Release Blitz + Giveaway: Criminal by Proxy by S.E. Smyth

 

Title:  Criminal by Proxy

Author: S.E. Smyth

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/25/2022

Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 75700

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, Coming out, college, criminals, dark, doctors, enemies/rivals to lovers, established couple, friends to lovers, gender-bending, hurt/comfort, illness/disease, in the closet, law enforcement, lawyers, medical personnel, mental illness, over 40, prison, private detective, reunited, revenge, road trip, security guards, soulmates, tear-jerker, therapist, UST

Add to Goodreads

Description

Christine is on the hunt to find out more about her great aunt, Rose, hoping to decipher their severed relationship and the murder Rose committed, for which June is in prison. With a stroke leaving Rose incapacitated, it’s a rush against time to find the truth.

Things are doubly complicated when Christine’s girlfriend Terrie is accused of assaulting someone. Nervous about what she might do next, Christine and her friends avoid Terrie. With everything at stake, Christine must stick to the cold hard facts, reminding herself not to let her emotions get in the way.

Christine must evaluate everything happening in her life. The weight of the events buried by her aunt so many years before and the shame of the actions of the love of her life rest squarely on her. If the eyes of the law are always 20/20, how do love, emotion, and insecurities distort fact?

Excerpt

Criminal by Proxy
SE Smyth © 2022
All Rights Reserved

Dear Rose

“I loved her… That’s what I tell myself at least,” June uttered. Her exertion, her plea, resonated. “I told her that…yelled across the courtroom…in 1968, the day I went to prison, and I’ve said it a thousand times since.”

June had been a psychiatrist years ago, but Christine was the one listening now, decades later.

Christine was pretending to be a law student to get information, clarity on historical facts about the actions of her great-aunt Rose from the time she was in a mental hospital in the late 1950s. Her aunt, who was in her seventies, was not in Christine’s direct blood line but rather the child of her grandmother’s sister. She’d lived with Christine’s aunts and uncles and family from a young age, nonetheless. Christine had gathered scattered details in bits and pieces all her life. Every other family holiday or so, some new bit of information would surface. But she never asked. It was something everyone quietly avoided to begin with.

June had been Rose’s psychiatrist at one point while she was in a mental hospital. Sometime after she was released, she’d moved in with June, and they had developed a relationship. Rose had ended up shooting and killing a man, but Christine was confused about the chain of events and who was to blame. June was in prison, and Rose had been free since 1972.

Several letters followed the initial blunt hello letter to June. In those, they discussed basic things Christine got wrong and developed a loose friendship. After about four letters, Christine suggested a meeting. June recommended an interview room since she was a student, and Christine went about finding out if it was possible.

In an act of indiscretion, she set up an appointment to see the infamous June, someone she had recently found out to be Aunt Rose’s ex-lover. This interview, her time in the room with a prisoner who held a life sentence, was dedicated to asking questions to elucidate events from decades ago, that her aunt Rose never discussed.

Christine attempted to gauge if June was telling the truth. She needed to know if the legal decision was warranted. She was sure if she listened very carefully, she could figure out if June actually did love Aunt Rose and if the correct decision had been made in the courtroom in 1968. All this, Christine attempted to assess with a conversation. She would have an answer by the end of the conversation. It was her only objective.

June wasn’t the same person she had been years ago—when June had loved Aunt Rose and Aunt Rose had presumably loved her. That fact stuck out. Christine’s initial assessment was any flame June still held for Aunt Rose was one-sided.

June only half faced her, sitting sideways on the chair, the corner of which stuck out between her legs. June glanced over her shoulder. She held a waning seventy years in her limbs, but she still glowed with energy. Christine didn’t mind she threw a sneer down across her nose. Christine pried and chipped at information at first, but the conversation soon flowed more smoothly.

Christine had first heard about June from her great-aunt, who kicked up old memories and dropped them right away. Christine let her get away with her excuses—she didn’t remember. June was her aunt’s ex-lover. She mentioned she was in prison. That was everything her aunt would tell her. Christine had found out June was labeled a criminal by the media. She was a prisoner with a life sentence. Aunt Rose had fired the gun, but they’d given the slot in prison to June. Christine imagined her day, filled with bitter resentment for her free ex-lover. The lover who didn’t contact her. There had to be bad blood. Christine eyed her goal at this point—information. She needed to know what had happened. Christine was interrogating her, asking her to relive it for a law school report, what she thought about the case so many years later. Unfairly picking at issues June wasn’t ready to answer, she continued the questions.

June went on, describing everything in bits and pieces. She would pause and continue, restart with irrelevant comments, diverting the conversation. “It was different all that time ago. All the hoopla over something agreed to be truth. If someone thought you were a lesbian and if they caught you, arms were up in the air—sirens roared. It was a travesty, and something was done about it.” June continued on about the past, how people thought of her and talked about her.

She spoke about the past as if events weren’t real, as if life were a story she was reading to children, the grim side of a fairy tale. Off and on, June would shift, indicating her tongue had taken her too far. She shouldn’t have let the full story go. Her knowledge was an out-of-body reflection, too real. The trauma showed through.

Christine’s life of rumors, her life, seemed trivial. Three close friends gossiped about Christine and the woman she’d slept with last summer, Amy. Her friends told her to move on, but she wouldn’t let the friendship go. They said, “She’ll mess you up.” It was still the same shameful behavior: whispered gossip, stern talks, and scandalous goings-on. Her reality was different from June’s in that Christine didn’t have the same amount to lose. Nothing was a malicious, life-ruining assault.

“We were taking risks. Real risks. Higher stakes than today. I didn’t want to change the world or loosen people’s opinions. I wanted love. She gave me that. So, what else was I supposed to do?” June said. She grabbed at short tufts of hair at the base of her head.

“What people were doing was so important. I don’t want to say it wasn’t. We had love, and we wanted to keep it. We fought that battle every day from our apartment, from our place of work. In a way, very quietly, but we fought. We certainly didn’t change the minds of the world when the murder happened. We acknowledged how strong our love was before the murder. It was so well bonded that I still love her now, after all these years.” Her words softened and rounded as she spoke again about her love. She dipped her head as if the frown that extended cheek to cheek were pulling it down.

Wrinkles emerged in the corners of June’s eyes as Christine tapped her pencil. Christine stopped to cease any errant irritation. When Christine tried to bring June back and force her to be present, talk about the case, June’s vocal qualities changed.

The soft voice June spoke with when talking about the past and love disappeared into one of an aged woman when she spoke about what was going on in her life now. “You see. They all believe me in here now. I love her. My friends in prison. It’s okay to be gay, even though it definitely wasn’t when they locked me up.”

Christine sat stiffly as a board in the chair listening to June, catching every word. As she performed the gesture, she committed to brushing off immature and unserious actions, those not indicative of a law student. She was already in a precarious balance with June, a relaxed new friend facing a studious law student—both skeptical of masked lies, strangers in an unfamiliar room. Christine’s great-aunt Rose was dying. Who was this woman she kept speaking of?

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

S.E. Smyth is a versatile author putting words into the world. The stories she tells are never exactly how they happened. Elusive as she proclaims she is, you can usually find her nose buried in primary sources plotting a story. Despite persisting historical references, she wholeheartedly believes she lives in the present.

She resides in a smaller sort of town in Pennsylvania, carries heavy things for her wife, rubs cat bellies, and can often be seen taking brisk walks. The household is certain there is something odd going on. She and her wife travel when the air is right looking for antique stores, bike trails, and the perfect beach. S.E. rises unnecessarily early and usually falls asleep by 9 p.m.

Website | Facebook | Twitter

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

 

Author Lucy Moon and Indigo Marketing promote LGBTQIA+ romance, Ace of Hearts from NineStar Press! Find out more about the new adult contemporary and enter in the NSP credit giveaway today!

Title:  Ace of Hearts

Author: Lucy Mason

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 10/04/2022

Heat Level: 1 - No Sex

Pairing: Male/Female

Length: 60200

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, Romance, contemporary, new adult, family-drama, asexual, college students, sports injury, fake marriage, slow burn, friends to lovers, abusive father, depression

Add to Goodreads

Description

Hesper Stalides and Felix Morlan have been best friends for as long as they can remember, bonding over their troubled home lives. When a horrible sports injury derails Felix’s promising career and results in the loss of his scholarship, Hesper offers a proposition: a year-long marriage of convenience so he can get free tuition at the college where she works. 

It isn’t supposed to be complicated…until they fall in love for real. When Hesper reveals that she’s asexual, Felix must reassess everything he thinks about love and ask himself what he’s willing to sacrifice for a future with Hesper—before the past she’s spent her life running from can take her away from him forever.

Excerpt

Ace of Hearts
Lucy Mason © 2022
All Rights Reserved

Hesper

It was not my Felix Morlan lying in the hospital bed, tangled in the sterile white sheets. He was the bravest, funniest, most cheerful man I knew, strong enough to make up for it when his friends were weak, and this wasn’t him. I brushed his dark hair away from his forehead, which was glistening with sweat, pain hazing over his eyes.

“Sorry I scared you, Hes.” His voice cracked, and I handed him a Styrofoam cup filled with cold water and ice chips.

“I’m just glad you’re…”

Okay? Of course he wasn’t okay. One of his teammates had shown me a replay of the hit that had hyperextended his knee and destroyed his ACL. It had been on mute, and Felix was wearing a helmet that obscured part of his face, but the contorted expression of agony was seared into my memory. He may or may not have blacked out from the pain; I wasn’t sure because I quit watching, unable to stomach it.

“Want me to call the nurse?” I asked tentatively.

He turned his head away, but not before I caught the shine of tears gathering in his eyes. His leg was wrapped heavily in dressings, but I’d seen it when he came out of surgery, exhausted but too frightened to sleep while I waited. The skin around his knee was swollen, an angry red color where staples held the surgical wounds closed. I’d sat by his bed, sketching on the small pad I kept in Calamity, my old Jeep, while he slept off the anesthesia. But he was awake now, and he twisted his calloused hands in the sheets.

“They’ll be keeping me for observation for a few days. Go home and get some rest.”

“Nope.”

“Some of the guys from the team will stop by and—”

“Nope,” I reiterated firmly, crossing my arms.

It was a policy we’d had with each other our whole lives, and it didn’t change even when we’d moved halfway across the country together for college: we had nobody else here, but we had each other. He’d watched my back, and I would watch his. Felix and I had been best friends since we were old enough to walk and talk. Now, his mom was in jail while his dad was busy raising his six younger siblings, and I had run away from Missouri to avoid getting an order of protection against my own father. We’d basically raised each other. I wasn’t running away at the first sign of trouble.

“Show me.” He held out one hand for my sketch pad and I clutched it to my chest. “Come on.”

Normally this was fine. I’d draw tables covered in leaves, teacups and books and pocket watches and chunks of amethyst and rusty old keys, the kind of things I found aesthetically soothing. But I’d been doing something different while he slept, trying to erase the memory of his pain in the video replay of his injury. I’d drawn the slightly blocky angle of his jaw, his mouth turned up in half a smile, a five-o’clock shadow dusting the sides of his face. I’d drawn him happy, my best copy of the way he looked in my favorite memory of him.

I contemplated crumpling the page before he could see it.

Instead, I flipped back to an earlier page where I’d been doing a study of the trees outside his hospital window, light filtering through them in an orange haze as the sun rose. I hadn’t been able to quite capture it with the small bag of pencils I had on hand, but it was enough that he got the idea.

“Remind me again why you aren’t going into this?” He sounded clearer than he had in several hours, his eyes focused on my sketch pad. It was an uncomfortable feeling, to see someone marvel at my work. Like being under a microscope.

“No steady paycheck,” I reminded him, counting the reasons I’d rehearsed to people a hundred thousand times off on my fingers. “Deadlines would push me to create when I didn’t feel like it. I would grow to hate it if I had to do it for a living. The pressure would be too intense.”

I didn’t list the other reason. Sometimes it took every ounce of energy I possessed just to get up in the morning. Sometimes I simply didn’t have enough inside me to both function and create. Art was my escape. If I turned it into another source of stress, where would I hide when the rest of the world got to be too much? What would I do to restore the balance?

“Those are all good reasons,” he agreed begrudgingly, and he reached back over to hand the pad back to me, twisting slightly to do so.

He didn’t say a word but the set of his mouth and eyebrows told me he’d moved wrong, in a way that would have left him screaming if he hadn’t been so heavily medicated. My chest hurt, my lungs burning because I just couldn’t get enough oxygen in, because I couldn’t breathe looking at the way my best friend suffered. This was the sort of thing you read about in the paper or heard about on the news. It happened to other people, sure. But it wasn’t supposed to happen to Felix.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Lucy lives in rural southern Illinois with a frankly ridiculous amount of yarn and books. During the day she works in adult education and by night she’s a writer and dabbler in yarncrafts. She knits, loves video games and podcasts, and cries over fictional characters regularly.

Website | Twitter

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Release Blitz + Giveaway: River Hag (The Devil's in the Details #5) by Pelaam

 

River Hag by Pelaam

Book 5 in the The Devil's in the Details series

General Release Date: 30th August 2022

Word Count: 32,322
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 137

Genres:

ANGELS AND DEMONS
CONTEMPORARY
GAY
GLBTQI
PARANORMAL

Add to Goodreads

Book Description

Sometimes, a friend in need can be deadly in deed.

Keegan has an abusive stepfather, Frank, and is bullied at college. He dodges bullies, led by Owen, by hiding close to the river. He tells his friend about the attacks and his narrow escape. The next day in college, pondweed is found in Owen’s locker, and he blames Keegan. The pondweed is sent to John Bull, and on examination is found to have a paranormal resonance, so he sends Emery, Alex and Kadin to investigate.

When Owen is found drowned in a bathtub, secured with pondweed, the team believe they’re dealing with a grindylow—a river hag. They need to establish whether the creature is acting for its own ends or at someone’s direction. Circumstances point to Keegan, but the team can’t find the connection and feel time is running out.

The next victim is Keegan’s stepfather, and with Keegan missing, Kadin decides to try to communicate with his spirit. He learns that the grindylow is protecting Keegan, but the team know that its nature means that Bo, now Keegan’s lover, will be the next victim.

But first, they need to find Keegan.

Reader advisory: This book portrays the deaths of two secondary characters.

Excerpt

From his bedroom doorway, Keegan winced as he listened to his mother and stepfather argue. He hoped it didn’t end as so many of them had before, with his mother sporting a new bruise and claiming she’d walked into a door, tripped and fallen or inadvertently punched herself when changing the duvet.

The rows had increased in frequency and intensity over the last couple of years. He wants me out of the house, but I didn’t get the qualifications I needed to go to uni. I spent too much time babysitting. At least with my brother Jonnie now being at school, he doesn’t have to see or hear this.

“He needs a fucking job, not this stupid college thing.” Frank’s voice boomed up the stairs, and Keegan cringed closer to the doorframe.

Getting into college had been his one saving hope. That by studying there, he’d upgrade his qualifications enough to secure a place in university. But the college was no haven. The class bully had found Keegan to be a suitable victim, and his life there was being made a misery. And that homophobic prick of a principal has done nothing to stop it.

“He’s been bullied.” Keegan’s mother’s voice was starting to waiver, and Keegan clenched his hands into fists.

“Then he needs to be a man and deal with it, not run and hide behind you. Pathetic little pansy. You’ve made him soft.”

That was the last straw. Keegan ran down the stairs and into the living room.

“Don’t you dare diss my mother.” Anger sizzled through Keegan’s veins, even though Frank had several inches and almost a hundred pounds on him.

“Well, maybe if you were as quick to defend yourself, you wouldn’t get bullied.” Frank stuck his meaty fists onto his hips. “She says you’re taking a mental health day. Well, fuck that. Either you go to that college like you’re meant to or you drop out and find somewhere else to live. I’m not having a freeloader living here. I work, she works and either you study and move out or quit and move out. I don’t care which.”

“It’s too late to go in now, and the college allows students to take odd days off, so there’s no issue with today. I’ll be back there tomorrow, and as soon as I can, I’ll be out of here.”

“Keegan, no.” His mother looked devastated, and he hurried to clasp her hands, leaning in to whisper in her ear.

“And as soon as I have somewhere settled, you and Jonnie are coming to live with me. Don’t think his fists will stop at you. You have to think of Jonnie.”

“Why don’t you go out for a nice walk by the river?” Ellie smiled at him, even if her lips trembled. “There are fixings for sandwiches in the fridge and a couple of cans of soda. Maybe some friends will join you after class.”

“Too fucking soft.” Frank scowled as he pushed his way past Keegan and his mother, and Keegan let out a silent sigh of relief.

“Go. Hurry.” Ellie jerked her head toward the kitchen and moved as if to shield him from Frank’s view.

It didn’t take Keegan long to make up a set of cheese and pickle sandwiches for himself and some tuna ones in a separate wrapper. Adding a packet of chips and a can of soda to each, he bundled them up securely

Keegan packed the two separate sets of food into a rucksack and went out through the kitchen door. The last thing he needed was to run into his stepfather again. Keegan didn’t have to think where he could go. He already had a favorite part of the river.

This wasn’t the part of the wall and river that tourists frequented. It was in a quiet and secluded area. There was a secondary trail worn where people had left the main pathway and which disappeared into a mix of undergrowth and trees that overhung the river.

After a few minutes of determined ducking and weaving, Keegan emerged at a comfortable place to sit, hidden from the walkers along the top of the wall and from the few equally dogged fishermen who lined the riverbank.

Several meters to his left was a thick overhang of trees, impossible to penetrate, but Keegan gave a whistle, which was answered a moment later.

“Hi, Ginny. How are you, today?” Keegan settled down and dug into his rucksack.

“Very well. I didn’t expect you.” The voice was soft and slightly accented, and Keegan sighed.

“Yeah, well. I should be in college, but I took the day off. There’s a class bully who has decided I’m fair game, and I just couldn’t handle it today. Here… I made you up a snack pack.” Keegan tossed the well-packed tuna sandwiches, chips and drink over the impenetrable foliage.

The rustling noise confirmed that Ginny had it, and he chuckled softly at the rapid crunching noises.

“You really like chips. You can have mine, too. The sandwiches will be enough for me.”

“Chips are good.” There was a suitable pause before the crunching resumed.

“You know, we’ve talked for a long time. It’s nice to have a friend I can chat with. I wish you didn’t keep your distance, though.” Keegan peered into the bushes, but it was impossible for him to see through to the other side. “I wish you didn’t have to live this way.”

“I’m not like you.” Ginny finally whispered. “I don’t want you to not talk to me anymore.”

“Why would I do that? Because you’re homeless and live rough? That doesn’t bother me.”

“Tell me about this bully.” Ginny spoke the word as if it were unfamiliar, and Keegan took a bite from his sandwich while he considered her request.

“Usual story… He’s big and brash, has a couple of sycophants who hang off his every cruel word and mean joke. Look… You have your secret about living here, and I have mine. I’m gay. I like boys. I always have. There was never a time when I wanted a girlfriend. Do you still want to be my friend?”

“Yes. Boy, girl, all the same. No difference.”

“I’m glad to hear you say so. There are a lot of people who wouldn’t agree with that sentiment at all. Well, anyway, Owen found out I was gay. He has left stuff in my locker, on my desk and would have probably given me a beating on one occasion if one of the other students hadn’t noticed something going on and come over to investigate.”

“Hurt you?” Ginny’s voice grew sharper, and Keegan shivered as a cool breeze disturbed the normal sheltered aspect of his hiding place.

“Don’t worry. He didn’t.” Not yet anyway. Keegan had no illusions that while Owen remained at the college, there would inevitably be a confrontation. But I need this course to get to uni. Better to go as a mature student than to never go at all.

“He shouldn’t hurt you.” Ginny stated firmly.

“No, he shouldn’t, and neither should anyone else, but haters gotta hate. Maybe someday they’ll see that the color of your skin, or who you love, doesn’t make you any more or less human. We’re all equal. All the same.”

“Same.” Ginny echoed the word, then fell silent. “Someone’s coming.”

Almost as soon as Ginny had spoken, Keegan heard indistinct voices. No one comes down here. Unless you know about it, there’s no way to see any of this from up on the wall. Then Keegan’s blood ran cold.

“You sure this is where he comes?” Owen’s voice boomed out, filled with anger and irritation. “There’s nothing here. Nowhere he could go.”

“This is where I was told he came.”

Keegan recognized the second voice as one of Owen’s hangers-on and groaned softly.

“Ginny, it’s Owen, the bully I told you about. He’s looking for me.”

“For you?” Ginny whispered. “Stay still. Say nothing.”

“I can’t risk it.” Keegan tugged on his beanie, tucking his distinctive auburn waves inside it. “I don’t want him coming down here. I don’t want him to find out about you and that this is where you live. It would never be the same again or safe for you.”

“You’re willing to protect me?” Ginny’s voice sounded so much like a lost child’s that Keegan’s heart ached for her.

“Yes, I would. Now you stay here.”

“No. You stay.” Ginny’s sharp hiss surprised Keegan, but it did the trick. Halfway to his feet, Keegan dropped back onto his ass with a muted grunt.

“What are you doing?” he asked, but there was only the rustle of foliage as Ginny moved. “Ginny!” Keegan whispered a little louder then fell silent at the approaching crunch of booted feet on resilient foliage.

“He’s not gonna walk along this. It’s too difficult for a fag like him.” Owen‘s increasingly irritated voice was gut-churningly close, and Keegan held his breath, turning his face to hide it.

“Maybe he walks along the bank, then.” Another voice. “There may be a niche down there. After all, the fishermen go there.”

“He probably tries to pick them up.” Owen’s callous sneer jabbed into Keegan’s heart.

Better he thinks that than tries to come this way. There’s no escape if he finds me. And no one would know my body was here except Ginny. Who’d believe her over Owen and his gang? Even if she dared to report it to the police.

Keegan’s increasingly dark thoughts were disrupted by another shout from Owen. He held his breath, hoping that his choice of drab colors for clothing worked their usual magic and let him go unnoticed.

“What’s that? I thought I saw something…in the water.”

“I can only see weeds. The river’s really dingy down here. Can’t imagine anyone fishing in this.” A third voice responded to Owen. “It’s slippery. Watch out!”

Even as they called out, there was a splash, followed by Owen’s loud cursing.

“Don’t fucking stand there gawping. Get me out. Fucking weeds are everywhere. I’m fucking soaked. My trainers will be ruined, and they cost a packet. Dad’ll be furious.”

“You can come back to my place.” The second voice offered. “Dry off there. We’ll come up with some excuse for what happened.”

“Yeah.” The third voice added. “A good reason why you’d be near to water.”

The voices grew fainter, and Keegan began to breathe easier. Then Ginny’s voice startled him, coming from the right rather than the usual left.

“They’ve gone now. It’s safe for you to finish eating.”

“Thanks, Ginny. I need a minute or two to calm down. I thought he had me, then.” Keegan opened his soda and took a couple of deep swallows, before setting it down again. “Thank goodness Owen slipped into the river.” Keegan could help but giggle. “Serves him right.”

“Eat.” Ginny insisted, and Keegan drew out his sandwiches and ate them, realizing just how hungry he was once he’d started.

“Sorry. I haven’t been much company today, thanks to Owen’s unwanted visit. It’ll be better next time.” Keegan stood and brushed off the breadcrumbs decorating his gray hoodie. “I don’t think Owen will come back here after his dip in the river.”

“He won’t be back.” Ginny sounded so assured that Keegan smiled.

“You saw him fall in, didn’t you?” he chuckled. “Wish I could have seen it, too. But I needed to make sure he didn’t spot me or find out about our little sanctuary.”

“Sanctuary?” Ginny asked and Keegan nodded, unsure of whether she could see him or not.

“Somewhere I can come and feel safe, be myself now you know I’m gay. Well, I’d better go. I have homework to do, and I want to read up on a few things to be ready for my class tomorrow.”

Keegan dodged his way through the foliage and was just in time to see Ginny duck behind one of the thicker trees beside the riverbank. Fuck, that sludgy-green blanket she has looks disgusting. Maybe I can bring her a new one—even some of my old T-shirts.

“I’ll see you soon, Ginny.” Keegan waved toward the tree as he made his way up to the wall.”

“Soon.” Ginny called after him, but when he glanced back, there was no sign of her—just the foliage, the river and the weeds that floated in its center.

Buy Links

Choose Your Store
First For Romance

About the Author

Pelaam

Living in clean, green New Zealand, Pelaam is a multi-published author of gay romance and erotica. When not working at writing, Pelaam likes to indulge in her other passions of cookery and wine appreciation.

Giveaway

Enter for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group. 

 a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Release Blitz + Giveaway: Made of Folded Paper by Kai Wolden

Author Kai Wolden and Pride Publishing celebrate the release of Made of Folded Paper! Read more about the contemporary romance and enter in the First Romance giveaway!
 

Made of Folded Paper by Kai Wolden

General Release Date: 10th May 2022

Word Count: 35,645
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 131

Genres:

BISEXUAL
CONTEMPORARY
GAY
GLBTQI
ROMANCE
TRANSGENDER

Add to Goodreads

Book Description

College friendships are supposed to last a lifetime… But this is a little more complicated…

Will, a daydreamer and romantic from small-town Iowa, starts his first year at Weston Academy of the Arts, where his peers nickname him “Iowa.” Iowa becomes acquainted with a charismatic thespian named LA, who introduces him to his two best friends—Cynic, a suave and sardonic musician, and Charlie, a reserved and enigmatic writer.

Over time, Iowa becomes increasingly fascinated with his three new friends in different ways, forming a brotherly bond with LA and a more complex connection with Cynic. Only Charlie remains distant, capturing Iowa’s intrigue most of all.

When Iowa catches a glimpse of an alarming scar on Charlie’s chest, he becomes obsessively concerned about him. He begins to view Charlie as a fragile, tragic figure—but when he finally breaks through Charlie’s barriers, he discovers that this couldn’t be further from the truth.

As Iowa is overcome by intensifying feelings for Charlie, the group dynamic grows tense. It turns out Charlie and Cynic have a history, and seeing Charlie and Iowa together just might be enough to drive Cynic off the rails…

As graduation approaches, the four friends’ relationships are tested by jealousy, heartbreak and tragedy. Will love be enough to hold them together in the end?

Reader advisory: This book includes the death of a character in a drunk-driving incident. There are mentions of substance abuse, self-harm and depression, as well as mentions of suicide, homophobia, and transphobia.

Excerpt

I’m not sure when I first started fictionalizing my life, casting everyone around me in glamorous roles, romanticizing their flaws and my own. Maybe it was in middle school, when life was hell and it made things so much easier to imagine that the mean kids had secret, tortured home lives—neglectful parents, dead siblings, empty cupboards, holes in the roof that let in the rain. Maybe it was in high school, when I skipped class and hid in the back of the library with a stack of books, listening to the other truants who slipped between the shelves for more sensational reasons, contriving storylines for their hurried love affairs, illicit exchanges and muffled heartbroken sobs. Maybe it was after high school, those nights working at the general store, where drunks shuffled in to buy cigarettes and pornography, where my boss told me not to accept checks from Black people, where one year off to save money for college turned into another and another while at home my father slowly died from lung cancer. Regardless, at some point along the way, I developed a fascination that bordered on fetishism for tragedy.

I had always planned to go to college. There was never a time in those five years that I resigned myself, even for a moment, to a lifetime of working at the general store or the mill where my father had grudgingly labored for most of his life. I made excuses for putting it off year after year—money, my father’s health, my mother’s well-being after he died. She didn’t need me, but I pretended she did, pretended she needed someone to clean the leaves out of the gutters and fix the leaky pipes at the very least. I put into that drafty old clapboard house all the love I was never able to give to my father and all the love I wished I could give to my mother that she wouldn’t accept. When she told me she was selling the house and buying a condo in Des Moines, it was like she was telling me she was giving me up for adoption. I was twenty-three, but I curled up in the corner of my closet and cried like I was six. Then I crawled out, grabbed the laptop that I’d scrimped and saved for and lay on the threadbare carpet all night, researching colleges.

I made the economical choice—I would take general classes at a community college, a respected one as far as community colleges went, that was only an hour’s drive from Des Moines. I still wasn’t ready to completely sever those arterial ties with my mother that she’d clipped as easily as an umbilical cord. After two years, I would transfer to a four-year university to complete my bachelor’s degree, though I wasn’t sure yet where I would go or what I would study. I’d only ever loved one thing—books—but there was no money in an English degree, and I needed to make money if I ever wanted to escape Iowa for good. For those two years, in which I worked odd jobs and rented an elderly couple’s basement for almost nothing, provided I helped out around the house, I tried to muster an interest in something else—accounting, real estate, law, anything lucrative and sensible.

But in the end, when I confessed to my guidance counselor that I’d failed, she said impatiently, “Hey, at least you love something. You know how many people live their whole lives and never find anything they love? Do what you love.” So I started applying to English programs.

I had it in mind that I wanted to go to the East Coast—Maine, Massachusetts, New Hampshire or New York. I wanted to get out of the Midwest anyway, and there was something so gloomy and romantic about the East Coast in my mind (I’d never actually been there). But when I added up tuition and living expenses, I just couldn’t make it work, no matter how many financial aid packets and possible scholarships I factored in. I wasn’t a particularly impressive student on paper, though I had done well on my ACTs and written a masterful personal statement on the topic of my father’s agonizing demise. I ended up applying to eight universities across the United States, chosen for the prestige of their English programs, affordability and admittedly the aesthetic of their websites. I got three letters of acceptance, and when I laid them out on the flimsy card table in my rented basement room, it was the one with the thickest paper, the blackest ink and the most elegant sigil at the top—which contained an open book, a pen, a paintbrush and a violin—that drew my eye because I’d never seen anything so beautiful with my name on it. That was how I ended up in Michigan.

I was a bit embarrassed to be starting college at twenty-five—and I did think of it as starting because, compared to Weston Academy of the Arts, my quaint little community college was less than nothing. During the long drive east, then north in my beat-up Toyota with everything I owned rattling around the back seat, I did something I hadn’t done in a while—made up a backstory for myself. My father’s death I would keep, but it would be a boating accident rather than cancer—much more dramatic and devastating. My mother’s estrangement I would also keep, but I would lose her to grief and a pill addiction instead of apathy and a condo in Des Moines. Iowa I would abandon entirely in favor of something a bit superior—Minnesota or Illinois, perhaps—nowhere that would require an accent or change to my mannerisms. I wouldn’t lie about my age, but I would explain it away—a gap year that got out of hand, a spree of reckless behavior after my father’s death, a soul-searching quest across South America, a whirlwind affair with a Columbian woman (I’d taken Spanish in community college). By the time I arrived, I knew my story so well it was almost as if I’d actually lived it. But I never told it to anyone.

It turned out I’d misjudged the student population of Weston. I’d thought they would be wistful romantics like me, and they were. But the people who attended Weston were people who could have gone anywhere, but chose to slum it in Michigan because they romanticized the Midwest, small-town America and working-class, salt-of-the-earth folk like me. There was no better role I could have played than William Paine from Iowa. People called me “Iowa,” and soon enough, I dropped my name and embraced the character. I began to exaggerate certain parts of myself, the parts I could tell my peers most appreciated—my ignorance and inexperience (I didn’t know what Uber was, I’d never tried sushi, I’d never been to Europe), my wealth of practical knowledge (how to change a tire, how to sew on a button, how to fix a wobbly table), my poverty (my old flannel shirts and scuffed work boots, my battered Toyota with its cracked windshield, my job at the campus bookstore where I hauled boxes of textbooks and mopped muddy footprints from the floor).

I played the boy next door, blond and broad-shouldered, wholesome and hard-working, bursting with Midwestern hospitality. I exuded images of green and gold cornfields, boundless blue skies, blood-red sunsets, black storm clouds and ruinous tornados. I manifested the American Gothic—William Faulkner, Flannery O’Connor, Sherwood Anderson, Stephen Crane. I became a warped and grotesque caricature of myself, composed entirely of the qualities I had been most ashamed of and most wanted to leave behind when I started my new life. But my peers reveled in it, and I enjoyed the unfamiliar novelty of being popular, even if it was for all the wrong reasons.

Buy Links

Choose Your Store
First For Romance

About the Author

Kai Wolden

Kai Wolden writes fantasy, sci fi, and contemporary fiction starring queer, trans, and gender-nonconforming characters. Whether it takes place in outer space, a fantasy world, or a modern-day college campus, Kai loves honest, heart-wrenching stories about queer love in all its forms: friendship, romance, found family, and those ambiguous relationships that are somewhere in-between. Growing up queer and trans in small-town Wisconsin, Kai always wished he could find fictional characters who were more like him. Now he's populating the world with them, one book at a time!

Check out Kai's website here.

Giveaway

Enter for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group. 

 a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Release Blitz + Giveaway: Saving the Wedding (Southern Charm #7) by Nicole Dennis

 Author Nicole Dennis and Pride Publishing share new release, Saving the Wedding (Southern Charm #7) ! Learn more about the latest release and enter in the First Romance giveaway!

Saving the Wedding by Nicole Dennis

Book 7 in the Southern Charm series

General Release Date: 10th May 2022

Word Count: 102,663
Book Length: SUPER PLUS NOVEL
Pages: 430

Genres:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI

Add to Goodreads

Book Description

Out of the swirling mix of secrets and a hurricane, can love survive? 

Two years later, part of the Charm family, Gavin Hartfield creates magical memories and events. One of those weddings will be for the Charm’s owners, Samuel Ashford and Dakota Mitchell, if they ever make up their minds. The other one for his ex-boyfriend and his new partner. In the middle of all this, he keeps tangling with a tattooed brusque EMT.

Xavier “Gray” Grayson feels a bit on the outside looking in when it comes to the collection of Charm men. He envies all of them finding love. Pushing his non-existent sex life filled with one-nights at clubs aside, he runs through life as an EMT and college student pushing to better himself. Running along the beach and trails become his relief and sanctuary. Until he keeps tripping over the new event coordinator.

An incoming hurricane takes aim at Shore Breeze. The town braces for the impact. Plans falter and change. Will life, love, and a wedding follow these changes?

Excerpt

Stepping outside on a Saturday morning, Gavin Hartfield, the creator of Charmed Occasions, the wedding and event-planning company within the Southern Charm Bed & Breakfast, touched the Bluetooth wireless earpiece that wrapped around his ear to reset it. Then he adjusted the microphone.

A trio of calls with immediate hang-ups buzzed his phone.

He pulled it out and checked the screen. The area code was from Atlanta, his previous hometown.

There was one person who kept harassing him, no matter how many times he changed his number.

A flicker of a panic attack increased his heartbeat.

Again. All of this. All over again.

He wanted the bastard to leave him alone.

“No. No. Concentrate on the wedding. They deserve your full attention—not an asshole who can’t let go.”

“Help! Gavin! You there?”

Wincing at his assistant’s voice, Gavin wanted to rip the entire headset away. “Yes. I’m here. Use the volume control. Please.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Victor MacArtney said. “Better?”

“Yes. What did you call for, Victor?”

“The family member acting as the cameraman for the virtual part is here. His name is Ryan. He wondered if he could follow you for all the pre-wedding stuff to show the family and guests waiting in their online group.”

“I’ll meet him inside. Have him wait by the entrance.”

“Gotta keep some of our secrets and tricks. Right?”

“Right.”

“Will do, boss.”

Shrugging off the earlier panicky sensation, he checked his tablet to update the list and timings for the wedding of Michael and Charles. Since the pandemic had changed everything, they’d pushed back their wedding multiple times until it was considered safer, when everyone would have been vaccinated. Once they’d chosen this Saturday, they were determined to exchange their vows and rings. They’d selected Occasions’ smaller package with a gazebo wedding and a brunch reception. The rest of the extended family, friends and co-workers had been invited to a virtual party in a Discord group that would be livestreamed by Ryan. The grooms kept the ceremony and reception areas subdued, simple, with a few splashes of flowers and a single pale-blue accent color against the natural background. It suited the older couple, who were both in their early forties. Now he needed to make their dream wedding come true on this July morning.

“Gavin, we have a problem!” Victor said while racing over.

Gavin wondered what disaster Victor had created this time. “Where is Ryan?”

“Left him inside like you said.”

“What is that?” Gavin focused on what Victor held in his hand.

Victor held up the battered birdcage. “One of the birdcages fell while the lighting team tried to hang it in the gazebo. A few pieces of metal snapped. Luckily, Jude hadn’t added the flowers or that would be another disaster. Ryan didn’t film anything. Would make it even—”

“Don’t even go there.”

“Yeah. True. What should we do?”

“First, calm down. There is always a solution. You must learn that part of the job.”

“Okay.” Victor spun the damaged item between his hands.

Gavin inspected the cage and realized they couldn’t repair it. They would have to discard the item. Okay, minor disaster, but there’s always a solution. Focus on that. “There’s no fixing this cage.”

“What’s the solution?”

Gavin tapped open the inventory program and scrolled to figure out his options. “Okay. Aisle 3, Bin C. There’s a matching cage that’s a little smaller, but it’ll work. Toss that one, remove it from the inventory list and get the replacement.”

“Will do.”

“Please tell them to be extra careful. Those are our only white cages. We’ll have to be on the lookout next time we go shopping. And don’t go through the main entrance. Avoid the camera.”

“Promise. Keep out of sight until it is all fixed and perfect. Understood.” Victor raced off.

“What next?” Gavin waved to the violinists. While he talked to Victor, the pair of music students had arrived and begun practicing. They’d worked an Occasions wedding before and knew the drill. Then he returned inside to weave his way to the kitchen.

“Morning, Malcolm, how are we progressing?”

The sous chef, Malcolm Bissete, chopped and diced with a massive chef’s knife. If Gavin used one of those, he would be afraid of losing a finger. “I’m not going to be filmed. Right?”

“The camera guy is waiting by the front entrance. I’ll keep him contained. This was agreed upon between Occasions and the grooms.”

“Okay. Too busy to deal with that nonsense. Stupid pandemic.”

“I know. I know. At least we get to go back to some normalcy.”

“True. Anyway…progress check. Right.” Mal didn’t look up throughout the entire conversation but kept his attention on his work. “Cocktail hour is done and ready.” He scooped the ingredients to a bowl. “The cocktails will be made fresh to order. Zak is on his way and will mix everything. Unlike me, he knows what he’s doing.”

Mal went to the warming oven, plucked out a couple of pieces, plated them and passed it to Gavin. “These are the egg-white tartlets with bacon, Gruyère and sun-dried tomatoes. The other is the mini-French toast. I added dark maple syrup, so it bakes into the bread. Nothing should bother your lactose issue. Both grooms requested alternative milks.”

“I missed one of my favorite parts of every event—the tasting element.”

“Still not going to share with Victor?”

“Nope. Not guilty, either.” Gavin savored the hors d’oeuvres Malcolm had created to satisfy an early morning hunger before the actual brunch—something to offset the morning dip into alcohol. The cocktail hour would be celebrated with an option of mint juleps and Bellinis, along with coffee and tea. While the grooms and wedding party finished the pictures, the guests could enjoy some delicacies. “Wow. These are delicious!”

Malcolm slid over a cup of fresh coffee, doctored to Gavin’s taste. “Appreciate it.”

“What else is ready?”

“Katie’s delivery guy dropped off the cake. It’s waiting in the walk-in fridge. Simple but elegant, like one of the grooms, Charles, wanted. Katie loved how it came out and will add it to her social media pages.” Mal pointed to another workspace. “I’m finishing the salad wraps and grilled vegetable tartlets. The frittatas are baking. The scones are done.”

“Perfect. You rock.” Gavin polished off the rest of the French toast, loving the flavor combination of cinnamon, nutmeg and maple syrup.

“It’s a small event, so there isn’t much to make. It’ll be the same with Sunday’s reception. I enjoy these little ones. I’m not running around like crazy to get everything done.”

“There are going to be more of these smaller events until everything settles down.”

“And people become comfortable in larger ones.”

“Life came to a stop and changed. Now we need to figure out a way back,” Gavin said between sips of coffee. “Just wondering. What are you going to do when Dorian finishes school and returns home? Will you keep helping with the event side?”

“I’ll return to restaurant cooking with the occasional event-planning stuff for the larger groups. The restaurant side is my passion.”

“What?” Gavin frowned in a playful, teasing manner, complete with the sad puppy-dog look that collaborated with his baby-blue eyes. “Don’t you like working with Victor and me?”

“Not the puppy-dog eyes! No! No. Stop that.” Mal snapped his towel at Gavin. “You’re evil, man, just plain evil. Not going to sway me. Nope.”

Gavin grinned while he dropped the look when he knew he’d gotten to Mal.

“Hey, I adore you, honest. I don’t mind helping with the events if I’m needed, but I’m a restaurant kitchen guy. It’s in my blood. I love the craziness of a busy evening.”

“Understandable.” Gavin finished the coffee and pushed the dishes back across. “I’ll let you get back to things. Let me know if anything changes.” He tapped his earpiece. “Unless you run into Vincent, then tap me on this.”

“Always.” After a flourish of the towel, Malcolm tucked it back around one of his apron’s ties.

Gavin left the kitchen with a fresh burst of energy. Heading through the main restaurant, he studied a couple of people from the local businesses dressing the closed-off area for the reception. Pale-blue tablecloths with sand-colored napkins and chair covers united the area. A bounty of fresh flowers in shades of cream and pale blue added a beautiful fragrance. He loved everything the florist, Jude Sebastian, designed.

Taking a moment to adjust a couple of items and locate a missing placement, he returned outside. There he found Jude and his team setting up the last of the exterior floral arrangements around the gazebo and aisle. The lighting team finished adding pin-style lights around the gazebo that went with the strings of fairy lights. The natural morning sunlight would brighten the rest of the setting.

Though he discovered the second birdcage hanging, he couldn’t locate his assistant.

Gavin tapped his headset. “Victor, where are you?”

“Helping Charles with his outfit. We have a loose button and a wobbly belly,” Victor replied. “Don’t worry. Ryan is still in the front entrance area.”

“Okay. Keep me updated. I’ll pick up our cameraman and check on the grooms next.”

“Will do.”

Gavin stepped closer to the dark-haired florist where he was tucking pale-blue and cream flowers into the birdcages. “Hey, Jude.” Memories of the Valentine’s Day surprise he’d created for Jude at Dr. Elliott Sheffield’s request to reveal their new home flashed through him. It had been one of his most memorable moments.

“Morning, Gavin. Wonderful day for a wedding.” Jude shifted his attention from the cage and flowers toward Gavin. He let out a low appreciative whistle. “Looking pretty dapper this morning. I like the paisley suspenders.”

Every single time they met, the florist commented on Gavin’s combination of bow ties and suspenders. They were his look, his trend and something he’d started with his first wedding. In a way, they remained his good-luck charms. If he needed to go a bit more formal, he had a collection of vests and a few coats more reminiscent of earlier centuries. There was a touch of steampunk style to some of his wardrobe. Today, he’d chosen gray-checked pants with a long-sleeved white button-down shirt. Due to the steamy early-July morning, he’d rolled the sleeves up his forearms then set off the look with gray paisley suspenders and matching bow tie.

“How many pairs of suspenders do you have?”

“Lost count a while ago,” Gavin admitted. “Same with the bow ties. At least a couple hundred, if not more, of each type.”

“Damn. How are we to know what set to get you for your birthday?” Jude let out a low whistle. “Sheesh. You probably have every single style and pattern.”

“No, not everything. Still missing a few sets, and more are always being revealed and designed. My collection is always growing. I’m not stopping anytime soon. There’s some higher-end ones I didn’t pick up.”

“Do you have a wish list?”

“Multiple ones.”

Jude laughed.

“Still can’t get Doc Elliott to try them?”

“Nope. Claims they get in his way in the ER.”

“Riiiiight.”

“Silly doctor of mine,” Jude said. “He prefers his boring scrubs.”

“He’s still a keeper. Does he have a twin?”

Jude laughed and shook his head.

“Damn. Too bad he broke the mold.”

“Oh, I’m not giving him up for anything.”

“Don’t blame you.” Gavin cupped his fingers under one bloom that was tucked into a stylized vase set on a pedestal. “These are gorgeous.”

Jude caressed one petal with a fingertip. “The one you’re touching is a morning glory. I adore that sky-blue color. The others are a combination of white mini cala lilies and ruffly double tulips. It took a bit of luck for me to find these white hybrid nerine lilies. They’re the perfect addition to intersperse among the foliage. After sending the grooms a picture, they became excited and gave me a bit of extra budget to find them.”

“I remember their excitement about it.”

“Crazy how that happens. Anyway, I chose Italian ruscus, eucalyptus and fern combinations to finish off the centerpieces and accents. Smaller versions are on the tables,” Jude said. “The grooms chose a boutonnière of a single morning glory flower and two strands of Italian ruscus. I delivered those earlier.”

“Other than tulips, I have no clue about what you just said. Tell me more.”

Buy Links

Choose Your Store
First For Romance

About the Author

Nicole Dennis

Ever the quiet one growing up, Nicole Dennis often slid away from reality and curled up with a book to slip into the worlds of her favorite authors. Over the years, she’s created a personal library full of novels filled with dragons, fairies, vampires, shapeshifters of all kinds and romance. Always she returned to romance. Still, there were these characters in her head, worlds wanting to be built on paper, and stories wanting to be told and she began writing them down whether during or after class. She continues to this day. Only recently has it begun to become fruitful, spreading out to let others read and enter her worlds, meet her characters, and see what she sees. No matter what she writes, her stories of romance with their twists of paranormal, fantasy and erotica will always have their Happily Ever Afters.

She currently works in a quiet office in Central Florida, where she also makes her home, and enjoys the down time to slip into her characters and worlds to escape reality from time to time. At home, she becomes human slave to a semi-demonic tortie calico.

Giveaway

Enter for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.  

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Release Blitz + Giveaway: The Magic Between by Stephanie Hoyt

Author Stephanie Hoyt and IndiGo Marketing share new release blitz for The Magic Between! Find out more about the magical romance and enter in the NineStar Press credit giveaway!

Title: The Magic Between

Author: Stephanie Hoyt

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 02/15/2022

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 105400

Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, celebrities, athlete, pop star, magic, magic users, musicians, sports, college, MM romance, sexual discovery, in the closet, coming out, bonded, slow burn, gender non-conforming, mental illness (OCD), #ownvoices

Add to Goodreads

Description

In a world where everyone has magic coursing through them, legend says magic itself craves a mate. Legend says those with opposite magics have the greatest chance of forming the unbreakable Bond it desires.

A.B. Cerise is an obsessive-compulsive pop star with the ability to turn invisible. He’s an out bisexual with absolutely no belief in Bonds. He has a love-bruised heart, thinks dating in the spotlight is a hassle at best and a nightmare at worst, and has no intention of going through it all over again.

Matthew Hellman-Levoie is the NHL’s number one goalie prospect, the youngest in a hockey dynasty, and one of the rare few who can see the unseeable. He’s a straight man who wears his heart on his sleeve, has grown up searching for a Bond, and dreams of finding the love of his life.

Their magic is magnetic. Their touch is electric. They’re the textbook case for Bonding. But legend never said anything about what to do when sparks fly between people opposite in more ways than magic.

Excerpt

The Magic Between
Stephanie Hoyt © 2021
All Rights Reserved

AB Cerise is a disaster. He’s an obsessive-compulsive ball of barely checked anxiety surrounding his Invisibility being discovered and used against him. He has no rational reason for it. None at all. The fear is annoying, unreasonable, absolutely nonsensical, considering the whole world is full of magic. Like, AB knows no one would care about him being a Concealer beyond him cracking after years of dodging the particularly bold interviewers’ questions of where he falls on the list of categories.

But the real kicker, what makes this obsession of AB’s so much worse, is the absolute lack of proof to support the possibility of someone being able to manipulate him and his Invisibility just by Knowing he is. In fact, his Invisibility has always been tied to his emotions, so the obsessive way he fixates on being controlled and the compulsive way he avoids ever turning Invisible only further destabilizes his magic. Again, AB knows this. He does.

When it comes to magic, AB is his own worst enemy, but he can’t stop. He’s spent nearly five years in therapy, and he’s still plagued by the same insidious hell his mind has created for optimal torture. His intrusive thoughts are a terrible inconvenience that AB has spent an inordinate amount of time wallowing over, but despite her best efforts, AB can’t accept what Dr. Barnes says. Her end goal, since the beginning, has always been for AB to publicly Divulge and rob his intrusive thoughts of their power. Unfortunately, AB can’t even think about Divulging without breaking out in a cold sweat.

But therapy hasn’t been a useless waste of time. He is trying and he is making progress. Sort of. He hasn’t made as much progress as he should, but he’s made enough. He can now stay present when he’s anxious, no longer getting lost in his emotions to the point he has to run off and hide before he Conceals in front of people he’s never Divulged to. Hell, AB even survived a strange, and frankly traumatic, case of the Frits from two years ago that resulted in him Concealing the moment he stepped on stage at a sold-out Madison Square Garden.

Sure, the whole ordeal led to a spike in anxiety, a tightening of the grip the fear of being Known and controlled had over him, but the very thought never got the best of him. He never turned Invisible because of it. Which, in AB’s opinion, is a significant achievement, considering how Displaying in front of tens of thousands of strangers would’ve been a catastrophic, debilitating event at the start of his therapy journey.

AB thinks about going Invisible often. Thinks about the only indication he even had the Frits was the split second of spontaneous Concealment. About the two full weeks he spent monitoring for other symptoms that never appeared. About his Invisibility always coming with a spark and how the sensation at the Garden was wild and electrifying. How much more exhilarated he was on stage—as if the dial had been turned all the way up, maxed out. But mostly, AB thinks about the random times the same sensation has prickled beneath his skin while he wanders New York City—fast and intense but never as substantial as the one at the concert, never enough to bring on the Frits, not even a tiny blip of Invisibility.

He’s at brunch, smiling awkwardly as people recognize him on his mimosa-soaked trek to the bathroom, when the same electricity makes another appearance. This time, the sensation is accompanied by a sharp tug at his heart, and AB knows, deep in his bones, Invisibility will be inevitable no matter how hard he tries. He speeds to the bathroom; thankful the sensation doesn’t reach its peak until after the door shuts; annoyed as he checks to find his hand the same transparent purple he always is while Concealed.

Personally, AB thinks a lap full of mimosas is enough inconvenience for the day, but the universe doesn’t seem to agree. Not only can he not push the Invisibility down, but when he leans against the door to stop anyone else from coming in, and lets out a soft, frustrated groan, something clatters to the ground in front of him.

Because of course someone was already in here. Of course, AB couldn’t be spontaneously Invisible in peace. Of course, he already ruined his chance of getting out of the way without making a noise. Of course, this guy is staring at AB with wide bewildered eyes.

Wait.

Back up.

No.

That’s not possible.

“What the fuck?”

Is AB shrieking? He’s definitely shrieking. But… “You can see me! You can see me? Can you see me?”

Not only can this absolutely beautiful man—no, this bro—see him, but he’s staring at AB with absolute wonder in his eyes. He opens his mouth but then shuts it with a click of his teeth; instead, he looks AB up and down with such a methodical intensity AB begins to fidget. AB wouldn’t consider himself a blusher, but every sweep of this guy’s eyes leaves AB burning. His gaze settles back on AB’s face before speaking, and when he does, AB thinks he must be hearing things—there’s no way.

No.

Possible.

Way.

“Uh, what?”

Mr. Omnivision over there—because what else could he be?—purses his lips, then repeats, “I know this sounds ridiculous, but I think you’re my future Bondmate.”

AB might be short-circuiting. What the actual fuck! This guy, this gorgeous guy with his ridiculous sweatpants and his ridiculous backwards snapback and his ridiculous smile, can’t possibly be standing in front of him claiming they’re Bondmates. At brunch. While AB is covered in mimosa. This has to be fake.

Did he make an enemy of an Illusionist who’s messing with him? Is he seeing things? He must be seeing things. This guy has to be an Illusion.

“I can assure you I’m real,” Mr. Omnivision says, looking at his pants with bemusement before stepping forward with his hand outstretched. “Hi, I’m Matthew.”

Oh, great. He’s been thinking out loud.

AB knows he’s being rude—can faintly hear his mother’s voice chastising him in the back of his mind—but he can’t stop staring. Despite his awful outfit, which AB has apparently insulted to his face, Matthew is stunning. He has dirty-blond hair and a ridiculously strong jaw and a dusting of freckles. Which really isn’t fair—freckles are his kryptonite. How could he not stare?

“This isn’t going the way I’ve always imagined.”

Matthew drops his hand and awkwardly rocks back on his heels. The downward slope of his mouth knocks AB’s brain back online.

He thrusts his hand out. “Shit. Sorry for staring. And insulting you. I’m AB.”

“You also called me gorgeous, so I’ve decided to think of it as balancing out,” Matthew says, his mouth quirking as he takes AB’s hand.

AB is making a fool of himself, and he’d absolutely die of embarrassment if shit didn’t get downright weird when he takes Matthew’s hand in his. Simultaneously, bright golden light bursts from where their palms meet, and AB pops back into view.

“What the fuck?” AB squawks, snatching his hand away.

Even after breaking contact, the heat of Matthew’s hand burns against AB’s skin, and while he’s no longer Concealed, none of the electricity produced by their touch has dissipated. Instead, they’re encased in an invisible crackling bubble of it, as if the light of their handshake shocked the air surrounding them.

“So, that was weird,” Matthew says, after AB fails to add anything constructive to their conversation. He bites his lip, an indecipherable emotion flickering across his face, and then adds, “Uh. I kind of have to go? But I’m serious about what I said. And considering all of this—” He motions between them, pointedly staring at AB’s hand. “—I’m hoping you’ll give me a chance to explain?”

“Wait, what?”

“Uh, like, can I…maybe get your number or…shit.”

Matthew fidgets with his hat, the tips of his ears burning. “Look, I don’t live under a rock. I know who you are and how this could…I don’t know, come off as some sort of ploy to get your attention? You mentioned this could be an Illusion, which I’m not, obviously, but I absolutely understand if you’re not comfortable giving me your number, but I’d really like to explain myself when we’re not in a bathroom and my impatient friends aren’t ten seconds away from storming in here to drag me out. Or maybe your email? Or—you have Twitter, right? Who doesn’t have Twitter? Well, I don’t have Twitter, but uh…Instagram? Or if you’re into face-to-face chats we could agree on a time and public place to meet up again? I’m running out of ideas here. What else is there?”

Matthew blushes, turning his sun-tanned skin an adorable shade of ruddy pink, and all AB can focus on are the freckles, darker on his nose than anywhere else. He’s staring again. Or maybe he never stopped staring, and really, AB should be mortified, but this has been such a strange encounter he doesn’t think Matthew can judge him. He’s running through all the ways entertaining Matthew’s declaration is a terrible idea, how he clearly caused the one thing AB is so obsessed with happening, how he should be running far, far away, when everything clicks into place.

“Were you, by any chance, at my concert when I played Madison Square Garden a couple years ago?”

Matthew furrows his brow. “Yes, but what does—wait. It wasn’t actually the Frits? You think I caused your Concealment? Or, well, our magics Reacting made you Invisible?”

“Wait, sorry… How can you possibly tell what type of Concealer I am?”

“A guy’s got to keep some secrets,” Matthew says with a slow, crooked smile. “Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

The smile tips him over, and AB makes a decision Carson might actually murder him for.

“I’m not sure about Bondmates, but you’re certainly affecting my magic. Which intrigues me almost as much as it pisses me off. So yeah, give me your number.”

AB unlocks his phone and brings up a new contact page, then hands it to Matthew. “I’ll text you once I’ve decided whether or not meeting up with you is a dangerous idea or just recklessly irresponsible.”

Matthew snorts when he reads the name AB put him in as.

AB shrugs. “Well, aren’t you?”

Matthew’s face is dazzling when he smiles. “Yeah, you got me there.”

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Thematically, Stephanie likes magic and spies and magical spies. Aesthetically, she likes glitter and gold and pineapples. She wants to put more soft, sweet bi representation into the world so that people like her teen-self can see themselves in their favorite genres and know that who they are is nothing to be ashamed of.

She currently lives in the Great White North (Wisconsin) with her husband, daughter, and three dogs. The only thing getting her through these Midwest winters is the soothing sound of Tim Riggins saying “Texas forever” and the prospect of one day moving back there.

She loves a good astrology twitter but ultimately only believes in it when her husband calls her stubborn and then her response is: “Well, I am a Taurus.”

Twitter | Pinterest

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Release Blitz: Us Against the World (Roseden U #1) by Shayne Prescott

Author Shayne Prescott and Gay Book Promotions share debut novel info on new adult romance, Us Against the World (Roseden U #1)! Check it out!
 

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Us Against the World

Author: Shayne Prescott

Publisher: Self-Published - Spartakittah Press

Cover Artist: GetCovers.com

Release Date: February 1, 2022

Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance

Tropes: Friends to lovers, sports, college

Themes: Bullying

Heat Rating:  3 flames

Length: 65 000 words

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

Goodreads

Buy Links 

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK 

Betrayed by the only family he's ever known, Owen must decide: for love or team?

Blurb

Betrayed by the only family he's ever known, Owen must decide: for love or team?
 
For Roseden University frosh Theo Carter, the journey to his true self has been long and publicized. It seems most everyone on campus saw the TV series in which he was transitioning, and some feel very strongly he doesn't belong at the prestigious all-male school. Struggling with classes and bullying, junior Owen Lewis swoops in like his own personal savior.  But as the heat rises between the two, so too does the torment from some of the school's lacrosse team.
 
As a product of the foster care system, Owen knows all about not being wanted.  That's why his lacrosse teammates are so important to him — they've become the closest thing he's found to a real family.  Being bounced around constantly between different homes with just a plastic bag of his possessions taught Owen there was no such thing as love. But if that's true, why does Theo feel like a home he's never known? Owen is convinced that nothing will stop him from protecting Theo — but what if the choice is between his found family and his first love?
 
When all seems lost, both have choices to make. Will they choose each other?
 
Us Against the World is a 65 000-word HEA set at the fictional Roseden University, in Roseden, Pennsylvania. It is the first in the series of Roseden U books, and contains some derogatory language (LGBTQIA+)

Excerpt 

 “Hi! Do you need help finding your books?” My books, my brain, my capacity to speak…

 “Y-yes.” My tongue tangled like when I was a kid, when I’d had a mouth full of Gobstoppers and couldn’t manage any words. I bet I looked really intelligent.

 Owen grinned at me, either oblivious or nonplussed by my brainless moments. “Do you have your class schedule? I’ll need that to find your books.”

 “Sure do,” I confirmed. I handed him my class list and he looked it over, nodding quietly to himself before suddenly grinning even wider at me.

 “You’re in my Spanish class. But I don’t remember seeing you in the fall semester?”

 “I took the fall semester online, back home in New Hampshire.” Before he could ask why — I could see the curiosity on his chiseled face — I explained. “I had surgery early in the year; it made more sense to be home, rather than recovering here.” Smooth, Theo, so smooth. Why don’t you tell him about the time you tripped and skinned both knees while you’re at it?

 Owen nodded. “I totally get that. So since you’ve got Spanish covered, it’ll just be the other four classes?”

 “Yeah. Take all my money,” I groused, and he laughed, which made my stomach do a little flip-flop. I fought the urge to groan. I needed to get over myself. I didn’t know this guy, and despite him looking damn good, I shouldn’t have been swooning.

 Owen went off to search the stacks for the books, while I decided to pick up some more highlighters. I’d brought some from home, but given the current state of my Spanish book, it would take me no time at all before those were dried up and in need of replacements. Finding a five-pack of assorted colors, I made a happy little noise and snatched them up, coming back to the book section just as Owen approached with a thick stack of books.

 “Oh God. How am I going to get all of those back to my dorm?” Yes, Theo, complain to the handsome man about your own ineptitude.

 Owen peeked around the books to peer down at me. “You didn’t bring a backpack?” I shook my head morosely. “Two options. You can either buy a Roseden one, or if you’ve got one back in your room, I can set the books aside while you go grab it.”

 “Can you really set them aside?” Owen nodded. “Okay, thanks! I’ll get back here as fast as I can.”

 “Don’t rush,” Owen assured me with a dazzling smile. “It’s been slow. More professors are going for online textbooks instead of the physical ones.”

 I hazarded a glance at my stack. “Not mine, it seems.” Owen winked at me and my stomach fluttered again. I started towards the door, then remembered the highlighters in my hand. Turning, I placed them beside my texts. “I’ll pay for those, too, when I come back.” Owen gave me a friendly wave, and then I was off, back to Tucker Hall.

About the Author 

Shayne Prescott has been putting together books since his medium was scraps of paper and pencil nubs. A children’s book was considered for publication while in middle school, and his short stories were often a favorite of his beloved English teacher, Mrs. Mazzacarro. Still, he writes.

Social Media Links

Blog/Website  |  Facebook  |  Twitter

Instagram  |  Newsletter Sign-up  |  Patreon

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions