Contemporary LGBTQ Romance
Contributors: Jodi Payne, BA Tortuga
Buy the Book: Amazon
Contributors: Jodi PayneBuy the Book: Amazon~~Universal eBook Links
New York attorney Teague Whitaker is so close to making equity partnership he can taste it. He’s spent two years cultivating a relationship with the Avenstone Group and he’s finally landed them, bringing in a big-money deal in a big-money industry.
Jason Kovacs is…from Jersey. He’s been a barista, a bike messenger, a third-shift stocker at D’Agostino. He tries out new jobs and quits them all the time, not because he hates them, but because he doesn’t love them. But that changes when he lands a job dancing at The Wiggle Room.
When Teague bellies up to the bar, Jason can tell he’s had a bad, bad day. Jason also knows money when he sees it, so he swoops in on the polished hottie, hoping to make bank. Stunned by the unexpected loss of his career-making deal, Teague is there to drink. He’s looking for a distraction, and chatting up the buff and pretty boy that just swiped the cherry from his whiskey sour is a damn good start.
Neither expects sparks to fly with one unplanned kiss, but that’s just the beginning of the unexpected for Teague and Jason. They’re from the same city, but they’re living in two different worlds. Their relationship may be unconventional, but if they can meet in the middle—halfway between Wall Street and Jersey—they just might make it work.
EXCERPT:
Chapter One
Jason stood at the bottom of the stairwell at the 49th Street subway station, psyching himself up for a four-block slog in the pouring rain. Not north and south blocks, of course, but four long-ass avenue blocks. What the hell was going on? It hadn’t been raining this hard when he left Brooklyn.
Seriously? This was so gonna suck.
Finally accepting that the rain wasn’t going let up anytime soon, he pulled his hood tighter around his face, shrugged his backpack onto both shoulders, and took off at a jog. The deeper he went into Hell’s Kitchen, though, the more the wind blew the rain into his face until he found himself trudging along and leaning into it, forehead low, hands stuffed into his pockets for warmth.
He didn’t have the cash for the cab ride across the bridge and into the city, but maybe he could find someone who would be into sharing a ride back to Brooklyn once he had some tip money in his pocket.
Assuming he made some money tonight. This crappy weather might keep people away. Maybe not the tourists, but the locals would probably say to hell with it, stay home and watch porn instead. That was totally what he would do if he wasn’t working.
He crossed against the light at Ninth, sprinting the last few feet to get out of the way of a big black SUV with Jersey plates that was honking at him. The asshole was probably headed for the Lincoln Tunnel.
“Screw you, Jersey!” he shouted and flipped the driver off. Wasn’t likely they’d see it, but whatever. It made him feel better.
“Jason!”
That had to be Danny. Who else would be running in platform boots and a bright-yellow rain slicker? “Danny! You’re ruining those heels in this weather.”
“What, these? These are my rain boots, baby.” Danny laughed and took his arm.
Jason pulled Danny under the awning of a dry cleaner and smiled. “It’s Dallas, by the way.”
“Dallas? Are you going away?” Danny looked confused.
“No, my stage name. It’s Dallas.”
“Really?”
“Or maybe Austin? No, I think it was Dallas.” Texan, in any case.
“You’re gonna be a cowboy?”
He nodded. “That’s what Aaron said he wanted when he hired me.”
Danny leaned close, shivering a little even as he giggled. “Well, you’ve got the guns for it, sweetheart, that’s for sure.”
“Ha ha.” He did, though. The guns, the quads, the abs…he was proud of his body. His rent might be late, but he was always paid up at the gym.
“Let’s hear your accent.”
Jason laughed. “Okay. Can ah git you a draink, sugar?”
Danny wrinkled his nose. “Oh, baby. That’s…wow.”
Bad. He knew. “Shut up.” They both started laughing. What was he gonna do? The owner wanted a cowboy, and he wanted a job. He’d get better.
“Thanks for getting me the interview.” Maybe it wasn’t a classy job, but man, did he need the money. Plus, whatever gene it was that kept normal people from being completely shameless? He just wasn’t born with it. This could actually turn out to be the perfect job for him.
“I hope it works out for you, baby. I think you’re going to do great. Lord knows you can dance.”
“Let’s hope. We better get moving before we’re late.”
“Ugh.” Danny sighed dramatically. “This fucking weather is murder on my hair.” Danny’s long, dark hair, which he usually tamed and styled with product, had that beautiful, naturally wavy thing going on. But yeah, the humidity was hell on Jason’s short, dirty-blond curls, so he could only imagine the time it took Danny to compensate.
The two of them ran the last half block together arm in arm. They ran right past the main club entrance and stopped by a completely unmarked metal door with no handle on the outside.
Jason squinted up at the marquee through the raindrops. On top of it were the words “The Wiggle Room” in neon pink and green, surrounded by blue chasing lights. He shook his head at himself. Yep. This was for real. He was an entertainer now.
Danny banged on the door with the side of his fist, protecting his bright-yellow nail polish, and one of the biggest men Jason had ever seen opened the door for them. A barrel chest and tree-trunk arms filled the doorway, completely blocking the view of whatever was inside.
“Come on in, ladies.” The guy stepped out of their way.
Jason winked. “That’s ‘cowboy,’ actually.”
“Oh, yeah? Yeehaw, then.” The security guy didn’t even crack a smile.
“Oh, Jackson.” Danny gave the man a poke in the chest and looked at Jason. “He’s a big softie, baby, don’t let him fool you.”
“Yippee ki-yay.” Jason smiled at Jackson and tipped an imaginary hat. Still not one hint of a smile. Wow.
Jackson blinked at him slowly. He’d have bet the man was stoned. “Bruce Willis.”
“What?”
“That’s not cowboy, that’s Bruce Willis.”
“Oh. Right.” Shit, I’m too Brooklyn to be a fucking cowboy. “Thanks.”
Danny took his arm. “Come on, baby, let’s get you settled.”
“Later, cowboy. Welcome to the club.”
“Thank you, Jackson.” Jason laughed and followed Danny down a narrow hall. Just beyond the entryway was the dressing room he’d seen during his interview. It had rows of lighted mirrors along one wall and several garment racks along another, and men were in various stages of undress as they got ready for work.
“There you are.” Aaron’s deep voice vibrated in his ears as the club owner crossed the room to him. “Are you ready?”
Jason nodded. “Born ready.”
“Yeah?” Aaron seemed happy with that answer. “Guess we’ll see, won’t we? Come on.”
Danny gave Jason a kiss on the cheek. “See you out there, doll.”
Title: Mergers & Acquisitions
Contributors: Jodi Payne, BA TortugaBuy the Book: AmazonColt Boudreaux was raised in the Louisiana bayou and is gifted with a talent steeped in the rich and soulful New Orleans blues tradition. He makes a living as a session musician, playing guitar for anyone who needs him. When his manager sends him to New York, the Cajun is as beguiled as he is baffled by the energy of the city—and just as charmed by Kyle Alexander.
Kyle is a successful classically trained ballet dancer, choreographer, and native New Yorker whose unbridled talent defies convention, and whose rebel spirit favors ink, shuns the orchestra, and is every bit as unique as Kyle himself.
They find a connection right away that inspires rhythm and movement, mood and music, both in and out of the bedroom. It’s not long before they’re as obsessed with each other as they are with their art, and they decide to work together on an improvisational piece for Kyle’s upcoming solo exhibition.
But Kyle is focused, and Colt is free-spirited. Colt’s work ebbs and flows with inspiration, and Kyle’s is rehearsed. Kyle is social and sophisticated, and Colt… isn’t. When their talents weave together, it’s magical, but will their differences destroy it all?
EXCERPT:
Chapter One
“OO-EEE!” OH praise Jesus, that felt like motherfucking heaven. Colt let the guitar rest, dangle from his fingers, the burning of the skin under his calluses promising to make tomorrow earned hell. It was worth it. Every fucking second of it. The music had poured through them all like they was all Robert Johnson hisself.
“Damn. Damn, that was fine, Boudreaux. You can play with us anytime, right boys?” Little Mel was sweating like a whore in church, her braids and mandolin dark with their good work. Hank Bennett and Mr. Bill were in the same boat. They’d laid down their tracks, wrote some, and then started jamming again. That last piece?
Lord, Lord.
Babies would be made under that song.
“I ’preciate it. For reals.” Colt didn’t know no one here, but he knew music, and he knew jamming, and he knew when it was right.
“You want to go get some food? You have to be starving, boy.” Mr. Bill grinned at him, gold tooth shining, and Colt nodded.
“Yessir. I got a hollow leg, me. I could eat.” He couldn’t believe he was here, not really. Not here starving, either, but here making music because someone wanted to pay his happy ass to do it.
Him.
“Come to New York, Colt. You’ll play some studio gigs, write some songs. It’ll be fun.”
What? He was gonna say no? What else did he do? He picked and played.
So here he was, ’til Nathan said to do something else. This place was like a dream, and he found himself going from little room to studio to little room, over and over. He’d traveled some—Dallas, New Orleans, Houston, San Antonio—but this place was… different. Cool and exciting, but he’d never felt so small.
He pulled his gimme cap on and put his guitar away with a smile. He’d reckon it. He’d managed fine so far, hadn’t he? Yessir. And he was loving all the different folks, all the different styles. All the music.
No wonder men sold their souls for this.
“Great work, guys!” The guy who worked the booth bebopped in, grinning like a gator. “The sound rocked.”
Little Mel grabbed the guy up in an embrace, and, damn, he sorta disappeared into her.
Whoa.
“Dang, Mellons. You gotta give a brother a chance to bail out before he suffocates in there.”
Little Mel laughed, the sound rich. “You’re on the wrong team, Timmy, honey. You’re the only one that complains.”
Timmy grinned at her and winked. “Hey, I totally got that whole last track even though you were just jamming. It was pretty sweet.” The guy started cleaning up, pulling mics and dressing cables.
“Boudreaux can find one hell of a hook.”
Colt bowed at her words, making a show of it. “La, it’s a good job.”
“Timothy Webb. Timmy.” Timmy stuck his hand out for a fist bump. “You can’t fake it and keep up with this crew. That was pretty boss, dude.”
“Colt. Pleased and thank you.” He didn’t have an ounce of fake in him. Just music and a little bit of wild child.
“Now, if you’re eating with them, you might find it harder to keep up. Especially with Mr. Bill. He can totally put it away.” Timmy packed the mics into a crate and put the cables on top. “You guys using this kit tomorrow, or should I break it down?”
“Can you jam tomorrow, Cajun?”
“Surely do. Just point and shoot my happy ass, Mr. Bill.” He didn’t have any other reason to be here, and no one had said he was going anywhere else.
“Right on. I’ll leave it, then. Just need the pickups.” Timmy crawled all over the drum kit, pulling the electrics to lock them up. “Colt, just leave your cables be. You want to lock up your instrument with everybody else’s babies, that’s okay by me. So you don’t have to carry it around? I keep the key, and I’m first in, last out of here.”
“Yeah?” He looked to Little Mel, because this one wasn’t his acoustic, but she was special. She was his, and she spoke to his heart. The acoustic spoke to his soul.
“It’s cool, man. Seriously. It’s safer here than sitting by your feet at a diner.”
“Right. Thanks, boo. I appreciate it for true.” He shot Timmy a grin. “You want food too?”
“You know it. I’ll join you guys in a few. Just gotta wrap up here. Hank, you want to show the newbie where you keep your toys on the way out?”
“Oh, I suppose I can handle that. C’mon, Colt, I’ll show you the locker.” Hank hauled his ass off the chair like he was made of stone. Had to be seventy if he was a day.
“I’ll catch up, dude. Shake Shack?”
Little Mel nodded. “I’m in, honey. We’ll see you there.”
He followed Hank, a melody tickling around behind his eyes, something happy and old, something his granny had sang to him, once upon a time.
“There’s some sweet stuff in here. Trust me, your guitar will be in good company.” Hank opened a door, which looked like any other door, but the door behind that one had a handle crank like a bank vault. The old man gave it a shove, and it swung open the rest of the way by itself, opening into a large, brightly lit room. There was a double row of guitar hangers on the far wall, and shelves with just about everything else imaginable on each side. Percussion instruments, strings, drum kits, a couple of leather jackets, a pair of cowboy boots. “This whole place could burn down and this thing would still be standing. I keep a bunch of my gear in here. I don’t know who half this shit belongs to, but Timmy does.”
“Merci, Vieux. This is sweet. Never seen nothing like this.” They weren’t near so fancy, back home.
“Welcome to the Big Apple, friend. Check out the pictures on the way out, get a little perspective. This isn’t exactly a small operation.”
“Big, small—whatever. I just want to pick.” The Big Apple. Why an apple? Huh.
Hank waited for him to hang up his guitar and then followed him out. “You will, if you keep up like you did today. Something you may or may not already know? Make friends with Timmy. He makes it easy, so it’s not like you have to try very hard. But he sits at that console every day whether you’re here or not. And if you’re not but someone that needs someone like you is? Timmy’s your best friend.”
They met up with the rest of the band in the lobby.
He filed that away. Friends he could do. Shit, he liked folks. He loved music. He loved folks that loved to play. All good, so far as he went.
The Shake Shack was crazy as all get-out. Loud and busy, burgers and dogs, and since this was Times Square, everyone was there. Suits, little kids, hipsters, uniforms, you name it. Sorta felt like New Orleans, but with less blues.
They’d only just sat down when Timmy arrived. He gave everyone a wave and got in line to order, head down and texting.
“So your manager sent you up here to us?” Hank asked, pulling at his cheese fries.
“Yessir. I come up from Houston, last, laying down gospel tracks. Good work, that.” It soothed the soul, even if they’d all spent the late nights so fucked-up on grain alcohol that he swore he was gonna go blind.
Hank nodded and looked at Little Mel. “He’s working for me. You?” Colt reckoned this was Mel’s band, best he could tell. And he was pretty clear that today’s session was an audition of sorts. That’s how things usually worked out.
“You know it. We can finish this album out, if you’re willing.”
“Yes, ma’am. As you want. I’m easy, me.”
“He’s easy, him.” Mr. Bill laughed, poked Colt with his elbow. “Just playin’ with you, son. You can pick with me any day.”
“Hank, you remember that dancer we did a mix for a couple of months ago?” Timmy worked his way into the table between Mel and Hank.
“The bad-boy ballet kid?”
“Yeah, dude. Him. Kyle? He just texted me. I cut him a couple more CDs from the master. He’s coming to pick them up.”
“He was a trip and a half. I guess it did okay?”
“I think he’s going to let us know.” Timmy picked up a hot dog covered in vegetables. Something about that didn’t make no sense. “I guess they’re keeping you, dude? If not, you’d have totally split by now. This crew is pretty straight shooting.”
“I guess so. I like being kept okay.” He was easy that way.
Hank laughed, elbowed Little Mel. “He’s just like Timmy, all laid-back and whatever, dude.”
“Hey! Timmy!” A guy in a big sweater and a mop of dark hair waved from the doorway.
“Kyle. Dude.” Timmy waved his friend over.
“Duuuude.” Kyle grinned, teasing. “Good to see you.” They exchanged some complicated handshake and ended with a bro hug. “What the hell are you eating?”
“It’s that veggie dog thing.”
“Really, Timmy? Go with a cheeseburger next time. Hey, Hank.” They shook hands.
“Kyle. This is Little Mel, Mr. Bill, and over there is our new picker, Colt Boudreaux.”
Kyle shook hands and grabbed for Colt’s last. “Pleasure.”
Strong and warm and Colt’s body tightened, the sudden rush of want surprising the shit out of him. Huh. Pretty. “Pleased.”
Sit, boo, and watch you. Folks is folks and no one might want to know you swing the rainbow way.
Then again, he kind of thought Kyle held his hand, and eyes, just a little too long.
“I got your CDs, man.” Timmy dug around in his messenger bag.
“Oh, great. Thanks.” Kyle gave his hand an extra squeeze before letting go and taking the CDs from Timmy.
He set to his french fries, letting the greasy saltiness soothe his belly.
“So, Timmy, I’ve got another project to talk to you about. Do you have some time?”
“Um. Well, I’m in the studio with these guys for at least the next few days. Why don’t you come by?”
“Yeah? Okay, cool.”
“What kind of project is it?”
“I need something simple. Like really simple. Maybe just a guitar even. I’ll tell you all about it, and you can help me decide.”
“Yeah, sure, dude. No sweat.”
“Thanks, sweetheart. Nice meeting you all. I’m headed to rehearsal. Gotta run.” Kyle kissed Timmy smack on the lips.
“Later, twinkle toes.”
“Oh! Timmy! Roulette. Tomorrow night, karaoke and crazy shit. You should come.”
“Sounds great, dude.”
Kyle disappeared onto the street.
Lord have mercy, that was hot. He knew a few places in the Crescent he could do that, but here? Good to know.
Timmy laughed. “That guy is insane, dude. ‘Karaoke and crazy shit’ could literally mean anything. Oh. Colt. I meant to ask—you good with a place to stay? I know the studio is putting you up for a couple of days in a hotel, but after that? I got a room if you need one.”
“Yeah? I—I gotta call Nathan and find out what happens, but I might could use a real place. Somewhere I can cook.” He could spend him a few days in a place not a hotel room.
“Sure. Offer stands, kitchen isn’t big, but it’s got all the… kitchen stuff. I don’t cook.”
Mr. Bill and Hank gave them all a shake. “I’m gonna get Hank into a cab and head home. We’ll catch y’all tomorrow morning, yeah?”
“I’ll be in by eight. Studio is yours whenever you show, bro.”
Little Mel was looking at her phone. “No later than nine, boys. I want the full day we’re paying for.”
He nodded, nibbling on his fries. “I’ll be there, ma’am. No worries.”
He didn’t want to go back to his room and sit.
Timmy patted the table. “How about a drink and a little New York style jazz, dude?”
“Yeah? I’m in, boo.” Oh, he liked this guy. He wanted to go and see, hear. Do.
“Birdland, Mellons. You coming?”
“Timothy, if you call me ‘Mellons’ again….”
“If the shoe fits, sister.”
Little Mel grinned at him. “Get out of here before I squash you flat.”
Timmy leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll see you at eight, I know. Come on, Colt. Mellons means business.”
“Timothy!”
Timmy laughed himself silly all the way to the sidewalk.
He followed along, bebopping to the music that seemed to be everywhere. “Thanks for the invite, boo.”
“Oh, yeah. Dude, I’m up for music any night, and you don’t want to hang out in a stale hotel room when you have this city at your feet, right? Oh, and by the way? Don’t change a thing, but up here when someone says boo, they mean honey. Like ‘that’s my boo.’” Timmy grinned at him.
“Yeah? ’Kay. Good to know.” He knew that it would pop out anyway. He was all about the habits, from chewing toothpicks to falling asleep to Abbey Road.
“So I saw the CV Nathan sent, dude. You get around, huh?” Timmy turned a corner, and they headed down a long block.
“I go where the music takes me.” It was the best life. His daddy would be damn proud. Prob’ly was looking down and grinning right now.
“You’ve got sick fingers, dude. I’m glad it brought you around here. You play anything else?”
“Anything you can pick, boo.”
He could see the flag that hung outside the club down the block, and the neon in the window drew his eye a second later. There was a line—not a long one; he’d seen worse—but still a line.
“This isn’t too bad. We should be golden, dude. Hey, stand with the neon; I’ll get a picture for you.” Timmy pulled out a phone.
He went to stand, posing like the littlest Cajun dork in history, hooting as he boogied and Timmy laughed.
“That’s rad. You got AirDrop? I’ll… send it… huh.” Timmy glanced up at him and then back at the screen.
“What? My hair weird?”
“No, dude. Kyle is asking about you.” Timmy laughed. “He thinks the whole world wants him.” Timmy started texting.
“The pretty one?” For true? He liked the thought of that, yes he did.
Timmy glanced up at him again and nodded. “The super pretty one. I was about to…. It’s cool, I wasn’t trying to freak you out, dude. I can tell him to simmer down… unless…?”
“You into him? I ain’t no poacher.”
“Aw.” Timmy laughed, a little embarrassed. “No. I thought maybe I was at first a while back, but no. He’s a lot of fun, but he’s a buddy, that’s all.”
“Bon amis are good, yeah? Better than lovers sometimes.” He got that. Your friends didn’t fall out of your life near as much.
“A lot of times, dude. Totally. So, what do you want me to say? You want me to tell him to chill, or are you interested?”
“I could be interested.” His cheeks burned some, but that was okay. A guy needed a little fun in between gigs.
Timmy elbowed him and grinned. “Yeeeeah, dude. That’s the way to be. He’s a party and a half.” He watched Timmy text and speak everything out loud. “Colt… is totally… into hanging out, dude. Yeah? That work?”
When he nodded, Timmy hit Send and waited for a reply.
“Kyle says, ‘Great. Bring him to karaoke tomorrow night.’” Timmy looked at him. “Cool? This karaoke thing he does? It’s more like open mic night. It’s all theater peeps, and it’s total talent.”
He nodded. Open mic night he understood. He’d spent most his life picking for anyone who would listen. He sang, wrote, played—if it was music, he was there.
“I’m telling him you’re in.” Timmy texted, grinned at something that popped up on the screen, and put the phone away. “You have a date, boo.” Timmy winked at him.
“Lookit me!” He gave a holler, and all the folks stared.
Timmy gave him a fist bump and took his arm, steering him into the club.
Title: Syncopation
Find Jodi's full catalog with links to all your favorite formats at Queeromance Ink!
Contributors: Jodi Payne, BA TortugaBuy the Book: AmazonBartender, Tyler McKeehan, feels like his whole life is on hold. All he does is work and sleep, because he just doesn’t know how to move on with his day to day after the shocking loss of his best friend. When he meets Matt at Les’s Bar where he works in New York, though, he thinks he might have found someone who can nudge him out of his rut. The cowboy seems to live on fast forward, but at the same time, this kind, generous man makes Tyler feel wanted and safe.
Ranch owner, Matthew Whitehead, is just in New York for a visit. But when he runs into Tyler at Les’s Bar, he can tell right away that Tyler is special. Matt’s family thinks he makes snap decisions, and they worry about him, but he knows what he wants, and even after just a few days, he’s willing to fight to keep Tyler in his life. When Matt has to head back to Texas, he tells Tyler to come visit him and meet his kids. Soon.
Tyler doesn’t know if he can just pick up and go to Texas, but he misses Matt’s affection and calming presence, so when life gets too overwhelming, he makes the call. Between Matt’s huge, boisterous family, his children, his busy ranch, and the vast differences between New York City and Texas, Tyler wonders if he should go back to his old life every day. Matt is determined to keep Tyler right where he is, but can they overcome the odds against them and make a new life together?
Contributors: Jodi Payne, BA TortugaBuy the Book: Amazon
Contributors: Jodi PayneBuy the Book: AmazonScarlett Lennon died in a skiing accident five years ago, leaving behind secrets she’d been keeping to protect herself, her inheritance and her fiancée, Ella.
Single mom Ella Anderson works as a dispatcher for the mountain rescue squad in Summit Springs, Colorado. She is doing her best to make ends meet while she raises her five year old son on her own. She adores little Theo, and although she would never complain, she doesn’t have time for anyone else.
Natalie Lennon, is the youngest daughter of the Lennon family, who owns Pines Peak ski resort, and whose great wealth is well known in town and beyond. She has no career, no girlfriend, and no direction. What she does have is a lot of money. She’s grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth, not understanding at all what it’s like to live paycheck to paycheck.
The two meet by coincidence in the Emergency Room late one night, where Natalie uses her clout to get Ella’s feverish and very sick little boy seen quickly, even insisting that Theo be seen ahead of herself.
Ella remembers Natalie, even though Nalatie doesn’t recognize her. The chance meeting touches off something bigger than either woman is ready for. Not just an unexpected relationship, but a dive into the past that shines a light on Natalie’s big sister Scarlett’s secrets, and the truth about Theo.
Rich Girl is a secret heir, opposites attract, millionairess and single mom romance set in the fictional universe of Summit Springs Colorado.
Contributors: Jodi PayneTitle: Roadside AssistanceFREE BOOK!!
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Drew Sadler is the single dad of a ten-year-old, and he’s got more than enough on his plate. He had a bad day at work, he’s in the doghouse with Evan again for being late to pick him up at school, and his car has broken down in the parking lot. Now he’s got to figure out how to deal with a tow and car repairs too.
This isn’t Nick MacPherson’s first breakdown call in the pouring rain, and the tow-truck operator doesn’t have good news for Drew. The soft-spoken, overwhelmed father is clearly at his wit’s end, and Nick finds he is drawn to the man and wants to help. He entertains Evan on the ride to the garage to give the guy a second to breathe.
Evan warms up to Nick right away, but Drew obviously has bigger issues on his mind. A late-night emergency isn’t the right time to ask Drew out, so Nick finds a subtle way to put the ball in Drew’s court.
Their first date goes well—really well—and the spark between them is undeniable. But if they move too fast, will they be headed for a different kind of breakdown?
Contributors: Jodi Payne, BA TortugaBuy the Book: AmazonThey say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but sometimes distance makes people drift apart.
Rope Canutt has announced his retirement from bull riding and is making the most of his final year on the circuit, riding the big shows and resting in between so he can finish the season on a high note. He isn’t sure what’s next for him. He has no plan yet and nowhere to go, especially since his family sold their ranch a few years back.
Jude Sharpe remembers Rope fondly from their younger days in Austin. Mostly he remembers how hot the rodeo cowboy was and how much fun they had hooking up every time their paths crossed. That was a long time ago, and Jude’s been married and lost his husband to cancer in the years since they’ve seen each other. Now he’s raising a son alone.
When bull riding comes to New York City, Jude’s consulting firm uses their private box to entertain clients from Houston, and Jude brings his son Silas along to see the show. Rope is riding and Jude hopes to introduce Silas to a real bull rider. They’ve each lived a whole lifetime apart, and Jude and Rope aren’t sure how much they have in common anymore. So will they be drawn to each other when their paths cross again?
The books in this series are standalones and can be read in any order.
Contributors: Jodi Payne, BA TortugaBuy the Book: AmazonDr. Isaac Daniels and Detective Neil Thrope have been on and off Dom and sub since they met a few years ago. Isaac is all in but he’s not everything switch Neil needs, so good as things are between them, they both know it’s not enough.
Being in the BDSM community, Isaac and Neil were there to help when sub Alain Remy Broussard was assaulted by a pair of Doms who didn’t ascribe to the notion of safe, sane, and consensual. Their friend, Dom and therapist Cyrus Hughes offered Alain a place to stay, and has been working with the boy to help him regain trust. When Cyrus is called out of town suddenly, he calls on Isaac, who agrees to take Alain in while he’s away.
Isaac feels instantly protective of Alain, but it’s Neil who quickly bonds with the sub. With Alain in the house, Neil might have found the balance he craves but thought was too much to ask for. Isaac, though, has only ever had that kind of connection with Neil. Will the Dom be able to get on board and love both men as they, and he, deserve?
Contributors: Jodi Payne, B.A. TortugaBuy the Book: AmazonREFRACTION WILL RETURN SOON!
Texas artist Tucker Williams arrives in New York City for a gallery showing of his work and finds the city blanketed in snow. He meets free-spirited underwear model Calvin McIntire on the steps of the Midtown library and is captivated by a wild beauty that manages to compete with the demons that occupy his soul and fuel his work with their lust for blood and erotic imagery.
Unable to deny a new inspiration, Tucker sublets a studio and finds the city’s energy almost as addictive as Calvin. Tucker is obsessive, barely holding on to sanity as his art consumes him, and Calvin is dealing with demons of his own, trying desperately to protect his soul in a business where only his appearance has value.
They each prove to be the perfect remedy for the other’s personal brand of crazy until, in the midst of stress and exhaustion, they discover that a promise Calvin needs is the one thing Tucker can’t give him, and their heaven turns to purgatory.
Can both men find a path toward wholeness in Tucker’s beautiful but chaotic Texas home? In order for them—and their passionate relationship—to thrive, they’ll need to adapt, share their psychoses, and find a true balance between New York City and rural Texas.
EXCERPT
Chapter One
Tucker Williams leaned against the steps of the library beside the big stone lion and watched the white stuff fall out of the sky. Colder than he’d ever been in his whole life, he shivered, trying to figure out what the fuck a guy like him was doing all the way up here.
The logical part of his brain, the part not frozen solid, reminded him that he had a gallery opening tomorrow. A major opening. Right.
So he was up here touristing all by himself and freezing his nuts and his toes off and waiting to show up in his best jeans and jacket tomorrow night.
Go him.
Christ on a sparkly pink crutch, everyone here wore black, and no one smiled a bit. Surely there had to be somewhere here with friendly folks and heat.
Right on cue, one of those black-clad Yankees—this one in a black knee-length coat, black earmuffs, and chunky black boots—came trotting down the steps right past him. Like every other guy on the busy street, he was on the phone.
“That spread is mine, Michael. I want it. You make it happen. I’ve got the best ass of the bunch, and you know it.”
The man stopped two steps below Tucker. “I’m easier to work with too. You tell them, okay? I need to get out of the weather. Who ordered this shit? Later.”
Huh. Earmuffs were a thing. Go figure. Tucker had to admit, the whole pseudo-duster thing was pretty hot.
“’Scuse me, sir, but is there a decent place to get a cup of joe around here?” Tucker asked.
The guy turned his head, but Tucker couldn’t get a good look at him behind the collar he’d pulled up against the weather. He was squinting against the snow, and his hair was mostly hidden under a knit hat, but it looked like it might be blond.
“There’s no such thing as a bad cup of coffee in New York. You look like you’re freezing your ass off, man. Come on, I’ll show you.” The guy just took off down the steps, and Tucker didn’t have much choice but to follow.
Good Lord and butter, these folks walked like huge flocks of birds. Great big old flocks of ravens. Oh. Oh, he could—he could paint that, right now.
“Calvin.” He was offered a gloved hand. Black leather, of course.
“Williams. Tucker Williams. Pleased.” He pulled his hand out of his pocket and shook.
“Not from around here, I take it?” Calvin gave him wink and a grin.
Cool. This one smiled. “No, sir. I’m a bit from home, but that’s obvious, I reckon.”
“I’ll say. In here.” Calvin opened a door, and Tucker was hit with the smell of baking bread and a beautiful blast of warm air. “We’re expecting a pretty good hit. How long are you in town?”
“Until Monday.” Then he’d go explore somewhere else for a few days. Although, he loved that bird image….
“Well, if you haven’t been in the city in a snowstorm before, and it looks to me like you haven’t….” Calvin laughed. “You should know that you can’t get a cab in the snow. Ever. Don’t even bother trying. Get some boots and take the subway. Just coffee? I’m gonna hang out for a bit and eat something.” Calvin pulled off his earmuffs and squinted at the menu. “Large almond-milk latte with an extra shot and the vegetarian chili… and…?” He looked at Tucker.
“Triple espresso and whatever y’all have that’s the darkest chocolate.” No way he was going underground to get on a train. No way on earth.
“Mmm, chocolate. That’s one way to warm up.” Calvin pulled off his gloves and then fished a credit card out of his pocket. “On me. Well, on my agent. It’s a work day.” He held his card up to the reader until it beeped, and the card disappeared into his pocket again. “I’m gonna grab a seat. You headed back out there?”
“I think I’ll just sit a minute. Defrost.” Eventually he’d figure out how to get back to his hotel.
“Do that.” Calvin glanced over his shoulder as he headed for a table, and this time Tucker saw a flash of bright green eyes as they caught the light. “Tell me why you’re up here in this shitty weather?”
“I have a thing I have to be at Saturday evening. Everyone told me to come up a few days early and explore. What kind of agent?” He had one too. Her name was Marge. She was something else.
“Oh, Michael. He’s a talent guy.” Calvin stuffed his gloves into his pockets. “So you came out in this weather just to visit the library? Did you get a picture with the lions, because that’s a thing. Patience and Fortitude.”
“No, sir.” It was a cool library, though, and he’d spent a couple of happy hours in the 750s, just looking. Sort of like he was just looking at Mr. Pretty here. “Are you from here?”
Their order arrived, and Calvin waited to answer. “I grew up in Vermont. But I’m from here now. Got here when I was seventeen.”
“Wow. I wasn’t ready for something like this at seventeen.” He wasn’t ready for it now, he didn’t think. Although that motion…. Tucker wondered if a guy could rent a studio space for, like, a week. Just to paint.
Calvin looked at him. “Oh. Did I say I was ready?” He laughed and picked up his latte. “No, I had a job, but I wasn’t anything close to ready for this town. I adapted pretty quick, though. It’s home now.” He sipped his latte and then spooned up some “chili.” Didn’t seem like a great combination.
Shit, he was fairly sure that vegetarian chili was a crime against nature, but he was a stranger in a strange fucking land, so he didn’t remark none on it.
“Where are you staying? Oh—that’s nosy, right? You don’t have to answer that. Sorry. I was just making small talk.” Calvin giggled.
Yeah, Tucker was pretty sure that qualified as a giggle.
“How’s your chocolate?”
“Dark.” He licked his fork and hummed, the bitter and sweet exploding over his tongue. “Possibly the best piece of whatever-the-fuck fancy-assed piece of cake I’ve ever had.”
Calvin put his spoon down. “You’re good at that.”
“At eating?” He’d hope so. Lord knew, he’d done it for years.
“No, the tongue thing. With your fork. Licking.” Calvin braced his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm, eyes narrow and a wicked smile on his lips. “Do that again.”
“Listen to you.” Lord have mercy. That was hotter than the hinges of hell. Damn, how did that… how did something like that even happen?
“Yes, listen to me.” Calvin sounded playful, and he shifted, picked up his latte, and took a sip. “Do it again, Mr. Williams? Please?”
“Well, since you asked so pretty.” Lord, please don’t let me get my ass kicked here. He took another bite, his cheeks lit on fucking fire. He licked his lips clean, then managed to meet Calvin’s eyes. “Ta-da?”
Calvin laughed and applauded, the sound pure happy. “Oh. That was lovely! So hot. You’re a riot, Tucker. I’m glad I pulled you out of the snow.” Didn’t seem like he was too worried about people overhearing, but then he leaned in closer. “Also, I think your cheeks are warm enough to melt that shit right off the sidewalk.”
“Y’think? Shit marthy. I can’t believe this mess.” That he was flirting like he knew this guy, like this feller knew him from Job.
“Wait until tomorrow morning. Might be eight or nine inches.” Calvin leaned back again and dug into his chili. “Might even be a foot. Hard to get around in this weather. Personally, I like to stay in bed all day.”
“Eight or nine inches, huh?” He couldn’t have stopped his expression if he’d tried.
“Mmm. Last I checked.” Calvin’s look was absolutely deadpan. “The weatherman doesn’t always get it right, though. Sometimes it’s a better idea to check out the radar for yourself, you know?” He took another bite and winked. “That might be carrying the metaphor a bit too far.”
He had to laugh, had to, because not only was that true, but he hadn’t expected to meet someone to flirt with shamelessly while on one of his wanders.
Calvin laughed with him. He got up to put his bowl in a rack by the garbage cans, and when he came back, still giggling, he shrugged off his coat and hung it over the back of his chair. “Warm finally.” He had on a tight green sweater that left almost nothing to the imagination. Every ridge and line of his chest was plainly obvious, and the fabric stretched across broad shoulders.
Pretty, pretty. Tucker liked that Calvin wore a color. The green suited him to the bone.
He could eat that fine son of a bitch up, yessir.
“In all seriousness, shit’s gonna close tomorrow. But the Empire State will be open and the World Trade Center, if you’re looking for a view and some local history. I’ve never been up to catch the view in the snow. I bet it’s pretty cool. You won’t have the same pictures as everyone else, anyway.”
Calvin’s phone started ringing. “Excuse me a sec?” He pulled the phone out of his coat pocket. “A-yo. Hey. No, I want the—well, you know my angle, whoever will pay me more. Oh, I’ve never heard that joke before, Michael. Ever. Yes, go with Calvin. Thanks, man.” He hung up. “Sorry.”
“No worries. I don’t mean to be keeping you from anything. Honest.” A man had to work.
“You’re keeping me from going insane in this snow. Keep up the good work.” Calvin sipped his latte again. “My agent thinks Calvin Klein jokes are funny. You can keep me from that any day.”
“Calvin Klein jokes? Like the drawers?” Those were still a thing? Lord have mercy. “Or don’t they do perfume too?”
Calvin laughed. “Cologne. And yes, they do that too, but you don’t get paid as well as you do for the underwear ads. Is that what you mean by drawers? They do jeans too, if that’s what drawers are.”
“Yessir. I mean tighty-whities. Is that what you do? Model?”
“Yeah. Sorry I didn’t say that earlier. Sometimes people get… sometimes they forget they’re talking to a real person when you tell them, so I like to hold off a bit.” Calvin winked.
“No worries. I work with models, every now and again.” For the most part, he found them patient as fuck.
“Yeah?” Calvin was flirting again. “What did you not say you do again?”
“I’m a painter—not houses.”
“Okay, not houses. What do you paint? Landscapes? People? Abstract stuff? I love art that you have to look at and think about.”
“Uh. It’s sorta… it’s a little weird.” He didn’t tell a soul at home about the paintings that he was showing here. Not a soul.
“This is New York, my friend. We make weird an art form all the time. But it’s cool. You don’t have to tell me. I’m nosy. I just ask questions.”
“I sorta make a living painting about horror, sex. Right now, birds. I’m very into birds.” He didn’t know why he did either, but he did, and he was, apparently, damn good at it.
“Horror and sex and birds.” Calvin nodded, looking thoughtful. “Can’t quite picture it. But birds are probably great subjects. They’re so aloof and knowing.”
“Yeah? Cool.” Okay, so Calvin didn’t run screaming or tell him he was going to hell; that was a plus.
“You have a pic on your phone? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“Fair enough.” Did he? Lord, yes. His phone was his goddamn life. He scrolled through, finding the album of his paintings.
“Deal.” It took Calvin about three seconds to pull up a picture of himself on a rooftop wearing a pair of blue boxer-briefs with DIESEL printed on the wide black waistband and a white tank top that he was lifting up around his ribs with one hand. City office buildings were blurred in the background. “No laughing.”
“Well, look at that. You have a nice heinie.” He could tap that, no question. “Was it hot up there?”
“Fuck, yeah. It was like working in a frying pan. They would spray the roof with a hose to cool it off, and it would dry in three seconds, and then they had about fifteen seconds before I started screaming.” Calvin laughed.
“Lord. You got some balls, I swear. I got nothing but respect for the work y’all do.” He personally thought posing was hell. He didn’t do still. Ever.
“Well, thank you.” Calvin beamed at him. “I had ice cream that day as a reward, so it wasn’t that bad. Okay, your turn.”
He pulled up one of his demon series—a fierce horned beast appearing from between white feathers, the mouth promising pure decadence.
“Oh. Oh my.” Calvin reached out and took the phone from him to get a closer look. “Fuck, man. This is way hotter than ‘horror and sex and birds’ sounded. I mean, Jesus. Look at him. You do this? You look way more… I mean, not like this. I would never have guessed. Wow.”
“No one does. That’s probably good, hmm?”
Calvin flicked his eyes from the phone to Tucker’s face. “Yes and no. I mean, you should look how you want to look, but man, the artist that does this work? With a body like yours? You could seriously rock something… way darker.”
“I tend to work buck naked. Saves clothes.” Wait. Did he say that? Out loud?
Calvin’s eyes popped open wide, and he started to laugh. Hard. Loud enough that people looked over at them, and he had to wave his hand to apologize because he seemed to be having trouble breathing.
He managed to just drink his coffee, keeping a mostly straight face. This guy let folks take his pictures in his skivvies; working naked was nothing.
Calvin silently handed Tucker back the phone, fanning himself with his other hand. He finally got a deep breath and puffed it out, grinning. “Jesus Christ. I don’t know what I was expecting you to say, but it wasn’t that. But that’s cool; I do some of my best work naked too. I just don’t get paid for that.” He winked and picked up his coffee. “Shit, my sides hurt.”
“When you get it from laughing, that’s okay, I think.” He pocketed his phone and finished up his sweet. So rich and good.
Calvin blushed. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. Honest, I’m not. I’m laughing at how stupid I am for looking at a fairly clean-cut, good-looking Texan, and… I don’t know. I got it all wrong, obviously, and for some reason that makes me absurdly happy.” The blush and a little humility made Calvin look younger, sweeter.
He grinned, that smile charming the hell out of him. “Shit, honey. I’m just tickled you didn’t ask if I was an axe murderer.”
Calvin’s eyebrows twitched. “I figured that would be rude since you hadn’t asked me that question yet.” He finished off the last of his coffee, tipping the cup up high to get the last drop.
“Rumor is you folks have all the axe murderers you need.”
“More muggers and thieves than axe murderers, actually. I don’t think I know anyone that hasn’t been robbed at some point. Especially people who look like tourists.” Calvin laughed. “You better watch your wallet.”
He arched one eyebrow. He didn’t think he’d take real kindly to that. Of course, who the fuck did? Seriously. No one just threw themselves in front of someone and said, “Fuck with me!” right? Right.
“I do, but thank you. I appreciate that warning.”
“For what it’s worth, crime usually goes way down in the snow.” Calvin slid his empty cup a couple of inches away. “I am all out of coffee.”
He leaned around the table and checked out Tucker’s boots. “Are those waterproof?”
“They do okay, yeah.” More waterproof than cold proof, for sure.
“Good. Come on.” Calvin stood up, looking more like a model now that Tucker knew he was one, and pulled on his coat. “Sorry. Unless you have plans, of course.”
“Plans? I have to be at the gallery Saturday night. That’s my plan.”
“That’s it? God, the things I could do with you for two days.” Calvin brushed a little too close as he stepped around Tucker and didn’t even pretend it was an accident.
They headed back out into the snow and retraced their steps to the library. The white stuff was starting to pile up, maybe three or four inches now.
Calvin didn’t say much on the short trip, but as he got close to the library, he poked Tucker with an elbow. “You’re gonna love this.”
He heard voices and laughter as they rounded the corner of the big building and headed into the little park next to it, where a small crowd of people was having one big snowball fight.
“You ready?” Calvin took a few steps backward and then started to run.
It took Tucker a second, but he figured what the hell? He hadn’t wanted to play so bad in a long damn time.
Tucker gave chase, a redneck yell filling the air.
Title: Refraction
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Second chances, opposites attract
