New Release

RELEASE BLITZ: “My Ticket Out” by J.N. Marton

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: My Ticket Out

Author: J.N. Marton

Cover Artist: 100Covers

Release Date: November 17, 2020

Genres: Contemporary F/F Romance, Coming-of-age

Tropes: Forbidden love(ish) and friends to lovers

Themes: Coming out, Embracing who you are

Heat Rating: 2-3 flames

Length: 260 pages

It is a standalone story.

 

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

 

A senior basketball player. A mysterious new girl. A secret romance…

Blurb

Charlie Baker wants out. She wants out of her small, southern hometown of BluHaven and she has her sights set on a basketball scholarship to a college as far away as her dreams can take her. Everything is going according to plan until she moves to town.

Aspen Sullivan is breathtaking. She is beautiful, smart, talented…. She evokes feelings in Charlie that she hadn’t thought possible. When their friendship blossoms into something more, Charlie discovers a new truth about herself. But with Aspen’s mysterious past, they must keep their relationship a secret.

Will their love be strong enough to endure the trials of deceiving those closest to them? Do they have what it takes to escape the constraints of the south and the closet together?

My Ticket Out is a Young Adult, LGBT story about love, and self-discovery. If you enjoy stories that include romance, heartbreak, and embracing who you are, then you will definitely love this book by author J.N. Miller.

Pick this book up today to see if Charlie will find her ticket out.

 

Excerpt

Chapter 1

“We did not come this far to roll over like a bunch of pigs! Take the ball and put it in the damn basket!”

Falcons on three… one… two… three… FALCONS.”

Twelve seconds left on the clock.

One more shot.

One more play.

One last chance.

Twelve seconds is all the time we need.

Defense pounces the second the ball is inbounded like a leach latching itself to the only available life source.

The fast break is swift–over before it even started. One hard dribble towards the middle and the ball is launched to the center of the court.

Seven seconds left.

What comes next is second nature. A hard cut to the basket and back out to the wing, my hands raised in the air as I catch the ball before defense has time to adjust.

Four seconds left… Three seconds… the ball rolls off my fingertips.

Two seconds… it swirls around the rim.

One second… and falls to the ground.

The sound of the buzzer erupts through the gymnasium, solidifying our defeat. Final score thirty-six to thirty-seven.

I inhale the musty stench of sweat, perfume, and hairspray as we sulk into the locker room and take a seat while we wait for the aftermath that is Coach Stewart. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees and focus on the sweat dripping from my forehead, plummeting to the ground, leaving a minuscule puddle between my shoes.

One shot.

That’s all we needed. And I blew it.

My main priority from the second this year started was getting a basketball scholarship out of this small town. From our very first game, it’s felt like my life has been dependent on one specific goal. A single accomplishment–like making the game winning shot–is going to make or break my future.

Coach Stewart charges through the door, letting it slam against the concrete wall as he steps in front of us. His gaze is intentional and cold, his demeanor full of discontent and indignation. His eyes trace over us, one by one, pausing just long enough for us to feel the misery set in.

He dips his head, slowly shaking it back and forth, before he holds up his index finger. “One shot. One damn shot. That’s all we needed to be undefeated this season.” He lifts his head, settling his hands on his hips. “We made mistakes tonight. And sometimes one mistake is the difference between winning and losing. The season’s not over yet. We’ll just have to practice a little harder to end it on a high. We’ve got a few games left, don’t give up now. Practice tomorrow after school. Bring it in.

Falcons on three… one… two… three… FALCONS.”

I shuffle to my locker, ignoring the hushed conversations happening around me, and begin gathering my stuff.

“That was a nice shot, Charlie,” Riley says as she pulls off her jersey, tossing it to the growing pile on the floor and retrieves her tshirt from the locker next to mine.

“Thanks,” I mutter, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” and sling my bag across my shoulders, heading for the door.

I get about three steps away from the locker room when I’m cut off by Ben. He’s wearing faded jeans, a red and black flannel over a plain white shirt, and boots with dried mud on the sides. The typical wardrobe of the boys that live around here. He’s taller than me by about three inches, with chocolate brown hair falling in his face, and forest green eyes that can’t seem to focus on what’s in front of him. “Hey, Charlie. Nice game.”

“Thanks,” I say, trying to brush past him.

He takes one long stride to the right, blocking my path. “I was thinking about checking out that new movie this weekend. Thought you might like to join me?”

“No thanks, I’m busy.”

He leans in closer, the smell of popcorn lingering on his breath, “C’mon, Charlie,” He whispers, “It’ll be fun. It wasn’t too long ago you jumped at the chance to go out with me.”

That’s not actually true. I only went out with him because Riley insisted and I finally agreed in order to get her off my back, not because I found him even remotely attractive. Of course, he doesn’t realize that, which isn’t all that surprising when I really think about it. We did the typical dinner and movie date but he couldn’t hold a conversation that didn’t revolve around him. Within the first twenty minutes of the movie, he’s shoving his tongue down my throat. I managed to wrangle him off before awkwardly sitting there trying to pretend I was somewhat interested in the film playing on screen. I haven’t gone out with him since.

“Ben, I need to get home. Can we talk about this some other time?”

“So,” he says, straightening up, his tone chipper as a smile plays around his mouth, “You’ll think about it?”

I stagger past him, picking up my pace as the EXIT sign beacons above the door, hoping my silence will answer his question.

I step outside, breathing in the bitter, frigid air of late February and make my way to my old grey Sedan. I pull out of the parking lot and head towards downtown. BluHaven is a small, southern town where the same families, shops, restaurants, and business have been here for generations. There’s a church on nearly every street corner, everything shuts down on Sundays, high school sports are the main source of entertainment, and everybody knows everything about everyone.

They say you have the freedom to be whoever you want to be, to express yourself in your own way. But if that goes against the belief system that’s been set in stone since before I was born, then don’t even bother. It’s not that I hate living here. It’s just that I never felt like I truly fit in, like my place has always been somewhere else in this world.

 

About the Author

J.N. Marton graduated from the University of Central Arkansas with a Bachelor’s degree in education. Along with educating the future of our nation, she enjoys taking her daily morning run, reading any book she can get her hands on, and binge watching the latest shows on Netflix. Marton happily lives with her wife, Hollis, and their Lab/Basset Hound mix, Sam.

Email her at jnmartonauthor@gmail.com and follow her on her favorite social media platform, Twitter @jn_marton.

 

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RELEASE BLITZ: “Naughty and Nice” by D.J. Jamison. $10.00 Amazon Gift Card Giveaway Included!

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Naughty & Nice

Author: DJ Jamison

Cover Artist: Cate Ashwood

Release Date: November 19, 2020

Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance

Tropes: Ex-stepbrothers, snowed in, holidays

Themes: Christmas, family, making up for past mistakes

Length: approx. 60 000 words

Heat Rating: 4 flames

It is a standalone story.

Goodreads

 

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

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Why can’t I forget your kiss…

 

Blurb

Why can’t I forget your kiss…

Dear Quinn,

Why must I have these feelings for you? You’re my ex-stepbrother, and nothing will change that truth, no matter how many letters I write.

I never expected to see you again–or to rescue you from the side of the road in a blizzard. I didn’t think you would ever like me, much less kiss me in a steaming hot tub on a snowy night. It seems we make better lovers than brothers, which is all kinds of naughty and nice while we’re snowed in together.

But can this new intimacy last when the skies clear and my family finally arrives for the holidays, or are we just two guys in a mountain cabin with a great view of everything we want but can’t have?

Hopelessly yours,

Jonas

 

Naughty & Nice is set in the same universe as Secret Admirer but stands alone.

 

Excerpt

“So, this is the hot tub,” I said, apropos of nothing.

“Yep,” he said, grinning. “Nothing gets by you.”

“I’m very observant that way,” I said, nodding seriously. I looked around as if taking in my surroundings, and when I got back to Jonas, I looked at him boldly, straight-on, my gaze skimming from his lips to his shoulders to his nipples, visible just above the water line.

He cleared his throat. “I’m starting to notice that.”

I wasn’t being subtle.

I’d angled for this to happen. To be in this hot tub with Jonas. I’d told him I wanted to soak away the cold in my bones, and that wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t entirely true either. I’d wanted to get closer to him. Wanted to feel another flash of the heat I was sure I’d seen in his eyes at dinner. Maybe it was an anomaly, and we’d have a soak and move on with our lives. Or maybe…

Maybe it’d combust, given the right circumstances.

To my frustration, Jonas’s phone chimed with a message. He looked away to pick it up. I watched as his lips quirked into a smile while he tapped out a response. He’d gotten a couple of these texts in the car too, tonight. It wasn’t like before, when he was avoiding messages. This was someone else.

“Who’s texting you?”

He glanced up, then irritatingly right back down to the phone. “No one important.”

I huffed. “They have a lot of your attention.” My stomach tightened. “Is it a hookup?”

Jonas didn’t answer immediately, and every second wound my insides a little bit tighter. If Jonas had someone in his life—or more than one, as his busy phone led me to believe—I wouldn’t be surprised. Why wouldn’t someone want him? He was effortlessly gorgeous; I’d seen him roll out of bed and ruffle his hair with his hand and look fabulous. That was it; his whole morning routine. And there I was in front of the mirror, trying to tame flyaway hairs and choosing my clothing with care. He was smart and self-reliant too. He didn’t bail on school or his future just because he was in a messy relationship. He dealt with life. Guys like him were never alone.

I edged closer, our legs brushing underwater. “Is it someone you’re serious about?”

“Nah, I don’t do serious.”

“Why not?”

His eyes met mine and held. “Tried it once. It didn’t suit me.”

I suspected he meant me, even though that didn’t make any sense. We’d never had a relationship. We’d had one brief kiss, and that was it. Surely he hadn’t been serious about his stepbrother with a bad attitude? I must be reading too much into that look…

“So, you’re texting with a non-serious hookup?”

He set the phone aside, lips quirking. “A potential hookup. Guy lives near here—”

I slapped my hand onto the surface of the water. “Oh, hell no!”

He laughed a little in disbelief. “What?”

Something came over me. All the tension that had stretched between us, all my restraint, snapped.

“No,” I repeated. “No hookups with other guys while you’re here.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Other guys?”

I was busted. He saw right through me, to the jealousy I had no right to have. I sucked in my bottom lip, tasting the faint tang of chlorine from the water droplets that had misted my face.

“Go on, Quinn. If you’ve got something to say about my sex life, I’m all ears.”

My face flushed hot. Words of apology were on the tip of my tongue. It wasn’t my place; it was none of my business.

Unless I made it my business.

Pulse speeding up, I turned toward him. “I’ve got nothing to say.”

“No? Because it seemed—”

I pushed forward in a rush, letting my mouth do the talking. Our lips pressed, clung. Jonas’s breath caught as I licked his bottom lip. Then, as if I’d hit fast-forward on a video, he was all in. His hand clamped around the back of my neck, pulling me hard against him as he deepened the kiss. My blood leapt with the thrill of lust and adrenaline as his tongue slid along mine, tasting and teasing. Jonas was a skilled kisser, advancing and retreating, giving me just enough to want more, then changing tactics to wind me up all over again.

The kiss went on forever. One kiss blended into the next. We sipped air as we repositioned our mouths, kissing one direction, then the other.

I was burning up in the steamy water, and yet I was shivering as cold winter air brushed over my neck and shoulders.

Jonas grabbed my hips, dragging me into his lap. I felt how hard he was, and ground down against him until he groaned satisfyingly against my mouth.

“Fuck, baby.”

“No.” I finally pulled back to look into his eyes. “I’m not baby, or honey, or any other thing you call your hookups. I’m Quinn.”

His voice was husky but soft as he responded. “Quinn.”

I shivered to hear my name in that sexy, velvet tone.

“You sure you want to do this with me?” he asked. “I know we’re not related by blood, but…”

Was I sure it was a good idea? No. But did I want it? Desperately.

“We’re not brothers.”

 

 

About the Author

DJ Jamison writes romances about everyday life and extraordinary love featuring a variety of queer characters, from gay to bisexual to asexual. DJ grew up in the Midwest in a working-class family, and those influences can be found in her writing through characters coping with real-life problems: money troubles, workplace drama, family conflicts and, of course, falling in love. DJ spent more than a decade in the newspaper industry before chasing her first dream to write fiction. She spent a lifetime reading before that and continues to avidly devour her fellow authors’ books each night. She lives in Kansas with her husband, two sons, one snake, and a sadistic cat named Birdie.

 

 

Social Media Links

Blog/Website | Facebook | Facebook Group | Twitter: @dj_jamison_

Instagram | Newsletter Sign-up | KoFi for bonus content | BookBub

 

 

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RELEASE BLITZ: “Love in Slow Motion” by E.M. Lindsey

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Love In Slow Motion

Author: E.M. Lindsey

Publisher: E.M. Lindsey

Cover Artist: Amai Designs

Release Date: November 16, 2020

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romance

Trope/s: Age gap, dad’s best friend

Themes: Bisexual awakening

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 95 000 words

Goodreads

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

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Maybe it didn’t end there. Maybe it started with a kiss…

Blurb

The only thing Ilan Nadav knows about relationships and marriage is that they ruin people. He’s committed himself to the bachelor life, and he’s never been happier—until his best friend had to go and fall in the sort of toe-curling, sonnet-writing kind of love. Witnessing that created a hunger in Ilan, and now all he can see is the people standing near him who deserved better than they got. And one of those people makes his heart beat a little bit harder and a little bit faster—but he’s the last man in the world Ilan is allowed to want.

After all, Fredric Pedalino is his best friend’s dad.

When Fredric comes to him for advice about dating men, Ilan is forced to re-write his own reality—and maybe his stance on love, because Fredric is the sort of man with the ability to sweep him off his feet. Even when he isn’t trying.

Ilan wants Fredric more than he’s ever wanted anyone before, but he’s not sure he’s willing to take the risk. After all, loving that man might cost him everything.

Excerpt

“I was on a date when you called me. My first real date maybe ever. You know, the kind that didn’t mean a quick hook-up on my couch before I sent him packing.” Ilan let out a huffing breath, and his fingers stroked absently over Fredric’s knuckles, sending sparks shooting up his arm. “I saw your name and I knew if I answered that call, that would be it. It would be over.”

“And you did answer,” Fredric said softly.

“Yes,” Ilan breathed out, “I did. I did, knowing what I was getting into—but I also did it thinking it was safe because there was no way you wanted… me.”

Fredric’s stomach twisted and his heart thrashed. He hated how hard this was, how complicated, how much fear ruled the moments between them. But like Teddy said to him, it would be worth the effort. “Except I do.”

“And I don’t know how to tell you no,” but before Fredric could lean in and close the distance between them, Ilan went on. “And I don’t know how to say yes.”

Fredric nodded, deflating a little, but not pulling away. “Then have dinner with me. And a little more wine. And that cake you brought.”

Ilan was silent a long while. “And then?”

“And then we take Bas for a walk. You can tell me what the winter sky looks like here at night. I’ve never asked before.”

Ilan’s fingers twitched, and his voice was thick. “I can do that.” He paused again. “And then?”

“And then, we do it again—something else,” Fredric said. He shifted closer, until their knees touched, and Ilan pressed back against him. They started to tangle in places, more than their hands, and it felt right. And as much as he was still nervous, he felt safe. “We see movies, and we eat dinner. We take a tango lesson at the community center. We find a wine and paint night and you can help me paint a cactus.”

Ilan laughed. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Fredric said. “I just need to know that it starts here.”

“Just a chance,” Ilan breathed out, like he was making the promise to himself, not Fredric. “And if…if I can’t,” he said, then stopped. “If whatever inside me has been so wrong for all these years stays wrong, and you need something more…”

He couldn’t imagine a world in which that would be possible, but he owed Ilan at least one promise tonight, and he could make it that one. Tugging their joined hands toward him, he pressed the warm knuckles to his lips and let them linger for a long, long moment. “We will never be broken.”

Ilan’s breath was softer this time, but still trembling—just like his hands. But instead of pulling away, instead of letting whatever he was feeling get the best of him, he didn’t let go.

About the Author

E.M. Lindsey is currently living in the United States. They spend their time writing, reading, hiking, and binging Netflix – in that order. Find their work exclusively on Amazon.

Social Media Links

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RELEASE BLITZ: “Starting Over” by Rob Browatzke

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Starting Over

Author: Rob Browatzke

Publisher: Rob Browatzke

Cover Artist: AJ Corza

Release Date: November 15, 2020

Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance

Trope: Second chances

Heat Rating: 5 flames

Length: 51 000 words/ 210 pages

It is a standalone story.

Goodreads

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

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Life doesn’t often give a second chance. Take it when it comes.

Blurb

Fourteen years ago, Dylan and Kent became something more than friends, but it didn’t end well. Now, they’ve run into each other again. This time, they’re both adults, they’re both out, and they both know what they want.

Will that long-ago teenage heartbreak stand in the way of what’s happening between them? Life doesn’t often give second chances, but maybe this is theirs, to start over.

Excerpt

Dylan wasn’t one of those guys who would normally stare off into space reflecting on the past. He liked living in the moment, mostly because he knew his past would trap him like a mosquito in amber if he spent too much time looking back.

But that was before he’d run into Kent Campbell the night before.

He’d known Kent lived in the same city, but Dylan had been here four years now without seeing him. He’d assumed Kent had moved. It was a big city, but not that big. And then, BAM! There he was.

He’d looked good. Damn good. Looking back, Dylan could see that Kent had always been good looking, even if it was something Dylan had never been able to admit. Small wonder Kent had bolted, considering everything that had happened.

It may be water under the bridge, he thought, but it’s water that’s still rising. “Dylan! Enough!”

Dylan blinked and came back to the moment, to Luc snapping his fingers in his face. “Sorry, mind wandered.”

Luc gave him some serious side-eye. “I was telling a story.”

“I live with you,” Dylan reminded. “I know all the stories.”

“That’s not important. Pay attention. You know I like an audience.” He paused. “And speaking

of having an audience…”

Dylan tuned out again as Luc told Ellis and Jay about last night’s sexcapade. It would normally

not be appropriate brunch conversation, but this was the Duchess, and the Sunday morning brunch crowd was almost entirely gays nursing the hangover with bottomless mimosas.

The mood in the room was celebratory for sure. The last months had felt like some endless Thursday afternoon, but the weekend had finally arrived. Everything was moving forward again. Everything, that is, except Dylan, who had barely been able to enjoy the Torch after Kent left. Dylan had ended up calling it an early night just to toss and turn alone in the dark.

He had to find him.

He should have followed him out, is what he should have done. But the boys were pretty insistent he stay and dance, and Kent had been crystal fucking clear that he wanted nothing to do with Dylan. And that made sense. Dylan couldn’t blame him, but he had to find him and tell him that things were different now.

All the things Dylan hadn’t been able to say before, he could say now.

“Dylan Thomas Hedderson, I am not telling you again. Snap the fuck out of it!”

Dylan turned his head to glare at Luc. “Did you just middle name me? You know I hate my

middle name.” His name was the last remnant of his mother’s one-time goal to be an English professor, long before she had traded that in to be Mrs. Richard Hedderson.

Thinking about his father was guaranteed to lead back to thinking about Kent, but it would also get him no closer to finding him. When Dylan had crawled into bed the night before, the first thing he’d done was punch Kent’s name into every social media app he could, with no luck. Disappointing but not unexpected. Most socials were increasingly toxic. Dylan’s own were locked down as tight as they could be, but just in case Kent was lying in his bed somewhere thinking about Dylan the way Dylan was thinking about him, Dylan loosened up those settings before trying to sleep.

He’d barely slept, and when he had, Kent had wandered through what passed for his dreams. When Luc banged on his door to say it was brunch time, he’d barely found the strength to get up.

“Why are you so quiet?” Ellis asked him.

He could lie. He could say he was just tired, which was pretty much not a lie anyway. He could make something up. He could…

“Dylan ran into a boy from his past last night,” Luc said, which pretty much eliminated any of Dylan’s other options.

“Do tell!” Jay said. “Did our golden boy finally get some?”

“He wishes,” Luc said.

“Did you want to tell them everything then?” Dylan asked. “I could just go home.” Luc opened

his mouth, but then clearly thought better and closed it again. Too late, as was typical with Luc, to be honest. It wasn’t that Dylan didn’t want Jay and Ellis to know; it wasn’t even that there was anything to know, really.

It was just whatever there was, it was sitting in this heavy mass in the center of Dylan’s chest. He wasn’t proud of what had happened between them. Actually, he was downright fucking ashamed, and all the guilt he had learned to ignore was now throbbing again.

“A friend from school,” he said, which was, strictly speaking, a lie. It bordered the truth anyway. “A high school sweetheart friend?” Ellis asked, playfully nudging him.

“It was complicated,” Dylan finally answered, in what had to be the understatement of the

fucking century.

“Ugh, those are the worst,” Jay groaned. “I remember our high school’s tight end. He had the

tightest end, let me tell you…”

Grateful to Jay’s interruption and distraction, Dylan let his mind wander again. Not through the

past, because there was nothing there but regret. No, he let it wander through the here and now, because he had made up his mind.

He was going to find Kent Campbell and get the closure they both had never got.

About the Author

Rob Browatzke, 43, is a storyteller and club owner in Edmonton, Canada.

This is his ninth published work, his second mm romance.

Author Links

Website | Facebook | Twitter @robbrowatzke | Instagram @robbrowatzke

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RELEASE BLITZ: “The Last One to Let You Down” by K.L. Hiers. $25.00 Amazon Gift Card Giveaway Included! See entry link below:

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: The Last One to Let You Down

Author: K.L. Hiers

Publisher: Self-Published

Cover Artist: Covers by Jo

Release Date: November 13, 2020

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romance, BDSM Romance

Trope/s: Funeral Director/Florist Romance, Blackmail Leads to Love, BDSM Virgin

Themes: Personal Growth, Dealing with Death, Difficult Jobs,

Learning to Love Yourself

Heat Rating: 5 flames

Length: 102 000 words

It is a standalone story.

Goodreads

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

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Blurb

Thomas Hill is a lonely embalmer who’s in some big trouble – his ex-boyfriend has been forcing him to illegally sell dangerous chemicals with no signs of stopping, and Tom doesn’t know what to do. His situation gets even more complicated when Cypress Holmes, a smoking hot local florist, walks in on Tom making a deal. Cypress agrees to keep quiet, but his silence comes at a price.

He wants Tom to do exactly as he says and to give him complete and total control over his body at all times. Tom now has no choice but to obey Cypress’s every command to stay out of jail. But when Cypress starts spanking him and tying him up, he realizes he doesn’t mind the rough treatment at all. With or without the threat of blackmail hanging over his head, he likes what Cypress does to him… and he doesn’t want it to stop.

Author’s Note: This book includes intense sexual scenes, rough spankings, and depictions of death and embalming as they relate to the funeral industry. If this material offends or may upset you, please don’t read this book.

Excerpt

Tom was an embalmer, and he’d been working at Crosby-Ayers Funeral Home in Mayfield, North Carolina, for over ten years. He’d done his apprenticeship there after graduating mortuary school and had stayed on once he’d gotten his license. The funeral home was busy enough to support him working solely as an embalmer, and he didn’t have to meet with families like Aaron, who was a funeral director.

Aaron had the right look for it. He was handsome, olive skinned with curly black hair and a confident smile. He could offer sympathy with ease and wore a suit well.

Tom… not so much.

He felt like a silly kid playing dress-up when he wore a suit, and they were always too tight no matter how much he tried to lose the stubborn weight he carried around his stomach and thighs. He was only wearing one today because he thought he was going to have to help out on a funeral.

They hadn’t needed him after all, which was fine by Tom. He didn’t do well with the living, and he’d been told more than once that he came off as creepy.

He was quite pale with chin length mousy brown hair, and his big blue eyes gave him an owlish appearance. He thought it made him look startled or afraid, not quite right for instilling confidence in a family that he was going to help them through their difficult time.

It also didn’t help that he was painfully shy.

Fortunately for Tom, his embalming talents usually kept him in the preparation room and away from families. His specialty was restorative art, repairing those who had suffered traumatic deaths so that their families could see them again.

The woman he had just finished was a Mrs. Jan Winslow, who had died on a Friday, and her body was not found until Monday. During that time, her beloved Pomeranian, Mister Doodles, had eaten the entire right half of her face.

“Walk me through it,” Aaron asked eagerly. “Like, tell me how you do it?”

“Well, you can’t do anything really until after you’ve embalmed them.” Tom stood up and stretched, peeling off his gloves and dropping them into the biohazard trash. “Makeup and the wax we use doesn’t stick that great to unembalmed skin. Slides right off if you’re not careful.

“The next step is cauterizing all of that exposed tissue. Embalming helps dry it out some, but you really wanna make sure it doesn’t leak so we use other chemicals, cauterants like Dryene, to help. Once the skin is good and dry, then we start filling.”

“What do you fill it with? I mean, I saw her before. There was a lot… missing.”

“You can use a bunch of different things depending on how big the wound is,” Tom replied, pulling open the prep room door and ushering Aaron out into the hallway.

It was often full of freshly delivered caskets, stretchers, and bags from the linen service, and today was no different. Tom had to carefully navigate around two caskets and a stack of towels, trying to lead Aaron back out to the offices to continue their conversation.

“Old school embalmers would use newspaper or cotton,” Tom went on, grabbing his suit jacket off the rack by the office door. “These days, they actually make compounds called ‘wound filler’ to well, fill wounds. And then—” He paused when he heard a loud slam, glancing back over his shoulder to see what it was.

At the other end of the hall were three doors. The one on the right led into the walk-in cooler, the one directly opposite the office door was an exit that led into the side parking lot, and the one on the left connected the hallway to the garage. The coaches and limos were stored there, and there was a special door in the corner for flower deliveries.

All of the doors for employees required a code to enter except for that one, and it stayed unlocked during business hours for flower deliveries. Someone could get inside the garage to drop off arrangements, but they wouldn’t be able to get into the hallway.

The hallway door to the garage had been left propped open, probably from a casket being delivered earlier, and the sound Tom had heard was the flower delivery door slamming inside the garage. As his heart began to pound in anticipation, he forgot all about Aaron.

HFG might be here.

Hot Flower Guy.

“Hey, where are you going?” Aaron protested.

“Just go to the office!” Tom called back, already halfway back down the hall. “I’ll meet you in there!”

“Okay,” Aaron replied reluctantly. “Then you’ll finish telling me about wound filler stuff?”

“Scout’s honor!” Tom slowed down as he approached the open door, putting his jacket on and trying not to appear too eager as he stepped inside the garage. He broke into a huge smile when he saw it was HFG in all of his bulging glory.

HFG was black, tall, and broad with thick shoulders and an even thicker beard framing his dark brown face, and Tom had daydreamed about running his hands all over his body. They had barely even spoken more than a few words, but Tom had a definite crush.

The funeral home hours didn’t give Tom much freedom and being on call almost every night killed any chance of an active social life. After a nasty breakup followed by a disappointing string of one night stands through dating apps, he’d committed to staying single until the funeral home hired more help.

In the meantime, he’d grown quite fond of HFG’s deliveries. He didn’t even know his name, but he’d been trying to find out for weeks. HFG was always in and out too quickly to ever strike up a conversation, and Tom wanted a name to go with that gorgeous face.

It didn’t matter that HFG was painfully out of his league—unless he happened to be into pasty white brunettes who had never grown out of their baby fat with big chins and an awkward little gap between their front teeth.

Tom had been cruelly teased about his smile since he was a little kid, no doubt the root of his introverted nature, but he was too excited about seeing HFG to care for once. As he stepped into the garage, however, his joy instantly faded.

HFG was there, but he was arguing with the assistant manager of the funeral home, Gerald Ayers.

Gerald was a prick.

No, he was the absolute king of pricks.

About the Author

K.L. “Kat” Hiers is an embalmer, restorative artist, and queer writer. Licensed in both funeral directing and funeral service, she’s been working in the death industry for nearly a decade. Her first love was always telling stories, and she has been writing for over twenty years, penning her very first book at just eight years old. Publishers generally do not accept manuscripts in Hello Kitty notebooks, however, but she never gave up.

Following the success of her first novel, Cold Hard Cash, she now enjoys writing professionally, focusing on spinning tales of sultry passion, exotic worlds, and emotional journeys. She loves attending horror movie conventions and indulging in cosplay of her favorite characters. She lives in Zebulon, NC, with her husband and their children, some of whom have paws and a few that only pretend to because they think it’s cute.

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RELEASE BLITZ: “All Screwed Up” by Beth Bolden & Brittany Cournoyer. $15.00 Amazon Gift Card Giveaway included. See entry link below:

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: All Screwed Up

Author: Beth Bolden & Brittany Cournoyer

Publisher: Self-Published

Cover Artist: Cate Ashwood Designs

Release Date: November 6, 2020

Genre/s: Contemporary m/m romantic comedy

Trope: Enemies to lovers

Themes: Starting over, learning to work together

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length: 55 000 words

It is a standalone story.

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Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

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All’s fair in love and remodeling.

Blurb

Griffin Caldwell can’t wait to make a fresh start: new job, new town, new house. He’s even realized the lifelong dream of owning his own home. Except when he arrives, nothing is what he expected, and Griffin’s celebration turns from triumphant to terrible.

Not only is his “cute bungalow” a derelict heap, it needs major remodeling work to be livable. And it turns out there’s only one person in town who’s even willing to commit to the project.

The first time David Webber talks to Griffin about his disaster zone of a house, he’d like nothing better than to hang up the phone. But he’s stuck. All his grumpy behavior has gotten him is a whole stack of bad reviews online and no clients.

From the moment they collide over a busted toilet, sparks and snark fly. The only thing that might be hotter than their mutual animosity is their intense chemistry.

Neither of them wants to admit it at first but as the project evolves and their lives intertwine, maybe what they’re working on isn’t just a house. It might even be proof that a caring partnership can build a strong, long-lasting foundation–and an even fiercer love.

Excerpt

“What are you doing?” he asked when he stepped inside and spotted David ripping into a wall.

“Baking a cake,” he responded dryly before muttering to himself, “what does it freaking look like I’m doing? Knitting a damn sweater?”

“What flavor?” Griffin asked, choosing not to respond to the rest.

“The best flavor—chocolate.”

“I beg to differ. Chocolate is good, but nothing beats a super moist red-velvet cake with delicious cream cheese frosting.”

David stared at him, crowbar in one hand, sledgehammer in the other. “Are you saying chocolate cake can’t be moist? Because if so, you’re having the wrong cake.”

“No, not at all. I’ve had some decent chocolate cake. It’s just more dense than other flavors.”

David snorted. “Was there anything else you needed? Or did you just stop by to tell me my choice in cake is dense?”

Griffin crossed his arms over his chest. “You brought up the cake conversation, not me. All I did was ask what you were doing.”

David sighed and looked toward the sagging ceiling, as if searching for a way to respond to Griffin. The ceiling was another thing that had given up in that house. The entire thing looked like it’d just had enough standing up in the battle against the elements, animals, and trespassers. And had definitely gotten tired of doing so alone—since it’d sat empty for so long. It’d given up, finally waving the white flag as tree roots took over and the crushing weight of snow had caused certain parts to cave in. The thought of seeing the house in such despair and feeling the sadness among the walls hurt Griffin’s heart, and he hoped all the time, money, and arguments with David were worth breathing new life into the house. It deserved a chance to shine in all its glory, and even though it didn’t look like much now, the bones were still solid. It just needed some love.

“When I get asked a question where the answer is obvious, I can’t help but respond with sarcasm.”

“What was that?” Griffin asked, startled by David’s voice. He’d been so lost in thought about his depressing home that he’d forgotten he was in the middle of a conversation with David.

David sighed loudly and muttered under his breath again. “Did you need something? I’m a bit busy here.”

He waved his arm around the room, the one Griffin intended to be his master bedroom, to indicate the piles of drywall he’d ripped down.

“Just wondering if you need any help.”

“We’ve already had this conversation more than once, Griffin. Right now, it’s best if you stay out of the way until I have the basic demolition finished.”

Griffin pursed his lips as he tried not to stare at the way Griffin’s sweaty T-shirt clung to him like a second skin and his jeans hugged his thick thighs like they were drawn on him. Jesus. He could crack walnuts with those thighs.

Even though it was still fairly early in the morning, the sun was already high in the sky and the humidity was even higher. And just walking outside to collect the morning paper would cause sweat to bead on your upper lip and temples. And while Griffin hated it, he had to give his thanks to the weather gods since David had taken his shirt off more than once while doing work. And Griffin couldn’t help but accept the gifts in the form of his bulging, sweating muscles, eagerly. It’d be rude not to, after all.

About the Authors

Beth Bolden

A lifelong Oregonian, Beth has just recently moved to North Carolina with her supportive husband and their sweet kitten, Earl Grey. Beth still believes in Keeping Portland Weird, and intends to be just as weird in Raleigh.

Beth has been writing practically since she learned the alphabet. Unfortunately, her first foray into novel writing, titled Big Bear with Sparkly Earrings, wasn’t a bestseller, but hope springs eternal. She’s published twenty novels and six novellas.

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Brittany Cournoyer

Brittany was born in Enterprise, Alabama and moved to a small town in Indiana when she was thirteen. And, even though the town is named Kokomo, it’s nothing like the Beach Boys song. During her free time, she loves to read amazing books, watch mindless television, and spend time with family and loved ones. Oh, and squeeze in writing some time throughout the day as well. She is also the mom to an adorable, yet precocious, Border Collie named Delilah. When not doing any of those fun-filled activities, she works at a hospital as a switchboard operator.

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RELEASE BLITZ: “Beneath the Grandstand” by Amy-Alex Campbell.

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Beneath the Grandstand

Author: Amy-Alex Campbell

Publisher: AAC Publishing Australia

Cover Artist: germancreative

Release Date: October 27, 2020

Genre: Australian M/M Romance

Trope/s: Friends to lovers, Security guard & homeless man

Themes: Homelessness, depression and anxiety, childhood abuse (non sexual)

Heat Rating: 3-4 flames

Length: approx. 75 000 words

It is part of the Marsden Park Series, but is a standalone.

Goodreads

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Paperbacks

How do you define two lost souls who are completely alone in the world except for each other?

Blurb

When Cameron’s failing relationship finally comes to an end, he finds himself on the streets of Sydney, homeless and alone. All he has left is a suitcase full of his clothes, and his job as a security guard. Battling severe depression and anxiety, Cameron fears he has hit rock bottom.

A chance meeting with a young homeless man soon changes everything, though. Abused as a child, the mysterious Mr Loner has a dark secret that threatens to unravel his very existence. Will Cameron get his happily ever after, or will Mr Loner’s past destroy them both?

A confronting MM romance set in Western Sydney, Australia.
The second instalment of The Marsden Park Series.

“How do you define two lost souls, who are completely alone in the world, except for each other?”

Excerpt

The stench of BO and stale sweat hung in the air, thicker than the throng of people packed into the vestibule of the train. As the doors opened at Redfern station, the passengers took a collective gasp and squeezed in tighter together, as more people forced their way into the overcrowded space. Someone elbowed Cameron in his back, and shoved him nose-first into another man’s armpit; on his other side, he could feel someone’s dick grinding into his hip. Cameron grimaced and managed to turn his face away from the armpit. The day these people spend $3.95 on some deodorant, I’ll have a bloody stroke, he thought irritably.

With a jerk, the train started rolling slowly towards Central Station. Peak hour on any Sydney train was a nightmare, especially on one of the older trains that were overheated and stunk like dirty leather. Cameron berated himself for taking the 7am shift; it was Friday and supposed to be his day off. His last shift had finished at midnight, and with over an hour travel each way, he had been lucky to get three hours sleep.

The train pulled in at the station with a screech and another jerk. Cameron patted his arm to ensure his security license was still firmly in its pouch on his arm, then braced himself. As soon as the doors opened, he was swept with the crowd of commuters onto the platform, and into the tunnel towards the concourse.

Once he reached the concourse, the crowd thinned, and he was able to walk at his own pace again. There was a slight chill in the air; winter was just a few weeks away, and soon that chill would turn into an icy frost. Cameron shivered and walked faster towards the main exit.

He knew better than to even try to catch the light rail that early in the morning. He tapped his Opal card at the barriers, and cut through the park next to the station. It would be much faster to walk the distance, than try to squeeze onto another overheated sweatbox.

The park was full of brightly coloured tents, the only shelter that the homeless people had. Cameron felt bad for them; he himself was a bee’s dick away from being homeless, and the thought of living on the streets terrified him. With a lurch, he pushed the thoughts from his mind, and picked up his pace.

About the Author

Amy-Alex Campbell is a queer Australian author who grew up near Bendigo, Victoria.

While epic fantasy is her genre, Campbell also writes M/M romance. In contrast to her fantasy series, the Marsden Park series is written in ‘Australian’.

When Amy-Alex isn’t writing, she is either adding lore and blogs to her website, or caring for her yabbie and two axolotls.

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RELEASE BLITZ: “Sort of Dead” by Rob Rosen. Rafflecopter Giveaway Included! See entry link below:

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Sort of Dead

Author: Rob Rosen

Publisher: JMS Books

Cover Artist: Written Ink Designs

Release Date: October 31, 2020

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romance, Paranormal M/M Romance,

M/M Romantic Comedy, M/M Mystery

Trope/s: Ghost story

Themes: Redemption, unfinished business

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length: 65 200 words/ 182 pages

It is a standalone story.

Goodreads

Buy Links

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Because sometimes it takes dying to have the time of your life.

Blurb

Nord wakes up to find himself sort of dead. Well, that is to say, he’s dead, alright—murdered, in fact—but not in heaven, at least not yet. In this limbo-like state, he meets Max and learns that everyone there is waiting for the final poof, hopefully to a better place. Only, with unfinished business back in the real world, like bringing his murderer to justice, Nord’s poof is nowhere in sight. And so, he and Max set out to find the killer and make things right again. Of course, that’s easier said than done when you’re nothing more than a couple of randy spirits.

With the help of Voltan, a diminutive mystic with a predilection for turbans, and Clark, a nerdy computer geek eager to shed his loner past, plus a ghost accountant, Bruce, Bruce’s drag queen brother, Eve O’Destruction, and Nord’s kick-ass mom, the newly enamored pair set out to hunt for the murderer, and are quick to discover how much they’d taken for granted when they were alive.

In this hysterically funny and often poignant mystery about fate and love and family, it ultimately takes dying for our heroes to have the times of their lives.

Excerpt

I woke with a start and stared up at the ceiling. “That’s weird,” I said. “Where’s my ceiling fan?” I blinked. I blinked again. I thought to make it a trio, but then realized I hadn’t blinked the first two times—which is to say, I blinked but there wasn’t that whole ceiling, no ceiling, ceiling, no ceiling thing, which is what happens when I blink and I’m staring up at my ceiling. Not that what I was staring at was a ceiling to begin with, but still.

I continued staring up. I supposed what I was staring at was white, given that it looked white, and I supposed that what I was staring up at was a ceiling because, give or take, most ceilings are white, mine included, but the white I was staring at sort of shifted around a bit. FYI, my ceiling didn’t do that, except perhaps when I was drunk.

“Did I get drunk last night?” I asked myself. Only, I couldn’t remember last night. I couldn’t remember going to sleep, even. I remembered waking, but that was it. And I didn’t feel drunk. In fact, I felt great. Better than great, actually. Blissful would’ve been a good word for it. Light, too. As if I’d been weighed down and now I wasn’t. “Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty—”

“You can try, but He doesn’t seem to listen,” I heard, then jumped in place.

My head whipped right. Nothing. My head whipped left. “Um, how did you get in my…” My what? This wasn’t my room. This wasn’t my ceiling. Was what was above me a ceiling anyway? “Wait, who doesn’t seem to listen?”

The man to my left grinned. He looked about my age, early thirties, give or take, nice looking guy, too. Very Bradley Cooper like, stunning blue eyes and all. He was prone. He was lying next to me. He was naked. I stared down at my body. I, too, was naked. I continued staring down. There was no bed. There was my body, there was his body, there was that shifting white. “Don’t freak out,” he said.

My heart wasn’t madly pumping in my chest and I wasn’t sweating, but I felt like I was freaking out, nonetheless. Especially because my heart should’ve been madly pumping and I generally start to sweat when I’m freaking the fuck out. All that is to say, I was FREAKING THE FUCK OUT!

“I’m freaking the fuck out!” I shouted his way. “Who are you? Where are we? Why is the wall and ceiling and floor shifting?” I blinked. It felt like I blinked, but I didn’t get the right effect again. “And where are my fucking eyelids?”

“You get used to that,” he replied.

I sat up. That is to say, I tried to sit up. Only, I didn’t think I was actually lying down, and you can’t sit up if you’re not lying down to begin with. “Stop the ride,” I squeaked out, “I want to get off.”

I was still staring at him. He was still grinning. “Give it a minute,” he said. “Takes about five minutes for all of it to right itself.”

“All? What all?” I continued staring. It seemed like a minute went by. I was no longer lying there. I was standing. He was standing next to me. The not-a-ceiling was now not-a-wall, and it was still shifting, and I was, duh, still freaking out, fuck and all.

“You were lying down before you got here, so it seemed like you were lying down when you arrived. Get it?” He said it very comfortingly. I felt less than comforted. Very.

“Dude—”

“Max.” He held out his hand. I shook it. I felt his hand in mine. There was indeed comfort in that.

“Nordstrom,” I said.

He laughed. He had a nice laugh. He had a nice grin. Max seemed nice. “Did your mom have a penchant for upscale shopping?”

I shook my head. “I was born in one. And my mom had a penchant for making sure I was teased well into adulthood.” I let go of his hand. “Nord. My friends call me Nord. Otherwise, they don’t get a Christmas present.”

About the Author

Rob Rosen is the a author of the award-winning novels Sparkle: The Queerest Book You’ll Ever Love, Divas Las Vegas, Hot Lava, Southern Fried, Queerwolf, Vamp, Queens of the Apocalypse, Creature Comfort, Fate, Midlife Crisis, Fierce, And God Belched, Mary, Queen of Scotch, Ted of the d’Urbervilles, and Sort of Dead, and editor of the anthologies Lust in Time, Men of the Manor, Best Gay Erotica 2015, and Best Gay Erotica of the Year, Volumes 1, 2, 3 and 4.

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