Monday, August 22, 2022
Sunday, August 21, 2022
🎡Sunday's Sport Stats🎡: The Quarterback by Tal Bauer
The Team #2
Falling for his friend's straight dad might be the worst mistake Colton Hall has ever made.
Colton's best friend is gay. He's not: he's never been attracted to men. So why the hell is he fantasizing about his friend's dad? Besides, Nick Swanscott is straight. A devoted father and the best man Colton's ever known. He deserves more than to be the object of Colton's crush.
The NFL is waiting for Colton, but he decides to stick it out for his senior year in college before joining the league, a decision that proves disastrous when an injury tears him from the game. In the blink of an eye, Colton goes from being a top draft pick to potentially never playing football again.
But Nick is there through his recovery. He takes care of Colton every day and shows him a future that might hold something more than being a superstar quarterback. Maybe Colton's life isn't over.
And Colton's crush explodes: full-on, head over heels, hopelessly falling in love.
He's so screwed. He's got to get these feelings under control. All those dreams of kissing Nick can never become reality. And there's no way Nick could ever love him back.
Right?
A slow burn, friends to lovers, bi awakening, age gap MM romance.
Chapter One
Tuxedos and tablecloths. Flickering candlelight. A big band in the corner, pouring out tunes.
Justin looked amazing in his tuxedo. Wes, too, but Justin was his son, and it was the first time Nick had had the chance to see him dressed to the nines. The two of them were on the dance floor, Justin’s right hand over Wes’s heart, the fingers of his left twined with Wes’s as they swayed to the Glenn Miller cover. They were beaming and gazing into each other’s eyes. This is what their wedding will look like.
Wes was shy about what he’d done on the field after the national championship game. He’d turned scarlet when Nick had asked him if that, him on the ground and offering Justin a football, was his marriage proposal. He’d fumbled his way through explaining that he’d wanted to commit to Justin in front of the whole world, and whether Justin called him his fiancé or his boyfriend, he was Justin’s for as long as Justin would have him. Then he’d fidgeted on the couch as Nick stared at him, the Texas wind coming up and over Nick’s balcony.
“Dad, stop interrogating the love of my life,” Justin had said that night, and he’d winked at Wes, smirked at Nick, and not clarified a damn thing.
It would happen, though. All Nick needed to do was spend three seconds watching Justin and Wes, and he could see the love between them. He’d never seen his son as happy as he was with Wes. Never in his whole life had Justin radiated such joy. Not even Christmas mornings as a child, or the birthday when Nick had surprised Justin with his first bicycle.
It made his heart ache, seeing Justin so in love.
Had he been that in love with his ex-wife all those years ago when they’d first fallen for each other? He thought he had been. He’d been in love enough to decide to propose. Marry, and forge a life together. A life that brought Justin into the world.
There was nothing he cherished more than being Justin’s father.
Hopefully he wouldn’t screw it up this time.
He and Justin had had a close relationship… until Justin was about ten years old. Nick had been a good dad, he’d thought. Bicycle riding and Little League. Playing catch in the backyard, Lego in the loft. Trick-or-treating together every Halloween. And then Justin grew older, and… Nick hadn’t worked as hard as he should have to keep them close. Justin turned inward, hiding his secret until he’d exploded. Keeping his sexuality concealed had carved him off from his parents, put an impenetrable wall between them, one that stood for too many years.
If he’d realized, if he’d suspected, he would have said something years ago. Would have tried to let Justin know, even if he had to take him by the shoulders and force his chin to raise, that there was nothing, not a single thing in the whole world that would end his love for his son.
But he hadn’t realized, and Justin had withdrawn, and they’d lived separate lives in the same house, living around each other instead of together. Justin going off to college had seemed like the slow end to a long goodbye that began in middle school.
And then things changed.
Nick watched Wes twirl Justin in his arms, then tip him backward for a dip as the song came to an end. Wes beamed. Justin laughed, and as he rose, Wes’s arms wrapped around Justin’s waist and Justin’s hand cradled Wes’s cheek. They kissed, still smiling, as the crowd clapped. For the band, and maybe for Justin and Wes, too.
They were, after all, the guests of honor.
It was an evening celebrating Wes and his team’s national championship victory, along with the personal victories of all the other out college athletes who had played that season and any past season. LGBT+ organizations, ESPN, and even the NCAA had joined together to honor Wes and his fellow LGBT+ athletes—present and past—and memorialize those who had passed away in a first-of-its-kind reception. Out former professional athletes mingled with college athletes across the major sports: football, baseball, basketball, and hockey. Rainbow lights dazzled off rainbow bunting, strung in arcs across the high ballroom ceiling. Rainbow-dyed roses clustered in low vases on the dinner tables.
“This is so wild, isn’t it?”
The voice came from behind Nick. It was deep, but with a young man’s cadence. He turned and saw Colton Hall, the Texas quarterback and Wes’s best friend. Now, too, Justin’s good friend, after a shaky start.
“I never imagined this is how our season would end.” Colton passed Nick a fresh beer and held his out for a toast.
“Didn’t think you’d be national champions?”
“I mean, I thought that.” Colton grinned, rolling his head sideways to Nick. One hand jiggled in the pocket of his tuxedo pants. “C’mon, we’re the best.”
Nick laughed.
“This is amazing,” Colton said, his voice softer. “I don’t think this could have happened four years ago. It should have, but…” He frowned, and his gaze found Wes and Justin, dancing still. “He deserves this. All of it.”
“Justin?” Nick asked, sipping his beer.
“Uh, I mean, of course, him, too.” Nick smiled as Colton stuttered, flushing. “I mean, he deserves to be recognized, of course, for who he is and supporting—”
“I’m teasing you.” He clapped Colton on the shoulder. Colton grinned, relief crossing his face in a tidal wave. “They both do. Wes is an amazing player, and he’s been an exceptional leader on your team. And he’s a role model for other young gay athletes.”
“Yeah. Justin is, too, though. He’s a great guy. Just the best.”
Colton was still trying to fix his little slip. “I happen to think so.” Nick took another sip of beer, then turned back to the ballroom. “Where’s your date? Who’s here with you?”
“No one.” Colton shrugged. “I’m not dating anyone. And my mom couldn’t make it up. She’s a lawyer, and she’s got some big case to prepare for. What about you? Where’s your date?”
Nick felt his smile fall short of his eyes. “No date for me, either.”
Colton raised his beer bottle for another toast. “Bachelor life. Right on.”
He clinked, and then they fell silent, watching Wes and Justin on the dance floor.
So deeply in love. Would he find that again someday? He wasn’t ready to look yet, not so soon after separating from Cynthia. The hurt was still too fresh, like a deep bruise or an ache he couldn’t stretch out. The long, slow death of his marriage was worse than a quick gut punch. If Cynthia had gone out and had an affair, he could have ended things cleanly, used his anger to package up his past and then move on. But the gasping way they’d hung on even as they grew further and further apart, until Cynthia was a stranger to him, made it feel like he’d been torn in half from top to bottom.
It was the betrayal that hit him hardest: the betrayal of who he’d thought Cynthia was as a person. He’d thought there was no way she could ever choose anything or anyone over her son. That she could never look at Justin and think he wasn’t wonderful, the best parts of the two of them combined. He was a handful, to be sure, but a good person, the kind of man Nick had lain awake at night and prayed his son would turn out to be.
There was nothing in his entire life that matched the stab to his heart when Cynthia told him she thought their son was broken and needed to be fixed.
There wasn’t any coming back from that moment. He loved Justin exactly as he was. Cynthia didn’t. And he wasn’t willing to share his life with someone who didn’t accept Justin. Cynthia wasn’t willing to change her beliefs, so there was nowhere for them to go but apart.
He wasn’t ready to let anyone else in yet. Wasn’t ready to open himself up. The only thing that mattered to him now was the happiness he saw in Justin’s eyes every day.
“You know,” Colton said, rocking back on his heels, “I tore up the gym in fifth-grade PE class when they made us learn swing dancing.”
The music shifted to a faster beat, and couples began flying around the dance floor. Wes spun Justin in and out of his arms, pulled him close, laid him out in a back-bending dip.
“Did you? My ex and I used to dance when we were dating. Swing, blues, ballroom. We were pretty good, way back in the day.” Then Justin was born, and there wasn’t time for dance nights or even dates anymore. But, huh. Was it any wonder Justin was a dancer now?
“I won the Sugar Land Elementary All-Fifth-Grade Swing Championship,” Colton bragged. “You can’t top that.”
Nick set his beer down behind him and held out his hand. “Put your money where your mouth is, and show me those skills.”
Colton blinked.
Colton, like Wes, had one of the most recognizable faces in college football. His picture was plastered on ESPN weekly. Almost daily. Everything he’d said, everything he’d done since Wes had been outed had been turned over, examined, dissected. After the national championship game, Wes and Colton had sat down for one joint interview with ESPN. More than what they said, how they’d interacted, the obvious connection between them, had solidified their public identities as inseparable brothers. And while support for Wes had been significant, and seemed to grow larger with each passing month, there were still those who despised Wes for who he was, who accused him of trying to change the culture of football. Who hated Colton, too, for his unwavering, unflinching public support of Wes and his place on the team.
There had also been whispers and hateful rumors passed along internet forums and message boards: that Colton was Wes’s bitch, that he was as gay as Wes was, that the whole team was a bunch of pansies. That Colton was on his knees for Wes and he’d do anything Wes told him to do as long as they kept winning.
None of it was true, but that didn’t matter. Hate didn’t need truth to spread like wildfire.
But Nick still should know better. Stakes were higher for Colton than for him. And there was a difference between supporting your best friend on the field and on ESPN and by standing beside him at banquets, and taking the hand of another man and dancing with him in public. Nick was established, successful, and as secure in his identity as a recently divorced middle-aged man rebuilding his relationship with his formerly estranged son could be. He didn’t have newspapers and columnists following him, dissecting his grades and the beers he drank and the words he said, trying to pick out his personality through bits and pieces of his life.
What was a simple, lighthearted, and friendly joke to Nick could be gasoline on the flames that consumed Colton’s reputation. Weeks of online fury. Eyebrows raised on ESPN. Maybe NFL teams looking past him in the draft. “Sorry,” he said, pulling his hand back. He shook his head, smiling an apology. “I was playing around, and I didn’t think that through. Maybe I’ve had one too many beers.”
Colton downed the rest of his beer, holding Nick’s gaze. He dropped the bottle on the table, cleared his throat, and held out his hand. “Let’s do it,” he said. “Fuck ’em.”
“Colton, I don’t want—”
Colton waggled his hand in front of Nick. “Fuck the haters. It’s just for fun. And I’ve got my fifth-grade reputation to uphold.”
Nick laughed again and took Colton’s hand, letting the younger man lead him to the dance floor. If it had been any other event, maybe people would have turned and stared, watching Colton walk hand in hand with another man. But they were among hundreds of same-sex couples, and no one batted an eye. Later, surely, the ripples would hit the internet.
“Let’s go show Wes and Justin what real dancing is,” Colton said.
They made their way over to Justin and Wes. Justin’s head whipped from left to right as he tried to keep his gaze on them while Wes spun him in a tight circle. He tap-tap-tapped Wes’s chest, jerking his chin at Nick and Colton as Colton held out his arms, assuming the lead dancer position.
“I might step on your feet,” Nick said. “I’ve never danced the lady’s part before.”
“Well, you know what they say.” Colton set his hand at the small of Nick’s back and pulled him close. They were almost eye to eye, but not quite. Colton was slightly taller and a lot broader than Nick. His tuxedo fit him like a second skin, flowing over the taut, thick lines of his muscled shoulders and arms. His narrow hips slotted against Nick’s, their thighs brushing as Colton took the first step. His body gently guided Nick, leading him to step back with his left foot as Colton moved forward with his right. “Nobody puts Baby in the corner.” Colton winked and they spun around Wes and Justin, mimicking their twirls and dips and flares, laughing so hard they sometimes missed a step.
“Switch!” Colton called out to Wes, and he and Wes spun Nick and Justin outward, then let go, letting each man spin into the other partner’s arms. Nick ended up in Wes’s hold, one hand on Wes’s hip and the other in Wes’s hand. Wes kept his body a respectable distance from Nick’s.
“Having fun?” Nick asked, breathless.
Wes’s beaming smile said it all. His gaze drifted over Nick’s shoulder to where Colton was twirling Justin around and around and around, and Justin was laughing so hard he was almost hiccuping. “It feels like a dream,” Wes said.
“Good answer. Loving my son should be a dream come true.”
Wes barked out a laugh so loud it broke over the ballroom like a thunderclap. Justin pulled out of his endless twirls in Colton’s arms and called out to switch again. Wes spun Nick outward, and he passed Justin in a blur of smiles, ending up back in Colton’s embrace. Colton pulled him close as the trumpets blared, and then Colton dipped Nick on the final beat of the song.
From his upside-down position, he saw Justin and Wes kissing, Justin’s arms winding around Wes’s neck, hands threading through Wes’s sweat-tinged hair. He felt Colton’s deep breaths, Colton’s chest moving against his own. Felt Colton’s thigh bracing his as the moment, the world, seemed to still.
Then everything was a rush, and he was back upright. Colton and everyone else were clapping for the band. The lights were twinkling, and the world was a roar in Nick’s ears, a head rush from the dance and the heat of so many bodies making his heart race and his skin flush. Colton was on his left, Justin and Wes were on his right, all of them smiling, the air humming with their joy, so powerful he could feel it all over him, could breathe it in and hold it inside himself.
This is all I want for Justin. All I ever wanted for my son. Pure, perfect happiness.
His own nights of happiness were in the past, but as long as Justin was smiling like that, as long as Wes was there to keep loving him, Nick’s life would be set. If his son was as happy as this for the rest of his days, that was all that mattered.
Hours later, the four walked shoulder to shoulder as they headed for Nick’s condo. Wes and Justin had their arms around each other, and Nick and Wes had pulled their bow ties loose, letting the ends dangle. Colton’s was askew, while Justin somehow still looked as manicured and put together as he had at the start of the evening. Easy conversation carried them through the lobby and into the elevator. Wes wrapped his arms around Justin from behind as Colton slouched against the back wall, his hands in his pockets.
They went straight to Nick’s balcony, the wide stretch of concrete and glass that overlooked downtown and the college campus. Two of the three bedrooms and his living room opened to the balcony, which ran the width of the whole unit. He’d set up a grill at one end and a patio couch and wicker chairs around a low table at the other. Wes and Justin took up half the couch, even though they were practically sitting in each other’s laps, and Colton took the other half, throwing himself down in an ungainly sprawl that made the furniture creak and groan.
While the boys shed their jackets and pulled off the remnants of their ties and cummerbunds, Nick plucked a bottle of champagne from the fridge and snagged four flutes from the bar. Laughter floated back to him through the open sliding glass door. Wes’s quiet chuckle, deep and soft at the same time. Justin’s higher, sharper, musical laugh. Colton’s boisterous, almost boyish giggles.
“Lemme help,” Colton said, bolting to his feet and reaching for the glasses when Nick came back out. His hands were huge, calloused and weathered from years of playing football, tanned and scarred from hundreds of scrapes over hundreds of games. The four glasses disappeared in his grip, and he passed two to Wes like he was handing him pens or pencils. Nick popped the champagne and poured for each of them.
He wasn’t much for toasts, but champagne and tuxedos and one a.m. on a starlit balcony begged for some kind of recognition, so he held up his glass and looked at his son and Wes. “To you guys.” He nodded to Colton, too. “To your guys’ future.”
They all drank, and Justin and Wes shared a brief kiss. Justin seemed to burrow deeper into Wes’s arms, as if he could somehow be closer to him than he already was. Nick chuckled under his breath as he took another sip of champagne and turned his gaze out over the city.
“Speaking of the future…” Wes started.
Nick whipped his head around. Was this it? Was this the moment? He held his breath—
“What have you decided?” Wes finished. He was looking at Colton, not Justin, as he spoke, his head tilted, his huge fingers pinching the rim of his flute. “You staying or going?”
Colton heaved a sigh. He set his glass down and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Man… I don’t know.”
“I think you do,” Wes said softly.
Colton shot Wes a glare from behind his spread fingers. His palms were still over his mouth, and his hands tugged on his skin, giving him a horror-movie expression as he exhaled.
“This about the draft?” Nick asked.
Justin and Wes both nodded as Colton groaned.
Most of the starting line was eligible for the NFL draft that spring, and the deadline for declaring whether they were in or out was fast approaching. Wes had been talked about as a prospective draftee all school year, but now that they’d won the national championship, his eligible teammates were being courted, too. Agents called every hour of the day, showed up at the house they shared, tried to bend the NCAA rules to woo the players into representation and declaration.
Wes had said, immediately after the championship game, that he was sticking it out at school until he graduated. He’d play another year at Texas and then consider the NFL. But it wasn’t a guarantee, he’d said, that he was going to join the league at all.
Most of the team followed in his footsteps, saying they were sticking around to finish their degrees, too. They didn’t want to break up, not when they were as cohesive and united as they’d become. If everyone stayed for another season, they could potentially go all the way and have a perfect record. Win the national championship—again.
Only Colton hadn’t declared yet.
“If I stay, that’s another year to develop my skills. Another year to improve.” Colton sent Wes a wavering smile. “Another year with you. But it’s another year of risk, too. If I’m injured, maybe no one wants me next year in the NFL. I’m a first-round potential right now. What if, next year, I’m nothing?”
“What if you’re first round, first pick next year because you’re the best quarterback two years in a row?” Wes countered. “What if next year is even better?”
Colton flopped backward, his hands sliding through his dark hair as he squeezed his skull. “But, like, do I even want to be a first-round QB pick? I mean… you’ve seen what happens to the guys who go first round to loser teams. Some of those teams are so desperate that they want a first-round draft pick to play like a five-year pro. But if the coaching staff isn’t there and the systems aren’t in place, the team collapses. Guys our age being told to carry an entire NFL team and bring them from Loserville to the Super Bowl?” Colton shook his head.
“You’re not like that. You know more than the spread offense or the run and shoot, which is all most college guys know these days. Most of those quarterbacks can’t hack it because the transition to the NFL is too steep. But it won’t be for you.”
“So maybe if I join the draft this year, I’ll be picked to be someone’s understudy. I wouldn’t mind learning for five years under one of the greats.” Colton picked at the fabric stretched over his thigh.
“What about your degree?” Nick asked. “What about graduating?”
Silence. Colton shrugged. “I didn’t really think much about graduating when I first got here. Ergonomics is easier than general studies, you know? But what do I do with an ergonomics degree?”
“It’s less about what you majored in than showing that you made a commitment and followed through with it,” Nick said. “That you had the discipline to complete your education. I hire people all the time with degrees that have nothing to do with my industry.”
“If I stay, I’d need to graduate at the end of next year,” Colton said carefully. “Which means I need to find an internship. Part of my program is supposed to be a practical business internship. Maybe because real-world experience is the only way to make that degree worth anything.” He tried to laugh. “But I don’t know where to even begin with that. How would I work an internship around my athletics schedule?”
“Find an internship that’s understanding,” Nick said.
Colton snorted. “The line at the student center for internship applications is, like, seven miles deep. I looked last week. There’s a waiting list. If I sign up and something comes up, I can’t afford to be picky about it. But I also can’t sacrifice my football schedule.”
“Can you bring your own internship to the school? What if you worked something out directly with a company?”
“Yeah, you can. I don’t know anyone who could do that, though. And I’m not allowed to ask Coach or the athletic department to hook me up, or to intern with them. I already tried that.”
“You know me. My company always has interns over the summer. I can easily set you up as my intern in the Austin office. I can show you what sales is like.”
Colton’s eyes bulged. “Seriously?”
“Why not? You’d be great at sales. All sales is is personality.”
“And you have no shortage of that.” Justin smirked.
Colton was quiet. He chewed on his lower lip, staring at his hands. “But what if it’s now or never?”
Wes set down his champagne flute and looked Colton in the eyes. “It’s not. It’s never now or never. Things always change.”
“Yeah, I could be worse off looking at the draft next year.” Colton blew out a huge sigh.
“Or a bunch of things could happen,” Wes said. “Things you can’t even imagine right now. Hell, you could be outed by a national news network on the morning of the biggest game of the year.” Wes didn’t blink. He wasn’t talking about Colton anymore. Colton wasn’t gay. “I thought I lost everything that day.”
Colton’s jaw clenched. Justin’s fingers laced through Wes’s. Nick saw a look pass between them, something with weight. He’d spent all that day frantically trying to reach Justin after seeing his son’s picture on the internet, arm in arm with Wes Van de Hoek. He’d heard what Justin and Wes had gone through, and he’d watched the game and Texas’s collapse on live TV. He’d screamed down to Austin in his Porsche when Justin had called him sobbing, saying Wes was beaten and bloody and barely breathing. But he hadn’t lived those horrible twelve hours himself.
Colton stared out over the city, his gaze lost in the tangled warren of campus as distant car horns honked and the hum of the highway rose up to meet them. Nick watched his shoulders shake ever so slightly. It wasn’t a simple decision. This could be a defining choice for Colton’s entire football career. Go to the NFL early and take the chance on being drafted to a rebuilding team. If that went badly, he could buckle and break and be out of the league before he truly had a chance to become the quarterback he could be.
Or play another year in college, graduate, and then draft with the rest of his class. Maybe he’d still be drafted to a rebuilding team, where an entire franchise would lean on him. But he’d be another year wiser, another year older, another year more experienced.
Sometimes a year changed a man in ways that couldn’t be measured in hours and days and weeks. Sometimes a year became the cornerstone of a life.
Risk, reward. Stay, go. Things known now versus the uncertain future. There was his degree, too, and graduation—but Nick didn’t think Colton had placed that much stock in a college degree. Unlike Wes, football was his life. Nick knew that, even before he’d met Colton. He’d known, watching Colton mature into the Texas quarterback role through the seasons, and that knowledge had been front and center in his mind when he threw Colton against the wall in the jock house. It was there again, for a whole different reason, when he watched Colton come apart in Wes’s hospital room and then watched him devote himself to taking care of his friend.
“I don’t want to leave yet,” Colton breathed. His head tilted, and he squinted at Nick. “You can really hook me up with an internship?”
“Absolutely. Say the word, and I’ll have my assistant start setting it up tomorrow.”
Colton smiled. He closed his eyes. Breathed deep. “Okay. Let’s do it. I want another year.” He reached for Wes, taking his hand in a warrior’s grip. Wes beamed, and Colton did, too. “One more national championship?”
“Absolutely.” Wes smiled.
“Thanks, Dad,” Justin said, gratitude pouring from him.
“Of course. I’ll help you guys in any way I can, always.” He raised his champagne flute again. “To one more year.”
Tal Bauer is an author of gay romantic suspense/thriller novels.
The world needs more gay heroes, gay love stories, and powerful women kicking ass. I try to write those stories. With a background ranging from law enforcement to humanitarian aid, my stories are global in scope and with diverse characters in all roles. My goal is to help normalize gay characters as action heroes and to bring to life strong, dynamic, holistic women in all of my novels.
WEBSITE / NEWSLETTER / AUDIBLE
EMAIL: tal@talbauerwrites.com
The Quarterback #2
Series
Saturday, August 20, 2022
🎡Saturday's Series Spotlight🎡: Shore Thing by Jaclyn Quinn Part 1
Summary:
Cole Sullivan
Life's been pretty amazing. Moving back to my hometown of Coral Pointe Inlet and opening Shore Thing Management with my four best friends is the best decision I've ever made. Falling back into old habits with an ex? Not so much. When Aiden, the sexy, straight owner of SandBar comes to my rescue pretends to be my boyfriend—handing me the flashlight I need to make my way out of the darkness—lines begin to blur. Suddenly, I'm falling again, but is it stupid of me to want Aiden to land by my side?
Aiden Rafferty
I've made a name for myself in this town. Granted, sometimes it's passed around in a morsel of gossip over morning coffee. I've poured my heart and soul into SandBar, and despite some townspeople thinking I turned my back on the family business, it's become a tourist hotspot. I see and hear a lot as a bartender, but I never get involved—until Cole. There's something about him, something that makes me want to protect him. Problem is, he's been hurt before. This fake relationship was my idea, so how do I go about convincing Cole there's nothing fake about it?
Summary:
Sage Rafferty
I've wanted Levi ever since my friend Cole introduced us. When Levi moved to my hometown of Coral Pointe Inlet, I thought I finally had a chance to land the sexy, misunderstood man. After months of trying, though, it's clear he doesn't want me the way I want him. Putting some space between us is the only way to reclaim some of my dignity. I'll suffer through as many bad dates as it takes to get over the oblivious man. It's time to face the facts: He's never going to notice me when he's too busy looking at someone else.
Levi Hansen
The life I have in Coral Pointe Inlet is one I never dreamed possible, but watching one of my best friends fall in love has me questioning everything I thought I wanted. When my friends try to convince me that Sage—the sexy owner of Bluefin—has feelings for me, they have to be out of their minds, right? So, how the hell do I end up volunteering to help the man—and manage to make a complete fool of myself in the process? The answer is staring me right in the face, but is it too late to admit I've been completely Saged?
***This book picks up after the last chapter of Convincing Cole, before the epilogue. It may be read as a standalone, but it’s suggested the books be read in order as shenanigans between these five best friends begins from the start of the series.
Ford Ashton
They say you never forget your first. Who’s they, you ask? Good question. I wish I had the answer because I’ve tried everything to get Abe Manning off my mind. Now he’s here, in Coral Pointe Inlet, staying in the inn that I co-own with my four best friends. Okay, I may have had something to do with that, but these thoughts are driving me crazy. I need to know what happened all those years ago, because if the saying is true, how was it so easy for Abe to forget about me?
Abe Manning
A free trip to Coral Pointe Inlet, the shore town that is the very definition of paradise, is exactly what I need. The best part being there’s no chance of running into two lying liars who lie. For the first time in a long time, I’m able to take a much-needed deep breath. That is, until my past shows up on the beach with a sexy smile and an unexpected confession. It was hard enough forgetting him the first time, and now here he is again—a temptation I’d never been able to deny. I have to admit, though, it’s incredible to know I still have the ability to fluster Ford.
Flustering Ford is book 3 in the Shore Thing series. While it can be read as a standalone, it's recommended that the reader get to know this hilarious group of friends in Coral Pointe Inlet by starting with book 1.
Convincing Cole #1
Chapter 1
COLE
“Cole, can you come to the front desk? We’ve got some lovely guests here who would like to speak to a manager,” Miss Margie practically purred in her sweet-as-pie voice—the one she reserved for lovely guests—and abruptly hung up the phone. I sat there looking at the receiver in my hand and cursing under my breath. “Shit.” What the hell happened now?
“You know better than to say you’re leaving out loud. That’s when the shit hits the fan.” Levi tossed his pen on his desk, which faced mine in the small office we shared, and sat back in his chair. Selfishly, we’d made sure our office had an ocean view. One of the perks of living and working in paradise. “Did she say lovely?”
“Sure did. How’d I end up as Hotel Manager for the Coral Pointe Inn again? It’s all a blur. Was I drinking? Can I take it back? I want a refund on my poor decisions.” I slumped down in my chair and looked at the ceiling, shaking my fists above my head. “Whyyyy?”
Levi’s shoulders shook, a rumble of a laugh rolling out of my so-called friend. “I’m pretty sure it’s your sunny disposition. Or maybe it’s your ability to spin shit into gold. Or because you’re just so darn cute.” He leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk and quirked an eyebrow. “Or maybe…just maybe…it’s because you take people’s shit with a smile.” Levi huffed. “We just came full-circle, didn’t we? Poor decisions.”
“I do not take people’s shit.” Except I did. I totally did. One person’s in particular.
“Making sweet Miss Margie wait too long is a really bad decision. Almost as bad as the excuse you made up about what you’re doing tonight. You know she can usually handle things on her own, so if she’s calling you about lovely guests…” By lovely, of course she meant batshit crazy, pompous, impossible-to-please guests. Unfortunately, it wasn’t good for business to call them all that to their faces. Shame.
I jumped up out of my chair, knowing all too well the truth in Levi’s words—at least about making Miss Margie wait—slamming my knee into the desk in the process. “Sons a bitches!” Levi lamely offered to take care of it so I could leave, but I shot him the finger as I hobbled out of the office, hearing the jackass bark out a laugh behind me.
It had been a year since my best friends and I had the brilliant idea to open a hotel in Coral Pointe Inlet. A year since Levi found the listing in my childhood hometown for the inn foreclosure when he’d been working in commercial real estate. A year since we’d quit our respective jobs, pooled our savings to start Shore Thing Management, and moved to Coral Pointe in the hopes of ‘living the dream.’
Don’t get me wrong…we’d worked our asses off to get Coral Pointe Inn up and running over the last six months—still were—and there was no one I trusted more to do this with than my four best friends. But, for the love of Chris Hemsworth, if one more thing went wrong, I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions. Because, surely, the crazy shit we dealt with—like calling animal control for a baby alligator a genius guest put in a bathtub or the cleaning crew opening the dresser drawers to find them full of oranges—didn’t fall under the definition of living the dream.
Still, pride filled my chest as I walked down the hall to the ocean-breeze-filled lobby. Antique pine flooring stretched from the French entry doors to the reservation desk and down each modest wing of the twenty-nine room—because no way were we messing around with a room number thirteen—hotel. A cross-breeze from the front entrance to the beach and pool access exit cooled the lobby considerably in the Florida heat. Bamboo furnishings and comfy lounge-style seating in shades of coral, teal, and beige gave the space the laidback, Caribbean feel we were going for. Potted palms and tropical plants brought the calming outdoors in, blending the wraparound porch and the lobby into one cohesive design. It was our pride and joy. I kept telling myself that as I geared up for whatever the hell awaited me at the front desk.
“Sir, if you’ll just wait a few more minutes, I’m sure he’ll be—”
“Right here,” I interjected, reaching my hand across the reservation desk in greeting. When it remained there, awkwardly hanging in the air without reception, I plastered a smile on my face and dropped my hand to the desk. So, you’re one of those guests, hmm? “What can I do for you, Mr…?”
“Stafford. Mr. and Mrs. Stafford.” Miss Margie wrung her hands together, worry creasing the dark skin around her eyes…and that just wouldn’t do.
The disgruntled older man twisted his face into a scowl, his nervous wife standing at his side. “I was just telling your desk person—”
“Hospitality Clerk,” I corrected, keeping that shit-eating grin on my face so as not to deck the condescending man.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Miss Margie is our Hospitality Clerk. We’d be lost without her.” I could hear Miss Margie let out a breath beside me, her posture easing.
The man waved his hand in the air. “Whatever. I was telling her we were highly disappointed in our dinner last night. The shrimp was bland and the bread was like biting into Styrofoam.”
Burke’s gonna blow a gasket when he hears someone shit on his cooking. Can’t. Fucking. Wait.
“I apologize that you had such a poor experience in our restaurant. I assure you, Oceanside Bar and Grill strives to serve our guests the finest cuisine on the Florida coast.”
“Not here. My wife and I didn’t travel all this way to eat subpar food in the hotel restaurant.” Oh no he didn’t… “She”—he rudely pointed at Miss Margie—“gave us a list of restaurants in the area, and I’m telling you the food at Bluefin was horrible.”
Breathe, Cole. Breathe. “So, let me see if I’m understanding you. My Hospitality Clerk gave you a list of local restaurants, as she does as a courtesy for every guest who checks in, you chose a place from that list, and were unhappy with their food?”
The man gave a curt nod. “I’d like to know how we’re going to be compensated for our troubles.”
“Well, sir, if you’d like, I can contact the owner of Bluefin and make them aware of—” What a supreme asshole you are.
Mr. Stafford’s gnarly pointer finger punctuated every other word on the desk as he made his disgust known. “I would like to know how you are going to reimburse me for her error!”
Now, listen, I’d always been a sensible guy, at least where business was concerned. There was a reason that, out of the five of us, I took on the task of Hotel Manager. By now, Burke would’ve shown this guy to his car by way of the front window, Levi would’ve yawned, completely unimpressed with the guy’s tantrum, Ford would’ve nervously joked the whole thing off, and Noah would’ve escaped the situation altogether. I was the one least likely to lose my cool, even if I had the urge to grab the asshat by the collar of his Ralph Lauren polo and drag him out of the Coral Pointe for upsetting Miss Margie. No one—I repeat no one—was allowed to speak about sweet Miss Margie the way this jerk was.
“Mr. Stafford, I’m going to have to ask you to lower your voice so as not to disturb our other guests.” I gave a polite nod and a gleaming smile to a couple leaving the hotel, whose curious looks said they’d heard at least part of this guy’s rant. The disgruntled man scoffed, most likely about to spout off more insults, but I raised my voice. “Now, I’m sorry your dinner at Bluefin wasn’t to your liking”—Maybe the entitlement reeking from your pores fucked up your senses?—“however, they are not affiliated with this inn directly. As a convenience, the town of Coral Pointe got together and made up a brochure for tourists, highlighting activities and local fare. Aside from our own inn, restaurant, and Shore Thing Tours, I’m afraid I have no control over your experience”—or your pretentious, I-want-it-now tantrums—“at another establishment. If you’d like, I can offer you a complimentary lunch in our—”
Veins bulging out of Mr. Stafford’s neck, he slapped his hand down on the desk and spat, “This is outrageous! I demand to speak to a manager!”
Breathe in through the nose and out through the nose. “I am the manager, sir.” Patience? Yeah, that left the chat five minutes ago.
“Then I want to speak to the owner.” Beside the man, his wife shifted uncomfortably, looking back over her shoulder at the front doors as if planning her escape from her husband’s embarrassing outburst.
I channeled my inner Kardashian and forced my biggest smile, reaching a hand out over the reservation desk. “Cole Sullivan, co-owner of the Coral Pointe Inn and Shore Thing Tours.”
Oh, the look… You know the one—eyes bulging, mouth gaping like a guppy seeking air, floundering for a snarky comeback but failing miserably. Finally, he grumbled, “Well, as the owner, the least you can do is refund us for last night.”
I’d officially had enough. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. Like I said, we’d be happy to give you both a complimentary lunch in our—”
Nostrils flaring, Mr. Stafford slammed his fist down hard on the counter this time, making both me and Miss Margie flinch. “Listen, you little—”
“Is there a problem here?” Not gonna lie, the deep timbre of Burke’s voice to my left released tension in my shoulders I hadn’t even been aware of. Yeah, I had a level head, but I also avoided physical confrontation like Superman avoided kryptonite.
Burke, however…
He crossed his arms over the wide expanse of his chest, his dark eyes narrowed beneath an equally dark furrowed brow, and his ever-present five o’clock shadow gave off that menacing look he’d been perfecting since college. “Seems to me we’ve offered more patience than you deserve, given how you just Hulk-smashed the counter I meticulously stained with my own two hands.” Burke looked down, flexing those massive hands out in front of him before lifting hard eyes to Mr. Stafford. Thankfully, Burke was smart enough to move those hands to his hips because, let’s face it…his glare was enough to make grown men whimper—and not in the way he got off on.
“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer!” Mr. Stafford shouted, yanking his poor wife toward the front doors.
“Looking forward to it!” Burke retorted, getting another dirty look from Mr. Stafford. “We spent a pretty penny on our lobby cameras…complete with sound. I’d love to show them off.”
“Let’s go, Becky.” Mr. Stafford pulled his wife along, mumbling curses along the way.
“Good riddance,” Miss Margie breathed out. “Thank you, boys. You know I can hold my own, but I know when to throw in the towel and call in the big guns.”
“Aw, then why’d you call Cole, Miss Margie?” Burke asked, kissing her on the cheek and making her laugh. She’d been my sixth grade teacher and had lived in Coral Pointe all her life, only a block from the inn. It just so happened she was looking for something to do because retirement was, as she said, more boring than watching grass grow. It had been a no-brainer hiring her with her sweet, welcoming smile.
“Hey.” I shoved Burke aside, then flexed my biceps. “I’ve got big guns.” Okay, so Burke’s biceps looked like they ate mine for breakfast, but my lean muscle was hard earned, dammit.
Burke patted my cheek, his bottom lip pushed out into a pout. “Don’t feel bad, Cole. Weapon dysfunction happens to the best of us. I mean, I’ve never experienced it, but I hear it’s a thing.”
I narrowed my eyes at another one of my so-called friends. Between him and Levi giving me shit today, I had two openings in the best friend category. Ford and Noah were already skating on thin ice and they didn’t even know it yet. “You know, you and Levi can go jump—”
“Now, now, boys. I didn’t ask you to calm one storm just so you could rile up another. Back to work.” Miss Margie clapped her hands together twice, using that don’t-even-think-of-disobeying-me voice she’d perfected over the years teaching smart-ass kids.
We were no fools. Burke and I both hung our heads and said, “Yes, ma’am.”
Burke rubbed the top of his buzz-cut hair and sighed, lumbering off toward the kitchen. “I have soufflés to prepare.” Only Burke could threaten a man with just a look and then go and bake something as delicate as a soufflé.
“Miss Margie, I’m done for the day. Levi’s in the office if you need anything.”
“Sure, honey. Everything’s under control now.” She gave me a soft smile then went about tidying the already-organized reservation desk.
Instead of leaving through the front doors, which led to the porte-cochère and valet, I meandered down the same hallway I had come from and out the back French doors onto the wraparound porch. The second my skin hit the warm, Florida air, I took in a deep, cleansing breath. I kicked my loafers off at the bottom of the wooden stairs and picked them up, following the path that ran alongside the pool and to the white sands of the beach that had always been home.
The decision to pack up and move back to Coral Pointe Inlet hadn’t been a hard one. All I’d wanted after I graduated high school was to be out from under my mom’s overprotective worrying. Paying off a student loan on the east coast had been cheaper than moving across the country to go to a school in California. Georgia had seemed like the best of both worlds—far enough away from my parents to live a little, but close enough to go home for holidays.
Ford and I met when we’d moved into the same dorm room freshman year. Burke and Levi had been next door, and Noah across the hall. After wrestling with and figuring out that we all waved the rainbow flag in one respect or another, our friendship solidified. For the next four years we’d been inseparable, even renting our own off-campus house together.
After living in Georgia for thirteen years, a stone’s throw away from each other, the dream to open our own place on the beach started swirling around our brains. The guys had already been to my beachy hometown a few times, and we’d unanimously decided to set up shop there—which had pleased my mother to no end. It had taken a year to find the perfect place and another year to make it a reality. That perfect place happened to be on one end of the horseshoe that made up Coral Pointe, where the inlet met the ocean. But, as I gazed out at the blue water—heard the persistent call of the laughing gulls, breathed in the briny smell of the ocean, and felt the grainy sand between my toes and the gentle touch of the water as it glided over my feet before retreating—I knew I’d made the right decision to come home. See, I can make good decisions, dammit. Question was…who was I trying to convince?
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I reached for it, pushing away the pang of disappointment as I looked at the screen and answered. “Why, hello there, Sage. What can I do for you on this beautiful day?”
“Don’t you, ‘hello there, Sage’ me. What the hell is wrong with my bread?” Sage Rafferty demanded, his high-pitched tone piercing into the calm I’d built around myself. And, just like that, my mood lifted again.
“Apparently, it tastes like Styrofoam. You should really look into that. And, just a heads up, I know they’re called packing peanuts, but I don’t advise you use those in your peanut butter pie, either. You’re welcome.” I rolled my lips in, pressing my fist against my mouth.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Where is that asshole? I’ll tell him where he can shove his sanctimonious sentiments about my—”
“Styrofoam?”
“Yes. NO!” Sage’s anger slipped as he chuckled into the phone. “Jackass.” His feisty mood seemed to deflate as he exhaled. “I make delicious shrimp, too, dammit.”
“You make amazing shrimp. You know it, I know it, the whole town knows it. That guy wanted a comped room, end of story.” It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last, either.
“Yeah, well…sorry you had to deal with that. I don’t know who it was, but we didn’t get a single complaint about a meal last night. To compensate you for getting your ass chewed out, you should send Levi over, and I’ll make him the best shrimp he’s ever had in his life.”
“Wait…you’re going to compensate me getting yelled at by feeding Levi a delicious dinner?” Leave it up to Sage to somehow turn this convo into a way to hit on Levi. Sage had all but camped out on Levi’s front yard, naked, with a sign that read, Fucking take me already! The only one who seemed oblivious was my dear, sweet, clueless best friend.
But, let’s face it, Levi could do worse than Sage. A hell of a lot worse. My habit of getting caught up in the web of the absolute wrong guy was something I was trying desperately to break. Did you ever read that quote by Warren Buffett? Chains of habit are too light to be felt until they are too heavy to be broken. When I’d read that a few weeks ago on some random social media post, I felt it in my soul. Nothing was heavier than the weight of a bad habit. Remember when I said I was level-headed? Yeah, well no one was perfect. I may have been smart enough to avoid physical confrontation, but Drake was a kryptonite I couldn’t stay away from. Instead, I sought it out—him out—knowing what the ultimate outcome would be.
“Listen, sweets, I love you and all, but it’s never gonna happen between us. There’s too much cheer in your beer. I need a broody, dark stout. I need layers of creamy, rich flavor. I need—”
“Are we still talking about Levi? Because it sounds to me like you’re trying to take a LandShark and disguise it as a Guinness.” I pulled my feet out of the sand they had sunken into, leaving wells in their place that immediately filled with salt water.
“You laugh, but I know there’s something brewing in that man. Lucky for him, I’m patient enough to wait for those flavors to meld together.”
“Thanks, Sage. Now my pride is wounded and I’m thirsty.” I turned and headed south down the beach toward my place, leaving the tension from the earlier confrontation to blow away in the breeze.
Sage laughed into the phone. “No, seriously, I’m sorry you guys had to take the brunt of that. Come on by Bluefin tonight. There will be a decadent chocolate cake with your names on it. Hell, I’ll even cut you the same size piece I give Levi.”
“You’re a giver, Sage.”
“I know. It’s a weakness.”
“I’ve got plans tonight, though. Raincheck?”
It was never a good sign when Sage was silent. “Plans, huh?” When I responded with a sigh into the phone, he asked, “Where are you meeting him?”
I snorted. “What makes you think I’d tell you that?”
“It’s a small town, Cole. I’ll find out anyway.”
I absolutely hated that he was right. We’d all exchanged privacy for paradise when we moved to Coral Pointe. “SandBar.” I glanced across the inlet to the opposite end of the Coral Pointe horseshoe, hearing the faint music dance across the air from SandBar Brewing Co.
“Why do you do this to yourself?” Sage’s voice softened, a tell that his concern was sincere.
“I’m not doing anything to myself, Sage. Drake and I have history”—fuck that damn line about history repeating itself—“but we’re not exclusive.” We weren’t. He’d made me no promises. I could walk away anytime I wanted to. Jesus, you make him sound like a drug.
“But you would be in a heartbeat if he stopped dicking you around. I know you have history, but after the shit he pulled in college, and continues to pull, why do you let him treat you that way?”
The truth stung like a bitch, but I was in too deep now. Just like I had been back in high school. My parents weren’t the only people I’d needed a break from when I’d graduated. Drake had graduated a year before me, and about six months into his freshman year, he’d dumped me to expand his sexual horizons. Seriously, who said shit like that? Neither one of us had been out back then, but I’d thought what we’d had was real.
I was stronger now, though.
I was.
Really.
“I gotta go, Sage.” Because denial was easier than admitting I was getting in too deep—again. Reluctantly, Sage said goodbye. Of course, there was no Have a good night tacked on to that. Whatever. I didn’t need anyone’s blessing or permission, and I sure as hell didn’t want anyone’s unasked for advice or guilt.
I knew all too well about weaknesses. Except, instead of mine being a personality trait like Sage, it was a tall blond with commitment issues.
Landing Levi #2
Chapter One
Sage
I closed my eyes and breathed in a deep, soul-filling breath, taking in the smells, sounds, and sights of paradise. The salty ocean air off the Atlantic, the crashing waves on the shore, the palm trees and thatched umbrellas on SandBar’s patio were all truly magnificent.
But they had nothing on Levi Hansen.
His fresh, deliciously masculine cologne permeated my senses, his deep, southern drawl tickling its way down my spine. I wanted to run my fingers through his short dark brown hair and swim in those brooding pools of melted chocolate in his half-lidded gaze. I was lucky if I could look at fondue and not get hard. Everything about the man just did it for me.
Well, everything except for his inability to take a freaking hint.
Maybe he got the message loud and clear, and you’re the one not taking the hint.
I huffed, tuning back in to the conversation going on around me and ignoring the look my cousin Aiden was giving me as a group of us stood on the patio of his bar. Aiden had his hand on the back of Cole’s neck, claiming him openly now that they’d professed their love for each other in front of half of Coral Pointe a couple of days ago. I wasn’t jealous of what they had. Nope. Not at all. Just because my cousin—who had identified as straight all his life—managed to turn a fake relationship with Cole into the best damn thing to ever happen to him while I practically threw myself at Levi for over a year with no luck, didn’t mean I was jealous. Why would I be jealous?
I was so fucking jealous.
The song “Red Red Wine” floated on the breeze, but it was Levi’s deep baritone that was like music for my soul—despite the ridiculous conversation going on.
“Y’all are crazy if you think that thing is getting set up again,” Levi grumbled. “And you’re completely outta your damn minds if you think I’m gonna man it. Have we learned nothing from the Memorial Day fiasco?” He shook his head, taking a step back from us.
“Why, yes. Yes, we did learn something.” Ford slapped the back of Levi’s shoulder, making him wince. “That’s precisely why we suggested it. Plus, the red, white, and blue paint already matches the occasion.” Levi gave Ford a wide-eyed look that Ford didn’t seem to notice. “Think about it. Cole sat at—Sage, what did you call it?”
“Puckers for Suckers,” I replied, wiggling my eyebrows. “My personal favorite was Lip ‘n’ Sip.” Because, let’s face it, there wasn’t a single part of Levi I didn’t want my mouth on. I’d drink down that man in a heartbeat.
“Right! Puckers for Suckers, and Aiden swooped in like Prince fucking Charming and kissed the hell outta him.” Ford sighed, leaning the side of his head against Levi’s, his hand over his heart. “True love, forever and ever.”
“I’d be happy to give you a test run.” I pulled my lip gloss out of my pocket and waved it at him. Slowly opening it, I swiped the wand over my lips, while holding Levi’s gaze, then rubbed them together, giving Levi a flirty smirk.
Levi swallowed hard enough for me to see the bob of his Adam’s apple as he nervously shook his head, giving me the look he always gave me. Not one that said, “Holy shit, Sage, you’re so fucking sexy!” No. Levi tended to look at me like I was an enigma, which made no sense to me since, with him, I was an open fucking book. Seriously, these pages are completely interactive, my friend. Choose your own story, and I’ll make sure it has a happy ending…in more ways than one.
“There you go!” Ford chimed in. “Sage is more than willing to warm up those lips.” Hell yeah, I am. Ford gave me a huge grin and a wink. I appreciated the effort he made trying to get Levi to see what was right in front of him. Unfortunately, Ford was missing something that I had been trying to ignore for the last month. Because, while I stared at Levi, Levi stared at Ford, giving him a look I wished was for me. Jesus, the guy was killing me and he had no idea. What was it they said about falling for someone who didn’t want you back? Something like… Don’t fucking do it because it’s stupid and sucks and will tear your heart out through your mouth? The same damn mouth Levi was refusing to kiss.
Levi held up his hand and shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”
Ouch. I tried to hold a smile on my face, but my confidence took a fucking hit with that rejection. So, I did what I always did to save face. “Your loss, my friend. Actually, it’s better if you don’t kiss these lips. I wouldn’t want to ruin you for all other men.” I waggled my eyebrows, still avoiding the pity in my cousin’s eyes.
“Dude, you gotta live a little,” Ford said, flashing his big Ford smile in his big Ford way that made it impossible to hate Big. Damn. Ford. I wanted to throw a tantrum—even though the man had no idea he was stomping all over my sandcastle—but my outfit was much too fierce to get dirty. “People here have you pegged as the uptight, standoffish type,” Ford continued, “but the guys and I know that’s not really you.” Guys, meaning Ford, Cole, Noah, and Burke…Levi’s four best friends. They knew Levi better than anyone, which made Levi’s feelings for Ford impossible to compete with—even if, deep down, I had a nagging suspicion that Levi was confused. If Ford was someone Levi was so comfortable with, why hadn’t he made a move yet?
“No, that’s not who he is,” Noah said gently, “but I think it’s safe to say the kissing booth will not be making an encore appearance at Oceanfest.” The tall, blond man was a gentle giant, knowing exactly what to say in any given situation to calm someone down.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll give Sit and Spit a go.” What the hell was I doing? The last thing the Fourth of July festival needed was another awkward few days with the germ-infested stand.
The look Levi shot me was somewhere between confused and shocked. “Hell no.”
My spine straightened, hope flaring to life that maybe just once Levi gave a shit whom I shared my lip gloss with. That quickly deflated with his next statement.
“You bring that thing out and Cole’s mom will think it should be a part of every festival from now on.”
Cole laughed, setting his beer down on the high-top table. “I wish I could say you were wrong, but she’d absolutely think that.”
“As long as it’s not your lips,” Aiden growled, pulling Cole to him possessively and planting a big one on Cole’s mouth.
When they came up for air, Cole had a dazed, disgustingly in love smile on his face. I glanced over at Levi, wondering what that would feel like, and caught him giving Cole and Aiden a pensive look. Levi looked to his left at Ford, then back at the mushy couple.
Seriously, what was I doing? Here I was thinking Levi needed to wake the hell up and realize Ford didn’t feel the same way, yet wasn’t I doing the same damn thing? Pining over someone who was never going to look at me the way my cousin looked at Cole? I was a catch, dammit, but Levi was either too blind to see it or just flat out ignored it. Either way, something needed to change.
I pulled out my phone, searching through apps until I came to the right one. I hadn’t used it in over a year. Honestly, I hated using it, but considering the only available gay or bisexual men I knew in this town were either my friends or hopelessly distracted, I really had no other choice. Scanning through the pages, I made sure the info was up to date and my pictures were fabulous.
My finger hovered over the option to unhide my profile, giving one last glance up at the man who made all this necessary, but when I found him, yet again, looking at Ford, I took a deep breath and clicked.
LEVI
I watched Cole and Aiden, the way they couldn’t go five seconds without touching one another, the attention Aiden gave to Cole, bringing him his favorite food and drink, the way Cole beamed up at Aiden then softly gave Aiden a peck on the lips in thanks.
Once again I looked at Ford and felt so damn confused. What Cole and Aiden had was what people searched for, right? To be with someone you felt completely comfortable with? Could be yourself with, without fear of them leaving you? That was the way I felt with Ford, right? Cole, Burke, and Noah were the only people who knew me as well as Ford did. Question was, did my feelings for Ford truly go deeper? I just didn’t know anymore. A month ago, I would have said yes, but now…
“Whatcha doing over there, cuz?” Aiden nudged his head at Sage who was staring down at his phone screen.
“I’m doing the only thing I can think of to find a man so I can be as disgustingly cotton-candy-sweet as you and Cole.” When we all continued to stare at him, he sighed and held up his phone facing us. “I’m updating my dating profile.”
“Ugh. I hate those sites.” Ford scrunched up his nose.
“Well, unless one of you”—Sage waved his hand at me, Ford, and Noah—“are volunteering, I see no other choice.” His eyes landed on me, his cupid’s bow lips curling upward in the corners. He winked at me, his long lashes, as black as his hair, fanning out against sun-kissed skin.
I snorted, shaking my head at the smaller man. Sage Rafferty was a flirt, through and through. He’d become part of our circle of friends when we moved to Coral Pointe Inlet over a year ago. I’d come here with my four best friends to set up our company, Shore Thing Management, but it was Cole who’d grown up here with Sage. Apparently, Sage had always been unabashed, and who could blame him? The man was gorgeous with more confidence in his little finger than I’d ever had in my life.
“No takers?” Sage asked, raising a dark eyebrow as he looked at me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was asking me personally, until he said, “Then I guess that settles it, seeing as the only two available people left aren’t here. Burke is too caveman for me anyway, and Jared is way too mellow.”
“What do you think this is? Goldilocks and the Three Bears?” Aiden laughed at his cousin, getting an eye roll in return.
“Bears aren’t my type, but if you must know, the Goldilocks in this scenario would be a bit of both…broody, yet soft spoken, a hard shell with an ooey gooey center, someone—”
“With less cheer in their beer?” Cole asked Sage with a cheeky grin.
Sage arched a dark eyebrow back at Cole. “I stand by it.” They exchanged a look I didn’t understand, but then Sage’s eyes softened before he added, “I’m realizing I need to broaden my search, though.”
Cole eyed Sage, his stare holding more meaning than I could decipher. “It might be a good idea.”
“Am I missing something?” I looked at the rest of the guys to see if they were as lost as I was, each one of them looking at me like I should already know the answer.
“Nope.” Sage picked up his margarita, his pink lips taking the rim of the glass between them as he took a sip. I glanced up, feeling my face heat when crystal blue eyes locked on mine. Confidence for miles. I was an assertive businessman, but when it came to dating, my confidence didn’t even span the length of the table between us.
Sage’s phone screen lit up in his hand, drawing those blues down. The break in eye contact irked me for reasons I couldn’t explain.
“Well, that was fast.” Something flashed across his face—I really was shit at reading people—before he looked up with a sly grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. At least, that was the impression I got. Usually when he was happy his blue eyes sparkled like the sun’s rays dancing on the Atlantic Ocean. His eyes weren’t sparkling. No sparkle to be found. What the hell do I know? I pushed the thought aside when Sage said, “The pickup line needs work…and an umbrella.”
“An umbrella?” Ford snorted.
Sage’s mouth twitched before a laugh escaped. “Jay3253 says, ‘I’m no weatherman, but you can expect more than a few inches tonight.’”
I choked on my beer, my nostrils burning as some came out my nose. Aiden handed me a napkin while the rest of the table erupted in laughter. “He seriously said that?” I sputtered.
Sage pinned me with a cocked eyebrow and intense blue eyes. “When you’ve been in a drought as long as I have, you don’t give a fuck where the surge comes from so long as it drenches you. Besides…I asked for volunteers. No takers, remember?”
Jesus Christ. I shifted uncomfortably, my face burning as Sage held my gaze hostage. He was the first to break eye contact, yet I still felt the residual effects of his stare.
“Listen up, friends of mine.” Sage tapped his slim fingers on the table. “I may be in a drought, but that doesn’t mean I’m desperate or stupid. If I go out with any of these guys, it’ll be here in Coral Pointe. That means Jean Grey’s gonna go all Phoenix on your asses if one of you X-men don’t step in and save me when I need it.” He looked at each one of us pointedly. “Got it?”
We all nodded while Ford gave him a salute, knowing damn well that if Sage needed us for anything, we’d be there in heartbeat. Hell, he might have acted like he could handle his own—and for the most part, he could—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t on our radar.
If there was even a blip of disturbance in his atmosphere, one…if not all of us would be there for him.
Flustering Ford #3
Prologue
Abe
Sixteen years ago…
Don’t look at his ass… Don’t look at his ass… Dammit, Abe, you have no self-control! I tried to smoothly move the heavy Calculus book over my lap, praying Ford didn’t turn around too quickly and catch sight of the boner I was sporting. If popping wood was an Olympic event, that gold medal would be mine. Huh…and Dad says I suck at sports. I snorted and glanced up—oh god…did he catch me staring?
Ford tilted his head, his expression a mixture of amusement and dude, you’re fucking weird. I quickly dropped my gaze. “What is that?” he asked.
I groaned internally and screwed my eyes shut as heat warmed my skin. It would be great if the floor opened up and swallowed me whole. He saw you, dumbass. This is when he rips your spleen out through your mouth and hands it to you.
The guy fit his name to a fucking T; Bradford Ashton was built like an F150 and easily outweighed me by at least twenty pounds. Cautiously, I opened my eyes again, shocked to see Ford wasn’t about to tear me limb from limb.
Instead, he stared at the shelves above my desk, and there went that flush of warmth again, flooding my face and ears. “They’re, uh…Happy Meal toys.”
“Like, from McDonald’s?”
“Yup.” No matter how hard I tried to brace for it, the sound of Ford cracking up still hit a nerve.
I got up and crossed my room in a huff , stopping right next to the jackass currently getting a big laugh at my expense. “Laugh it up, but most of those are worth money now.” I looked up and to the right, pointing at the little figurines. “Like those… One more and I’ll have all eighty Furbies. A collection like this will probably be like hundreds of dollars one day...once I find the last Furby.” Chancing a glance at Ford, I waited for the guy to bust out laughing again, but instead, he looked back at the shelf and shrugged.
“Cool.”
I breathed a sigh of relief after dodging that bullet. He shocked the hell out of me, though, when he started asking about the others in my collection.
We didn’t hang in the same crowd in school. Middle school had been different; we’d still been trying to figure out where we fit in. A few months into freshman year clearly defined those groups. Ford, of course, fell into the jock category. Almost four years of football and being treated like high school royalty made the difference between us painfully obvious.
I’d known since middle school I wasn’t like the other guys in my class. It held me back from trying to become some popular kid. I didn’t want the attention; I wanted to graduate and get to Harvard.
Ford, however, was usually the center of attention, especially now that he was back on the market after breaking up with—you guessed it—the captain of the cheerleading squad. Six feet of hard muscle under smooth, tanned skin, with honey brown eyes and a gorgeous smile—complete with pearly white teeth. How the hell was that fair? It should be a rule that someone didn’t get to be both well-built and hot as hell. It threw the whole teenage equilibrium off. Either he gets a hard body that can help him pummel an entire football team or a gorgeous face that can help him pound an entire cheerleading squad—but not both. Of course, if I had my way, I’d choose a body that could help me pummel the football team. Except, by choose I meant hand myself over on a platter naked and by pummel I meant finally give up my V-card.
Shit, not again…
I cleared my throat, abruptly spinning around and sitting back on the floor by the side of my bed. Quickly, I grabbed the heavy textbook, once again blocking Ford’s view of the one-eyed purple snake trying to make its way out of my shorts.
When Ford didn’t make a move to come sit down, I cringed and looked up. There was no mistaking how my shorts had tented or how I’d been staring right at Ford when it had happened. I was still caught off guard, though, because there wasn’t disgust in Ford’s eyes. There wasn’t even anger or awkward tension. What the hell?
Ford shifted his eyes down, staring at the Calculus textbook like if he tried hard enough, he’d be able to see right through it. Nope. Don’t go making shit up. Those mesmerizing eyes slowly lifted again, catching on me and sending a tempting message to my dick. Ignore the snake charmer… Ignore the snake charmer…
“What are you doing?” Ford asked, a deep laugh rolling out.
It was then I realized I’d squeezed my eyes shut again. All I could hope was that I hadn’t actually said the whole snake-charmer mantra out loud. I forced my eyes open when a big, warm body sat right next to me on the floor. We were both leaning back against the side of my bed, and suddenly, I found it hard to breathe. Was there really a need for the guy to sit so close? His cologne was getting all up in my senses, sending more wakey-wakey vibes to my dick.
“I, uh…I think we should start. You need to pass Calculus and English Lit if you want to graduate.” Why the hell had I agreed to tutor the guy a few days ago? Snake charmer…
Ford brushed a strand of chocolate brown hair off his forehead—because, of course, the guy had to have the trifecta of hotness: dark wavy hair, gorgeous eyes, and that enticing dimple in his left cheek. Just once in my life, I wanted to feel how soft Ford’s hair was or taste the indentation in his smooth skin.
“Which one do you want to do first?” Ford asked.
“Huh?” I asked, completely confused. Man, was that a loaded question. Uh, both?
Ford barked out a laugh and shook his head. “Calc or Lit, Manning?”
Oh, right…that. “Whichever one you want.” I tried to make the response sound completely casual, but the longer Ford held my stare with such intensity, the more anxious I got. Could it be that Ford was…?
No. There was no way.
Bradford Ashton, star quarterback and Barnegat High god, was most definitely not looking at me like he wanted to see how many licks it took to get to the center of an Abraham pop. I snorted again but quickly averted my eyes when Ford looked like he wanted in on the joke.
“Okay, let’s start with Calc…” I decided because, holy shit, if I didn’t distract myself now, I was bound to get myself in trouble. Nothing could deflate my dick like derivatives and integrals. I turned my head and found my face inches from Ford’s. Sucking in a breath, I cleared my throat and opened the textbook.
Ford
Should I just ask him? Yeah, because that’s not awkward or anything. Calc is hard. Are you? Speaking of limits, do you have any? If what was under that textbook was any indication, Abe Manning was definitely gay or, at least, curious.
The rumors about Abe had started around the middle of junior year. There’d been talk of him seeing a guy in the next town over for a few months, but if it was true, he’d been really good at hiding it. I knew that game all too well. Hell, I even knew it better than I knew football.
As I listened to Abe go on about shit we were never going to need in the real world—at least, I wouldn’t—I studied the guy’s profile. His reddish brown hair was cut short, he had a slight bump on the bridge of his nose, and his hazel eyes kept drifting over to me but immediately moved back to focus on the book every time our eyes met. He was a decent looking guy—okay, he was hot in a nervous, geeky kind of way. Hot enough for me to try and figure him out—because I had an idea.
It was probably the dumbest idea I’d ever had, and I’d made some pretty stupid mistakes in my life so far. After a couple of days of this tutoring shit, I’d decided I could trust Abe, but I still hadn’t gotten up the nerve to just ask the guy already. The perfect opportunity landed in my lap when Abe said we had to study upstairs in his room after spending the last two days at the dining room table. Abe’s younger sister had friends over, and they were watching a movie in the living room. No sweat off my back. The whole point of all this was to get a little alone time with him.
“Okay, so—” The phone on Abe’s nightstand started ringing, and Abe reached up and grabbed it. “Hello? Oh, hey, Cassie. No, I can’t right now.”
Oh no…Cassie from my Calc class? Quick say something to—
“I’m helping Ford study for Calculus so he can pass the final.” He paused, and I could hear Cassie’s faint voice filling in the silence. “There’s only one Ford in our school, Cas.” Abe turned to me and chuckled, rolling his eyes. “What do you mean?” The smile faded as Abe’s eyebrows drew together. He shifted his gaze and stared down at the floor. “But he said—” Abe’s head whipped up as he glared at me then pushed the textbook off his lap and quickly stood up. “I don’t know, but I’m about to find out.”
Shit. It was my turn to squeeze my eyes closed just to get away from the daggers shooting out of Abe’s gaze.
“So, funny story… Cassie—you know Cassie from your Calc class—said you’re acing it. So, if this is all some kind of joke—”
My eyes popped back open when I heard the tremble in Abe’s voice. “It’s not a joke.”
“What did you have to get me to do? I know the rumors about me; I’m not stupid or deaf.”
I stood up, but when I took a step toward Abe, he flinched and stepped back, bouncing off the wall. I held my hands out in front of me to argue, opening my mouth to come up with something, anything, that would get Abe joking again, because this plan was going up in flames.
“No one knows I’m here. This isn’t some kind of set-up, I swear.”
“Whatever. I want you to leave.”
“Are the rumors about you true?” I rushed out. Abe paled and stood there blinking rapidly. Oh fuck, is he gonna cry? “I mean, shit… Look, I’m not trying to…” I took a deep breath, but that pause was long enough for Abe to push off the door, grab my backpack, and shove it against my chest with more force than I thought he was capable of.
“I said leave.”
Now or never. Now or fucking never…
I pulled the backpack from Abe’s hands and dropped it on the floor. Abe’s eyes widened as he took a step back, so I did the only thing I could think of to salvage the situation.
I grabbed Abe’s arms, yanked the guy toward me, and with one last thought that this might be a really bad fucking idea…I kissed him.
I have been an artist from a very young age. From drawing cartoon characters and evolving into portraits, making jewelry, photography, and now writing. I have an amazing support system in my family and friends and couldn’t be more grateful.
I live in central New Jersey, love summers at the Jersey Shore, rock music, wine, sexy men, and laughing a lot with my amazing friends and family. Sunday dinners at my parents’ house are crazy, hysterical and you can count on a movie quote…or ten…being thrown out. Insults between siblings is how we show our love for each other!
When I’m not creating, you can find me reading books from my favorite authors. I’m a hopeless romantic, starving for passionate characters and always craving that happy ending, whether in reading or in writing my own books.
NEWSLETTER / AUDIBLE / TIKTOK
Convincing Cole #1
Landing Levi #2
Flustering Ford #3
Series
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