chicken tenders right out of the oven. He’d had a very bad game, monumentally bad, according to the play-by-play man, not that I saw all of it, because reports waited for no man.
“Hey,” he said after tossing his jacket and tie to the back of the couch.
“Hey. Sorry about the loss. Boston is always tough,” I said while sliding his tenders off the cookie sheet and onto a plate. He eyed the tenders suspiciously. “I knew you’d be down after a rough game so…” I waved at his favorite food then served him the plate. “Blue cheese or ranch?”
“Ranch. I really shouldn’t be eating this kind of stuff,” he whispered as he lifted a tender from the plate and broke it in two. “I’ll be doing ten miles on the treadmill tomorrow.”
“You’re pretty dedicated to your diet. A treat every once in a while won’t hurt.”
He smiled then blew over the half a tender, sitting on the kitchen counter. I unscrewed the lid to the dressing then squeezed a big dollop onto the edge of his plate. He rewarded me with a smile— the most beautiful smile on the planet. I’d better cherish it because once I told him about tomorrow it would be gone.
“You always know how to make me feel good,” he said. I had to look away. I’d never been good at deceit. “What?” When I worked up the courage to glance back, his brow was furrowed like a well-worked wheat field. “You might as well tell me.”
“Don’t get mad.” As soon as I said it I knew it was stupid to say that. His sleek eyebrows dropped into a ‘V’. “I can’t go visit bakeries tomorrow because I have to go to work.”
There was a harrowing span of like fifteen seconds where he said or did nothing. Then he flung the dish of chicken tenders to the counter.
“It’s Sunday. You don’t work on Sunday. We set this up five weeks ago because it was the only Sunday I was home and not playing.”
“I’m sorry, I am! I just… Adam called and said we need to get this update into Bygenta and—”
“Fuck that project, fuck Bygenta, and fuck Adam! This is our wedding, Jacob! Do you even care about it at all?!” His gaze snapped with anger and pain.
“Of course I care!” I fired back, feeling like a lowlife bastard.
“Do you? Do you really care? I’m killing myself with the planning and playing hockey and all you do is shoot down and shit all over everything I propose. What the hell kind of wedding do you want? Do you just want to go stand in front of some JP?”
“Maybe! At least that would be sensible. We’re supposed to be saving for a house, Ryker! And kids. How do we plan to make all of that happen when we toss every penny we have into this stupid wedding?”
“Nice, so it’s ‘stupid.’ Good to know.”
“I never said the wedding was stupid.” Fuck, I had said that. Shit. This was spiraling out of control quickly. “I didn’t mean the wedding is stupid. I want to marry you. I want us to have what my parents have and yours have. It’s just all this pomp and circumstance is… well it’s stupid. You’ve fallen into the trap.”
“The trap.” He said it so emotionlessly that I knew I was deep in the shit. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Yeah, a trap. The wedding industry has warped peoples’ minds. My folks had a small wedding at home. The pastor came to my grandmother’s house and married them, then they had their reception in a hay barn followed with a short camping trip by a nearby lake. Why can’t we do that? Why do we have to have canapés and silk tablecloths and two entire hockey teams?”
“Wow, so this close to Valentine’s Day you decide to finally be honest with me. That’s fucking great, Jacob.” He threw his hands into the air, hurt and ire rolling off him in waves that seared my flesh and heart. “Just so you know, I’ve always wanted a big wedding.”
“I know, trust me. It’s all you talk about,” I snapped, and his eyes widened. “It is! Ever since I asked you to marry me, you’ve told me over and over about how you wanted to find a pretty girl, have a big wedding, spend a couple weeks in Europe, and then settle down to raise kids.”
“I never specified it had to be a girl!” He was jacked now and so was I. “I mean shit, Jacob, you’re a gay man! Aren’t you the least bit into having the kind of wedding that straight couples have been able to enjoy forever?”
I rolled my eyes. His jaw tightened. “I don’t care about all the bullshit that goes with marrying you. I just want to marry you. I want a house and a dog and kids.”
“So do I!” he shouted and I winced. “And I want a wedding to be proud of. Not some hayseed hootenanny in some miserable barn.”
Ouch. Shit, that hurt. “Right okay, well, maybe we should just rethink this whole thing then since my dreams of a wedding are so below your standards!” Now I was yelling.
“Maybe we should!” He spun, grabbed his jacket from the back of the couch, and headed to the door. I gaped at him as he stalked out into the hall. “I’m going to Alex’s.”
He jerked the door shut. My hands were fisted in rage and so I did the one thing I could think of. I stuffed the chicken tenders down the sink, flipped on the garbage disposal, and ground them up. Then I fought back tears for a minute or two or ten.
Aye Candy by Claire Castle
“Is this your version of he loves me, he loves me not people do with flowers?”
I pierced my best friend with a sarcastic look and continued opening the sweet, heart-shaped sweets, hoping to find the perfect message. If I ended up eating the whole packet before that occurred, well that was the company’s fault, as far as I was concerned. “You already know the answer, Ashlyn!”
Crossing my arms, I let out a huff. “Now let me have my ritual before we go out. It can’t hurt anything.”
Then I stood up from my round bed and did a twirl around the room. Fairy lights covered most of my bedroom walls giving the room a magical quality.
“Now go get ready.” I tried to shove my flatmate out and into her own room. “We shall have a night out for our own version of Gal-entine’s Day, but as I’m not exactly a gal, unless you count my love of clothes. Maybe Gay-lentine’s Day? Hmm but you aren’t gay. Okay well, more thought is needed on that. And no ditching the other for a hot guy.”
“Angus, you are more notorious for that than I am.”
I never did agree or disagree with her, instead shooing her away. Then I stood in the mirror and added some mousse to my hair, trying to get it to have that just-out-of-bed messy look. People didn’t realize the time it took to get that when it was nine p.m. and you were headed out drinking.
Satisfied with my look, I wandered to the living room, waiting impatiently for Ashlyn. Finally, she appeared. “You look amazing, darling.”
“As do you. I see you have your sassy pants on. And you were lecturing me about not leaving each other.”
I let out a harumph, for my black and orange plaid trousers always drew men to me like a moth to a flame. “Well, the last love heart wasn’t that sublime, so ....” I trailed off, knowing she was onto me.
There was crunching underfoot as we walked arm in arm down the street to our favourite pub. A surprise Glasgow snowfall was pleasant to look at but not so much fun to walk in, in more-than-I could-really-afford gold-trimmed shoes.
It was still early February, but Ashlyn and I always celebrated Valentine’s Day a little early, just in case one of us did find a man to romance us on the actual day.
Most years had us drinking and watching sappy Hugh Grant movies together while nattering on about true movie love. And buying half-price chocolate the next day.
Unconsciously I straightened my shoulders. Maybe this year would prove different. I placed my hand on my tie to make sure it was straight. “Och aye, here we go, Ashlyn.”
The pub was full of old Scottish charm. The walls were covered in vintage pub advertising memorabilia. Booths lined the outside walls, with the long bar in the middle. At the back was a small dancefloor. We always sat back there to people watch.
“Usual?” Ashlyn questioned as she made her way up to the bar.
I nodded in response and went to find our favourite table, hoping it would be vacant.
Instead, there was a man sitting there surrounded by papers and a laptop, obviously trying to work. How that was possible was beyond me. The pub was quite busy tonight, never mind the music playing for the people who wanted to dance.
If I was being honest, I momentarily considered finding another table, but I was all about serendipity and the magic of coincidence. I let out a giddy breath when I saw a roll of candy hearts sitting beside him.
He looked up then, and I was greeted to the most beautiful grey eyes that I had ever seen. There were a few laugh lines around them, and I imagined him to be about ten years older than my young twenty-four. Okay fine, twenty-five. I was still in denial about turning a quarter of a century at the end of last year.
He smiled at me and then looked back down at his work.
“Be mine,” I blurted out. Not my usual come on line, but those eyes had obviously made me cut to the chase.
He raised his head slowly, amusement dancing in those eyes. “Sorry, I would, except my granny has curtains in the same exact pattern as your pants,” he said in a teasing tone. If I was to guess, that was a Canadian accent coming from his gorgeous lips.
I wasn’t used to men giving me back as good as I gave and keeping me on my toes. Frankly, it delighted me. “I’ll have you know these pants” —I dramatically gestured to my lower half— “have gotten me into very many men’s....” I broke off as he sat there chuckling. Jerk! Hot and funny, but still potentially a jerk.
Trying to compose myself, I pointed to the candy hearts on the table. “Actually, I meant your candy hearts. I’m guessing the next one you take out will say that. I love them. They are my favourite sweets this time of year.”
Chaos Theory by Duckie Mack
Chapter 1
I should have stayed in bed. I should have called in sick and never left the safety of my blanket, with my cat sleeping at the base of my butt. I wasn’t superstitious. Not usually. Friday the thirteenths often turned out great for me, not sure why. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the thirteenth, that would have been fine. Nope. It was the fourteenth…of February. The worst day of my life, recycled and repurposed each year into new calamities one could never imagine.
I was cursed. I was certain Cupid had an evil twin brother, Chaos, whose sole function was to counter all the love that his sibling wreaked upon the world and I was his favorite target. Ever since puberty hit, the day for lovers turned into my own personal hell. It was bad enough watching everyone around me all hopped up on love juice. It seemed like you couldn’t walk down the street without someone being proposed to, or seeing flowers delivered, or just straight up near sex in the shadows. I could handle that, mostly. It was the crazy situations that always seemed to find me on the day of holy horniness. What was that guy a saint of anyway?
Two years ago, I went to the zoo with my bestie and her toddler while her husband was stationed in Germany. It seemed like a fun, anti-romantic way to spend the day. Still plenty of lovers out and about, but the day had gone fine. Until I got punched by a wallaby on a leash that was part of an animal encounter. Sure…gather around and learn about marsupials, what could possibly go wrong? The handler apologized profusely, the zoo offered me return tickets, we’d spent the rest of the day filling out paperwork. I assured them that the only thing injured was my pride. All while little three-year-old Danny cried about wanting to see the pandas.
I ended up using my extra tickets on a very not-Valentine’s-Day-day, and we watched the pandas for as long as his little threenager attention span could last. In all honesty, that wasn’t even the worst of my V-days. Maybe in the top four, but I’d had some doozies. And today was shaping up to be the front-runner.
My day started out late. Super late. At some point during the night, the power must have gone off because my alarm clock was two hours behind. It took me forever to figure out what time it was when I woke up as the light pierced through my window. It was never that bright when I got up. After finding my phone which had fallen under my bed, I realized it was almost an hour later than I usually got up. Nothing got your heart going faster than realizing you overslept. No time for a shower, I splashed some water where it mattered most, brushed my teeth, and threw on some pants.
Of course, the only pants I had left were my khakis. I should have done laundry, but I’d been trying to get past the part I’d been stuck on in my game and time had gotten away from me. My khakis were fine, but I tried not to wear them at work if I could help it. As a middle school science teacher, there was no telling what number of things could spill or stain and the light material was a magnet for that.
I matched it with a forest green polo, ran my fingers through my hair, and rushed out the door. When I got to the school, all the good spots had been taken because…late. I had to park on the opposite side of campus and hoof my way back as fast as possible. In my hurry, I didn’t notice the whistle blowing or the person yelling. I had exactly three minutes to get through the gates and to my class. A screech of tires, a scream, the hair on my neck standing on end; my senses that were supposed to indicate danger were slow to react. Slower especially on this most awful of days.
I turned, at last, to find a car mere inches away from me and a panic-stricken parent sitting at the wheel. Their eyes were wide, their skin had paled. I could see them visibly shaking. My body hadn’t caught up yet to the near-fatal incident. It simply did not compute. The crossing guard came rushing over asking if we were okay.
“Mr. Lambert, oh my God. I was too far to do anything. I was yelling but you must not have heard me. I could have sworn you were about to be hit.”
The bumper of the car was near enough I could reach out and touch it. Yeah, okay, that was close. A lump lodged in my throat as my heart finally realized what had happened and decided now was the perfect time for some adrenaline. I felt like I needed to run, to flee, but the crisis was already over. Thanks a lot, you traitor.
The parent opened the door to their car and had tears streaming down their face. “Are…you…okay?” They said between sniffs.
I patted my chest and my legs for show. “Yeah, I’m good, not a scratch.”
“I’m so sorry. My phone fell under my foot and got stuck under the brake pedal, I almost couldn’t stop.” They started heaving and sobbing. With my luck, I could completely picture such a thing happening. It was total Final Destination vibes. V-day was out to get me yet again. I could have been mad, I could have yelled about irresponsibility, but with how upset they were, it wouldn’t have helped matters. This was a moment they would never forget. Me…it was just one of a long list of crazy that found me like heat-seeking missiles. I couldn’t hide from it.
Eventually—after much consoling for the parent—I made it to my classroom where my kids were already waiting on me. Walking into a room full of thirty twelve and thirteen-year-olds when you weren’t prepared was not for the faint of heart. It was near impossible to regain control. You had the two in the corner making out, never mind the fact that they were way too young for that. There was always bound to be a dick drawn on the whiteboard. I got it, dicks were great, but they didn’t belong in public spaces. Especially not in a classroom, unless you were the unfortunate teacher selected for health ed. We were on rotation, and luckily this was not my year for it.
It took a while, but I finally managed to get the class under control, just before the bell rang and they rotated. A headache was starting to work its way through my skull. It was going to be a long-ass day.
One good thing about Valentine’s Day; there was no shortage of sweets and I was in need of some major chocolate therapy. I took my lunch to the teacher’s lounge where it was decorated in red and pink glittery hearts. Mounds of chocolates were piled up in bowls on each table. Teachers were paired off or in groups all busily chatting about their special plans for the weekend. Valentine’s was the one time of year when it was suddenly okay to talk about where you were going to be fucked. A nice hotel, a cottage, an Airbnb, the kids are gone for the weekend, meeting a hot new guy, a hot tub, a heart-shaped bed. All of them not so subtly saying they were getting laid.
I was friends with a lot of the people on staff, but I just wasn’t feeling the lovey-dovey talk today, so I kept my head down and ate. On the way back to my classroom, I heard several snickers and people talking behind my back. Each time I turned around, eyes would suddenly dart away as if there was no possible way they were looking at me, while not successfully hiding their laughter.
Great. What was it now? I checked my pants and when my hand hit something sticky on my ass, my heart seized. I carefully kept my hand in place and maneuvered sideways out of the crowd of kids toward the nearest bathroom. The sheet metal mirrors were terrible for seeing reflections clearly, but I twisted enough to get an idea of what it was.
Chocolate. A gooey, caramelly, chocolate melted and smashed right in between my cheeks. Fuck my life. The candy must have rolled off the table and I sat on it. I couldn’t very well take off my pants at school and try to wash out the stain. That would be frowned upon in the worst way. I grabbed a paper towel and pulled off as much as I could, the caramel stretching and paper towel sticking to it. Wetting another paper towel, I tried to scrub it while reaching behind me. I couldn’t turn my neck around to see it well, but I knew enough that it was still very visible, only now it looked wet and rubbed in. Curse you, khakis. It might have blended in better if I’d had dark jeans on at least.
The tardy bell rang and now I would be late for the second time that day. There was nothing else I could do. And of course, I’d forgotten a jacket or I could have tied it around my waist. Now I had to walk out in front of the harshest critics in the world…middle schoolers. They would never let this go. I stayed close to the wall, angling myself away anytime someone walked by. I’m sure I looked like a mad man. Students and staff were bound to be whispering about Loony Lambert.
Back in class, I was hyper-aware of the stain on my pants and the unfortunate coloring and placement of it. I felt like I had a neon light glowing on my ass that made it look like I shit myself. Trying to teach while not being able to turn completely toward the board was a challenge in itself. But I awkwardly made it through the rest of the day.
Each moment, each step we take will lead us down one path or another. Every step in my day seemed to lead to another catastrophe. I figured it was in my best interest to stay after school and get some work done. Sure there was always stuff to do, but my main goal was not having to walk out in front of everyone to the far parking lot with chocolate treadmarks.
The school was perfectly abandoned by the time I left. My head was on a swivel still, on the lookout for any stray child or parent who might catch a glimpse of my backside. When I got home, I was going to burn these cursed pants. Well…maybe not today, that seemed like tempting fate too much.
Maple Sugar Mix-up by Kallie Frost
Chapter One
Jace
The flyer caught my eye and I stopped to study it. A bake sale auction to benefit the children's wing of the hospital! Well, that sounded like a great cause.
While I was reading it my friend and co-worker – if you could consider our very different jobs as co-working – walked by.
“Hey Jace,” he said. “Gonna make something?”
“I think so, Paul,” I said, glancing at the flyer again.
“What are you going to do for the date?”
I double-checked the date of the auction. “It’s on February 14th,” I said.
Paul chucked. “No, the date.”
I looked at him in confusion.
“Read the fine print,” he suggested.
I turned back to the flyer. Sure enough, there was something I had missed; the auction wasn't just for baked goods, it was for a date with the baker.
“Oh,” I said in disappointment. Count me out of this one. “Nevermind.”
I readjusted the way I was carrying my armload of medical files and stepped away from the bulletin board. It was a shame. I didn't have any spare change lying around to give to the hospital, but they were doing great things in the children's wing and I would have loved to be able to support them somehow. Baking would have been a good way to contribute.
“You’re single, aren’t you?” asked Paul.
“By choice,” I said.
“It’s just a date,” he laughed. “Not a commitment.”
“I know…” I took one more look at the flyer.
Sure, it wasn’t a commitment, but as the alpha hosting the date I’d be expected to pay and I sure as hell didn’t have that kind of money. Even if I did have enough to scrape together for a date, there weren’t a lot of omegas who would be very happy with an alpha who could barely afford a night out. It was an alpha’s duty to care for his omega, not to mention their future family.
I hated to admit it, but I could hardly take care of myself. There were days where I ate all three meals in the hospital cafeteria because I couldn’t afford groceries. What omega would want a guy like me?
“You know I can’t afford a fancy date,” I muttered.
Paul may have known, but I was still embarrassed, especially since he had a sweet scholarship that paid for his med school tuition and I knew what he was making now as a doctor.
“It doesn’t say it has to be fancy,” Paul pointed out. “Do something cheap.”
I looked at him skeptically. “Did you see where it’s being held? It’s like the fanciest place in town. Any omega there bidding on a date is not going to be impressed with something cheap. They’re all way out of my league.”
“You're so old fashioned,” Paul snorted. “There are plenty of omegas out there who earn more than their alphas.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I grumbled, shaking my stack of medical files in his direction. “You’re already happily married to a stay-at-home-omega.”
“I didn’t go traditional by choice; we fell in love and that’s just how it worked out,” said Paul. “Believe me, Jace, when you meet the right omega, he isn’t going to care how much money you have.”
He was right; I knew that, I really did. But my parents had been strictly traditional when it came to alpha and omega roles. The idea that I would be the one providing for my omega had been drummed into me since I was old enough to know what an omega was.
My parents would have been absolutely mortified if I even considered being with an omega who was financially above my station. Then again, they would also have been mortified by my current living conditions, which were well below the standards they would have set for an alpha. On the bright side, they weren't around anymore to know.
And on the other side of that, their untimely deaths had come with a lot of unforeseen financial complications that left me scrambling to make ends meet before they were even in the ground.
“I should get back to work,” I said, adjusting my pile one more time.
“I’ll bid on you,” Paul said just as I started off.
“What?” I asked, turning back in confusion.
Paul laughed and pointed to the flyer. “I was going to donate anyway. Allie isn’t big on baking and I think she’d be pretty jealous if I tried to set up a date with an omega for myself… so, you bake something, put it on the auction table, and I’ll bid on it. Then we both get to contribute and you don’t have to go on a date.”
“You don’t have to do that to make me feel better.”
“I guarantee I'll spend more bidding on whatever you make than I would just flat out donate. Hell, I’ll keep a number in mind and if I end up bidding less, I’ll donate the remainder anyway. And if it costs me more, everyone wins.”
I did want to do my part and help out. And there weren’t many other ways I could contribute, short of kicking ass as a receptionist.
“Tell you what,” I said, not quite believing I was agreeing. “You promise to place the winning bid and I’ll do it.”
“Deal,” said Paul. I heard a beep and he pulled out his phone and checked it. “Gotta run.”
“Later, Doc.”
~~~***~~~
Before I knew it, the day of the auction arrived and I headed over with my chosen treat: maple candy.
As soon as I saw some of the fancy selections, I knew I had made the right choice. My maple candy was plain and boring; exactly what I needed to avoid people bidding on it. The only decoration, if you could call it that, was the ivy leaf shape mold I used. My grandmother had spend years wasting time with a maple leaf mold that only made six at a time. When she found an eighteen-piece mold, she was so excited she didn’t realize it was ivy and not maple leaves. Her baking partner, and best friend, had loved them, so they turned it into their own little inside joke and kept using them. The pan had been passed down to me and I was happy to keep using it.
I smiled fondly at the memory of standing over the stove with Grandma Sophia; eager to lick the spoon when she was done. She always brought a jug of fresh maple syrup when she came to visit and we made the maple candy together.
“And this is?” asked the woman checking me in.
“Maple candy,” I said.
She arched an eyebrow at me, then wrote it down. I wondered if everything else had a fancy name. Good, one less thing to attract an omega.
“What’s your designation?”
“Alpha.”
“And the date?” she asked.
“Um… It’s February…” I started to pull out my phone to check.
“No,” she said, stifling a laugh. “The date for the auction.” She jabbed her pen toward one of the cards on a fancy basket.
I leaned over to read it.
Roasted Almond Toffee Chocolates. Dinner at the Opera House.
Crap. I racked my brains, trying to think of a date that would be that would be unappealing. Not to mention cheap. If, for some reason, Paul couldn’t bid or something I needed a date I’d have to actually be able to follow through with.
I thought immediately of my favorite coffee shop. It had free refills, as long as you were drinking black, and tons of used books to peruse. They were rarely crowded and almost never kicked you out before closing to make room. Better yet, when I knew the barista – and I usually did – they’d refill my coffee even if I had something a little fancier and a free unsold baked good or two before closing.
“Coffee and sandwiches at the Mill Street Coffee Shop,” I said. “Tomorrow night.”
Short notice was good too, to minimize bidding.
“The Mill Street Coffee Shop…” she echoed. “And… then?”
“That’s it,” I said, forcing my smile to stay fixed.
“Okay…”
“When they call yours, you go up on stage for the bidding,” she started to say.
“I’m not staying,” I said quickly. “I uh… have to work.”
“Right,” she muttered. “And I need your contact information so the omega can contact you for the date details.”
I sighed and gave her the information, then pushed out through the well-dressed crowd. With any luck Paul would place a decent bid and make this all worth it; I’d contribute to the Children’s Hospital and I had an excuse to make Grandma’s maple candy.
I headed back to my crummy apartment and, with nothing better to do, decided to read some old favorite, comfort books. Since I was thinking of my grandmother, I grabbed a mystery novel by Victoria Peppers. Although I had never been fortunate enough to meet her, she had been my grandmother’s best friend – the same one she baked maple candy with, in fact. They were so close that Victoria had even given her some of her manuscripts, long before she was published.
Grandma Sophia used to read them to me and passed her love of mystery books on. Not only did I devour them, but I also tried my hand at writing them. Of course, none of my crappy stories would ever see the light of day, especially the ones that borrowed Victoria Peppers’ sleuths and settings. Okay, so maybe I didn’t write books, so much as fanfiction.
Nevertheless, I still read every Victoria Peppers mystery as it came out, even though she had passed some years ago and her daughter had taken over writing them. In my opinion, they were just as good as the originals.
Tonight, however, I chose one of the old classics Victoria had written by herself; one my grandmother had loved.
Once I was settled in and reading, with some extra maple candy to snack on, I almost forgot about the auction.
Then my phone rang.
It was an unfamiliar number, but I answered anyway in case it was the hospital; it wasn’t uncommon to get called in to help with busy shifts. With all of the ice and snow we had been seeing an increase in patients.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Jace Wagner?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I’m Ashton Basque. I won your maple candy and was calling to uh…”
My stomach dropped out from under me. “I’m sorry, what?” I said.
“I bid on your maple candy at the auction. For the children’s hospital? I won and was told to contact you to arrange the date.”
I clenched the phone and sucked in a sharp breath. No, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen!
“It’s tomorrow night. Um, at eight. At the Mill Street Coffee Shop. It’s in the—”
“I know where it is.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I said reluctantly.
“See you then.” There was something flat and wholly unenthusiastic about his voice.
I hung up and nearly chucked my phone across my small apartment. “Are you kidding me?!” I spat instead.
I quickly dial Paul's number.
“Dr. Sullyfield.”
“Paul, what the hell?!” I demanded.
“Sorry?”
“An omega just called me! He said he won my maple candy and wanted to set up the date.”
“Oh,” Paul groaned. “I was gonna call you, I guess he's on the ball.”
“On the ball?” I snorted. “What happened?!”
“He outbid me.”
“You promised!”
“I know,” Paul groaned. “It was just…”
“Tell me this wasn’t some complicated scheme to rope me into a date,” I growled.
“No, no. He was a former patient and he really wanted the maple candy and… Look, I’m sorry, really. It’s just one date. He’s sweet.”
“Thanks a lot,” I muttered.
“One date. It won’t be the end of the world.”
“Yeah, yeah. See you at work.”
I hung up with a groan. Who was this omega? I had the plainest candy and the cheapest, most boring date, and he bid on it anyway?
Not to say an evening in a quiet coffee shop wasn’t an ideal date in my opinion, but I didn't think it would have been that appealing to most people. This was going to be nothing short of embarrassing.
With a sign, I sagged down onto my couch, trying to avoid the spots where the uncomfortable springs poked up. I tried to remind myself that Paul was right; it was just one date. One night and then done. With that in mind, I sought out the last couple pieces of maple candy and munched on them to make myself feel better.
E.M. Lindsey is a non-binary, MM Romance author, an ancient historian, and avid lover of nerdy things. They live on the East Coast of the United States.
Writing love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee.
(Not necessarily in that order.)
She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand.
Claire Castle grew up surrounded by books. She has loved reading for her whole life. Her true love is romance and HEAs. When she’s not reading or writing, she can be found wearing comfortable leggings, watching Schitt's Creek, and dreaming up new ideas.
Duckie Mack normally writes sweet with heat MM romance in both contemporary and PNR. She lives in Southern California with her family, two dogs, and three cats. Duckie is a sappy romantic who also loves musicals, theater, superheroes, and fairytales. She also loves to go to pride events and give out free hugs, or talk books, usually both.
Kallie is the pseudonym of a USA Today Bestselling Author who normally writes young adult fantasy and dabbles in paranormal romance. She loves animals of all kinds, so she loves reading and writing books with shifter themes. Her favorite time to write is late at night when her husband and kids are asleep and everything is quiet. During the day she can be found chasing her boys, baking, and talking to herself.
EM Lindsey
Claire Castle
Aye Candy by Claire Castle
Chaos Theory by Duckie Mack
