#SexySnippets: Intersection
Sexy Snippets are seven sentences, taken from a work in progress, or published book, brought to you every Sunday. And now, allow me to present a tasty little scene from my SF cyborg romance Intersection (Pacifica Rising 1), out at the end of January 2017.
Ben smiled as he settled in between her thighs, tracing a finger along her dampness. “We did this back at the park, didn’t I?”
Evie nodded, too excited for words.
“Goddamn it. That’s one thing I really wanted to remember, too.” He leaned down to kiss the soft curls on her mound. “Suppose I’ll just have to make some new memories, then.”
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The ARe debacle and Evernight Publishing
By now I’m assuming that you’ve heard about All Romance eBooks closing and its extremely dodgy handling of Q4 royalties due to authors and publishers. I’m lucky in that I’m only out about ten bucks, but others have taken a significant financial hit and are wondering how they’ll be paying their bills in 2017. This sort of fiduciary behavior is not only sloppy but cruel to writers who depend on their royalties to survive, and I full support all writers and publishers who are currently investigating their legal options.
In the face of the ARe debacle, I also want to congratulate my publisher Evernight Publishing for demonstrating once again that they are an utterly professional company that stands by their authors. They have informed us that they plan on absorbing the royalty losses from ARe and will pay us, their authors, what we’re owed on ARe sales from Q4 despite the financial hit they’ll have to take on the deal. In this day and age of dubious financial dealing from publishers and distributors, Evernight demonstrates a standard that I really wish other publishing houses would adopt.
Support Evernight and buy books from their website direct! http://www.evernightpublishing.com/
Thank you, Carrie
The first thing I saw when I checked news today was Carrie Fisher’s death, and I wound up ugly crying for an hour. I know this sounds crazy, but I feel like I’ve lost an older sister. When I was growing up, the beauty standard was blonde and blue-eyed, Farrah Fawcett clones. For us mostly eastern European brunettes, yeah, sucks to be you.
And then came this short, brunette, brown-eyed smartass with buns on the sides of her head and a blaster who blew those California Girl tropes out of the water and made all the girls I knew want to be space princesses. My sister went as Princess Leia for Halloween one year. I didn’t think I was cool (or thin) enough to pull it off, otherwise I would have totally done it. She looked like my sister and me, she sounded like my dad and sister, and she was fucking awesome.
And then I got older and into the writing biz, and found out that Carrie Fisher was far more than a princess. She was a hella killer talented writer and script doctor. She became a face and voice for mental illness, showing every day that you could deal with unbalanced neurochemistry and still live life on your terms and be a witty, unapologetic genius while doing it. She had a wonderful service dog named Gary that went everywhere with her, and was loved by her family. She started out as a princess and became a general. She was a hilarious, broken, utterly human badass, and our world is poorer for her passing but richer because she had been here, dammit, and had the kindness and generosity to give us her words.
Thank you, Carrie.
Fabulous Friday Reads: Christmas With His Best Friend
Happy holidays, kittens! Let’s get ready for this Christmas weekend with Doris O’Connor’s new holiday romance, Christmas With His Best Friend, now available from Evernight and other online purveyors of fine romance. Go Doris!
Thank you so much for having me on your blog today with my new release, Christmas With His Best Friend.
This was one of those stories that practically wrote itself, once I started writing. I love the friends to lovers trope, myself, and I knew I would have to expand on the flash I wrote on my blog. This one to be precise.
Just imagine walking in on your best friend pleasuring himself to a picture of you? What would you do?
Emma has a whole set of conflicting emotions to deal with when this happens to her. Not least because she has been secretively fantasising about her best friend too.
Dare they take that leap into the unknown?
You’ll have to read the book to find out.
*smiles*
They’ve been friends for twenty years until … this Christmas.
How do you tell a sweet, naïve, and clearly vanilla girl that you like to tie women up and torture them for mutual enjoyment in your spare time? Josh Mackenzie has no idea, but when his best friend Emma walks in on him pleasuring himself, everything changes.
For Emma, coming face to face with her secret longings is mind-blowing. It’s one thing to fantasize about your best friend, but dare she take that leap into the unknown? Will it not ruin their friendship, and is—what would undoubtedly be awesome—sex worth risking that?
While Josh shares her fears, she is all he’s ever wanted in a woman, and he’s determined to show her that they can have it all. This woman is his to mark, cherish, and love forever, and he’ll prove it to her, one spank at a time.
Story Excerpt
Now that the moment was here Josh was lost for words. With his sweet little Em in his arms, her hazel eyes looking up him with so much trust … fuck it. What was he doing here? Instead of answering her, he pulled away, slid his hands in her hair and tucked at the pins holding it up. The dark blonde mass of silky curls fell in soft waves around her face, and he twirled one strand around his index finger.
“Josh? What are we doing here?” Her whispered question shot straight to his cock, and not trusting his voice to fucking work, he decided to show her instead. A soft gasp escaped her when he picked her up, set her on the kitchen counter, and pulling her legs apart stepped right between them. The action made her pencil skirt ride up, exposing the top of her stockings, and Josh groaned under his breath. He let his digits linger, half expecting her to slap them away, but when she opened her legs wider, he tore his gaze away from her pale flesh to check out her expression. Head down, she seemed mesmerized by the sight of his tanned hands against her skin, and the sweet scent of aroused woman filled his nostrils when he ran his hands slowly up her inner thighs. He could almost feel the heat of her cunt before her whisper stopped him.
“Josh?”
Leaving one of his hands where it was, he tipped her chin up with his index finger, satisfied beyond relief to see the same need he felt reflected back at him in her eyes. The hazel orbs had darkened to almost black, and when she licked her lips in a nervous gesture, his gaze followed the movements of her little pink tongue. Visions of her on her knees, with that sweet mouth wrapped around his dick, as he shot his jizz down her slender throat, made his cock jerk against the zipper of his jeans. He growled low in his throat at the thought of marking her thus, and her expressive eyes widened. Her breathing sped up even more, making her tits strain against the sensible blouse she wore for work. With the two top buttons undone, the third was threatening to give way under the rapid movement, giving him tantalizing glimpses of the soft swell of her breasts. Josh couldn’t help it. His self-control and good intentions went out of the window at her untutored responses to him, and he trailed his finger lower down the soft skin of her neck, over her collarbone and lower still, until he reached that tiny ivory button.
“I want you, little one.”
His voice dropped to the one he used in a scene without any conscious effort on his part, and when he flicked that button open, Emma’s sweet moan of surrender was music to his ears. Watching her closely for her reaction, he flicked the next button and so forth, until the sides of her blouse fell open, exposing her amazing rack. The lacy, mauve bra left little to the imagination. Josh continued his one fingered exploration, and they both groaned when he circled her nipples. Clearly visible through the lace, the little pink nubs hardened under his gentle ministrations, and Em’s breathing kicked up another notch.
“Please, I…”
Josh trailed his finger lower, over the soft swell of her abdomen, which caused her to suck in her belly, and he smiled at her action.
“Have I ever told you how much I love your curves, little one?”
Her surprised jerk and strangled half laugh told him he hadn’t, and Josh inwardly kicked himself.
“Since when? You have seen your girlfriends, right?”
There was a wealth of bitterness in those few words compounded by her hasty grab for her blouse. She pulled the ends closed and wrapped her arms around herself in a defensive move that tore at his heartstrings. The Dom in him wanted to order her to strip, to take her over his knee and paddle that luscious ass of hers for disrespecting her body shape like that, and making assumptions about him to boot, but he hadn’t earned that right yet.
So, instead of acting on that impulse, which pushed adrenaline through his veins, he did the next best thing. Stepped away, crossed his own arms over his chest and gave her his best don’t-talk-such-crap-subbie stare.
It didn’t take long before she caved in. Uncertainty crossed her features, followed by confusion, and when she dropped her gaze to his chest, he finally spoke.
“Let’s get one thing straight here, my sweet little Em, I do, indeed love your curves. In fact seeing you waltz out of here in those damn tight pencil skirts you wear for work has me so fucking hard I have to jerk off the minute you leave.”
Clearly startled by that revelation, Emma jerked her head up, opened her mouth to say something, but one look at his expression seemed to change her mind. The Dom in him almost roared when she dropped her gaze—to his chin this time—and kept it there. His girl was a natural, responding to him without even realizing what she was doing, and wasn’t that the biggest turn-on yet.
“Next, I don’t do girlfriends.” That brought her head up again, albeit briefly, and he smiled at her sharp intake of breath, and the confusion written all over her face. “I haven’t done for a long time, ever since I realized I was in love with my best friend.”
Where to Buy
Evernight Publishing | Amazon | Amazon UK | ARe | Bookstrand
About the Author
Doris is a writer of sensual, sassy, and sexy tales involving alpha heroes to die for, and heroines who give as good as they get. From contemporary to paranormal, Time Travel, Sci-fi, BDSM, F/F, M/M, and Ménage, haunting love stories are guaranteed.
Happily married for the last twenty-five years, she lives with her husband and their brood of nine in a far too small house filled with love, laughter, and chaos.
Website | Reader Group | Tumblr | Twitter | Facebook | Pinterest | Evernight Publishing
Amazon | All Romance eBooks | BookStrand | Barnes & Noble
A Christmas Sale!
Which has much less Darren McGavin than A Christmas Story, but bear with me. In the spirit of the year (and because all of us need a bit of a lift right now) I’m putting both Two Thrones books on sale for 99¢ until New Year’s Eve. So if you’re new to the joint kingdoms of Hellas and Ypres, this is the perfect chance to check them out.
Wicked Wednesday Reads: The Power of Peppermint
Whee, it’s Wednesday! And with the holidays closing in on us, it’s time to feature the lovely L.D. Blakeley and her brand spanking new holiday romance The Power of Peppermint, now available for the amazing sale price of 99¢ from Amazon and other online retailers of fine erotic romance. Enjoy!
The most wonderful time of the year?
When Jamison Pritchett is roped into replacing the mall photographer at Santa’s Village a week before Christmas, he’s certain he’ll be spending the holidays recovering from a nervous breakdown. A throng of sugar-frenzied kids might be enough to send this uptight photographer back into the darkroom permanently. Inappropriate thoughts about his far-too-attractive—and far-too-young—assistant aren’t helping fight that urge to hide, either.
For Noah Hawkins, adulting is a snap. Too bad relationships aren’t. With his business temporarily closed for repairs, he’s happy to help his sister out of a jam, even if the costume he’s given to wear borders on obscene. Constantly being mistaken for a teenager is no treat either, especially when he discovers his temporary new co-worker is sexy as hell and 15 years his senior.
Can Noah convince Jamison that age is just a number? Or will Jamison resist the gift Santa seems to be handing him on a platter?
Story Excerpt
“We’re closed,” he called out.
“I know,” a familiar voice answered. Noah.
With the studio’s front shades drawn, he hadn’t noticed the other man’s approach. As he neared the door, however, he could see Noah’s unmistakable silhouette.
He opened the door. “What are you doing here?” He studied Noah’s face, trying desperately to remain impervious to his charm.
“Figured we needed to talk.” Noah brushed past Jamison and closed the door behind him.
“About what?” He fought the urge that rose up and told him to run his fingers across Noah’s chiseled jaw. “Shouldn’t you be packing for your trip?”
“Jamison. You should know better than to eavesdrop.” Noah’s tone was teasing but kind. “Or, at the very least, make sure you eavesdrop on the entire conversation.”
“I’m sorry. I mean he’s your ex. And you and I haven’t…” He trailed off, not quite sure how to finish his sentence.
“You and I might not have.” Noah pursed his lips and grinned around a half-eaten candy cane. “But that doesn’t change the fact that Travis is history. And I would imagine trolling the bars as we speak looking for someone willing to pay for his cruise.”
“Oh.” He would have been lying if he’d said he was sorry to hear it.
“So,” Noah drawled. “Just a kid, eh?” He leaned against Jamison’s desk, his lips wrapped invitingly around the minty candy.
Jamison felt himself flush. “Look, I’m sorry, okay. I didn’t mean anything by it. But let’s be real—you are significantly younger than me. And in that outfit they have you in, you barely look legal.”
“Good thing I am, then, isn’t it? It’d really suck for this—” Noah grabbed Jamison by the hips and devoured him in an absolutely soul-scorching kiss. “—to be something punishable by law, wouldn’t it?” he whispered against Jamison’s lips.
“I’m not so sure it shouldn’t be,” Jamison panted. The zing of mint from Noah’s kiss was electrifying. His heartbeat sped up as he watched the other man slowly slide the Christmas confection out of his mouth, tucking the dry end into his shirt pocket.
“Well if I’m going to be reprimanded, I’d better make it worth my while then.” Noah pulled him in for another kiss, his hands deftly untucking Jamison’s shirt. His hips rolled in a teasing rhythm against Jamison’s groin while he trailed his fingers southward.
Jamison was on fire. And when Noah reached for his belt, he sucked in a ragged breath.
“Wait—” He pulled back, lust and anxiety battling it out for control. “Someone could … the door.” He gestured toward the front of the studio.
Noah licked once more at his bottom lip, then sauntered over to the door and locked it. He double checked to make sure the blinds were completely shut.
“There. Now nobody will know we’re even here.” He headed back toward Jamison, his eyes full of promise.
“This is a bad idea. You know that, right?” Jamison was trying to convince himself more than anything. From the look on Noah’s face, he’d already made up his mind about what was going to happen.
And when Noah dropped to his knees with a dirty grin, Jamison knew too.
Where to Buy
Amazon | ARe | Smashwords
About the Author
L.D. Blakeley is a pragmatist with a romantic soul & a dirty mind. She loves horror movies, hot sex, and happily ever afters. She’s easily distracted by shiny things, and is a slightly neurotic, highly ambitious dreamer who enjoys dabbling in photography & pretending she can carry a tune.
In another life, L.D. was a newspaper reporter, an entertainment & music writer, travel writer, website content editor, and a marketing shill. Now she prefers to spend her time writing hot, steamy fiction (with a healthy dose of romance) about intriguing, sexy men. Although she dreams of living some place isolated with an endless supply of wine and an infinite number of titles on her eReader, she currently lives in downtown Toronto with her husband and their rock star cat.
Happy Friday, and a snippet from Intersection
Well, it’s the end of the work, and for most folks who observe Christmas the holidays will probably kick into high gear this weekend. Since the bulk of my decorating is now done, I thought I would celebrate with a teaser from Intersection. Some background: after finding out that her first love Ben Drake was still alive and being held at a Gold Rush-themed adventure park, Evie Contreras rescues him with the help of a mysterious organization that has been manipulating her academic and work career. Now held by them, she learns that cyborgs exist and Ben has been turned into one during his time at the park. She steals a security badge from one of the base officers to break into medbay and get the truth from Ben. Enjoy!
This time, the medbay doors opened obediently at her approach. Evie had been afraid that the base AI might stop her. Apparently her stolen RFID clip was enough to lull the AI into a sense of complacency.
Not after this, though. If Ballardie didn’t tell Lilith to check facial recognition against RFID codes from that point on, Evie would eat her tablet. She had one chance to see Ben, and she wasn’t about to waste it.
Pretend like you belong. That was easy enough; straight spine, a slightly bored but alert expression. She grabbed a pile of sheets from a pile on a small cart and carried them as a prop. The hallway ended at a round station manned by a very handsome, very bored man in red scrubs. His curly black hair had been cut short, and he needed a shave judging by the heavy five o’clock shadow, but his celadon eyes lit up when he saw her.
“Hel-lo,” he said in a drawled accent. “Did someone finally hear my plea for more help?”
“That’s what I was told,” Evie said brightly. “I’m Ally. Where do you need me?”
“Oh, my.” The man gave her a slow up and down that was lascivious and amusing at the same time. “Don’t ask me questions like that, love. I’m still on call for two more hours.”
She snorted, glancing at the ancient whiteboard propped up on the station’s counter. It had to be a list of patient rooms. “I bet you say that to all the new volunteers.”
“Only the ones who’ve stolen my heart.” He plunked his hand over his breastbone. “Promise me I’ll see you later, Ally. It may be the only thing that gets me through this deathly dull shift.”
She allowed herself a brief, amused grin. This one was a charmer, which made things easier and harder at the same time. Easier because he’d let her slide past. Harder because he’d definitely check out her ass as she walked away. “No promises…”
“Samir. Dr. Samir Haddad.” Something on his console beeped and he grimaced. “Oh, damn. Duty calls, love. I’ll catch you later?”
“You can try.” She turned and walked around the station, resisting the urge to hurry.
The station sat at the crosspoint of four corridors like a bull’s eye. Luck and left-to-right reading habits were with her and B corridor was opposite the one from the entrance. She headed down there, counting rooms until she came to B4.
The board had Drake, B printed neatly next to the B4 slot. Licking dry lips, she grabbed the door handle. The worst they would do was kick her out, maybe yell at her for boosting Rob’s RFID wand. She’d take that and much worse to be able to talk to Ben, her Ben, not some tarted up artificial persona that someone had programmed onto a chip.
She opened the door, ready to smile.
And stopped.
Her first thought was that she’d gotten the rooms mixed up somehow. Because the thing on the bed, it looked like Ben, yes, but it was missing both arms and everything from the middle of its chest on down. The holes in the body had been sealed neatly with glistening gelatinous caps, and a variety of tubes and wires ran from them to a mix of equipment arranged around the bed. Some of the tech she recognized from her own work, equipment regularly used in cybertech. The rest looked more like it belonged in a hospital room, with a person.
Not here. Not with this … mockery.
He really was an android, something in the back of her mind whispered. They lied to you, they all lied to you—
The Ben-thing opened its eyes. And looked at her with the most hesitant, heartbreaking smile. “Evie?”
She shook her head. Why was it lying to her? Why did it have to use Ben’s voice?
It glanced down, craning its neck. Blue eyes went wide, filling with horror. “No. Oh, God, no!”
She choked back a sob, shaking her head.
He looked up. Color flooded his face, making his eyes seem to glow as he stared at her. And then the horror disappeared, replaced by incandescent fury. “Get out!” he shouted, raising his head off the bed far enough to jostle some of the wires and tubes. Somewhere an alarm began to bleep. “Goddamn you, Evie, get out! Don’t look at me!”
She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to see any of this. Screwing her eyes shut, she fumbled for the door handle behind her.
“Get out!”
There it was. She stepped backwards, away from the impossibility on the bed. Away from the last, final hope she’d allowed herself to have.
She backed into someone. Turning, she looked up into Samir’s now-grim face.
He grabbed her arm, his grip not ungentle but impossible to escape. “I think we need to have a chat,” he drawled. “Don’t you agree, Ally?”
So, it’s cold here in the clavicle of Texas
Yes, I know that people in the northern parts of the United States, not to mention other parts of the world that enjoy a uncomfortable closeness to the Arctic and Antarctic Circles, are laughing their asses off at me right now.
But damn, it’s cold here. 36°F/2.2°C at the moment, and dropping to 28°F/-2.2°C overnight. My cold acclimatization is gone, people. 16 years of living here has given me the ability to tolerate high temps (with proper hydration and support), but it drops below 50°F (10°C for those of you playing along everywhere else in the world) and Nic turns into a shivering popsicle in search of warm clothing and cats to sit on her feet and keep them toasty because I’m wearing socks AND slippers at the moment and they’re still chilly.
I even brought my beautiful hand-crocheted thick triangle shawl out so that I could wear it while writing. The damn cats annexed it, and now insist that it remain piled on the short bookshelf at left so that they can snooze on it while I work. Since it keeps them busy so that I can work I’m reluctant to reclaim it, but damn, I have a space heater in here with both cat beds snugged alongside it. Must they claim my shawl as well?
But there is a bright side to today, namely that the full soundtrack to Westworld was released on iTunes, which means I have all of that lovely evocative music to listen to while working on Intersection. Assuming I can feel my fingers. Did I mention it was cold here?
Getting old is not for wimps
So I figured this was the weekend I would put up all the Christmas ornaments and trees (we have two — one in the library, and one in the kitchen because we can’t see the library tree from the living room). This required me to finish dusting everything in the library, wash both front windows, then bring in the HUGE tree box from the garage and the two tubs of decorations.
One eensy issue — about two weeks ago I somehow managed to strain the muscles in my right mid-back wrapping around to the front. No problem with standing and walking, but if I have to control any sudden front-to-back movement (like if I have to brake suddenly in the car) it spasms. It also spasms when I lift stuff or stretch forward or down. This is problematic when you are lifting large things like tree boxes and tubs full of Christmas decorations.
So there I was, moving all of this crap into the library and swearing under my breath, with that weird side muscle throbbing, and decide I’ll put up the stockings first. We have seven, one for Ramón and myself and one for each of the cats, and I had decided to use a tip I’d read online to get two stocking clips for a mantel and suspend a cafe curtain rod in it, then make little S hooks out of wire and hang the stockings from those.
Except that I hadn’t bought any of that yet. So off to Target I go, wincing at all the stops, and find stocking clips. Four for $20. Fuck THAT noise. Go over to take a look at cafe rods, get a nickel plated one, come back to the Christmas section to see if there’s anything I can jigger for mantel clips, when I find a set of two clips that have cute little chalkboards attached marked down to $8. At this point my back/side muscles are making themselves known, so I bite the bullet and get them. Come home, put everything up, and it looks great. Yay. I finish distributing the rest of the standing ornaments, then pull the ladder out of the closet to put up the garland over the door (which involves lifting and stretching). Also nice, although by now I’m in a certain amount of pain.
Then I dig out the window lights for the front windows. Unsurprisingly both 8-year-old strings are dead (protip — always plug in your lights to test them before putting them up). Back to Target I go, wincing even harder at the stops, and pick up some lights and some peppermint bark Ghirardelli squares (shut up, I earned them). On the walk back to the car the offended muscles go into one massive spasm and announce that I’m done for the night. Not being an idiot, I agree with them, go home, pop two Flexeril and proceed to sleep the sleep of the dead.
Woke up this morning with only a hint of an ache, and proceeded to put up the new window lights while Ramón shuffles around the place coughing his lungs up (there’s a reason why I’m doing all of this myself — he has a sinus infection, is on antibiotics, and feels like hammered shit so I told him to go sit down and rest). Putting up the window lights requires me to use clear push pins between the wires to hold them in the window frame, and to get on a small step ladder so that I can pin along the top of the frame and the decorative half-round glass at the top of the window. First window, the light string is five inches short of reaching the extension cord. Swearing, I pull it down and repin it around the window, taking care to stretch out all the kinks in the wire and keep it as straight as possible. I keep this in mind when I pin the lights around the second window and have no problem reaching the extension cord this time.
Both windows are now illuminated and look great. Meanwhile the tree is still in the box, and the cats are having a marvelous time climbing in and out of it. This, BTW, is a 7′ tree that is a royal pain in the ass to put together, and will require more stretching and bending just to get it upright. My strained muscles are currently saying, “You have maybe another hour out of us, then you will sit your ass down and watch Westworld, do you understand?”
So, yeah, if anyone wants to know why I’m not enthusiastic about putting holiday decorations up every year, now you know.
Fabulous Friday Reads: The Fortune Cookie
Aaaand it’s December, whee! Let’s kick off this lovely weekend with my good friend Matt Burlingame’s new M/M holiday romance from Dreamspinner Press, The Fortune Cookie. Take it away, Matt!
Thirty-three-year-old technical writer Laurence Hart is a modern-day Scrooge when it comes to the holiday season—and the rest of the year too. He doesn’t like most people, they don’t like him, and he’s happy to keep it that way. Over lunch with his best friend, he receives a fortune cookie promising him true love. The next day, forced to work on a holiday charity committee or lose his job, he meets Nick, a jolly ginger giant who loves all things Christmas. Together they face numerous obstacles to put together a holiday fair to raise money for children in foster care in only four days. While Laurence has to mend his curmudgeonly ways to make the event a success, Nick’s holiday magic might mend Laurence’s heart.
Story Excerpt
Laurence Hart was a man of average height and weight, with short dark hair and bright blue, almond-shaped eyes. He was the type of man people enjoyed being around. He was kind, easygoing, hardworking, and a good listener. He had a handful of close friends, was well liked by his coworkers, and though he was not what some might call traditionally handsome, he had no shortage of potential suitors.
That was the type of man Laurence was… in his twenties. Now, at age thirty-three, Laurence was… well….
“Hi, Larry,” Millie Sparks, the office intern, said as she entered his work cubicle. She reached into the box she was holding, removed a cardboard cutout of a decorated Christmas tree, and pinned it to a small cork message board, just as she had in all the other office cubicles. “Just spreading a little holiday cheer.”
He stopped his work, swiveled his chair to face the Christmas decoration, and in a low, controlled voice said, “My name is Laurence.” He then pulled the tree from the board and fed it through the shredder sitting to the right of his desk. He turned back to his computer and resumed his work without bothering to look up at her expression.
Millie started to say something but found herself being ushered away by Amanda, a very large woman in her late forties who sat in the cubicle to the left of Laurence.
“That’s right, dear,” Amanda said to her. “Lots more trees to hang up.”
“I only have Santas left.”
“Okay, on you go.” She gave Millie a little shove down the aisle before turning to glare at Laurence.
He knew she was there—he could feel it—but he refused to look up.
“You could have at least waited until she was on the next aisle,” Amanda scolded.
He sighed loudly. “It’s bad enough it’s been all over the building since the day after Halloween. I don’t want it in my personal space.”
As much as she wanted to tell him what a jackass he was, she knew it would do no good. He acted the same way every year. She took a look at her watch, saw it was lunchtime, and logged out of her computer.
“All right, Scrooge, I’m heading to the mall for lunch. You coming?”
Laurence logged off, grabbed his jacket, and walked beside Amanda as they made their way out of the building.
Half an hour later they sat in the second-floor food court eating Chinese food and discussing the latest office gossip. While Amanda found herself occasionally humming along with the blaring Christmas music coming from the holiday display just below them on the first floor, Laurence did his best to block it out.
Where to Buy
About the Author
Matt Burlingame is an award-winning journalist and playwright, living in Northern California. After 20 years of working for various LGBT newspapers, websites, and even cohosting a late-night radio show, he has retired from his aspirations of being the gay Murphy Brown to pursue his love of fiction writing.
His first book, the self-published dark comedy Sorry Charley, was released in 2012. He has written and cowritten over ten critically acclaimed plays including Recovery Mode, Poughkeepsie Porn Co., Countess Dracula, and the controversial Paperclip Messiah. His plays have been produced nationally, most notably in New York and St. Louis.
He has been a well known LGBT podcaster for over 10 years and produced and cohosted shows focusing on comedy writing, world events, comedy, theater, gay sex education and positive body image. With the support and encouragement of his two very demanding cats, seven fish, and lifelong friend Nephi, he has now immersed himself into the wonderful world of M/M romance.
Nicola Cameron Writes 