A SWEET FOR YOUR SWEETIE

from Alicia Joseph

This is a perfect treat for your special someone. And what better way to show you care then to bake something good.

PEANUT BUTTER PIE
CRUST
1 ¼ cup chocolate cookie crumbs. (20 cookies)
¼ cup sugar
¼ cup butter or margarine, melted

Preheat oven 375°F.

Combine ingredients in a small bowl. Press into a 9-inch pie plate.

Bake 10 minutes. Cool on wire rack.

FILLING
1 (8 oz) pkg. softened cream cheese
1 cup creamy peanut butter
1 cup sugar
1 tbsp. butter or margarine, softened
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1 cup heavy cream, whipped

In a medium-sized mixing bowl, beat cream cheese, peanut butter, sugar, butter, and vanilla until smooth. Fold in whipped cream.

Gently spoon into crust. Garnish with grated chocolate, chocolate cookie crumbs, or fresh raspberries.

Refrigerate and enjoy!



“When a train runs over a penny, the penny changes form, but it can still be a penny if I want it to be. Or, I can make it be something else.”

Lyssa and her best friend Abbey discover a hideout near the train tracks and spend the summer before sixth grade hanging out and finding freedom from issues at home. Their childhood innocence shatters when the hideout becomes the scene of a tragic death.

As they’re about to graduate from high school, Abbey’s family life spirals out of control while Lyssa is feeling guilty for deceiving Abbey about her sexuality. After another tragic loss, Lyssa finds out that a penny on the track is sometimes a huge price to pay for the truth.

Prologue

1993

I was jerked from my sleep while the phone was still buzzing its first high-piercing ring. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand beside my bed. It read 4:17 a.m. I knew something was wrong.

The second ring was abruptly broken up and my mother’s muffled voice carried into my room. I was already sitting upright in my bed when my bedroom door squeaked open. My mother’s slight figure appeared as a shadow near my door.

“Lyssa? You up?” she asked.

“What’s wrong?” My voice was no louder than a whisper.

I watched my mother slowly make her way into the dark room. I couldn’t make out the expression on her face, but the stiff movement of the outline of her body was hesitant.

She turned on the lamp and sat down beside me. Her face was pale. She let out short, shallow breaths. It seemed difficult for her to look me in the eyes.

“What is it?” I asked. “What’s happened?”

Finally, my mother looked at me with pain in her eyes. “Lyssa . . .” She smoothed her hand gently across my arm. “Abbey’s dead.”

I took in her words without an ounce of denial. The reality of what my mother had told me was instant.

My best friend was dead.

AMAZON BUY LINK

Alicia Joseph grew up in Westchester, Illinois. Her first novella, Her Name, was published by Musa Publishing in 2014. Her Name is a sweet, romantic story about a woman who believes the beautiful woman she dreams about is the real love of her life.

Loving Again is her second published novella. Alicia is currently working on a new novel called A Penny on the Tracks, a coming of age story about love and friendship. Alicia has many works-in-progress that she hopes to finish soon.

When she is not writing, Alicia enjoys volunteering with animals, rooting for her favorite sports teams, and playing “awesome aunt” to her nine nieces and nephews.

Learn more about Alicia Joseph on her blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter.

DOLCE - Italian for Sweet

from Alicia Joseph

And that's just what this dessert recipe for one of my favorite cookies is, sweet and so good. I know you all will love them. Not only are they tasty, but they are easy to whip up. Make a double batch because they won't last long when your family gets a taste.

Ricotta Cookies
2 sticks margarine
1 lb Ricotta
3 eggs
2 tsp. Vanilla
4 cups flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
2 cups sugar

Preheat 350 degrees° F.

Mix all ingredients together. Drop onto lightly greased pan by tablespoonful.

Bake 12-15 minutes.

Frosting
Powder sugar
Vanilla extract
Milk
Sprinkles, optional

Mix the three ingredients to your desired consistency. Spread on cooled cookies.

Enjoy!

How about a teaser from one of Alicia's novellas while the cookies cool?

Madison Andrews has spent her entire life ~unsuccessfully~ searching for love. She begins having vivid dreams of the same woman every night, and soon, Madison believes this woman is the love she has been searching for. Madison's dreams become more intense and she realizes the dreams she's having recreate moments taken from actual events from her life ~~ and this woman is there for all of it. Madison searches for her, but how can she find a woman she knows everything about... and yet nothing? She doesn't even know her name.

EXCERPT
Now, I laid down my fork and leaned into my seat. I knew she didn’t want to talk about this anymore, but I did. “This all sounds crazy to you, and maybe in the beginning, it was something to joke about, but now, I’m not sure. These pictures were taken directly out of my life, and this woman was in every one of them. You can’t tell me I just dreamed it from memory, because my memory isn’t that good! The photos were identical all the way from the clothes we wore, to the smile on our faces. Hell, even the background was the same! She was the only thing that was different. How could that be?”

I stared at her, waiting for a response as she took it all in.

“Like I said on the phone, I just don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not sure what you’re asking me. Is it weird? Yeah, totally, but I’m no dream expert, and neither are you. Like I said before, maybe it’s your subconscious taking over. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation, and it probably has some fancy scientific name.”

“She’s my wife,” I said flatly. “I saw a picture of us from our wedding, and we looked like we belonged together. We know each other. I mean, really know each other. I wish you could see us together, because you’ve never seen me this way with anyone before.”

“And what way is that?”

“In love,” I answered.

“In love,” Shelly repeated and then pushed herself away from the table.

“Well, Maddy, me seeing you with her is something that will never happen. Do you wanna know why that will never happen?”

“I know why you think that will never happen, but that’s where you’re
wrong.” I stared at her and said, “I’m just gonna come out and say it. I think she’s real.”

Shelly took a deep breath and pored over her food. “Maddy, Maddy, Maddy. What are you saying? This is crazy! I’m back to thinking these dreams are about your mom, because this is way beyond not getting laid. You lost a woman you loved, you miss her, and now you’re trying to replace all those things you miss about her with this other woman.”

Shaking my head, I said, “If this was just about me missing my mom,
then why wouldn’t I just dream of my mom? There’d be no reason for this
woman to be in my dreams if it were just about my mom.”

I watched a look of frustration cross Shelly’s face as she ran a hand
through her hair. “You said you were at your dad’s today. How’s he doing?”

“Wow, that was a very obvious subject change,” I pointed out.

“I’m sorry, Maddy, but I’m having a real hard time digesting this food and your dreams at the same time. I need a fucking break.”

“Fine, but don’t use my dad as an excuse to change the subject.”

She touched my arm. “I’m serious. How’s he doing?”

I looked at her. “He’s desperately lost without her, and I don’t know how to make him better. Of course, I knew it would be hard for him to move on, but I thought eventually he would.”

“Maddy, it’s only been eight months. Give the man some time.”

“But he’s only getting worse. She was the love of his life, and he can’t live without her. Until I started having these dreams, I’ve never experienced that kind of love before and what it felt like to have someone to come home to, or someone to comfort you while you cry in their arms and take care of you when you lose your mom to cancer. The love he misses is the love I have with this woman.”

Shelly kicked the chair out from underneath her and came toward me. “What are you saying?” she yelled. “That you love this woman the same way your father loved your mom? Madison, that is ridiculous. It is not the same!”

I shoved myself away from the table and stormed across the room. “Maybe not here, in real life, but in my dreams it is! We were married! I saw the picture of us. We had a life together. We’d known each other a long time. I can feel it. Hell, my brother graduated from the academy eleven years ago, and she was in the pictures! Eleven years ago!” I stopped and took a deep breath. “If you could see these pictures, you’d understand. It isn’t just about the mere fact that she was in them, but it’s about how close she looked with my family. She was a part of my life.”

Shelly cocked her head and gave me a challenging look. “So you’ve known each other for a long time, you and this woman in your dreams. The two of you shared some great life together, yet you don’t even know her name. Madison, real people have names.”

To read more of HER NAME, please click onto Amazon.

Alicia Joseph grew up in Westchester, Illinois. Her first novella, Her Name, was published by Musa Publishing in 2014. Her Name is a sweet, romantic story about a woman who believes the beautiful woman she dreams about is the real love of her life.

Loving Again is her second published novella. Alicia is currently working on a new novel called A Penny on the Tracks, a coming of age story about love and friendship. Alicia has many works-in-progress that she hopes to finish soon.

When she is not writing, Alicia enjoys volunteering with animals, rooting for her favorite sports teams, and playing “awesome aunt” to her nine nieces and nephews.

Learn more about Alicia Joseph on her blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter.

Something Smells Good!

I am proud to say that my delicious pasta bake is not only easy to prepare, but freezes great and reheats perfectly.

Rotelle pasta resembles little wheels with spikes. If you don't have rotelle, as I didn't when I wanted to cook this recipe, try campanelle which is another curved pasta and it worked great for me.

The kitchen is all yours, Alicia!

Rotelle Ricotta Bake

1 (16oz) pkg. rotelle (corkscrew) pasta
1 (8oz) pkg. sliced part-skim mozzarella cheese
1 (10 oz) pkg. frozen chopped spinach, thawed
3 eggs
1 (15 1/2 oz) carton part-skim ricotta cheese
1 (14 oz) jar marinara sauce
⅔ cup grated Parmesan cheese or Romano cheese
1 tsp. salt to taste
½ tsp. ground black pepper
½ tsp. basil, optional
½ tsp. garlic powder, optional

Heat oven to 375°F.

Cook rotelle according to package directions. Drain.

Butter a 13 X 9 inch baking pan.

Cut mozzarella into ¾ inch strips.

Lay spinach in a colander and press out as much liquid as possible.

Lightly beat eggs in a large bowl, stir in ricotta cheese, marinara sauce, Parmesan or Romano cheese, salt, black pepper, spinach, rotelle and half of the mozzarella.

Spoon into prepared pan. Cover with foil.

Bake until hot, about 15 minutes.

Remove foil.

Arrange reserved mozzarella strips diagonally in rows over rotelle about 1½ inches apart.

Bake until cheese melts, 5 - 10 minutes more.

Mangiare Bene!

While dinner is baking, how about a teaser from one of Alicia's novellas?

Madison Andrews has spent her entire life ~unsuccessfully~ searching for love. She begins having vivid dreams of the same woman every night, and soon, Madison believes this woman is the love she has been searching for. Madison's dreams become more intense and she realizes the dreams she's having recreate moments taken from actual events from her life ~~ and this woman is there for all of it. Madison searches for her, but how can she find a woman she knows everything about... and yet nothing? She doesn't even know her name.

To read more of HER NAME, please click onto Amazon.

Alicia Joseph grew up in Westchester, Illinois. Her first novella, Her Name, was published by Musa Publishing in 2014. Her Name is a sweet, romantic story about a woman who believes the beautiful woman she dreams about is the real love of her life.

Loving Again is her second published novella. Alicia is currently working on a new novel called A Penny on the Tracks, a coming of age story about love and friendship. Alicia has many works-in-progress that she hopes to finish soon.

When she is not writing, the author enjoys volunteering with animals, rooting for her favorite sports teams, and playing “awesome aunt” to her nine nieces and nephews.

Learn more about Alicia Joseph on her blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter.

A Meal from the Heart

by Viki Lyn

I was raised in a family of chefs. My grandfather left his hometown in Italy as a young lad, and crossed the Atlantic Ocean during the early 20th century. From New York City, he boarded a train to California. He had work lined up in San Francisco as a sous chef in a prestigious hotel where he learned his trade.

My father inherited my grandfather’s love of food and was an excellent cook. My father never measured anything, so when he wrote down a recipe it was a pinch of this and handful of that.

This recipe is all about a pinch of this and a handful of that. You can add whatever you have in the fridge…be creative…and have fun.

Light Pasta Sauce

Start with simmering garlic in olive oil. Stir occasionally. Adjust heat as needed so you don't burn the garlic.

Snoop around your vegetable bin and decide which veggies to use. The only essential vegetable is the tomato!

I’m partial to my old standbys:

Mushrooms
Fresh Tomatoes
Zucchinis
Red Bell Peppers

Chop the veggies, but not too small.

Once the garlic is lightly roasted, add in the mushrooms and bell peppers first. After a couple of minutes, mix in the chopped zucchinis. After another couple of minutes, stir in the tomatoes.

This is when I like to include salt, pepper and Italian herbs. And, if you have fresh chopped basil, toss it in. It adds a nice taste to the sauce.

Cook the pasta and before you add the sauce: Toss the cooked pasta in a light coat of olive oil and lemon juice, and add the sauce.

Top with Parmesan or Romano cheese. Serve with a crisp salad and plenty of fresh Italian bread for dipping into the sauce.

Enjoy!

And for dessert, here’s a peek into my latest M/M from Loose Id.

Rocker Leo needs a break. From the band, roadies, everything related to his present life. Wandering the streets of Vienna, he chances upon a poster that just might change his life. Andre Revele, renowned violinist, and Leo’s ex-lover, is performing in the city. It’s been years since Leo slipped out of Andre’s life in the middle of the night, but he's never forgotten their passionate love of music and each other.

Andre’s shocked when Leo shows up backstage after his performance. Hell yes, he’s angry, but he can’t walk away. Against his better judgment, he invites Leo to his hotel for a drink. Not sure what he wants from Leo, he knows what his body wants right now. A night of passionate sex leads to another, until he’s lost his heart to Leo again.

When Andre finds his trust in Leo tested, Leo must prove his loyalty by using their one common passion – music – to bind their hearts.

EXCERPT
Leo finished his cappuccino. He needed a break. From the band, roadies, everything related to his present life. He tried to ignore the constriction in his chest. He hadn’t written anything in months, and that scared the shit out of him. His bandmates were like his brothers, but as much as he loved them, it wasn’t the same as having a lover who completely got him. He had no one to turn to when in a funk.

He hoped to God he still had more words inside him. For all of his flamboyance on stage, his real love was composing.

Leo paid the check and left. Too wound up to go back to his hotel, he roamed the streets, taking in the Vienna night. Stars sparkled above St. Stephen’s gothic spire. The wide boulevards twisted into narrow lanes perfect for getting lost in.

Happy to wander aimlessly, Leo slipped his hands into his fleece-lined jacket. Living in LA, he’d forgotten how cold winter could be in other parts of the world. He turned the corner and sputtered to a halt. Staring at the poster pasted to the side of a building, he didn’t need to read the name of the virtuoso to know who it was. He could never forget that face in rapture—when playing or getting off. Music and sex had invoked the same feelings in Andre Revele. Passion was passion, and that man had always had both in spades.

Numbness swept across Leo as he stared at the picture of Andre caressing the bow in those slender-fingered hands—such artistic hands on a large man. It had been love at first sight—or at least lust—when Leo had walked into the practice room.

He could still remember a youthful Andre, not quite grown into his robust physique, as he played the last stanza of Bach’s Concerto in E. The violin’s notes had faded, but the music had remained in the air long after the performance was over. Bright green eyes peered through dark lashes, and sensual, pouty lips morphed into a shy smile. Like an idiot, Leo had been at a loss for words at Andre’s performance and enamored by that handsome face. Until Andre laughed, breaking the spell.

From that day forward, they were inseparable. They both had insatiable appetites for music. They stayed up all hours talking about philosophy and musical composition, and arguing what was better, thin-crust or thick-crust pizza. They played music together, fucked, and enjoyed the simple moments that composed their insular world.

He scanned the poster for the dates of the concerts. Tomorrow night was the last performance. Leo shuffled his feet, unable to move away. He bit his lip and traced the image of Andre. Did he dare go? It had to be fate. He’d been thinking of Andre, talking about the past with Sid, and now this.

His heartbeat quickened. What if he went backstage and Andre didn’t recognize him? Or brushed him aside? Leo had purposely avoided searching the Internet for news of Andre, too afraid that his ex had a lover, or worse, had married. Their lifestyles were miles apart, and Leo could never think of Andre as a friend.

He drank in Andre’s image. Tall and broodingly dark, Andre had the body of a jock and the sensitive heart of an artist. Leo preferred men unlike himself. He’d been a skinny kid, and had a difficult time gaining weight. If he’d been born years earlier, he would have been the perfect face for a glam rock band. At least he’d outgrown the term pretty boy or twink.

Leo chewed his lower lip as he studied Andre’s picture. Tempting as it was to see his ex again, visiting the past was a bad idea. This wasn’t the time, not when Leo was restless and bored. His heart couldn’t take a rejection from Andre. There were other men, lots of men, and he’d had his share of quite a few of them. With his schedule it had become impossible to form any long-term commitment. Or at least that was what he told himself.

A big, fat lie.

He’d never met anyone who made him feel the way he’d felt for the violinist.

Leo kissed his fingers and pressed them to Andre’s lips. “Good-bye, Princess.” Andre hated that pet name, but Leo loved using the endearment. Andre had been born into wealth and privilege, and his family had expected great things from him. “You proved them right, didn’t you?”

Before Leo changed his mind, he hurried away, dismissing the memories of a love lost to his ambition.

BUY LINK

Multi-published and award winner, Viki Lyn is a successful writer of gay paranormal and contemporary romance. After reading and collecting whatever she could get her hands on, she wrote her first male/male romance. And that was ‘it’ for her. She never looked back. Viki travels the world in search of inspiration. She considers herself blessed to have traveled to many of the mystical sites she had dreamed about as a child. Her travel experiences have been influential in creating her paranormal worlds. When she needs to relax, she calls a friend to meet at their favorite coffee house. When the chattering in her head goes off the charts, she plays one of her favorite RPGs on her PS4 and immerses herself in the world of dragons and magic.

Learn more about Viki Lyn on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter.

Celebrate Difference

by Annie Anthony

For as long as there have been humans, there has been story. Stories are educational. They entertain. Narratives serve political, religious, and cultural purposes. Art taps into the archetypes of human experience and at the same time resonates on a specific and individual level with you, where you live, as you sit on a couch/bed/in a waiting room reading your book/eReader/smart phone.

October is a month that celebrates Queer stories. Whether in the digital space, in books, with purple t-shirts, or other slogans, for one month of the year our culture celebrates gay romance, coming out, anti-bullying, spirit. But as recently as twenty five years ago (ten? maybe even five?) minority/niche/other fiction was a novelty.

What do I mean? Think Fabio. Romance readers, writers, publishers: where is Black Fabio? Gay Fabio? I think I’ve seen him scaling the brick and mortar walls of bookstores, “popping up” in the digital space.

Part of why I write is to share the stories that are relevant to my own life and experience, and of course I hope that my stories entertain, educate, enlighten. My own coming out process was difficult (agonizing) and protracted (took far too long.) As a publically “out” lesbian, my writing reflects the stories and issues that are meaningful to me. But does that mean I write only for my tribe?

A well-known fact in publishing is that roughly 60% of the readers of MM erotic fiction or MM romance are women. Straight/heterosexual. Married. Women. Why? I have edited MM erotica and romance. I have read in that genre more than I’ve edited, but I don’t think I am the average consumer. As I like to say, I see homosexual men and women as two sides of one gay coin. Reading about gay male experience is relevant, right? To me? A lesbian? Just because the sex doesn’t arouse me doesn’t mean I don’t relate to the humor, the tension, the conflict and oh-so-delicious resolution.

That brings me back to my original statement: story as both archetype and individual.

What do any of us really choose to read and why? Sometimes for pure distraction or sexual titillation; sometimes for education or information. Sometimes we read just to feel that basic connection to a human who has articulated our own personal feelings and thoughts better than we might be able to do ourselves. To connect.

If the fundamental purpose of reading is to satisfy hunger—be it a profound or simple need—why has popular fiction been painfully bereft of Black Fabio? Gay Fabio? Lesbian Fabio… er, Fabia?

The answer to that question is complex and difficult, but the reality is that we have a powerful opportunity today, right now, and never more publically than during the month of October. Writers, readers, publishers, bloggers—together we have access to media and the ability to create material that will allow stories to reach unprecedented economic, social, and personal spaces.

If you want to experience multicultural stories, gay stories, heterosexual stories—there is room for all of us at the table. October is like Thanksgiving for story and for queer—a feast, a celebration, and a joining together.

Whether you participate in Queer Romance Month, Spirit Day, National Coming Out Day—other/none, I invite you to chat up someone at the party this month who you don’t already know. Meet someone new in October. If you’re straight, ask yourself whether gay romance might be entertaining, educational. Power dynamics, economic realities, gender stereotypes—these themes are universal to both heterosexual relationships and queer couples. And what about pure entertainment? Writing about sex is about so much more than body parts… the chemistry, the insecurities, the desire—that hunger. If you’re hungry, if you’re at the party, try talking to someone new this month. You never who you’ll meet and what adventures are there for you to enjoy.

To read an excerpt from Annie's latest release Blue Suede Boi, please click here.

Annie Anthony writes fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and lists. She edits professionally but promises she does not critique text messages. Annie volunteers with children who have medical special needs and also with GLBTQ causes. Originally from Chicago, she currently lives in Los Angeles. She is a tattoo lover, a dog mama, and last but not least, a lesbian. Annie hopes you will visit her blog, like her Facebook author page, and follow her on Twitter. Her lesbian erotica short story, Blue Suede Boi, is available from Musa Publishing.

A Perfect Dinner

Viki Lyn is stirring up a mix of good things in the kitchen today. Pull up a chair and make yourself comfortable.

Perfect Salmon Filet
1 salmon filet per person
olive oil
lemon juice
salt
freshly ground pepper
herbs and/or spices of your preference

Set oven to 350°F.

Place salmon filet in pan and rub with olive oil. Squeeze on lemon juice. Spice to your liking. I use dill, salt and pepper.

Place in oven for 20 minutes.

All oven temperatures are different so give and take a few minutes, and experiment. The trick is not to overcook the fish. The salmon is done when it flakes easily when tested with a fork.

Here’s a lovely adult beverage to enjoy while your salmon bakes.

Angel Face

(drink recipe from Diffords Guide)

1 shot of dry gin
1 host of calvados
1 shot of apricot brandy liqueur

Add ingredients to a shaker filled with ice. Shake well. Pour Angel Face into a martini glass and garnish with a very thin apple slice.





Here's a little from my latest book to enjoy with your Angel Face Cocktail.

Kenneth believes everything—even love—can be solved logically, until he meets a flower child who challenges him at every turn.

Kenneth Hailey, an uptight conservative mathematician, believes he's in control. After all, every problem can be solved in a deliberate and logical manner. Even love. When his fiancée dumps him for his best friend, he leaves Manhattan for the West Coast. What better place to forget his past. It's 1967, and San Francisco is the place to turn on, tune in, and drop out.

But is he ready for Rose Red?

Rose Red, a free-spirited flower child, challenges Kenneth, thrusting him into her world of love-ins, protest rallies, and rock concerts. Kenneth finds himself falling down a rabbit hole, hanging on for dear life.

Old habits die hard, and he retreats, but Rose Red has other plans for him.

Formula For Love is available at:
Musa Publishing
Amazon

What inspires Viki Lyn is the reality that romance between lovers is a hope more than a guarantee. Her stories are an eclectic mix of contemporary and paranormal, but it is always romance that drives the story to its final happily-ever-after.

Learn more about Viki Lyn on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter. Check out her bookshelf and be sure to Join Viki’s Street Team!

Viki is also an award winning author of male/male paranormal and contemporary romances. You can find all of her books at the following sites: Amazon, All Romance Ebooks and GLBT Bookshelf.

HOT New Release and TERRIFIC Giveaway

I'm excited to introduce you to talented GLBT author C. Zampa and her exciting book Honor C. Take it away, C!

Since Honor C takes place in the lovely, magical city of San Antonio, Texas, I thought it would be cool to share something that reminds me of the city. Something maybe they’d enjoy on a romantic night out on the San Antonio Riverwalk.

And…since I’d had a recent trip to San Antonio myself, I’m excited to share a new cocktail I discovered at Mad Dogs British Pub on the River Walk. The Dos Equis Michelada. I was hooked. It is my new favorite drink! If you like Bloody Marys, you will love the Michelada.

And…yes! Dos Equis has shared their recipe!

The Dos Equis Michelada
12 oz Dos Equis® Ambar
¼ cup lime juice
½ tsp. Worcestershire sauce
½ tsp. hot sauce
¼ tsp. soy sauce
2 oz. tomato juice
Red pepper flakes or chili powder
Ice

HOW TO MAKE IT
Rim a 16-oz. beer mug with lime juice and red pepper flakes. Add ice and pour in a bottle of Dos Equis Ambar. Mix in the remaining ingredients.

And…pssst….The Mad Dog added a few green olives to the drink. Perfectamundo.

Here's a little from my latest release to excite your other tastes while you sip your delicious Michelada. Enjoy!

There were times I thought I would die from the pain of it and times I often hated myself because of the pain it caused for those I loved.
But if I had the chance to go back, to do it over again, would I still have done the same? Yes. Hell, yes.
—Honor Castillo

San Antonio, Texas, 2001

Honor

I STARED through the slats of the tree house roof at the porch light shimmering on the leaves. The weathered boards were warm and rough on the soles of my bare feet, and the musty smell of the worn wood soothed me, turned me on.
The little wood sanctuary had hosted some of the best memories of my life. In this secret clubhouse, my buddies and I stashed comic books and Playboy magazines. We sneaked cigarettes, turning our little haven into a sort of juvenile male-only nightclub.

It was here I discovered I didn’t go for the chicas in the nudie magazines but instead lusted for the cocks and tight asses of chulos. One hot summer night a million years ago, on the floor of this little dilapidated tree house—crickets going wild in the dark and lightning bugs glittering in the shadows of the trees—I made out with a boy for the first time.

That boy was Jorge Villagomez.

Thin, pale Jorge, who always seemed to be in frail health. Constantly missing school, in and out of the hospital, never having to participate in gym. The boy who carried a little plastic container filled with his medications in his backpack. Although he never spoke of it, not even to me, the undisputed word—from a kid named Julie something-or-other who knew everything—was that Jorge had a heart condition.

Beautiful, ungodly beautiful Jorge. Somehow his fragility made him all the more divine. Unbearably delicate skin complemented with the shiniest, blackest hair I’d ever seen. But it was his eyes that riveted me. Clear, mystical, startling silvery gray. And in the middle of all those ravishing features was the cutest gap-toothed smile. That tiny flaw lent Jorge a smidgen of ordinariness. It almost made him approachable.

Rich, spoiled Jorge. Hell, even his name dripped with privilege. Jorge Villagomez. His parents—of noble Spanish heritage—were San Antonio society, steeped in culture and money.

Fiery, icy, bossy, bitchy, girly, sweet, adorable Jorge. Sickly as he was, feminine as he was, nobody but nobody ever made fun of him. He never endured the bullying most of the weaker kids did. Something in Jorge defied the teasing. His very spirit double-dog dared anyone to make fun of him.

My Jorge.

What that exquisite creature saw in me, I hadn’t a clue. I figured he got some rich boy’s thrill hanging out in my not-so-affluent neighborhood.

But then I figured if a guy like me was lucky enough to be on the receiving end of Jorge’s libido, I shouldn’t ask questions. I’d just smile and roll around in the sexual glow.

If I lived a hundred years, I’d never forget the day he sashayed into my life.

To read more about Honor C or purchase the book please click a vendor's name:
Dreamspinner Press
Amazon
All Romance (Are)

And now for the terrific giveaway!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Here are other sites to read more about C. Zampa and Honor C:

18th: MM Good Books Review

18th: Sloane Taylor

18th: Sue Brown

20th: Three Flynns Website/blog

22nd: Cynthia Sax

24th: Romance Lives Forever Blog

Learn more about C. Zampa on her Blog and Amazon Author page. Stay connected on Twitter and Facebook.

I'll be back Monday. Until then...

Happy Reading!

Sloane

Annie and Stan Out Having Fun

Today's blog is happily turned over to multi published author SS Hampton Sr. and his guest multi genre author Annie Anthony.

Stan: Welcome Annie. So, who is Annie Anthony and what makes her tick?


Annie: Such a great question! And so hard to sum up in just a few words. I’m definitely a creative person, a caretaker, and a worker bee. I feel most at home when I have someone/thing to take care of, compelling and fulfilling work to do, and something to write in/draw on close at hand.

Stan: Your blog mentions your being a museum buff, volunteer, tattoo lover, and Lesbian. Will you tell us in a few words what it is you like about museums; what type of volunteer work you do and why; what tattoos you like (we won’t ask you to point “where”); and if being a Lesbian has had an influence on your writings?

Annie: Museums, yes. I actually truly love museums, antiques, even old or unique buildings. I love creating things—baking, drawing, writing. So when I’m in a museum, I feel like I’m able to peer over the shoulders of geniuses… like when I make something I love and show it to people or share it, in a museum, I’m able to be alongside brilliant artifacts of humanity and look closely, as if the creator is saying to me, “Look what I have done.” The internet is amazing because you can go anywhere and see anything—just like a computer cannot replace real human contact, seeing a work of art or an artifact centuries old so close, walking through a building that existed hundreds of years ago…it’s thrilling to me.

Wow, my answer about volunteer work could go on for pages---I work with children who have intellectual and medical special needs. I do it because it marries everything I think I am in one place—creative, caretaker, worker—and it’s fulfilling beyond what I have the words to describe. It’s safe to say that when I’m volunteering, I am completely out of my head, in the moment, and drawing out my most colorful, patient, playful self. Playing with a child who is dependent on a feeding tube or a wheelchair, or who has significant delays or obstacles is a very complex and fulfilling joy which gives me far more than I give.

Hahaha, I have a lot of tattoos and they each have very specific meaning to me. I thought through each one for years (no joke, years!) before actually getting it—the location, the design, the meaning. So they are far more than body art to me. They are literally like wearing my heart on my sleeve (or back, or wrist, or foot...) People get tattoos for different reasons but I don’t think many of us get them for no reason at all… I love that in our country we have the freedom and choice to decorate our bodies in ways that are significant to us. To me, just being able to have a tattoo is a symbol of the freedom we enjoy in this country and that along with our other freedoms is something I deeply treasure and appreciate.

And yes, absolutely. The people who I date or love always impact my writing and work, always. Whether I’m inspired or damaged, whether it’s a brother or a girlfriend, I draw all the truth (differentiated from “fact”) in my writing from reality.

Stan: Will you share one of your favorite childhood memories with us?

Annie: Absolutely. I’m the oldest of three. I have a sister who is two years younger and a brother who was seven years younger. My brother passed away when he was 21 (about 11 years ago) so my memories of him are particularly precious to me.

I remember being in high school and studying like crazy, tons of homework. I would often tuck my brother into bed and get into his bed with him to read him a story or rub his head as he fell asleep. At that point, I was probably 15 and he would have been about 8. I would often fall asleep in bed with him, and take sort of a blissful, stolen nap for maybe an hour or so. When I would wake up, I would turn off his lights and go to my room and get back to studying until late in the night.

Stan: What is your favorite time of the day (or night), and why?

Annie: I’m sort a weird hybrid of morning and night person. I love getting up early, getting some things done and then taking a mid-afternoon rest (LOL, when my schedule even allows.) Then getting back going in the afternoon and going until midnight or so. It’s like fitting two days into one!

Stan: You recently moved from Chicago to Los Angeles. If you don’t mind, what prompted the change? Has there been any culture shock?

Annie: My younger sister has lived in Los Angeles for more than decade, and she is married. She got pregnant with her first child just about 7-8 months after I had to have a hysterectomy for medical reasons. So I became sterile right around the time my sister became a mother. Intense, right? She and I are very close and we talked about how I could handle this, whether I should stay away, try to be involved. I hate LA—which is why I never moved out there to be closer to her before now! I’m very typically Midwestern, I would say. I can’t tolerate celebrity culture, I mean, yes, I enjoy TV and movies, but I’m not a stargazer, have no desire to be part of a cool “scene.” I like carbs and hate plastic faces… but. I love my sister and I want to be a part of this enormous moment in her life and in our family. Since I can’t have children and my brother is no longer with us, the full burden of kids falls to my sister. And I wouldn’t be the bossy older sister if I didn’t try to horn in and make sure she does it right, would I?

Stan: You have a novella, Bullseye, being published this fall. Will you tell us what inspired this story?

Annie: Ah, Bullseye. You know, I have been writing since I was seven years old and have so many works in progress started that I have abandoned, mostly due to self-doubt, time constraints, etc. So when I wrote Bullseye, I never intended to publish it, I sat down and churned out the draft in one sitting and told myself—this is just for YOU. Write this for YOU and finish it, just tell this story. After I did, and after some editing, I thought, hmmm, it’s not horrible. Maybe someone would like it? So I sent it out and the rest is history…

Stan: Is there a particular audience that you might have had in mind when you wrote Bullseye?

Annie: Bullseye was written purely for me, what I wanted to read, what I wanted to convey. I wrote the story about a woman who has cancer and a dog whose cancer has returned. My dog was in remission at the time I wrote the story, I was single and really hoping to find a love that could look beyond the flaws. I come with a lot of baggage, you know, we all do, I guess. So I think I wrote the story for me but also for everyone who like me is imperfect but still very much worth loving.

Stan: Understanding that Bullseye may not be “picture perfect” at this moment, will you still share an excerpt?

Annie: Sure! How about the first line, my editor won’t kill me for that, will she? It’s one of the lines I still smile over when I re-read, I love it:

“Car lights pushed through twilight like straight pins through dark cloth.”

Stan: I’m sure your editor won’t do dastardly things to you for one line! Maybe. What prompted you to choose Musa Publishing as your publisher?

Annie: There are so many publishers out there right now. Big, small, indie, traditional, eBook, print. I’m a small pond kind of girl. I want to know that where I am matters, that the editors actually read my book, not an intern at the slush desk, that my editor liked my book and is personally invested in the outcome, me as an author. I think there are a lot of fantastic books and fantastic publishers out there, but what appealed to me about Musa is that they are real people running a company their way, by their rules—and those rules really do buck the traditional models. Perfect example: when I saw the cover mock-up for Bullseye, I sent an insanely hyper and happy email to my editor—and she was thrilled and doing backflips too! THAT is what makes Musa special. They are real professionals running a small business. I’m grateful and proud to be a part of that.

Stan: Will you give us a hint about another Work In Progress?

Annie: Absolutely, I’m working on writing and illustrating a children’s picture book centered around two fish named Zuzu and Lotsa. I’m also still plotting out a GLBT YA fantasy series. It’s this epic process for me, but it’s amazing to actually sit down and plot out how dozens of characters fit into this world that I am creating. I am also working on a historical fiction, a romance, so that book has also required a lot of research and plotting. Wish me luck, my drawer of orphaned manuscripts is FULL!

Stan: Definitely, good luck! And, where can we find out more about you (blog, Pinterest, etc.)?

Annie: Thanks for asking! I’m on Twitter, Pinterest, I have a blog and I am on Facebook. I love Pinterest, I have lots of Boards for my WIPs, so that is a great place to see my ideas as they are yet unformed in words.

Stan: And, we have to ask: are those Pomeranians you write about in your blog, still being pushy?

Annie: HA! Well, yes and no. I have resorted to bribery (treats.) I have not been bitten in a while, but I still get the Darth Vader-esque bark from a couple of them, you know, anytime I live or breathe…

Stan: Finally, if there is one or a couple of things in this world you would most like to find—whether physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual—what would it, or they, be?

Annie: There are definitely a couple of things I would like to find, have, create yet. And I have to thank you for even asking that question because just sitting down to examine what those things are is a good reminder of what is possible. Those vague needs and hopes are hard to chase, right? But when I say, OK, I’d like “a this” and “a that,” those things become real and possible. Physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, I would like to give more without feeling loss, appreciate more without becoming proud, and create more joyfully, without fear. And hell, I do hope that a chubby 40-year old can still hold out hope for a lasting love and family of her own, right? And for sure, another couple of tattoos…

Stan: Thanks for visiting, and for sharing so much of yourself with us. We wish you much happiness and success in life!

Annie: Thank you!

Annie Anthony is an editor, author, volunteer, and dog mama. On hiatus from her hometown of Chicago, Annie is temporarily living and working in Los Angeles. Look for her novella Bullseye releasing this fall from Musa Publishing.

SS Hampton Sr. served in the active duty Army, the Army Individual Reserve (mobilized for the Persian Gulf War), then enlisted in the Army National Guard; he was mobilized for active duty for almost three years after his enlistment. Much of his work is based on military life such as his paranormal Dancing in the Moonlight.

Something is following Corporal Ronnie Edson back to Iraq, something that won't rest until it owns him completely.

To read an excerpt from any of the books written by SS Hampton Sr. please click HERE.

Hampton's writings have appeared as stand-alone stories, and in anthologies from Dark Opus Press, Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy, Melange Books, Musa Publishing, MuseItUp Publishing, Ravenous Romance, and as stand-alone stories in Horror Bound Magazine, Ruthie’s Club, Lucrezia Magazine, The Harrow, and River Walk Journal, among others.

Monday with Dorien Grey

I'm pleased to bring you Calico, another outstanding Dorien Grey novel. Calico is a western/adventure/mystery/romance with a twist, and a strong YA appeal.

CALICO
Dorien Grey
ISBN
Print 978-1-934135-33-4
Electronic 1-934135-33-X
Zumaya Publications

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Death, danger — and unexpected love.

BLURB:
Cowboy Calico Ramsay finds himself responsible for safely escorting Josh and Sarah, a pair of city-raised twins, through the many dangers of the 1880s' wild west. Along the way he must keep himself and his charges ahead of four mysterious men who are out to kill them for reasons he cannot imagine. And through it all, he must deal with the growing and mutual attraction to young Josh.

EXCERPT:
They set up camp in a small clearing between the town and the wagon train. After unsaddling the horses, Calico set up the campfire after urging Josh and Sarah to wander down to the train in search of young people their own age. Josh made it clear that he would just have soon have remained with Calico at the campsite. But Calico was well aware that, other than for himself, the twins had had no other company since leaving Hutchinson. Perhaps, he told himself, much of what he perceived to be going on between himself and Josh was largely his own imagination responding to Josh's natural need for male companionship.

Josh returned alone shortly before sunset.

"Where's Sarah?" Calico asked.

"She's at the wagon train, with one of the families," Josh replied. "They've got a son just a little older than us."

"What about girls?" Calico asked. "Wasn't there any girls there your age?"

"None that I saw, except one, and she was married and had a baby. But, then, I wasn't looking for girls," Josh said dismissively. Looking for a reaction from Calico and receiving none, Josh unkered down beside Calico at the fire. "Sarah wants to know if it’s okay if she stays to supper with that farmer and his folks."

Calico shrugged. "Sure, it's okay with me. Didn't they ask you to stay, too?"

Josh stared into the fire, picking up a stick to push a few unburned pieces of wood into the flames. "Yeah," he said without looking up, "but I said I had to get back. I'd rather be here with you.

Calico remained silent a moment, filled once again with the sense of a developing relationship in some ways like his own relationship with Uncle Dan, yet in other ways far, far different. He wasn't sure he was ready for it.

"Well," he said, reaching into the saddlebags for food, "we might as well have our supper right now. Then later on, you go back to the train an’ fetch Sarah. Close as it is, I don't want her walkin' back here alone."

While they ate, Josh pried Calico with questions about life on the range, about ranching, raising cattle, dangers commonly encountered, and a myriad of other subjects of interest to a city boy suddenly thrust into a new and, to him, adventure-filled lifestyle. Throughout their talk, though, Calico detected that Josh had something else on his mind.

Finally, after a slight pause in the conversation, Josh said "What do you think of me, Calico?"

Caught completely by surprise, Calico was at a loss for words. After a moment, he said "I’m not sure what you mean, boy?"

Josh was staring at him, and it made Calico once again both nervous and...he couldn't pin it down, but the sensation was warm, and good, and like he'd never felt before.

"That's just it: 'boy.' You think I'm still a boy, don't you?" Josh asked. Calico started to speak, not having any idea at all what he was going to say, and was grateful when Josh continued. "You think I'm a kid who isn't old enough to know what I want."

Calico felt, in his gut, that he knew exactly what Josh was getting at.

"I do know what I want, Calico. I've known what I wanted since I was six years old. It's not a something I'll grow out of. It's not something I've ever been ashamed of, or feel I have to be ashamed of. It's who I am―who I've always been and who I'll always be. I said I always knew what I wanted, but I never found it until…” he paused, staring at the fire, then raised his eyes up to look into Calico’s, who had been watching him at him intently, unable to take his eyes off the young man.

“Somehow,” Josh continued, forcing himself to keep eye contact with Calico, “I've felt since the day you met us at the train station that you understood that. Sarah thinks so too. If we didn't, I couldn't be talking to you now. You do know what I'm talking about, don't you, Calico?"

Calico felt almost dizzy; he was flooded with feelings that were both familiar to him and yet at the same time, alien. He realized they had been with him all his life, but which he had never fully acknowledged before. He nodded.

“Yeah, I think I know, Josh."

"Did you ever…do you...feel the same way, Calico?"

Calico sighed deeply, a little embarrassed at the thought that even Sarah had apparently seen something in him that he had not fully acknowledged himself. "Yeah, Josh," he said finally, "I guess just about everything you said's pretty much the same fer me, 'cept you're a lot more aware of it than I been. I always just figgered I was different'n most men. Not that it ever bothered me much, or that I ever thought there was anythingwrong with it, but feelin's are kind o' private out here―folks, ‘specially men, don't show 'em all that much. So 'til you come along, I just sort o' kept everythin' inside. I gotta tell ‘ya it feels kind o' funny puttin' words to things I never spoke out loud about before in my whole life."

They sat in silence a long minute, Calico staring at the fire, trying to sort out the flood of feelings washing through him.

Finally, Josh spoke again. "You think there might be a chance, Calico?"

Calico looked up from the fire, thinking but again not quite sure he knew exactly
what Josh meant. "A chance?"

"For...for you and me," Josh said quietly.

Calico ran one hand over his face and thought another long moment before replying. "You sure do know how to bowl a man over, bo...Josh," he said with a weak grin. "I'd be lyin’ if I didn’t say that a big a part o' me wants t' say 'yes' . But out here, the law means a lot to decent folks, and by the law, you’re still a kid.”

Josh nodded. “I know. And by the law I’ll be an adult in a little over a week and
nothing will have changed except that I’ll be at Aunt Rebecca’s and you’ll be somewhere between there and your ranch and we might never see each other again.”

The thought of never seeing Josh again had been in the back of Calico’s mind long before the conversation they were now having but, like so many things actually being spoken about for the first time in his life, the impact of the thought only now surfaced.

Calico said nothing for a moment, then sighed deeply. “We're talkin' about somethin' that’s mighty hard f’r me t’ find words for, Josh. I thought about it a lot, I guess, an’ I guess it’s somethin’ I wanted all my life, too. And what you say is true about your just about bein’ an adult in the eyes of the law. But we only knowed each other less than two weeks, an' much as an adult's you might be already, you still got a lot o' livin' t' do." He smiled and raised his hand to forestall Josh's objections. "If there's one thing I learned, it's that it's lots better t' grow int'a somethin' than t' jump int'a it."

"But we'll be at Aunt Rebecca’s soon, and you'll be leaving us there!" Josh said.

"True enough," Calico said "An' that'll give ya' time t' think. I got nine years on you, Josh. I never put words t’ it before, but I think I been waitin' all this time, too. So I reckon I can wait a while longer. I just want you t' have the time t' be sure you know that what ya' really want is what ya' think ya' want now. You understand me?"

Eyes downcast, Josh nodded.

“An’ one more thing…’bout me callin’ you ‘boy’ so much. My Uncle Dan called me ‘boy’ right up t’ the day he died, an’ I know he didn’t mean no disrespect by it. I think I know now it was his way a lettin’ me know that he cared about me.” Calico stirred the fire with a stick, then looked into Josh’s face. “You just keep that in mind if I should call you ‘boy’ again sometime.”

Watch the video trailer for Calico HERE. To read the entire first chapter on Dorien's website, please click HERE.

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Dorien Grey is the author of two popular mystery series―the 14-book Dick Hardesty series and the 4-book Elliott Smith series.

Learn more about Dorien Grey on his website and blog.

I'll be back Wednesday with a new menu. Until then...

Happy Reading!

Sloane Taylor
Twitter
Amazon Author Page

TOUGH CHOICES

are what everyone faces at some point in their life. KC Kendriks' emotionally charged book A HARD HABIT TO BREAK immerses the read into the world of two men on the verge of altering their lives forever. It's an excellent read and one that was obviously written from the heart.

A HARD HABIT TO BREAK
KC Kendriks
ISBN 978-1-60272-671-0
Amber Quill Press – Amber Allure



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BLURB:
As the reigning stud of the local gay club scene, every guy in the county knows Travis Templeton, and vies for his attention. Travis wears his crown lightly, careful not to break any hearts. He knows what it’s like to really love someone who doesn’t love you back-at least, not in the way you want.

Heath Kelley made the biggest mistake of his life the night before his best friend Travis left for college. One small action snowballed into years of silent misunderstanding and empty distance. When Heath accepts a transfer that sends him to his hometown, he doesn’t know Travis has moved back home, too. It doesn’t take long for the men to reconnect.

Admitting they never stopped thinking of each other as “best friends” is easy. Forgiveness of past sins is easy, but confessing their secrets comes harder. When Heath discovers the truth about Travis’ private life, the newly repaired bonds of friendship are stretched taut.

It’s time for Travis to choose – the love of his best friend, or a life of being second best.

EXCERPT:
The ghost of his lips slid coolly over mine like they had so many times over the years, a phantom whisper that raised gooseflesh on the back of my thighs and buttocks. Travis fixed me with a stare far colder than my memories. His angry, hurt voice froze my insides.

“You had what I wanted, Heath. You were normal. You dated girls. You fucked girls.” He sucked in a deep, difficult breath. When he spoke again, the anger was gone, but not the hurt.

“Then you kissed me and brought the very thing I hated right to my bed. How could you do that to me? Why didn’t you tell me you were really gay?”

Stunned, my knees wobbled, and I leaned back against his car before they gave out and I ended up on the pavement. Never had I imagined he felt such self-loathing. I hadn’t seen it, but then I’d been just seventeen. Liking some girls muddied the water for me, and I never thought of myself as anything but straight, back then.

What I felt for Travis was special, outside everything, and everyone, else. He was my best friend. I was a senior in college before I dared put a name to my sexuality, and begin to accept what it meant. I took a chance he wouldn’t shake me off, and grasped his elbow. He trembled under my fingertips.

“Travis, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. How could I?”

He shivered, like he had a sudden chill. The anger left his beautiful eyes, to be replaced by a great sadness.

“I’m sorry, too, Heath. I didn’t know how to tell you. I thought you’d hate me.
I thought you’d run away from me, and then I ran away from you.”

My chest ached. Thirteen years lost.

“I could never hate you, Travis. There was a lot I didn’t know about my teenage self. So much I didn’t understand.” I took a deep breath. “The truth is, I’m bi.”

His eyebrows drifted up. He blinked. I nodded and rolled my eyes at him.
“Don’t look at me like I’m speaking a foreign language.”

Travis swallowed, hard, his Adam’s apple moving convulsively. “Um, sorry. Not that you’re…Your mom… I mean, I thought… is Dani a man or a woman?”
It was my turn to blink. “How’d you hear about Dani?”

“Your mother mentioned her.”

Fuck.

“Well, buddy, Dani is a guy. Daniel.”

“That’s not what I heard, man. Your mother thinks you had a live-in girlfriend.”

I snorted. How was he going to handle this bit of information?

“Well, Travis. Dani is fucking hot in a skirt, and on the telephone, it would be easy to jump to several conclusions.”

He blinked owlishly. “I see.”

I doubted it. Dani did standup comedy in full drag regalia, and it was damn funny.

Travis slumped against the fender beside me, our shoulders brushing. “You still want to go get that pizza? I really have to eat something so my glucose level doesn’t bottom out on me.”

That sounded like my old friend. “Do you still run for fun?”

Travis treated me to a real grin. “Yeah. Gotta feed the machine. Do you still run?”

I shook my head. “It wasn’t the same without you. Maybe I can get back into it, though. What do you think? Will you help me start training again?”

He looked pleased as he nodded. “Sure. It’ll help us get to know each other again.”

I leaned a little closer. “So, you’re not going to blow me off?”

Travis drew back like I’d struck him. Too late I realized the double-entendre. I grabbed his arm.

“Oh, no. No, man, I did not mean I wanted…I meant you weren’t going tell me to go to hell and then run away again.”

His eyes narrowed. “What? I’m not good enough to give you a blow job?”

We’d veered into very murky waters, the potential for disaster suddenly and exponentially increasing. We’d just reconnected, and the only thing that kept me from throwing my arms around him and never letting go was fear he’d bolt again.

As for blow jobs, I’d go to my knees for him anytime he snapped his fingers and pointed at the spot, but I didn’t dare tell him that for the exact same reason.

“Lord, Travis. Let’s not talk about sex just yet.”

To my surprise, he chuckled. “Heath Kelley, backpedaling. I’m amazed I lived long enough to see it happen.”

“Laugh all you like. We can talk sex over lunch.”

Travis turned to me, arms crossed over his chest, his hip against the car.

“No, Heath. We won’t talk sex. You’ll always be my best friend. Hell, you’re more than that. I’ve missed you so much.” He paused and took a deep breath.

“Sex is off limits, Heath. I don’t want to talk about it with you, and as friends, we’re not going to do it.”

He might think that, but I knew better.

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This title is also available as part of FROM THIS MOMENT ON, a five-story PAX available only at Amber Allure.

Learn more about KC Kendricks on her website and blog. You can follow her on Twitter and MySpace. Join KC's mailing list for all her latest news.

I'll be back Friday with a new release from the uber talented Robert Appleton. Until then...

Happy Reading!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey...Hotter than Hell
www.sloanetaylor.com

TRICKS

The incomparable Rick R. Reed is here with a book filled with passion and suspense. TRICKS is a step away from the horror Rick usually writes, but this magical novel is engrossing and guaranteed to satisfy.

TRICKS
Rick R. Reed
ISBN-13: 978-1-60820-214-0 Paperback

ISBN-13: 978-1-60820-215-7 Electronic
MLR Press



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BLURB:
Tricks can mean many things: sex partners, deceptions, even magic. In Rick R. Reed’s searing love story, it means all three. Arliss is a gorgeous young dancer at Tricks, the hottest club in Chicago’s Boystown. Sean is the classic nerd, out of place in Tricks, but nursing his wounds from a recent break-up.

When the two spy each other, magic blooms.

But this opposites-attract tale does not run smooth. What happens when Arliss is approached by one of the biggest porn producers in the business? Can he make his dreams of stardom come true without throwing away the only real love he’s ever known? And will this question even matter if the mysterious producers realize their dark intentions?

EXCERPT:
Arliss had everything he needed right in front of him for that night's performance-hardhat, check, steel-toed boots, check, tool belt, check, black mesh thong with pouch for his rather prodigious endowment, big check. Yes, Arliss was just about ready for his turn on the stage at Tricks, located in Chicago's infamous Boystown neighborhood, at its epicenter on the corner of Belmont and Halsted. He also had before him a tall tumbler of Stoli vodka with just a whisper of cranberry juice cocktail in it for color, and a half-empty pack of Marlboro Ultralights. The latter two items helped the twenty-one-year-old calm himself before a performance, and the vodka in particular went a long way toward reducing backstage jitters.

He lit up a cigarette and regarded himself through the smoke. The lights in the crowded dressing room, which he shared with the other eight or so exotic dancers, were unforgiving. Fluorescent did little to hide any imperfections like rings under the eyes, reddened noses from too much partying, and, for those on their way out of the club, track marks on the arms. But Arliss didn't have to worry about signs of drug abuse showing up on his person. He had learned to just say no a long time ago, in a manner that he preferred not to dredge up, at least not now, when he was trying to put himself in a cheerful, high-energy mode.

Cigarette clenched between his teeth, he struggled into his costume, ending by stuffing his dick into the pouch that protruded from his black thong. His member stuck out in such a way that invited grasping hands, which is what Arliss wanted, as long as there was cash in those hands to stuff the thong even more fully.

Attired in a costume that would make the construction worker from the Village People look demure, Arliss turned in front of the mirror to ensure he was the perfect fantasy specimen of pornographic machismo. He was grateful he had added the angel wing tattoo to his back and the snakes that twisted around each bicep. And the one on his chest, the tiny heart with the name "Helena" in it, always brought a lump to his throat-or a splash of bile to the back of it, depending on his mood and how forgiving he felt.

He set the cigarette down in a tin ashtray and took a swig of vodka. He could feel as much as hear the heavy bass of the techno music playing in the bar and knew that Antonio, a Puerto Rican dude with a shaved head and heavy stubble, was probably just about finished with his set, which meant his boxing ensemble cluttered the small stage.

Arliss would come out, dance briefly and flirtatiously with Antonio, and then have the stage to himself. He didn't know how he did it, night after night, but somehow he managed. He had always been the shyest boy in Ruskin, Florida, where he had grown up. If they could see me now... Well, if they could see me now, they'd probably still call me a fag and try to beat the crap out of me. Once again, my dear, now is not the time for sentimentality. He took another swig of vodka, draining the glass and feeling the warmth of the liquor as it spread through his chest and extremities. Show time!

Arliss hurried to the door that separated the cramped dressing room from the bar proper. Tricks didn't really have a stage, although the dancers liked to think of the bar upon which they danced as one. It was Friday night and, from the burble of conversation beneath the pounding beat, sounded as though they had a good crowd. He sucked in a breath, looked down at his perfectly smooth pale skin and six-pack abs and told himself he was gorgeous.

"Don't forget to smile, Toots! You always look like some gloomy Gus out there!" Leave it to Emmett Myers, owner of Tricks, to try and unsettle him just before he went on stage.

Arliss flashed the man a big, Farrah Fawcett smile. If the prissy older man with the pencil moustache recognized it as fake, he gave no indication.

"There! That's what they like to see! For heaven's sakes, you have to remember that if they think you're having a good time, they'll have a good time. And a good time means more money for all of us."

Arliss listened as the song wound down, morphing into yet another bass beat that signaled him it was time to stride out through the door, amble across the crowded room, ignore the covert feels and pinches he got as he made his way to the bar, and climb up on it to join Antonio in front of the crowd.

"Get out there, gorgeous! Shake your groove thing!" Emmett cackled and placed a hand on Arliss' back to propel him forward. Just as much to get the hand off his back as to get to the stage, Arliss threw open the door, plastered on a big smile, threw his shoulders back and strode through the crowd, keeping his eye on the narrow strip of bar that would, for the next fifteen minutes, be his stage.

* * *

Sean didn't know what he was doing in Tricks. It was the kind of bar he never frequented. Hell, he rarely frequented any bars. He felt out of place among these older men, all of them leering at the strippers. He supposed he couldn't fault these men for coming here. The strippers, after all, were the bar's reason for being-providing "adult" entertainment...and to charge outrageously high prices for watered down cocktails.

I mean, really, eight dollars for a vodka and tonic? And the vodka wasn't even a call brand! Sean peered into the clear liquid, with its bubbles, slice of lime, and more than generous helping of ice cubes, and wondered again what could have possessed him to set foot inside this place. Tricks was a sleazy bar, a destination where he was certain the boys on stage probably made offstage deals with the clientele for more intimate, and less legal, behavior. It was the kind of place he and his friends once made fun of, painting the characters who frequented it with terms like "desperate" and "lecherous."

So what was he doing here? On a Friday night, no less, when other gay men his own age, thirty something, were on the prowl in countless other places on Halsted and further north, in the newer crop of bars in the neighborhood known as Andersonville.

He shook his head, knowing exactly what had brought him here. He stared morosely into his drink, the men around him hooting and catcalling as the next dancer hoisted himself up on the bar to begin his routine. The boy (to call him a man, really, would have been a stretch) was what was known in gay parlance as a twink. He barely looked old enough to drink, let alone wag his weenie at the patrons to a Lady GaGa beat. Was this kid really of legal age? Really? Sure, he had the requisite tattoos and piercings of a professional wrestler, and his smooth, almost hairless body was firm and well-defined, but Sean had to wonder what would compel someone so young to make his living in a way Sean had always thought of as demeaning.

And if what the kid's selling is demeaning, what does that make you?

He knew he should just get up from the bar stool on legs that were still steady and head home to his apartment and his live-in lover-an overweight black and white cat named Bergamot who was always willing to pay attention to him when no one else seemed up to the task. He shook his head, imagining his lonely evening eating a Lean Cuisine, watching recorded episodes of Glee.

It was enough to make him stay put and, for something to do, he turned his gaze to the boy on the bar, who was moving his hips suggestively, trying to make eye contact with everyone in the room all at once, and grinning like he was having the best time a boy could have this side of having an orgasm..

The boy was beautiful, in his own sordid, runaway sort of manner. His eyes were a piercing blue that somehow, when focused on Sean for the briefest of moments, made him feel he was the only guy in the room. But there was something otherworldly about him too, almost a glow, something that went far beyond his vitality and youth. It was as though he were performing to some inner music, something lurid and sexual.

Sean wondered what the kid thought about as he went through the motions of what could only loosely be defined as dancing. Did he really like being here? Why had he chosen this life over something with a more promising future, like college or some sort of employment that didn't involve shedding his clothes? Did he do it out of desperation? Was he on drugs?

Or was it that he was using to his best advantage what he had to work with? Sean had to admit-and the little man down below, the one between his legs, raised his purple head to agree-that the boy was sexy, extremely so. He had about him something that was at once alluring and needy: you wanted to take this boy in your arms and comfort him; you also wanted to fuck the shit out of him and slap his ass and whisper foul nothings in his ear as you thrust into him. Sean squirmed as his little man lengthened and thickened to his full size, which was actually about six and a half inches, and not the eight he claimed in various online profiles.

The boy shed the tool belt he wore, letting it drop to the bar's surface with a thud, then the hard hat, finally swaying in nothing more than a black mesh thong and steel-toed boots. His legs were long, lean, and well-muscled, and like every other letch in the bar, Sean could not keep his eyes off the boy's member, which bounced around in front of him like a mini baseball bat, looking absurd and breathtakingly tantalizing at the same time. Sean didn't know whether to laugh or just open his mouth and drool. How big was that thing, anyway? This boy, Sean was sure, would not have to lie about having eight inches. From the basis of the flaccid member barely concealed, the boy could honestly claim all that...and maybe even more.

Sean felt heat rise to his face as he gulped at his drink, finding the tall glass contained only ice. Where was that bartender?
And now the boy was moving along the bar, smiling and squatting down with those same magnificent legs spread, exhorting the bar revelers to stuff his thong with dollar bills.

He had no shortage of takers. The bills were testing the elastic of the thong's waistband and a few errant bills would slip to the stage; the boy discreetly snatched them up and held them in his hand as he made his way down this lascivious receiving line, letting the patrons dip their hands inside the thong to ensure that what he had on display was real. Sean assumed it was-no way to fake that. He also let them pat his ass, running their hands over its smooth contours. When Sean watched one guy wet his finger and slip it inside the boy's butt…

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I'll be back Friday. Until then...

Happy Reading!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey...Hotter than Hell
www.sloanetaylor.com