New Release Blitz: Another Dance by L.A. Ashton (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Another Dance

Author: L.A. Ashton

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: July 8, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 24500

Genre: Contemporary, LGBT, Reporter, journalist, figure skater, dancing, angst, international, men with pets

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Synopsis

Kaito Watanabe has finally nabbed an interview with his idol, Cristian Alvarez. Kaito is a journalist who’s spent his entire life looking up to the figure-skating champion. Cristian’s passion on the ice unearthed a love of dance in Kaito and made him believe in the power of artistic expression.

Now Kaito is face-to-face with the man he’s always admired. He believes himself insignificant and ordinary, a moth drawn to the light Alvarez casts. He can’t allow himself to believe Cristian’s flirtations are anything but natural charm—but Cristian has other plans. The tension pitches higher, legs and fingers intertwine, and Kaito begins to wonder if his fantasies have a shot at becoming reality.

Excerpt

Another Dance
L.A. Ashton © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Kaito adjusted the cinch of his tie.

The ice shifted in his glass before condensation trembled down the side, pooling atop the polished cherrywood of the table. Throughout his career as a journalist, Kaito had become accustomed to places like these. Hotel restaurants, hotel bars, hotels, hotels, hotels.

And while this hotel restaurant wasn’t unlike the others, the situation was different. That’s what had Kaito adjusting his tie every thirty seconds and fidgeting against the creaking vinyl of his seat. He put his head in his hands. Was he sweating? Had he worn enough deodorant to disguise the smell of fear he was most definitely emitting?

Cristian Alvarez is a man, not a supernatural predator.

Kaito checked his phone for the umpteenth time, then flipped it facedown onto the table.

Even if Cristian wasn’t a predator, Kaito almost always felt like prey.

At least this place was pretty. The hotel was done in soft reds and golds, and the lighting was warm. It was bright enough to feel good to the eyes, but dim enough to render everything in gorgeous softness and shadow. Smooth jazz drifted from unseen speakers, building ambiance around piano keys and sultry notes of brass.

His gaze flittered to the entryway, checking once again to see if the inward swing of the door brought with it a figure skating champion and the subject of Kaito’s adoration for his entire adult life.

It didn’t.

He looked down at the puddle left by his drink and tapped at his distorted reflection. Dark almond eyes hid behind thick-framed glasses and a splay of dark hair. He wasn’t notable—just a nearsighted guy who loved cats and figure skating. How he’d nabbed an interview with his childhood idol, he wasn’t sure. But he couldn’t turn it down, and he couldn’t run away, so at this point he only hoped he didn’t make a fool of himself.

The floor outside the curved wall of Kaito’s booth was wide open and lit with chandeliers. It was probably meant for banquets and gatherings, but the unoccupied space as it stood now looked meant for dancing.

Kaito trapped the straw of his drink with his lips. Kaito’s childhood obsession with ballroom dance was how he’d discovered Cristian in the first place. He’d watched professional dancers all his life, and it felt so natural for that interest to bleed into ice dancing and figure skating. Even if Kaito would never attempt the sorts of stunts they performed on the ice, their passion and interpretation made his heart long to tell its own stories through performance. Cristian, in particular, had inspired him—he moved like his limbs were propelled solely by the music, like he could hold it tangibly in his hands and spin it into a stunning waltz.

Kaito took lesson after lesson of ballroom dance, and eventually taught his two left feet to interact gracefully. He had never been truly outstanding—there was always a threshold of talent he couldn’t quite breach. He could impress a room full of untrained people, and as painful as the resignation was, he realized it had to be enough.

He missed it though. He stared at the open floor and imagined his feet carouseling over one another, turning smoothly to the piano and violin. He hadn’t danced in a long time. It would be nice…

“Are you Kaito Watanabe?”

Kaito rocketed out of his seat so fast he knocked against the table and almost spilled his drink. “Y-Yes,” he answered, compulsively pushing up his glasses. “And you’re”—he extended his hand forward, and even as he stared right at him, the words sounded like a dream—“Cristian Alvarez.”

Cristian’s smile splashed across his face like it was the easiest thing in the world. Dark curls fell over his forehead, forming perfect glossy spirals. He was tall, three or four inches taller than Kaito, with broad shoulders that made Kaito feel small.

You know that already; you know his height and weight like your own phone number.

But it was more mesmerizing in person, to be forced to tilt his chin up toward that face. “Yes,” Cristian answered, taking Kaito’s hand in his. “Thank you for the invitation.”

“Thank you for accepting.” Cristian’s hands were soft. His handshake was firm. Kaito mimicked the pressure, neither meek nor confident enough to do anything else.

“I hope your flight went well,” Kaito said as he withdrew his hand and settled back into his seat. He was a twittering ball of nerves, and he felt the stark contrast between his panicked motions and Cristian’s naturally graceful ones.

Cristian shrugged off his coat before sliding in across from Kaito. “Yes, it was quite pleasant. An easy ride.”

“That’s good.” Kaito became far too flirty and sharp-mouthed when he drank, but he also became less of a stuttering mess. He leaned forward to take a sip of his drink, intent on finding a balance.

“You’re quite the journalist, Kaito Watanabe.”

Kaito almost spit. Instead he coughed, covering his mouth politely. “Excuse me? I mean thank you. But you’re too kind.”

Cristian canted his head to the side. “Hmm, am I? Publishing articles in English and Japanese, procuring a large following from your blog alone, freelancing for many major outlets…” He set his chin in his palm and smiled. “I was impressed.”

Kaito folded his hands in his lap to hide the tremors running through his fingers. “All journalists have to work to make their voices heard, I believe…”

“But you write beautifully,” Cristian said. Thick dark lashes framed the bronze simmer of his eyes. Kaito went absolutely motionless, as if he were on the verge of shock or death. He can’t be saying—

“I read a lot of your pieces,” Cristian said before chuckling. “The ones in English, anyway.”

Oh my god, that’s what he’s saying.

Horror and excitement worked in equal parts to send earthquake-level tremors through Kaito’s limbs. Cristian Alvarez had read his work?

“Wow, I had no idea—” Kaito swallowed. “Whi—” Don’t ask which ones; it’ll seem like you’re asking for proof. He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “What, uh—” Don’t ask what he liked about them; it will look like you’re fishing for compliments. “Why—” Don’t ask why he looked you up; it’s because you were scheduled to interview him!

Kaito cleared his throat and beamed across the table. “I really don’t know what to say.”

Cristian seemed unfazed by Kaito’s sputtering. “You don’t have to say anything. Your writing makes every entry a pleasure to read.”

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Meet the Author

L.A. Ashton is an LGBT+ author writing LGBT+ fiction. They enjoy rock music, traveling, and anything else that adds color to their daydreams. They believe in the healing properties of art and of having a cat firmly stationed on one’s lap.

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Book Blitz: Eran’s Release by Dianne Hartsock (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Eran’s Release

Author: Dianne Hartsock

Publisher: Less Than Three Press

Release Date: July 3, 2019

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 44,000 words

Genre: Romance, erotic, contemporary, gay

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Synopsis

It’s cliché to fall for the cute barista at the coffee shop, but Paul can’t help it. Eran’s shy smile and heated gaze are driving him wild. Convincing Eran to go out with him, however, is a lot harder than expected.

Eran’s been burned before—by family and more, enough to make him jump at shadows and avoid intimacy. But Paul is determined, and with the help of counselors, classes, and an unexpected modeling gig, Eran might just find that taking a risk on what scares him the most, has a worthy payoff.

Excerpt

Paul rested his chin on his hand and watched the snow come down harder outside the window, already sticking to the sidewalks. The roads would be next. It was beginning to look bad for anyone flying into Denver for the holidays.

“Any news?” he asked the man opposite him.

Shelton flicked him a glance then looked back at the text message on his phone. “The airport’s still open, but they’re worried about ice, and Nevil’s plane doesn’t land for another hour. It might end up being diverted. Damn this snow.”

“It’s a week before Christmas. They wouldn’t dare close the airport.”

“From your lips to God’s ear.”

“Anything else, sir?”

Paul looked up into pale blue eyes, clear and earnest as they met his. Men shouldn’t be allowed to have such pretty eyes. Especially not when they were surrounded by soft layers of dark hair cut in a bob at the chin, giving the man an almost feminine beauty.

“Can I have another espresso?” he asked, cursing himself for not requesting Eran’s phone number instead. Eran was the main reason Paul had started favoring this coffee shop. He’d chatted the young man up, soon realizing he was both witty and friendly, though he danced around any personal questions. That had only intrigued Paul further. What was his story?

They both reached for his empty cup, and Eran pulled his hand back as if stung. Color flushed his cheeks and he murmured an apology as he grabbed the mug and hastened across the room, retreating behind the counter.

Shelton dragged his attention from the snow piling up outside to give him a questioning look. “Why don’t you ask him out?”

“What?”

“Don’t play innocent! You’ve been inviting me here for the last two weeks, then ignore me whenever you catch a glimpse of the lovely Eran.”

“Sorry, dear. Feeling neglected?”

Shelton snorted. “Save your lines for Eran. But Nevil’s coming for the holidays, and I won’t be able to play chaperone anymore.”

Paul widened his eyes with a sudden thought. “I bet he thinks we’re dating. Shit.”

Shelton shook his head. “He does not.”

A teasing smile curled Paul’s lips. “Shelton, you’re delicious. If I hadn’t sworn off older men I’d definitely be attracted to you. Eran must be playing it cool because he thinks I’m with you.”

“I’m not sure that’s it.” Something in Shelton’s tone made Paul give him a closer look. Shelton shook his head. “I think he’s interested in you, but something’s holding him back from acting on it.”

“Maybe he’s just shy,” Paul suggested.

“It seems more than that to me. Look at him. He’s beautiful and sweet. He should be walking around this coffee shop as if he owned the place. Or posing on some magazine cover. Instead, he’s waiting tables. He seems fragile. Something’s not right…”

Paul missed his next words as Eran approached with his coffee. He gracefully skirted the crowded tables, slim in dark jeans and tee-shirt and the green apron tied around his hips. Paul felt mesmerized as he took the drink from Eran’s hands and murmured his thanks. Eran lingered to wipe the edge of their table with a rag, not quite meeting Paul’s gaze. Shelton nudged Paul’s shin with the toe of his shoe, rousing him.

“Oh, right. Eran, this is my co-worker, Shelton. We work in the loan department at the same bank.” Paul motioned in Shelton’s direction, sure he was babbling. “I’m keeping him company while his lover’s out of town.” He rushed on as Shelton snorted and Eran raised a brow. “I mean, we’re just friends. If you were wondering,” he added lamely.

A smile touched Eran’s lips and he leaned over and tucked a strand of Paul’s hair behind an ear. “In that case, the shop does close in five minutes, if you want to meet me out front.”

Paul gaped at him, and Eran’s smile widened, showing even white teeth. “See you soon.”

Paul turned his baffled gaze on Shelton as Eran left them. “Did you hear him? Was I dreaming?”

“Merry Christmas. Now let’s go. You don’t want to keep him waiting.” He waved off Paul’s protest. “I can catch a cab. It’s no problem.”

“Thanks.” Paul slid money for their drinks and a generous tip under his untouched coffee, then grabbed up his coat. Happy, he surprised Shelton with a kiss on the cheek before they went to the door. Maybe Shelton was right and Eran had a past. But that was what first dates were for, right? To learn about each other? Whatever it was, Paul was sure it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.

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Meet the Author

Dianne is the author of m/m romance, paranormal suspense, fantasy adventure, the occasional thriller, and anything else that comes to mind. She lives in the beautiful Willamette Valley of Oregon with her incredibly patient husband, who puts up with the endless hours she spends hunched over the keyboard letting her characters play. She says Oregon’s raindrops are the perfect setting in which to write. There’s something about being cooped up in the house with a fire crackling on the hearth and a cup of hot coffee warming her hands, which kindles her imagination.
Currently, Dianne works as a floral designer in a locally-owned gift shop. Which is the perfect job for her. When not writing, she can express herself through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage.

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New Release Blitz: Where the Night Reigns by Emilie Lucadamo (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Where the Night Reigns

Series: In the Darkness, Book Three

Author: Emilie Lucadamo

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: July 1, 2019

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: M/NB

Length: 59200

Genre: Paranormal, LGBT, fantasy, magic, demons, ghosts, horror, paranormal, Hell, gay, lesbian, war, reanimation, immortal, psychic/medium, no HEA

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Synopsis

The barrier between worlds has shattered. Demons wreak havoc across Earth; the dead are rising from their graves; psychics and witches are vanishing without a trace. The fate of the world rests in the hands of the enigmatic Tresser Corporation, a company of demon soldiers… and a kindergarten teacher.

In other words, humanity’s odds aren’t looking great.

When hunter, David Tresser, pairs up with a High Demon, he knows he’s in over his head. Of course, there are worse positions to be in, like Henry, whose girlfriend hasn’t been seen since the demonic attacks began, or the psychic Cassandra, who has become a target of those very demons herself. As this motley crew teams up, trust is slow to be gained…but they really have no choice when the world around them is falling apart at the seams. In the midst of it all, Tresser finds himself curiously drawn to the demon he’s not even sure he can trust.

After an exorcism gone terribly wrong, the team is left with no choice. To save their worlds, and themselves, they’ll have to travel into the darkest part of Hell: the Pits of Gehenna, from which no one has ever returned.

To defeat the odds and preserve humanity, they’ll all have to work together.

Excerpt

Where the Night Reigns
Emilie Lucadamo © 2019
All Rights Reserved

The tea has long since gone cold, but Tresser swirls it around his cup anyway. He’s not about to take a sip. It is far too frigid, and the last thing he wants to do is wind up spewing liquid over all this cozy living room upholstery.

At least that might give his host a valid excuse to kick him out. Then again, Cassandra Carlyle might be too damn nice—or too appeased by the Tresser Corporation’s considerable paycheck—to do it.

It’s obvious Cassandra isn’t happy having him here. That could have something to do with the fact that Tresser pulled up unannounced in front of her pleasant country home in a hearse.

(The ride is none-too-inconspicuous. His father had been adamant against it. Naturally, that’s why Tresser had to have it. It’s proved itself useful in carting around things such as equipment or bodies and has the most comfortable reclining seats.)

To be fair to her, Cassandra has taken it in stride. She let Tresser in, made him tea, and when he said they needed to talk, her reply was a gamely, “I’ve got the time.”

It’s still obvious she doesn’t want him here. Her wary gaze keeps flickering to Tresser’s dark boots like she expects them to leave oily imprints on the carpet. Her posture is a bit too relaxed, and her smile a bit too pleasant for her to be genuinely pleased with the company. Despite this, Tresser is impressed. Cassandra is good at concealing her displeasure under a veneer of easygoing friendliness. If figuring out what people are hiding weren’t his job, Tresser would never have known the difference.

“I’m not sure what to say, Mr. Tresser,” Cassandra sighs. Her fingers are wrapped around her teacup, violet painted nails stark against the white porcelain. “It’s all a lot to handle.”

If anyone can handle the chaos their world is descending into, Tresser is sure it will be Cassandra. The woman has already figured out how to deal with him. If she’s that good, she could probably walk through fire and brimstone without flinching.

“I’ve had to perform more exorcisms in the past few weeks than in ten years. News outlets are losing their heads. Buildings are being destroyed, people are dying, and our city is at the epicenter of it all.” She swallows, gaze flickering down for a second, and Tresser knows she wants to say something critical. She swallows it back at the last moment, however, settling for a mild but pointed, “It’s a good thing Tresser Corporation is here to take care of it.”

Except Tresser Corporation isn’t, not really. If the Corps were really focused on this tiny Rhode Island city, barely a speck on the map, then the problem would be over with by now. Men in black suits and sunglasses would swarm the streets; news outlets would be silent on the chaos, and common mediums wouldn’t be the ones performing exorcisms.

Tresser Corporation is currently focused on some tiny European country, which is being controlled by a dictator possessed by a demon of Ars Goetia lore. This wouldn’t be a major cause for concern, except the dictator has nukes, and that’s the sort of apocalypse even the Corps aren’t equipped to deal with. As long as the war in Hell stays mostly confined to Hell, Felix Tresser declared, it wasn’t any of their business. So instead of centering his focus on the tiny city literally crumbling to hell, he jetted off to Europe and sent a handful of his agents down to deal with it.

The crisis proved to be more than the agents were equipped to deal with, however. Only a week later, chaotic mission reports were being sent back to Felix—details of demonic possessions and people coming back from the dead. It became clear this was far more serious than it appeared on the surface.

That was when Tresser received the command to get down to Rhode Island and see what was what. This order came in the form of an e-mail—since his father was clearly too busy to call—with the mission reports attached.

Tresser wishes he could say he’s surprised, but after twenty-six years he knows the way his father’s world works.

More surprising, he supposes, is the fact that his father trusted him enough to place him in charge of this operation at all. Had this come at any other time, Felix would have handled something of this magnitude himself. Instead, he’s been forced to appoint his son, and Tresser would be lying if he said he was prepared. He’s led missions before, but nothing like this.

A part of him had no clue where to start, so as soon as he got into town he went for the obvious—a list of Tresser Corps’ contacts throughout the city. He found two names, and Cassandra Carlyle was the first on his list.

“I need you,” he said as soon as he sat down with the psychic, “to explain exactly what the hell’s been going on here.”

Now, with Cassandra wrapping up her sordid tale—full of destruction, chaos, and more demons than an exorcist could shake a cross at—Tresser wonders again whether he’s in over his head.

He’s as good at hiding his discontent as Cassandra is, if not better (years of dealing with his father has given him time to practice). Sure, in his rumpled jeans and leather jacket Tresser might not look the part of a typical Corps agent, he’s got his own brain behind him—plus, an abundance of resources to work with. A lot can be said about David Tresser, but only one person has ever dared call him incompetent, and that man just put him in charge of saving this entire city.

And, if what Cassandra is telling him is true, maybe the world. But Felix doesn’t need to know that until later.

As Cassandra finally falls silent, the expression on her face is clear: expectant. Tresser has said he’s here to help, and Cassandra is trusting him to do just that.

He knows exactly where to start.

“Okay,” Tresser says, clapping his hands together in a faux-eager gesture that makes Cassandra grimace. “I guess this makes you my eyes and ears.”

Cassandra blinks. Of all the things she may have expected, that wasn’t one of them. “I’m…sorry? What are you talking about?”

“You. You’re a psychic, and a medium. That makes you doubly qualified to give me the information I need to know.” Tresser Corps employs psychics for just this purpose; during a mission, they can be crucial for obtaining information that would otherwise have remained unknown. If Cassandra weren’t skilled, the Corps would never have bothered with her. “You’re going to help me out.”

“Mr. Tresser—” Cassandra begins, but Tresser cuts her off as he stands up.

“That’s my father. If you have to be formal, Tresser works just fine. Drop the ‘mister’, I’m not your boss.”

Cassandra follows him as he makes his way to the door. “I think I’m just confused about what you’re asking.”

“Scrying, right?” Tresser demands lightly. “You can scry.”

“Of course I can, but—”

“Great!” Tresser claps the woman on the shoulder—and, realizing at the last moment that he’s still holding the teacup, presses it back into her hands. “I’ll call you later. Sometime. Wait for me. Tresser Corporations thanks you for your assistance!”

The last comment is smarmy enough to make his father proud. Tresser has read the script enough times to know what to say when making an associate do something they might not want to do. He isn’t taking advantage of Cassandra; he just needs a psychic’s insight, and she’s been helpful so far.

She’s getting paid. She’ll get over it.

Tresser strides out the front door before Cassandra can get another word in. He’s not halfway down the walkway before the door slams shut behind him, loud enough to make the windows shake. Tresser springs a foot into the air, landing hard and casting an incredulous look back at the house. No way was that his fault, and he’s sure Cassandra didn’t do it.

He shakes his head as he double-times it towards his hearse. Damn mediums—always living in haunted houses.

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Meet the Author

Emilie Lucadamo has too many stories, and not enough words to tell them. At eighteen years old, she has been writing for most of her life, and telling stories even longer. Her dream is to one day become a critically acclaimed author. When not writing, she’s probably reading, or spending quality time with her dog.

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New Release Blitz: Palm Trees and Paparazzi by J.C. Long (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Palm Trees and Paparazzi

Series: Gabe Maxfield Mysteries, Book Three

Author: J.C. Long

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: July 1, 2019

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 61200

Genre: Contemporary Mystery, LGBT, gay, mystery, romance, contemporary, establishes relationship

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Synopsis

Gabe Maxfield remembers Manuel Delgado all too well—since investigating him nearly got him killed. He’d be very happy never to see him again, but that’s not in the cards for him. When the mother of a missing socialite seeks out Paradise Investigations to find out what happened to her daughter, Gabe and best friend Grace Park are going to be thrown right back into Delgado’s world. Personal lives begin to interfere, as well, and soon they’ve got more on their plate than they can handle.

A missing woman.

Delgado’s son.

A romantically awkward Grace.

Gabe’s parents.

It’s just another week for Gabe Maxfield.

Excerpt

Palm Trees and Paparazzi
J.C. Long © 2019
All Rights Reserved

There was a time when throbbing music, frenetically moving bodies, and expensive cocktails would have been my scene—a time that passed a few years back, I’d guess. Actually, you know what? Scratch that. I’ve never been one for clubs. And with my twenty-ninth birthday merely two months away, it was really time for me to close that chapter of my life, anyway.

It was the second week of January, and some people still hadn’t lost the edge from New Year’s Eve. The club was packed full of people even though it was a Wednesday—thanks, no doubt, to ladies’ night and slightly discounted drinks for men.

My best friend, Grace Park, and I managed to snag a table that was far enough from the speakers that we wouldn’t be deafened for days to come by the outing.

Grace sat at the table, stirring the thin black straw in her vodka tonic, which she’d barely had half of. I’d volunteered to drive us tonight so Grace could have a few drinks, and she hadn’t finished her first one in the hour we’d been there.

“You look miserable, Grace,” I said, nudging her with my shoulder. “If you want to go home, just say the word. Really, we don’t need to stay here on my account.”

“I’m fine, Gabe,” she insisted stubbornly, even though I knew her well enough to know she wasn’t. She’d been down ever since New Year’s Eve. She’d been invited to a party by Jin Hamada, our private investigation firm’s resident tech expert and object of Grace’s affection, and had assumed it was a romantic invitation only to show up, dressed to the nines and ready, to discover it was a casual thing he threw for the people who lived in his apartment building. Jin hadn’t noticed, but Grace had been mortified.

It didn’t help that our assistant, Mrs. Neidermeyer, who lives in Jin’s building, did notice and teased Grace about it every chance that she got.

Privately, I thought Grace was taking it a little hard, but who was I to judge? I literally fled the continent to escape a breakup. That didn’t put me in the running for the category of most reasonable reaction to something.

“I thought coming to this club would cheer you up a little bit,” I said, taking a sip of my ginger ale—no alcohol for me, since I was driving. “I hate seeing you so down. I know how much you love music and dancing and clubs.”

Grace snorted. “When we were in college, yeah. But you know, maybe…maybe we’re a little old for this crowd.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” I admitted. “When did that happen, though? When did we get old?”

“Kind of sneaked up on us, didn’t it? Here we are, just around the corner from thirty. Remember when we watched Friends in high school and we thought they were all overreacting about turning thirty? Now that we’re looking it in the face, I’m starting to think maybe they weren’t overreacting that much after all.”

“It’s not that bad,” I said consolingly. It was a weird reversal for us; usually Grace was the one doing her best to make me feel better, not the other way around. “Think about how high life expectancy is? Nowadays people don’t even really get started before they’re thirty.”

“Not so bad? Come on, Gabe. We’re almost thirty and I’m still single. I do want to have kids someday, you know? That’s getting more and more unlikely the longer I stay single.” She picked up her vodka tonic, tossing it back as if she could wash away the dour thoughts with it.

At least she drank it; that cost me six dollars.

“Don’t you think you’re taking this whole thing too seriously Grace? So you made a mistake and misinterpreted his invitation. You think you’re the first person to ever make that mistake?”

Grace scowled at my reminder. “I looked like an idiot.”

“No one even noticed!”

“Mrs. Neidermeyer almost has an aneurism from laughing every time she sees me!”

“Okay, so no one but Mrs. Neidermeyer even noticed.”

“That old lady is enough.”

“I don’t understand the rivalry you two have.”

“She’s got it out for me!”

“No, she doesn’t. She’s just spirited.”

“She’s medicated.”

I decided to drop the Neidermeyer discussion. It was a sore spot for her, and one that wouldn’t go away—particularly since I basically hired her to annoy Grace. The last thing I wanted to do then was to bring Grace down even more by talking about something that she hated.

I surveyed the bodies on the dance floor, taking in the sights, wondering if I could get a jolt of energy from them by proxy. Everyone seemed to be having so much fun, but then again that’s what clubs were, right? There were no doubt a large number of tourists among the crowd, people itching to get away from the tourist elements of Honolulu and into something that they were familiar with. Sure, the locale might be different, but a club was a club, whether it was in Seattle, New York, Pontiac, Michigan, or Honolulu.

“We’ve got company,” Grace said, drawing my attention from the crowd. I spotted my boyfriend, Maka Kekoa, making his way toward us around the perimeter of the room. A wide smile stretched my lips when I saw him. He was tall, his skin a sun-kissed brown that proudly displayed his Native Hawaiian heritage. His body was lean, hard muscle, kept that way by his rigorous exercise routine, his frequent surfing, and his job on the police force.

Walking behind Maka but still casting a shadow over him was one of Maka’s best friends, Hiapo, a big guy with an even bigger heart who ran an exclusive and popular lu’au on the island. Hiapo was without a doubt one of the cheeriest people I had ever met.

“Yo, howzit?” Hiapo greeted, his naturally loud voice easy to hear over the drone of techno dance music blaring in the background, a remix of a remix of a Cher song, if I had to guess.

“Hey, guys,” I greeted, moving my seat a little so Maka could make room on the other side of the table for himself and Hiapo.

Maka smiled at me, a look that always somehow managed to look sultry and goofy at the same time.

“Hey.” He planted a gentle, chaste kiss on my lips.

Beside me, Grace made a strange sound, a cross between a harrumph and a tsk. Maka cast an amused look her way. “I see your plan to cheer her up is right on schedule.”

“I don’t need cheering up,” Grace huffed.

“Girl, you still pining over that IT guy?” Hiapo asked.

“No,” Grace said at the same time Maka and I said, “Yes!” earning us both glowers.

“Traitors.”

“Listen, you need me to put something together for you? Plan a nice romantic package, like I did for these two here?” He indicated Maka and I with a thumb.

“I appreciate the offer, Hiapo, but that won’t be necessary. I don’t even think he likes me.”

“Have you asked him out?”

Grace squirmed in her seat. “No. But we’ve known each other for three years, and he’s never asked me out in all of this time. I think if he was interested, he would have done something about it already, right?”

“I see one major flaw in that logic, Gracie,” I said. “You like him, but you haven’t done anything about it, either.”

Grace’s brow furrowed as she struggled to come up with a comeback, but I could see in her eyes that she couldn’t. “I just don’t want to waste any more time on someone who might not even like me back. That’s time I could better spend going out with people who are interested.”

“But who you’re not interested in,” I added.

Grace threw her hands up in the air. “Is this beat up Grace night? Are you trying to cheer me up by making me more depressed?”

“Okay, okay, you win. I’ll stop.”

We stayed there for another hour, doing our best to get Grace to cheer up with very limited success. Finally we decided to call it a night. Maka and Hiapo left together, and I took Grace home.

We rode without talking, listening to various covers of songs by the Dynamos. As crazy as it might sound, I hate the Dynamos but really enjoy the songs themselves. I just can’t stand hearing them do the singing.

Finally I couldn’t take it anymore, and just before reaching the neighborhood she lived in I asked, “Are you really going to give up on Jin?”

Grace heaved a sigh, looking out the window, hand propped up under her chin, elbow on the door. With her sitting like that, I could imagine Grace being in a movie, with a deep, soulful soundtrack—maybe something by Adele—playing in the background.

“Don’t you think I should? It seems clear to me that he isn’t interested.”

“It’s not clear to me,” I said, pulling my car to a stop in front of Grace’s place. “Not until you ask him.”

“I’m not going to just waltz up to him and ask him! Don’t be ridiculous.” Grace unbuckled her seatbelt and pushed open the car door.

I shrugged nonchalantly. “Okay, then, fine. Let Mrs. Neidermeyer win.”

She took the bait, just like I knew she would, stopping halfway out of the car and fixing a stern glare on me. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re always saying that she’s against you and doesn’t want you seeing Jin,” I reminded her. I hoped that the best way to build up her confidence was to give her an enemy that wasn’t herself. I didn’t feel too badly about it, considering she pretty much disliked Mrs. Neidermeyer the moment she set eyes on her. “If you just give up without really knowing, all you’re doing is giving her exactly what she wants, right?”

“I’ll think about it,” Grace said after considering my words. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Grace.” I sat in front of her place until she was safely inside before driving home. I really hoped Grace did think about what I said and finally took the leap and asked Jin—that or move on, because working with her in this sort of funk was beginning to get a little tiring.

And, if I was being completely honest, it felt really juvenile, like high school all over again. I was ready for Grace to go back to her normal self. Maybe that made me a bad friend, but I looked at it a different way. Grace pushed me to get out of the condo and out into the world of the living once more after I arrived in Hawai’i, and I was returning the favor now.

I only hoped she would appreciate it as much as I did.

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Meet the Author

J.C. Long is an American expat living in Japan, though he’s also lived stints in Seoul, South Korea—no, he’s not an army brat; he’s an English teacher. He is also quite passionate about Welsh corgis and is convinced that anyone who does not like them is evil incarnate. His dramatic streak comes from his life-long involvement in theater. After living in several countries aside from the United States J. C. is convinced that love is love, no matter where you are, and is determined to write stories that demonstrate exactly that. J. C. Long’s favorite things in the world are pictures of corgis, writing and Korean food (not in that order…okay, in that order). J. C. spends his time not writing thinking about writing, coming up with new characters, attending Big Bang concerts and wishing he was writing. The best way to get him to write faster is to motivate him with corgi pictures. Yes, that is a veiled hint.

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Book Blitz: I Wished For You by Colette Davison (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  I Wished For You

Author: Colette Davison

Narrator: Piers Ryman

Publisher: Independently Published

Release Date: 6 June 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male Menage

Length: 06 Hours 24 Minutes

Genre: Romance, LGBT

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Synopsis

Three wishes.

Seb wants to be happy.
Matt wants to find ‘the one.’
Connor wants them.

Two drunken kisses.

Seb didn’t plan to kiss Matt and Connor, but he doesn’t regret it, even if it has changed their friendship forever.

Matt has never considered dating a man before, let alone two. Despite his confusion, being with Seb and Connor feels right.

One uncertain future.

Connor’s potential fate has stopped him living and loving. Can he face his fears to be with the men he loves?

***Contains explicit language and scenes***

Excerpt

“Wow,” Matt breathed as a shooting star shot across the now dark sky, trailing a tail of light behind it.

“That’s awesome,” Seb said. “Hey, aren’t you meant to wish on shooting stars or something?”

Matt stood, watching the sky intently. He’d finished his second can of beer and started on his third before he saw another shooting star.

“I wish I could find the one,” he yelled at the star.

Anything was worth a shot. Every girl he’d dated had held the promise of being the one, but every relationship had fizzled out within weeks or months. He was getting close to believing he’d permanently be shut in the friend zone by every woman he knew.

“My turn,” Seb said, leaping up to stand beside Matt. “Find me a star.”

“There might not be any more,” Connor pointed out.

A glance over his shoulder told Matt that Connor was still sitting, nursing a can of beer in his cupped hands. With their breath frosting on the air in front of them, Matt and Seb kept a fierce watch on the sky.

“There,” Matt said, pointing towards the far right as a star shot across the darkness.

“I wish to be happy again,” Seb yelled.

Matt turned to Connor. “It’s your turn.”

Connor shook his head.

“Why not?”

Connor met Matt’s curious stare. “I’ve already had one wish come true. I figure I’d be pushing my luck to make a second.”

Matt’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh? Do we get to know what this wish of yours was?”

Pink splashed across Connor’s nose and cheeks. He looked down, mumbling his answer. “I wished for friends. Someone I could count on. I met the two of you right after.”

Matt’s chest clenched. He tried to speak, but his voice stuck fast in his throat.

“Really?” Seb asked, staring intently at Connor as he sat in the middle chair.

Connor lifted his eyes again, staring at Seb and then at Matt. “Yeah.” He looked to the sky. “I mean… it was probably a coincidence, but I wished for you, and there you were.”

Tears stung Matt’s eyes. He ran his hand over them and down his face, sniffing loudly. “Well, fuck, Con…” He wasn’t even sure what it was he wanted to say. “I’m glad we met you, too,” he managed. “I’m glad we could help you when you needed us.”

“You still do,” Connor said softly. “Every day.”

“Okay, shut the fuck up now,” Matt said, trying not to cry. He flopped into the third chair. “I’m not nearly drunk enough to be getting this sentimental. More booze!”

Seb handed him a full can, and together, they sat and watched the occasional light show of falling stars as they drank into the night.

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Meet the Author

Colette’s personal love story began at university, where she met her future husband. An evening of flirting, in the shadow of Lancaster castle, eventually led to a fairytale wedding. She’s enjoying her own ‘happy ever after’ in the north of England with her husband, two beautiful children and her writing.

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New Release Blitz: The Dragon’s Rebel by Jacqueline Rohrbach (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Dragon’s Rebel

Author: Jacqueline Rohrbach

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 24, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 62100

Genre: Fantasy, LGBT, magic, slavery, dark, gods, enemies to lovers, royalty, dragons, shifters

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Synopsis

Cheron, former rebel leader and newly crowned king, comes to Wren Gardens on a holy mission to free his goddess from exile and bring peace to his kingdom, but he’s distracted by an unholy and very beautiful concubine, Ekos.

Ekos may be more than a simple love slave, though. The King of Wren Gardens seems afraid of the strange and often blasphemous concubine and swears the man is cursed. Cheron agrees, especially when Ekos mocks and taunts Cheron’s sense of honor. But the urge to distance himself from Ekos can’t compete with the desire to remain close. Nor is it as strong as the urges in his body—urges he hasn’t felt in years.

As Cheron tries to refocus on his mission, Ekos throws him off again—this time by offering to help him in his holy quest. Cheron knows he shouldn’t trust a man who’s in the employ of a rival king, particularly not one who seems to know all Cheron’s deepest secrets. But he can’t ignore the signs from the goddess telling him to entwine his fate with this tricky, captivating man.

He prays the signs aren’t simply wishful thinking, manifestations of his very unholy desires. Time is running out, and Cheron is falling deeper for Ekos—and deeper into danger of another betrayal. One that could cost him his life.

Excerpt

The Dragon’s Rebel
Jacqueline Rohrbach © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Half parted in invitation, the concubine’s painted red lips teased the possibilities for Cheron’s sole benefit, for his sole pleasure, for his sole use. At least that was the intended impression, but who knew the actual number of men the concubine had truly pleasured? Many, Cheron assumed. Undeniably gorgeous, the pampered little house pet had all the markings of a palace favorite. Jewels hung from his earlobes, fine silks concealed his thin but muscular frame, and his body had been rubbed down with musky oils. Minus the golden, diamond-studded collar at his throat, he appeared to be a member of court.

“Is Ekos not to your taste, Majesty? He is personal stock, in case you are worried. No low-born has touched him.”

The emphasis had Cheron grinding his teeth. While Sinnac politely used the proper title while addressing him, there was always a lilt to his pronunciation, a gentle reminder that Cheron had only recently became a king. Before, he’d been a lowly soldier—a servant. To men like Sinnac, men who’d been born into power, he would never be anything other than a lucky usurper playacting at greatness.

Sinnac continued, “Perhaps His Majesty would like to see him from a different angle?”

King Sinnac tilted the concubine’s face upward to give Cheron a better look. Ekos lowered his crystal-blue eyes demurely, as was proper, but Cheron swore he saw a flash of mocking defiance in the depths before his lashes lowered. In a second, the brazen glare vanished. Ekos bowed his head, allowing his golden-yellow hair to fall over his shoulders. The posture gave Cheron a clear view of the concubine’s long back and the enticing dip of his ass.

Suppressing his disgust, Cheron kept his response to King Sinnac formal. “He is most pleasing. I am recently sated and do not require sexual services just now, Your Excellence. Perhaps later.”

“I heard you Northern men needed no pause between sessions. That you were an insatiable lot.” Sinnac, a severe man who resembled a long tendril of smoke with his long white body, steel-gray hair, and gray eyes, raised his bushy eyebrows and took a drag from his hookah. Foul-smelling mist coiled around his head, momentarily canceling out the masculine, sweet smell of the concubine’s body oils.

Cheron gave the characterization a breathy laugh. “I’m afraid all men must submit to biology.”

“Of course. Of course.”

Truthfully, Cheron’s carnal needs hadn’t been satisfied recently or even in the past year. His aversion to touching Ekos had nothing to do with lack of desire. Perhaps the young concubine served freely now, but at some point in his life, he’d been brought here in chains and trained in the arts of pleasure. The very thought made Cheron’s skin crawl. Not too long ago, he’d been enslaved under the reign of a cruel king who raped and tortured to stay in power. He had no intentions of following the same path.

After he took control of Broken Maw, servants continued to exist, but they were compensated for their work. No one was compelled to offer sexual services. Those who sold themselves demanded money, certainly, but also equal pleasure. Ekos’s circumstances were much different.

Sinnac, as if stressing those differences, commanded the concubine to attend to Cheron’s needs. “Show our guest your skills, my pet. Seduce him.”

The concubine pouted. In a spoiled voice, he said, “My treasure, I do not believe he wants me.”

A hard glint in his eye, Sinnac returned, “Nonsense. Help him settle in to Wren Gardens. I’ll not have my guests frustrated. And if the rumors I hear are true, he is quite congested with lust.”

Gossip between courts wasn’t uncommon. Certainly, Cheron heard his fair share of stories from Sinnac’s lands, especially tales of the financial troubles of Wren Gardens. It didn’t upset Cheron to learn he was the subject of discussion among Sinnac’s people, but his temperature rose at being so directly contradicted by another monarch.

“What do you know of my frustration, Excellency?”

His laughter croaked as he took another puff from the hookah. “I hear you haven’t had any pleasure since Aethel. His betrayal must still sting, yes?”

Honesty roughened his voice to an almost inaudible, harsh whisper. “Betrayal burns more than it stings, Excellency. Afterward, the smoke blinds us.”

Sinnac raised an eyebrow. “Dramatic. Betrayal also chokes us, apparently, though I heard your lover made good kindling for fire.”

Cheron swallowed down the memory before it overwhelmed him. Sometimes, in the dead of night, he still woke to the sound of his lover’s screams as he twisted on the pyre and the king’s executioner’s grim pronouncement that justice had been done. Now that Cheron had overthrown the king in a successful rebellion, there would be no such burnings. Never again.

Cheron kept his voice level. “His crime was nowhere near as severe as the punishment.”

“Hm,” Sinnac responded. Supposedly, the price for his displeasure ran higher. This marked Cheron’s first time visiting Wren Gardens, but his father told tales of a ruler obsessed with revenge to the point of madness. If the stories were true, Sinnac’s gardens grew on human blood.

Cheron tried to smile. “At any rate, that is in the past.”

“Well, then. My pet can make you forget the traitor existed. Perhaps he can make you forget your own treason.”

It would be unwise to answer the bait, so Cheron kept quiet on the matter. “I have no doubt of Ekos’s skills, but they are wasted on me at the present.”

“We’ll see.” Sinnac waved his graceful fingers, an order for Ekos to proceed.

The concubine’s crystal-blue eyes lowered again. Looking into their depths was akin to jumping into ice-cold water. One could drown, but he’d feel the sting of cold as he sank. Just the same, Cheron barely kept from gasping out loud as Ekos’s long fingers stroked the outer folds of the long robe he wore. Beneath the clothes, his body was taut, ready for a lover’s touch.

“Majesty,” Ekos simpered, his full, round mouth set in a pout. “I can’t please you through so many layers of clothing.”

In Wren Gardens, sex servants weren’t allowed to remove the clothing of nobility. Such a task was reserved for only the most trusted of servants, those who’d been with households for generations. Poisons that seeped through the skin were common here; the precaution made sense.

Ekos’s own dress confused Cheron. Station required servants to wear only thin scraps of fabric that advertised their wares and marked them as slaves. The concubine was swathed nearly head to toe in a loose-fitting, semitransparent silken frock that was embroidered along the hem by a skilled hand. Somehow, this enticed Cheron’s interests far better than any scant loincloth.

As if sensing his increasing desires, the concubine formed his full mouth into an aware smirk. The arrogance took Cheron aback and made him worry for the concubine’s safety. The man’s voice was strong and confident when he said, “Perhaps His Majesty would like to undress me first?”

Sinnac guffawed at Cheron’s horrified expression. “Forgive Ekos, my royal brother. He is overeager to prove his affections.”

Once again, Cheron ignored the overt slight. For now, Cheron had to be content another monarch had even stooped to meet with him. Smiling, he said, “He hasn’t been tested already?”

Sinnac’s countenance darkened. Without thinking, Cheron had insulted the other man’s virility, which he touted with great pride. In the short time Cheron had been a guest at Wren Gardens, Sinnac boasted as many as fifty lovers, all of whom couldn’t get enough of their lord and master.

“My apologies, Excellency.” Cheron spread his hands in contrition. “I understand your prowess is legendary.”

Sniffing, Sinnac got to his knees and began undoing the knot keeping his robe together. Seconds later, he was nearly naked except for his white linen undergarments. Covered in a network of impressive scars, his body flaunted a lifetime of war. “Turn around,” he commanded Ekos.

Immediately, Ekos obeyed. Cheron swore he saw a flash of disgust in the man’s crystal-blue eyes. Soon enough, the meaningless and practiced smile fell back into place. The young man dipped forward, raising his hips. “Enter if you dare,” he mocked.

Sinnac growled at the challenge.

Stomach lurching, Cheron realized the other monarch’s intent. Baring witness to rape immediately quashed his previous desires. He knew it was a typical practice in Wren Gardens, but Cheron failed to control a wave of pity. This was no way to treat another human being.

“Excellency,” Cheron said, interrupting the looming sexual encounter. “I have been an ungracious guest. I would love to indulge in Ekos’s sweet attentions privately. But how can I enjoy him if you put me to shame? Will he even consider me adequate after you?”

“I’m sure I would, Majesty,” Ekos softly assured him. “A man as magnificent as you must be bliss to touch.”

Sinnac ran his hands up and down the length of the concubine’s body, slapping and prodding as he went, but eventually sat back against the cushions without penetrating, much to Cheron’s relief.

His gaze hooded, almost fully concealed, Sinnac said, “Please retire to your quarters, Majesty. We’ll attend to matters of state after dinner. I will have Ekos sent to your rooms. Treat him gently. I paid a high price for him.”

As equals, they stood and formally bowed. The concubine, head still bent toward the ground, his expression concealed by a long flow of honey hair, remained prostrated. His fists clenched and unclenched. When he lifted his head, he smiled serenely and said, “You have yet to pay the full price for me, Excellency.”

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Meet the Author

Jacqueline Rohrbach is a 36-year-old creative writer living in windy central Washington. When she isn’t writing strange books about bloodsucking magical werewolves, she’s baking sweets, or walking her two dogs, Nibbler and Mulder. She also loves cheesy ghost shows, especially when the hosts call out the ghost out like he wants to brawl with it in a bar. You know, “Come out here, you coward! You like to haunt little kids. Haunt me!” Jackee laughs at this EVERY time.

She’s also a hopeless World of Warcraft addict. In her heyday, she was a top parsing disc priest. She became a paladin to fight Deathwing, she went back to a priest to cuddle pandas, and then she went to a shaman because I guess she thought it would be fun to spend an entire expansion underpowered and frustrated. Boomchicken for Legion!

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New Release Blitz: Predatory by Brooklyn Ray (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Predatory

Series: Port Lewis Witches, Book Three

Author: Brooklyn Ray

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 24, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 41500

Genre: Paranormal, LGBT, Contemporary, paranormal, witches, elements, shifter, wax play, BDSM, spanking, body horror, dark

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Synopsis

Donovan Quinn is faced with the impossible: unleashing the wild energy inside him. In the aftermath of a rushed, thoughtless sacrifice, his circle mates brainstorm a plan to appease the Queen of Water. Meanwhile, Donovan desperately tries to find a way to access the lonely Earth magic hiding inside him.

​But with his heart reaching for Tyler, the aggressive and volatile head witch of his circle, and friendships being tested at every turn, Donovan is at a standstill with his magic. Saving his friends, his circle, and his heart becomes far more complicated than he ever thought.

Excerpt

Predatory
Brooklyn Ray © 2019
All Rights Reserved

If you would’ve asked Donovan Quinn where he might be this time last year, he would’ve had a perfectly executed answer. Something standard and palatable. He would’ve batted his lashes and shrugged, hinted at finishing his degree and landing a good job. That was what people wanted to hear—his mother, the clan leaders, his family and circle-mates. He would’ve lied, and they would’ve smiled, and he would’ve swallowed the truth.

Because Donovan didn’t care about a degree or a good job. He wasn’t worried about appearances or being a good witch. If you’d asked him, he would’ve said, “I’m sure I’ll be keeping busy.”

Donovan never expected to trade those lies for this truth: being in the passenger’s seat of Tyler’s Jeep on the night Liam committed murder.

The sound of the windshield wipers made the silence between them seem like a chasm. They’d dropped Christy off at home after a twenty-minute argument over rights and wrongs, secrets and consequences. Christy had burst into tears and told Tyler his cruelty didn’t count for strength, and when he’d refused to look at her or speak to her, she’d climbed out of the car and slammed the door for good measure.

Now they were parked somewhere in the middle of the woods. The headlights were turned off, rain pelted the roof, and Donovan wasn’t sure if this was the end of something—their circle, their magic, whatever festered between them. It’d been three months and they still didn’t have a name for it. Relationship didn’t fit. Friends with benefits was too watered down.

Whatever it was, it had been born out of Tyler’s anger. His possessiveness and desire. Three months ago, Donovan had taken Tyler to a club to unwind. We’ll find different people. Just have fun for a night. And Tyler had agreed. But as the night went on, liquor and stolen glances turned desire into something else. Donovan had met Tyler’s eyes as a handsome man covered in tattoos licked salt from his neck. Tyler had shoved himself between them and pulled Donovan onto the dancefloor.

Everything changed after that. Everything had kept changing since then.

“You have anything to say?” Tyler asked.

Donovan followed the straight line of Tyler’s nose to his thin, set mouth. He rested his elbow on the top of the door, hand splayed over his jaw. He was typically handsome—black hair kept neat and slicked back, ears pierced with plain silver hoops, skin never inked. His black turtleneck covered a barely there bruise left behind from Donovan’s mouth. Sometimes he glamoured hickeys. Other times he covered them with foundation, like he did the bruises he brought back from fights with his father.

It was difficult to separate who Tyler was from who his family expected him to be. Because Donovan had seen Tyler gentle and everyone else only knew him as a Li.

“They’re our friends,” Donovan said. He picked at the chipped nail polish on his thumb. “We can’t just exile them. We took an oath.”

“They’ve been using dark magic behind our backs, that’s enough to break the damn oath. Not to mention Liam murdered someone tonight and we’ve got demons knocking on our door.”

“Still,” Donovan said.

“Still?”

“We can’t leave them.” Donovan watched Tyler’s jaw flex. He almost brushed his fingers over Tyler’s thigh, but hesitated, unsure if touch could be casual between them or not. “I won’t leave them.”

“Aren’t leopards solitary?” Tyler’s sarcasm was a mean deflection, but it cut Donovan to the bone.

Liam had murdered someone and because of it, the Queen of Water had walked from the sea and put Donovan’s secret on display like it was nothing. Leopard. He’d rarely used the term, even in his own home, and now it fit in Tyler’s mouth like a curse.

“That isn’t fair,” Donovan whispered. He squirmed in place and pulled at the bottom of his shirt, picking at threads, giving his nerves a place to go. He glanced out of the window and watched rain streak through tree branches. The forest was alive around them. “Don’t take your elitist bullshit out on me, Tyler.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Tyler said softly, then louder. “You didn’t even tell me.”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Tyler snapped.

The silence was no longer a chasm. It was too close, too personal, and it made Donovan’s lungs ache. His mouth tightened and he turned away, fighting the urge to shout or cry or argue or explain. He didn’t think Tyler cared for his explanations. He didn’t know if Tyler cared for anything at all.

“Take me home,” Donovan said.

Tyler glanced at him, rolled his eyes, and flicked on the headlights. They didn’t speak for the duration of the trip. Tyler’s gaze flicked toward him while they idled at a stoplight and Donovan hoped he’d say something. Anything. But he didn’t.

The duplex Donovan and his mother lived in was outside downtown, nestled between a gated community and a shopping plaza. There was a whole neighborhood of attached houses painted in different shades of mauve. Donovan’s house was the one with the darkest paint and a yellow door, the last one on the left. Tyler put the car in park and heaved a sigh. Donovan waited for an apology or a question, for something other than silence, but Tyler didn’t say a word.

Fuck him. He slammed the door harder than Christy had and walked inside without looking back. His mom worked the night shift at the hospital, but she’d left a box of macaroni and cheese on the counter. His familiar, a serval cat named Melody, sat on the back of the couch. She looked wild despite how domestic she truly was.

“Why do I always date dickheads?” Donovan asked. Not that he was dating Tyler. Not even close. But still. He narrowed his eyes at Melody and she yawned.

Dickhead was putting it lightly. Tyler was the head witch of their circle, seven years older than him. He had anger issues. He’d never uttered the words commitment or relationship. He was possessive and jealous and mean. He made Donovan feel irreplaceable on some nights, and like nothing on others.

Donovan hated how much he cared for him.

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Meet the Author

Brooklyn Ray is a tea connoisseur and an occult junkie. She writes queer speculative fiction layered with magic, rituals and found families.

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New Release Blitz: There’s Always Something Collection by Schuyler L’Roux (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  There’s Always Something Collection

Author: Schuyler L’Roux

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 17, 2019

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 38200

Genre: Contemporary, LGBT, contemporary, gay, mild BDSM, romance, second chance

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Synopsis

There’s Something about a Kilt

It’s a hellaciously hot day in Minneapolis and all Thom wants to do is enjoy his ice cream and forget about the stacks of essays waiting for him back in his stifling apartment. Until he meets Gerry, a kilted, tattooed Welshman. The conversation is smooth and the attraction immediate, but Gerry is only in town for the night and isn’t down for anything quick and forgettable. When they meet again, hours later, Gerry knows there’s something in the air and all bets are off. Including his kilt.

There’s Something about Pain
Still devastated that Gerry never called him back after an epic night of passionate connection, Thom has been taken to Los Angeles by his best friends for a weekend of debauchery and forgetting. Yet when a drunken decision leads them to Gerry, Thom has a choice to make. Does he take Gerry’s invitation to reenter the world of BDSM, with a proper guide this time, and reclaim power he lost years ago? Or does Thom take his revenge?

There’s Something about Flying
After walking away from Gerry, Thom is back home in Minnesota living his best life. He’s flying through the air, embracing the sexual power he reclaimed in a lonely dungeon with Gerry. Yet when Gerry arrives unannounced and full of inexplicable hope, Thom has another choice to make. Does he let Gerry go and finally close the book on their tryst? Or does Thom open up his heart to the reality of their past and the potential of their future? The third and final chapter of the There’s Always Something trilogy stays true to form: there’s always an ending.

Excerpt

There’s Always Something
Schuyler L’Roux © 2019
All rights reserved

The redhead sat down with a fluid grace, sweeping the kilt under his ass and keeping his knees demurely together. The knees dropped apart when he scooted back in the chair, dropping the kilt between his legs. He licked his cone with a tongue even pinker than his lips, though his thick, flexing forearm distracted Thom. The left arm was covered from wrist to elbow in a splash of water, colored wings on fire, and streams of blue.

“I’m Gerry, by the way.”

Thom wrenched his eyes away to look at Gerry’s expectant expression. “Thom.”

“Short for Thomas?”

“Nope, just Thom.”

“Damn, I always had a thing for Thomases.”

Shit, Thom thought.

Gerry looked him up and down, a question sparking in his eyes. “Strange name for an Italian boy.”

Thom shook off the rust and pushed himself along for the ride. No expectations, he reminded himself. “It’s spelled even stranger.”

Gerry blinked in surprise. “With an ‘h’?”

“My mom loved the Scots.” Thom pointed down to Gerry’s kilt. “Must be genetic. You popped up like a fantasy from when I was thirteen.”

Gerry laughed, waggling his cone like a warning. “Oh, careful there boyo. I’m Welsh. We don’t take kindly to mistaken identity.”

“At least I didn’t call you English.”

Gerry grinned. “Fair enough.” He pointed at Thom’s forgotten ice cream as he took another lick. “Aren’t you worried about that melting?”

Thom shrugged and shot Gerry a sly smile. “I’m easily distracted.” He bit into a large chunk of ice cream and cone, shivering at the burst of cold. “What brings you here?”

“Just a little treat before I get to business.”

“Oh, what do you do?”

“Architecture.”

Jesus, Thom thought. This guy is a walking hard-on with my name written all over it. Thankfully, he managed to say something else. “Which firm?”

Gerry shook his head. “I’m from L.A. Just in for the day.”

Thom nodded, hiding his disappointment in another bite. “I don’t want to keep you,” he said before catching himself with a smile. “Sorry, that’s a lie. I do. What are you up to after work?”

“More work,” Gerry said after a lick. “I’ve got an overrun project and frayed nerves to placate. They’ve tied me up in meetings from now until midnight.”

Thom looked skeptical. “Now? You’ve got a strange definition of ‘now.’”

Gerry laughed. “Like I said, frayed nerves. I’m hoping that by the time I roll in, tragically indisposed by inexplicable summer traffic, everyone will be desperate for a solution.” He smiled again, and Thom’s stomach flipped. “Anyway, I never come into Minneapolis without stopping by Sebastian’s.

“Look who’s talking,” Gerry continued. “What’s your excuse for skipping work on a Friday afternoon?”

Thom arched a dark, plucked eyebrow. “Priority number one for a small business owner is the sanity of his employees.”

“Oh?”

“My air conditioning’s broke,” Thom said with a shrug. “My place is like a sauna. I had to get out of there.”

“So, ice cream instead of the library?”

“Like you said, who can come downtown without stopping by?”

Gerry swirled his ice cream. “What do you do?”

“I teach and write.”

Gerry considered Thom with a light smile. “So, I’m trying to think of a more interesting question than the obvious.”

“What’s the obvious?”

“Hmm…I’m guessing the popular choice is ‘have I read anything of yours?’”

“Basically. Want to guess the second?”

Gerry narrowed his eyes, rolling them up to think. He shook his head.

“I’ll give you a clue,” said Thom, leaning over his ice cream. “It was one of the first questions my mama asked me when I told her I landed a writing gig out here.”

Gerry barked a laugh. “‘Do you write for a gay magazine?’”

Thom cocked his finger like a gun and ‘shot’ Gerry. “Hers was more heavily inflected with disappointed sighs, but pretty much.”

They smiled at each other as their laughter faded. Gerry broke the spell, looking at his wristwatch. He looked up with apology evident in his suddenly knit eyebrows.

“Gotta go?” asked Thom.

“Sad to say,” said Gerry, standing up. “It was fun chatting.”

Thom’s heart stammered. He licked his suddenly dry lips. “I know you said you’re busy with work. But if you get out early, I’m going dancing with some friends.” Keeping his eyes on Gerry was near impossible with his heart hammering so hard, but he kept it up. “Can I give you my number?”

“I leave tomorrow, Thom.”

“Okay.”

“And I’m not looking for a fuck and run.”

“Who says I am?” Thom asked, more out of reflex than honesty.

Gerry placed a hand on his surprisingly slim waist. “You’re saying if I wasn’t down, you wouldn’t mind coming with me and then never again?”

Thom couldn’t help the smile that danced over his lips. He leaned back in his chair to look up at Gerry. “I wouldn’t mind coming, sure. But I may very well regret the never coming again part.”

Gerry grinned. “Clever boy.”

“I try.”

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Meet the Author

A Southern boy deeply proud of his Welsh heritage, Schuyler L’Roux is a writer who passionately believes in the power of sex—funny, world-changing, scratch-the-hell-out-of-my-back sex. He’s a new author and cannot wait to join the world of erotica with his own brand of thoughtful characters engaged in meaningful interactions and entertaining situations. With lots and lots of sex, of course. When he’s not traveling, Schuyler currently calls Germany home.

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New Release Blitz: They Are the Tide by Tash McAdam (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  They Are the Tide

Series: The Psionics, Book Three

Author: Tash McAdam

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 17, 2019

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: No Romance

Length: 80100

Genre: Science Fiction, LGBT, cliffhanger, espionage, spies, military, futuristic, alt universe

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Synopsis

After escaping from two very different prisons, Toby and Epsilon 17 finally have a chance to live for themselves. Helping to build a new city in the wake of the destruction of the Institute should be all they’re worrying about, but Epsilon 17 has a horrific secret that’s getting harder and harder to hide. Cassandra isn’t dead, she’s locked up in the deepest, darkest corner of E17’s mind. Pushing E17 to the brink of madness, Cassandra is determined to take over E17 entirely and destroy the rebellion.

Can Epsilon 17 overcome their hidden enemy and learn to trust the people around them? Unwilling to wait for Cassandra to force their hand, Epsilon 17 decides to take control: to go to a city where the Institute still holds sway, and try to destroy them once and for all. Toby, forbidden from joining the mission, has to find his own path forward. Their connection is as strong as ever, but the distance between them keeps growing.

Excerpt

They Are the Tide
Tash McAdam © 2019
All Rights Reserved

E17

Sometimes I think all I have ever done is hide.

I hid in the Institute, shielding my memories, my soul from those who wanted to take it from me. Now I hide here, from those who want to help me. They want to help me, but they’re also afraid of me. I had a reputation before I was “saved.” Their thoughts call me “the Hunter.” Even though they try to cover them, I catch their fear and distrust echoing in the air all around me, and in the slant-eyed gazes they throw at me. They don’t know I can still hear them. I’ve always been stronger than people predict. I understand why they feel this way, but it burns me still. So, I avoid them as best I can.

I’m sitting alone in the lush garden that circles the new ARC headquarters. It’s beautiful here, a swathe of luscious green studded with vivid color, trees and flowers in carefully designed paths that lead around a low-slung, glittering white building. The whole area is sheltered with cunningly joined transparent sheets that filter out the worst of the dangerous sun. If you squint, you can see the shape of them, hexagon upon hexagon, tessellated together. Last week they were tinted dark for the brutal summer months, now they’re clear and nigh-on invisible. This used to be the Governor’s house, but he fled during the fall of the Institute and took a lot of the military police with him, leaving the city reeling. ARC stepped in, stepped up, tried to retain normalcy, but the shiny surface of city life has worn thin. The power vacuum caused by the disappearance of most of the higher-ups is exacerbated by the growing discontent of the township peoples. Without the Institute dampening them down, hunting for the worst of the malcontents, the slums are rumbling, and the people of the city are frightened and confused.

Several of the factories that produce luxury items for the Citizens have gone on strike, the poor workers no longer numbed to the imbalances in their lives. ARC has worked in secrecy for so long they don’t know how to take charge like this. There’s no direction, and that is frightening. Shivering, I turn my thoughts away from such darkness, and I look up into the bright-blue sky.

I can’t get enough of being outside. Simply sitting in the air is still incredible to me. Several nights I’ve been woken by Toby or Darcy shaking me gently, urging me to go inside to escape the heavy chill of the night. I don’t have nightmares when I’m outdoors. I seem to have developed a sort of claustrophobia that makes me edgy and jumpy when in a closed environment. Strange, when I lived below ground for years, to think that now I’m free, the walls press on me.

It’s been two months since I tried to kill Cassandra. Looked her in the eye and stopped her heart inside her chest but failed to end her. My thought-blind brother carried me out of the wreckage of the Institute, not knowing what he couldn’t see. That she didn’t die, not really. I bear her with me, a nebulous tumor nestling in the secret place that was once my salvation. The bunker I built to save my memories from the Tank, from the wipes that would remove my personality and feelings. She hides in there; I know it. For two months I’ve fought her for possession of my mind, control of my body. The fear is with me, always, but it lessens when I’m outside. I like to sit under the apple trees most of all. The fresh, sharp smell permeates the air, and I fill my lungs until it feels like they must burst from the strain. The filtered sunlight bathes me, trickles honey warm down my spine and soothes my troubles until I can almost forget them.

But no one here wants to forget what I’ve done. The few people who I don’t feel the need to hide from are Toby’s personal group of close friends. They accept me as he did, unquestioningly. Their shields are strong enough that I don’t get inundated with their private thoughts against my wishes, and their open faces tell me they trust me not to pry. That trust is an incredible thing. It feels tangible. I treasure it, as though I can cup it in my palms and feel a tiny heartbeat. The smallest act could snuff it out. I keep the tightest lock on my powers possible. Awareness of that trust helps me control myself and win the fight that always tears at the back of my mind.

Darcy is my favorite. There’s something about her that soothes me. She’s so calm and accepting. In a strange way I feel mothered by her. She always checks in on me, makes sure I’m managing but never makes me feel like I’m not enough, not trying hard enough or being normal enough. She doesn’t mind that I’m quiet. Sometimes she’ll come to sit with me and draw while I think. I love watching her draw, watching a thick black line roll over a blank screen and seeing pictures come alive.

I’ve tried to draw. I’m able to produce accurate technical sketches, one of the many skills the Institute has written through the core of me—regardless of any innate ability—but I don’t know how to take what I see of beauty and translate it into an image. My drawings are dead. And really, it’s the stillness of Darcy’s consciousness when she draws that I envy. I want to find the thing that stills me, settles my heaving insides. There must be something. My brother doesn’t rage inside as I do. Which is a blessing, I suppose. If he did, with his power, everyone would feel it. We’d probably die from it.

Toby is… Toby is Toby. His naiveté often dazzles me. His shields are firm for the most part, having pinned them down, knowing how dangerous it is to be open, but he still projects this aura of hope, of trust. He believes that people are good, and pure, and they all deserve to be safe and happy. He’s been so untouched by loss, disregarding the past year of his life, that he’s still untarnished by the harshness of existence. As well, being unable to read protects him from the more bitter realities of what lies below the surface. It’s a beautiful thing, and I know I’ll do anything to protect that in him. Not a day goes by when I don’t regret my choice. Not Cassandra’s death itself; the woman was, and is, a poison. Now one that seeps inside me, which I believe is better for the world. I regret the innocence I took from my brother, and the price I pay is for that.

My penance is clear; carry Cassandra inside me and never, ever set her free from the prison she is trapped in. Never allow her to take hold of me, or find a way out. I’m her jailer as she once was mine. It seems like a fair trade.

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Meet the Author

Tash is a 30 year old teacher candidate at UBC in Canada, although they were born and raised in the hilly sheepland of Wales (and have lived in South Korea and Chile before settling down in Vancouver). Tash identifies as trans and queer and uses the neutral pronoun ‘they’. They’re also an English teacher and fully equipped to defend that grammar! They have a degree in computer science so their nerd chat makes sense, and a couple of black belts in karate which are very helpful when it comes to writing fight scenes.

Their novel writing endeavours began at the age of eight, and included passing floppy discs back and forth with a friend at swimming lessons. Since then, Tash has spent time falling in streams, out of trees, learning to juggle, dreaming about zombies, dancing, painting, learning and then teaching Karate, running away with the circus, and of course, writing.

They write fast-paced, plot-centric action adventure with diverse casts. They write the books that they wanted to read as a queer kid and young adult (and still do!)

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New Release Blitz: My Summer of Love by SA Collins (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  My Summer of Love

Series: Angels of Mercy, Book One

Author: SA Collins

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 10, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 110300

Genre: Contemporary, LGBT, Contemporary, gay, new adult, family-drama, high school, Homecoming, sports, athlete, in the closet, homophobia

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Synopsis

On the cusp of his senior year at Mercy High, Elliot Donahey, an out but terminally shy gay young man who keeps to the shadows—never wanting to be seen or noticed—suddenly finds himself in the arms of the highest profile jock on campus, local star quarterback, Marco Sforza. Their lives, and the ones of those closest to them, will never be the same.

Set against the backdrop of competitive sports, this character study work deep dives into the lives of these young men who each must “play the game” so Marco can play the game he loves. They are just trying to find some small slice of happiness to call their own amidst their hellish final year of high school.

Excerpt

My Summer of Love
SA Collins © 2019
All Rights Reserved

My day at the Q went pretty much like any other day. I prepped the machines to churn out the requisite soft ice cream Dairy Queen was known for—a pale mixture not too unlike frozen liquid paper (and probably contained quite a few of the same ingredients, come to think of it)—a heart-stopping coagulation of fats and chemicals. That broad assertion of its core ingredients was made by my mother, Kayla Donahey. As a bona fide health nut, she had the irony of owning the local DQ franchise she’d inherited when her father dropped dead—in the store, in front of customers no less—only two short summers ago. Coincidentally, and much to my chagrin, the very same year I was able to legally work. You can just imagine my euphoric bliss. This was how one Elliot Donahey entered the workforce: a by-product of a family franchise transfer. Sometimes I marveled at how my grandfather had timed things so precisely to check out of life so everything could change hands with nary a wrinkle in the process.

That fateful hot summer day, Taylor Campbell, a wiry six-foot three tall man, was the sole employee manning the store. As with most people, he had no way of knowing that day would be his last. At the time, he was sixty-three years, four months, twenty-two hours and thirteen minutes old (I did the math later—hey, I was bored), and was busy running the local shop he’d had for the past thirty years—working on probably his two millionth Oreo Cookie Blizzard, never realizing it was his number that was up.

At exactly 4:57 pm he dropped dead on the job. The only reason anyone knew the exact time of death was because, as the aneurysm burst in his head and his body took its death plunge to the floor, his right arm caught the electrical cord of the store clock, yanking it out of the wall and thereby fixing the time of death for all to see. By six that evening a distraught and frantic Kayla, with a disheveled and confused me in tow, had the store operating while she tried to coordinate calls to the family advising them of the change in ownership and what time the funeral services were going to be held. Meanwhile, she left me alone to do battle with the obtuse workings of the fryer.

I would’ve thought she’d have closed the store due to a death in the family. But you’d have to know my mother, practical to a fault. And she was worried about money—so the store stayed open. She said she’d grieve later, in private, alone in her room. I tried to comfort her. She told me she was going to be all right but needed some time alone to process it. It was a very lonely night for us both.

Other than the steady decline of customers due to the recent downturn in the economy, not much had changed in the two years since my familial indentured employment began. I was now on the cusp of turning eighteen on the second day of August. You know, that momentous occasion in a boy’s life where I was supposed to blossom into manhood. Where I—I dunno, like sprout hair on my chest, grow a huge cock, and want to bang a gaggle of women—or something like that. Sadly, since it was only Tuesday, July 17th, I still had a couple of weeks before I could claim the status of being a pseudo-adult American male. I couldn’t legally drink, not that I had a hankering to do so, but like all red-blooded American males, I was working on it.

This particular Tuesday, though, seemed like any other. In fact, since we’d taken over the Q, all of my days stretched out before me like the blank white walls of the shop. It was just one boring set of non-events meandering into another. I had no way of knowing how this particular day’s events would drastically change my life forever.

For today was the day I would fall in love.

I’d like to say, looking back on it later, the air smelled different, the sun was a bit brighter, and I was greeted by deer and birds on my walk to work, but no—no change. Same ol’ boring Mercy day. I’d always imagined what it’d be like to have a special someone in my life. There’d no doubt be challenges ahead for us: the thrill of the chase, the incredible emotional highs and hopefully, very few lows. But for now, I refilled condiment containers, had buns queued up, and stocked the requisite food supplies for another thrilling adventure-filled day at the Q…

…then proceeded to wait four hours for my first customer.

Sometimes, I wondered why my mother even bothered sending me to the shop. There was a Baskin-Robbins only a few doors down the same strip mall practically stealing all the ice cream business. And, honestly, who really wanted a grilled cheese from the Q anymore?

Even though my taste in food often ran contrary to Mom’s overly crazed health-conscious experiments with our home meals, I often dreamed of settling down to a basic meal of steak/protein of some sort, potatoes (because I have a particular affinity for them), and a veggie or salad (because rabbit food is good food—or so they tell me). Hey, it wasn’t like I was demanding a gourmet feast straight from Tyler Florence’s recipe box, but I didn’t fancy having to compete with the local rabbit or avian population in foraging for my next meal. I just wanted real food, not the corporate-processed shit I was forced to serve up to our barely existent customers.

On most days, there was nothing to pass the time other than a continuous round of stocking and cleaning. True enough, I could play my favorite XM radio station in the store—not like anyone else was around to protest my taste in music. Way I figured it, if I was working for nearly free (Mom did give me some money so it wasn’t legally slavery), then at least I could listen to whatever the hell I wanted. Musically, I was all over the map. Country (especially the new “sexy” gay country singer Steve Grand who’d recently gone viral on the inter-web thing, as Mom calls it) to show tunes (I swear this will become clearer to you in a moment) to classic rock or even disco (okay, that one might’ve been a dead giveaway). I did it all.

I even liked to play coffee house fave Jay Brannan cranked up and do my own little fake video shoots in the store. I mean, who needs High School Musical or Glee when you could have me bouncing around from table to table in the seating area wailing at the top of my lungs to Jay Brannan’s song “La La La”? Haven’t heard it? Well, Google it, dammit—do I need to bring you up to date on everything?

Go on, I’ll wait…

See what I mean? Broadway’d only be so lucky! And you certainly ain’t lived until you’ve walked in the Q and watch me pour a mean Blizzard while hearing Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 2 gushing forth over the fairly adequate sound system. Right now, though, it was Donna Summer extolling the virtues of working hard for the money. My disco mood was running rampant.

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Meet the Author

SA “Baz” Collins hails from the San Francisco Bay Area where he lives with his husband, and a Somali cat named Zorro. A classically trained singer/actor (under a different name), Baz knows a good yarn when he sees it.

Based on years of his work as an actor, Baz specializes in character study pieces. It is more important for him that the reader comes away with a greater understanding of the characters and the reasons they make the decisions they do, rather than the situations they are in. It is this deep dive into their manners, their experiences and how they process the world around them that make up the body of Mr. Collins’ work.

You can find his works at sacollins.com and as a co-host/producer of the wrotepodcast.com series.

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