Wayward Stripper by JB Buell

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Book Title: Wayward Stripper 

Author: JB Buell 

Publisher: JMS Books 

Release Date: August 19, 2023 

Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance, Omegaverse 

Tropes: Omegaverse, Male Strippers, Alpha/Alpha, Friends to Lovers, Meet Cute

Themes: Finding love, Strippers, Trans Man, Trans Character

Heat Rating: 5 flames  

Length: 25 659 words 

It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger. It’s Happy Ending. 

Goodreads

Buy Links

JMS Books  |  Amazon US  |  Amazon UK 

Jake is a stripper on the run 

Blurb

Jake is a stripper on the run, in need of a new job. He happens to find one in New York City, at a club called The Apollo Lounge. That's where he meets another stripper named Tristan who's tall and gorgeous, and also a really nice guy.

They hit it off almost immediately, but Jake is unsure about starting something new. He's had it rough and is wary about opening up, but maybe with Tristan his luck has finally changed.

Excerpt 

Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.

"This place looks great," he said, and he meant that. "I hope it works out for me. I'd love to dance here."

"Great!" Tristan looked thrilled. "I'm sure you'll do fine. Shall we get you started? I just need to go through the dancing rules with you, and the extras, and then you're all set. You want a table dance demo, or are you good?"

Jake made a little noise of surprise, unable to hold it back. A demo? Really? He was about to get a dance from this hunk?

"Sure," he said, adding, "A demo would be great."

"Okay." Tristan got his phone out and started some music, something slow and sexy, setting it on the table. "So, pretend you're a customer," Tristan said, getting to his feet. "I'm your dancer, and you'll have to use your imagination that I'm in my underwear."

Jake suppressed a smile. "Right." He opened his legs to give Tristan room to stand close, one leg either side of his knee. Tristan started by holding onto the back of his chair and caging Jake in with his thick, muscled arms. He leaned in just enough that Jake caught a hint of his alpha scent.

"So a table dance for downstairs is one full song," Tristan said, all casual as he began dancing, slowly undulating his body to the beat. "Depends on the length, of course."

"Mm-hmm," Jake replied, eyes glued to Tristan's slim hips. He was watching for technique and style, yes, but he couldn't help notice how great Tristan was at dancing, too. Clearly he knew what he was doing, and he had a fantastic body.

"No touching in the downstairs lounge," Tristan went on, dipping his crotch low and almost rubbing it over Jake's thigh, just shy of touching. "Tease as much as you want, but it's a no contact dance."

Jake nodded. "And in this room?"

Tristan caught his eye with a grin. "Well, up here it's kinda do whatever you want, short of full sex. It's up to the dancer how far you wanna go. In the private booths, that is."

"Not out here on the floor?" Jake joked.

Tristan laughed lightly. "No, just mild touching out here. There's one camera on the main floor here for the stage area, but none in the booths. If the customers want any scenting or necking, it has to be in the booths because it can get messy real quick."

"Sure," Jake agreed. "Sounds reasonable."

Tristan smiled at him as he leaned in closer, tilting his head so his nose was between Jake's neck and shoulder, and Jake had the same access to Tristan's neck. He couldn't help inhaling, just a little. Tristan smelled good: a strong and clean alpha scent. Just the sort of enticing smell Jake would expect from a young, fit alpha who looked after his body.

"Your hair smells good," Tristan said, then pulled back to grin in amusement. "That wasn't part of the dance, sorry."

Jake smiled. "It's the conditioner. But thanks."

"So, where was I," Tristan joked with a laugh. "Alright, so, obviously do a lot of scenting in the dance, the omegas really like that."

Jake liked it too, but he kept quiet and nodded along.

"They wanna feel like you're super into them," Tristan went on, "like you wanna claim them and mate. That's the impression you need to give off. Sometimes I grab the back of their chairs like this..." He demonstrated by gripping the chair's back and shaking it a little, tensing his arms so the muscles bunched as he leaned in and looked Jake in the eye.

Jake was starting to feel aroused himself at the display of alpha manliness. Like he wouldn't mind so much if Tristan threw him down for real and played a bit rough. Jake would be into it for sure.

He couldn't afford to get a crush, though. Not with a colleague. Jake made himself nod politely, treating this as business, nothing more.

"Thanks," he said, when Tristan got off his lap. "That seems straightforward enough."

"If you got any questions tonight," Tristan said, giving Jake a friendly smile, "just ask me. I'll be on the floor and I'll help out with whatever you need."

He was just too sweet, Jake thought.

About the Author 

J.B. Buell is a non binary writer (they/them) of m/m romance and gay rom com stories. They are a cat person, and can’t decide if they’re more of a coffee or tea person but is quite happy to drink both.

Social Media Links

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A Star to Sail By by Joy Lynn Fielding #giveaway #kindleunlimited

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Book Title:  A Star to Sail By

Author and Publisher: Joy Lynn Fielding

Cover Artist: Getcovers

Release Date: August 30, 2023

Genre: Historical/pirate M/M romance

Tropes: Enemies to lovers, forced proximity, hurt/comfort

Themes: Emotional scars, self-forgiveness, self-discovery, finding home

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length:  88 000 words

It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK 

Abducted by pirates, a naval officer is torn between duty and desire.

Blurb

All Crispin Merriott has ever wanted is to be a captain in the Royal Navy. Placed on half-pay after the war, he’s reduced to serving on a merchant ship. When pirates board his ship and force Crispin to join their crew, his dream has never seemed further away. 

Billy loves the freedom he has as a pirate. As master gunner aboard the most beautiful ship to sail the seas, he couldn’t be happier. But then his captain tasks him with guarding the naval officer they’ve taken on board. Billy loathes the navy. He hates its officers even more. 

Crispin is looking for a way to escape when disaster strikes the ship. Beset by danger, Billy and Crispin have to work together. But how can they trust one another when they detest everything the other stands for?

Trigger Warning: Please note this book contains material some people may find upsetting. The content warning page on my website gives further details.

Excerpt 

Down in the dark, stifling bowels of the ship, where the stink of bilge water and damp made Crispin’s eyes water, Billy gave him a lantern and a ledger. “Start here and mark the precise quantity of everything against its entry on the list.”

The hold contained an esoteric selection of goods—cotton, spices, cocoa, rum, and those were merely the first things Crispin saw. The only things they had in common were that they were easy to transport and of high value. At least they were all lashed down tightly. In his poor opinion of pirates, he kept forgetting they were experienced sailors.

The afternoon crept by as they worked in silence, and the hold grew ever more claustrophobic. Still Crispin worked diligently. His throat grew parched and he needed a drink, but he wasn’t going to ask for anything. Occasionally he’d look at Billy, who appeared immersed in his own work and entirely unaware of Crispin’s presence. Yet something in Billy’s fierce concentration suggested he was very aware of Crispin’s scrutiny.

Completing his counting of boxes of cocoa, Crispin made a neat entry in the ledger, and moved a couple of paces to investigate a large chest. He dragged it forward to open it, kicking away the rat his movements disturbed. Puzzled by the clothes the chest contained, he sorted through the top few layers and swiftly realised this wasn’t cargo taken from a ship but stolen personal effects. Crispin’s breath caught as he lifted out a blue brocade frock coat, splendidly embroidered in gold thread. He knew the coat, as he did the gold silk waistcoat lying beneath it. Mr Spencer had worn them every Sunday when conducting the service. His eyes misted red with impotent fury.

It took him a moment to compose himself. When he called out to Billy, his voice was unsteady from the anger he couldn’t banish completely. “How should I record these?”

Billy slipped around the edge of the crowded hold with the ease either of long practise or natural grace. “Clothes to go before the mast for distribution,” he said, as he saw the chest’s contents. “We don’t need any further details.”

“These are going to be pawed through by the crew to take whatever they like?” Outrage surged through Crispin. “What about the people you stole them from? What are they supposed to wear?”

Billy looked at him then, for the first time all afternoon. He’d tied his hair back earlier, and it somehow emphasised his cheekbones, making his beauty even more unearthly. But the Archangel Gabriel would never have had such scorn in his eyes. “They’re rich. They’ll buy more.”

Crispin shook his head as he thought of Mr Spencer’s cabin. He’d certainly had better victuals than the crew and his own supply of wine, as well as a painting that Crispin had presumed was of his wife, but it had been nothing like Captain Smythe’s cabin. That had been filled with luxury, with furniture designed for beauty as well as use, and his dining table had seen meat served every day on china plates alongside wine in glass goblets laced with silver. “This coat belongs to the master on the Eurydice,” he said, lifting it up to show Billy. “You have no idea if he’s rich—you stole it from him because he couldn’t stop you.”

The pirate simply raised an insolent eyebrow before wandering back to what he’d been doing. Crispin carefully folded Mr Spencer’s coat and decided not to dig any further into the chest, for he realised he would probably find his own best coat. And then a thought hit him, and he searched swiftly through the clothes, hoping to find his razor or knife. He’d like his compass back as well, but that wouldn’t be so immediately useful. Disappointingly, he found the chest contained only clothes.

He stood, aimed a fulminating glare at Billy, who was silently engaged in cataloguing everything he and his crew had stolen, and returned to his task.

About the Author 

Joy Lynn Fielding lives in a small English market town, where she indulges her passions for vintage aircraft, horse riding and gardening (though not all at the same time).

Joy tends to wax lyrical about the fascinating facts she discovers during her research for books. Thankfully, she has a very patient Labrador who has a gift for looking interested in what she’s saying while he waits for the food to arrive.

Social Media Links

Blog/Website  |  Facebook

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Cold Day Dawning by Thom Collins #giveaway

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Book Title: Cold Day Dawning (Jagged Shores #4)

Author: Thom Collins

Publisher: Pride Publishing 

Release Date: August 22, 2023

Genres:  Contemporary MM romance, thriller, suspense 

Tropes: Small town romance 

Themes: Family, rivalry, revenge, overcoming PTSD

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 63 223 words

Although it can be read as a stand-alone, this book is best read as part of a series.

It does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links

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Available from Amazon, Pride Publishing,

First For Romance, B&N, and Kobo

Danger comes in the cold of morning

Blurb 

It should be the perfect weekend away. Dalton Caine makes the long journey to Nyemouth to attend a party hosted by his sister. Catherine is estranged from most of the family, but Dalton feels the time has come to build bridges between them. Things don’t turn out how he wants, however, when Catherine gives him a cold reception at the party. But the evening is not a complete waste of time when he meets local photographer Antoni.

Following a near-fatal attack six months earlier, Antoni has struggled with his physical and mental recovery. Catherine’s party is the first time he has been out at night since then, and he’s ready for an early exit when he meets Dalton. The stranger is warm, friendly and incredibly handsome. When Antoni overcomes his reservations and accepts a drink at Dalton’s hotel, it could be the start of something new for them both.

Despite the joy of fresh romance, things soon take a darker turn. The morning after the party, Catherine’s boyfriend reports her missing. Dalton isn’t initially concerned. Catherine has disappeared of her own will before, and he’s more interested in getting to know Antoni, but the men soon find themselves at the centre of a twisted mystery, one that puts both of their lives at risk.

Reader advisory: This book contains violence, murder, PTSD, memories of a child in danger and mental illness. Although it can be read as a stand-alone, this book is best read as part of a series.

Excerpt 

A few moments later, a door on the right opened and a man stepped out. He caught Dalton’s attention straight away. Dressed in jeans, a black T-shirt and a dark overshirt, the man looked nothing like the pretentious people he’d encountered so far this evening. He was also very handsome, which didn’t hurt. He was naturally good-looking, with brown hair, slightly wavy on the top and cut short at the back and sides where it was starting to turn grey. He had a serious-looking face, and Dalton’s initial impression was of something quite sad about his eyes and downturned mouth.

“Hi,” Dalton said cheerfully, hoping the guy wouldn’t turn out to be like all the other guests.

“Hello.” The man didn’t return the smile, but seemingly noticing Dalton’s interest in the photographs, he came closer. “Do you like them?”

There was a trace of an accent there. Dalton couldn’t quite place it. Eastern European, he guessed.

 “Very much,” he replied. “They’re remarkable. I’ve never seen Catherine like this before.”

The man looked between Dalton and photographs. “I’m glad you like them. I took all of these.”

Up close, he was even better looking than his first appearance. His eyes were dark grey and there was stubble on his square jaw, also flecked with grey.

“Wow,” Dalton said. “They are sensational…really.”

At last, his mouth turned upwards into the smallest suggestion of a smile.

“Thank you.” He held out his hand. “My name is Antoni.”

Dalton accepted the handshake. The party had finally improved.

About the Author 

Thom Collins is the author of Closer by Morning, North Point and the Anthem Trilogy. His love of page turning thrillers began at an early age when his mother caught him reading the latest Jackie Collins book and confiscated it, sparking a life-long love of raunchy novels.

Thom has lived in the North East of England his whole life. He grew up in Northumberland and now lives in County Durham with his husband and two cats. He loves all kinds of genre fiction, especially bonk-busters, thrillers, romance and horror. He is also a cookery book addict with far too many titles cluttering his shelves. When not writing he can be found in the kitchen trying out new recipes. He’s a keen traveler but with a fear of flying that gets worse with age, but in 2013 he realized cruising is the best way to see the world.

Check out his website for news updates and a free ebook, The Night.

Other links

Twitter: @thomwolf  |  Instagram  |   Newsletter Sign-up   

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The Firefly by Laury A. Egan

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Book Title:  The Firefly

Author:  Laury A. Egan

Publisher:  Spectrum Books

Cover Artist: Design by Laury A. Egan with assistance by Andrew May and Vicki DeVico

Release Date: August 12, 2023

Genres: F/F Romance and portrait of a teenager, age 14, through adulthood, age 40.

Tropes:  teenage lovers separated

Themes: Solitariness of a creative girl/woman, sexual orientation confusion in the 60s, pressure to conform to social expectations

Heat rating: 3 flames

Length:   74 000 words/ 304 pages

It is a standalone book and does not end on a cliffhanger.

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A Romance by a Lake; a Life Searching for a Teenage Lover

Blurb

1964: A dark summer night on a still black lake. A lantern is lit at the end of a dock. A blond girl in white appears and begins to dance, her body illuminated like the fireflies surrounding her. A second girl emerges from a house and is beckoned forward. The two meet, swim, and then kiss. Thus begins an ethereal romance and a young woman’s journey into adulthood.

Robin Bennet, age fourteen, has been accidentally abandoned at a lakeside rental house in the Pocono Mountains. Her parents were arguing, and each believed the other had remained with Robin. Alone, Robin discovers that someone has been sleeping in the house and is now stealing vodka and snacks. A fifteen-year-old boy, Kieran, the intruder, appears and invites himself to dinner. Robin is charmed by him, especially when she learns he is the brother of the beautiful girl who magically appeared on the dock the night before. After Kieran leaves, the “Firefly” returns, lights the lantern, and circles around it until Robin joins her. The two swim and make love on the beach. When Robin awakens, the Firefly—Stella—has disappeared, and Robin’s mother arrives, announcing they will return to New Jersey immediately because she is divorcing Robin’s father. Frantic, Robin tries to find Stella, a search that continues while Robin builds a career as an architect in Manhattan, fails in marriage, and struggles with her sexual identity. 

Excerpt

[Robin’s parents have left her alone in a rented lake house, each thinking the other would remain. The year is 1964, Robin is 14, and has just drunk some wine.] “Robin shuddered awake. She shook her head, which felt on the verge of aching, and lifted her gaze toward the lake. To her amazement, the lantern was lit on the dock. Standing by it was the Firefly, dressed in white, her blond hair bright against the darkness of the water and the forested hill beyond. 

Robin rubbed her eyes. She must be having drunken hallucinations, but when she looked again, the beautiful vision remained. Excitement shot through her, and she lurched to her feet, descended the stairs with the bottle of wine, and walked down the grassy hill to the path, afraid to blink and lose sight of the enchanting image that lay before her. As she stepped onto the dock, the Firefly circled the lantern and offered her hands in invitation, her long fingers sweeping through the air with elegant fluidity. It appeared the girl was smiling, but perhaps this was what Robin hoped. 

She made her way carefully. Some of the boards were uneven, and she didn’t trust her steadiness after drinking so much. Her ears also seemed filled with a pulsing sound, or was that the loud beating of her heart? Nearing the girl, Robin knew the figure was Stella because of the strong resemblance to Kieran—the same yellow hair, slender build, neat features, and gracefulness. But Stella was more magnetic, more enchanting. Instantly, the dinner with Kieran was forgotten. This moment was all present, all now. 

Dazed, Robin stopped and stared at this beautiful apparition, one she struggled to believe was real. Almost afraid of breaking the silence with words, she whispered, “Hello.”

“Hello,” the girl replied.

“Stella?”

“Yes. Robin?”

“Yes.”

The water lapped against the dock pilings, and a bird called from a distant tree. Above, the dark sky shrouded them in an illuminated enclosure. 

They smiled at each other.

Robin inched closer, reveling in the sensuous figure before her. Stella had blue eyes. Perhaps a paler shade than Kieran’s or maybe the lantern’s glittering reflections were creating the appearance of translucence. Her skin was unblemished, smooth, and creamy. The fragrance of Jean Naté floated in the air. 

“I hoped you’d return,” Robin said. 

“I’m glad. I waited until Kieran left.” Her expression was amused, flirtatious.

Robin sighed. “I don’t think the dinner went well. I mean, the meal was fine, but Kieran is hard to understand.”

Stella laughed. “He’s perfected the fine art of being secretive.”

“And you? Are you the same?”

“Yes, I suppose so. You’ll have to find out.”

This sounded like a teasing challenge. “I will,” she answered in kind. “Would you like some wine?” 

Stella accepted the bottle, drank, and wiped her mouth. Her lips were perfectly cut, pink, and alluring. 

“Thank you.” She handed the wine back to Robin, who took a swallow. “Good. Now, it’s a warm night, Robin. We should swim, don’t you think?” 

Without waiting for a response, Stella began undressing. Underneath her blouse, against her tanned skin, a lacy white bra was revealed. Robin noticed that Stella’s breasts appeared to be larger than hers, but Stella was two years older.

When Stella leaned down to unbuckle her sandals, Robin unbuttoned her own shirt, overcome with shyness. Although she showered with girls after gym class, Robin had never exposed herself like this. She fixed her eyes on Stella, who had dropped her pants and stepped clear. The girl was slightly taller than Robin, with legs and arms that were lean and strong. Clad only in cotton underpants and a bra, Stella gave her a captivating smile, turned, and dove neatly off the dock. For what seemed like a minute, she stayed underwater until she resurfaced about fifteen feet away. Stella brushed back her short hair and watched as Robin took off her slacks and sandals and executed a clean entrance into the black water. Rising near Stella, the two swam closer to each other and kept upright by paddling their arms.

Robin felt a wave of dizziness pass over her. Because of the wine or because of the nearness to this radiant being? She waited for the girl to speak, to act. Instead, Stella laughed, the sound reminding Robin of wind chimes blowing in a light breeze.” 

About the Author

Laury A. Egan is the author of eleven novels: The Firefly; Once, Upon an Island; Doublecrossed; The Swimmer; Fabulous! An Opera Buffa; The Outcast Oracle; Turnabout; Wave in D Minor; The Ungodly Hour; A Bittersweet Tale; The Outcast Oracle; and Jenny Kidd as well as a collection, Fog and Other Stories. Four limited-edition poetry volumes have been published: Snow, Shadows, a Stranger; Beneath the Lion’s Paw; The Sea & Beyond; and Presence & Absence. Eighty-five of her stories and poems have appeared in literary journals. She lives on the northern coast of New Jersey.

Author Links

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Instagram  |   LinkedIn  |  Poets & Writers   

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Dionysus in Wisconsin by E. H. Lupton #giveaway

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Book Title:  Dionysus in Wisconsin (Wisconsin Gothic, Book 1)

Author: E. H. Lupton

Publisher: Winnowing Fan Press

Cover Artist: E. H. Lupton

Release Date: May 26, 2023

Genres: Urban fantasy/historical M/M romance

Tropes: Living Aphrodisiac, Turning into a God, Offing the Offspring, In Love with the Mark, Occult Detective, Don't Go in the Woods, Prophesies Rhyme, Killing the God, A+ Parenting, Metamorphoses

Themes: self-acceptance, overcoming family history, mystical library communion

Heat Rating: 3–3.5 flames 

Length: 78 000 words/ 350 pages in paperback

The story ends with a lovely HEA.

Book 2 is due in early 2024.

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Mythology, but make it everyone’s problem.

Blurb 

A graduate student and an archivist work together to fight a god.

Fall, 1969. Ulysses Lenkov should be working on his dissertation. Instead, he's developing an unlucrative sideline in helping ghosts and hapless magic users. But when his clients start leaving town suddenly—or turning up dead—he starts to worry there's something afoot that’s worse than an unavenged death or incipient insanity. His investigation begins with the last word on everyone's lips before they vanish: the mysterious Dionysus.

Sam Sterling is an archivist who recently moved back to Madison to be closer to the family he's not too sure he likes. But his peaceful days of teaching library students, creating finding aids, and community theater come to an end when the magnetic, mistrustful Ulysses turns up with a warning. There's a god coming, and it looks like it's coming for Sam.

Soon the two are helping each other through demon attacks, discovering the unsavory history of Sam's family, and falling in love as they race to find a solution. But as the year draws to a close, they'll face a deadly showdown as they try to save Sam—and the city itself.

Excerpt 

“What did you want with it, anyway? There’s nothing of value in there. Just books. I would have let you look at any of them if you’d asked.”

Ulysses took a deliberate step closer, and Sam found himself retreating until he fetched up against the metal of the door. “Would you have, though? If I’d come to you and said I needed to investigate why the spirit of the stacks seems interested in you?” Ulysses took another step forward. They were standing far closer than people generally did, and it was both thrilling and terrifying. “Because a lot of people might find a request like that peculiar.”

Sam’s mouth went dry. They were practically chest to chest now. “I—Yes!” he said, and tried to pull himself up to his full height. “I don’t know what any of that means.”

Ulysses nodded. “Then this is going to be weird for you,” he muttered, voice rough and practically in Sam’s ear, and grabbed him. He opened the lock and pushed Sam through the door before he could protest.

On his desk were a white candle and a small, heart-shaped piece of blond wood that held a pencil in a vertical position. Beneath it was a sheet of typing paper, blank except for a cursive letter D in the center of the page. “What’s all this?”

“The inconclusive results of last night’s experiments,” Ulysses said. He grappled with the chair for a moment and then shoved it out into the corridor, shutting the cage’s door between it and them. There was just barely enough room for both of them standing up. This was going to be hideously embarrassing if anyone came along and caught them.

Ulysses, heedless, was lighting the candle with a Zippo. “The building seemed to have something to say to you in the elevator. Maybe it just needs more time to build up to a real psychic discharge, but we can’t wait that long.” He grinned again, eyes wide. “So I thought I’d bring it what it wants, and see if that helps.”

“You—what exactly do you do, Mr. Lenkov?”

“I’m a human lightning rod.” He reached up and grasped Sam very gently by the chin, turning his face to the candle. “Look. Be silent and breathe. Think about the flame.”

The other man’s taut body was pressed right up against Sam’s back, his left arm wrapped around Sam’s waist, and the candle flame was definitely not where Sam’s thoughts were heading. His face still tingled where he’d been touched. “Lenkov,” he said uneasily, “Ulysses. Are you okay? Are you—”

“No drugs, if that’s what you’re trying so delicately to ask. I never touch the stuff. Now hush.”

For some reason he wasn’t entirely clear on, Sam hushed. The man’s tone of voice seemed to demand compliance. At first all he could feel was the rush of blood through his veins, most of it headed southward. But after a while, his head started to clear. He could feel Ulysses breathing behind him and the movement of air through the study cages, smell the paper and Ulysses’s piney cologne and the slightly acrid candle. It wasn’t that his body stopped responding with arousal, but rather that for what felt like a few increasingly long moments he was conscious of all of it, and the linoleum beneath his feet, the rush of water through the pipes of the building. The loud clicks as the motion sensors turned the lights out, one row at a time. Still they stood in their tiny puddle of candle light.

Then, suddenly, the temperature dropped. Sam opened his eyes wide, afraid to say anything lest he break the spell, but also more generally terrified. He twisted slightly, but Ulysses’s grip was unforgiving. The other man leaned forward, murmuring something almost inaudible in a calming tone, and Sam gave up. Whatever was going to happen, he’d have a front-row seat for it. His breath hissed out, steaming.

Ulysses reached out and grabbed Sam’s right hand with his. “Using your left hand,” he whispered, “touch the planchette. Whenever you’re ready.”

Sam wanted to ask how he’d know when he was ready, but as their skin connected he felt a tension building in the room. It reminded him, abruptly, of the churning green clouds before a thunderstorm. The tension was in him, too, somehow, like anxiety but not quite, a nauseating squirming thing hiding there behind his breastbone. He closed his eyes and let it build for another minute, until it reached a level he couldn’t stand anymore.

He touched the planchette and felt it jerk to life as something ran through Ulysses and through him and somehow grounded itself in the paper. It was a little like the peculiar relief offered by a sneeze or an orgasm or taking off a pair of painful shoes, and a little like a static shock turned up to eleven. He might have shouted.

A moment later, Ulysses reached around him and pinched out the candle flame. Sam leaned dumbly against the wall, trying to catch his breath, and Ulysses turned on the overhead light, swung the door open, and carefully pushed Sam down into the chair.

“Sorry about that,” Ulysses said, sounding entirely unaffected. He picked up the page from beneath the planchette and frowned at it. Sam looked at the little stylus, which gave a desultory wriggle and was still.

About the Author

E.H. Lupton (she/they) lives in Madison, WI with her family. She is the author of the novella The Joy of Fishes (Battered Suitcase Press, 2013/2015). Her poems have been published in a number of journals, including Paranoid Tree, Poet Lore, 300 Days of Sun, and House of Zolo's Journal of Speculative Literature. She is also one half of the duo behind the hit podcast Ask a Medievalist. In her free time, she enjoys running long distances and art.

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The Game by Beth Bolden #giveaway

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Book Title: The Game (Charleston Condors Book 2)

Author and Publisher: Beth Bolden

Cover Artist: The Book Brander Boutique

Release Date: August 9, 2023

Genre: Contemporary MM sports romance

Tropes: friends to lovers, unrequited long-time crush, Vegas wedding

Heat Rating: 4 flames  

Length: 100 000 words

It is book number two in a spinoff series. 

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Micah Rose arrives in Charleston, ready to finally get his man and The Game is on.

Blurb

Micah Rose is ready for a clean slate. He might’ve messed up his rookie year with the Miami Piranhas, but being traded to the Condors is the best way to put all that behind him.

 The Condors are rebuilding, too. New owner. New coach. New players. New rules.

 But one rule hasn’t changed: don’t marry your ex-best friend in Vegas.

Beckett West isn't looking forward to seeing Micah again. Back in college, they shared not only a ride-or-die friendship, but a ton of unresolved sexual tension.

That was before Micah pushed him away.

Still, Beck’s never forgotten their last drunken night together. Not only did they finally confess their feelings, they both promised if the day ever came when they played on the same team again, they wouldn't waste the chance to be together.

But Beck didn’t expect that day to ever be this day.

He certainly didn’t expect to wake up in bed with Micah’s ring on his finger.

Or that he’d never want to take it off.

But it turns out the only man for him is the one man he could never forget. The one man he’s always wanted to make his.

Excerpt

“There you go.” Scott sounded smug. “So you’re gonna let yourself have this. You’ve made amends. You’ve apologized to Beck. You’re gonna be his friend.”

“Yeah.”

What if I want to be more than just his friend?

But Micah didn’t say it. He probably didn’t need to, the way Scott kept hinting that there might be something more between them.

“Listen, you’re a good friend, so just be that guy I know who’s under those ridiculous suits, and you’re gonna be just fine.”

“My suits aren’t ridiculous.”

They were extra not ridiculous, especially after he’d worn his new camel plaid suit the other day, on the way to Toronto, and he’d been far too aware of Beck’s eyes skimming over him when they’d been boarding the plane.

He looked good, he knew he looked good, and it had felt satisfying that Beck had been forced to acknowledge just how good.

Especially when he was still so caught on how Beck looked.

“Son, they’re ridiculous, but it’s alright. It’s your thing. I’m just glad you’re expressing yourself now.”

Scott didn’t have to say it bluntly because Micah already knew what he really meant: you’re not too afraid to express yourself anymore.

“Thanks.”

“So you’re gonna fix things, huh?” Scott continued.

“I apologized, yeah. And he said he wanted to be friends again.”

“What’re you gonna do about that?”

“Geez, Dad, ask an easier question,” Micah retorted.

Scott laughed. “And here Asa thinks our only kid is Beau.”

“You’ve got an entire team of kids,” Micah pointed out.

“Plus one more.” Scott’s voice was warm.

And while Micah had known he wouldn’t lose Scott’s friendship—or Asa’s respect—when he left Miami, it felt good to hear it, too.

Clearing his throat, Micah tried to change the subject. “What do you mean, what am I gonna do about it? We’re friends.”

“Friends spend time with each other, Micah. You gonna invite him over? Meet him out for a drink? How about what you’re gonna tell him? He’s going to want to know why you left Miami.”

“I don’t know. Some of those, I guess.” Micah could admit he hadn’t thought that far. He’d been pretty stuck on just getting the apology out—and hoping Beck listened to it.

“You should tell him.” Scott’s voice was knowing.

“About what happened with Sebastian? Hell no.”

He knew how he’d feel if Beck told him about some guy he’d been attracted to. Because it had happened more than once, and Micah had hated it every single time, even though he’d refused to do anything about it.

“You can’t just talk to me, no matter how much it warms my heart to know you don’t think I’m some old, washed-up, uncool dude,” Scott teased.

“Fine, fine, I’ll talk to him about some of it.” Not about Sebastian, and why we didn’t get along. That’s way too far.

“Invite him over for a beer,” Scott suggested, “and then when he’s there, get close on the couch—”

“Enough!” Micah yelped. He stood and started pacing. How had being just friends with Beck been so easy before and now felt impossible? “You’re supposed to be helping me be his friend.”

“Come on, Rose, we both know that’s not what you really want.”

“It’s all I’m gonna get.”

“It’s all you’re gonna get if you don’t make it clear you’re crazy about him.”

“Maybe I’m not.” He knew how stubborn he sounded.

Scott scoffed. “Don’t lie to me. Especially not when it’s so freaking obvious. You’re absolutely head over heels for that guy. Don’t do either of you the disservice of pretending otherwise.”

“He probably doesn’t—”

But Micah didn’t get the rest of it out.

“You’re never gonna know if you don’t say anything. But, that said,” Scott said with a chuckle, “maybe try to be friends for a little while first. Get used to each other again.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“You keep calling me that like I’m gonna hate it, and so far, not so much,” Scott teased.

About the Author 

A lifelong Pacific Northwester, Beth Bolden has just recently moved to North Carolina with her supportive husband. 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 has published over forty novels and novellas.

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Tea and Antipathy (Damien Murphy Pet Sitting and Murder Investigations) by Meredith Spies

BOOK BLAST

Book Title:  Tea and Antipathy (Damien Murphy Pet Sitting and Murder Investigations Book 1) 

Author and Publisher:  Meredith Spies 

Cover Artist: Samantha Santana/Amai Designs 

Release Date: June 31, 2023

Genre: Cozy mystery, MM romance that is cozy-specific 

Tropes: fish out of water, opposites attract, murder in a small town, quirk small town, amateur sleuth, pet sidekick

Themes: self-discovery, not all that glitters is gold, starting over, letting go of the past

Length:  72 000 words/246 pages

Heat Rating:  None - There’s a romance subplot but as it’s a cozy mystery, it is a slow build across the series with no on-page sex.

It’s the first book in the series. It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger.

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Damien Murphy isn’t a detective, but he played one on T.V. once.

Blurb 

Not everyone could say their luck started improving the day they got hit by a car, but not everyone was me. Which was good because one me is all the town of Lester Cove can handle.

Ever since, murder's been afoot and my new friend seems to be right in the thick of things. Mrs. Witte is a sweet older lady but she cannot keep herself from getting involved with the murder mystery, and her stepson Benjamin seems to think that’s somehow my fault.

Look, I’m just a washed up child star turned accidental pet sitter and sometimes plucky sidekick. I had nothing to do with the deaths that seem to be happening at an alarming rate, deaths Mrs. Witte wants me to help solve. Dealing with Ben's antipathy is on my list, right below cleaning up after a dead woman's dog.

Excerpt 

Renee Rhodes was everything. She was the raspy voiced, designer dud wearing, theatrical queen I’d hoped she’d be in person.

It was like Liza Minnelli and Tyne Daly had somehow managed to have a baby then Tim Curry got involved somehow with Kander and Ebb doing the score and—

 I stepped into the theater lobby which was all done up for the reception with swags of silver and gold bunting and huge (fake) flower arrangements in glossy black Art Deco style vases. I barely had time to take it in before Renee Rhodes, in all her elegant glory, came sweeping down on me from behind the buffet table, calling out in her kitschy Mid-Atlantic tones, “I was so worried you’d changed your mind! You’re late!”

Swept into a swirl of vintage Halston jersey, a heavy-handed application of Fracas with a soupcon of Bombay Sapphire cutting through it all, I couldn’t answer for fear of asphyxiating on either a mouthful of fabric or the fumes.  She released me after a tight embrace and a waxy-lipped cheek kiss which I dutifully returned (sans waxy lips—my gloss was very light, thank you, and not at all sticky), she did that old person thing where they hold you at arm’s length and give you a look.

“I, ah, had car trouble outside of town. Something went kerflooey with the engine, I think. Or maybe the oil pan? I just know there was a lot of smoke.”

Ms. Rhodes tsked, looping her arm over my shoulder and giving me a tiny shake. “That’s why I went electric,” she pronounced. “It’s the only responsible way to get around these days, especially in a place like Lester Cove. No public transit, unless you count the ferry,” she added in a throaty stage whisper heard by pretty much everyone around us. “Now, come along, let me introduce you to the charming playwrights who’ve submitted their work for us to judge this weekend!” I had no choice but to follow her flowing jersey knit clad back towards the long refreshment table where she topped up her drink before gesturing towards the bottles in mute offer. I nodded, reaching for a wine glass before she stilled my hand and redirected it towards the stronger stuff.

“You’re gonna need it,” she muttered. “Have you read the packet of plays yet? It’s a lot.”

“I had the chance to look at some of the entries on the way here,” I said wincing at the sharp taste of the gin rickey she’d directed me towards. “They’re really engaging and—”

Ms. Rhodes snorted into her very full martini glass (the vermouth had been a mere whisper of an afterthought whisked away as soon as it entered her mind, apparently). “Most of them are amateurish, downright juvenile which isn’t surprising considering how Charlie treated the contest like some final exam for his students. The ones that aren’t high school efforts are so drab I wanted to scream, darling.” Something in my expression made her pause, offering me a small, not at all apologetic smile. “Forgive me. After years of being simply immersed in the craft, I find it’s hard to shake the inherent snobbery. I appreciate their enthusiasm, but they don’t understand theatre,” she said, this time keeping her voice low enough for just us two. The gala was more crowded than I’d anticipated for such a small town, the press of bodies dressed in everything from smart-casual wear to what looked like prom get-ups on some of the younger attendees forcing us to the side of the room, near a door discretely marked Box Office Management. “They crave it though. So many of them, especially the older generations, go all the way to the city for shows.”

“New York,” I murmured, not quite a question but laced with a bit of disbelief. New York was at least a half day’s drive from Lester Cove, quite a way to go for a play.

“Of course. I certainly don’t mean Bangor,” she tittered. “It’s a lovely city in its own right, but the theatre scene there is nothing like the city.” She exhaled gustily, pushing one of her brassy curls back from her eyes and glancing about, finding her angles before taking another sip of her gin, making sure she was displayed to her best advantage like a true professional. “Nothing is, really.”

“Renee!” A man giving young Kevin Kline vibes but when he was in In and Out, not A Fish Called Wanda, strode across the lobby towards us. Dressed in a wine-red three-piece suit, he stood out among the browns, navy and blacks peppering the crowd, though he didn’t seem bothered by the looks. In fact, he gave a few familiar nods and a quick smile or two on his way over before stopping short of Ms. Rhodes and folding his arms.  “It’s been three months! I’ve been patient but--”

“Charlie! You absolute doll!” She leaned in and gave him a smacking kiss on each cheek. Charlie blushed and, somewhat awkwardly, returned the gesture, not quite meeting her skin but giving a little mwah sound.

A for effort, really.

“Damien, this is my dear old friend, Charlie Arnold. Well, old,” she tittered. “He’s a few years my junior but shhhh, don’t let on. Everyone thinks I’m at least ten years younger than I really am!”

I nodded, smiling. No one thought that, I was certain, but cultivating a certain mystique was so old Hollywood of her. “I’ll never tell.”

Charlie Arnold shifted a bit uncomfortably, tilting his head in the direction of the office behind us. “Do you have a moment? We need to talk about—”

“Now, Charlie darling, now is not the time,” Ms. Rhodes protested, patting his arm with the very tips of her brightly painted fingernails. “We’re in the midst of a gala!”

Charlie followed the direction of Ms. Rhodes’ waving arm. His lips tightened and shoulders stiffened as he turned back to face us. “That might well be, Renee, but the fact remains you made a promise—a legally binding promise—and—”

Ms. Rhodes’ smile was fixed and bright but distinctly unpleasant. “Charlie,” she gritted out. “This is not the time. Save your speeches for your students.”

“Renee,” Charlie said, straightening, shedding some of the deference he’d carried over just moments before, “you’ve been dodging me. Every planning meeting, every casual drinks evening, you’ve been avoiding the subject. It’s past time you dropped the charade.”

“You’re embarrassing me,” she whispered. “We’ll talk tomorrow!”.

“I’ve given you forty-odd years of tomorrow, Charlie and later, Charlie,” he snapped,  “I’m tired of waiting, Renee. You owe me this much.”

“And,” she said, shooting me an apologetic eye roll, “we can talk tomorrow, Charlie. I assure you, you will not be disappointed.”

She gave his arm a firm pat then and, turning her back on him with a swish of jersey and perfume, took me by the elbow and steered me away from Charlie Arnold. “I’m so sorry about that little scene.” She sighed. “Charlie’s a dear old friend but he just can’t accept the fact some things are just done.”

“A lot of folks are upset about your retirement,” I demurred. “You’re quite the performer.”

She snorted delicately, giving me a nudge. “I’m an old broad who should’ve retired five years before I did,” she chided. “I just hung on because I wasn’t ready to admit my critics were right. I’d gotten to the point where I was just playing versions of myself, you know?”

My face warmed as I nodded. “I’m familiar with the feeling.”

About the Author 

Meredith Spies (they/them/theirs) is a queer, nonbinary author who lives far away and writes queer-centered stories with romance in them and queer romances with stories in them. They believe that pineapple goes on pizza, that there’s no reason for open toed boots, and everyone deserves a happily ever after.

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