📚 From Wednesday:
Except Doug’s anything but an alpha male, and instead of being full of that “fuck yeah” confidence after a big lawyerly win or going toe-to-toe in a boxing ring, he’s slowly puffing himself up in anticipation of a cruise ship trivia night.
My pretend husband is fucking adorable.
📚 From Sunday:
A year ago he’d had no sense of the stone about to land in his life. Ripples and ripples and he was sinking.
“Cadence Bell,” he said, to the wind and the sea, “Queen’s playwright and artistic advisor. On the Inner council.” The sea sighed at him with voiceless well-meant soothing rhythm; but it had no advice to give.
📚 From Monday:
Jack slipped into the thick pedestrian traffic, walking just a bit faster than most of the people heading to work. He had never quite understood the buzz of working a crowd, but right then, dodging and weaving around human-shaped obstacles, aware that Gareth was trying to catch up without creating an obvious scene, Jack suddenly felt insanely happy.
📚 From Thursday:
The scent shimmering off Phin’s skin was akin to inhaling flame. As intoxicating as it was life-giving. Jake’s nostrils flared in recognition of a truth he could no longer deny. Jack had never tried, of course, a fact Jake had been hell-bent on blanking. Intent on blissful ignorance. Jackals mate for life. Plural. Phin smelled of home and hearth, of flickering warmth on a bitter winter night. It was far too late now. It had been from the very first.
📚 From Monday:
Who’s he kidding? It’s taken him this long to just build up the courage to invite Jim in. By the time he gets around to asking the man to stay the night, one or both of them will probably be too old to be any good in the sack. Most likely it’ll be him.
📚 From Monday:
Marcus’ chest is tightening as he sinks to the floor, shivering and soaked in sweat. He’s dying, he knows this for certain, the fucking breathing exercises don’t work when you can’t breathe, and he’s positive that his heart is about to explode out of his chest and he can’t—he can’t—
He just can’t.
📚 From Sunday:
Carter sighed happily, giving in and melting back against his crush for one single solitary second before he made himself pull away.
Or at least, he tried to pull away. Rip seemed to have other ideas, turning Carter around bodily to face him and looking down at him with genuine concern in his eyes.
Seriously, you okay, Carter?” he asked. “Because I know this boyfriend thing is important to your brother, but if you really don’t—”
📚 From Thursday:
Tom knew the grin on his face was goofy, more fit for a teenager playing Ding Dong Ditch maybe, but he let his freak flag fly. Fuck it.
📚 From Monday: I really loved him calling me that, and I didn’t know why. I wasn’t going to think too much on it. If I did, my stupid brain would start pointing out all the reasons I shouldn’t. So I just nodded and dropped my gaze. Trey wasn’t having any of that, though. He grabbed my chin and made me look at him.
📚 From Sunday:
I browse my phone for new movies. My secret guilty pleasure is anything with Jason Statham. I told Doug once, and he looked like I announced I’d laced the office coffee maker with cyanide. When you work at a film festival, people have a lot of opinions. And while most of Jason’s work is hardly a masterpiece for the ages, you can’t knock a shaved head and that jaw.
❤️ “Yeah, I think I can do Sunday.” Arliss scratched his head, wondering how this would go. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on a proper date. Had he ever? Was he stepping into a foreign country where he didn’t know the language? Would he make a fool of himself?
📚 From Sunday:
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.
📚 The King’s Honour by JL Merrow
📚 The Mistaken Fiancé by Kim Katil
📚 99 Problems by Becky Black
📚 A Pebble in the Water by Lisa Gray
📚 From Sunday:
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.
📚 From Wednesday:
“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.”
📚 From Monday:
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.”
📚 From Tuesday:
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.
📚 From Monday:
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.”
📚 From Monday:
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.
📚 From Sunday:
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.
📚 From Monday:
“You did come,” Reid said when Michael joined him outside the restaurant early Sunday evening. “I figured it was fifty-fifty that you would.”
Michael smiled. “Seventy-thirty on my part that I wouldn’t But then I decided what the hell. It’s a free meal.”
📚 From Wednesday:
“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.
📚 From Monday:
“Wow, you are hairy.”
“I did warn you.”
“I’m not complaining.” Jamie grinned, meeting his eyes. “I like a hairy chest.”
“Luke gave him a half smile. “Wait till you see my back.”
📚 From Sunday:
“Well,” Skarry hesitated. He liked this strange, eccentric wizard who had swept, so suddenly into his life a few weeks ago. He wasn’t sure he should like him. Wasn’t even convinced that ‘like’ was the correct term for it; Mercurio Smith had the same curious appeal as an invitation to delve into a haunted crypt at midnight. Even as a child, Skarry had never been able to resist that kind of invitation. “I am dressed for dinner,” he said, at last. The last thing he wanted to do was offend his new companion. Mercurio liked being offended. He actively sought it out and then immersed himself in it for hours, like a long, hot bath.
📚 From Monday:
Azrah gave a sly smile. “Was it Doctor Who again? Robin met him last night,” she added to Heath.
“Maybe. I didn’t get the chance to have a good look, did I? Thanks to you two.” Robin glared at her. “Anyway, I said he reminded me of Doctor Who. Not that he was Doctor Who. Who doesn’t exist, by the way. And is also a woman right now.”
Heath stared dreamily into the middle distance. “Ah, she’s another strong woman, that one. Knows what she’s doing with a welding torch.”
“Okay, I’m going to have nightmares about your sex life tonight.” Robin took a thoughtful sip of his rum and Coke.
📚 From Sunday – “He does have persuasive eyelashes,” John said into his shoulder. “All soft and long and pretty. Maybe it’s another superpower.”
📚 From Friday:
“It’s Christian Dior, asshat.”
“Asshat?” So, they were throwing down, were they? “Well maybe only put on twenty bucks worth next time.” Stone slipped on his boxers, figuring he’d shower the Christian Dior, hundred and thirty buck rank off once the jerk left. “And let some hair grow back between your legs, why don’t ya? It’s like going down on an eel or a Ken doll.”
“I didn’t hear any complaints at the time.” Joe Hollywood was at the exit. “I, on the other hand, could barely find the tree for the forest. Wouldn’t hurt you to take a machete to the bush once in a while, would it?”
📚 From Friday: His image was startling, and he understood that. Still, every double-take, every sharp breath that occurred as he passed felt like a branding iron to his heart, hurting him and marking him as different.