Advent Calendar Day 9

Today's holiday morsel is an excerpt from the Adrien English CYOA novel STRANGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED and you'll notice I'm sharing one of the gorgeous full color interior illustrations by the amazing Catherine Dair.

As you may or may not know, I used Fatal Shadows as the rough guideline for STRANGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED. This allowed me to embellish and expand a bit on Fatal Shadows for those who can never quite get enough of Adrien and Jake, but the fun part is the multiple alternate possibilities for how that story could have gone. And if you've read STHH, you know that it could have gone very right or VERY wrong.


The illustrations, four in total, are probably the best thing about the book. So thank you yet again, Catherine.


Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing it--the SO tells me maniacal laughter echoed from my office on more than one occasion--but frankly it was the most difficult project I've ever done, and I'm not sure I have the nerve to try another (sorry, those of you who have suggested Will and Taylor are prime for CYOA).


I'm giving away two copies of the print edition that contains the full color illustrations. If you've tracked them down to Createspace (the only place you can purchase them new) you know they're on the pricy side. So let's see...comment on why you feel Adrien and Jake are unique and you'll be included in the drawing for one of these two giveaway copies.


And for those of you who haven't bought the ebook or B&W edition but are a bit curious, enjoy the crazy:

PLOT LINE J If you decide to go with Claude to Ball and Chain, turn to page...

The music is deafening and about two decades out of date. For some reason, that strikes you as the most embarrassing thing so far. Of course, the night is young. A lot of guys are dancing, and you are reminded yet again that it is sadly true that most white guys, even gay white guys, can’t dance.

You avert your gaze from the dreadful spectacle — and who should you spot from clear across the cavern-sized room but Detective Riordan. He’s standing at the bar drinking whisky and staring broodingly into space. Your jaw drops and you walk right into a guy who looks like an extra for Marlon Brando in The Wild One. No, correction. He looks like Marlon Brando in later years trying to force his way back into his costume from The Wild One. Talk about something your best friends won’t tell you.

The guy, who is old enough to be your father — although thinking about your parents in this context kinda makes you feel faint — says something you can’t make out over the music. Claude responds saucily on your behalf and drags you away, Marlon gives your ass an appreciative pat and you jump like you sat on a rocket.

“What is the matter with you?” Claude demands. “Behave!”

It’s hard to picture Robert here. Oh, he’d have liked the general subversive kinkiness of it, but Robert was not a kind or tolerant person when it came to other people’s vulnerabilities, and you see a lot of vulnerability. A lot of soft underbelly, both figuratively and literally.

You rock to a stop, bringing Claude to a halt.

“What are we doing here?” you ask in response to his questioning look.

“We’re detecting!”

“What are we detecting?”

He smiles coquettishly and nods at a blond twink in jeans and a black leather vest. “I can’t speak for you, mon cher, but I detect that!”

You roll your eyes. “I’m going to investigate the bar.”

You knew from the moment Claude suggested it, that this night was a waste of time and money. You turn away, but a hand hooks around your arm. You look up and your heart jumps in your chest. Detective Riordan gazes down at you with a strange half smile.

“Why, look who’s here,” he says in that voice that always feels like fingernails raking the back of your neck.

“Oh. Hey,” you say weakly. It really IS him. Detective Riordan is in a leather club. Detective Riordan is apparently gay. Or maybe he’s undercover? Then you remember the scene in Robert’s apartment.

Detective Riordan was not giving you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation this afternoon, he was kissing you.

Your gaze falls and you take him in, from the gleam of his black boots…leather jeans…studded leather belt…and then bare, broad muscular chest. Nothing else. Not a single extra anything. Severe and elegant. Beneath the gold dusting of chest hair, his pecs look like rocks. So do his biceps. He’s got an abdomen like a washboard. You can’t stop staring. Your mouth is dry, your heart racketing around your chest.

“Come here often?” He’s laughing at you. Well, the line of his mouth is serious enough, but his eyes glitter with amusement. Amusement and…excitement.

He wants you.

Holy moly. Detective Riordan wants you.

“It’s my first time,” you joke. “So be gentle.” At least…you thought you were joking. Maybe not so much.

He blinks. Then his eyes widen.

Anyway, to make a long story short, it’s true what the American Express advertising says. Membership does have its privileges. Before you can say “second thoughts,” you’re in a small, private room marked MEMBERS ONLY. The “members” thing makes you want to giggle, but that’s because you’re strung so tight with nerves you’re ready to blow apart.

How can you be so anxious and so turned on all at the same time?

The room is more like a dentist’s office than a bedroom, but then you’re not there to sleep. There is a long — two-way?! — mirror down the length of one brick wall. There is a battered-looking armoire. Or maybe it’s an entertainment console. Are you going to be filmed? Recorded? Blackmailed? There are a couple of padded benches. Padded walls might be more appropriate. There is also a half table with a frame that looks like a cross between a rack and a baby swing. You definitely do not want to know.

The room is warm and the lights are low. The thump of the bass from the dance floor is like a drugged heartbeat beneath your feet.

“Do you have a safe word?”

You try not to start. Riordan is right behind you, breathing down your neck. Your scalp prickles. Your prick prickles. Your prickles prickle.

“Stop?” you offer.

“You do know how this works, right?”

“Of course,” you lie.

“You need to pick a different safe word.”

“Why wouldn’t stop work? If I say stop, believe me, I mean stop.”

He is not amused. “Pick another word.”

“Periwinkle.”

“Periwinkle it is. Now take your clothes off, Adrien,” Riordan orders in a silky voice.

“Oh, right.” You slowly pull your black turtleneck over your head. A black turtleneck. You’re dressed more like a cat burglar than a guy hoping for some action. You fold your pullover and then don’t know what to do with it. You hold it to your chest, in ingénue fashion.

Riordan observes your dilemma. His mouth quirks. “Maybe you better tell me about this fantasy of yours,” he says, breaking character for a moment. Or maybe this is his character. Superior, indulgent, completely in control.

“Um, well, the usual thing,” you say vaguely. How far are you going to take this? You’re not sure.

“Sir.”

“Sorry?”

“You address me as ‘sir.’”

“Right. Sir.” You almost snort, but catch yourself in time. Or do you? Riordan’s mouth quirks again.

He reaches out and his fingers brush the pulse point at the base of your throat. Your heartbeat bangs away like a little blue hammer. “Why are you really here, Adrien? Don’t lie to me.”

Now here’s a crazy thing. You open your mouth to lie to him, and you find you can’t.

You swallow hard. “Robert used to come here sometimes,” you admit. “Claude and I thought…” You don’t finish it because it occurs to you, too late, that Riordan is not a tourist like yourself. He might have run into Robert at this club. He might be a suspect in Robert’s death himself.

You stare at him wordlessly, the pulse fluttering away in the hollow of your throat. Your skin seems to tingle beneath his touch. He stares at you, and you know he can read your thoughts as easily as if they were subtitles at the bottom of a movie screen. In this case, probably a horror movie.

“Go home, Adrien-with-an-e,” Riordan says softly. His breath is warm against your face, and scented of spearmint. “Go home before you get into real trouble.”

 

_________________________________________

 

If you choose to go home, turn to page 126 

 

If you decide to stay and get into real trouble, turn to page 142 

 

Dis, Dat, and Da Other

Once again, this is not the post I had intended to write for this week, but there have been a slew of little updates, and I'm deep into Fair Play right now, so maybe we'll just do it this way.


Speaking of Fair Play, here's a little bitty snippet...






“Have you read the book?”
“No.” Elliot grimaced. “I forgot about it, to be honest. After he got that agent, he never really talked about it again. I figured nothing had ever come of it -- until he suddenly had a book deal and the damn thing was going to be published.”
“So you have no idea what’s in it?”
“Zero idea.”
“Any guesses?”
“He’s always talked about stirring people up, rattling a few cages. Christ knows what that means. He might mean cages in general or he might have a few specific cages in mind.”
“How much of a badass could he have been? I know he got a certain amount of notoriety from a string of arrests, but he never did any major jail time and he never made the Most Wanted list.”
“I know. I can’t imagine anyone reading the thing, let alone feeling threatened enough to kill him over it.”
“You could ask to read it.”
 “True.”
“The cops will ask to read it.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it. The prevailing theory is that this is just another right wing nut outraged at the idea of a high profile leftist memoir.”
“It’s not a bad theory.”
“No, it’s the obvious theory, but I can tell that’s not what Dad thinks.”
“But he’s not telling you what he does think.”
“No.”
Tucker slid between sheets and groaned with relief.
Elliot tossed the report aside and leaned over him. “Welcome home, sailor.”
They kissed.
“What a long ass voyage,” Tucker muttered.






Fair Play is now available for preorder at Amazon. Hopefully soon at other places as well.


Also now available for order is the print edition of Fair Game. Remember, this print edition is an experiment for Carina Press, and therefore the clock is ticking as to how long it will remain available.


In other news, Stranger Things Have Happened, the Adrien English CYOA novel is now -- AT LONG LAST -- available for Kindle. Yes, it does have those gorgeous (black and white) illustrations by Catherine Dair.


And finally, a bit of good news for audio book lovers, This Rough Magic narrated by Jordan Murphy is now up for sale at Audible. (It should soon be available at iTunes and Amazon.) Regular viewers may recall that Jordan was the narrator who came in second place with voters during the Armed and Dangerous vocal death match.


Oh! I almost forgot. Next week is the release of the Male Male Contemporary Box Set from Carina Press which includes stories by LB Gregg, Libby Drew, KC Burns and me. (My story is Icecapade.) This is a great way to sample some excellent M/M stories from writers I'm pretty sure you'll really enjoy.


And I think that's it. I will be very hard to find on line for the next couple of weeks while I plow through the rough draft of Fair Play, so if I am slow in responding, the good news is I'm writing one of your most requested stories.