Thursday, March 2, 2023

⏳Throwback Thursday's Time Machine⏳: Seth & Casey by RJ Scott



Summary:

Seth Wild is a firefighter who has lost everything. Nearly dying in a fire, he is scared and angry and chases away the only good thing in his life—school teacher Casey McGuire.

When a sudden and violent snow storm hits their town he receives a message Casey and ten kids are trapped in an education centre center with no way out. There is no one else who can help, he’s the last fire fighter in town with his bum leg and his icy heart.

He doesn’t hesitate. He always promised he would be Casey’s hero, but will he ever again be Casey’s love?


3rd Re-Read Review February 2023:
Only one thing to say that differs from my previous reviews that for me goes a long way to expressing my love of Seth & Casey.  I re-read this story just this past November and yet here I am needing to read again.  Due to the snow storm last week that left over a foot of snow on top of the already multi-feet high snow piles I was drawn to experience this novella again.  Perhaps it was the storm and shoveling afterwards that called to me or maybe it was the need to see common sense survival actions after the days long panic the TV meteorologists and anchors spewed.  Most likely it was a combination of the two that had me opening it so soon.

Re-Read Review February 2019:
I usually save my re-reading for the summer months but considering that we are nearing the end of February, not only February but the snowiest February on record as well as the snowiest month since November 1991 after the Halloween Blizzard that pretty much shut down Wisconsin and Minnesota, I thought what better time to re-visit Seth and Casey?

There isn't much more I can add to my original review other than I'm still conflicting between wanting to bang their heads together and wrap them up in bubblewrap.  When it comes down to it though I have to admit I side with Casey.  I understand Seth's desire to be who he was, to get back to his life as a firefighter but I've seen too many things with my mom's health issues and my grandfather's battle with MS to really sympathize with his refusal to accept that yes his life is never going to be the same but he is still here.  Perhaps had I not grown up watching my mother and grandfather have their lives changed I would be able to support Seth's resistance and I guess we all need to have that "a-ha" moment when everything clicks.  In Seth & Casey, RJ Scott uses Mother Nature's wintery wrath to explore that idea and she does it brilliantly.

I guess what I'm saying is that despite not understanding Seth's denial to face facts I absolutely love, love, love this novella which to me in itself speaks more to the author's storytelling talents than anything.  This is a win-win filled with frosty dangers that only Mother Nature could create, love that may or may not be enough, and the desire to survive.  For those who never experience the kind of snow in this story, count your blessings because the white stuff may look fluffy and conjure up all thoughts of Christmas and magical dancing snowmen but it can be anything but magical and the author's obvious respect for that just makes this story ten times more entertaining.

Original Review January 2018:
When Seth Wild's life as a fireman is at an end due to injury, instead of facing it head on he fights it and in the process he pushes away his rock, his friend, his lover, his husband Casey McQuire.  When Casey walks out hoping Seth will see what he needs to face, he finds himself alone with his nephew and 9 of his students stranded during a blizzard.  Will Seth get to Casey and the kids in time and more importantly will he realize what he's risking with his refusal to accept the inevitable?

πŸ’¬Reviewer Note: I have never read the previous version of this novella so I cannot comment on the re-editting and how the two versions differ.πŸ’¬

Now on to Seth & Casey.  Brilliant!  I wish I could leave it at that but you know I'll expand because to be honest I could not put this down. I really just want to say that as a Wisconsinite(and no this is not set in Wisconsin) I absolutely love stories where Mother Nature rears her karmatic head.  Yeah, I know "karmatic" isn't a real word but this is my review so I'm leaving it in😜  For those who have never experienced a true snow storm, I say "good for you because they can be hell on earth", its a prime example of Mother Nature showing her status in the hierarchy of world domination.

So when I find a book where snow is prevalent than I really pay attention to how the author uses it and whether they give it the respect the white stuff deserves.  I don't know how much experience RJ Scott has with snow in the UK but she has clearly done her research and respects its destructive nature.  Distance means nothing in whiteout conditions, you can be two feet away from someone or something and have no clue what direction to travel and the author uses this in this novella in multiple cases and for that alone I say "Thank you."

I've mentioned all that about the weather because its more than just a plot device, it truly is a character all on its own.  As for the main characters of Seth and Casey, well once again I found myself warring between bundling them in bubblewrap and knocking their heads together.  In a short story/novella, especially one that the bulk covers such a short span of time, it can be hard to convey the emotions of the characters, make them believable, and still give the reader an entertaining piece of art.  RJ Scott seems to have mastered the knack of doing just that though.  Would I like to know more about the boys and their life both before and after the pages of this tale? Of course, because for me when a story is this lovely I never want it to end but in truth, I can't imagine Seth & Casey any different than it is and its a no-brainer that this one will definitely be going into my re-read list.

RATING:



“…New York's LaGuardia and JFK International airports officially closed on Thursday afternoon due to the storm, according to the FAA. Both airports had been open earlier despite significant flight cancellations. LaGuardia resumed operations around 7 p.m. ET, while JFK said it planned to reopen sometime during the course of the night.”

Casey McGuire rinsed the last of the mugs and placed it on the drainer with the rest. For some reason, it was always mugs they ran out of in this house. Seth had this idea that the dishwasher ate them but Casey was convinced that they just needed a system to make sure they brought all the mugs back to the kitchen when they were done. Last week he’d found a mug in the bathroom, inside the cabinet, full of cold coffee.

Seth had sworn it wasn’t him, but Casey knew it had been.

He didn’t make a fuss. After all, what was one full coffee mug teetering on the edge of a glass shelf? In the grand scheme of things, it meant nothing.

The TV droned on behind him as he took a dishcloth and wiped the first of the mugs.

“…states from South Carolina to Maine are under a winter storm warning and the governors of Georgia, North Carolina, Virginia, New Jersey and New York have declared states of emergency. Forecasters say the northeast states can expect hurricane-force wind gusts and blinding snow…”

The news channels had been warning about this storm for a week, a huge dump of snow that would cripple the eastern seaboard, but that as yet hadn’t caused much concern here in Vermont. Casey glanced out of the window at the yard and wished for more snow. That way maybe Seth wouldn’t be able to leave the house, and possibly the two of them could have a rational conversation that didn’t end with Seth leaving and Casey wondering where the hell he was going wrong.

“…the situation is “ugly” and “dangerous,” and people should stay indoors…”

Last night, all Casey had said was that Seth shouldn’t forget about his appointment next morning. Seth left the house, clambering back into bed at some ungodly hour, reeking of beer or worse. In his sleep, Seth tried to pull Casey close, but Casey had deliberately scooted up and away, and left his husband in the bed.

Today, at ten, Seth had exploded, accusing Casey of meddling in things he didn’t understand, telling Casey he was fine and didn’t need a shrink.

Yet another night when one of them ended up on the couch.

“Hey.”

Casey stiffened at Seth’s soft, gravelly voice. His chest was tight, he didn’t want to argue. He wanted Seth to admit there was a problem, because he couldn’t handle it anymore. Six months of this had taken its toll. Maybe if Seth had seen the specialists when he should’ve, maybe if he’d seen a counselor, then Casey would see he was trying.

Seth was in denial, and it was destroying their marriage.

He didn’t turn to face Seth; he’d made a decision in the early morning, packed a bag with what he could get without waking Seth, and decided they needed space. If Seth had space he might face up to himself instead of taking it out on Casey.

Seth slid his hands around Casey’s waist, resting his chin on Casey’s shoulder and sighed. He’d brushed his teeth so the only scent was peppermint, which at least was a step up from yesterday when he’d attempted a clumsy kiss with beer still on his breath.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured near Casey’s ear.

Casey could turn now, accept the apology, even offer one of his own for pushing Seth, and everything would be normal for a while. Seth could go back to pretending he was okay, and Casey could go back to walking on eggshells and avoiding conflict.

But what kind of a marriage was that?

What kind of a man did that make Casey?

“I know you are,” he said. Then he tensed because that wasn’t the answer Seth wanted, and Casey knew what would happen next. Seth would go straight onto defensive mode, give some bullshit about how he was a firefighter and didn’t need a counselor.

Meanwhile, Seth not accepting any of what he needed was tearing their marriage apart. Casey had been careful with him for a long time, after all, Seth had nearly died. But when months had passed and he was still refusing to listen to reason, that was when Casey realized he’d been wrong in accepting Seth’s view on what kind of healing he needed.

“I think we need some time apart,” Casey said, and placed the dried mug onto the counter. He eased away from Seth’s hold and moved to the other side of the kitchen table. Somehow, having it between them gave Casey the strength to do what he’d decided was the right thing. Seth had this way of holding him, with a near desperation that never failed to have Casey crumbling.

Seth didn’t answer at first. Casey stopped himself from repeating the words and hoped that Seth was just thinking. The only noise in the kitchen was the news, focusing on Greyhound buses and the routes being cancelled.

“Why?”






Author Bio:
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.


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EMAIL: rj@rjscott.co.uk



Seth & Casey
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Force of Nature Anthology
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Monday, February 27, 2023

Monday's Mystical Magic: It's All Relative by Jordan Castillo Price



Summary:

The ABCs of Spellcraft #14
If Spellcrafters value anything, it’s family. (And a good deal from the clearance rack, and an exceptional hand of poker. But mainly family.)

So, when a long-lost relative surfaces, everyone is absolutely thrilled…until the newcomer challenges Dixon for the title of Hand.

Yuri is perfectly willing to force the usurper back under whatever rock he crawled out from, but Dixon insists on proving himself the best man for the job. A magic string chose him as the Hand, after all. And while Spellcraft can be capricious, surely it would never let Dixon down.

Would it?

To make matters worse, Dixon’s attention is divided. Not only is he scrambling through town on a magical scavenger hunt, but a Handless customer with a sob story has him searching for her lost dog. Because, as Yuri points out, there’s always a dog.

From one end of Pinyin Bay to the other, the whole family pitches in to help Dixon keep his rightful place in the final installment of this heartwarming series.

The ABCs of Spellcraft is a series filled with bad jokes and good magic, where M/M romance meets paranormal cozy. A perky hero, a brooding love interest, and delightfully twisty-turny stories that never end up quite where you’d expect.


Say it ain't so! The end is here! No more Dixon and Yuri!  As the saying goes, all good things must come to an end . . . doesn't mean I have to like itπŸ˜‰.  

The ABCs of Spellcraft may be over. No more new adventures for the always over-optimistic and endless ray of sunshine Dixon and his stern but never not supportive man-friend Yuri, and the incredibly intriguing cast of wacky family, friends, and occasionally not-quite friendly characters.  Yes, that's sad to hear but their adventures will live on in re-reads and re-listens and they will never get old, I will never tire of re-visiting Pinyon Bay for a ride-along.  For me, that statement alone is the best way to explain how much I enjoy this series and characters.  I have a list of books that I re-read/re-listen to every summer, it's not that long but the year would never be complete without them and I am 99.999% certain Spellcraft has just hitched a ride on that list.

Now, as for the final entry, It's All Relative, itself.

What can be said that hasn't already been mentioned in my previous entries reviews?  

Jordan Castillo Price has a unique and creative way to bring the world of magic to life, to make it real, to make one look up and expect to see a crafting, or the result of a crafting, float by your front window.  Frankly I don't know how Yuri stays so calm. If my significant other had the never-ending energy that Dixon lives life by I would be off my rocker.  My mother always looks at life postiviely but her views on "it's going to be okay" has nothing compared to Dixon, so I don't know how Yuri does it but he manages to not only stand by his man sanely but he does so with Dixon's family as well.  His desire in Relative to see Dixon keep his place as the Hand probably tests his control more than any other obstacle the couple has tackled but he maintains his voice of calm and focus.

I've probably given away more than I intended to so I won't say more but know it's brilliant and if this series had to end, I can't think of a better way to do so.  This series is simply put: FUN! FUN! FUN! FUN! and what's the word I'm looking for? Oh yeah: FUN!!!!!

Now I realize that for some 15 books, even novellas, can seem daunting if you haven't been reading as they've been released.  That's a lot of zany, madcappery magic to digest but trust me, you won't regret it.  Dixon and Yuri and the whole Spellcraft gang is so enjoyable the time will fly by and before you know it you will be where I am right now, the end with no more new coming and you'll be a little sad but also happy for having discovered such a crazy, fun, romantic, entertaining universe.

RATING:



1 
DIXON 
The Practical Penn Spellcraft shop has been in my family for years. My folks partnered with Uncle Fonzo to start the business while I was still in diapers—and, for the record, I was very easy to potty train, unlike Tuesday. Probably because even at that tender young age I was so concerned about disappointing anyone—while Tuesday is probably the least motivated baby I’ve ever known. Though she’s so utterly adorable, no one really minds. 

I’d spent my childhood at Practical Penn playing hide-and-seek with my cousin in the various offices. My school years doing homework on a desk where enchantments were Scribed. And, more recently, the occasional weekend helping clean out the cages of the various small animals we’d inherited from Precious Greetings. 

But as for actually working there as a Spellcrafter? Between my walkabout after college and the span of time I’d endured as an unquilled WheelMeal driver, the hours I’d clocked in the family business were surprisingly few. 

I plucked a curved piece of metal from the supply cabinet and held it up for inspection. While my inventory list did contain some pretty obscure items, we Scriveners do know our stationery well. Surely it was just a matter of eliminating the various tools I recognized, and whatever was left would cause recognition to dawn. 

I was debating whether the object seemed more like a distance page-turner or a rubber band stretcher when I realized a shadow had fallen across the curve of the metal. I turned and found my mother filling the doorway to the supply room, hands on hips, looking very businesslike indeed. She knew this office inside and out, so surely she’d know what it was. The trick was in not letting on that I didn’t. I smiled my winningest smile and said, “So, if one were looking to loosen up his rubber bands….” 

“Give me that.” Mom snatched the mystery object out of my hands and tucked it into her cardigan. Either she has extra pockets in there or she’d just developed the ability to hold onto various small items with her body mass—a handy trick to be sure. “It’s the arm that holds a globe on its stand, but the globe shattered years ago and the stand turned to rust. I’d better get rid of it while your father’s off running errands.” 

I turned to the list in my hands and added the words Globe Holder…then dutifully crossed them off. 

Mom blinked in that way she does when she’s counting to ten. “Dixon, is this really necessary?” 

“The Annual Reckoning must be completed in an orderly manner,” I said brightly, quoting a pamphlet I found stuck to the back of a desk drawer in Shirque Mansion. It was printed in 1948, so all the men in the photos are wearing hats and smoking cigarettes—but fortunately, Spellcraft traditions themselves are pretty timeless. 

“Everything’s there in black and white on the spreadsheet I printed out,” Mom said. “All you need to do is sign it.” 

“If I wanted to scrape by doing the bare minimum, then sure. I could read through the spreadsheet, ink my very fetching signature at the bottom of that form, and be done with it.” 

“You think that’s the bare minimum? Your uncle never even bothered to sign the darned thing himself, let alone read it. Look, I get that you take pride in being the Hand of the family. None of us can argue with that. But no Hand in their right mind would do all this manual bean-counting unless they were planning to Fold.” 

Obviously, the last thing I wanted to do was liquidate the business and leave everyone in my family unemployed. Not to mention invalidating the work order that kept Yuri in the country. 

However…. 

“These beans you’ve just referenced—I’m not seeing them on the spreadsheet.” 

The chime of a customer coming through the door interrupted our lively debate, and Mom threw her hands in the air and bustled off to go see what they wanted. And since the tallying of staples, pencils and paperclips had indeed grown truly tedious, I followed her out to the front counter. 

A red-haired woman in her mid-thirties stood in the lobby, visibly fretting. There was a nylon strap of some kind in her hands, and she twisted and re-twisted it nervously as she rocked from foot to foot, scanning all the various signage, from the jaunty “Got Problems? Spellcraft is the solution!” to the stern, “No Bad Checks…Or Else.” 

“Can I help you?” Mom asked the woman, in a brusque, no-nonsense way most Handless find oddly comforting. 

“Gosh, I sure hope so. I was told that—” 

Outside, a car horn blared. Not just a polite toot-toot, either, but a long and weirdly loud bellow that went on and on. I hurried around the counter and pressed my face up against the glass to see what such a beepable offense might be, only to find a little old lady pawing desperately at her steering column trying to get her horn unstuck. A truck driver had stopped to help her, but despite his intervention, the honk just kept right on honking. Eventually, he gestured in the direction of the nearest mechanic, and the old woman hastily drove off, the beep fading behind her as she turned a corner and was gone. 

“Wow,” I said, “that must’ve been painfully loud from inside the car. I’d hate to have all that beepage blasting right in my face. Good thing the horn on our truck stopped working ages ago.” I turned toward the customer. “Now, how can we help?” 

“This is a prime example!” she said. “Every time I—” 

A raucous clatter cut her off. I whirled around and saw the truck that belonged to the helpful driver had opened up, and hundreds upon hundreds of cans had fallen out the back. I was excited for a split second there, imagining such syrupy delights as fruit cocktail and cherry pie filling up for grabs, distributed throughout the neighborhood like tiny treasures waiting to be stumbled upon later. But then the vegetables painted on the side of the truck quashed my nascent fruity fantasies. 

Still, the spill was entertaining. Those cans could really roll! Though why they were just loose in the back of the truck to begin with was anyone’s guess. 

Eventually, the cacophony ebbed long enough for the red-haired customer to say, “I can’t take much more of this. I need someone to—” 

Suddenly, we were enveloped by the rousing sound of a marching band. Through every speaker in the building, from the stereo that usually piped in Musak to the intercom no one ever used (as it was a lot quicker to just yell) some vaguely patriotic parade music blasted forth. Rufus Clahd reeled out of his office with an empty CD case in his hand—the title of which was March! March! March! He waved it around a few times, then stumbled back in. 

Mom held up a Just-a-Sec index finger and bustled off to help our Seer with his musical selection. That left me standing there in the lobby with the customer—not usually a problem, but the fact that we couldn’t talk was surprisingly awkward for me. I offered her an encouraging smile and she tried her best to smile back, though really, it came out as more of a wince. 

Banging and clanging ensued, and the rousing march went skip-skip-skip, sounding oddly techno as it stuttered over the end of a cymbal crash replaying the blat of a trumpet. Several bangs later, the march fell silent, and my mother stomped out of Mr. Clahd’s office, muttering, “Why we let him have access to the sound system, I’ll never know.” 

The customer was just about to try again when Mom cut her off with, “Not one more word, young lady. Not until I get a look at that piece of Spellcraft in your pocket.” 

The customer sagged all over with relief, pulled out the paper, and slid it across the desk. 

The Seen was adorable—something right out of a children’s book, with a poodle frolicking in a green field of grass dotted with pastel wildflowers, puffy clouds overhead, and a butterfly circling lazily in the sky. 

But the Scribing overlaid on the clouds was downright puzzling. 

Nobody listens to me. 

“I see the problem,” Mom said, as the customer nodded so vigorously I was worried she’d make herself dizzy enough to keel over. Not that that’s ever happened to me. Lately. “Crafting a Spell is challenging enough. It’s part discipline, part innate ability, and part luck. Most people who discovered a Crafting like this on their person would just tear it up, and it’s a good thing you didn’t. That might only make things worse. If you figure out who saddled you with this thing, you’d have a good case against them—though bringing it to the authorities would be a challenge in the state you’re currently in.” 

The customer shook her head no.

“That’s good. I don’t recommend involving the law where something like this is concerned. Litigation and Spellcraft are an unpredictable combination. My advice would be to neutralize the Crafting—which just so happens to be my son’s specialty. But it doesn’t come cheap.” 

The customer whipped out a credit card and flapped it up and down. 

“Fine. Dixon?” Mom gestured at the Crafting. “It’s in your capable hands.” 

Bursting with pride over my mother’s genuine praise, I gingerly picked up the Crafting and took it back to my office. It was the smallest office with the worst view—and it smelled like burnt mozzarella—but now it was so much more than a place to keep the nocturnal animals no one wanted in their house. Don’t get me wrong, the super loud toad was still there…but he was currently asleep, so he made a perfectly acceptable office mate. 

Aside from the cages and tanks, there were now various Spellcrafty things a Hand might need. Copies of all the contracts and forms involved with the business. A giant box of dubious receipts. Contact info for the other local families, as well as a pile of generic gifts I might give if a social obligation cropped up…though someone had broken into the chocolates and taken a bite out of them. The fancy soaps, too. 

In short, my office was a real office. And while I had once balked at the thought of joining my family business, now that I was actually rolling up my sleeves and getting down to work, I found it surprisingly empowering. 

Though I had to admit, it was a lot more fun now that I was technically in charge. 

I cleared my desk, drew my quill from its case, and lay the Spellcraft on the blotter. It wasn’t a curse—curses are in a horrific category all their own, and I’d be just as glad to never see one again—but it was definitely a hindrance. I would have expected the vibe it gave off to feel negative somehow. But when I turned it this way and that and tried to get a sense of the telltale tingle, it just felt…tingly. Nothing more. 

If it weren’t for the actual words, I would’ve taken it for a perfectly benign Crafting. Maybe it was meant to teach someone a lesson. Or maybe it was just a poorly thought out practical joke. Whatever the reason, the only thing that mattered now was how to Uncraft the Spell.



Saturday Series Spotlight
Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Part 3  /  Part 4


Audiobook Collection Reviews



Author Bio:
Author and artist Jordan Castillo Price is the owner of JCP Books LLC. Her paranormal thrillers are colored by her time in the midwest, from inner city Chicago, to small town Wisconsin, to liberal Madison.

Jordan is best known as the author of the PsyCop series, an unfolding tale of paranormal mystery and suspense starring Victor Bayne, a gay medium who's plagued by ghostly visitations. Also check out her new series, Mnevermind, where memories are made...one client at a time.

With her education in fine arts and practical experience as a graphic designer, Jordan set out to create high quality ebooks with lavish cover art, quality editing and gripping content. The result is JCP Books, offering stories you'll want to read again and again.


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It's All Relative #14


The Complete Collections


πŸ—½πŸŽ­Week at a GlanceπŸŽ­πŸ—½: 2/20/23 - 2/26/23




















Sunday, February 26, 2023

πŸ—½Sunday's Safe Word ShelfπŸ—½: Care by Nora Phoenix



Summary:

White House Men #5
Kenn wants Warrick to be his teacher, his boyfriend…and his Daddy.

Being the president’s son was never something Kenn wanted, but it’s the reality nonetheless. Home from college with nothing to do, he’s elated when his father hires a tutor to prepare him for law school.

Professor Warrick Duvall is kind, smart, and he has time for Kenn when no one else does. When the unthinkable happens and Kenn’s world is rocked to its core, it’s Warrick who is there for him, and the friendship with him is the only thing that keeps Kenn going. Warrick takes care of him, helps Kenn find his footing again, and they grow even closer.

When others start to notice and warn him, it’s time for Kenn to be honest about who he is and what he wants. But how will his father react when he learns Kenn doesn’t want Warrick to be merely his teacher and his boyfriend…but his Daddy?

Care is a slow burn MM gay romance with an age gap and daddy kink (no age play), featuring a Daddy who doesn’t know he’s a Daddy and a needy boy who soaks up all Daddy’s care. It’s the fifth book in the White House Men series, a continuing MM romantic suspense series set in the White House that needs to be read in order. Care ends with a happily ever after, but the suspense plot ends on a cliffhanger and will be continued in the rest of the series.



1 
Two Months Earlier 
One day, Kennedy Delano Shafer—who much preferred to be called Kenn—would be able to meet new people without being nervous to the point of throwing up. Today, however, wasn’t that day. Rationally, he knew he had nothing to worry about. His parents—mostly his dad—had carefully selected his new tutor from among many applicants. Yes, the president had actually put out an ad to find a private tutor for his son. 

Not that it had been mentioned in the listing that the tutor was for the First Kid—and how Kenn hated that term. He wasn’t a child, even if he often still felt like one at twenty-two. Also, the term “first” implied there was a second kid and maybe even a third and a fourth, and that wasn’t the case. He was it, the President and First Lady’s only son. But that was beside the point. 

No, an agency had made the initial selection of candidates, narrowing it down to a shortlist his father had then gone through. After meeting with several candidates, he’d picked Professor Warrick Duvall, thirty-six years old, who had pursued a career in law after an honorable discharge from the Army due to getting wounded in combat. Since Kenn’s ambition was to attend law school after graduating from college, Professor Duvall had seemed the perfect candidate to get him ready, his father had told him. 

Finishing his undergraduate degree at Amherst was sadly not an option at the moment, not after the assassination of President Markinson and a thwarted attempt to kill Kenn’s father, who had been the vice president at the time. Kenn understood, and he’d agreed he was safer in the White House, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. The tightened security sucked for all of them, but he’d lost all his freedom…and his chance of having sex. Although truth be told, he hadn’t managed to score in the three years he’d been at Amherst. Maybe the idea that one more year would’ve given him the courage to finally get laid was a classic case of self-deception. 

Get laid. Score. He scrunched his nose. Such crude expressions. Not that having sex was much better. Or getting fucked. The latter immediately stated his preference, and he wasn’t ready to announce that yet. Just like he wasn’t ready to be honest about his…other needs. How would his father react? And Uncle Milan? 

Kenn wasn’t worried about the gay part of his coming out. That, they’d fully embrace. But how would they feel if he confessed to what he wanted in a relationship, who he was deep inside? Could two such powerful, dominant alpha men ever understand it? He didn’t think so. 

The bottom line was that he wouldn’t have sex anytime soon, and while that was a relief in some ways—if meeting new people already had him anxious, sex would be an absolute nightmare—it also worried him. How would he ever grow up, become a full adult, if he didn’t scale that particular mountain? A virgin at twenty-two…how pathetic.

Almost as pathetic as the crazy flutters in his stomach and the sweaty hands he was experiencing as the time inched closer to Professor Duvall’s arrival. Kenn slowly made his way from his bedroom on the second floor of the White House into the central hallway, where Seth had taken up his usual spot against the wall. He had an overview of the entire hallway and the staircase, he’d explained to Kenn. 

"Hey, Seth." 

Protocol stated that Secret Service agents couldn’t strike up a conversation with their protectees, but things were different between him and Seth. With his father’s permission, Seth had become somewhat of a friend to Kenn, and he loved that he had someone to talk to. Someone who was gay and as alpha male as possible. Kenn hadn’t found the courage yet to ask Seth about certain things—that would be the gay part—but one day he would. Over time, addressing the crazy sexy Secret Service agent had become easier, probably because Seth was genuinely nice and made an effort to help Kenn get over his nerves and shyness. 

"Hey, Kenn. How's life?" 

"I loved that British TV series you recommended." 

"Hustle?" 

Kenn nodded. 

"I know, right? I keep telling people about it, but it's not that well known here. But it's so good." 

"It's got that dry British humor I love, plus action and smart plots." 

"I couldn't agree more. Heist movies are my jam, and this whole series centers around heists and smart cons."

Kenn had binge-watched the entire first season of Hustle and was well on his way in the second one. Not much else to do for him but read and watch TV now that he was home all day, but hopefully, that would change soon. 

"Your tutor has arrived," Seth said after listening to his earpiece. 

A fresh wave of nerves rolled over Kenn, and he bit his lip. "What if he doesn't like me?" 

Seth gently squeezed his shoulder. "I wouldn't worry about that if I were you." 

"Have you met him?" 

"No, but I know he's a good guy. Otherwise, your father would never have hired him. He spent more time selecting the right tutor for you than he did on picking people for staff and cabinet posts." 

Kenn couldn’t help but smile. Seth had such a way of helping him relax, and in this case, he was probably right. His father had spent an inordinate amount of time and energy on selecting the perfect tutor for Kenn to the point where even his mom, with her endless patience, had given up. 

The elevator opened, and a man stepped out. He was shorter than Kenn had expected—maybe an inch taller than Kenn. He didn’t have the perfectly toned body Seth had but a much rounder and softer one. It made him look friendly, even in his crisp dark blue suit and a white dress shirt with a blue-and-white-striped tie. He had his finger between his collar and his neck but dropped it quickly when he spotted them. 

"Hi," Professor Duvall said, frowning slightly. He took two steps toward Kenn and extended his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Shafer." 

"Kenn. You can call me Kenn." His voice was way too soft, and he was irritated with himself already that he couldn’t project more confidence, but his body wasn’t cooperating.

Duvall looked at Seth, but the Secret Service agent stayed silent. "Right. Kenn. I'm Warrick Duvall. Professor Duvall. Which you probably figured out by now." 

He was stammering. Wait, was he nervous too? Somehow that thought took some of Kenn’s trepidation away. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor.” 

Duvall checked in with Seth again, then turned his attention back to Kenn. "You'll have to forgive me, but I'm not familiar with the protocol here. Do I…?" He gestured at Seth. 

Oh my god, he totally was nervous. How about that? “That's Seth. He's one of the agents on my Secret Service detail. Technically, the agents aren’t supposed to start a conversation with their protectees, but it’s different for Seth. He and I are…" 

Shit. Had he said too much? Secret Service agents weren’t allowed to be close with their protectees, so had he gotten Seth into trouble? What if Seth’s boss wasn’t okay with it, even though Kenn’s dad was? 

"We're friends,” Seth said smoothly. “As much as my job allows it. With his father's permission." 

Duvall cleared his throat. "Okay. That's good to know." 

"Generally speaking, you can ignore the agents. Just pretend we're not there." 

"That’ll take some adapting, I'm afraid. Ignoring people isn’t a habit of mine." 

Seth’s mouth curled up in a smile that communicated approval. The man appreciated it when people treated him with respect, and Kenn could understand why. Being a Secret Service agent wasn’t easy, and Seth had shared some horror stories he’d heard from other agents with Kenn—without revealing the identities of the protectees involved. Seth would never break confidentiality. 

"You'll get used to it after a few days,” Seth said, then stepped back again, positioning himself in his usual spot.

"Right. President Shafer…your father, I mean…told me you're considering law school. Can you tell me what draws you to studying the law?" Professor Duvall asked. 

What did he do now? Were they supposed to stand here awkwardly in the hallway? Seth subtly nudged his head toward the sitting area. Of course. The professor wouldn’t take the initiative here. That was all on Kenn. He took a deep breath. “Why don't we sit down for this conversation?” He gestured at the sitting area in the hall. “I’m sure you have more questions for me. Can I offer you something to drink?" 

It had come out as smoothly as he’d hoped, and he couldn’t hold back a smile. Maybe he was finally getting the hang of this whole being social thing. 

“I’d appreciate that. A cup of tea, maybe?” 

The professor walked in front of him, his gait somewhat stiff, like he was favoring one leg. Kenn’s dad had told him Professor Duvall had gotten injured in combat, so maybe that was the cause of his uneven walk? 

As soon as they sat, Denali came hurrying toward them, flashing Kenn one of his sweet smiles. The White House server was pure sunshine, and Kenn was happy they were becoming friends. Denali was one of the few people he didn’t feel awkward around, probably because they were close in age. 

“Can we have tea, please?” Kenn asked him. “And maybe some of Mrs. Morelli’s cookies?” 

Denali’s smile widened. “She baked fresh chocolate chip cookies for you this morning.” 

Kenn laughed. “I’d better eat them, then, before my dad smells them. He’ll devour them all if he gets the chance.”

“The Secret Service agents were complaining that someone told the president where Mrs. Morelli hides their stash of cookies. Apparently, he ate quite a few of them.” Denali hooked his thumb over his shoulder at Seth, and Kenn giggled. 

Seth coughed loudly from his spot against the wall. “I’m pleading the fifth.” 

“I’ll be right back with tea and cookies,” Denali said, looking amused, then rushed off. 

“Can he do that, pleading the fifth?” Professor Duvall asked. 

Kenn turned his attention back to him. “Excuse me?” 

“Can a Secret Service agent refuse to answer a question like that?” 

“Erm, I don’t know. I guess it depends on who’s asking the question?” 

Professor Duvall leaned forward. “Let’s say his supervisor asked him or the director of the Secret Service. Could he refuse to answer?” 

Kenn thought quickly. The Fifth Amendment protected people from incriminating themselves, didn’t it? “If he was the one who told my father about the cookies, then yes, because answering would mean incriminating himself.” 

“But does that apply to an employer-employee relationship? Isn’t the Fifth Amendment only applicable in a legal situation, say, a police interrogation or a court case?” 

“I wouldn’t think so because if he confessed to someone, including his supervisor, they could then be called as a witness and testify to what he’d told them. So I’d think in no situation can you be forced to answer questions that would incriminate yourself.” 

“What if your father asked the question? What if the president of the United States demanded that Seth tell the truth? He’d have to answer then, wouldn’t he? The president is the highest authority in the country, superseding even the Supreme Court.”

“He’s not.” This, Kenn was certain of. “The president isn’t above the law. That’s why we have checks and balances so that the Judiciary Branch can check the Executive Branch. If Seth refused to answer, the government could sue him, I think, but that case could take its course through the system, maybe even ending up at the Supreme Court, which would rule in his favor because of the Fifth Amendment.” 

Professor Duvall sent him a broad smile. “Well argued. In this case, there are a few things that make it more complicated, since Seth is a federal employee and thus bound by what’s called a Kalkines warning that could make it mandatory for him to tell the truth, but we’ll get into more detail about that later on. For now, let’s talk about what draws to you studying the law.” 

He’d prepared for this question. “I want to make positive changes in our society through the law. My father does it through politics, but I think people underestimate how important laws are at every level. I want to make a difference by using the legal process.” 

Denali showed up with their tea and cookies, and Professor Duvall nodded at him, waiting with his answer until Denali had walked off again. “That’s a lofty goal. In which areas would you like to make a difference?” 

“Social justice, first and foremost, which I don’t know much about yet, but I’ve been trying to learn more about how laws favor white people. I still have a lot to learn and understand, but I know that inequality is built into our legal system and that the system helps perpetuate it.” 

Professor Duvall’s eyes lit up. “I can see why your father thought me a good match. I’m passionate about social justice, and I’d love to teach you more about this if you feel we’d be a good fit.” 

A good fit? What did he mean? “I’m not sure I understand. My father already hired you.”

“He did, but if you were to tell me you’re not comfortable working with me for any reason, I’d walk away all the same.” 

Not comfortable? Kenn had no idea what the man was referring to. What an odd phrase. Maybe he’d meant it in more general terms, as in that Kenn wouldn’t like him? “No objections on my end, Professor. I’m excited to learn from you.” 

A flash of relief passed over the professor’s face. “I’m glad to hear it. Let’s get started, then. I made a first schedule of topics. Why don’t we have a look at that? And you can tell me if anything is missing or if I’ve listed things you already know about.”



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Author Bio:

Nora Phoenix is a bestelling author of MM romance. She writes in various subgenres of gay romance, including contemporary, mpreg, and sci fi. Nora is known for a mix of steamy romance, usually a dash of kink, all the feels, and some suspense.

Proud single mom. Book addict. Eternal optimist. Unapologetic feminist. Ace. Panromantic.


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EMAIL: nora@noraphoenix.com



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