Snippet Saturday

At the end of the day, when the children had fled the room in favor of waiting for their parents to pick them up or catching the bus, Savanah still sat at her desk. She didn’t look as if she planned on moving anytime soon. Her pointy chin was propped up by her palm, and every few seconds she sighed loudly.

Cole gingerly sat himself in the chair at the desk beside hers. His legs wouldn’t fit under, so he had to twist sideways. Savanah’s workbook was still open on her desk, and her pencil was beneath her chair. He rolled it closer with his foot and bent to retrieve it. “Is something wrong, Savanah?” She didn’t thank him for returning the pencil to the groove in the desk.

“No.” She kicked her foot into the leg of the chair and nudged her pencil off the desk at the same time.

Cole was starting to sAccepting-the-Fall-iBooksuspect Savanah’s favorite word was no. He left the pencil for now. “How come you’re not at parent pick-up?”

She dropped her chin to the desk hard, causing Cole to wince. It couldn’t have felt good, even if she didn’t so much as blink in discomfort. “Daddy’s coming in,” she said, the words mumbled as she barely moved her lips.

It took Cole a minute to parse that and the sullen expression on her face. “To talk to me?”

Savanah rolled her eyes. “Duh.”

“That’s not how you speak to adults,” he said calmly. Explaining to her that her father was supposed to call and schedule a conference ahead of time wouldn’t change anything, so he didn’t bother. At least he’d finally get to meet and chat with the man responsible for Savanah. “It’s very rude.”

“But adults do it.” She twisted a strand of her black hair around her finger, cutting off circulation and changing the pigment. When she released it, the color came rushing back.

“Your dad tells people ‘duh?’”

She shook her head, dragging her chin over the desk and sending her workbook to join the pencil on the floor. “Mommy did. She liked to yell.”

Cole’s chest did the thing where it felt like it was shrinking, squeezing him too tight. He opened his mouth, not sure exactly what he’d say but knowing he should say something, when someone knocked on the open door. Savanah swiveled to look, resignation flittering across her features. She didn’t appear at all excited. Cole didn’t know what he expected Savanah’s father to look like. He didn’t really have an image in mind as he stood, turning to face the entry.

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Snippet Saturday – Accepting the Fall

“Mister Whit’ker. Mister Whit’ker.” This was followed by an insistent tug on his sleeve.

Cole’s name whistled through the gap where Bobby Jenson’s two front teeth should be. He turned from where he’d been outlining the alphabet on the board and crouched to Bobby’s level, meeting his sincere blue irises. They were wide and his expression was insistent. His cheeks were red and a smudge of dirt hovered over one eyebrow. Cole had sent the class out for recess with his assistant not even five minutes ago. “Is everything all right, Bobby? Where’s Mr. Fred?”

Bobby’s lower lip wobbled. “Savanah pushed me.” Tears welled in his eyes. “I just wanted to go down the slide.” They spilled over, leaving streaks along his cheeks.

Sometimes, mostly when students like Savanah swept through his class like the Tasmanian devil, Cole wondered why he’d thought becoming a kindergarten teacher was the way to go. Little Savanah Emerson was proving in her first week at Ridgedale Elementary to be quite the bully. Bobby was the third student to come to him in tears. In a week. Was Savanah looking to set some kind of record?

“Did you tell Mr. Fred?” he asked Bobby, reaching out blindly for his desk drawer where he kept the candy stashed.

Bobby shook his head and sand flew from his hair, spraying Cole’s pants and hitting his face. He sniffled, wiping under his nose with the back of his hand.

Cole changed course, grabbing the ever present hand sanitizer from the edge of his desk. “How about we get you cleaned up, and you can do whatever you want for the rest of recess, hmm?”

Like the magic words they were, the tears vanished in reaction and Bobby bounced on his toes. “Whatever I want?”  His lisp—thanks to his many missing teeth—grew more pronounced in his excitement.

Please don’t make me regret this. Cole held the Germ X out, squirting a tiny dollop on Bobby’s hand when he extended it. “Whatever you want.” He paused. “Within reason.” Always a caveat to be added when children were involved, he’d learned.

“I can color? With all the crayons to myself?” Bobby appeared ecstatic at the prospect. It was amazing how fast kids recovered.

“Sure, buddy.” Cole stood, holding a hand out for Bobby to take if he wanted. “Let’s get you a tissue, huh? Are you hurt at all?”

“M’fine,” said Bobby, already trying to steer Cole toward the art station in the corner. Cole resisted the tugging, heading for the cabinets in which he stored everything that could possibly be needed to contain germs. Once he was sure Bobby wasn’t going to spread snot all over the art supplies, he let him loose to do as he pleased.

He needed to have a talk with Savanah—clearly the first two had done no good. He was going to have to call a parent this time. He propped the door between his and Mrs. Berkley’s room open so she could keep an eye on Bobby, and then went to find Savanah before she could do damage to anyone else.

She was on the swings alone, the seats on either side of her empty. The other kids had started to avoid her after the first day, when she’d snapped Lily Hopkins favorite My Little Pony pencil in half. Cole had been horrified—and a little impressed by her strength, though he’d never admit it aloud.

He came to a stop just out of leg range. He didn’t want to add a kick to the stomach to his day. “Savanah, can I talk to you?”

He gave her this, she was a bold child. Her dark brown gaze locked on him and the, “No,” that left her mouth was nothing short of prim. Her long braids flew out behind her as she arced into the air. Her feet were perfectly pointed like a ballerina in her flats as she flew.

Cole had a feeling his day was about to get a lot more frustrating. “Savanah, it’s not an option. I need you to stop swinging and come have a chat with me.”

She ignored him, blithely continuing to rock back and forth. She was going too fast, and moving too high, for Cole to stop the swing himself. He wanted to speak to her, not knock her onto the ground. “All right then.”

He turned and scanned the playground for Fred. He was holding one end of a jump rope, head cocked in a way that said he’d been watching Cole. Cole whistled, loud and sharp, to get everyone’s attention. He raised his voice to be heard clearly. “Mr. Fred’s going to take everyone inside, and you’ll have free time to play at whatever stations you want. If you’re well behaved and keep an inside volume, everyone will get candy at the end of the day.” He’d learned to not be above bribery in his ten years as a teacher. It worked as he’d planned, and they filed into the classroom with barely any complaints. Fred shot him a questioning look, and Cole waved him on. He didn’t have the time to explain things now.

With the playground empty of all but Savanah and he, Cole took a seat in the grass to wait her out. Five year olds had a lot of energy, but they didn’t have an unending supply. Eventually she’d have to stop. While he waited, he perused Pinterest for dinner options for that night. He had Patrick, his boyfriend, coming over. Cole wanted to impress him with his (limited) culinary ability. He liked a butternut squash and spinach tortellini dish and contemplated the possibility of successfully making zucchini meatballs. Or maybe avocado egg rolls…. From the corner of his eye, Savanah stubbornly swung on.

The only time Cole moved was to yell to Fred to let him know he would have the honor of teaching today’s lesson on lower case letters.

Eventually, Savanah’s muscles overcame her stubbornness, and the swing slowly came to a rocking halt. They eyed each other. Sweat was trickling down the sides of her pixie face. The hair around the edges was curling, frizzing out. Cole could empathize. It was so hot out, his button up was probably soaked through in places.

“Are we ready to talk?” he asked.

She didn’t move from the seat. She also didn’t answer him. Her small hands were curled around the chain of the swing.

Cole glanced to the heavens and wondered why him. “Okay. I’ll talk then.” He didn’t stand. Towering over her would get him nothing, instead he went for eye contact. “We don’t push people. Not for any reason. If you have a problem you can’t solve with words—nice ones—then you come find me or Mr. Fred. It doesn’t matter what the problem is, how big or small. We never lay a hand on someone else. You wouldn’t want them pushing you, would you? It wouldn’t make you feel good. Don’t do to someone else what you wouldn’t want done to you, yeah?”

Her blank stare was all he received. Savanah had a hell of a poker face for a kid her age.

Cole sighed. “Come on. I’m done lecturing you.” He stood, dusting his khakis off and hoping the back wasn’t grass stained.

Savanah slid from the swing, her legs trembling under her weight for a moment. She straightened, and then walked toward him, coming to stop by his side. Her dark gaze took him in, assessing. He waited patiently, after all, what was a few minutes more?

“You’re not my daddy,” she said. The first words she’d spoken to him all day.

“I’m not.” He was starting to have a very low opinion of whoever was. “I’d like to meet him, though.” He had some strong words to share with the man.

Her long black lashes fluttered as she blinked. She had such a solemn countenance. “You won’t. He’s always workin’. He doesn’t have the time.”

Suspecting he already knew the answer, Cole asked, “And your mom?”

Little shoulders, clad in the standard maroon school uniform, shrugged. “She left.”

“She left” could mean a lot of things. Cole didn’t focus on that. He was starting to get a blurry image of what might be going on here. He’d like to say it wasn’t common, but he’d been around long enough to have seen the story play out in a thousand different ways. “Would you want to talk to someone about stuff?”

Her nose wrinkled. “You?”

She didn’t need to sound so skeptical. Cole was a great listener, thanks very much. “No. Not me. Someone who talks to people professionally.” The school had a counselor, and Savanah might really benefit from seeing her. Cole wasn’t equipped to deal with these kinds of problems on his own.

“If I think about it, will I not be in trouble?” Out came the innocent “who me” expression.

“Yeah, no.” Cole held in his smile. It wouldn’t be appropriate. “You’re going to the front office to tell them why you thought pushing another student was a good idea.”

Snippet Saturday: Marc’s the Spot

November 2014

For two months, Lucas had been looking forward to this game. They were in Arizona, playing against the Hares, and he had a hot date—win or lose—with the Hares’ red panda goalie, Marc. For someone he’d never taken the time to notice before, he was noticing him now. Couldn’t stop thinking about him, in fact. Lucas had an itch, and no matter who he scratched it with, it wasn’t as good as Marc scratching it.

“I’d like to do this again.”

That was what Marc had said to him after they won Worlds. It was obvious neither of them knew what “this” was, but Lucas wasn’t about to argue. He wasn’t going to fight the undeniable chemistry between them. He’d been around long enough to know he should take what he could get, while he could get it.

And Marc, with his big amber eyes and his twin dimples framing the sexiest mouth Lucas had ever seen, was more than willing to give. Hell, it wasn’t like he got nothing from Lucas either. He could still perfectly picture the look on Marc’s face when he came, his plump, blowjob-swollen lips parted, his cheeks flushed dark, the color spreading to the tips of his ears, down his neck, the way his pupils dilated, black swallowing amber.

It was an image he’d used to get off more than a couple of times since that night.

He’d like to see it again. And again. And again…

He shook his head and pushed all that to the back of his mind. First and foremost, he had a game to get ready for. Everything else came later. Second on the list of his priorities. The first of which was to win.

Jake Cullen, Cully as he was known to his teammates, shouldered him, knocking Lucas lightly into the boards. “Spaced out, much?” he asked. “I said your name three times. You missed my spin-o-rama.”

Lucas grinned, mentally shrugging off everything that wasn’t here and now related. “Got bored watching you is all,” he said. He laughed and skated away before Cully could retaliate. The wolf shifter had been working hard on his fancy moves, and the best the team could figure was he was trying to impress someone. Wolves got weird when they were looking for mates.

They were in the middle of game-day practice, trying to get a feel for the foreign rink. They hadn’t played there since last season, and every time seemed different. Probably because the guys on the Hares tended to always be a new mix. Marc, Chandler Kipling, Chris Wentz… those guys were steady for the Hares, but they were a team looking to make it to the playoffs. They’d been trading players a lot, bringing in new blood and trying to acquire veterans with a good reputation. Not that the Aces didn’t do that. All hockey teams did. The sigh of relief that swept through the league when the trade deadline hit was audible worldwide. It was the one thing Lucas hated about the game. And since he was a solitary shifter, he couldn’t imagine how his more pack-oriented teammates felt. He’d had several friends end up on the opposite side of the country thanks to a trade, and it never got easier.

James Bordeaux, a fellow defenseman and the one Lucas was most often paired with, hooked Lucas’s stick from his hands, sending it clattering to the ice as he passed. He tended to be frisky on game days, energy level ramping up. He drove Lucas crazy. But maybe that was because his inner jaguar knew he’d be eating James’s meerkat form in the wild. He doubted it, though. James was the team chirper, constantly egging on anyone that came within hearing range. Knowing better than to encourage him, Lucas picked up his stick and got in line to practice his one-timers.

Practice ended following a few rounds of scrimmaging, and then, once they were cleaned up, they all got on the bus and returned to the hotel for pregame naps—every hockey player’s favorite part of the day. Several of the more pack-oriented shifters filed into the same room, planning on switching forms and conking out together. Lucas’s roommate, Ryan Williams, was a fellow cat shifter. A clouded leopard to be precise.

Neither of them had any desire to cuddle before a game.

They went to their separate beds, Lucas shifting and Ryan stretching out in human form, and they didn’t stir till their obnoxious, loud-as-all-hell alarms started screaming at them. Lucas always felt like a trick was being played on him, and he’d only been asleep for five minutes or so. He wouldn’t put it past his teammates to pull that kind of thing.

Yawning, he arched his back, lazily flicking his tail in the air behind him. He always managed a better stretch in his animal form, all his muscles bunching and flexing in a graceful movement.

Ryan turned off their alarms. “You got a text, bro,” he said sleepily, mouth stretching around the words. “From a Marc.” Lucas swung around in time to see him double take, confusion spreading across his face. “Marc, like Marc Lacroix? The goalie for the Hares? Since when are you two pals?”

Lucas shifted midleap from the bed, landing lightly on two feet instead of four. He held his hand out for the phone. “We played together at Worlds. He’s a nice guy.” Ryan had been there for a short time, but the US team had been disqualified early on. By Team Canada, of course. Marc had shut down a couple of attempts by Ryan.

Pale green eyes gazed at him skeptically, but Ryan handed it over. “Look at you being all friendly and shit,” he said.

Lucas rolled his. “Go get dressed. I don’t want you hogging the bathroom when I need it.”

“Yes, Dad,” snarked Ryan, adding a salute to the words to set the tone. He brought his knees up obnoxiously high as he marched toward the bathroom.

From years of experience, Lucas knew to ignore him. It was a recurring theme with many members of his team. He waited till the bathroom door had been shut to read Marc’s message. Normally I’d say good game, but I want you to lose tonight. So I guess I’m going to wish you a mediocre game.

Unable to hold it back, Lucas smiled and giggled. Which, he never giggled. If anyone caught him doing so, it would ruin his image as the tough guy. He couldn’t have that happening. He didn’t know what it was about Marc that charmed him this way, set him off-balance. He felt twice as ridiculous when it took him ten minutes to come up with a response. Especially when the only thing he could think of was a lame Hope you have a mediocre game too, loser.

Yeah, Lucas knew what he was doing…not.

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Marc’s the Spot

MarksTheSpotMarcus “Marc” Lacroix, a red panda shifter, knows who Lucas Grayson is, and up until playing with him during the world cup of hockey, didn’t much care for him. But when he finds out the jaguar shifter with the hot body has a personality to match, he’s a bit blown away. A night of celebration leads the two of them to the bedroom, and they discover that one night might not be enough to finish this thing between them.
Passion grows to love and more than a little kink, and the two make things work despite the obstacles standing in their way. Lucas plays for the Aces and Marc for the Hares, the distance and crazy schedules of a pro-hockey player keeping them apart. Lucas discovers it’s harder to let go of things than he’d thought. When ill-fate strikes, Lucas spirals and Marc has to try and hold them together. It’s one match Marc doesn’t know if he’ll win.

When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world.

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2nRmbJM
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2nJhZ27
Loose ID: http://bit.ly/2mngpT7
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Cover Artist: Fiona Jayde / Publisher: Loose ID / Length: 62k

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When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world. (1)

 

 

Sneak Peak Saturday

Marc’s the Spot is the sequel to my anthology short To Arizona, which released last summer. Marc’s the Spot will become available at Loose ID on Tuesday, the 21st of March. To celebrate sharing the cover, I thought it would be fun to share a sneak peak of the novel itself. Enjoy!

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Marc lived in a good-sized block house surrounded by land and no other homes. It was an earthy taupe and had wide bay windows in the front. There was a three-car garage beside the house, and a basketball pole sat on the side of the driveway. The yard was well kept, probably by a lawn service.

Lucas felt ten years younger than he was, showing up at a guy’s house for a hookup. Sneaking behind their teammates’ backs. Not that he’d done this kind of thing ten years ago, because he hadn’t. It’s a little late to be getting so adventurous. He scoffed at himself. He was thinking about things too much.

A sleek black Dodge Charger pulled into the drive as Lucas reached the front door. It parked in the garage nearest the house, and a minute later Marc was walking toward him. His auburn hair was tousled, bouncing as he moved. He still wore his game-day suit. It was a stylish blue three-piece affair, and Lucas’s gaze went right to the gray waistcoat.

The only thing hotter than a waistcoat was suspenders.

Lucas licked his lips and propped himself against the side of the entranceway, waiting.

“Hey,” said Marc as he drew close, voice on the breathy side. His cheeks were already flushed. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, pulled them out, ruffled his hair, and cracked his knuckles. Lucas grinned at the show of nerves, and Marc finally huffed, ducking his head to hide his smile. He moved around Lucas and unlocked the door. “C’mon in. You want water or anything?”

“So polite.” Lucas crowded him against the foyer wall once Marc had locked the door behind them, and then slotted a thigh between Marc’s legs. Marc wrapped his arms around Lucas’s neck, lips parting to release a low gasp.

He nipped at Lucas’s jawline. “There was something we didn’t do last time,” said Marc between sucking kisses to Lucas’s neck. He trapped Lucas’s earlobe between his teeth and gently tugged. Marc rocked his hips in small, aborted movements, dragging the bulge in his pants along the muscled cord of Lucas’s thigh.

It took Lucas a minute to find his words. “Yeah, and what was that?”

Marc played with his hair, running his fingers through it and massaging Lucas’s scalp. It made his eyes go heavy-lidded in pleasure, and his chest rumbled with an animalistic purr, his inner cat preening under the attention just as much as the man.

“Making out,” said Marc, mouth now on Lucas’s cheekbone, pressing barely there kisses.

Lucas thought he heard him wrong. “What?”

Marc bit at Lucas’s bottom lip teasingly. “I want to go lay in bed and make out. Is that okay? I like kissing, and we didn’t really do it at all last time.” He undulated his body against Lucas, hips arching forward. “I’ve been thinking about your mouth since that night.”

He wasn’t alone in those thoughts, though Lucas had been thinking of Marc’s mouth on a much lower body part. He could roll with this. Kissing was something he normally left for relationships, most of his hookups not needing or wanting such intimacy, but then again, he wasn’t normally sleeping with someone ten years younger. He remembered kissing a lot of people when he was in his twenties.

It hadn’t yet lost its spark.

Wrapping his hands around the back of Marc’s thighs, Lucas lifted him, smirking when Marc gasped, legs instinctively going around Lucas’s waist. Marc giggled, his breaths making Lucas’s hair flutter. “Put me down. You’re going to hurt yourself,” said Marc, running his hands over Lucas’s back, exploring his muscles through his thin shirt. “How’re you going to explain throwing your back out to your trainer?”

Lucas growled and ducked his head to bite the join of Marc’s shoulder and neck sharply. “I’m in no danger of throwing my back out,” he assured Marc. Marc wasn’t a lightweight by any means, and Lucas probably couldn’t do this for long, but still. He laved his tongue over the imprint of his teeth. “Now where’s your bedroom?”

Shifting Views is Here!

shiftingviewsfs_v1A Carlisles novel

Successful fashion model Denver Carlisle is finally living on his own. He’s got a new apartment, a neighbor who has a problem shutting his blinds, and a local bakery with an owner who makes his knees weak. It’s raining men, and Denver hasn’t gotten any in a long time. Going out on a limb, he asks Ethan Monahan out and resorts to a little exhibitionism for his neighbor. Only to be turned down by both. That’s a first.

Ethan Monahan runs his own bakery and has a new neighbor who walks around naked. The latter is a little too distracting. When his naked neighbor turns out to be none other than model Denver Carlisle—and the customer who asked him out—Ethan tries to make amends. In a purely friendly way.

Friendship leads to more, and both men find themselves in over their heads with emotions and compromises. Denver has trust issues that could span the Sahara, and Ethan is a product of the foster system with a chip on his shoulder and a serious wariness of those with money. There’s only one way to reconcile their issues: work together.

Dreamspinner Press / Cover Art by Garrett Leigh / Contemporary / 64k 

“That’s in the past. It didn’t happen because we’re starting over. So shake my damn hand and introduce yourself.”.png

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Checking it Twice – Release Day!

CheckingItTwiceFS_v1.jpgCloseted professional hockey player Eric Belanger is falling hard for an out-and-proud male model. He’s unable to resist Dorian’s charm and pushing personal boundaries he never thought he’d cross. But Dorian is the kind of guy who deserves someone who isn’t afraid to be himself. Eric’s fears about what coming out will do to his career clash with the future he hopes to build with Dorian. He knows he’ll eventually have to make a choice.

Dorian Carlisle knows better than to date a man who wants to keep him a secret, but there’s something about Eric he can’t ignore. So he’ll take the risk, and it’ll be all right, because this isn’t a forever romance. He’s happy to live in the moment. But somehow, at some point, feelings sneak up on him and he’s not okay anymore. At a breaking point, Dorian must also make a decision. Their time together will either be the start of something wonderful or nothing more than a happy memory.

Cover by Reese Dante / 75k words / Contemporary, sports / 3rd in the Carlisles Series

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Somehow Dorian’s name got tossed into the ring for a winter clothing line spread in some sports magazine, and now he’s on a set in downtown New York City with five big, hulking hockey players. A few of whom are pretty damn hot, and the majority of whom aren’t American. He can admit he’s a sucker for an accent, and it’s a little distracting.

Jackson, his brother, flicks his nose. He stops staring at the tall European guy who’s talking to the tall French Canadian, who has his shirt off and an abdomen that Dorian would pay to be able to lick. He scrunches his face up at his brother, mimicking the judgey look being thrown his way. He can’t believe Jackson took this job. Isn’t it bad enough that he has to work with Denver—his twin—more often than not?

“What was that for?” he asks, gaze already trying to return to the guys. He can’t help it. He’s innately wired to appreciate beautiful things.

“I’m trying to do your makeup, and you’re making it difficult. Stop looking at the toys you can’t touch and look at me.” Jackson grabs his chin and tilts his head just so, wielding eyeliner in his other hand like it’s a weapon.

Dorian pouts, sticking his bottom lip way out. “You don’t know. I could touch them.” In my dreams.

Jackson gives him a stern look, which is ridiculous since he’s a year younger. Dorian should be the one giving the parental stare-downs. “Hands to yourself. Professional athletes are never a good idea. Now open your eyes wide and don’t blink.”

It takes a lot of self-control to not sneak glances at the hockey players while they get dressed and their makeup gets done. And well, he just doesn’t have that control. So he manages a peek or two. The whole process is a lot of clothes coming on and off, muscles flexing, watching stylists run their hands through gorgeous hair. It’s like being in a candy shop and getting told you can’t have anything. So not fair.

Dorian can list on the fingers of one hand the things he knows about sports, and all of it mostly has to do with what the balls look like and the overall purpose of them: score goals. It’s not that he’s not interested—well, okay, he is—but he just doesn’t have the attention span for it. He’s done jobs with plenty of athletes, both male and female, and their sports sound interesting enough when they talk to him about them. It just doesn’t translate to him watching it.

His lack of interest isn’t normally a problem, but athletes are a peculiar lot, and sometimes that makes working with them difficult. They have a hard time understanding the shoot isn’t about them. It’s about the photographer’s vision. The designer’s vision. It’s about serving a purpose. And then there are the times where it’s like they’re speaking a whole other language.

Like now.

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