Addison Albright is a writer living in the middle of the USA. Her stories are gay (sometimes erotic) romance in contemporary settings. Her education includes a BS in Education with a major in mathematics and a minor in chemistry. Addison loves spending time with her family, reading, popcorn, boating, french fries, “open window weather,” cats, math, and anything chocolate. She loves to read pretty much anything and everything, anytime and anywhere.
I didn’t know this guy at all. I didn’t even know what he did for a living. All I knew was that Sammy liked his kid, that he kept on talking whether someone was listening or not, and that he had these long, well-manicured, almost graceful hands he moved around a lot when he talked.
Yes, I realize what that sounds like, I might have a small fetish about hands.
It was cool. I was going to make out with the hottest straight man in the world. Not a big deal. My cold sweat said otherwise, but we were going to ignore it. If I could tell younger gay me how things were going to turn out, he’d feel a lot better about getting the shit kicked out of him.
“Hey,” I released one of his hands and lifted his chin so our eyes connected. “Whatever you need, I’ll support you, okay? You don’t have to deal with any of this alone.” I waited for what felt like a lifetime as the air around us crackled with tension. The slightest of nods from Carter though had me exhaling deeply. I grinned, a big-ass genuine smile. “I’ve got your back.”
Just before he stepped through, Tom stopped and looked Sam right in the eye. “You’re a tenacious little shit. Go after what you want.” He paused, looked at the light again, and then back at Sam. “You say it takes two to tango? Then you need to make him want to dance.”
John listened, commenting just often enough to prove he really was paying attention, and honestly, I loved him for that. I mean, I loved him for many reasons, but I loved that though I knew he was bored to tears, he was too fond of her to ever let it show.
📚 I’m using Other Worlds Ink for the promo tour this time around since When Are You? is a time travel story. It actually reads more like a contemporary (with elements of far-back history and mystery), with our heros stumbling through a random and temporary time rift, losing their kid, and having to figure out where—or rather when—he is, and how to go back to save him.
Don’t worry, though, I can promise a super happy ending at the end of the emotional rollercoaster ride!
Danny frowned at her. “Jeri, how do you know my car hasn’t been moved?”
She grinned. “There’s still a huge splatter of bird shit on your windshield that was there when I left yesterday. Unless I’m mistaken, it’s right where you’d need to look to see out. I know you well enough to know that if you’d left last night, you’d have cleaned it off. That and the drop of grease on your shirt from your lunch yesterday means you’ve been here all night and haven’t changed clothes.”
The French guy agitates my heart with his singing, and Ronan calms it with his kindheartedness. The contrasts are intense, making my skin feel too snug for my body, my chest tight, and my stomach worried. My pulse flutters in my neck, and I worry that Ronan will see it. I don’t know what to do with myself.
So I allow myself to look at Ronan, seeking comfort in his calming presence. I drink in the warmth radiating from him as though he’s the sun and I’m a sagging flower in desperate need of his rays of life.
As I approach, he brushes off the hood with his hand, revealing his face, and I stutter a breath. Dang, he’s grown up nice. When he’s not hunched over, he’s tall—and inch or two over my own six-feet-one—and muscular and broad all over. His hair is buzzed completely off, his ears sticking out a little too much, and a neatly trimmed beard frames and draws attention to pink, thin lips. His eyes are dark, almost black, and suck me into his gaze.
📚 From Tuesday: They’re rounding the corner for their eighth lap now, and he’s starting to see some flaws in this logic. Straight people, he thinks, probably don’t spend this much time convincing themselves they’re straight.
A friendly reminder that I’ve got a holiday short story available. It’s in KINDLE UNLIMITED, but not via KDP, so you can also get it at distributors everywhere. You can read it for free with your library card via Hoopla or Overdrive.
“Don’t you like dancing?” He seemed genuinely puzzled, like a straight acquaintance had once reacted upon discovering my lack of interest in women.
I shrugged. “I like watching dancing.”
He must have taken that in, for when we were at the club, several times I had the distinct impression that he was dancing for me. It was when he began to dance in a more teasing, provocative fashion, moving the hips and the pelvis, and orienting himself so that I would get the best view of this. He never gave himself away by looking at me, but I felt he was actually performing for me.