Mergers & Acquisitions

Contributors: Jodi Payne
Genre: , , , ,
Release Date: April 13, 2021
Pages: 212

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.

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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
Published by: Tygerseye Publishing, LLC
ASIN: B08ZMDJZ9Z
ISBN13: 978-1-951011-15-4

Tending Tyler

Contributors: Jodi Payne, BA Tortuga
Series: On the Ranch Series #1
Genre: , , , , , ,
Release Date: May 18, 2021

Bartender, 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?

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Also in this series:

 

Chapter One 

 

Four to closing was a long shift at the bar, especially on a weekend, but Tyler didn’t mind it. He was busy all night long, and he usually went home with good tip money in his pocket and just exhausted enough that he could actually sleep. Sometimes he slept so long he’d get up, shower, and go right back to the bar for his next shift. 

Busy was good. The busier the better. 

He was on with Peter tonight, and they had it handled. They’d been working together so long they didn’t have to think, so they moved around each other easily and got the job done. 

“Need ice!” Peter called out before disappearing through the swinging door next to the bar. 

He gave Peter a nod and kept making drinks like it was the only thing left in the world. Which it kind of was. 

Margarita. Bloody Mary. Cosmo. Three daiquirispeach, strawberry mango. Five beers. 

He caught sight of a cowboy hat and pulled Dex a Coke. Dex was the boss’s best friend’s guy, and the man tipped like a dream. It served him well to keep the guy happy. 

Tyler ran it over, shocked as hell to come face-to-face with a silver fox that was, unquestioningly Not Dex. 

It threw him, and it took him a second to snap out of it. He set the Coke down on the bar, blinking at the stranger. “Hey.” Friend of Dex’s maybe? Not too many cowboy hats walked in here. “Sorry. What can I get you?” 

Coors and a shot of Cuervo, please, sir.” The voice was low, gravelly, and pure southern. God, that was strangely ominous. 

“Gold or Silver?” 

“Silver, please.” He got a smile, a nod, the man holding his gaze. 

“You got it.” Ominous, but polite. Kind smile. Taller than Dex. 

Tyler danced around Peter who was dumping ice from two big buckets into the freezer. Coors was on tap, and he got that started, then reached for the Cuervo. They were going through the tequila tonight for sure. Probably the warm weather. 

Well, not this guy. This guy just looked like a tequila guy. He poured the shot generously. 

Coors and Cuervo.” He set them down on the bar. “Running a tab?” 

“Yessir.” A card was handed over, easy as you please. “Y’all are busy as a one-legged man at a butt-kicking competition.” 

That made him grin. “I like that. Yes, we are. Fridays are our busiest night usually.” He glanced at the card out of habit, clipped it to a bill and wrote ‘Coors/Cuervo (Sil)’ on it. “Where are you from?” Matthew. The card said the man’s name was Matthew. Could be Matt or Matty, maybe. 

“Central Texasbetween Austin and Houston. I got me a ranch there.” One huge, square hand was offered to him. “Matthew Whitehead. Pleased.” 

“Tyler McKeehan. Also pleased.” He shook, the hand solid and strong in his. “Welcome to New York.” 

“Can we get” The guy sitting next to Matthew tapped his glass. 

“Sure, no problem.” He poured a couple of refills. He was about to ask Matthew what brought him to the city, typical bartender small-talk type stuff, when one of them stopped him. 

“Aren’t you Tyler?” 

“I…yes?” He thought they looked familiar too, but he couldn’t remember where he’d met them. 

“We thought so, we kept saying we thought you were… Uh. Yeah. Sorry about Will. We were so shocked.” 

Will. 

Tyler’s stomach twisted, and his heart started to pound. He tried to put their drinks down on the bar with shaking hands and missed, one of them dumping back toward him, but the other tipped toward Matthew. 

Matthew caught it, but the glass stem shattered in the man’s big hand. He handed Tyler the top part of the glass with blood already starting to drip. “Point me toward the washroom, if you would.” 

“Shit. Shit, I’m sorry. Fuck.” He stared at the broken glass and then at the blood in Matthew’s hand. God. Not more blood. 

“Whoa. Ty?” Peter stepped around him with a towel and handed it to Matthew. “You okay, sir? How bad is it?” 

“It’s fine, y’all. No worries. I’ll wash it off, and we’ll be good as gold.” Dark gray eyes landed on him, so quiet, so calm. “You okay, honey?” 

“Yeah.” No. He looked away; those eyes were strangely comforting but they also wanted honesty. “All good. I’m so sorry.” 

“Men’s room is around to the left.” Peter pointed in that direction and cleaned up the bar. 

“Sorry. I’ll get you guys new drinks. I’m sorry.” 

Peter stopped him. “It’s okay. I’ve got it, Ty.” 

“Oh. Yeah, okay.” He stood there for a second, dumbly, not sure what to do with himself. 

“Go make sure the cowboy is okay, man. Antibiotic cream, bandage.” Peter offered him a super quick hug. “Breathe. Go.” 

“Right. I’m good. Got it.” Because that wasn’t embarrassing or anything. He stopped by the office First Aid kit and pulled out a couple of Band-Aids, some gauze, and a tube of Neosporin, then headed for the men’s room. 

Matthew was in there, a chunk of glass on the counter, paper towels jammed in his palm. He looked up as Tyler walked in. “Hey, there. I don’t suppose y’all have a tube of superglue?” 

“Superglue.” Tyler dropped everything he’d brought on the counter and blinked at Matthew again. Did he hear that right? “Superglue? I don’t know. I can check the office. Do you need stitches? I can call…” 

“I don’t, no. I just need a little glue, honey, to push the edges together, and I’ll be right as rain.” 

“Okay… I’ll be right back.” Superglue. Seriously? Tyler jogged to the office and dug through the boss’s desk. Les’s drawers were neatly organized and he was making a mess—he’d apologize later—but he found a brand-new tube in a little cubby in the top drawer. 

Wow. Right on. He rushed back to the men’s room with it. “Superglue. I can’t believe it.” 

“Good deal. I got my smart hand, so I’ll need you to open the glue for me, okay?” 

“Oh. Sorry. Sure.” Wake up, Ty, the man needs some help here. He used the little tricky cap to open the tube. “You got this?” His hands had stopped shaking, but he wasn’t sure anybody should be trusting him with anything right now. 

“I got this, thank you, sir.” Matthew gave him a grin. “Don’t beat yourself up, huh? It was my bad.” 

“No. No, that was definitely my fault.” He covered the bloody shard of glass with a paper towel and threw it out, willing his hands not to start shaking again, then cleaned up the counter. “Shaky hands. Totally on me.” He just hadn’t heard Will’s name in a while. Every time he thought he’d put that awful image out of his mind, someone would say something, remind him, and he was staring at a bloody bathtub again. 

“Sounds like someone gave you a fright.” Matthew cleaned the blood off and dripped the glue into the meat of his hand then pushed the flap down. Sweat popped out on the man’s cheeks, and a low sound escaped. 

“Sort of.” Matthew had obviously done this a few times, but that glue had to burn. “How about I get you another shot?” 

“I think that would be a fine idea, yes. If you don’t mind.” He got another of those strange, wonderful smiles. 

“I’m on it.” He dashed out of the bathroom, but stopped and ducked his head back in. “Anyone ever tell you that you have a great smile?” 

It wasn’t until he’d left again that he realized Matthew might think he was flirting, and that just made this whole evening even more fucking awkward. 

“Is he okay?” Peter asked as Tyler pulled the tequila off the shelf. “Are you?” 

“He superglued his hand. Superglue. He glued the cut together.” Tyler shook his head. “Craziest thing ever.” He avoided the question about himself, he just didn’t know. He still felt anxious. 

“Is that for him?” 

“Yeah, on me.” The whole night would be on him. 

“Good man. Here he comes. Breathe.” 

Matthew seemed to take up the entire room, somehow, sucking the air out of it. Jeans, a white button-down, huge silver buckle. And that hat. It was like a costume, except you could tell it wasn’t. 

How was he supposed to breathe? 

“I made it a double.” He sat the glass down on the bar carefully, sliding it toward the cowboy. 

“Thank you, sir.” Matthew lifted his shot in salute, then knocked it back, humming deep in his chest. 

“Not one of my better nights. I’m sure that’s not the kind of souvenir you wanted to bring back from New York.” 

The couple that had asked about Will was gone…could this night get any worse? Les would probably hear about that. 

Matthew winked at him, and he got to see that smile again. “No worries, honey. Seriously. It’s a little cut. I don’t suppose I could get me a Coke? If I don’t slow down, y’all will have to roll me out of here at last call.” 

Matthew kept calling him “honey”. And it didn’t feel weird. Which was…well, weird. 

“You mean a Coke-Coke or like a Dr Pepper or something-Coke?” Thank you, Dex. That little bit of regional knowledge had upped his bartender game with some out-of-towners. 

Jesus, that smile just got warmer. “Y’all have Dr Pepper? Because I’d love that.” 

That felt good, it made up for ruining the guy’s night a little. “We do. Sit tight.” They kept it in cans because it wasn’t hugely popular, but Dex drank it like it was going out of style so there was always some cold in the fridge. 

He grabbed a can, having a look around the bar to see if Peter needed help. It must be late because it had cleared out some and there were a number of empty seats at the bar. Peter was actually doing some restocking. 

“One Dr Pepper.” He opened it for Matthew and poured it over a few ice cubes in a tall glass. He seemed to have relaxed enough not to spill this too. 

“You rock. Thank you. I need to be able to find my hotel room again, so I have to pace myself some.” 

“Oh, we’re experts around here at getting people rides back to their hotels. No worries.” He winked at Matthew. “So what brings you here? Not here, like the bar…men don’t usually wander into the bar for no reason…but here. To the city.” 

Well, that was articulate. Jesus, maybe he needed a drink. He glanced at the clock. Nope, not close enough to closing yet. 

“You got to promise not to laugh.” 

Oh, that was intriguing. 

“I’ll guess. You do a drag show in Daisy Dukes.” Tyler grinned and leaned on the bar. “No?” 

“I am not the drag type, unfortunately. It stains the beard. I have been made up, but it’s not why I’m here.” Matthew chuckled softly, and he thought that was a blush. “I am a big reader, believe it or not, and I came to BookExpo America. It’s what I do for vacation every year. I get enough books for me, my girls, and the little library van that goes from ranch to ranch.” 

Oh, wow. That was so…sweet. And kind. And it was so wholesome it hurt. “Books. I was definitely not expecting that.” He wasn’t expecting the blush either. He smiled back. “Not exactly the rough and tumble cowboy image.” 

“No, I know, right? Still, it is what it is, and I shipped my first two boxes this afternoon.” Matthew sipped his drink, licked his mustache. “So, are you a reader?” 

“Well, I read. I don’t know what makes a reader.” 

“I guess if you like it? I mean, I know lots of folks that never read a book.” Matthew chuckled softly, the look suddenly wicked. “I’m not sure my brother knows how to read.” 

Tyler laughed. “I like to read. I’m slow. I tend to read in chunks, but I read. I like those detective books about serial killers, and mysteries. And I like books about people and how they…get through things. Like rowers at the World War Two Olympics. Stuff like that.” 

“I get that. I love thrillers, histories, spy novels, westernshell, I like a good racy romance, too. I live on three thousand acres, so I read at night a lot, while the TV is on.” He got a wink. “My daddy tried to convince me to whittle instead, but I never could make anything fancier than a square.” 

“Three thousand acres? I don’t even have three thousand feet.” He laughed. “I’m not sure I have three hundred. Wow.” 

“Yeah, I have a decent-sized ranchI raise Beefmasters and Herefords, along with cutting horses. We got goats and chickens too, but they’re not money-makers.” 

“We…?” Tyler was a bartender; he paid attention. Matthew wasn’t wearing a ring. “Oh, you said you had girls, right?” 

“I do. I have twoeight and ten. My wife died six years ago.” Matthew didn’t look away from him, at all. “And yeah. I know this is a gay bar. I swing both ways.” 

He nodded, returning the look. “I’m sorry about your wife. Technically I swing too, but my pendulum’s been stuck on one side for the last few years.” Six years ago. Damn. Those girls had been little. 

“I understand that. I dated Deb in high school, a glorious young man in college, and then when I went home to work the ranch, Deb was there.” Matthew chuckled softly. “And before the end of the summer, she’d caught pregnant, so…” 

“Women have a way of doing that if you’re not careful.” He nodded sagely. He wasn’t going to ask what happened to her, he’d learned the hard way how difficult that question could be to answer. “If you’re looking for company, most people have good luck on our dance floor.” 

“I found someone friendly to chat with, honey. That’s way more important than a hookup.” 

“A friendly klutz.” He smiled though; something about Matthew soothed him deep down and let him hang out in the moment for the first time in a while. “That’s supposed to be working.” Though Peter wasn’t busy and hadn’t even given him a look yet. 

“I can wait if you have to wander. I don’t mind.” 

“Thanks. I’ll have to at some point, but it’s slow right now.” He did take the time to start cleaning up, staying where he could still talk. “Tell me about your girls. Who’s with them while you’re here?” 

“They’re at my folks’. They have a place down the road and a new in-ground swimming pool. My girls were so ready for a week in the water. I’m going to have to consider getting one too, now that they’re old enough to not worry so much.” 

“That’s a chunk of change from what I’ve heard.” 

Matthew nodded. “I know a few guys who I can trade straws for it. My bulls go for fifteen a straw.” 

A straw? Dex did this occasionally too, said something that only someone who had reason to know would know. “I have no idea what a straw is. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s a glass straw of bull semen. That’s where my money is.” 

He blinked at Matthew again, who at this point must think he didn’t have a brain cell in his head. But that was the second time tonight that Matthew had said something he was not expecting. “I…had no idea.” He chuckled, grinning, embarrassed. 

“That you got bulls’ spunk in glass straws or that you could sell it?” There didn’t seem to be any evil in Matthew, just this easiness, this warmth. 

“Well, I guess I’m trying to imagine how you get semen into a straw…and I have a really bad imagination.” He bit his lip to keep from laughing, but it only kind of worked. 

“Believe it or not, I have artificial vaginas and a set of cowboys whose entire jobs are to get the bull’s cock into the AV. That flows into a vial and then it’s tested and frozen in glass straws.” Did Matthew just say all that with a straight face? 

“I am not drunk enough for this conversation.” Not even close. He tried to picture that whole operation in his head. “Artificial vaginas. I’ve heard some stories but that’s…wow.” He looked at Matthew seriously. “I mean, I’m not making fun I just…said like that it sounds so absurd.” And it was hard to believe that made Matthew swimming pool type money. 

“Right? I grew up doing itnot at the level I am now. I lucked out, bred a couple of amazing buckers and three or four big show bulls, but it’s a going operation. Hell, I just had to fire this one son of a bitch for trying to steal bull spunk. No shit. 

“That’s cool. Totally out of my range of experience, but very cool.” 

“Yes, well, I am on my sixth year of coming up, and I only learned how to use the subway last year.” 

Tyler laughed. “Oh, the subway is probably way scarier than a bull.” 

“Absolutely. You got to remember, my closest town has ninety folks in it.” 

“God, that sounds nice. Quiet. It’s…not quiet here.” Tyler was tired. He didn’t sleep much, but that had nothing to do with the noise. 

“No. No, it’s not. It’s neat, but quiet? No.” Matthew sounded like he knew, like he understood somehow, but how could he? “Are you from here?” 

He nodded. “Yeah. I was born here. Went to city schools. I was taking the subway to school with my friends by third grade. I had a lot more than ninety people around me.” 

“That’s fascinating. Do you like it?” No one looked at him like that, like he was fascinating. 

Did he like it? It was home, it was all he knew. He’d never thought about whether he liked it. “I guess?” There was nothing fascinating about trying to make a living in New York. 

“I swore when I headed to Austin for my degree that I was moving away, but that didn’t happen. By the time I graduated, I was building the house on the weekends and aching to get home.” 

Tourists thought it had to be cool to live in the city. “I really don’t know where else I’d go. I don’t have any reason to move. I’ve never really been anywhere.” Not anywhere he’d live. He used to do a winter vacation somewhere warm with friends beforehe hadn’t gone this past winter. 

“I get that. I mean, I like to go. I run down to the beach a couple times a year, out to Angel Fire to ski, here, but I’m always ready to go home.” 

He shrugged, uncomfortable with the conversation, and took a beer order from a couple of newcomers. “I guess I’d have to get away for a while to figure out if I’d miss it. Excuse me a second?” 

He made his way down the bar to pull the two beers and put in an order for nachos. 

Matthew nursed his Dr Pepper, eyes on his phone, the light casting amazing shadows on the strong features. 

“Flirting with the cowboy?” Peter got him with an elbow. 

“No. He’s freaking me out a little actually, the way he looks at melike he knows me. Nice guy though. Kind, friendly.” 

Peter nodded. “Ah. But you’re not interested.” 

“Shut up.” Did it matter? The guy was from Texas. 

“Okay. Okay, sure. You want me to wait on him? I will, tell him you’re busy.” 

“No. No, did I say that? I got it.” He picked up the beers. “Yell if you need help.” 

He could almost hear Peter shaking his head behind him. 

Tyler handed off the beers and took a card for a tab from the new guys, then stepped back over to Matthew. “You need a refill?” 

“Please, thank you.” Matthew met his eyes, smiled, but he thought the look was a little sad. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. My apologies.” 

He held Matthew’s eyes for a second. That wasn’t fair; the cowboy wasn’t being anything but nice. “It’s not…it’s just been a while since I had a real conversation with anyone. So…maybe I needed a little disturbing. I like talking to you, you’ve beenYou’re very warm. And I’m kind of in a cold place.” 

Jesus. Maybe he needed that therapist Les offered him after all. 

“Well, I’m enjoying chatting with you. I like to talkI’m sure you’ve noticed, so if you want to conversate, I’m willing.” 

Conversate. 

“I’m in. Let me get you that refill. Oh…on the Cuervo, the Dr Pepper, or both?” 

“Just the Dr Pepper. I don’t need to be liquored up to chat with you.” 

Damn, if he did want to flirt, this would be the guy to do it with. Matthew was saying all the right things. 

Oh. Oh shit, was Matthew flirting? Saying all the right things was flirting, right? Oh. Shit. 

He grabbed another can of Dr Pepper and a new glass of ice and poured out the can into the glass. “How long are you in town? Is the convention all weekend?” He’d never heard of Book-thing. World? Expo? Something. 

“I am. I’m here until Tuesday. The Expo is over Saturday, but I like a day to explore and a day to just chill out.” 

“Nice. What have you planned to see?” Because he was an excellent tour guide. Not that he had any time off. Well, he was technically off Monday, but he usually came in to help with inventory. 

“I haven’t! Like I said, up until last year? I just stayed close, took the Expo transportation. Then I decided to be brave. I picked a hotel that looked amazing and fun. There was an advertisement in the lobby for this place.” Matthew’s eyes lit up. “So I’ve got the Expo tomorrow to get some books, then I’m golden. Would it be creepy if I came back in to talk to you again? Maybe invite you to a meal?” 

“Creepy? No. Everybody’s gotta eat, right?” He smiled despite shocking himself by so easily agreeing to a…to a what? A meal? A date? Brunch or something. “That sounds great.” 

“Excellent. You let me know when is good for you, and I’ll be there with bells on.” 

“Well, I’m on shift here at four tomorrow and Sunday, and I’m off on Monday.” 

Whoa. 

He just handed out his schedule. 

How long had it been? He barely remembered the part of him that was interested in anything at all much less…whatever this was. He felt like he should be more freaked out than he was. 

“How about noon tomorrow? We could have a lazy lunch before you work?” 

He nodded before he could chicken out. “Sure. Just tell me…oh, or maybe I should tell you where.” Tyler laughed. 

“I’ll meet you wherever. Let me give you my number, and you can text me.” Matthew chuckled softly, the sound sliding over his nerves and soothing them. “And we can both try to figure out whether we’re brave or a little crazy.” 

“It’s lunch.” They didn’t have to be brave or crazy to have lunch. He put Matthew’s digits into his phone, and then texted the number so Matthew had his. It was just lunch. 

“It is. No stress, no strings.” Matthew took a long swig of his drink. “I appreciate you letting me visit with you, man. I spend all day talking to someonekids, cowboys, family. I was beginning to worry that people were going to think I was a nutjob, muttering to myself.” 

“Oh, no. That’s totally common here. I bet you wouldn’t even get a second look. Someone might hand you a sandwich though.” Tyler laughed. That sounded like Matthew was heading out. He reached for the card Matthew had given him, handed it back, and tore up the bill. “I’m really sorry about your hand.” 

“Oh, wow. Are you sure, honey? I’ll pay for my drinks.” Matthew stood, and it happened again. It was like Matthew filled the space. 

This time, though, he managed a breath and stuck his hand out first. “The least I can do is buy your drinks. It was nice to meet you.” 

Matthew took his hand, and he swore electricity shot up his arm. “It was my pleasure. You let me know where to meet you tomorrow, okay?” 

“Iyeah.” He smiled, bewildered. “Yes. I’ll text you. Take care of that hand.” 

“I will.” Matthew stroked his wrist before letting him go to put two twenties in the tip jar. “Y’all have a good one.” 

Tyler watched Matthew go, eyes following until the door closed behind him. Then he looked down and ran his fingers over that spot on his wrist. He didn’t know what he was doing, and he didn’t know why either. But something in him that had been sleeping seemed to be waking up. 

There was just something strange and wondrous about that cowboy.

Title: Tending Tyler
Published by: Tygerseye Publishing, LLC
ASIN: B093TSQV9D
ISBN13: 978-1-951011-46-8

Roadside Assistance

Contributors: Jodi Payne
Genre: , , , ,
Release Date: January 1, 2022
Pages: 76

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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?

Title: Roadside Assistance
Published by: Tygerseye Publishing, LLC
ISBN13: 978-1-951011-65-9

Roped In

Contributors: Jodi Payne, BA Tortuga
Series: On the Ranch Series #2
Genre: , , , , , ,
Release Date: May 10, 2022

They 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.

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Chapter One 

 

“Can I get a hat?” 

“No, you don’t need a hat, buddy.” 

“Daddy! Everyone here has a cowboy hat on.” 

Ah, the familiar refrain of how life wasn’t fair. Jude shrugged. “I don’t.” 

Silas rolled his eyes. “Please?” 

“Not tonight, bud.” 

Jude could understand why Silas wanted a hat; what kid didn’t want to be a cowboy? At seven, Silas was right at that age where he was impressed with every kind of uniform. But growing up in New York, Silas had seen lots of cops and firefighters and construction workers. He hadn’t ever seen cowboys that weren’t on TV. 

It had been a long time since Jude had seen one too. In fact, he wasn’t all that comfortable being here tonight. But he and several colleagues were entertaining clients and their families to celebrate the closing of their latest deal and skipping out wasn’t an option. 

Usually the firm went for hockey or basketball games, but this client was a big investment firm based outside Houston, so the marketing team had given them the hospitality suite for night one of the annual bull riding event at Madison Square Garden. 

Bull riders. Yeah. That had been a lifetime ago. 

“See? They have hats too!” As they approached the suite, Silas pointed to a handful of kids with little plastic cowboy hats on. 

Now, that was a possibility. “You want one of those?” 

“Please, Daddy?” 

“Hey, Jude! We’re right in here.” 

The Beatles song played in his mind. Yes, even at thirty-four years old, he did it too. 

“Hey, David. Whoa, Silas! Look at all of this.” He led Silas inside and showed him the buffet, which was set up in front of a backdrop of a big red barn. At the end of the buffet was a stack of swag, including the plastic cowboy hats, pins, and T-shirts. 

“Hats!” Silas looked at him for permission, and he nodded. Free swag for the win. 

“Lord have mercy, this is a good spread.” One of the wives with cotton candy hair and smoky eyes smiled at him. “Seriously. This is wildI came all the way from Texas to New York to see a bull riding.” 

Her husband had brought her here so he could sign what was probably the most lucrative deal of his career, but he wasn’t going to say that. Jack was a good client and a better person. “It’s a novelty here. Something we only get to see on TV. It’s popular though, they say it sells out every year. Have you been to New York before?” 

“No, strangely enough. I’ve been to Boston, DC, LA, but this is my first time here. It’s so fun. I’ve had a ball exploring.” When she bounced, her earrings and boobs bounced, but her hair didn’t move. 

He remembered this was work and didn’t stare, but that was fascinating. A cheer went up and he glanced toward the arena floor. Whoever that cowboy was must have made his eight. “I like that sound.” 

“Daddy! Daddy, that cow’s butt is dirty!” 

He glanced over in time to see a shit-covered bull backside up on the big screen. Yay. 

“Yep, that’s pretty gross.” He shook his head and grinned at Jack’s wife. She had a name. He’d been introduced, but he couldn’t remember. “Kids.” 

“Aren’t they amazing? I have five at home, so I totally feel you.” She winked at Silas. “At least it’s not smell-o-vision, right?” 

Silas wrinkled his nose. “Ew.” 

“Did you get a drink, Jude? Oh, hey, Camilla. Things are starting to heat up out there, I think Jack has a seat for you.” 

Camilla. He would never have remembered that. David to the rescue. 

David leaned over close. “Apparently between the sections, they’ll send cowboys up to make nice and sign things, so that will be exciting.” 

“Oh yeah? A bunch of Wrangler butts. Should be a good time.” And a little too close for comfort. “Probably not the celebrity types though, right?” 

“I haven’t the slightest idea. I’m just pleased that they are sending people up. It will go over well with the Texans, I think.” 

“Oh. For sure. Did you see Kevin’s email? He’s already gunning for more work with them.” David handed him a beer. “Thanks.” 

“I’m not sure bull riding is my thing. Most of these guys are just getting tossed.” 

“Sometimes it starts slow. It gets more exciting as the night goes on.” 

David raised a curious eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were a fan.” 

“I havefriends that ride. Had a friend. A while ago.” And it was time to shut his mouth. 

“Really? You? That’sfascinating. Seriously. I wouldn’t have imagined.” David’s eyes went wide. 

“No, most people wouldn’t. It’s like you and your pre-grad school singing career.” He winked at David and held out his beer. “Cheers.” 

“Right. Cheers. That’s cool.” David rolled his eyes and looked out the window. “I’m going to go make sure everyone’s having a good time.” 

“Sounds good.” That worked like a charm. 

“Daddy, can we watch?” Silas had a huge hot dog in one hand and a Coke in the other. 

“Yes. Let me take that Coke.” He took it, and left it on the counter, trading it for a bottle of water instead and leading the way out to the leather-covered seats. “We’re watching in style, bud. Check it out.” 

“Whoa!” 

He let Silas choose where to sit and settled in next to him. 

“Have you ever been on a cow, Daddy? Do you think it hurts when they fall? How does the cow know what to do?” Silas was bright-eyed, watching everything from the gate pullers to the clown. 

“I haven’t been on one, but I can tell you that it definitely hurts when they fall.” He had no idea how the bulls knew what to do, but they definitely knew they had a job out there. 

He looked at the card that had been on his seat, which listed who was riding when, and scanned it, knowing he’d find the rider he was looking for. He didn’t know why he was so anxious about running into Rope Canutt again, because that was years ago. Another lifetime. But it had been less of a breakup and more of a fizzle, and he’d always felt badly for not ending it right. 

Apparently not badly enough to quit being a coward and pick up the phone, though. 

Rope was on the list, sure enough, in the fourth section of riders. Not at the end with the most famous guys, not at the beginning with the newbies, but in the middle. 

That wasn’t surprising; he knew Rope was retiring at the end of this season. Jude had been checking in over the years, watching him ride, following Rope’s career. Not like a hard-core fan, but with interest. At arm’s length. 

“Daddy!” A rider went down, the bullfighters doing their jobs, and Silas was out of his seat. 

He didn’t know that kid from a hole in the wall, but his heart started racing, and he gripped his fingers together to keep them from shaking. He made himself look away and just breathe, pretending to study the sheet on his lap, and after a few seconds he had everything under control. 

Okay. 

“All good, bud?” Jude picked up his beer and took a sip. 

“That was scary. Is he okay?” Silas glanced up at him, and he could see the hint of panic, just right there. 

Jude took Silas’s hand and pulled him back into his seat. “He’ll be fine. These cowboys are tough. They do this all the time. Did you get to see the bullfighters running that bull off? Pretty cool, huh?” He was the king of redirecting. 

“Yeah. Yeah, they’re brave, huh? Like you?” 

Well, that made him feel ten feet tall. “Even braver. Like you.” He put an arm around Silas’s shoulders and squeezed. Damn. It had been long enough that he hadn’t even thought about whether this would be hard for either of them. He decided that was mostly a good thing—there was a time when he’d thought about it constantly. 

Losing Nigel had been more than hard, closer to impossible, and he still wasn’t sure some days that he and Silas would be okay. 

They had to be, though. Especially Silas. “I heard there might be some cowboys coming up to do autographs, bud.” 

“Yeah? What will they sign?” 

“Anything you want. Maybe your program?” he suggested. 

“Can I get a picture too?” 

“Probably. I don’t see why not.” Silas wouldn’t be the only one wanting pictures. 

“That’s cool! A real cowboy, Daddy. We’re going to meet a real-life cowboy.” 

Okay, that smile was worth every second of this. “Awesome, right?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, awesome.” Silas grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “They’re going to go again. Are you ready?” 

Maybe? “Yes. Watch the gate.” He held on just as tight as the gate flew open and the bull leapt out. 

The cowboy flew off as soon as the bull cleared the gate. That was going to leave a bruise. 

“Oops.” He winced. 

“Ouch,” Silas said at the same time, and they looked at each other and laughed. 

“If it were easy everyone would do it, right?” 

“I guess so. I’d be scared, I think, to get up on one of those.” 

“I would too. That is definitely not a sport for me. Are you scared to watch too? We don’t have to if it’s not fun for you. It’s okay.” 

“No. I want to. I want to know how they do it.” That was his sonso interested in why and how things worked. 

“Okay.” He remembered watching Rope on event weekends, signing autographs. He complained about the adults sometimes, but never the kids. Maybe he could suck up his regret if… “Well, I think someone pretty cool is coming up in a bit. He’s a former champion, and he’s really good.” 

“Yeah? What’s his name? Do you know him? Is he nice?” Silas couldn’t figure out whether to look at him or the arena floor. 

“His name is Rope, and he is nice.” And fun and cocky and hot as hell. “I did know him a long time ago. Long before you and Dad, and even before I got my job.” He pointed to the floor. “Behind the gate, the rider is getting his rope all ready, the one that he holds onto. And the other guys are helping him get focused for his ride.” 

“Sohe just holds onto the rope? He’s not tied in?” 

Silas was really thinking about this. It was kind of wonderful. “It’s wrapped really tight around a glove on his hand. He has to be able to let go so he can get off the bull. They can’t tie him in, right?” 

“No. No, that would be scary and dangerous, huh?” Look at those wide eyes. 

“That’s right. They do everything they can to make it less dangerous. You watch his head, and when you see him nod, the gate will open fast.” 

He remembered Rope, bragging in that way guys did at nineteen, telling him all about how everyone out there had a job to do. The guy pulling his rope, the guy holding his vest, the bullfighters, even the bull had a job. Eight seconds went by so fast everyone had to have their heads in the game. 

He got it a little bit, really. They’d broken up because they both had to have their heads in their respective games, and they couldn’t change that. 

Now that he was explaining things to Silas, he was starting to look forward to seeing Rope ride in person. 

“You’re going to have to have a cowboy explain all the spurring and the balance things… I don’t know much about how that’s done. I just know that the harder the ride, the higher the points.” 

“Don’t forget the bull is half the points. That’s real important.” 

Jude would know that voice anywhere. 

Anywhere. 

Rope Canutt stood there like a bent and broken angel, an ancient scar from a roping accident splitting the man’s lower lip. 

He stood and looked Rope over, finally meeting those green eyes that had fascinated him so long ago. He supposed he ought to see more age, but all he saw was the crooked smile and handsome face that he remembered. 

He had no idea what to say. 

And his mouth had gone dry anyway. 

He patted Silas’s shoulder. “Silas, this is Mister Canutt. He’s a bull rider.” 

Silas’s eyes grew wide. “For real?” 

“Yes, sir. For real. Rope, pleased to meet you, Silas. Are you enjoying the event?” Rope held his hand out to Silas, the smile warm. 

Jude had to smile back at the awed look on Silas’s face as his son shook hands with Rope. Silas nodded but didn’t say anything at all. 

“Silas is very curious about how it all works,” he offered, trying to help things along. 

“Well, you see them bulls? Stock contractors bring them up from all over the country. Buckin’ bulls are special types of livestock.” Rope kept jabbering, telling Silas how bull riding worked in that soft, lilting voice. 

Silas was riveted, listening to every word like it was so important. It was the first thing Silas had shown real interest in since they’d lost Nigel. 

“Can I see the bulls?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, bud. Rope is working, you know.” 

“Those beasts aren’t pets, but I might be able to introduce you to Harker’s horse, Jimbo, after the event.” 

“Really?” Silas’s eyes lit up. “Is that okay Daddy? Please? Can I?” 

He nodded. “If Rope can manage it, but you have to promise not to be upset if he can’t, okay?” Not that he really expected a seven-year-old to be able to keep a promise like that, but at least he could say he tried. 

“Okay! Thank you! Oh. I have to get a program so you can sign it!” Silas climbed right over the back of his seat and disappeared into the suite. 

“Harker won’t mind. He likes kids.” Rope held out his hand. “Jude.” 

“Rope.” He took the offered hand and shook it, grateful they’d had Silas as an ice breaker. “Thank you for all of that. It means more than you know.” 

“No problem. None at all. Good to see you, man.” He got this shit-eating grin. “You look fine.” 

“I was thinking the same about you.” He felt the tips of his ears heat up and he was surprised that Rope could still make him blush. “It’s nice to see you again. I’d ask how things are going, but I know. I’ve been keeping an eye on you.” 

“Fixin’ to retire. Having my final year. Good stuff.” Rope smiled down at Silas and took a Sharpie out of his pocket, signing the program. “Here you go, little man. If you come down after the event, we’ll see Jimbo.” 

“Thank you!” Silas was so excited. 

“We’ll be there.” He wasn’t ready for Rope to walk away yet, but he wasn’t sure why. “Good ride.” 

“Every one you walk away from, yessir.” Rope shook Silas’s hand and his. “Looking forward to seeing y’all later.” 

He watched Rope go, enjoying the view of Rope’s ass in his Wranglers, and wondered if Rope was hoping he was watching.

Title: Roped In
Published by: Tygerseye Publishing, LLC
ASIN: B09VD8LB9T
ISBN13: 978-1-951011-72-7

Deviations: Submission

Contributors: Jodi Payne and Chris Owen
Series: Deviations #1
Genre: , , , , ,
Release Date: December 30, 2019 (Third Edition)
Pages: 338

Tobias Vincent is a big animal vet, and also skilled and seasoned Dom. City beat cop, and sub Noah desperately needs to find a man to help him work through a block but has yet to find someone who can take him where he needs to go.

Through a series of encounters in the world of bondage and discipline, Noah reveals why he has trouble trusting, and why he needs such a firm, steady hand. Tobias is confident he can help Noah, but he has trouble letting himself love. Still, Tobias can't resist Noah's charms, and the two of them set about making a scene for themselves, one that works for them and their unique set of challenges.

They learn to love, but how will they stay together while they explore each other’s secrets, in an environment where all is laid bare and emotions run high?

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EXCERPT FROM SUBMISSION

There were many truths in this life, Tobias decided as he knotted his tie for the evening. Death comes to all, taxes must be paid, and fortieth birthdays were a reason for one's friends to buy nice wine, make lavish cakes, and throw dinner parties. Forty-first birthdays, on the other hand, went unremarked upon by all but one's nearest and dearest. As he had cards from a few friends and a message from Phan, he thought he'd just about exhausted the expected well wishes.

But turning forty-one did not mean he was dead or unable to make his own fun. He'd made his arrangements for the evening, planning with as much detail as he could—which, admittedly, wasn't much. He knew what to wear for his mood; he knew where he'd go and what he'd eat; he knew what he wanted. But there were an amazing number of variables at play, more than he usually allowed.

He was thinking about that as he straightened his dinner jacket and pocketed his keys. It was a highly planned evening of spontaneity that lay ahead of him, the novelty of which made him smile. Perhaps letting the fates blow once in a while was a good thing. In any case, he'd find out shortly; the worst he could do was have an evening of fine dining and a bottle of wine. The best would be far, far better, but it was rare to find exactly what he sought.

Tobias ran a comb through his hair one last time as he waited for his car, the light in the entry to his condo making the few stray silver hairs shine among the darker brown. Forty-one wasn't too old, he decided. It was a fine age to be, the height of his success and skill. He lacked for nothing, really.

Only someone to share his birthday with.

The phone rang and he pushed the thought away, startled to realize it wasn't the house phone signaling his car, but his landline. ''Dr. Vincent,'' he said as he answered. God, he hoped it wasn't an emergency—he really wasn't dressed to have a lamb be born, or to nurse a horse through colic.

''Good evening, Doctor, I'm sorry to call like this. I'm sure you have plans,'' came the smooth and cheerful voice of his elderly housekeeper.

''Oh, Mrs. Miller, hello. I do, yes—I'm just on my way out, but I have a few minutes.'' He smiled to himself ruefully; he would talk for as long as the lady decided, and he knew it. No matter how successful he got or how many birthdays he had, there would always be Mrs. Miller to defer to.

''I'm merely calling to wish you a happy birthday,'' she said, ''and to ask if you'll be out to the farm this weekend.''

Tobias’ smile grew. ''Thank you, Mrs. Miller, that's really very kind of you. And yes, I'm planning to drive out tomorrow afternoon until Monday.''

''Should I tell Peter not to come then, or would you like him to exercise the horses?''

''No, I'll do it,'' he decided. It was one of the best things about going to the country, and he wouldn't happily pay someone to do it for him when he was there. The house phone buzzed at him, two shorts. ''Thank you again, Mrs. Miller.''

''I'll see you tomorrow, Doctor,'' she said, and he could picture her grinning. ''Enjoy your evening.''

''I hope to,'' he said with a smile. He hung up, buzzed the front desk, and headed to his club.

* * *

The car pulled up in front of the building and Tobias lowered his window for the security guard. ''Good evening, Tobias,'' the man said with a smile that was entirely professional, despite his use of Tobias' first name. It was a club rule that all members were to be treated equally until there was an agreement in place between individuals, and as last names were not used at all in order to preserve anonymity, given names were expected.

''Timothy,'' Tobias said with a warm smile. ''When did you start out here?'' The last time Tobias had been to the club Timothy had been inside.

''About five months ago. I like it, though I'm called back inside if needed.'' Timothy made a note of the number on Tobias' membership card and smiled at him again. ''Have a nice evening, Tobias. And welcome back.''

The car moved slowly ahead and stopped at the wide front steps; by the time Tobias had opened his door the driver was there, and the front door was opening.

''Tobias! Timothy said you were here.''

Tobias shook his head and smiled again. ''I trust you don't mind me appearing again after all this time?'' he asked Bradford.

Bradford met him on the steps and shook his hand. Tobias' friendship with Bradford went back far too many years to count anymore, and even after Tobias’ long absence from the club, the man’s firm handshake felt as familiar and comforting as a favorite sweater. ''The day we turn you from here, my friend,'' Bradford told him with a warm smile, ''is the day I close the old place up. Now, come in! Eat. Enjoy your birthday. I have a room reserved for you, as you requested. You're not meeting anyone are you?''

The club had a small, exclusive membership made up of carefully screened Dominant and submissive men. These men had been screened not just for their level of training but also style and personality, thereby keeping the membership diverse and varied. It wasn’t a BDSM club in the common sense; it was more a place for men to meet, socialize and fulfill each others’ needs and fantasies in a safe and monitored environment. Bradford had taken over management of the club a number of years ago, and eventually assumed ownership as well when his mentor, a smooth, confident Dom who had also been a mentor of Tobias’, was ready to retire. Bradford was a natural host; he knew his membership well, and he had a knack for making everyone feel right at home.

Tobias shook his head again and allowed himself to be led inside. The solid doors closed behind him and he took a deep breath, immediately relaxing. There was just something about the dark interior, the plush fabrics and deep wingback chairs that called to him. Or perhaps it was the crossed whips decorating the walls.

''I don't have a guest, if that's what you mean,'' he told Bradford as they made their way to the small bar. ''But I'm open to possibilities.''

''I was hoping you would say that.'' Bradford suddenly looked speculative. ''In which case...''

''Wait,'' Tobias said, laughing. ''I'm not saying I want you to find me a date. I'm just saying I want to have a pleasant evening—a nice meal, people I like around me—''

''And it's been eight months since you've been here, Tobias. I know you spend your weekends on the farm and your weeknights in town. I'd certainly have heard if you had someone new.'' He shook his head sadly, making Tobias grin. ''No, my friend, you deserve to play. And I might just have the right someone for you.''

Tobias tilted his head and considered his friend. Bradford had been running the club for a number of years, had been an integral part of Tobias' own training. There was perhaps no one more capable of knowing the type of partner Tobias needed, liked... desired.

''Tell me,'' Tobias invited, accepting a glass of ice water from the bartender.

Bradford beamed at him, delighted. ''I can, and will do you one better. Come.''

Tobias had little choice but to follow as Bradford crossed the room with purpose to a small table. Tobias, being behind, could see little other than a man sitting alone. He rose quickly as Bradford made a direct path to him.

''Tobias,'' Bradford said grandly, ''I would like you to meet Noah. Noah, this is Tobias. It is my opinion that the two of you are well suited. Of course, you may decide otherwise, but I encourage you to at least discuss the matter.'' He then bowed his head and stepped back, wishing them good evening with a knowing grin before turning and walking away, leaving Tobias to face this stranger alone, knowing no more than his name.

Title: Submission
Published by: Tygerseye Publishing, LLC
ASIN: B083BKLWDJ
ISBN13: 978-1-951011-17-8

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Heart of a Cowboy

Contributors: Jodi Payne, B.A. Tortuga
Series: Higher Elevation #1
Genre: , , , ,
Release Date: October 29, 2019
Pages: 240

Heart of a Redneck

An East Meets Western M/M Romance

Colby McBride is a blue-collar cowboy trying to make ends meet laying tile in Colorado. A loner by choice, Colby works hard with his hands and finds his peace camping in the mountains outside Boulder. Gordon James is a white-collar restaurateur who owns not one, but two successful establishments in downtown Boulder. He’s a sophisticated urbanite who is devoted to his work and is accustomed to getting what he wants.

The men are friends, but sparks fly when Colby falls in love and decides to show Gordon how much fun a good old boy can be. They’re just beginning to explore their relationship when Gordon’s sister’s suicide leaves him with custody of his five-year-old niece.

Colby comes from a huge family and is eager to help with the girl and to prove his worth to Gordon. But neither of them is ready for the tremendous changes to their already busy lives, or for how this new relationship with Olivia challenges them, complicating the way they interact with each other. They say opposites attract, but can these two very different men work together to join their disparate lives and form a strong, if highly unlikely, family?

Available for purchase or to borrow with Kindle Unlimited

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EXCERPT

Chapter One

IT WAS a beautiful day. The sun was bright, and a light breeze ruffled Gordon’s hair as he got out of his Jeep Wrangler. He opened up the back, pulled out a heavy, square cardboard box and a bag with two bottles of wine, and then headed into the restaurant.

He stopped and set the two bottles of wine on the bar next to a man bent over some paperwork. “Hey, Oscar.”

“Hey, boss.” Oscar was the manager at Delmara. Gordon had hired him many years ago, not long after he opened the place. It had been Oscar’s brilliant idea to add tapas to the menu, and look where they were now. Oscar was constantly proving himself more valuable.

Gordon had asked Oscar if he’d be interested in running his new farm-to-table place, Gaia, when it opened a year ago, but Oscar had turned the job down. He said he knew what he was good at and it wasn’t yuppie tomatoes. Gotta love him.

“Oscar, these two bottles are for Mr. White. He has a reservation tonight and requested them specifically. The first one is on the house because I want him to sponsor part of the spring mentoring fundraiser. Make sure he gets his usual table and Becky as his server.”

“Got it. And is he bringing his… er….”

“Date. Call her his date. Remind Becky.” Becky had a few other choice words for her, he knew. He understood; after all, the woman, drunk at the time, had loudly accused Becky of flirting with White the last time they were in. But Becky would be fine. White liked her and tipped well, and she liked her bread buttered.

Oscar laughed. “I’ll do that. Oh, boss? Don’t forget that the ladies’ room has a….”

“Got the tile.” He pointed to the box under his arm. “But I need to make that call. I’ll go do that right now. Thanks, Oscar.”

Gordon hurried back to his office. The fucking special-order tile in that bathroom was costing him a fortune, but scheduling the work would be easy at least. His tile guy was also a buddy, and always easy to bribe with good beer. He closed his office door and dialed.

“Yo, sugarbutt. How goes it?” Colby answered him with a low drawl that reminded him of incredible whiskey poured over sugar cubes.

He put the box down on his desk and collapsed into his desk chair, grinning. “Hey, Colby. Listen, I need you to come by and install that replacement tile I ordered for the ladies’ room at Delmara. You got time this afternoon? I have a beer with your name on it.”

“For you? I’ll make time.” Colby laughed, utterly unashamed about wanting his beer. “You might have to have me dirty, though. I’ve been loading my truck with tile boxes all morning, and I’m covered in ceramic dust.”

That was Colby, always coming off a hard day’s work somewhere. “Please. Do you ever show up clean? What time will I see you?”

“Is four too late? Then I won’t have to run off.”

“Four it is. The bathroom stall has been taped off for a week. It can go one more day.” He still needed to head upstairs and change. He spent nearly every evening front of house, and he had a VIP coming in tonight, so he needed to be on time. Oh shit, he needed to pick up his suit at the cleaners. Okay, that errand was next.

“You’ll have to let it cure twenty-four hours anyway.” Something crashed, and he heard, “I swear to God, y’all. You break those tiles and I will personally rip off your heads and shit down your neck.”

“Oh, listen to you go all boss. Should I let you go?”

“Yeah, yeah. I got a reputation to uphold and shit. See you at four, man.”

Gordon laughed. Colby’s voice had dropped a whole octave. “Your secret is safe with me. See you at four.”

A raspberry sounded, and then Colby hung up on him. There was something about Colby—this genuine joy when it came to anything from working to shooting pool to watching a movie—it made the guy fun to hang out with. And Gordon needed some fun once in a while. He loved his job, but it could really eat up his personal time.

Still grinning, he put his phone back in his pocket. He cut open the box to check out the tile he’d ordered. It was the right stuff. He’d just leave it on his desk for Colby. He took a second to look through the mail Oscar had left for him. Bills, bills, and more bills as usual, but also the package he’d been expecting—the newest addition to his porn collection. He left that on his desk unopened and headed out to the bar.

“Hey, Oscar, I have to run out and get my suit, and I’m going to stop by Gaia and make sure they’re good for the weekend. I’ll be back by three. Colby McBride will be by around four to see about the tile. Send him to my office when he gets here?”

“Oh, great. Will do.”

“What do the reservations look like?”

“We’re packed, boss. Tonight and tomorrow, both.”

“Nice.”

“He’ll be out by six, right?”

“I’ll make sure he is.” It wasn’t a lot of work; it’d be okay. They could hang out and have that beer after Colby was done. Damn priorities.

“All right, I’m off.” Gordon brushed the wrinkles out of his shirt and headed out the door.

God, this gorgeous day. No wonder they were expecting a packed house. People were out everywhere. Nothing was as good for business as the promise of springtime.

After a long winter, there was nothing quite like coming alive again.

  

Chapter Two

“MCBRIDE? YOU get that utility room floor done?”

“Would I be out here looking for my draw if I didn’t, man? Y’all know I do good work.” Come on, motherfucker. Pay me. I got to tile a bathroom and see my man. He reckoned it didn’t matter a bit whether Gordon knew he was Colby’s. That was just details. Eventually he would make Gordon see him as more than a beer buddy.

If he could start his weekend with a check in one hand and a beer in the other, he would be a happy little cowboy. He’d started one job, picked up supplies for another, and trimmed out the third. He was a busy man.

Thank God for that.

“You’re the best guy out there,” Lou admitted grudgingly, handing over his draw. “And I gotta say, you will work for money.”

“I’m good that way.” He pocketed the check after peeking to make sure all the numbers were there. “Thank you, sir. I will be on the Williams’s job come Monday. Should take me a day and a half, give or take.”

“Then you’ll work that Best Western?”

“Just the lobby fireplace, man. You can get any asshole to slap down twelve-bys on the rooms.” He knew what his happy ass was worth, and it was worth more than mindless tile work. He liked to be pushed some.

“Just the lobby.” Lou rolled his eyes like dice. “The owner’s wife has ideas.”

“Faboo.” Something else he was pretty good at was talking to folks. He liked people, so for the most part, people liked him. “I can talk to her Tuesday afternoon or Wednesday, huh? Let her show me what all she wants.”

Lou snorted. “Oh, I’m sure she’ll love whatever you have to offer. Try for Tuesday, yeah? I want you done over there by Friday. I’ve got a couple of big jobs I’ve bid on for the week after, and there might be some design work on one of them. I could use you.”

“Just call.” Lou paid on time and, so far, didn’t seem to be too much of a dick, so Colby gave the big man priority. “Have a good weekend, sir.”

“You too, cowboy.”

He tipped his gimme cap and headed out to his F-250, then hauled his butt up into the cab. “Okay. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Colby cracked his window, turned Luke Bryan up loud, and put on his sunglasses. Damn, he did love to have him some springtime, even if it came later up here than it did back home. The snow was gone, the trees were budding, and the sun was making promises that it might be time to grill out wearing nothing but his cutoffs.

Between the weather and his music, the forty-minute drive from the worksite just flew on by. Traffic into town was pretty heavy but moving, and it wasn’t long before he was pulling into the lot at Delmara. He saw Gordy’s Wrangler, looking a damn sight cleaner than any Jeep he’d ever seen back home. Figured. That Wrangler probably hadn’t seen a dirt road in its life. He parked right next to the shiny Jeep, tossed his sunglasses on the seat, grabbed his tool belt, and headed inside.

“Ah, Mr. McBride.” Gordy’s manager waved him over to the bar. Hell if he could remember the guy’s name.

“Yes, sir. Mr. James called. Says he got a job for me?”

“Yes, but he wants you to stop by his office first. You remember where you’re going?”

“Think so.”

“I’ll buzz him. You can head on back.”

He headed through the restaurant to the office, thinking that the tile floor in the hall probably ought to be replaced. It was pretty beat-up.

Gordy’s office door opened before he even had a chance to knock. “Hey, man. Come on in.”

“Hey, honey. You wanting me to get to work on that bathroom, huh?” Look at that hot motherfucker. Colby did like him some stud.

Gordy closed the office door. He turned around, and Colby got a good view of his five-o’clock shadow and his crazy green eyes. “I’d really like to take a break now, but we open in two hours, and those ladies aren’t going to like you in their bathroom much.”

“I live to serve, honey, and your fancy-assed customers might be took aback by my Wrangler butt.”

“They’re not that fancy. You’re just that cowboy.” Gordy laughed, blond bangs falling in his eyes. He swept them away the way he did, one hand carding through them and then that little toss of his head. Gordy gave him one of them weird-assed man-hug deals, bicep popping through his shirt like some high-dollar Popeye. “Thanks for coming by. Now get to work.”

“Bossy old man,” he teased and opened the office door real quick before Gordy could react. “You put the tiles in the bathroom?”

“Oh shit. No, they’re on my desk.” Gordy picked up the box and handed it over. “Here. And don’t make me hound you for an invoice like last time.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.” He grabbed the box, nodded, then made his way to the bathroom. He was going to have to set up his wet saw to trim around the toilet….

Before long he was lost in the steadiness of the work, setting the tile, making sure everything was just so, and the time just flew by.

“Hey, looking good in here. Not that I would expect anything less.” Gordy set a cold bottle of beer down on the floor next to Colby. “We open in a half an hour, you close?”

“You know it. I’ll pop in tomorrow afternoon and grout it before y’all open.” He grabbed the bottle and downed half the brew. Oh, hoppy goodness. One thing about hanging with a restaurant guy? You didn’t have to drink so much Coors Light.

“That would be great. Really appreciate it. Come on up when you’re done if you want. I need a shower, and I have to put on a tie for a VIP tonight, but I’ve got some time to hang out. Back elevator’s running again.” Pretty neat that Gordy owned the building and lived two floors above the restaurant.

“Spiffy! Sure.” Man in a suit. Yay. “I got to go load my truck. You got a sign for this stall? Someone steps in here on this thin-set and they’ll slide and hurt themselves and ruin my tile job.”

“Can’t have that.” Gordy winked at him and then looked around. “Oh. I thought there was a rope and… yeah. I’ll get Oscar to set something up in here. Do your thing and then come on up. Door’ll be open.”

“Yessir. I’m on it.” It took him two trips to load up the truck and get his shit locked in his toolbox. He finished his beer on the way and took a second to wipe his face off.

Lord have mercy, he was filthy. Good thing he’d warned Mr. Fancy Tie before he showed.

He headed around to the back of the building and took the stairs instead of the elevator. The stairs were more convenient anyway; the fire door on the third floor opened up right next to Gordy’s front door.

He let himself in, as he had done many times before, and was overwhelmed as usual by the size of the damn TV in the front room. He kept telling Gordy to move it to the back wall, but the guy was as stubborn as a hog on ice. Otherwise, though, the apartment was comfortable and not nearly as showy as Gordy could probably afford to be if he wanted. Everything was new and shiny, but the couches were comfy, and the decor was basically gay bachelor pad. Framed Stonewall poster on one wall, rack of DVDs, mostly porn, under the TV, the usual. Broadway soundtracks lined up next to the stereo.

“That you?”

“No, sir!”

Some ancient rock band was on the radio. Gordy always had music going. Colby just shook his head.

Gordy came out of the kitchen still in his jeans but nothing else except the two bottles of beer he was carrying.

“You get mugged on your way up?”

“What?”

“You lost your shirt.”

Gordy laughed, holding out one of the bottles. “Have another beer, cowboy. Your jokes aren’t funny yet.”

“Now, now. Ain’t it you that ought to be having another one so I start getting funnier?” Lord have mercy, he did love to look at that man. He could watch Gordon James wander around his so-fancy condo for days.

Well, maybe not days. That would lead to long-term blue balls.

“Yeah, that’s never worked. There’s no hope for you.” Gordy took a swig of his beer. “Oh!” He pointed to the coffee table. “New porn in the mail.”

“Lord, honey. Don’t you know that’s all on the computer now?”

Gordy shook his head. “That’s vintage, my friend. The early bareback stuff. Low edit, tons of fucking. That’s not your cheap internet thrill. You should borrow it.”

“Low edit—what the fuck does that even mean, man? Seriously.” Tons of fucking he got.

“No cuts? No kissing and then cut to the money shots?” Gordon sounded a little snooty about it. Like this was something everybody knew but Colby. “You know, the whole scene—foreplay to finale.”

“Not all of us are conness… connoisseurs and shit. Me? I like a nice long bout of on-screen fucking. That way if your mind wanders….” He did love to tease.

“Your mind or your hand?” Gordon snorted. “I’m with you, the longer the better.” He drew his words out, and they had a little heat and a little growl in them. “Mm.”

“Listen to you.” He’d like for Gordon to listen to his happy ass, just for a second, just long enough to prove that he was man enough to rock Gordon’s world.

Gordon laughed. “One of these days we should hit the clubs in Denver. You get over there much?”

“Once a month or so. Depends on whether I have to run over for a specialty tile in the afternoon. That makes it easier.” And he got to dance. Damn, he did love to two-step.

“I think it’s been—God, I don’t know—maybe five or six weeks since I’ve been there. I used to go every Sunday. Last few weeks I’ve been watching a game or bad movies with this tile guy on Sundays. Or losing at pool. I’m still waiting for that chance to redeem myself, by the way.”

Few weeks? It had been three months. “Oh, now. I’ll play you any time, but you ain’t got redemption coming.”

“I might if you’d drink anything stronger than beer.”

“Country don’t mean dumb, Gordy.” He winked over. Some things were real important—knowing when to drink and when to make a bet were two of them.

“Nope. And apparently a college degree doesn’t make a man wise either.” Gordy winked right back at him. “Oh, speaking of wise. Have you got a couple of work days open in the next week or two? I’m having a new shower installed in the master bath, and I want to do something kind of modern and flashy in there with the tile after. I told them I knew a guy.”

“Yeah? Sure. We got lots of options. I’ll bring a few things over—wood-grain tile is huge right now. I did a bath the other day with glass pieces in the grout line. It looked like diamonds or some shit. Too fucking cool.”

“Glass? How cool is that? Must take forever to do, though, huh?”

He shrugged, took a long swig of beer. “Depends on what you want. They have some strips you can lay in. You do know a guy, after all.”

“Yep. A very reliable guy that does top-notch work. Thanks. Just let me know when you can show me the samples.” Gordy finished off his beer. “Drinking before work. Good thing it’s not full-on summer yet.” He set his bottle on the coffee table. “I need a shower. You want to hang out and watch the cable or whatever, go ahead. I might even have some food in the fridge.”

“You mean you’re not worried about your virtue?”

Gordon snorted and tossed Colby the remote. “Don’t drink all my beer, cowboy.” He headed down the hall toward his bedroom.

One day, man. One day I will have my shit together enough and I will make my move. Colby watched that tight little ass as Gordon disappeared into his bedroom.

He could be patient. In theory. Really he could.

He hoped.

Title: Heart of a Redneck
Published by: Tygerseye Publishing, LLC
ASIN: B09Y649SB5
ISBN13: 978-1951011758

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Window Dressing

Contributors: Jodi Payne and BA Tortuga
Series: Merry Everything Series #1
Genre: , , , , , ,
Release Date: December 10, 2019
Pages: 189

When bull rider Sterling Kingsolver wins a national rodeo championship in a stunning upset, he becomes the public face of the rodeo league. But the big bosses had other plans, and Sterling knows he’s in trouble. Worst of all, though, he’s headed to New York City to do a publicity junket. Sterling is a quiet cowboy from New Mexico, and all the fancy trappings of his new title don’t sit so well with him.

Jonas Burke is an experienced public relations assistant. He’s been hired by the rodeo league to get a hick cowboy from the middle of nowhere cleaned up and presentable by New York standards, and he’s been told to cancel his week-long Christmas vacation to do it.

The two men square off a couple of times, but as they get to know each other, Jonas begins to understand what makes a real cowboy tick, and Sterling starts to realize there’s more to Jonas than a flashy smile. While taking in the sparkle and joy that is Christmas in New York City, their friendship slowly becomes more. But when trouble catches up with them, Sterling’s days in the city come to an end and Jonas nearly loses his job. Facing that infamous midnight hour, Sterling and Jonas have to decide what their New Year will bring.

Window Dressing is an opposites attract, enemies to lovers romance featuring a rodeo cowboy, a city boy in a suit, and the magic of New York City at the holidays.

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Prologue

Sterling Kingsolver was fixin’ to ruin his goddamn career for stupid pride, and he gave less than no shits.

He stood there, staring at Clint Masterson, the buzz of fury zipping between his ears like killer bees.

“Listen to me, boy. Cody Ball has been promised this year. You’re a baby. You’re a rookie. You throw this ride and we’ll make it worth your while.”

“I ain’t a cheat.” He might be a piece-of-shit caliche farmer, a desert baby balls to bones, but he wasn’t about to take a dive. He had Rookie of the Year in the bag, sure—but if he rode his last bull? Shit marthy, he would take the event win and the championship.

“We aren’t asking you to cheat, son. I’m telling you to make a smart career move, hmm?” Masterson had been one of the First Five, and he was the face of the league, the big boss. Shit, this man could ruin him. Shit.

“Fine. I think it’s bullshit, man. Total bullshit.” God. God help him. Was he considering this?

“This isn’t some little ranch rodeo, Kingsolver. This is the big time. Sometimes you have to lose a little. You got the Rookie of the Year money. Take it and run. Next year it will be yours.”

Right. Assuming he stayed healthy next year. Assuming he rode. Assuming he had another magic year. “Yessir.”

Fucker.

“Good boy. Go on. You need to strap in. Don’t make it obvious.”

Good boy?

Good fucking boy?

He stormed across the chutes, his boots rattling.

“Bit! Bit, come on! Tie on your damn glove! This is it.” Jack waved and bounced, his eyes as big as saucers. “What did Masterson want?”

“Nothing. Just to keep my ass on the bull.”

“Ah. Okay. Grab your bull rope. I’ll pull. Chance can hold your vest.”

“Right.” He went through the motions, acidic hatred burning in his belly. Motherfuckers, with their politics and shit. He could see Cody Ball and his long-assed ugly nose and sparse pussy-tickler mustache just staring him down with a bullshit smirk, knowing what they’d asked.

Just because Ball hadn’t fucking managed quite to keep himself centered, just because no one had thought Sterling was a goddamn threat until it was too late.

Now he was one ride away from taking the whole thing.

One ride.

His daddy was sitting there in the stands, the day sheet crumpled in his fingers. Daddy would know. He would know and judge, even if he never said a word about it.

“Focus, asshole!” Chance shook him. “Blue Belly isn’t going to thank you for woolgathering.” His old friend leaned close, peppermint on his breath. “Don’t do it. Ride this son of a bitch. Ride him into the motherfucking ground and make them all scream.”

“They said—”

“Don’t. Just hold on, cowboy. You ain’t a rodeo athlete; you’re a goddamn cowboy.”

Sterling nodded and got his legs set, slamming his glove shut over his rope. Blue Belly bucked in the chute, tossing his head, slamming Sterling’s leg against the gate. He didn’t nod, but the gate swung open, and he kept his mind in the middle.

Just hold on. You’re a goddamn cowboy.

That was right. He was. He was a goddamn cowboy, and he didn’t throw rides. This wasn’t a job; this was who he was.

By the time he finished telling himself that, the buzzer sounded, the arena going wild.

Well, okay then.

Time to hit the dirt and take his lumps.

Title: Window Dressing
Published by: Tygerseye Publishing, LLC
ASIN: B0827D3CM2
ISBN13: 978-1-951011-04-8

 

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Breaking the Rules

Contributors: Jodi Payne and BA Tortuga
Series: Triskelion Series #1
Genre: , , , , ,
Release Date: September 22, 2020
Pages: 450

Breaking the Rules: The Triskelion Series, Book One

Saul Reynolds manages a busy bicycle shop in downtown Boulder, Colorado. A recent CU graduate, he’s also a Dom, and has many friends his age in the scene. Saul’s an old soul, and even at twenty-five, he’s had enough experience to understand his own desires. He’s had plenty of lovers and he’s played the role of part-time Dom, but he’s never found the perfect combination of lover and sub in one man.

Troy Finch lost his lover in a rodeo accident twenty years ago, moved to Boulder, and has worked as a line cook in his friend Carter’s diner ever since. He’s attended many parties at Carter’s home with couples in the BDSM lifestyle and feels comfortable in a submissive role, but without a Dom of his own, Troy hasn’t explored what that really means to him. He has needs he doesn’t entirely understand and finds his only outlet at the hands of Carter’s husband, Geoff, a tattoo artist who has used Troy’s skin as a canvas for as long as they’ve known each other, covering Troy in colorful, intricate triskelia.

Troy doesn’t know what he was thinking accepting a dinner invitation from a kid half his age, but everything feels right about their evening together, including Saul’s Dominant side. The rules for a twenty-five year old gay cowboy from years ago, though, are totally different than for a twenty-five year old college grad in Boulder now, and despite Saul’s confidence, Troy isn’t sure whether they can make it work.

Saul and Troy manage to bend a good many rules in the name of caring and compromise, but in the name of love, there are some rules they’re just going to have to break.

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Chapter One

 

Saul held the mountain bike like a lover, like it was something precious, babying the new paint job and shiny chrome as he loaded it into the back of the pick-up truck. He wrapped it in a blanket so it would stay spotless on the drive and checked the tires for the third time.

Then he hopped out of the bed and shut the tailgate. All good. That bike was some of his best work. Thank goodness for Emma, he wanted to deliver this one personally and he didn’t have wheels of his own.

You got this.

It was another perfect spring day and downtown Boulder was busy. He drove up Canyon Boulevard and parked near the east end of the Pearl Street Mall, then reversed the process with the bicycle, gingerly lowering it to the ground. He got on it and took a lap of the parking lot, fucking with the gears and brakes. Damn, this was a sweet rebuild.

He walked the bike to Carter Lee’s diner, which of course he’d forgotten the name of, but he knew the one, he’d been there a bunch of times. Best cup of coffee in town, crazy good French toast. Small world, colliding with the man who owned that place.

He’d rebuilt the whole front end, put on new tires, a new chain, a new gear shift, replaced the scuffed-up pedals and the twisted handlebars, and had given the thing a new paint job. It sparkled like new, which was pretty much the least he could do after almost knocking out Carter’s front teeth.

He pulled up outside the diner and peered through the window, trying to see if he could catch Carter’s eye, but the place was hopping, and everyone was busy. He sighed and locked the bike up, making sure it was as far away from other bikes as possible, and headed inside.

“Just one?” The hostess grabbed a menu.

“Oh, I’m just… I was looking for…”

“This way, please.”

He blinked, totally off-guard, and followed her to a small table. “I’m actually just here to see Carter.”

“I’ll let him know you’re looking for him. Coffee?”

“Oh I, uh.” She peered at him expectantly. “Sure. Sounds good.”

“You take cream?” She handed him a menu, sighing as a group of mountain bikers showed up. “Ah, to-go orders. I’ll be right back with your coffee.”

“Yes,” he called after her. He glanced over at the bikers, but he didn’t know any of them. Must not be local. He knew a lot of the real enthusiasts in town from his shop.

He glanced at his watch. It was eleven-thirty and he’d been putting the finishing touches on the bike all morning. He supposed he could eat, but he really didn’t need the menu. He wanted that French toast with the berries and the vanilla-maple syrup. He could almost taste it.

“Troy! Troy, I need seven more turkey sandwiches to go. All chips.”

“On it, honey,” a rough drawl answered her, the John Deere ball cap the only thing visible through the pass-through.

That was one of his favorite things, the way Carter’s cook worked—steady, calm, fast and obviously damn good at his job.

He tried to think how long the guy had been working back there. Had to be forever, and in all that time he’d never heard the cook get ruffled. Just “On it,” or “Yes, ma’am” with that deep tone. He liked the voice, and he was pretty sure he’d have recognized it anywhere.

“Hey, man, how goes it?” Carter came and sat, offering him a smile. “Run anyone over this week?”

He grinned and felt his cheeks burn, totally embarrassed. “Nope. I’m finding you a tough act to follow. I think I’ve hit a dry spell. You?”

“Busy as a one-armed paperhanger.” Carter smiled for him, and, okay, he was totally glad he hadn’t knocked those teeth out.

“I see that. I have to say I’m sorry again. Hopefully your bike will make up for the bruises. It’s all done, I parked it outside. If you have any problems, you just let me know, I’ll get it right for you.” He smiled back, going for charming but not flirty. Carter was a handsome but married man.

“You rock, man. I mean it. Let me grab you a cup of coffee and…you’re the French toast, right?”

“My favorite. Thanks so much.” Carter was the coolest cat on the planet. He wasn’t sure if he could be that chill if someone barreled into his path out of nowhere, sent him flying and mangled his handlebars. He’d like to think he could, he tried to be level-headed, and shit happens, right?

“Right on.” Carter stood and went to pour his coffee. “Troy, I need a French toast with berries and a side of bacon on the fly.”

“On it, boss.”

On it, boss. Saul smiled and leaned back in his chair. That drawl was something. He thanked Carter again for the coffee and his stomach growled as he picked it up to take a sip. Yeah, he could eat.

He drank his coffee and checked his phone while he waited. He answered an email from Emma about the supply order he’d placed the day before. Thank goodness Emma was as much of a workaholic as he was. The shop was demanding and busy.

He also made a cocktail hour appointment with Khloe, who said she needed a hand. He wasn’t her Dom, but she didn’t have one at the moment and she was a friend. If she needed him, he’d be there.

“Excuse me. You’re the French toast?” Shocking green eyes stared at him. They seemed huge when paired with that bald head.

He stared right back and smiled, stunned by the handsome face that went with the drawl. “Actually, I’m Saul. But I’m having the French toast.”

“Good deal.” He got a smile, a nod as the plate was put in front of him. “Enjoy your breakfast, sir.”

“I always do. You make amazing French toast.” He boldly reached out and touched a triskelion tattoo on the cook’s wrist with curious fingers, keeping the man there another second. “Great ink. What’s your name?”

“Finch. Troy Finch. Pleased to meet you.”

As his gaze traveled up, he discovered the triskelions climbing up Troy Finch’s arm, some delicate and lacy, some violent and sharp-edged. It was fascinating, and he had all kinds of questions.

“I think the pleasure is really mine, Troy.” As much as he wanted to keep this lovely man talking, he lifted his fingers away. “I know you’re busy back there. Thank you for taking the time to run this out to me.”

“You’re welcome, sir. Boss is bad about letting his orders die in the window.”

“Get your ass in the kitchen. I hear you, telling lies about me.” Carter was barely holding his laughter back.

Troy snorted, but dropped him a wink. “Yes, sir. No smoke break for me?”

“Nope. Kitchen.”

“Thanks again, Troy.” Saul watched the guy take a few strolling steps toward the kitchen and then head back to work. He glanced up at Carter. “Interesting guy. Lots of pretty specific ink. Nice work.” He picked up the little glass jug of syrup and covered his plate in it.

“It is. My husband, Geoff? He did all the work.”

“Yeah? He must be pretty creative.” Who knew there were so many different ways to draw a triskelion? He’d seen at least ten or twelve and he figured there had to be more going up that arm. He started in on his French toast. “Mm. So good.” Like foodgasm good.

“Enjoy, huh? It’s on the house.” Carter grinned at him, dark eyes wrinkling with the power of his smile. “The bike looks great, man. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re happy with it. I thought it came out pretty sweet.” Yeah, he could maybe be more humble. But he knew what his strengths were, and custom bikes was one of them. He was good at what he did. He smiled right back at Carter. “Try not to get in my way again, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah. Pay attention, and I’ll do my best.” The wink he got was pure mischief.

He laughed. “You’re on. Listen, what are you doing Sunday? You want to ride? We could have a rematch.”

“Sure. Sunday’s my day off. Let me check with Geoff, but he’ll be asleep. He works late on Saturdays.”

“Perfect.” He swallowed the big bite he had in his mouth. “Don’t let me keep you, I get that it’s busy. Thank you so much for the lunch.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll text you.” Then poof, Carter was off and running, greeting customers and bussing tables.

He knew Carter was going to like how he’d fixed up the bike. He knew it. Just like he was sure Troy’s stunning green eyes had gotten a good look at his ring, the one bearing the symbol that matched the carpet of amazing ink on the cook’s arm.

He finished his food and left a great big tip. Then he pulled out one of his business cards from the shop, flipped it over and wrote a quick note on the back before handing it to the hostess.

“Excuse me. Troy might need to reach me, so can you make sure he gets this?” He held the card out to her.

“Yeah, sure. Have a good day.”

“Thanks much. You too.” As he was leaving, he heard her calling back to Troy for more sandwiches to go.

 

 

Title: Breaking the Rules, The Triskelion Series, Book One
Published by: Tygerseye Publishing, LLC
ASIN: B08HL47PTT
ISBN13: 978-1-7330076-2-7

 

 

Find Jodi's full catalog with links to all your favorite formats at Queeromance Ink!

Just Dex

Contributors: Jodi Payne and BA Tortuga
Series: Les's Bar #1
Genre: , , , , ,
Release Date: January 19, 2021
Pages: 570

Dexter is rudderless and headed down a dark path. Cyrus knows the young man has great potential, but will Dex let him prove it before it's too late?

When Dexter Appleton’s best friend Huck commits suicide, it damn near kills Dex too. Huck was a bull rider with a chaotic life, and leaves behind a big house, and a ton of unanswered questions. But Dex is just a simple guy, just a Texas cowboy trying to scrape together a life, and he can’t handle much more before he breaks.

Cyrus Hughes is a therapist whose Lifestyle patients have very particular needs. He’s shocked to learn that Huck is gone after meeting with him twice a month for years, and he didn’t expect to miss a client so much. When he heads to Texas to pay his respects, he instinctively feels protective of Huck’s anxious and unlikely best friend, Dexter.

The attraction between them grows, even long distance, until Cyrus insists he needs Dex with him in New York. Clinging to his last bit of hope, Dex takes a leap of faith and moves what little he still owns in with Cyrus, hoping to find his place in the world.

Their path is full of trial and error, triumphs and misunderstandings. Cyrus and Dex will have to adjust their expectations to create a life together…one where Dex understands that he is not “just” anything.

Buy the Book: Amazon~~Universal eBook Links

Also in this series:

 

Excerpt:

Dex let himself into Huck’s house, his hand shaking so bad that he missed the lock twice.

Twice.

Huh, you’d think he was a drunk on a three-day binge.

Maybe he would be soon. Who knew? Maybe he’d run away from Salado, drive down to Galveston, up to Beaver’s Bend, away. Maybe he’d just go home and have a long nap. Maybe he’d head to Sixth Street and play with the college kids.

Maybe.

He could hear the alarm deal when he opened the door, distantly, and he wandered to the keypad, turned it off. Huck could do it from his phone—got a kick out of turning it on when he was house sitting, in fact.

Dex stood there in the foyer, the sun pouring into the house, lighting all the wood up, the dust making patterns in the air.

There was an alligator.

A tulip.

A longhorn.

A leaf.

A noose.

His knees buckled and he hit the floor, hands slapping down so hard it hurt.

Suddenly it was like he was Huck, hanging from his bullrope in a hotel bathroom, throat closed, body going heavy and swollen, nasty with gas and bacteria and flies and…

“No.”

The scream that wanted out was just a tiny squeak, but it proved he was here. Here in Huck’s house. Here, waiting for somebody—anybody—to tell him what the fuck to do.

His best friend in all the world—the face he’d known from the nursery at First Baptist, the first guy he’d ever kissed, the person who quit the baseball team when he got thrown out. Huck.

Huck was dead.

Jesus Christ, Huck McNamara was dead, and Dexter was…not.

 

***

 

Tuesdays were quiet enough that Cyrus could sit at the bar. He hauled himself through the front door out of the rain and stomped the water off his boots, shivering for a second as the air conditioning hit him. His iPad was stuffed under his jacket to stay dry and had been tucked against his side so hard he thought maybe he’d bruised something.

Ironic. He’d managed not to pick up any new bruises all day despite his client being particularly needy.

The bartender gave him a wave, and he waved back before hanging up his coat on the pegs by the door.

Tuesdays should be Greg behind the bar, but Greg finally got cast in some new off-Broadway show Cyrus couldn’t remember the name of and might be at rehearsal.

He set his iPad down on the bar at his usual spot with a good view of both the TV and the door.

“Mr. Hughes. Always good to see you.” A mug of hot coffee landed on the bar along with a bowl of pretzels.

Not Greg. Good for him. “Oh, perfect. Thanks, Perry.”

“It’s a fresh pot. I’m mainlining it tonight. I pulled a double yesterday and picked up Greg’s shift tonight. I’m toast.” Perry leaned against the bar, blue eyes shining in the lights. Such a lovely young man.

“Well, I won’t bother you much. I have a little work to do.”

“Bother me when you’re ready for a break. This place is dead with the weather.” Perry winked at him.

“Okay.” Sounded like Perry wanted some company. He’d just get the pressing stuff done, then he could chat awhile.

He took a sip of his coffee and hummed as the warmth chased the last of the damp summer rain away. Then opened up his iPad. His calendar was full. He’d had inquiries from two potential new clients, but fitting them in would be a challenge. He looked his week over and shook his head. The rest of this week was impossible but maybe—

Well, maybe next Thursday if Huck didn’t answer his phone soon. Cyrus had been calling him since he no-showed last week. It was the first time in nearly two years that Huck had missed an appointment; the cowboy was as regular as the sunrise. Twice a month on a Thursday since the very first time they’d met. It was more than a little worrisome.

He pulled out his cell phone and found Huck’s number, trying it one more time.

“McNamara’s phone. What can I do you for?”

Damn, that was…odd. Now he was definitely worried. And curious.

Okay. Discretion. He found his professional voice. He’d done this lots of times. “Hello. I’m looking for Huck. Is he available?”

“Oh hell’s bells, am I talking to his therapist? That’s what comes up on the phone.” So, another Texan—lover? Family?

Therapist was pretty common. He found the different ways people referred to him so interesting. “Yes, it’s Cyrus Hughes. Who am I speaking with?”

“Dex. Dexter Appleton. I—” There was a shaky breath, a pause. “Damn, Sam. This never gets easier. Never. I’m sorry, buddy. Huck hung himself in Nashville. He’s gone.”

“He what?” What? He knew something was wrong, but he was thinking rodeo accident or that Huck was in a wreck. Cy covered his other ear and listened. “I—I’m…sorry for your loss.” Hung himself. Cyrus would never have—he had no idea Huck was— “Shit.”

“Yessir. The funeral’s planned here for Monday. I mean, if you want to come out. You in Austin or Dallas?”

“New York,” he said absently. “I’m in New York.” Huck. Why didn’t you call me?

“New—What? Did you say New York?” The shock on the other end of the line was…huge. Like he’d said he was from the moon.

“Where are you? What was he doing in Nashville? How could he have hung himself?” Right. He needed to stop talking before this Dexter guy hung up on him.

“I’m at Huck’s house. We’re outside Salado. He was at a bull riding, and he used his motherfucking bull rope.” The guy’s voice started to crack, and he heard Dexter take a deep breath. “Sorry. Sorry. You need to know where to send flowers?”

“I think—” I think I need to be there. “When… When did you say the service was? Is it in…you said Salado?”

Perry glanced at him and he shook his head sadly, which made Perry come over and give his shoulder a squeeze. That was kind, but he really had no idea what he was feeling right now. He was in shock, obviously, as Dexter probably was as well. It definitely felt like real grief though.

“Monday afternoon at one. No viewing. Broecker here in town. I’m burying him next to his momma. Hold up.” There was a pause, and then, “Goddamn it, y’all! I am trying to deal with shit. Take that beer outside!”

He typed the date and time right into his calendar and the name of the town and the place into the notes. “Got it. I’m sorry, I won’t keep you. My condolences, I’m really very sorry.” He started to say that Huck was a good man, but what did he know really? He’d learned better than to assume. You’d think after all this time he’d know, but he didn’t.

“Thank you. I’m sure he, uh, he…liked you?” A soft chuckle sounded. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how that works—therapists.”

“He did. He trusted me.” In his world, that was the highest compliment Huck could have given him. “Thank you. Have a good night.”

He hung up and set his phone carefully on the bar.

Perry looked at him seriously. “You okay, Cy?”

Cyrus shrugged reflexively. “I lost a…a client.” It was really strange to think that a man with as much fight in him as Huck would hang himself. Sure, Huck was obviously frustrated, maybe angry, but suicidal? Wouldn’t Cy have seen that?

Should he have?

“Shit. I’m sorry, man.”

He tossed a twenty on bar and pushed off his stool. “I’m going to head home.”

“I get it. Safe home, Cy.”

He scooped up his iPad, tucked it under his arm and stepped out into the rain.

He was nearly home before he realized he’d forgotten his coat.

Fuck.

He’d go back for it tomorrow.

Title: Just Dex
Published by: Tygerseye Publishing, LLC
ASIN: B08S1R8J3C
ISBN13: 978-1-951011-38-3

Find Jodi's full catalog with links to all your favorite formats at Queeromance Ink!

Cryptic: Puzzles, Book One

Contributors: Jodi Payne, BA Tortuga
Series: Puzzles #1
Genre: , , , , ,
Release Date: August 17, 2021
Pages: 190

Derek “Crash” Wheeler never really wanted to make detective. He was a good marine and a great beat cop, but now he has to deal with cases like the one he just got handed. Multiple deaths. Probably a serial killer. That’s all bad enough, but now he has a crazy ex-profiler calling and texting, acting like he knows exactly what’s going on. 

 

Matthew Herrera has more than one clue about Derek’s case. He worked on a serial murder case once that took everything away from him, and while the perpetrator went to jail, Matthew knows the case isn’t over. This murderer likes to play games, and he doesn’t work alone.

 

Racing against time, Derek and Matthew have to learn to work together to solve this case, and they find they have a chemistry they can’t deny, even if it feels selfish to indulge. People are dying out there, and it will take all their skills to work out this puzzle before it’s too late, or before one of them becomes the next victim.

Buy the Book: Amazon~~Universal eBook Links

 

Chapter One 

 

“Jesus, Crash. What the hell was that?” 

It was a rhetorical question, so Derek shook his head at the patrolwoman and got into his car. That, was a woman in her late sixties who’d been strangled to death. It wasn’t something anyone ever wanted to see, and he wasn’t surprised that Leslie was still putting it together in her head. He was too. 

Leslie had offered to drive, but he was glad he hadn’t let her; the steering wheel gave him something to do besides crack his knuckles and wring his goddamn fingers. She put on her seatbelt as he pulled away from the curb, and he rolled his eyes. Sure, it was the law, and maybe he hadn’t earned the nickname “Crash” for his pristine driving record, but it was only eight blocks to the precinct. What could possibly happen? 

Leslie looked over at him. “You’ve got to be tired of this.” 

He could feel her eyes on his face but didn’t look away from the road. “Tired isn’t the right word.” Angry. Worried. Baffled. Stressed. Nervous. Sleepless. Lots of words came to mind. Tired didn’t begin to cover it. This was murder number three in as many months, and he was livid. The problem was he had no idea what he was going to do about it yet. He had to do something, obviously. As the detective assigned to all three cases, everyone was looking to him for answers. 

But he didn’t have any. Not one. 

He wasn’t going to admit that because he wanted to keep his job long enough at least to get his one-year performance review. Plus, he was pretty sure half the precinct already thought he was an idiot, so he kept his cards close to his chest and hoped to hell someone on his team would find him something he could sink his teeth into this time. 

Something other than “this one was strangled too”. That was just terrifying. Three people, all strangled, but with nothing else in common? That was a nightmare. A serial killer shaped nightmare. 

His nightmare. 

His phone buzzed, and he resisted the urgemanfully, he thoughtnot to roll down the window and toss the fucking thing out into the street. 

His mind was racing, dealing with images of the swollen, black tongue and missing wedding ring of his latest vic and the inevitable horror that came with knowing he had to tell the family. He didn’t have the time or the capacity to deal with distracting emails or calls on his phone. 

Especially while he was driving. Leslie might have kittens. 

“You’ll call 

“I’ll contact the family. I’m on it. You want me to be there again?” 

“Please.” Hell, yes. He had to be the bearer of bad news, he accepted that, but Leslie would cover the awkward things like hugs and Kleenex. Somehow she always managed to find words, good things to say. Better things than, “I’m so sorry,” which was all he ever seemed to be able to muster. 

He was sorry, though. Genuinely. He was drowning in regret that he hadn’t found the asshole responsible for the first murder, let alone the second, and now there was a third. He had no intention of giving bad news to a fourth family. 

He pulled into the garage and parked in his reserved spot. “You’ll 

“I’ll text you when they’ve arrived.” Leslie never let him finish a sentence. Just as well, he didn’t much feel like talking. He needed to think. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket as they got on the elevator, reminding him he had messages waiting. Who the hell emailed anymore? His team would have texted. His friends texted. Oh. Maybe it was his Verizon bill. 

When he clicked the button, though, it was a familiar name. 

Matthew Herrera. 

Asshole. 

The son of a bitch had worked a couple of high-profile cases ten years ago, had a breakdown, and had disappeared into the desert. Until now. Now the bastard was crawling up his dick like a Brazilian fish. 

Back when Herrera was relevant, Crash might have had more interest in whatever the profiler had to say. But ten years later, after radio silence, after the country had forgotten Herrera even existed, he just skimmed the emails, humoring the guy and pretending to have patience like he did with Mrs. Rosen down the hall when she told him about everyone that came and went in the building while he was gone all day. 

He’d nod and smile, say thank you, and disappear into his apartment before his takeout Chinese got cold. 

This time he didn’t even skim. He hit delete. He had more important things to do than to give time to a desert-dwelling, nosy hobbyist. The asshole was crazy, and when he found out which joker in the department gave out his email, he was going to hit someone. 

Hell, maybe he’d just start socking pricks in the mouth until someone confessed. 

Good idea, idiot. Maybe one of them will knock some sense into you. 

“I’ll text you in a bit, detective. Get some coffee. You look like shit.” 

Derek blinked at Leslie, only just realizing they’d stepped off the elevator. Wow. “I’m fine. Thanks, Leslie.” 

Fine. Just another body to deal with. No big deal, right? 

Coffee was the right answer though, or part of it, and he got himself a cup and took it back to his office. Then he pulled a pack of Camels from his top drawer, flipped open the lid and inhaled, deep. The tangy scent of the tobacco was just enough to make his hands stop shaking but not enough to make him not want to smoke. 

Dammit. 

He tossed the pack back in the drawer and shut it tight. 

His email beeped again, Herrera’s name popping up. 

Delete. 

Fucker. 

He was going to have to block the bastard. 

He could solve this mess on his own. He and his team would figure this out. He sure as shit didn’t need some has-been playing armchair quarterback. Right? 

Right. 

Maybe. 

He glared at his phone as the familiar voice of doubt rattled him, made his fingers itch. 

Maybe you can do this. Or maybe you’ll fuck it up in spectacular fashion. 

He told that voice to shut up and was rewarded with a you’re a hack and you know it headache. 

Oh, fuck it. 

He reached for his phone. He’d just read this last one. One more just to prove to that bitch of a voice that he didn’t need the help of a lunatic recluse. 

He took her wedding ring, didn’t he? Did he choke her with Gene Harris’s tie’? The text shocked the shit out of him. Who was feeding this fuck information? and STOP IGNORING ME! 

What the actual fuck? The names of the victims were given to the press after he’d notified the family but the details—like the wedding rings—were not. His thumbs hovered over the screen for a millisecond as he debated whether to respond. 

When I find out who is leaking shit to you, I’m going to have their ass arrested. And yours. You know, I might just have your harassing ass arrested on principle. Go the fuck away. 

He hit send without thinking about it. He did a lot of shit without thinking about it, impulsivity was his greatest weakness, and also his greatest strength. Some people called him stupid, some people called him brave. That was cool; he’d understood from a young age that they were the same thing. 

He was so over this New Mexican hermit, but that doubting voice told him to text the ME next, so, also impulsively, he did. 

Angie, was there a wedding ring in Mrs. Cohen’s throat? Was it Gene Harris’ ring? 

Before Angie answered, his phone beeped, the New Mexico number popping up again. I’d love to see you try, detective. I’m helping. 

Motherfucker. 

He got three-quarters through with a scathing answer when Angie answered him. Ring yes. How the fuck would I know whose it is? Man’s. Big. 

He stared at Angie’s text, then sent her a thank you, followed by kissy lips and a middle finger. 

The simplest answer was usually correct. But what was the simplest answer? Herrera had hacked something? Herrera was in on it? Herrera had made a lucky guess? 

He tapped Herrera’s last text and dialed the number, waiting for the asshole to pick up. Helping, his ass. 

“Menos mal.” Deep and growly, obviously pissedHerrera had a voice meant to be listened to. “I’ve been waiting for your call.” 

Waiting for…for fuck’s sake. It was like he’d been summoned. Arrogant prick. Derek didn’t bother trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. “What do you want, Mr. Herrera?” 

“I assumed it was what you wanted, no? To find this asshole.” 

“I want to know where you’re getting your information so I can plug the leak, and then I want you to stop contacting me.” 

“Fine. I’ll speak to Detective O’Reilly. I assumed as you were trying so desperately to fill Martin’s shoes, you might be willing to listen.” 

“Desperatelywho the hell do you think you are?” Oh, this guy was lucky New Mexico was a longer reach than his arm. “There’s nothing to listen to. You’ve been driving me batshit with your lunatic emails.” 

But 

“I’m not fucking desperate.” 

But Herrera knew about the ring. 

He took a deep breath, swallowed his pride and lowered his voice. “The ME found the ring, but we don’t know who it belongs to yet. Tell me how you know about it.” 

“Because I pay attention. Case number 259313. Vivica Reyes. Found dead from manual strangulation with Andy Lipinski’s ring in her throat.” 

259313… 259313… 

Derek pulled out a pen and scribbled the number on his palm. 

259313 Reyes Lipinski 

“I’ll look into it.” That case was forever ago, and wasn’t the killer still in prison? “Are we done?” 

“Until you find a young woman dead in a laundromat strangled with one of Mrs. Cohen’s scarves. Absolutely.” A dark chuckle sounded. “Good evening, detective.” 

There was no way Herrera could know that. The scarf was an educated guess he could have made if he thought about it and the laundromat? A total fabrication meant to try to impress him. It was a load of insane bullshit. 

He noted, however, that neither of them had hung up the phone. 

Bottom line, he didn’t want to find another dead body at all. Anywhere. Woman, scarf, in the laundromat, in the billiard room with the candlestick, whatever. Right or wrong, he didn’t give a shit. He couldn’t afford to. It just needed it to not happen again. 

“How long do we have?” 

“Six days, if he stays to type. It’ll be close. Six block radius. Did you find any threats at the other scenes?” 

Fuck, he wasn’t going to sleep at all. “Nothing obvious, but we’re still sifting through things. Some personal items and their cell phones are missing. Six days. Six days? Are you sure?” 

“Cell phones All smart phones?” He heard mad typing, faster than he could think, for fuck’s sake. 

“Yes. None of them have been powered up since they disappeared; we’ve been watching them.” 

Six fucking days. Six days and he hadn’t even been able to put together an MO yet. He needed to get the team together. 

“So he’s younger, I’ll bet. He’s found a younger one…” 

“He who? What? Younger than who?” 

“If I knew that, Rick Adonai’s fucking partner would be in jail, don’t you think?” Oh, that hit a nerve, didn’t it? 

Adonai had a partner? He didn’t recall reading there was anyone still on the loose. “Partner? I thought that case was closed. No one ever talked about a partner.” 

“I thought so too, until Denise Lewis. Note I’ve been emailing since then.” 

Denise was the first. A young nurse, newlywed, nothing tying her to the other two but the missing cell phone. 

“Noted. But your emails are long and rambling, and I couldn’t manage to retain anything. I gave up reading them. You come off like a lunatic. You know that, right? If you had something direct to say, why didn’t you just say it?” 

I think Adonai had a partner. How hard would that have been? 

The laughter that rang out was shocking. “I said what I meant.” 

“Well, I found it esoteric and disorganized. I couldn’t follow it at all. You do much better in conversation.” The emails were insane. Long and rambling, circling around a pointif there was a point at all. 

“Things have become infinitely clearer over the last few days. Infinitely.” 

“Yeah, well. I’m out of infinite. If you’re right, I’ve got six days.” 

He had a strong team and top forensic experts on the job, but they were almost nowhere on this. If Herrera was right, he was going to have to ask for help. He was going to have to get into the killer’s head. The accomplice’s head. One more murder, and his next step would have to be the FBI and then he’d really look like an idiot. He would prefer to see this case solved in-house. 

At this point, even a lunatic’s help was preferable to none. “When can you get out here? What time is it there? Can you get on a flight tonight?” 

“That’s not an option. Sorry.” 

He blinked. What? “I’m sorry? Not an option?” Surely there was a late flight out, but…right. He was working with a nut job. Oh. Maybe it was money. “So…first thing in the morning, then? It’s on my dime.” 

“No. You do your job there. Idon’t travel well.” 

Oh. That wasn’t going to work. People here were already looking for reasons to discount him, and he wasn’t making it very difficult on them. The last thing he needed was to say he had a source in New-Fucking-Mexico that was profiling for him. He’s brilliant, but he’s lost it, and he won’t get on an airplane so… 

Nope. 

“Listen, HerreraMatthew. Or Matty. Can I call you Matty? Listen, Matty. You need to appreciate something, okay? I’m the newest detective on the block. And the youngest. And I’m” He sighed. He was fucking desperate, wasn’t he? “I have questions. I have to understand how you know what you know. I have to see the profile. If you’re telling me we really only have six days…” 

“I’ll send you a profile. You’ll have it tonight. Goodbye, detective.” 

Click. Well, okay then. 

Crash stared at his phone and shook his head as the dust settled. What the hell was he doing? This was no way to go about an investigation. He needed something concrete. A real starting point. Not some disjointed babble. He needed to get off the bus to crazy town. 

He picked up his phone and texted Angie again. 

Tell me you have something. 

The knock at his door interrupted him, and Leslie poked her head in. “They’re here.” 

“Thank you. I’ll be—no, I’m coming.” 

No answer from Angie. Okay. He had a job to do. God, he hated this part. 

He took a deep breath and followed Leslie.

Title: Cryptic, Puzzles Book One
Published by: Tygerseye Publishing, LLC
ASIN: B09BKB3DX5
ISBN13: 978-1-951011-55-0