Excerpt from Unexpected Places

“Hey, Carter, you headed out to Grayson’s?”

Carter Hausemann bit back a groan. He hadn’t gotten away quick enough to avoid Mark Watson. Carter turned to watch him approach the elevator. Mark was an attractive guy, but he wasn’t someone Carter wanted a long-term anything with. Or even a quick fuck, for that matter. Mark skeeved him out.

“Actually, I’m not,” Carter told him.

He desperately hoped someone else would join them for the elevator ride down from the twelfth floor. Mark could be pushy to the point of obnoxious if they were alone.

“I’m going home to prepare for the hiking trip I’m taking over the weekend.” Not that it was any of Mark’s business, but Carter hoped it would get the man to back off.

Instead, Mark stopped just a little too close, but not so much that Carter could call him out on it. Well, he could, but Mark would likely tell him he was being paranoid—even though they’d both know better.

“Hiking again?” Mark raked him with a calculating gaze Carter had seen too often. “Surely there are better things to do with your time?”

And that attitude was one of the reasons Carter would never want to hook up with Mark. Besides being a co-worker, he always had something bordering on snide to say about Carter’s love of hiking.

Carter shifted his briefcase into the hand closest to Mark, forcing him to move back or get whacked on the knee. As tempting as it was to be a dick and tell Mark to fuck off, Carter wouldn’t do it. He was certain that, eventually, Mark would lose interest in him.

“Nothing beats the great outdoors.”

“Nothing?” Mark asked, skepticism layering over his features. “Uh huh. I’ve seen the Odessa Meteor Crater hiking trail and don’t see how anyone could want to bother with it more than once, yet you seem to practically live out there on the weekends.” Mark cocked his head and gave Carter a borderline leer. “If that’s the most fun you’ve had here in Odessa, maybe you’ve been doing some things wrong, because I can think of at least one thing that should top the great outdoors.”

“Not if you’re hiking right,” Carter retorted. “Oh hey, here comes Becca.” He almost added, Thank God, but restrained himself at the last moment. “Hey, Becca, just in time,” Carter called out as the elevator bell dinged.

Becca was his boss, and he’d never been so grateful to see her as he was at that moment. She got on the elevator with him and Mark after murmuring greetings to them. Carter made certain he stood on her right, as Mark was to Becca’s left.

“Are you ready for your trip? This one’s going to be different from your usual day-hikes out here. Think this will be a big adventure?” Becca asked him. She pressed the button for the ground floor.

Carter smiled warmly at her. He liked his boss, was glad to be working on her team. “Hopefully it will be, yeah, though not the get-eaten-by-a-bear kind of adventure. As to being ready, almost. I’m quite excited about the weekend trip exploring parts of Big Bend. I’ve been wanting to see it ever since I moved here.”

“You just have to pack,” Mark added, eyeing him as if gauging whether or not Carter had lied about that.

“Exactly,” Carter agreed. “I was given a list of recommended supplies for the trip after I signed up for it. This’ll be my first weekend hike there. I’ve been all over New Mexico and Colorado.”

Becca turned to him, effectively cutting Mark out of the conversation. “You know, your enthusiasm is inspiring. I think I’ll talk to Lee about taking the kids hiking soon. Plus, the exercise will do us all some good. Let me know what you think about Big Bend.”

Carter nibbled his bottom lip, running through what he did know. The elevator reached the ground floor. The doors opened and Mark hovered. Carter focused on Becca. “After you.” 

Excerpt from Vegas Hustle

I stretched my arms out, bent my legs and dove into the cool, refreshing water. I was in Las Vegas, I was eighteen years old and I was alone for the first time ever.

Well, almost alone, my friend Dean Schweister was with me. “Dean will keep you out of trouble,” my father had said. Ha! Dean had fooled everyone into believing he was a sweet young man.

I emerged from the water in dramatic fashion, imagining the scene in The Little Mermaid when Ariel comes out of the ocean onto the rock, her red hair flowing around her. My hair wasn’t red or long, but I still felt like a prince.

“Such a show off,” Dean muttered and tried to hide a smile.

We’d known each other our entire lives because our fathers worked together often. Dean’s father was one of my dad’s many lawyers. Barry Schweister normally only handled my father’s business on the West Coast but Dad had taken him to Australia to handle a crisis. It had then fallen on me and Dean to iron out a deal in Vegas. There wasn’t much to it other than a little haggling and signing some papers. I would’ve had to be an absolute idiot to screw it up.

Since Dean was two years older than me, I’m sure Dad had an idea we would party, but I don’t think he had a clue exactly what we had planned. Dad didn’t have a problem with me being gay but I doubt he’d want to know I planned on losing my virginity.

I pulled myself out of the pool then sat on a lounge chair next to Dean.

“You excited about later?” he asked.

“Yeah, I can’t wait to check out Heroes Unlimited.” HU was a comic book shop right on the strip, one of the biggest stores in the United States.

He rolled his eyes. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Yes, I’m looking forward to our other plans, too.” I smirked.

He leaned forward and eyed me. “Dude, we’re talking about you having sex for the first time and you sound like it’s just another day.” Dean had a fake ID and had gotten one for me as well. He’d been going out to bars and clubs and having sex with men since he was sixteen. He’d promised me we would party until we found the right guy for me to sleep with.

“I’m nervous about it,” I admitted.

“Adam, it’s going to be awesome.” He sat back in the chair and closed his eyes.

“Did you see that Hispanic stud in the hallway earlier?” I’d only gotten a quick glance at him but it was enough. He was a few inches shorter than me, had a goatee, light-brown hair and beautiful brown eyes.

Dean nodded.

“Damn, he was hot.”

Dean lowered his sunglasses. “You know he was a hustler, right?”

“A what?”

“A hustler,” he repeated. “Hooker. Prostitute. Whore.”

I forced my jaw closed, trying not to let my naiveté be quite so obvious. “How do you know?”

“There’s no way a dude like him could ever afford to stay at the Bellagio. He’d probably just finished with a customer.”

I knew hustlers existed, but the ones I’d seen and imagined were dirtier and skankier than the hottie in the hallway. “You ever hired one?”

He shook his head. “I don’t see anything wrong with it but I’ve never needed to pay for sex when it’s so readily available.”

I wondered what the man charged. He had the body type I craved as well as a rough edge that made my body tremble. Being kissed and touched by him had to be a thrilling experience. A man who got paid for sex was no doubt good at what he did. 

Excerpt from Mountains to Climb

Stepping in the bar was almost like getting hit by a car from the noise. Not that Toby Schwartzel had ever been struck by any kind of moving vehicle. He didn’t think a bicycle counted. He paused in the entrance to give himself a chance to adjust to the sound level and to scan the crowd, searching for any of the guys from the firm.

“Hey, Toby. We’re over here,” Simpson called from one of the back corners.

After acknowledging him with a wave, Toby wound his way to the bar where he ordered one of his favourite microbrews. While he waited for the bartender to pour it, he glanced around, checking out the possible hook-ups. It was Friday night and Toby didn’t have to work during the weekend, so he was looking for a little fun.

“Here you go, Toby.” Gray slid his mug across the wooden surface.

“Thanks, Gray. This is for you.” He slipped a five-dollar bill in the tip jar before taking a sip.

“I see your friend finally dragged himself out from whatever rock he’d been hiding under.” Gray jerked his head over toward the corner where Toby’s gang hung out.

“What friend?” He frowned as he tried to figure out whom Gray was talking about. All his friends were accounted for. Well, that he knew of anyway. He’d been so busy working on closing a big deal for a client during the last three months that he lost touch with a few of them that he didn’t see all the time at the office.

“Brockhoff. Saw him come in with Simpson.”

Someone yelled for Gray at the other end of the bar, so he shot Toby a quick smile before walking away.

Toby was frozen to the floor. What the fuck is Jensen Brockhoff doing back in town? Why the fuck hasn’t he called me in six years? The bastard couldn’t be bothered to tell me he was leaving. All I got was some ridiculous email about needing to get clean. Now he didn’t worry about letting me know he’s back. I should just leave.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out to see he had a text from Simpson.

Get your ass back here, fuckhead.

He should’ve known Simpson wasn’t going to let him leave.

I think I’m heading home.

Sighing, he pouted as he sent that reply. He’d been eager to relax, drink and take some stranger home to fuck him into his mattress. It’d been a while since he’d had sex with someone else. Lately, it had been his hand and his dildo.

Fuck no! Brockhoff isn’t here to see any of us. He wants you.

There was a winking smiley face at the end of Simpson’s text.

Toby rolled his eyes, still not convinced it was the best idea for him to go over there. He wasn’t sure he could control his need to punch Jensen in the mouth for leaving like that. Get a fucking grip! It’s not like you were partners or anything. Just friends with benefits. It wasn’t like he owed you anything. Yet he did think that Jensen at least owed him the respect of telling him that he was leaving town, instead of just disappearing. Maybe he shouldn’t feel so bad since Jensen hadn’t informed anyone else either.

Tough. You deal with him, Simpson. I’m going home. I’ll see you in the morning.

He finished his beer then set the mug on the bar, turning to push his way through the growing crowd to get to the door. Just as he was about to make his escape, Simpson stepped in front of him.

Excerpt from Size Matters

Trey took his guide dog Happy out, heading to the coffee shop at the corner. It was quiet there, especially late at night, and he knew Sarah and Anthony, the owners, would make sure he was taken care of. It was the one place he felt comfortable going on his own, thanks to them.

“Hey, Trey!” Sarah called out as he hit the door. “How’s it going?”

“Good. Good. Caramel latte, love?”

“You got it. We’ve got a piece of caramel crunch pie left, too.”

“Oh, rock on. Thanks.”

He sat, put one of his earbuds in, and checked his emails. There was one from the guy with the pretty voice, thanking him for signing. He answered with—

You’re welcome, man. Good to meet you.

It had been his first book signing, and it had gone okay. The guy with the pretty voice had been good-looking if Allison’s fluttering about him afterward was anything to go by. She’d described him as tall, dark and perfect. His voice had been…liquid velvet was pretty fucking cheesy. Still, it was true.

Velvety soft and rich and…whoa. Okay. Okay. No springing wood. The guy had asked him out for coffee in that voice…

His email binged.

Nice to meet you too. I meant it, about the coffee.

Trey chuckled.

I managed to get myself a cup.

Lucien’s reply didn’t take long to arrive.

You’re going to make me come right out and say it, aren’t you? I’m more interested in you than in coffee.

I don’t know you from Job.

Trey wanted to, though. The idea of it both thrilled and scared him. More thrilled, if he were being honest.

Thus the coffee.

He chuckled at that.

I guess so. I have to be careful, you know?

I get that, I do. But if we could do coffee at the place of your choice. What can I do in a public place?

Yeah. I have a good place here. Safe. Folks know me.

There you go. Invite me over.

Earthscape Java on Cornell.

Oh, God. Oh, God, what had he done?

I’ll be there in twenty.

Twenty. That gave Trey time to go home, to bail. He really didn’t want to. He should, though, right?

Excerpt from Picturing Lysander

“You need your head read, young man. You treat photography like an extreme sport.”

“And your bedside manner needs some work, Doc.” Brock winced and gritted his teeth as another needle punctured his flesh.

“Would you rather I patted your head and gave you a sugar lump?”

“Is that what you did in the army?” Brock often thought that his doctor forgot he was now dealing with delicate civilians.

“Most squaddies would run away screaming at the sight of a needle if it didn’t mean disciplinary action. I often wish the same principles could be applied to my patients here.”

Brock squirmed. “I don’t remember vaccinations ever being this painful.”

The doctor grinned. “Probably because you never had to have six at the same time before. Okay, that was the last one. You can pull your trousers up.”

He peeled off his gloves and threw the used syringe into a special bin that his nurse held out for him.

“You may experience some flu-like symptoms over the next twenty-four hours, and you’ll probably get some bruising, but if you feel any worse than that, give me a call. When are you traveling?”

“Ten days time.” Brock smiled and got to his feet. “Then I’ll be out there for four weeks.”

“Well, good luck. Stay safe. Bring me back another picture for the wall in reception.”

Brock pulled the consulting room door closed behind him but still overheard the doctor as he said, “Colombia! I don’t know whether he’s brave, stupid or just too young to know any better!”

Brock waited for the nurse to respond, but nothing happened.

“Linda! Quit mooning over him and get the room ready for the next patient.”

“But he’s so gorgeous, Doc. I could definitely be tempted to get unprofessional with him!”

Brock winced. Not in this lifetime.

The doctor chuckled mischievously. “Forget it! He’s more likely to go for me than you.”

There was a groan. “Oh, for goodness sake, why are all the pretty ones either married or gay? That is a serious loss to womankind.”

Brock shook his head, stepped quietly away from the door and headed for the exit. Outside the surgery, the weather was doing its best impression of a tropical monsoon, though without the heat. The rain beat down onto pavements already awash after days of continuous downpours. In the distance, thunder rumbled ominously and the sky had a threatening purple hue that spoke of more rain to come.

Brock looked up just as lightning split the sky. The rain got even harder. Stoically he turned up the collar of his waterproof coat and grimaced at the trickle of cold water that immediately slid down his neck. In seconds, his hair was soaked and plastered to his head. Brock hunched his shoulders and lengthened his stride toward home. It wasn’t strictly his home. He was just house-sitting while his brother, sister-in-law and two young nephews spent their annual fortnight’s holiday on one of the Balearic Islands—he couldn’t remember which one.

Brock spent such a lot of time traveling on photographic assignments that he’d never bothered to get his own place. When he was in England, he spent the time with his brother’s family or returned to his mum and dad’s rambling old place in Northumberland. Their house was so big, and they were both so busy with various pet projects and charities, that he could probably have lived there full time without them even noticing his presence. Brock smiled to himself at the thought—he was very fond of his eccentric parents.

Brock soon arrived at the edge of the new estate where his brother’s house sat on a decent-sized plot, halfway down a tree-lined avenue. Despite the miserable weather, he felt uncomfortably warm and was glad to make it to the sanctuary of the front hall, where a small puddle gathered around his feet as he stripped off dripping outdoor clothes and boots. Feeling progressively worse, he met his own piercing blue eyes in the hall mirror and grimaced. His skin looked clammy and his hands shook a little. 

Excerpt from Rockin' the Alternative

“He’s the one I want, Ed.”

Tapping his index finger on a photo of the author of a Rolling Stone magazine article, Aubrey King stared down his manager of almost twenty years.

“Shouldn’t the two of you meet first, see if you click before you make such a momentous decision?”

Really? Has the man ever met me before?

He didn’t answer. He merely raised one eyebrow and pursed his lips ever so slightly. It was the look he’d learned over the years would make almost anyone fall at his feet, make them clamour for the privilege of doing his bidding. Ed, fans, straight men…

“Ed, please. Bryan Gallagher is the man who will write my memoir. I don’t want to waste any more time on this subject. Give his agent a call and set something up—the sooner the better.”

“But what about Conrad Jensen? He’s very edgy and has a lot of buzz right now.”

“I hate that shit, Ed.”

Ed sighed. “What shit, Aubrey? Am I using too much industry speak for you?”

“God, yes. Please stop.”

“Aubrey, I’ve managed your rock singing career for, what, twenty years? I’ve been there from the first hit that Falling in Stereo ever had, through the gruesome break-up then all the way to your glorious comeback.”

Aubrey snorted. “I’m reserving comment as to how glorious this comeback actually ends up being.”

Frowning, Ed continued. “Regardless, I’ve used industry speak that entire time. It’s as silly to criticise me for its use as it is for me to question whether you should do something when you’ve so obviously already decided.”

Ed arched his eyebrows at him and Aubrey let out a bellow of laughter.

“This is why we’re so perfect together.” He chanced a sly peek at Ed and winked. “As manager and client, that is.” He ran his fingers through his shaggy brown hair. “And you also know how much I despise labels. Categories. Boxes that people are forced into. It’s what killed the band.”

After the music became dulled and artificial by the endless demands of touring, recording and the pressure to crank out the hits—Aubrey had needed to take a break, re-evaluate everything. All he’d ever wanted was to make music that mattered, the music his fans yearned for. The other band members strongly disagreed since only he and Chad—the lead guitar player—wrote any of the songs. The tours were how their bandmates made the real bucks.

Aubrey had tried to convince them to give the band a breather, that it would become revitalised and would be best for everyone in the long term. However, the party rock star life they’d been living had made it impossible for them to take any breaks—their money had already been pissed away. His band mates had all decided they could do just as well by going off on their own and forming solo projects. Their plan hadn’t worked out so good.

In Aubrey’s case, he’d taken the time off for himself that he’d proposed the rest of them do all along. His disillusionment with the industry had been so all-encompassing that he’d stayed off the music radar almost completely for close to ten years. It remained to be seen if he could ever recover from his self-imposed absence.

He looked up to see Ed gazing at him thoughtfully.

“I know, I get it. You take care of your music, I’ll take care of the business. If Bryan Gallagher is the one you want, I’ll make sure you have him.”

Aubrey lifted the corners of his mouth in a satisfied smile. It wasn’t about him being a prima donna. It was about knowing what the best thing was for him. Bryan Gallagher’s writing style, his taste in music, his understanding of the emotion behind rock‘n’roll—all of that made the young writer the only one who should tell his story. At least the parts Aubrey was willing to reveal.