Book Title: Treading Water
Cover Artist: Reece
Release Date: October 03,
Genres: Contemporary M/M Sports Romance, Gay Romance, Gay
Tropes: Hollywood A-Lister Versus Small Town Stud, Actor Versus Athlete,
Coming Out, Forced Proximity
Themes: (Almost) first time gay, summer love, Hollywood scandal, coach
falling for his student, student falling for his coach, deserted summer camp
Heat Rating: 4 flames
It is a standalone book and
does not end on a cliffhanger.
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What happens when love
is sink or swim?
Actor Tucker Crawford is having the worst summer ever.
Thanks to a viral video of him trying to swim, he’s the laughingstock of Hollywood and his
role in a hit TV series is in jeopardy. The only bright spot is Tucker’s sexy new swim coach,
Reed Oliver, but even that has its problems—because Tucker is deep in the closet and has
never been with a guy.
Reed Oliver is having the best summer ever. He’s just scored
a high-paying freelance gig teaching a Hollywood actor how to swim. The two of them have
the run of a deserted summer camp, complete with an Olympic-size swimming pool. But
when cocky playboy Reed meets shy, virgin Tucker, sparks fly and Reed’s walk-in-the-park
coaching job becomes a minefield of temptation. Once they kiss for the first time, there’s no
way to overcome their mutual passion and no looking back. But after two weeks of secluded
intimacy, can they keep their romance alive in the real world?
“Are you awake?”
Tucker’s voice was hoarse in the dark, barely above a
whisper to match the surreal nature of the moment. All the same, Reed responded in kind,
his voice as husky and hoarse as the deep, dark night that surrounded the rustic cabin, filling
it with quiet mystery and the by-now-familiar thrum of humid temptation. “Of
Tucker snorted, just shy of a chuckle and mixed with a quiet
gurgle of relief. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if Reed had answered with a snort
or a snore and then rolled over and gone back to sleep. He’d been waiting for over an hour
to make his move, so he shifted over on his mattress and lifted himself up on one elbow to
peer over the bottom bunk to the floor directly by his bed.
He smirked and rolled his eyes, trying his best to be
alluring. “What are you doing down there, anyway?”
“You were so drunk last night.” Reed glanced up from the
fuzzy striped comforter splayed out beneath him, “I didn’t want you to roll out of bed and
bust your head open.”
Tucker struggled to retain his composure at Reed’s half-
naked form, sprawled out on the floor literally at his feet. Moonlight caressed his quietly
grinning face in a most flattering way. “What were you gonna do, catch me in your
“If I had to, yeah.”
He slid his hands beneath his chin and gazed down at Reed
the way teenage girls stared at the posters of rock stars and screen idols from old black-and-
white movies on their walls. “Besides, I wasn’t that drunk.”
Reed made a face. “Okay, bud.”
Tucker was hungry. And thirsty. And hard as a rail beneath
his boxer briefs, pressed thick and tight against the mattress beneath him. “Well, I’m not
Reed lay flat on his back, looking up, as if he’d been waiting
for Tucker to open his eyes and look down at him. He lifted his hands and gave a little golf
clap, the soft sound vaguely startling in the middle of the night. Outside the screen door,
only a stray cricket chirped in the deep stillness of the forest. “Congrats. I guess I can get into
an actual bed now?”
Reed made no move to leave, and Tucker was glad. He was
enjoying the view—every smooth, savory, moonlit inch of it. Before Reed could stand, to
make good on his promise, Tucker slid one hand away from beneath his chin and pressed it
flat against Reed’s chest. It was warm and hard and lean and softly humid in the cabin’s
almost stifling heat. It was also beating like a jackrabbit. The feel—the pulse—of Reed’s
pounding, frantic heart was vaguely encouraging.
“Let’s not be too hasty, now.”
Reed’s playful smile froze into something less than amused,
if not quite startled. He didn’t say anything, not right away, but it was clear he wanted
Tucker to move his hand. So he did. Moved it just a smidge lower down Reed’s chest and
drifted it lazily toward his suddenly stiff nipples.
“Tucker, stop.” Reed’s voice was a groan, his words a lie.
Every fiber of his being, every slick sheen of sweat and rat-a-tat of his pounding heart, every
thrum of vibration throughout his taut, pale skin said, “Go,” not “Stop.”
About the Author
Alex Winters is the
pseudonym of a busy restaurant manager whose curious young staff would love nothing
more than to follow him around the dining room reading his steamiest, most romantic
passages aloud! When not writing romantic holiday stories of various heat levels, he enjoys
long walks with his wife, scary movies and smooth jazz. Visit him at www.awintersromance.com to see what
stories are brewing up next!
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