Book Title: Everything About You: A Second Chance Gay
Author: Jeanne St.
Publisher: Double-J Romance,
Artist/Photographer/Cover Model: Golden Czermak @ FuriousFotog
Release Date: May 7,
Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance
Tropes: Second Chance, Friends to Lovers
Heat Rating: 4
Length: 334 print
It is a standalone
Buy Links –
Available in Kindle Unlimited
It was your smile.
The color of your eyes.
The way you looked at me when no one else was
The way you held me.
The way you kissed me.
It was everything about you I loved.
The flattening of that smile.
The silence of your laughter.
The loss of your lips.
The distance you created.
The way you left.
The way you destroyed it all.
The way you destroyed me.
It was everything about you I hated.
Everything about you.
And that day you not only broke my heart.
You f*cking crushed it.
Note: Everything About you is a standalone gay (M/M)
second chance romance. Please refer to the content note at the
beginning of the book before buying or reading. You can access that page by using Amazon’s
“Look Inside” feature or downloading the free sample. This info can also be found on my
website. As always, this book doesn’t have a
cliffhanger and an HEA is guaranteed.
I stabbed the up arrow button on the lobby elevator in my
building. My breath quickly returning back to normal and the sweat starting to dry on my
body. I looked forward to washing that sweat and grime from my skin once I got
Maybe even doing more than that under the warm spray of the
The numbers lit up one after the other as the elevator car
traveled down from the sixth floor.
The buzz and click of the outer lobby door unlocking behind
me had me glancing over my shoulder to see if I needed to hold the elevator for whoever
I pulled the sweaty T-shirt from over my shoulder where I had
tossed it, and used it to wipe my face, because clearly I was seeing things. Sweat must have
gotten into my eyes. Or maybe I was lightheaded because I hadn’t eaten anything since
much earlier today.
Or… I was really seeing who I thought I was.
But that couldn’t be. I had to be imagining it. Imagining
Maybe I was having a stroke or some medical issue and needed
to sit down. It was true that I hadn’t been running outside as much as I should be and it
could be my blood sugar reacting to the intense cardio session.
Or I was simply delusional.
The man who had walked through the front entrance paused in
the vestibule lined with the residents’ mailboxes. He appeared as if he had just rolled out of
bed, even though he wore a suit. It was wrinkled like he’d slept on a park bench.
He couldn’t be homeless since he had the code to the front
entrance and that was changed once a month. That meant he had to be a current resident,
even though I had never spotted him in the building before.
However, not only did he look out of sorts, he was talking to
himself. Just like the homeless man who often slept on a bench in Point State Park. The one
who occasionally bathed in the fountain and also fished out the change thrown in by tourists
and locals alike.
Funny, I never once had my wish come true after throwing a
penny into a fountain, but maybe it worked for other people.
I couldn’t hear what the man was saying because of the second
set of doors separating the vestibule from the lobby, but even with his head tipped down, I
could clearly see his lips moving. He could be wearing earbuds and talking to someone on
his cell phone.
Or he could be having a full-blown conversation with himself as
he dug deep into his pants pocket. Most likely for his mailbox key.
Even after drying the sweat from around my eyes, he still
looked so familiar.
The elevator dinged as it arrived on the main floor and the
doors whooshed open. Mr. and Mrs. Callahan from the fourth floor stepped out with their
little yappy, ankle-biter Pomeranian, Mr. Pibbles.
I side-stepped to give the older couple room to pass and also
so that little fucker didn’t take a chunk out of my ankle.
Mrs. Callahan’s gaze swept over me and I knew exactly
I was wearing nothing but black silky shorts that, when sweaty,
clung to my assets, along with running sneakers, ankle-high sports socks and a Penn State U
It also didn’t help that my skin wasn’t a perfect shade of pale
and I sported a wide assortment of tattoos covering my torso and arms.
However, it wasn’t the first time they’d seen me after a run
and, unfortunately for them, it wouldn’t be the last.
Mr. Callahan held the elevator door for me even though it
looked like he was sucking on a lemon while doing so.
They were lovely people.
By lovely, I meant judgmental assholes.
Even so, we needed to coexist since we all lived in the same
building. Instead of flipping him the bird, I gave him a nod and said, “I’m not going up yet,
but thanks,” then took a quick glance over my shoulder again toward the vestibule.
The newest resident must’ve found his key since the metal
door to one of the mailboxes now hung wide open while he rifled through a fistful of
Shaking his head, he continued to talk to himself. The only time
he glanced up was when the Callahans walked past him with Mr. Pibbles yapping in warning.
Mr. Pibbles didn’t like strangers.
Hell, Mr. Pibbles didn’t like anyone except for the
Callahans. And even that was questionable.
As soon as the couple and their orange yap rat stepped out
onto the sidewalk, the man shut the mailbox and turned…
And the revolving Earth came to a complete and abrupt stop,
as if someone had jerked up the emergency brake.
About the Author
JEANNE ST. JAMES is a USA
Today, Amazon and international bestselling romance author who loves writing about strong
women and alpha males. She was only thirteen when she first started writing. Her first
published piece was an erotic short story in Playgirl magazine. She then went on to publish
her first romance novel in 2009. She is now an author of over fifty contemporary romances.
She writes M/F, M/M, and M/M/F ménages, including interracial. She also writes M/M
paranormal romance under the name J.J. Masters.
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